Date: Tue, 31 Oct 1995 00:52:09 -0500 Reply-To: Hobert@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: K Robnett Subject: WANTING TO GET A HEAD, Part 1 of 3 Author's Note------------- Samhain. Hallow's Eve. Legend has it that on... Oops, sorry. Been there, done that. Once again, I present for your inspection my annual treat. So, make sure the kids are in bed (without the candy), fix yourself a nice mug of something hot, and curl up in front of the monitor. You might want to wear houseshoes - you don't want your feet getting cold. Trust me, it's about to get *very* chilly. And I hope you make it to All Saint's Day. Alive, that is! WANTING TO GET A HEAD A Halloween Treat by Kevin H. Robnett Richie Ryan looked out the small side window of the Cessna airplane, trying desperately to make out anything in the driving rain. Occasional bursts of lightning lit up the clouds, but beyond the wings of the small craft, only darkness prevailed. He couldn't see the stars, couldn't see the ground, knew in his mind that only magic and a prayer kept them from plummeting to the ground. Actually, wilderness. Heights, and wilderness. Those scared him almost as much as anything else in the last four months. It was bad enough he had never even left the city limits in all his eighteen years. Nor even had enough money in his pockets, nor a foster family that cared to treat him with a trip to the Seacouver Tower observation deck. His world had revolved around concrete, cement and glass, all at ground level. He was a street kid. That fact, as much as any other, had changed once he met Duncan MacLeod. A lot of things had changed. His clothes, his attitude. Like being able to decide what he did with his time. Now, he could look forward to invoices, shipments, openings and exhibits, *customers*. Certain things were expected of the newest staff member of the distinguished gallery of Noel & MacLeod. And one of those had required his first ride in an airplane. He had known about the plans for flying to the opening of Tessa's showing in Chicago for several weeks, had even been responsible (successfully) for shipping her pieces to the gallery on time and in perfect shape. But his mental picture of a sleek Boeing 747 was burst the second he saw Duncan standing next to the tiny crop duster at the airport. He almost, but not quite, fainted. It was too soon after his 'adoption' to feel comfortable arguing about the choice of transportation. He just climbed in and slumped into a rear seat next to the luggage. And hoped no one would look back and see how green his face was. Then they were taxiing for take-off, and all Richie worried about was not throwing up. That first trip had been in the early morning, a bright day with no weather to obscure the ground racing by. When they had landed, he had almost talked himself out of the paralyzing fear he felt. After that, he was busy again, playing errand boy at the showing, answering a myriad of questions asked by those not lucky enough to congregate with the artist and her paramour. Occasionally, he handed out one of the business cards he was so proud of, telling a prospective buyer to "call us next week." By all accounts, a productive and successful evening. By the time the party was winding down, and Duncan had finally given permission for a glass of champagne, Richie was feeling mighty pleased with himself. No high school diploma, no fancy training, and he was still pulling his own weight around the antique store. Neither Tessa nor Duncan's eyes showed that brief hint of panic when he told them of a sale nowadays. In fact, just last week, a painting was priced at his figure, not one of theirs. "Yes, sir," he had gloated. "Things are looking up for this puppy." Right now, being *up* was the last thing Richie was wishing for. All the rosy contentment vanished the second the little Cessna took off. Soon, they encountered a storm, causing the plane to dip and shake. "Turbulence," Duncan had told them. Roller coaster ride, Richie thought. His hands were white where they clenched the seat, his eyes closed as he fought the nausea. In front of him, the two lovers were talking, but all he did was pray. Yes, the wise-cracking Ryan was fervently praying. He promised God and the Devil anything if he only lived through this night. An electrical charge jolted Richie, a bright flash visible through his clenched eyelids. The clap of thunder deafened him, so close he could smell the ozone. "One engine down," Duncan informed the rest. It was impossible to hear the other one cough and sputter in the storm, but Richie imagined he felt the throbbing through the cabin walls. Then it stopped as well, his heart freezing in his chest. "Our father, who art in...." "We're going down," Duncan announced, a little too calmly for Richie's taste. Yeah, a fat lot of good for us, he angrily thought. *You'll* come out of this smelling like a rose, and... "Shit!" The floor dropped out as gravity failed, Richie's stomach suddenly located in his throat. There was no time to apologize for his outburst of profanity, no time to put his head between his legs and kiss his ass goodbye. Only time to hope the madding scream was something in his head, and not coming from his mouth as he pictured the ragged timberline swiftly approaching. "I'm gonna die, I'm gonna die," he repeated, over and over. His voice rose after each quick breath, afraid that the next would never come. His heart pounded as his ears popped and tears flowed. "Please, I don't...," he started to say, before the sound of the aircraft smashing into the trees drowned him out. He had time for one last screech as the plane suddenly slowed, Richie's head snapping forward into Duncan's seat. Then all that remained was blackness. ---------------- "He's coming around," he heard Tessa say, aware of how much like his picture of an angel she had become over these last few months. Or visa versa. His head throbbed, and so did other injured parts of his body. Trying to sit up only made things worse, so he lay there, waiting. "Duncan," Tessa called. Surprisingly gently hands lifted his head as a soft object was placed under it, then lay it back down, a make-shift pillow to ease the pain. He was sprawled on the cold and hard ground. It wasn't raining, but in the distance, the soft sounds of thunder echoed. Only a matter of time before the storm caught up with them. "Richie?" Duncan's strong voice cut through the haze. He wanted to respond, wanted to cuss out MacLeod for this mess. All he managed was a groan, but it was enough. "Try not to move," the Highlander said, softer this time. "You probably have a concussion, and your left arm is broken." There was sympathy mixed with concern in the hushed tones. "It's already been set, but I need to disinfect the wound where the bone cut through. All we have is alcohol...." Then agony burst through the fog of Richie's mind, scorching pain racing from his arm to every part of his body. Hands held him down, kept him from struggling. He could hear his own wail, wondering what he had ever done in his life to deserve this. It was Hell. Only pain surrounded him. Deep inside, where he had long ago learned to hide his true feelings, a calmness waited. Over the years, when things had gone from bad to worse, it beckoned to him. Surprised, he had always backed away. Never before had he any reason to search it out, but now, all he wanted was for the pain to stop. Forever. He embraced the calm, letting its cool, soothing hands ease his torment. Death is a sweet lover, he thought, a snippet from English class surfacing. Not death, the calmness chuckled. Something entirely different. He didn't care. As long as it stopped the anguish, he welcomed it. No longer concerned with living, Richie Ryan's heart stopped. ---------------- Tessa bent her head closer to Richie's face. "He's not breathing," she cried, drawing Duncan's attention from the open wound. Quickly, he set the wine bottle and cloth strips down, shuffling on his knees to Richie's head. It only took a few seconds for his two fingers to search for a pulse. Or lack thereof. "Damn," Duncan cursed, abandoning all attempts at gentleness. One hand grabbed the coat, jerking it from under Richie's head. The other pulled up on the youth's neck, opening the throat passage. Without hesitation, the Highlander pinched the nose shut, breathing two quick puffs of air down Richie's mouth. A brief check for breath sounds, and Duncan repeated the process. Still no response. Cupping his hands, Duncan began CPR, compressing the teenager's chest, then forcing more air into Richie's lungs. Over and over, he repeated the cycle, not willing to give up. "It's too soon," he muttered cryptically in between numbers. Luck was finally with the trio. Richie coughed, then gasped in a lungful of air. Duncan sat back on his haunches, breathing heavily himself. It was then the first drops of rain fell, reminding everyone the storm was still with them. ---------------- Dawn found them huddled in the remains of the plane's cabin, the only piece large enough to provide any kind of shelter. The rain had slacked off to a drizzle, and only the transformation of the skies from black to gray had signaled the sun was up. No one had been able to sleep. Even though they had a roof over their heads, the wind had been fierce, and they were all soaked to the skin. Richie was surprisingly lucid, complaining every ten minutes about how cold and miserable he was. And how much the splints on his arm itched. Duncan was the first to venture away from the plane, trying to find a better shelter. Tessa stayed with Richie, huddling close to him for warmth in the cold air. The teenager chattered incessantly, all the while Tessa softly replied, trying to keep him calm. She let him reach for his forehead with his good hand, sympathetically grimacing as he hissed when his fingers found the wound. It wasn't hard to pull his arm down, his eyes full of tears. A quick check of the bandages on his broken arm showed the bleeding there had finally stopped. It seemed a miracle that Richie was alive. "After we landed, Duncan was in pretty bad shape," she had told him. "I looked back, and everything behind us was gone. The tail end, your seat, the luggage." Duncan managed to instantly heal, of course. And Tessa had somehow walked away almost unscathed. "Except for a few bumps and bruises," she added. Richie was the one that had gotten the brunt of it. They had found him a few terror-filled minutes later, still belted into his seat, unconscious and bleeding profusely. The youth chuckled, waiting a second while his head throbbed before explaining. "Well, I am getting used to being a punching bag," he offered, his first attempt at his usual humor all morning. By the time Duncan returned, the pair was reduced to giggles, each trying to top the other with disaster stories. "I'm glad everyone's enjoying this little detour," the Highlander joked. In the only spare shirt, he carried a pile of berries, offering the food to Tess and Richie. "I found one suitcase, and there's a house. It's apparently been abandoned for a *long* time, but it seems safe. Spotted a chimney, so we can probably make a fire." Richie hungrily grabbed a handful of the berries, stuffing them in his mouth greedily before stopping to think. "Thss mmare smme?," he mumbled with his mouth full, his features screwed up in apprehension. "They're edible," Duncan replied, laughing as he handed the rest to Tessa. She happily popped two in her mouth, then chased them down with a handful of rainwater. "Though not real filling," he added as an afterthought. Tessa bent over and kissed him, before cling out of the cabin. "I don't know about you, but the thought of a dry, enclosed room and a warm fire is very appealing," she said, finishing off the berries. "Unless you want to stay?" Richie shook his head, moaning softly when it hurt. She and Duncan bent down, gently lifting the teenager to his feet. With his good arm over the Highlander's shoulders, and Duncan's hand around his waist, he began limping in the direction Duncan pointed. After a hundred yards, Tessa sprinted off to find the wayward suitcase. Mobile, finally, and somewhat clear headed, Richie looked around the place they had crashed. It was forest, something that would show up on the Discovery Channel. They had landed in a long valley, with tall mountains surrounding them. No sign of life or civilization. Only the dull roar of unseen thunder, and the patter of rain on the ground. Tessa was the first to see the bridge. She stopped, the suitcase by her side. Duncan tightened his grip on Richie, pulling him to a halt. It was a wooden structure, no more than a floor and railings over the stream. On this side, two tall ash poles flanked the path, rusted metal lanterns at the top. In places, the wooden planks had rotted, leaving holes over the rushing water. "The right side is stable," Duncan informed them, letting Tessa cross first before helping Richie. "This was why I wasn't surprised to find the house. You don't build a bridge in the middle of nowhere." The teenager had taken two steps across before he stopped, suddenly looking around, frightened. "What is it?," Duncan asked, not bothering to call out to Tessa. It was a moment before Richie replied. "Something's...different," he said, hesitantly. "It's quieter." Duncan waited to see if the young man would say more, but all Richie did was sag a little, fatigued from the walk. "We're almost there, tough guy," Duncan said, now almost carrying the teenager. They caught up with Tessa on the other side. Richie spared a single glance back before concentrating on the path before them, an overgrown track. It wasn't long before the house appeared behind a bend in the path. The area around it was cleared, and off in the distance they could hear the stream rushing by. It perched on a small rise, lording over the wild countryside. It was two stories tall, and of a very old design. Tessa guessed American Revolution and Duncan agreed. A few of the wooden shutters were missing, and the roof drooped, but it still looked inviting. Duncan had kicked in the front door when he first explored the abode, and as promised, the front room was dry, enclosed, and sported a fireplace. Duncan urged his charge to lie down, but Richie stubbornly refused. Instead, the Highlander helped him amble to a corner before leaving to find dry wood. "Let's see," Tessa absently said as she opened the suitcase. "It seems our change of clothing fared as well as we did. Shirt. Vest. Camouflage pants. One tuxedo." As she named each item, she laid the soggy clothing on the floor. "Ah, ha. Ugly green jacket." Triumphantly, she held up Richie's leather coat. "Flip you for it." Richie chuckled. "I've already been flipped," he said. "Go ahead, you're freezing." He didn't mention he was freezing as well. For some unlikely reason, he was turning into a nice guy the more he hung around these people. He sighed as she put it on, wishing for the days when he didn't care what happened to anyone else. Duncan entered, carrying an armful of what looked like pieces from a broken chair or two. "Tessa, you still have a lighter?" The artist nodded, digging the item from her pants. Within minutes, the furniture fragments were burning away, brightening the dreary room with light and a cheerful popping. "We need to get out of these wet clothes," Duncan added after finishing with the fire. Richie looked down in embarrassment when Tessa began taking off clothing. He was struggling futilely with his shirt when Duncan walked up. The young man didn't want to ask for help, but his good hand was having difficulty with the buttons. "Let me help you," Duncan offered, reaching for them. Richie snorted. Famous last words, he thought. It always seemed someone was trying to help. That's what his foster parents had said, but when the going got tough, help was the last thing he got. No help, no understanding, no love. Just thrown back into the system so many times.... By now, the teenager had learned to stop this train of thought. Still not looking up as he felt the Highlander's hands unbuttoning his shirt, he focused on the large rent in Duncan's sweater. "One of the engine rods," Duncan informed him, noticing the interest. Richie's hand absently brushed the unbroken skin that was visible, healed in minutes instead of days. "Jealous?" Duncan joked. Richie's startled look of surprise as his head shot up showed how close to the mark the Highlander had hit. Neither said another word as Duncan pulled off Richie's shirt, careful of the arm, then started on the pants. =========================================================================