Date: Fri, 2 Dec 1994 10:58:22 -0800 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Perri Subject: What's Past is Prologue (4/7) X-To: fkfic-l@psuvm.psu.edu What's Past is Prologue (4 of 7) By Perri Smith Copyright 1994 Deirdre's motel was smaller than theirs, an inconspicuous one on the edge of Tourist Central. The rain had started a few hours earlier -- Ais turned her collar up against the damp chill as they got out of the cab. No one looked twice at the couple walking through the parking lot. Streetlights reflected off the puddles on the asphalt, the sound of Michael's heavy boots echoing in the darkness. Ais' soft leather boots were soundless. They found Deirdre's room easily. Ais started to insert the key, but Michael's hand shot out abruptly, shoving her away from the door. "What?" she started to complain, rubbing her bruised wrist. He silenced her with a look, then carefully turned the knob. The door was unlocked. He raised an eyebrow at Ais in a silent question. She shook her head -- there were no Immortals nearby. He shoved the door open. When nothing jumped out swinging a sword, Ais impatiently shoved past him, turning on a light -- and stopping cold. The room had been trashed. There were clothes all over the floor, bedcovers and toiletries strewn everywhere. "Someone needs to call housekeeping," Michael commented, stepping over a pile of fabric that had once been a canvas suitcase. Out of habit, he picked up a pillow and put it back on the closest bed. It didn't make a noticeable difference in the mess. Aislyn walked through the room in a daze. Here and there, she spotted something familiar - a scarf Dierdre had worn in China, emerald earrings that dated back to Elizabeth I. The small photo was almost hidden under an open makeup case. Ais knelt to pick it up with trembling fingers, brushing away broken glass. It was an old sepia print of two women in brief saloon clothes. Behind their solemn faces lurked laughter. Her fingers brushed over it again and paused at the faint rattle. She turned the frame upside down, shaking it. A heavy silver chain slowly worked its way free. Ais pulled it the rest of the way out. Michael flinched away from the heavy silver cross that dangled from it, cursing involuntarily. "Sorry," Ais said, hiding the cross in her palm. "I gave this to her, a few hundred years ago. Told her she should always wear it. Made her promise." She clenched her fist, rubbing it against her cheek and drawing in a shaky breath. "I guess she forgot." Michael said nothing, just laid his hand on her shoulder. She shook it off, wiping angrily at her cheeks and standing up. She shoved the picture into her pocket and draped the chain around her neck, hiding it under her shirt. "Whatever was in here, it's gone now," she said, pulling her hair from under the chain. "What are you looking for?" Michael asked. "Whatever the bastards who did this were looking for." "Why? She's dead, Aislyn. Isn't that part of the Game?" "No!" Aislyn spun on him, her eyes burning. "This isn't about the Game! This is about...." "Revenge?" Michael finished. Aislyn glared at him, then looked away, her hand coming up to clench around the cross under her shirt. "She called to ask for my help. She needed me and now she's dead." Her voice went cold and flat, her eyes hard. "I will not let that pass." He sighed, and sank onto the bed. "Then where are we going to go from here?" She heard the plural, and appreciated it. Her eyes scanned the room again, her fist still clutching the necklace. "I don't know. There must be something...." Her voice trailed off as she slowly turned, staring intensely, as if she could find something through willpower alone. Her eyes narrowed when they fell on the phone. The red message light was lit. She almost lunged for the receiver, sitting on the bed as she dialed the front desk. She hung up the phone a minute later. "A Kurt Walden called for Dierdre about three hours ago," she told Michael. "He left a phone number." "Do you know him?" "I used to know of a Kurt. It might be him, but I can't be sure. Immortals change names like we change socks." "I'm familiar with the concept," he said wryly. Ais almost smiled. It faded quickly, her hand reaching out to finger a scarf lying on the end table. She looked perilously close to tears again. Michael watched her with sympathy, if not understanding. It had been a long time since he had grieved for anyone.... "Come on," he said, standing up and holding out a hand. "Let's get out of here and go call Mr. Walden." She took his hand and let him pull her easily to her feet. "Yeah," she said, looking around her one last time. "Let's get out of here." They found a pay phone a few miles away. Michael huddled in his trenchcoat while Ais dug for quarters to feed the phone. "Hello?" The faintly German accent was the same one that had been on the message. "Kurt Walden? This is Aislyn De Connaught." He recognized the name. "Aislyn. What can I do for you?" He apparently didn't believe in wasting time on pleasantries. Ais approved. "You talked to Dierdre recently. I need to know what about." A pause, and a faintly suspicious "Why?" Ais didn't see any point in lying. "She's dead. She was killed this morning." "Mein Gott." She kept talking, ignoring the muffled exclamation. "Her room has been tossed, so whoever killed her was looking for something. I want to know what." Another pause, longer this time. "You'd better come to see me," he said finally. He gave her the directions, then hung up. Aislyn left the phone booth, walked back to Michael. "He knows something." __________________________________________________________________________ Perri "There's nothing in the rule book that says FOLC an elephant can't pitch!" DDEBrigadier Knightie "Life's a walking shadow......." ___________________________________________________________________________ =========================================================================