BREAKING SILENCE: An Elena Duran Story OK, for those who have been following this particular group in the Elena Duran series, it began with INVISIBLE DARKNESS, co-written with Janeen Grohsmeyer, where Elena discovers a terrible dark truth about herself which dates back to the first story in the Elena series, ELENA. The next story is MERCILESS, co-written with Suzanne Herring, which ends with a broken Elena escaping to Holy Ground., and now this one, BREAKING SILENCE, continues. Other stories will follow as Elena eventually emerges from her convent and faces the world again. Many of my Highlander friends contributed to this story: Suzanne, Janeen and her sister Genevieve, Robin, Tanja and Teresa. I think I've included everyone without whose invaluable assitance and constant support I couldn't have written most of my Elena stories. Thank you all, again. The Highlander characters Methos and Duncan MacLeod are not owned by me; however, Elena Duran and the others are mine. All mine. No money has exchanged hands-at least no money every made it into MY hands! If anyone has a comment, good or bad, please email me at vmoreau@directvinternet.com. It's my only form of payment. Gracias. Now, on with the tales! BREAKING SILENCE: An Elena Duran Story By Vi Moreau vmoreau@directvinternet.com Dominican Museum/Convent of Santa Catalina in Arequipa, Peru November 10, 2011 "No, Senor Pierson. You may not see Senorita Duran," the nun stated, firmly, feeling safely ensconsed in her simple office, used only for the occasional visitor and for necessary administrative work. Maria Luz, Mother Superior of the few sisters left at the Convent of Santa Catalina, was in her element and confidently at home. She looked across her spare desk, with only a telephone and a folder on it, at the tall, slim man sitting in the only other chair in the room. She had formed a fairly good impression of him when he had come the day before. He was not a native speaker, but his Spanish was literate and fluent nonetheless. He dressed well, conservatively, was obviously an experienced, educated man, and quite respectful -- someone who, although young, knew the old ways. But he was *not* going to see Elena Duran without the young Argentine's permission, and Elena had definitely not given her permission. Methos looked at the small, white-clad, black-hooded Mother Superior across her desk. He was frustrated, as he could faintly feel the thrum of Elena Duran's Quickening, and he itched to simply go out and look for her amongst the buildings. Instead, he leaned forward expectantly, putting his fingers on the edge of her desk, and asked respectfully, "But did you talk to her, Mother Superior? Did you tell her I was here?" "Yes, yes, I spoke to her yesterday evening, at your insistence. I told her that her 'cousin,' Adam Pierson, was here. In fact, senor, another 'cousin' of hers was here two days ago, and I sent him away also," she said dryly. She was certain Elena Duran did not have this many relatives. Methos shifted back in his seat. He had run across this Immortal looking for Elena Duran just the day before, right here in the town of Arequipa, at the foot of the Peruvian Andes. The Immortal had arrogantly and foolishly proclaimed: "Whoever you are, Duran is mine! Stay away from her and you'll live another day!" Methos cursed to himself, but kept his polite mask as he asked the nun, "A tall, brutish man, with light brown hair and a droopy mustache?" Not brutish any more. No mustache any more. In fact, he was a head shorter. "Yes, and I doubt that such a man was the senorita's 'cousin.'" Nor was he her friend, she thought, suspiciously. *This* man, however . she studied him intently, her eyes boring into his. Then she asked him, "Are *you* truly her cousin, senor? You are not even Argentino*, or Latino*." "I'm English, [Madre], and we are related," he lied, trying to reassure her. It was partly true -- all Immortals were related in some way, and he'd spent enough time in England this time around to acquire an English accent. But he didn't have any real hope of convincing the strict, overprotective, and now wary nun, courtesy of Mr. Mustache, damn him to every eternal hell! Well, the man was probably in some hell already. And now Methos wondered, "Could you tell me -- have there been others? Besides the two of us, I mean?" Mother Maria Luz had always been honest and blunt, and she saw no reason to lie to this man, whoever he was. "A woman, about a year ago," she said, disapprovingly. She had not liked that woman any more than she'd liked the man with the mustache. "I sent her packing as well. She did not come back -- nor will she," she added, confidently. It occurred to Methos that he would not like to cross this mother superior. "Good," he answered. Methos hadn't seen a female Immortal nosing around Elena's hiding place, but if he had ... "And I can tell you about the man with the mustache -- he was certainly *not* Elena's cousin. A jealous suitor, I'm afraid. Angry because she'd have nothing to do with him, he became resentful, even violent," Methos explained, then shook his head firmly. "He will not come back either. You have my word on it." "Your word," the old nun said. He could tell how persuasive he'd been by the way she'd said "your word." Not. He shrugged. He didn't need approval from Mother Maria Luz, and he wasn't going to get cooperation, so he'd settle for information. "Did Elena say anything about me, when you told her I was-- ?" "She said nothing," the nun stated flatly. Then her voice softened. From the first moment she had seen the raw pain in Elena Duran's one grey eye, over two years ago, Mother Superior's heart had gone out to the young woman who was obviously so dreadfully unhappy. "She has said nothing for over two years, since she arrived. I know that a child of hers died, and she has not yet recovered, and I will not push her. God will heal her in His own way, and in His own time." She cleared her throat, then said to him: "And to you, I say what I said to the others: you may leave now, Senor Pierson." /She has said nothing for over two years? *Two years*?/ Methos knew Elena Duran to be a vivacious, voluble woman. At this news, he sighed and stood up. "I knew the child," he said. "His name was Stephen, and Elena loved him fiercely. But I wasn't aware that she had retreated quite so far from the world. I had hoped she would speak to me, or at the very least that I could speak to her. We have shared some good times, have some good memories," he elaborated, perfectly truthfully. Then he shook his head and said, "Thank you very much for your time." /Retreat with dead and wounded, but leave a good impression. One never knows./ He smiled charmingly. "Well, as long as I'm here, I'd like to make a contribution to the Dominican Order, if I may." Mother Superior actually almost smiled at this. Pleased with himself, Methos reflected that obviously the other two Immortals had not thought of contributing money. Certainly the violent and brutish Mr. Mustache hadn't. "All contributions to God's good work are gratefully accepted, Senor Pierson. You may leave it in the museum office," she said, thawing slightly. Whatever else, this man was a gentleman. Still . She stood up crisply, her wooden rosary beads swinging once back and forth along her left hip, and neatly dismissed him from behind her desk as she looked up at him, easily thirty centimeters taller than she. She had a duty to do, but let her voice and attitude soften even more as she gave him her blessing: "[Vaya con Dios, senor.]" ["Madre,]" he murmured, bowing his head slightly to receive the benediction, then standing and turning to go out of her office. It was in the back of the convent, the area reserved for the half-dozen nuns who still lived there. He walked out into the courtyard and paused in front of the herb garden, full and fruitful on this wonderful summer day. Beyond, tomatoes and two long rows of cucumbers, beans, and a squash he recognized as [calabaza] crowded together, along with another several rows of root vegetables -- probably potatoes and yams, and a few carrots. But he could smell roses, too, and spotted the tiny plot in one corner, near the back wall. Yellow tea roses, their fragrance wafting toward him in the soft breeze. He wondered if Elena loved those roses, although he remembered she had always smelled of another flower, the jasmine. The breeze shifted, and he smelled something else, not quite as pleasant, obviously coming from the barn on his right. He had already seen the chickens pecking inside an enclosure, but the nuns raised goats, too, definitely goats. There was no smell like it in the known universe. He surveyed the buildings around him. Behind him, by Mother Superior's office, was a tiny stone chapel, and when he entered it he found it cool and inviting, although spare -- no colored windows or gilt here, only stone walls, a wooden altar and a handful of old wooden chairs. It was a smaller version of Saint-Julien-le-Pauvre, the church he would always think of as Darius' in Paris -- and that, in turn, reminded Methos of being in that church with the now deceased Stephen Holz, and of the reason Elena was here in the first place. Methos walked to the small alcove for [la Virgen Maria,] and, on a whim, lit a candle, leaving a few bills in the box and good wishes for the denizens of this establishment. Including the one he had not managed to see. When he went back outside, light and heat struck him. He looked beyond the gardens to the living quarters, trying to catch a scent, much as a hound might. He was sure Elena Duran was there, sensing him as he could sense her, and lingered a moment more, hoping she might come out to investigate -- she had always been curious. Or used to be. Finally, he sighed, frustrated. She was not going to show herself, and he wouldn't push his way in when he could get caught. It was time to go; for now. But before he left the convent, he did a whole circuit, making a mental map of the compound. Besides the main gate, there was a postern gate in the back wall by the chapel -- but he was sure that one would be locked at night, too. Still, there were plenty of buildings inside, trees and bushes to hide in or behind, and no sign of dogs. Excellent. There was only one guard during the day, and he doubted there would be any more than that at night. If any. The convent had been active and thriving once -- possibly a hundred nuns, as many lay women and all their servants and slaves had lived here -- but now it was mostly a museum, a showplace for tourists of what a colonial South American convent used to be, with only a handful of white-clad and black-veiled Dominican sisters living in a few buildings in the back, working the gardens, raising their animals, keeping their area clean, strolling through the museum, providing local color. And praying -- /let's not forget the praying/, he chided himself. Not for the first time, he wondered exactly where Elena was, and why she was here. Why she was *still* here. Methos knew Elena had not taken sacred vows. If she had, Mother Superior would have referred to her as [Hermana,] or as [Sor] Elena, not Senorita Duran. Still, she had chosen a good piece of Holy Ground to hide in. Arequipa, Peru, was a small town, definitely out of the way, and not too many would think to look for her in a museum which used to be a convent. And there were those looking for her, even now, even almost two years after she'd disappeared. Headhunters. Like the "cousin" from yesterday, and the woman Immortal. Methos dutifully left a sizeable donation at the museum office, then strolled to the iron gate in front. Siesta time -- there was no one around in the heat of the day -- so he examined the lock. He opened and closed the gate briefly, noting the groan of the old, rusted iron, and he looked at the stone wall -- almost three meters tall, but no broken glass or spikes on top of it -- good. Then he went to his little hotel. Later tonight: plan B.