Return From Darkness 4/7
Terry Odell (tlco777@JUNO.COM)
Mon, 29 Oct 2001 14:05:41 -0500
Return From Darkness
Part 4/7
By T. L. Odell
Disclaimers in Part 0
Duncan walked into Joe's office at the bar on Saturday
morning. The man looked up from a stack of papers on his
desk. "My God, Mac. When's the last time you slept?"
"Probably about the same time you did. I can't look any
worse than you do. Now, what do you have that you didn't
want Tessa to hear? She's not too happy about being left at
home."
"I didn't have the guts to tell her."
"Tell her what, Joe? Don't tell me Richie's-"
"No. At least we don't think so. But, you remember the
Hunters?"
"Yes. I thought we got rid of them."
"We did, but apparently there's some SOB who seems to
have managed to maintain his Watcher connections to dig
out Immortals. He uses this redhead to bring them to him.
We're working on-Mac, are you all right? Sit down."
Duncan heard Joe's last words through a loud drumming in
his ears. He realized he was supporting himself on Joe's
desk. He sat, then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. Go
on."
"It's not that much, but we have a face." Joe handed
Duncan a snapshot. "This was taken in Texas about two
months ago. It was just pure luck; a Watcher on her first
assignment was being overly conscientious. Do you
recognize her?"
Duncan stared at the picture. The Watcher had snapped it
just as the redhead was turning away from the Immortal so
she was practically staring into the camera lens. "No, I've
never seen her before. I think I'd remember her." He set the
picture back on Joe's desk.
"Any man would. She's a looker." Joe picked up the picture
and put it with a stack of papers on the side of his desk.
"I've got Adam Pierson on it," Joe continued. "One of our
best at digging out just about anything. The kind of perpetual
grad student who lives in the library. He's also a genius with
just about any database on the planet. He's going through
public and not so public records-you're not hearing this,
you know-and we should be able to have a name for her
any time. I just thought you'd want to know what she looks
like. For all we know, she could be looking for you, too."
"Thanks, Joe." For the first time since he and Tessa had
returned home, Duncan felt there was a chance that he
might see Richie again. "You'll let me know when you get a
name?"
***
"So, who is this Adam Pierson?" asked Tessa over dinner
that night.
"Apparently some hot shot Watcher researcher. Joe seems
to think that if anyone can find Richie, he can."
"I hope so." Tessa picked at her food and pushed her plate
away.
"Me, too." Duncan cleared the table, scraping the uneaten
food into the disposal. The two of them stood in strained
silence for a moment.
Tessa broke the stillness. "Duncan, it's not your fault. From
what we've heard, this woman is pretty good at luring young
men away. Even if you'd been here, he could still be gone."
"But I'd have found him by now."
"How can you be so sure? He just doesn't come home one
morning - why would he be easier to find? It's obvious he's
well hidden."
"But -"
Tessa put her hands to his face and stroked his jaw. "But
you can't stand being helpless, so you're blaming yourself.
We have to let the people who know where and how to
search do the looking for us right now."
Duncan gathered her in his arms. "I love you, you know."
"I know. You're going out again tonight, though, aren't you?"
"Tess, I have to. I can't sit here."
"I know. Be safe."
The next morning, Tessa insisted that Duncan accompany
her to church. "It just feels like I'm doing something," she
explained. Duncan sat through the service, but the usual
calm he felt on holy ground eluded him. He dropped Tessa
off at the apartment afterwards, then headed to Joe's. At
least there he had the feeling something was being done.
He parked in the alley. The light was on in Joe's office.
Duncan knocked on the back door. He waved through the
glass pane in the door, and watched as Joe manipulated
himself out of his chair to let him in.
"Nothing yet, Mac. I said I'd call you."
"I know. I just can't stand the waiting."
"It's that helplessness thing again. It wasn't your fault, Mac."
"That's what Tessa says, but I just can't help feeling like I
should be doing something more."
"You could go out front and clean."
Duncan raised his eyebrow.
"Okay, so go pour us both a beer."
Duncan had just walked back into Joe's office, beers in
hand, when the phone rang. Joe motioned for Duncan to
wait. "Got it. Thanks, Adam. Buy yourself a case of beer
and send the bill to me." Joe looked up at Duncan. "That
was Pierson. The redhead's Kathleen O'Malley. Has an
apartment in Seacouver on Broad Street. Sixteen fifty,
apartment 256."
Duncan set the beers down on Joe's desk. "Make that two
cases of beer, and put them on my tab," said Duncan.
"Oh, no doubt about it."
"I'll let you know what I find out at her apartment." Duncan
left and drove directly to Broad Street.
No one answered the knock on the apartment door. Duncan
pulled out his set of lock picks, said a quiet thank you to
Amanda for her breaking and entering tutelage, and let
himself in. The apartment looked neat and tidy and recently
occupied. He found food in the refrigerator, and plants
thriving on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. He moved
to a small desk and rummaged through the papers stacked
on top. In a folder of bills to be paid, he found one for the
rental of a house somewhere out in the country. That
seemed to be the only lead. He noted the address, put
everything back the way he found it and hurried down to his
car. He pinpointed the address on the map from the glove
compartment, made quick calls to Tessa and Joe and
started off, determined to remain calm.
The drive to the country seemed interminable. Time and
again he pushed away the idea that he might already be too
late. Thirty minutes into the drive, one of Seacouver's
inevitable rainstorms began. He turned on the windshield
wipers, their rhythmic thumping echoing his pleas. Hang on.
Hang on. Hang on.
By the time he wound his way down a narrow dirt road, the
skies had blackened, illuminated only by the occasional flare
of lighting. He saw three cars parked in a copse of maple
trees, and an old house with a wide front porch just beyond
them. He turned his car around and left it under the trees
and out of sight of the house. He glanced into the back seat
of a green Chevy and saw Richie's jacket. The car door was
unlocked; he opened it, removed the jacket and tossed it into
the trunk of his T-bird. He made a mental note of the license
plates to pass on to Joe later.
He strained his senses, but picked up no signs of
immortality. Please, Richie. It's almost over. Not until he
crept up the front porch did he feel the faint resonance of an
Immortal. Relief washed over him. Dark curtains obscured
his view into the front of the house. Following the porch, he
crouched beneath the lighted kitchen window, then raised
himself just enough to peer inside. He recognized Kathleen
O'Malley distributing plates heaped with roast chicken,
mashed potatoes and something green. Two men--one
large and beefy, the other slight, both definitely mortal, sat at
the table. Duncan drew back and waited impatiently until the
threesome began eating. Duncan watched as they became
engrossed in animated conversation, their voices muted by
the wind and rain, before returning to the front door, his
pocket toolkit in hand.
Counting on the howling of the rainstorm to muffle any
sounds of his entering the house, he tried the front door.
The old lock gave him little trouble. Still squatting, he felt the
door being pulled open.
"Looking for something?" asked a tall man in jeans and
boots. He held a gun pointed at Duncan's head.
Duncan gave the man a broad smile. "Actually, yes, I am,"
he said. Duncan's hand shot forward, snagged the man's
ankle and yanked it hard. The gunman fell to the floor,
momentarily stunned. Duncan had no trouble pinning his
hand to the floor and wrestling the gun from him. One blow
with the butt of the Colt sent the man into oblivion.
"Where's Tex with the beer?" he heard someone call from
the kitchen. Duncan moved toward the sounds.
"Sorry, but Tex is indisposed." Duncan entered the kitchen
with the gun pointed at the threesome. "No, I don't think you
want to move. Shall we move to the living room? Hands on
your heads, please."
Kathleen and the smaller man moved past him
complacently. The large one charged at Duncan with a roar,
sending the gun flying from his hand. Duncan spun around
and met his assailant with a knee to the groin. The man
doubled over; Duncan grabbed him by the shoulders and
threw him against the door jamb, rendering him
unconscious. The smaller man tried to get past him and out
the door. Duncan grabbed him by the belt, turned him
around and slammed his fist into the man's jaw, sending him
slumping to the floor. Whatever these men were, they
weren't fighters.
The front door was open; Kathleen was nowhere to be seen.
Shaking his hand against the pain of bruised knuckles,
Duncan studied the room. A roll of duct tape on the floor
beside a ladder-back chair caught his eye. Perfect. He
picked up the tape and bound the three men securely, wrists
and ankles. "Gotta love MacGyver," he said.
Richie's sword lay on the floor beside couch. Duncan picked
up the weapon, trying to ignore the implications of the sticky
coating of half-dried blood. As he approached the door, the
Immortal's resonance grew stronger. Duncan turned the
knob and pushed against the door. An animal stench mixed
with basement dampness assaulted his nostrils. He pulled
off his coat, rolled it up and set it in the doorway to keep the
door ajar. Duncan flicked the light switch at the top of the
stairs and found Richie cowering in a corner. "It's over,
Richie," he whispered. "Let's get you out of here. Can you
walk?"
Richie remained oblivious to Duncan's presence. Duncan
hoisted him up over his shoulder and carried him upstairs.
He retrieved his coat and stepped over the still unconscious
bodies on the living room floor. Half walking, half running
through the deluge, he covered the distance to the T-bird
and lay Richie's now mud-slicked body down across the
back seat. He set his katana and Richie's rapier on the
passenger seat, climbed into the driver's seat and drove off.
Fifteen minutes down the road, the downpour lessened to a
misty drizzle. He pulled the car into a tree-covered traffic
turnout. "We're out of there, Richie." He turned around and
took a good look at his passenger. What he saw sickened
him.
The smell in the car was definitely coming from Richie. His
hair hung in grimy, matted tendrils, his skin barely visible
beneath a coating of slimy filth. He lay curled in the fetal
position on the back seat of the car. Duncan fought back his
anger and placed his coat over the motionless boy before
continuing.
He reached into the glove compartment for his mobile phone
and called Tessa. "I've got him. He's alive. Not well, but
alive."
"Thank God," she said. "What did they do to him? What did
you do to them? What can I do?"
"Slow down, Tess. I don't know what they did to him, but
they're tied up for now. Look, I need to get back on the road.
We should be home in an hour. I think a hot bath would be a
good idea. Love you."
Next came a call to Joe. Duncan struggled to keep his
anger in check. "I found him. I stole him out from under
them. I left three men tied up at the house. Kathleen got
away, but you have her address." He gave Joe the license
plate numbers. "Much as I'd like to get my hands on them,
it's probably better if your people check it out. They're used
to discretion."
"We're on it, Mac," said Joe. "And I'm glad you found
Richie."
Duncan spoke to Richie all the way home. He hoped the
youngster heard him. At the apartment, he lifted Richie from
the back seat. Tessa had the door open.
"Oh my God!" She rushed out to them. "Is he all right?"
"Physically, he'll be fine in a day or so. I'm not sure about
his mental state. I have no idea what they did to him. How
about that bath?"
"It's running."
Tessa helped Duncan unwrap Richie from the muddy coat.
Duncan lowered Richie into the warm water, not waiting for
the tub to finish filling. Tessa supported him and they
soaked and scrubbed the grime away. It took three changes
of bath water, but he finally appeared to be clean. Tessa
struggled with the tangled mat of Richie's hair and poured
half a bottle of conditioner onto his head to release the
snarls. "Do you think I should just cut it?" she asked.
"Let's let him decide when he's awake."
Richie accepted their ministrations without any sign of
recognition. They might have been bathing a large rag doll.
They wrapped him in one of Duncan's plush robes. He
seemed gaunt and emaciated although he had only been
gone a little more than a week. Duncan started to carry him
to his bed.
Suddenly Richie struggled from Duncan's arms. "I told you I
can walk. You don't have to kick me." Duncan and Tessa
exchanged a startled look. Richie pulled away, took two
steps, and then began to collapse. Duncan rushed to
support him, and Tessa followed. The two of them held him
up as they walked to his room.
"You're safe, Richie," Tessa murmured. "You're home."
"They can't get you. Joe's going to make sure of that.
You're fine," Duncan said. "You'll get some sleep, and you'll
feel much better in the morning."
Tessa had cleaned Richie's room; there were fresh sheets
on the bed, and a pitcher of water and glass on the
nightstand. Duncan sat Richie down on the bed. "Try to get
some sleep," he said. He patted Richie's shoulder; the boy
gasped and recoiled from his touch.
Richie stared into space with unfocused eyes. He grabbed
the comforter from his bed and dragged it to the corner. He
enveloped himself in it, hunched down on the floor and
began rocking back and forth.
Tessa moved toward him. "Richie. You're home. You're
safe." She crouched down beside him.
"Go away." Richie pulled the cover over his head.
"Let's leave him alone for a little while. Maybe he'll realize
where he is and talk to us," Duncan said.
They sat on the living room couch, the door to Richie's room
open so they could hear him.
"Oh, Mac. What did they do to him? Why is he pushing us
away?"
"I don't know, Tess. I don't know. But he's home now, and
we'll take care of him."
She got up and stood in the doorway of Richie's room. He
hadn't moved from his corner spot. Duncan followed and put
his hand on her shoulder. "Do you hear him?" she asked.
"He's saying, 'I'll be good. I'll be good.' What kind of animals
would do something to cause this?" Tears streamed down
her face.
Duncan tasted the salty moisture on his own face. The
strain of the last days had eased, and with it, the control he'd
had over his emotions. He squeezed Tessa to him until she
gasped for breath.
"I'm sorry," he said, releasing his hold. "Did I hurt you?"
"No. I know exactly how you feel."
"We should try to sleep. We'll hear him."
"I don't think he should be alone," Tessa said. "I'm going to
sleep in here." She lay down on Richie's bed.
"Move over." Duncan climbed in beside her, drawing her
close. Relief allowed the luxury of sleep, but neither felt
rested when they awoke the next morning. Duncan got up
and headed for their bedroom.
End of Part 4