Date: Sat, 27 Jan 1996 17:04:50 EST Reply-To: Russet McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russet McMillan Subject: Mortality Rate, Part 5 Mortality Rate, Part 5 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu I got as far as the parking lot before I remembered that I hadn't come on my bike. I stopped next to Joe's van, shaking all over, and thought about walking home. It was too much. It was just too much. When I saw that bloody sickle, when I heard the words "her husband," I felt something open up inside me, something huge. It was like I was being sucked down into a bottomless pit. No. I wouldn't think about it. I wouldn't try to remember or analyze it. I pushed the thoughts out of my head. I didn't want anything to do with this Sarah Pirelli thing. It wasn't my business at all, really; all I wanted to do was get my head together and get on with my life. I turned to go, but I was too late. Here was Joe leading Barbara back to the parking lot. She looked almost as upset as me, with her arms wrapped around her chest and her hands tucked inside her elbows as if she was freezing cold. There were tear streaks on her face -- at least she wasn't wearing any mascara today -- and Joe was patting her shoulder gently. A small, cowardly part of me just wanted to run, and not deal with them at all. Even a woman in trouble wasn't going to get me interested anymore. But I just stood there, like I was rooted to the ground, until the two of them reached the car. Barbara leaned against the hood and wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, trying to smile. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to lose it. It was just -- this whole thing -- it keeps reminding me of . . ." Her shoulders heaved again and she pressed a fist to her mouth. "I know," Joe said softly. "I know." "No, you don't know. It's not about that man who killed Robert last year and attacked me. He was a total stranger! He terrified me, but . . . no, it's about Robert. My husband. He tried to get . . . he wanted me . . ." "I do know," Joe insisted. "Mac told me about it." She froze, and her eyes widened. "MacLeod _told_ you? And you never said anything to me?" Joe pulled his hand back, starting to look uncomfortable. "Well, I thought you . . . you'd been through a lot anyway, it was easier if . . . " "Damn it, why didn't you tell me?" she yelled. Somebody on the other side of the lot glanced our way and kept walking. "Hang on," I broke in. "What's this all about?" I was getting interested in spite of myself. At least this argument was distracting me from my own problems. Barbara glanced at me. "I was going through my husband's files yesterday," she said, "trying to get everything in order and untangle all the bogus expenses he had listed. And I found this one file -- at first I didn't understand it, but . . . " She turned again to Joe. "I can't believe you didn't tell me!" "Hello!" I said, waving a hand in front of her face. "_What_ didn't Joe tell you?" Barbara's eyes were hard as glass. There was no trace of tears in her voice now. "Robert wanted me dead. He took out a contract on me." "Your _husband_?" I stared. She nodded. "He tried to hire MacLeod --" "Wait." I couldn't believe it. "This idiot thought _Mac_ was a contract killer?" "He was blackmailing MacLeod," Joe put in. "He had a videotape of Mac in a -- a serious situation. But MacLeod wouldn't have hurt you, Barbara, no matter how much he needed the tape back." "I know." She sniffed. "He tried to warn me, but I wouldn't listen to him. And then Robert got killed, and that man came after me. . . " "Lymon Curlow. An Immortal," Joe explained to me. "Robert got between him and MacLeod -- he shouldn't have been killed at all." ". . . And I thought, maybe Robert was telling me the truth, that last morning -- he really was in danger. Maybe for once in his life, the little schmuck was telling the truth." She wiped her eyes again. "But it was all just another lie. He never would admit to me that he had affairs, he always made excuses whenever I mentioned divorce . . . you know, he told his girlfriends that _I_ wouldn't give _him_ a divorce? Divorcing me wasn't enough for him; he wanted me dead!" "It was the money," Joe said softly. "Not you." "Don't you think I know that? It was always the money! That was why he married me in the first place. But he couldn't stand to live with me another year, so he tried to get me killed. The only man who ever even pretended to care about me, and all the time he was planning to get me killed!" She was crying for real now, and Joe put his arm around her. I was beginning to feel like the old fifth wheel, so I jerked an arm over my shoulder. "I'll, uh, make my own way home," I said uncomfortably. "See you guys later." Joe nodded at me and bent to say something to Barbara. What a creep that guy must have been, I thought as I walked across the lot. Her own husband trying to get her killed -- no wonder the lady got upset about Sarah Pirelli . . . No. I wasn't going to think about that. I jogged the two miles back to Joe's place. I've noticed that whenever Mac is getting over a really unpleasant fight, he works out a lot. He never said it had anything to do with the quickening -- he's always trying to get me to exercise more anyway, no special reason needed -- but he gets almost religious about it sometimes. I tried it after Mikey died, and it does seem to help. It's like somehow the exertion makes me more in tune with my body, so nobody can take over. Anyway, by the time I reached Joe's, I was feeling a little calmer. I stopped for a breather next to my bike while I dug for the keys in my pocket. "Richie!" someone called from the door of the bar. Anne Lindsay started down the steps carefully, holding onto the railing. She was pretty big by now, and walked about as fast as Joe. I met her halfway. "I got Joe's message," she told me. "He said you guys needed to ask me some questions?" "Uh, yeah," I stalled, thinking about how I didn't want to be involved. "He should be back here pretty soon, if you want to wait." Actually, he should have gotten back before me, unless he and Barbara had gone off someplace else. "Um. I'd really rather not wait around here all day," she said in the apologetic voice she used when she wasn't going to give any ground. "If it's something important . . . ?" She cocked her head. I sighed. I was the one who got the quickening, so apparently I was involved whether I liked it or not. "Well, I know what he wanted to ask you about. Maybe if we could talk for a few minutes?" "Sure. Why don't we go back to my place?" she suggested. "I've got some food I want to get home before it spoils." "Oh, sure." I turned toward my bike and hesitated. "Should I meet you there, or do you want me to, uh --" I waved at her car. "I mean, you're okay to drive and everything, right?" She wrinkled her eyebrows at me. "It's not a _disease_, Richie." "No! Of course not. I just meant, uh, you're not going to get stuck behind the steering wheel or something?" She laughed. "That's happened to a few of my patients, but they had shorter legs than I do. I'll be fine, Richie. See you at my place in ten minutes, okay?" =========================================================================