

#

# Highland Blades Quartet

Richard L. Foland Jr.

Copyright 2013 Richard L. Foland Jr.

Is Ignorance Bliss? Copyright 1996 Richard L. Foland Jr.

Wishful Thinking Copyright 1997 Richard L. Foland Jr.

Full Circle Copyright 1998 Richard L. Foland Jr.

On Holy Ground Copyright 1998, 2013 Richard L. Foland Jr.

Cover design based on that of the Highland Blades fanzine published by GraphicsOne

Smashwords Edition

This is a non-profit-making ebook. No attempt has been made to supersede the copyrights held by Davis-Panzer Productions or any other persons or organizations.

## Table of Contents

Cover

Title Page

Table of Contents

Dedication

Wishful Thinking

Is Ignorance Bliss?

I: Only the Beginning

II: Can't Stop Now

III: What You Don't Know

IV: The Road Ahead

Full Circle

On Holy Ground

Author's Note

About the Author

Other Titles by this Author

Previews

Preview: At What Price?

Preview: Kayleigh and the Caterpillar

## Dedication

For Linda Hutcheson

Who was the Publisher of the fanzine, Highland Blades, for which these stories were originally written, plus she actually printed three of them.

## Wishful Thinking

"Now that I've got your attention, here's the deal: See those two people? That's Frank, and that's Fay. Strangers when they met, turns out they've got a lot in common. Both died the same night. Both ended up in the same body of water, and both took refuge in the same all-night cafe. Me? I run the place. Name's Blackie, been here from the beginning. Now, I know I said Frank and Fay were dead, but the cafe needed a new cook and waitress, so it gave them a second chance at life. They do their job, they get to stick around and help unsuspecting customers turn their lives around. 'Course, anything can happen to those who wander in, their worst nightmares, or their forbidden dreams. Yeah, it all happens here, in this little place we call the Nightmare Cafe."

The waterfront area of Seacouver was not the most hospitable of environments. One day it would be a thriving commercial district. Now, however, it was a long stretch of desolate ramshackle warehouses and dark alleyways. No one in their right mind would go there. At least not at night. Unless they had a death wish.

Richie Ryan pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself. The chill air was biting into his frame with the tenacity of a pit bull. He snorted and scanned the nearby shadows for movement. There was none. He chided himself for his caution. After all, he was Immortal. Why should he be worried about muggers and murderers? The only people he had to fear wouldn't be able to get near him without him knowing. Right?

Watchers! The word leapt into his thoughts like a trained dolphin at Sea World. He'd never know they were coming. They could be downright invisible if they wanted to. He didn't stand a chance out here on his own. If only he hadn't killed Mako, then Mac wouldn't have sent him away. A sudden light behind him broke through his thoughts and he spun round to locate its source.

A large neon sign proclaimed an All Night Cafe that he was fairly certain hadn't been there before. He cautiously approached. He could make out at least three people moving about inside. The warm light spilling through the windows seemed to beckon him forward. A burger and some nice hot coffee sounded pretty damn good, so he went inside. As the door closed behind him the sign flickered and changed. It now read Nightmare Cafe.

The waitress, a good looking blonde, took his order and returned with his coffee. He grunted his thanks and she left him to his thoughts. He sipped the strong black liquid as he surveyed the place through the steam halo from his cup. It was an old railroad car or something. In fact, the entire place looked as if it had been lifted straight from one of those old fifties movies; the only thing missing was the crowd of teenagers in poodle skirts and pompadours. It wouldn't have looked out of place in any small town in the country. However, its stark contrast to its surroundings on the Seacouver waterfront made it somehow surreal.

"Who wants to live forever?" asked a voice.

Richie looked up at the speaker. The guy's dark clothes seemed to soak up the light and his slicked back hair and well trimmed beard gave him a slightly sinister air, like Robert Englund or Jack Palance. His eyes seemed to reflect centuries of experience, but he wasn't Immortal. Richie was unnerved.

"What did you say?" he asked, his voice trembling ever so slightly.

"Your burger," said the waitress as she placed a plate on the table in front of him. There was nobody else around. "Are you all right?" she asked.

"Yeah, I'm fine. I guess my mind was wandering."

***

"So, why are we here?" asked Frank as he watched Faye place the plate on the table.

"Tsk, tsk. Wait for Faye," admonished Blackie.

Frank turned and cocked an eyebrow at the older man, but said nothing. Faye stormed into the kitchen and pierced Blackie with a look that might have killed him if he weren't already dead.

"You could have warned me you were going to do that," she hissed.

"Where's the fun in that?" asked Blackie's voice from the space he had just been occupying.

"I don't suppose he told you why we're here?" Faye asked. "I didn't think so," she added before Frank could reply.

***

Richie splashed cold water on his face and tried to steady his nerves. There was definitely something odd going on here. It was like an episode of the Twilight Zone; he kept expecting to hear a voice over.

"Picture an Immortal in a restroom," he said in his best Rod Serling impression.

A wave of dizziness swept over him and he reached out to steady himself. In so doing he shifted the mirror to one side. The sound of swords clashing seemed to emanate from a partially uncovered opening behind the mirror. Curiously, he moved the mirror away from the opening.

Through the opening he could just make out two figures. One was a woman and she was barely fending off her attacker with a familiar looking katana. The other was a man armed with a rapier and he pursued his retreating opponent mercilessly. Either they weren't Immortals or Richie was too far away to feel them. They're battle brought them into the light and Richie gasped in shock. He was watching himself trying to kill Tessa, who was defending herself with Mac's sword. The other Richie disarmed Tessa and then plunged his blade into her chest. She dropped to the floor dead.

Richie buried his head in his hands and cried. When he looked up the mirror was in its original position. He tried to move it, but it was firmly attached to the wall.

***

Faye, Frank and Blackie were grouped round a television screen that was mounted in one wall of the cafe. On the screen, two people had just been gunned down. A well built dark haired man was kneeling, holding a woman's head in his lap. Tears streamed down his face. The other body gasped and sat up.

"Wait a moment; he was shot in the heart. He should be dead," Frank said in disbelief

"If memory serves, you and Faye each died twice," reminded Blackie.

"Well, that's different."

"How?"

"Are you telling us that the Cafe is giving him a second chance as well?" asked Faye.

"Not exactly; you see, he's one of a group of people that call themselves 'Immortals'. After their first 'death' they never age and can only be killed by decapitation."

"What does that have to do with us?" queried Frank.

"A very good question. Unfortunately, I don't know the answer. The Cafe brought us here on its own; I had nothing to do with it."

***

"Can I get you anything else?"

Richie having been oblivious to the waitress' approach flinched, his hand going for his rapier. He managed to check himself just in time. The events in the restroom had him on edge. It was as if his guilt over Tessa's death had somehow found a way to externalize itself. The waitress must have seen something of his emotions on his face, because she sat down and placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

"My name's Faye," she said. "If you want to talk, I'm a good listener."

"It's nothing. Just wishful thinking."

"Oh, about what?"

"A friend. She was killed not long ago. Some punk shot us for a couple dollars and the keys to a car."

"And you're upset that you're Immortal and she wasn't?"

"You know about Immortals?"

"A little."

"You know, I thought Immortality would be so cool," he blurted. It felt so good to talk to someone besides Mac. "Now, I'm not so sure."

"You know, I see a lot of people who wish they couldn't die but they don't realize how hard it would be to watch their friends die."

"That's exactly it. What did I do to deserve this gift? Is it a reward or a punishment? I get to live forever, baring accidents, and people like you get to grow old and die. It's not fair."

"Let me tell you a little secret. Being dead isn't as bad as its reputation."

"How do you know? Been dead long?" Bitterness dripped from every word.

"No, not long. The point is that Tessa isn't gone forever just because she's dead."

"Maybe you're right, but I still wish she had been the Immortal."

***

Faye looked at Blackie, who now occupied the spot the Immortal had been sitting in. He had a cigar clenched in his teeth and the smoke wreathed his head. He smiled around it and nodded toward the television set.

"It's show time!" he crowed as Frank joined them.

On the television two people could be seen approaching a black Thunderbird. One of them was the Immortal that she had just been talking to and the other was a woman in her mid thirties. He retrieved a sweater from the car and helped her into it. A young man approached them. It was the same scene they had watched before only this time there was a slight difference.

***

Rain poured from the gray sky and mingled with the tears that streamed down Tessa's face. The cemetery was deserted apart from herself and Duncan. No one else had come to see Richie out of this life. They had been unable to find any of his friends, most of whom he had lost contact with after moving in with them. It seemed a shame that a nineteen year old boy that had meant so much to her hadn't had an army of mourners at his graveside. Instead he was being laid to rest by two Immortals and an autumn storm.

"I want to go home," she sobbed. "I'll get the car."

"I mean Paris. I can't stay here anymore. Everything reminds me of Richie."

"It won't be any better in Paris," Duncan said. "The barge will hold just as many memories."

"Then sell the damn barge! Sell the shop, too! Sell it all!! I don't want to remember!! He was only a boy and now he's dead! He's dead and I'm not! Can't you tell me why? Why did he have to die?"

Duncan enveloped her trembling form in his arms and held on as if afraid of losing her too. She was vaguely aware of tears that didn't belong to her falling down her cheek. Duncan was crying too. The two of them stayed there, frozen in grief, for hours.

Neither had noticed the young woman's approach and were thus extremely startled by her sudden appearance at the grave side. She stood silently for several minutes then scooped up a handful of mud and dropped it into the open grave.

"I'll miss you Richie," she whispered. "Even more than I miss Gary."

She wiped the mud from her hand onto her jacket and turned to leave. Tessa stepped out of Duncan's embrace and hurried to the young woman's side. They embraced each other for several seconds before the girl broke away.

"Angie, Richie wanted you to have this," said Duncan as he handed her a rain sodden envelope.

"What is it?"

"The title to his motorcycle, a picture of the two of you with Gary and a check made out to you in the amount of his last paycheck."

"How'd you know I'd be here?" she asked as fresh tears began to fill her eyes.

"We didn't, but I thought I'd bring it just in case."

"Thank you, both of you. You helped Richie get off the streets and made him feel like part of a family. He really loved you, you know."

***

Tessa surveyed the apartment with pride. Since their arrival in Paris, two months ago, she had managed to turn the place into a home. There was only one thing missing. She frowned. Richie would have loved it.

She flopped onto the sofa. Until now she had managed to keep busy enough that she rarely thought of Richie. At least during the day. However, it was still a festering wound and not a single night had passed without the dream. The horrible memory of that dreadful night.

He pulled the gun. They gave him everything they had. She'd been shot. She awoke to find Duncan leaning over her. Where was she? Where was Richie? Wait. Duncan wasn't leaning over her. She sat up. Richie was nearby. He was looking at her. Looking at her with those staring sightless eyes.

She snapped awake. She had fallen asleep on the sofa and the dream had claimed another little bit of her soul. She couldn't handle it. If this was what it was like to be Immortal then she didn't want it. How could Duncan have lived for four hundred years with the grief he must have suffered?

"I need some air," she announced to herself.

***

Frank and Faye were watching the television screen in the cafe. Blackie, as usual, had disappeared on them. On the screen, the woman walked down the flight of stairs in front of some building. The man who had held the door open for her turned. It was Blackie.

"Have you noticed that he seems to have all the fun?" Faye asked.

"Yeah, and we take all the risks," muttered Frank.

"What risks?" asked Blackie as he appeared out of thin air. "After all, we're all dead. Remember?"

"Look!" gasped Faye.

On the screen a man with a sword was chasing the woman down an alley. She rounded a bend and ran headlong into a brick wall. The swordsman approached her, laughing menacingly.

"I wish I could help her," Frank yelled and vanished.

***

Tessa dazedly looked up at the sword glinting in the sparse light of the alley. It was raised high over its wielder's head.

"There can be only..."

Suddenly someone appeared, out of nowhere, between her and her assailant. The newcomer was boyishly handsome with brown hair. He was dressed in white and had an apron tied around his waist. He punched the surprised Immortal in the nose. Blood spouted forth splattering everyone and everything. Without pausing her rescuer swung again. This time he landed a blow on the Immortal's sword arm. The sword clattered to the ground. Before she realized what she was doing, Tessa grabbed the sword and stood up. The Immortal took one look at her and ran.

"Thank you," she said in French.

"You're welcome," came the reply in English just before she blacked out

***

She regained consciousness in a small cafe. It looked like any number of American cafes, right down to the menus, and was kind of quaint in a creepy sort of way. Through one of the windows she could see the Seine and in the distance she could hear the bells of Notre Dame. Too bad she hadn't known about the place before. Richie, she felt sure, would have found the food here much more palatable than any of the French restaurants she and Duncan had taken him to. The man that had saved her in the alley came over and handed her a cup of coffee. She sipped it gratefully.

"Penny for your thoughts," he said.

"Just wishful thinking."

"Oh, about what?"

"A friend. He was killed not long ago. Some kid shot us for a few dollars and the keys to a car."

"And you're upset that you lived and he didn't?"

"Who said I lived?" Bitterness dripped from every word. "We both died that night, but I'm Immortal so I get a second chance and he gets put in a box and dropped in a cold muddy hole in the ground."

"You're Immortal?"

"Yes and it's a living hell. I wish to God that I wasn't."

***

Frank stared at the empty space that the Immortal had recently occupied for several long seconds. Faye came up and sat next to him. They sat in silence each empathizing with the Immortals that they had interacted with.

"Don't you want to see what happens next?" asked Blackie around his cigar.

They all turned their attention to the television set. It switched itself on and a picture slowly swam into focus...

***

Richie Ryan pulled his leather jacket tighter around himself. The chill air was biting into his frame with the tenacity of a pit bull. He snorted and scanned the nearby shadows for movement. There was none. He chided himself for his caution. After all, he was Immortal. Why should he be worried about muggers and murderers? The only people he had to fear wouldn't be able to get near him without him knowing. Right?

Watchers! The word leapt into his thoughts like a trained dolphin at Sea World. He'd never know they were coming. They could be downright invisible if they wanted to. He didn't stand a chance out here on his own. If only he hadn't killed Mako, then Mac wouldn't have sent him away. A sudden light behind him broke through his thoughts and he spun round to locate its source.

A large neon sign proclaimed an All Night Cafe that he was fairly certain hadn't been there before. He cautiously approached. He could make out at least three people moving about inside. The warm light spilling through the windows seemed to beckon him forward. A burger and some nice hot coffee sounded pretty damn good, so he went inside. The sign didn't change.

## Is Ignorance Bliss?

**I: Only the Beginning**

Erie, Pennsylvania - Autumn 1995

Ian double checked the address. The lights were on, so he grabbed the pizza and hurried to the door. He knocked several times and was about to leave when the door suddenly flew open. The man framed in the doorway leveled a shotgun at Ian. The blast threw him backward into darkness.

***

"Our top story tonight. A Domino's Pizza delivery person was shot at point blank range with a shotgun while attempting to deliver a pizza this evening. Details are sketchy, but we have been told that the driver is in serious condition at Hamot Medical Center. We'll have more on this story as it develops."

***

"Pizza Delivery Person, Ian Andrews, returned to work today. Mr. Andrews, you may remember, was nearly killed last weekend when the person to whom he was delivering shot him. Doctors are calling Mr. Andrews speedy recovery a miracle."

***

Ian's first day back to work and they were making him stay inside and make pizzas. He hated making pizzas, especially after doing it for nearly a year. He had hated it so much that he had asked to be made a driver. Of course, it was his third day back on the road that he had been shot. So, maybe delivery was bad luck for him.

He had just sent the last driver home and was sitting down to do his paperwork, when he felt rather nauseous. He left the office to find something to settle his stomach. At that moment one of the windows shattered and a huge man wielding a sword charged Ian.

Ian grabbed the closest thing to hand with which to protect himself, a three foot long fork, used to keep dough from bubbling in the oven. The maniac with the sword swung at Ian's neck. Ian deflected the blow with the metal portion of the fork's handle. The maniac swung again and again Ian deflected the blow. A third swing whistled past Ian's head as he ducked under it and jabbed the points of the fork into the maniac's stomach. There was a howl of pain and another swing. Ian deflected the sword into the tile floor and kicked his adversary where it would do the most good. The maniac recovered almost immediately and swung at Ian's head. This time the sword stuck in the wall and Ian just stabbed at his enemy repeatedly, until he was forced to retreat a little. Ian grabbed the abandoned sword and yanked it from the wall, a simple matter of leverage which seemed to have escaped the larger man's grasp. The maniac saw this and laughed.

"You can't kill me with that! You don't know how!"

Ian swung the heavy blade and caught the maniac in the side as he tried to dodge. Another swing which caused the maniac to change directions successfully kept him from reaching the fork which Ian had used to defend himself. A third swing caught the larger man across the shoulder, nearly severing his arm.

"Another time, boy!", howled the maniac as he started running for the window.

In a desperate attempt to stop his escape Ian, also running for the window, swung the sword with every ounce of strength he had. The blade sliced neatly through the maniac's neck and his head toppled to the floor. His body took a few more steps towards the window and fell to the ground as well.

Ian watched horrified as a blue aura surrounded the body and spikes of electrical current reached out for him. He tried to run but he couldn't. In the ensuing electrical cataclysm boxes burst into flames, fluorescent lights exploded and the gas ovens detonated, leveling the store.

Ian awoke in the parking lot, next to the headless body. He could hear the sirens approaching. He quickly rifled through the maniac's pockets and, grabbing the sword, jumped in his car and fled the scene. He managed to get out of the area before the emergency vehicles arrived.

Later that night, Ian went through the articles that he had gathered from the maniac's body. The only thing he found of any use was a slightly burned piece of paper with some names and addresses typed on it. They were all neatly arranged in columns and scrawled in pen at the top was his own name and Domino's address. The first typed name on the list was Richard Ryan and the address was in Seattle, Washington. The rest of the addresses weren't in the US.

Ian thought about the events of the last few days and decided that something strange was definitely going on and that this Richie Ryan might be able to shed some light on the subject. At the very least, Ryan needed to know that someone might try to kill him. Within an hour Ian had packed a suitcase and with the sword on the seat next to him he was driving west.

"Whatever I find out in Seattle, one thing's for sure. This is only the beginning," he said to himself as he crossed the Ohio border.

**II: Can't Stop Now**

Minneapolis, Minnesota - Winter 1996

When Ian had decided to drive to Seattle there were a few things he had overlooked. Chief among these was the reliability of his car on such a long trip. His power steering had failed in Cleveland, his brakes in Chicago and his water pump in Indianapolis. Now it was his clutch and he was out of money. He had been stuck here for four months, trying to earn enough to repair the car and continue his journey.

Ian had managed to find work in a pizza shop. Fortunately, they hadn't tried to verify his work history. He wasn't quite sure what Domino's would say about an employee who had disappeared the same night that the store had been blown sky high. That is assuming that they didn't think he had died in the explosion.

He had celebrated New Year's in the rundown apartment behind the pizza shop that used up the majority of his pay. Every few days he tried to contact Ryan by phone, but he always got an answering machine. He never left a message, for fear that it would lead whoever was after Ryan back to him. He was beginning to think that Ryan had already been killed and that it had been his fault for not flying to Seattle. His fear of flying had never seemed like such a burden before.

Every night he had the same dream. In his dream he was using a sword to defend himself from someone else with a sword. His opponent was different each night and each night he won by decapitating the other combatant. The dreams worried him almost as much as the fact that he had already beheaded one person. In the dreams there were vague allusions to something called the Prize and to immortality, but what the significance was he couldn't tell.

***

One night in early February, as he was locking up the store he suddenly felt rather nauseous. The feeling seemed to remind him of something but he wasn't quite sure what. He hurried to his apartment. As he unlocked the door a voice leapt out of the darkness to his left.

"I am Marie DeFluevous and I have come for your head!"

Ian turned toward the voice, automatically reaching for a sword that he didn't carry. The owner stepped out of the shadows and the light glinted off the sword in her left hand.

"Well," he said, "I'm Ian Andrews and you're welcome to try."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the handgun that his boss at the pizza shop insisted he carry. Marie raised her sword and took a step forward. Ian pointed the weapon at her and pulled the trigger. She hit the pavement with a bullet in her heart.

With an odd sense of déjà vu Ian searched her body. In one of the pockets in the long coat she wore he found a large roll of bills, mostly hundreds. He ducked into his apartment and locked the door.

"Time to go," he muttered.

He packed his bag, grabbed the sword he had acquired from the maniac he had killed in Erie and opened the door. The same wave of nausea he had felt earlier crashed over him. He stumbled and a sword arced through the place he had just been standing. He swung his sword blindly and felt it impact with something soft and yielding. A body slumped to the floor. It was the woman he had shot not long before. Taking his things, he fled.

***

The plane lifted off the runway and Ian breathed a sigh of relief. Now all he had to do was stay calm, flying wasn't that bad. He could make it, he had to. If they could find him again, then Richie Ryan could be in even greater trouble than he had thought. If Ryan still lived, he would need help.

"Well," he said under his breath, "whatever happens next, I can't stop now."

**III: What You Don't Know**

Seattle, Washington - Winter 1996

Ian was sound asleep when his plane landed in Seattle at eleven minutes after nine, in the morning. The Flight Attendant that woke him surreptitiously slipped her phone number into his pocket with one hand while the other lightly skimmed along the inside of his thigh. He didn't seem to notice either action. She wasn't too disappointed, though, after all he was probably still a little groggy and she had seen his interested glances in her direction earlier in the flight.

Ian claimed his luggage and hailed a taxi. He read the cab driver the address from the maniac's list and leaned back to relax. Soon he was snoring softly once more.

He was awakened by a familiar feeling of nausea. He resolved to see a doctor as soon as he could find the time. The taxi was pulling up to what according to the sign was a martial arts studio. He quit the cab and paid the driver. He looked back up the steps of the dojo. Someone was waiting just outside the doors. Cautiously he made his way toward the stranger.

"I'm Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," announced the dark haired man. "Who are you?"

"I'm Ian Andrews and I'm looking for a Richard Ryan."

"I'm afraid you just missed him, maybe you'd accept me as his proxy."

"I don't think so, I'll try back later."

As Ian walked away he could feel the big man's gaze upon his back. He knew he should have warned the man that Ryan was in danger, but he couldn't bring himself to trust anyone.

***

Ian was looking for a place to stay when he made a wrong turn and ended up in an alley with no outlet. He turned to retrace his steps and found himself looking down the barrel of a small caliber pistol.

"Give me your wallet, NOW!!"

Ian complied, thanking God that he hadn't put the money he'd taken from Marie DeFluevous in it. The thief rapidly thumbed through the wallet while still pointing the pistol at Ian.

"Ten bucks! That's all you've got?!"

Ian opened his mouth to answer but the four reports from the handgun drowned out his reply. He fell backward into a pile of garbage as his assailant fled the scene. As he lay there feeling his life slip away all he could think was that he'd failed to save Ryan's life.

***

Ian exploded back to consciousness, inhaling sharply. He tried to sit but several pair of hands held him down. He looked around panic-stricken. When he realized that he was in the Emergency Room of some hospital he began to relax.

"Let's take a look at these wounds," came a female voice that he assumed belonged to a doctor.

He felt her hands removing the bandage from his chest. He turned his head slightly to look at the woman as she examined him. She gasped and quickly began giving orders. The others left and she disconnected him from various tubes and wires.

"I know what you are. I'll leave first, you follow me. I'll cover up your disappearance later."

"What are you saying? I've been shot," as soon as he said it he realized that there was no pain in his chest. "Frak!!" he exclaimed as he felt his chest for bullet holes that weren't there.

"You don't know," whispered the doctor. "Hurry, you have to come with me," she announced firmly.

"Where are we going?"

"I'm taking you to someone who can teach you, because what you don't know can kill you."

**IV: The Road Ahead**

Seattle, Washington - Winter 1996

Two days later Ian accompanied Doctor Anne Lindsay into a bar called Joe's. There was a small stage on which sat a gray haired gentleman playing the blues as if he suffered more than any man in history. He followed Anne as she approached the musician.

"Joe, where's Duncan?"

Joe looked up at her, tears streaming down his face.

"Joe, what is it? Duncan's not dead?"

"He took a Dark Quickening. I barely stopped him in time to save Richie's life. He's on a ship bound for..." he trailed off as he noticed Ian for the first time.

Anne followed Joe's gaze and quickly introduced them. She and Joe went into his office, leaving Ian sitting at the bar. He ordered a Blue Gumby and waited.

When Anne and Joe returned his drink was still sitting on the bar untouched. Things were definitely getting weirder. Joe handed him a scrap of paper.

"This is the address of an Immortal in New York who can train you. Don't tell him where you got this. You might also be interested in knowing that the police in Erie think your dead."

Ian stuffed the paper into his pocket.

"Thanks for everything," he said. "I'm still a little shaken by this whole Immortality thing, but what Anne has told me has helped explain the bizarre events in my life these last few months."

***

New York, New York - Winter 1996

Ian entered the antique shop on Hudson Street cautiously. It was late in the day and there were no customers in sight. He felt the nausea that, he now knew, meant that another Immortal was nearby. He put his hand into his coat and rested it on the hilt of the sword that he had acquired in Erie.

"I am Conner MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," said a voice from behind him.

Ian turned slowly removing his empty hand from his coat. Holding up both hands to show that he was unarmed he gazed levelly into Conner's eyes.

"My name is Ian Andrews and I need a teacher. I only just found out what I am and was told that you could teach me. I met a student of yours in Seattle named Duncan."

"Duncan sent you? Why didn't he train you himself?"

"I didn't say he sent me, I said I met him. He had to leave for France suddenly and a friend of his suggested you."

The other Immortal fixed Ian with a keen gaze. For his part Ian tried to look like he needed a teacher without looking vulnerable enough to be an easy kill. He must have succeeded because MacLeod put down his sword and gestured to an elevator.

"OK, I'll train you, but first, I want you to tell me all about how you came to be here. The road ahead is long, but Lady Luck has apparently seen you off well enough."

## Full Circle

New York, New York - Spring 1997

A dark figure slid silently around the corner of the structure and began to cautiously edge his way along the wall. Something moved in the shadows and he dropped to the pavement as something sharp and metal passed through the spot he had just vacated. He rolled to his feet and ran for the building's nearest entrance. He didn't make it.

A huge explosion sealed the entrance and knocked him to the ground. He tumbled with the force of the blast, managing to avoid chunks of falling debris as he did so, and quickly regained his feet. He shook his head in an attempt to clear his vision. It worked; he wished it hadn't.

Several thugs armed with knives and clubs bore down on him. He backed slowly away, trying to keep them all in his line of sight. A body thudded into the pavement between him and his assailants. Blood spattered across his face. He vomited on the spot.

"Cut!!!"

Various crew members converged on the scene. The still retching star was bundled off to his trailer. The director watched him go. He knew that the "star's" salary for this film had just gone up several million dollars and he hoped that the producers wouldn't use that as an excuse to pull the funding altogether. Damn it! Of all the buildings in New York why did someone have to throw themselves off the one he had chosen for tonight's location work. Some people had no consideration for others.

***

Ian Andrews gasped back to life in a body bag. He instinctively reached for his neck to make sure his head was still firmly attached. That had been far too close for comfort. He muttered a quick prayer of thanks to whichever deity was listening and then turned his attention outwards.

He was moving and from the echoing footsteps he was somewhere indoors. He could hear very little in the way of conversation, so there probably weren't a lot of people around. He assumed he was on his way to the morgue and he just hoped that an opportunity to slip away would present itself before someone realized that he was no longer a corpse. Otherwise he was going to be in very deep feldercarb.

The sensation of movement stopped and he strained to hear what his custodians were going to do next. There was a muted three-way conversation and then two sets of footfalls exited through a set of heavy swinging doors. There was the sound of metal clinking and then someone grabbed the body bag. Ian concentrated on not moving a muscle as the zipper was slowly drawn downwards. Fortunately he had closed his eyes or the light that flooded his face would have given him away. Somewhere nearby a phone rang.

"Damn," said a female voice. "Don't go anywhere."

Her footsteps receded into the distance. Ian cautiously opened one eye, followed shortly by the other. He had to turn his head slightly to see where she had gone. She was in a small office, her back to the door. Now was his chance; all he had to do was slip away quietly.

***

Doctor Jeanine Ashcroft hung up the phone with a disgusted sigh. Of all the people to work for why did she get stuck with Donovan. He was an intolerable pain in the posterior at the best of times and this certainly wasn't one of them. How did he expect her to get her work done when he kept interrupting her? She sighed again.

As she emerged from her office she noticed that the John Doe was missing. There were some faint bloody footprints leading out of the morgue. She followed them.

"Guys? If this is some kind of joke, I have to tell you I'm not in the..." she trailed off when she saw the intern's body. It was Elliot and he was slumped against the wall like a large sack of dirty clothes.

She rushed to his side and checked his pulse. He appeared to have fainted. She gently slapped his cheeks trying to revive him with a minimal amount of fuss.

"Ughnn. Where? Doctor Ashcroft? What happened?"

"I was hoping you could tell me."

The look of confusion was promptly chased off Elliot's face by a look of fear. The change was so rapid that Jeanine had to fight the urge to laugh.

"The John Doe."

"What about him?"

"He walked right past me, he even said hello."

"Walked?"

"That's what I said. Walked. He just strolled right out of the morgue as if he owned the place."

"Get real; I don't think the second coming happens here."

"Why, d'you think he'd go to a better hospital!"

***

Ian sat on the subway lost in thought. The best part of living in New York was that most people just ignored each other and as a result Ian had managed to get on the train without anyone really noticing his torn, bloody clothes. However, his luck hadn't held. A tourist sitting nearby had caught site of the blood and had nearly swallowed his tongue. Ian had spun some story about being a stunt man on his way home from filming a movie. Apparently the tourist found the tale convincing, because he had asked for Ian's autograph a short time later and then everyone had left him to brood.

The object of his brooding was his sword. He felt naked without it. It had been a part of him for nearly two years. Ever since that night...

***

Erie, Pennsylvania - Autumn 1995

He had just sent the last driver home and was sitting down to do his paperwork, when he felt rather nauseous. He left the office to find something to settle his stomach. At that moment one of the windows shattered and a huge man wielding a sword charged Ian.

Ian grabbed the closest thing to hand with which to protect himself, a three foot long fork, used to keep dough from bubbling in the oven. The maniac with the sword swung at Ian's neck. Ian deflected the blow with the metal portion of the fork's handle. The maniac swung again and again Ian deflected the blow. A third swing whistled past Ian's head as he ducked under it and jabbed the points of the fork into the maniac's stomach. There was a howl of pain and another swing. Ian deflected the sword into the tile floor and kicked his adversary where it would do the most good. The maniac recovered almost immediately and swung at Ian's head. This time the sword stuck in the wall and Ian just stabbed at his enemy repeatedly, until he was forced to retreat a little. Ian grabbed the abandoned sword and yanked it from the wall, a simple matter of leverage which seemed to have escaped the larger man's grasp. The maniac saw this and laughed.

"You can't kill me with that! You don't know how!"

Ian swung the heavy blade and caught the maniac in the side as he tried to dodge. Another swing which caused the maniac to change directions successfully kept him from reaching the fork which Ian had used to defend himself. A third swing caught the larger man across the shoulder, nearly severing his arm.

"Another time, boy!" howled the maniac as he started running for the window.

In a desperate attempt to stop his escape Ian, also running for the window, swung the sword with every ounce of strength he had. The blade sliced neatly through the maniac's neck and his head toppled to the floor. His body took a few more steps towards the window and fell to the ground as well.

Ian watched horrified as a blue aura surrounded the body and spikes of electrical current reached out for him. He tried to run but he couldn't. In the ensuing electrical cataclysm boxes burst into flames, fluorescent lights exploded and the gas ovens detonated, leveling the store.

***

New York, New York - Spring 1997

Detective Leo McCarthy knocked authoritatively on the door to the antique shop in Hudson Street. It was a long shot but it was the only lead he had to the identity of the jumper that had made such an impact at Rollie's location shoot. The shop door opened to reveal a bleary eyed teen dressed in teal pajamas.

"I'm Detective McCarthy of the New York Police Department," he said showing the teen his badge. "I'm looking for Russell Nash."

"Mister Nash retired some years ago," said a voice from the depths of the shop. "Perhaps I can be of assistance?"

The teen ushered Leo inside as the lights came up to reveal the owner of the voice. Leo judged him to be about thirty years old and the fond look that crossed the man's face when he looked at the teen spoke of a familial connection.

"I'm Conner MacLeod," the man introduced himself, "and this is my son, John. I took over the business when Russell retired. May I ask why you were looking for him?"

Leo handed over the card that had been found on the body of the suicide. It Read: Russell Nash, Dealer of Fine Antiquities, Hudson Street. MacLeod looked at the card, briefly, and handed it back.

"That was found on the body of a man who committed suicide earlier this evening. We were hoping that someone here might know who he is."

Mister MacLeod glanced at the Polaroid Leo gave him and shook his head.

"He looks familiar, but I can't say that I recognize him, sorry."

"That's all right, but perhaps you could tell me a little about this," Leo said as he pulled a large package from under his coat.

The antique dealer stared at the package for a moment before taking it and holding it up to the light. It was a large plastic bag containing a sword. The weapon was about three feet long with a wavy looking blade or at least it had been. It was currently broken in two pieces of roughly equal length.

"This sword is at least two thousand years old, most likely Mediterranean in origin and, if it weren't so obviously damaged, would be worth enough to take a sizable chunk out of the national debt."

"Can you think of any reason why someone in possession of this sword would take a walk off the top of a fifteen story building?"

"Not off hand, Detective..."

"McCarthy. Thank you for your cooperation."

"I'm sorry I couldn't be of more help," he said as he returned the sword to Leo. "John, would you show Detective McCarthy out."

"Sure, Dad."

***

Ian watched the car pull away and make its way down Hudson Street with a puzzled frown. When it was finally out of sight he dashed across the street and let himself into the shop. He had felt Conner's presence before he had made it half way; at least he hoped it was Conner. If not he was up a polluted tributary. His sword, as far as he knew, was halfway across town and in two pieces to boot.

He edged cautiously through the shop squinting into the darkness. Was that a person or just a deeper shadow? The lights flared into life. Ian dove to his left and rolled to his feet; his eyes struggled to compensate for the change in lighting. A sharp pain was searing through his retina and into his brain. He kept moving as Conner had taught him. A key turned in the lock of the exterior door. Distracted, he tripped over an object on the floor. A sword caressed his neck.

"Shit!"

"Conner!" cried a female voice from the direction of the door.

"Heh, heh, just playing Alex."

"How many times do I have to tell you not to play inside?"

Ian laughed. Alex sounded just like his foster mother had when he was growing up. Now that his eyes had adjusted to the lights he could see her standing in the doorway with her arms full of groceries. He looked up; Conner was looking shamefacedly at the floor, his bottom lip stuck out in a pout. He laughed even harder.

"I don't see why you're laughing, when you're as bad as he is."

Now Conner was laughing. He helped Ian to his feet, dusted him down and handed over the sword that had been pressed to his neck. They both looked at Alex and then she started laughing.

"God, I sounded just like my mother," she said.

Ian leaned the sword against the wall, took the groceries from her and headed for the loft. He heard the door close and sensed rather than heard Conner and Alex's embrace. He sighed. Someday, maybe he'd find a woman like Alex. Someone he could trust with his life, if he survived long enough.

***

Rollie Tyler slammed down the phone. He glared at it for a moment and then sighed. It was going to be a long day. The director had decided to find a new location after the events of last night. It seemed the film's star could not go near the old one without getting violently sick. So, for the next several days, while they scouted locations, he and Ange had nothing to do. He sighed again and ran his hand through his shoulder length brown hair.

"Ange!"

"Yeah?"

Rollie stuck his head out and looked down into the lower work area of their studio. Funny that. His name was on everything, but he couldn't think of it as strictly his. It was like their work was a marriage and everything to do with it community property.

"They scratched the location so we'll be down for a few days. Why don't you take a few days off and cultivate your personal life? God knows mine could use some cultivating."

"Isn't it a shame about that jumper? I wonder why he did it."

"Wishing you had met him before he jumped, maybe even talked him out of it?"

"Well, he was kind of handsome."

"I'm surprised you could tell what with his face being splattered across five stunt men, a camera crew and our leading man. Go on get out of here, you need that break more than I thought."

The phone rang and he sighed as he watched her leave; her blond hair catching the light like a halo. He started to head for the door himself; planning to ignore the call. He really did need the down time. The phone could just go unanswered. He picked it up on the ninth ring.

"Tyler."

"Rollie, what the hell is going on?"

"You'll have to be a little more specific, Leo."

"The guy who dropped in on filming last night. Well, his body is missing. It disappeared from the morgue last night."

"Why call me?"

"Because, in my experience when dead people, supposedly, get up and walk away it has something to do with you."

"Walk away?"

"Yeah, I have an eyewitness who swears he saw the guy walk out the front door."

"Leo, he was dead. Trust me, I know how to fake it and he wasn't. The person sized crater in the pavement would also seem to confirm my diagnosis."

***

Ian was in the middle of his morning kata when Conner entered the room. He continued to work through it as Conner watched. He intently studied every move the young immortal made analyzing each detail. He smiled in pride when Ian had finished.

"I thought you might need this," he said handing the youngster an Excalibur style sword. "If you would have accepted it when I offered it the first time you might not have had to take a swan dive off the top of a building."

"How'd you know?"

"There was a Detective McCarthy here last night. He had both halves of your sword with him. This one won't be as easily broken."

Ian hefted the weapon, testing its weight and balance. He smiled.

"I was rather attached to that sword. It was a part of me."

"It was a part of the first immortal who tried to kill you as well. It didn't do him much good either; losing his head to an unarmed immortal who didn't even know what he was. Now tell me about last night."

Ian grinned, "I'll tell you over lunch. You're buying."

***

Angie was sitting at a corner table in her favorite restaurant when she noticed the guy. He was sitting with another man and they were having a hushed conversation. She had nearly convinced herself that she was seeing things when he looked directly at her. Her heart skipped several beats as the realization sunk in. The man who had dropped into the middle of their film shoot was having lunch only ten feet away and he was most definitely alive. She reached for her cellular phone.

***

"I had just finished reading The Princess Bride to the kids at the foster home and was on my way out when I felt another immortal. I made my good-byes and left. The streets were still crowded so I made my way to a nearby building and went up to the roof. He followed and we fought. I was holding my own for a while but when my sword broke he ran me through. I was on my knees near the edge of the roof, so, when he raised his sword to take my head I decided that the sidewalk below was a better option than staying put. I jumped, just in time I might add."

"What did this other Immortal look like?"

"Jason Vorhees on speed."

"What do you mean?"

"He was wearing some sort of metal hockey mask."

"Damn!"

"You know him?"

"No, but I knew someone like him once. He's dead; Duncan took his head five years ago. His name was Slan Quince."

***

Leo pulled up to the curb where Rollie was waiting, opposite the restaurant. As he climbed out of his car he took in the impressive facade and let out a low whistle. When Angie treated herself she did it with style.

"Ange likes to pamper herself on occasion," Rollie echoed his thoughts.

"And she says that the corpse that disappeared from the morgue is sitting in there having lunch?"

"Not more than ten feet away from her," confirmed Rollie.

"Care to join me for lunch, sir?"

"Most definitely, Detective."

***

Conner was in the middle of recounting Slan's final few days on this Earth when he felt it. He could tell that Ian had felt it too. The younger man was staring over Conner's shoulder towards the entrance, confusion etched on his face.

"That would probably be Detective McCarthy," he said, showing less anxiety than he actually felt.

"I felt that last night when I arrived home," replied Ian. "It's almost eerily unreal. The same, but different. Is he...?"

"Not yet."

***

The Maitre d'hôtel looked down his nose at the two gentlemen. It was turning out to be one of those days. First, there had been that fellow with the appalling multi-colored coat at Table twenty-two and now these two. The younger of the two was dressed completely inappropriately for anything other than manual labor his shoulder length hair was unkempt and he had dirt under his fingernails. At least the other one was wearing a sport coat but he was also wearing, of all things, denim jeans. His short cropped brown hair was peppered with gray and was well groomed; however, he too had rough, dirty hands. They were definitely not the kind of people his clientele wanted to associate with.

"I'm sorry gentlemen, but we do have a dress code," he said laying heavy emphasis on the word "gentlemen". "I'm afraid that neither of you are suitably attired; I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"Could you answer a few questions?" asked the sport coat flashing a wallet that identified him as Detective Leo McCarthy of the New York City Police Department. "Like the names of those two gentlemen for a start."

The Maitre D' looked in the direction the Detective indicated, thankful that it wasn't the occupants of Table twenty-two that the Detective was interested in. Unfortunately his thanks quickly turned to dread as he realized that the Detective was pointing to Table Six. He suddenly wished that he had stayed home that morning.

"I'm sorry sir, but the occupants of Table Six are two of our best customers and I will not reveal their identities to you or anyone else without their consent. I suggest that you wait for them outside and ask them when they have finished their meal. Now, if you don't mind."

"Thank you for your time; sorry to trouble you," said Manual Labor, in an Australian accent, as he ushered the Detective out the door.

The Maitre D' sighed with relief and turned to see a rather open faced young man dressed in cricketing whites and a fawn frock coat. Now this was definitely an improvement. He smiled the first genuine smile of the day. Things were looking up at last. The young man, however, seemed to be preoccupied with something out of the Maitre D's line of sight.

"I can see you're rather busy; another time perhaps," said the young Cricketer and he hastily ushered his two lady friends out the door.

The Maitre D' turned in the direction the young man had been looking and saw, as he'd feared, the multi-colored occupant of Table twenty-two and his bespectacled companion.

***

"I almost forgot, I have something for you."

"What? A dagger to match the sword?"

"Actually, it's something a little more practical," replied Conner as he handed Ian a slim plastic case.

Ian opened it and looked up in puzzlement. "Sunglasses?"

"They should help alleviate your light sensitivity problem. We can't very well have you lose your head because someone flipped a switch."

"Thanks," mumbled Ian as he slid on the reflective glasses. "How do I look?"

"Oh, very fetching."

"Come on, let's blow this pop stand," laughed Ian.

"I do wish you wouldn't say things like that; you'll upset Henri."

"Far be it from me to annoy the Maitre d'hôtel of the finest restaurant in the city," rejoined Ian in an atrocious French accent.

He pushed back his chair and it collided with a small, slim, very pretty young lady who had been unfortunate enough to be walking behind him at that moment. She lost her balance and fell against a nearby table, upsetting its occupants, who were now wearing their Lobster Bisque.

"I am so sorry," apologized Ian. "I didn't see you there. Are you all right?"

She smiled and assured him that no damage had been done, but he didn't hear exactly what she had said as her smile had leapt off her face and engulfed him in its brilliance. Conner in the mean time hastily intervened with the sputtering bisque soaked couple. He arranged to pay not only for their dry cleaning but also for their meal.

***

Leo had intended to collar the walking corpse and his companion as they left the restaurant. He had, unfortunately, been forced to abandon this plan when it became clear who the companion was. He had suspected MacLeod had been lying about knowing the deceased but he hadn't been prepared to see the two of them together. He decided at that moment that he would be keeping a very close eye on Conner MacLeod, but first he was going to do a little research.

"I wish I knew our zombie friend's name," he muttered to Rollie.

"Ian Andrews," said a woman's voice from behind him.

Leo turned to find Ange standing next to Rollie. She had a self satisfied smirk on her face and a small stain on her sleeve. She laughed at what must have been a comical expression of surprise on his part and tucked a stray lock of blonde hair behind her ear.

"How do you know that and why do you have Lobster Bisque on your sleeve?"

"I have a date with him tonight and how'd you know what was on my sleeve, Sherlock?

"Elementary, my dear! I guessed."

***

Alex,

Opera tonight. The Magic Flute. Ian insisted. Long story.

Explain later. Wear that black dress, you know the one.

Love now and forever,

Conner

Alex smiled to herself. It was just like Conner to leave a note composed almost entirely of sentence fragments. She knew she should be angry about the last minute warning, but The Magic Flute was one of her favorite operas and knowing that when Conner said forever he meant it always made her smile. She had seen the occasional look of loss in his eyes and knew that he lit a candle for both of his previous wives on their birthdays. She shook off the image of Conner lighting a candle for her one day and headed for the bedroom, hoping that she hadn't left the black dress at their home in Scotland.

***

Leo pulled the file labeled "Russell Nash" from his in basket. He took a swig of coffee as he leafed through the file and nearly drenched everyone nearby when he came to the picture. Russell Nash was Conner MacLeod and what's more he had been the main suspect in several murder investigations over the last twelve years, all involving beheadings. There was no proof to link him to the slayings so he had never been charged.

What was the connection between these old cases and his case? Was there even a connection? Was Russell Nash a murderer and if so was Angie safe on her date with this Ian character? And how did a man walk out of the morgue after taking a swan dive from a fifteen story building? Leo had the uncomfortable feeling that he wasn't going to like the answers to any of these questions, if he ever found them.

***

"How long have you known Ian?"

"A little over a year. Ever since he arrived in New York. What about you?"

"We only met today, but I think I've seen him around."

"What do you think of him?"

"Well, he's charming and very funny..."

"And?"

"And... I think his haircut makes him very sexy and those mirrored shades give him an air of mystery. He's like one of those suave spies in the movies. 'Andrews, Ian Andrews.' Is he always like that?"

"He and Conner both. Speaking of which, we should probably get back to them."

"You go ahead, I'll be right there."

After Alex was out of the ladies' room Angie reached into her top and removed a small microphone. She looked from it to the door a few times as if debating her decision. Finally, she smiled and raised it to her lips.

"Sorry, guys. I'm flying the rest of this date solo."

***

Ian had had an enjoyable evening. At first, Angie had been a little taken aback by the presence of Conner and Alex but had soon warmed to the idea. Dinner had been wonderful and The Magic Flute had been magnificent, even though he wasn't really into opera. He was almost positive that it was the company that had made the evening so special and he didn't mean Alex and Conner.

After the opera Angie and Alex had gone to powder their noses. Ian was well aware that this was just an excuse for Angie to pump Alex for information about him and so he and Conner didn't begin to worry until nearly half an hour had passed.

***

"Do you really think Ange is in danger?" Rollie asked as he guided the van toward the opera house.

"Yes, MacLeod is a suspected murderer and we found a sword on top of that building that Andrews jumped off."

"A sword? You didn't say anything about a sword."

"Well, we found one and the deaths that MacLeod is a suspect in were beheadings. Damnit, why the hell did she take off her wire?"

Rollie drove on in silence. If Leo was right Ange could be a headless corpse in some back alley by now. He shuddered and wondered if she knew how he felt about her.

***

Conner answered his cellular phone on the second ring. It was John.

"Dad, I found a note on the door when I got home from the movie. It's for Ian; is he with you?"

"What does it say?"

"Hold on, I'll get it."

Conner covered the mouthpiece while he waited. "It's John. He says there's a note for you at home." He then returned his attention to the phone as he heard John come back on the line. When he hung up the phone he was seething with anger.

"The guy in the mask has them, doesn't he?" asked Ian.

"Yes, he wants you to meet him where "your sword was broken". I'm going in your place."

"Like hell you are!"

"Conner MacLeod, or should I say Russell Nash?"

Conner kicked himself. He hadn't even realized that McCarthy was nearby. Damn, things were getting complicated.

"Detective McCarthy, isn't it?"

"I'm glad you remember me."

"I'm happy you're glad," murmured Conner between clenched teeth.

"I'd like to have a word with you and your dead friend here."

"I'm sorry but I'm in rather a hurry."

"I bet you are."

"Where's Ange?" asked a man with an Australian accent.

"Who?"

"Don't give me that," snapped McCarthy. "She had a date with your friend here..." He trailed off as they realized that Ian had slipped away unnoticed. Conner could still feel his presence but it was fading rapidly. Damn!

***

Ian slipped the shades on as he entered the brightly lit lobby. He could feel the Mask's presence. He cautiously made his way up to the roof, being careful to take the stairs rather than the elevator. He eased out onto the roof sword at the ready. He could see Alex and Angie, bound and gagged, but refused to be distracted by such an obvious ploy.

"I'm here, you chrome plated putz!"

"So I see," came a voice from the stairwell. "Tell me something, little man. Are you ready to die?"

"No, but then I'm not the one that has to worry about it," Ian said as he turned to face his adversary. "Am I?"

Ian lunged first but the blow was easily deflected.

***

Conner rushed up the stairs, taking two at a time. He knew he hadn't convinced McCarthy and his friend but they were sufficiently concerned about Angie that they had agreed to accompany him to the meeting place. McCarthy was in the elevator and the man that had introduced himself as Rollie Tyler was close on Conner's heels as they dashed up the stairwell.

They crashed through the rooftop door. Rollie quickly made his way to the two women and began to untie their bonds. Conner headed for the duelists.

"You can't interfere, Highlander!"

Ian took advantage of the distraction to inflict a vicious wound on his opponent. The man fell back, shouldering his sword. Conner tried to shout a warning, but wasn't quick enough. The projectile thudded into Ian's chest; he stumbled backward and toppled over the edge of the roof.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" cried Angie who was being herded toward the rooftop entrance.

"My turn," cried Conner and attacked.

***

Leo arrived on the roof as MacLeod attacked the masked man. Angie was shaking, tears rolling down her face. Rollie and a woman that Leo assumed was MacLeod's wife helped him steer her into the stairwell. Leaving Rollie to deal with Ange he returned to the roof. His second view of the battle didn't lesson the shock any. Here were two grown men fighting it out with swords in New York City. How was he going to stop this madness?

"Who are you?" asked MacLeod of his opponent. "What do you want with us?"

"I want revenge, of course," answered the man in the hockey mask.

"Against Ian? What did he ever do to you?" MacLeod asked between lunges.

"A good question." thought Leo. "Maybe, if I listen long enough I'll finally find out what this is all about." Rollie slipped up beside him to watch the combatants as they ranged across the roof top.

"He's even better than the other one," hissed Rollie in awe.

"What other one?" asked Leo, but he was too busy listening to the duelists' conversation to even notice if Rollie answered the question.

"He did nothing to me, but he's your student and I wanted you to suffer. First, I'd take your student like you took mine. Then your wife and son. Finally, when you were broken and alone I'd come for you."

"Why? Who was your student? Slan?"

***

Alex guided Angie out of the building and over to Ian's shattered body. She reached down and pulled the projectile from his chest and let it clatter to the sidewalk. She hoped he'd revive soon and that when he did that it wouldn't unhinge Angie. The poor girl was a wreck; it was hard to believe that she had only known Ian since he had bumped into her at lunch that day. But then love had a way of doing things that were hard to believe. Alex smiled inwardly and put her arm around Angie's shoulder.

"Don't worry; everything is going to be fine."

As if in confirmation of her words, Ian gasped sharply and sat bolt upright.

***

Conner dodged left and landed a brutal blow to his opponent's side. Spun round and intercepted the blow meant for him and ducked to his right.

"I'm afraid," he snarled," you've got the wrong MacLeod. I had nothing to do with Slan's death."

"But you were there."

"Yes, briefly, until Slan pulled the same trick on me that you just used on Ian. I ended up going over the side of the bridge. You didn't do enough research."

"I shall still be avenged."

Conner faked left and spun right slicing off his opponent's sword arm at the elbow. He raised his katana for the killing stroke.

"At what price, vengeance?" he asked.

"Do it," gasped Slan's mentor.

"There can be only one!"

The katana whistled downward.

***

Leo watched in shock as the masked man's head bounced across the roof. He stepped toward MacLeod, his police training asserting itself at last. A sudden, fierce wind knocked him from his feet. A bolt of electricity slithered across the roof top, narrowly missing him. He looked at Rollie, who had somehow managed to stay upright. The whole building was shaking.

MacLeod was screaming; Leo looked up at him only to see the murderer floating in mid air as bolt after bolt of electricity tore through his body. They seemed to be emanating from the headless corpse and raining down on its killer. Or up as it were.

The whole thing stopped as suddenly as it had started and MacLeod dropped from the sky, but he was no longer over the roof and he plummeted past it to certain death on the pavement below. Soon, Leo knew, he and Rollie would be standing over a shattered corpse right where it had all started.

"Full Circle," he muttered under his breath.

***

Three days later, Angie and Ian waved as Conner, John and Alex boarded their flight to Scotland. They stood there for several long moments, holding hands in silence.

"Thank you, for keeping our secret," he whispered.

"Do you have to go?"

"Yeah, I've died too many times; best to move on before things get worse."

"So, where are you going?"

"I don't know, but I'll send you a postcard when I get there," he smiled and enveloped her in a passionate embrace.

"You do that," she whispered in his ear, tears welling behind her closed eyelids.

He kissed her and the world stood still.

## On Holy Ground

Seacouver, Washington -- May 10, 1998

Methos pulled his collar closer to his face to provide some small measure of protection against the driving rain. That was the problem with the Pacific Northwest, rain, far too much of it for his liking. It reminded him of Scotland, cold, wet and foggy. MacLeod probably loved it for that same reason. Methos just found it miserable. Paris was far more preferable; at least it was drier.

As he made his way stealthily toward the dojo he cursed himself for ever agreeing to make this trip. If the Watchers hadn't found any evidence that MacLeod had returned to Seacouver, what made Joe think he would? In point of fact, the more he thought about it the more it sounded like a wild goose chase. It had been almost a year since Richie's death at MacLeod's hands and there had been no sign of the Highlander. He hadn't even attended the funeral. He was probably dead by now. Either he had found someone to assist in his suicide or he'd run into an immortal who'd taken advantage of the fact that the damn fool had left his katana behind when he'd stumbled from the scene of Richie's insanity induced murder.

The dojo looked deserted. Several window panes had been broken and there was graffiti on the doors. All in all it looked like he'd expected it to look. Sad and abandoned; like an elderly person in a nursing home. He tried the door. Surprisingly it was still locked. Evidently no one wanted to risk crossing the owner of a martial arts studio by breaking in. He let himself in, using a key he'd found on MacLeod's barge and made his way toward the service elevator. He could tell MacLeod wasn't home, he'd have sensed him by now if he was, but he thought he'd check the loft anyway.

***

The loft felt as abandoned as the dojo downstairs had felt and to be honest he wasn't surprised. The barge had had the same aura of neglect around it. MacLeod hadn't returned to any of these places, he was gone. It was a crying shame; the Highlander had had such potential. It was time to go and let the dead rest in peace.

"Sorry, Joe. No joy," he muttered to himself as he turned back to the lift.

The phone rang shrilly. Without thinking, Methos dashed across the room and snatched it up.

"Hello?"

"Who is this? Where's Duncan?"

"This is Adam Pierson. I'm a friend of MacLeod's. He's not available at the moment. Would you like to leave a message?"

"I've been leaving messages on his machine for months; both there and in Paris. Where is he?"

"I don't know where he is, but if you leave your name I'll have him get in touch with you as soon as I see him."

"Don't bother, I'll be the..." the loud drone of an airplane engine drowned out the rest of the sentence and then was itself cut off as the caller hung up.

Methos put down the phone and idly scratched his head. The answering machine blinked for attention. Feeling as if he was tramping across a freshly dug grave he reached out and pressed the play button. There were about forty two messages all over six months old; the machine had apparently run out of tape around Thanksgiving. There were several messages from Joe and one from someone named Anne. Most of them, however, were from the mystery caller who it turned out was Duncan's kinsman Connor MacLeod. He jotted Anne's message on to a notepad next to the phone and erased the rest.

The elder Highlander was obviously on his way; the smart thing would be to get out of here before he arrived. On the other hand MacLeod probably deserved to know what had happened. Besides, if anyone could find Duncan it would be his teacher; the one man who had known him for nearly his entire four hundred and five year existence.

***

Connor was worried. He had initially called Duncan to trade stories about their most recent pupils. At first he'd put down Duncan's failure to return his calls to his student's incessant traveling. He didn't even begin to feel uneasy until six months later when he didn't receive the customary birthday greetings from his kinsman. Now that another four months had passed, he had taken it upon himself to find out what had become of Duncan and if necessary avenge his death. Upon arriving at the Seacouver airport he'd made one last attempt to contact his fellow highlander by phone and discovered that someone calling himself Adam Pierson was apparently staying at Duncan's loft. Well, he'd find out what this "Adam" knew if he had to beat it out of him.

The taxi pulled up outside the address and Connor smiled as he saw the building. Duncan had mentioned that he'd bought a dojo but Connor hadn't really believed him. Like himself, Duncan usually tried to conceal his martial abilities not advertise them. Probably why he hadn't changed the name of the place; "MacLeod's Martial Arts" might have attracted too much attention. Still, it was far removed from the Antique business; which was the whole point really. The best way for Duncan to get through Tessa's loss was to make a drastic change. At least that's what he'd told Duncan after the funeral in Paris. Secretly, Connor was just glad that his oldest friend hadn't run off to holy ground like he was prone to do in times of loss. Having Richie to train had probably helped, though why they had stayed in this miserable rain sodden city was beyond him.

Connor paid the cab driver and crossed the street; he barely heard the driver's cry of thanks for the size of the tip. A work crew was preparing to replace several broken windows and a second one was painting over some graffiti on the door. The second group stopped work as he approached. One of them, a stout fellow of indeterminate age, wiped the paint from his hands and opened the door to allow Connor access.

"The other guy said to make yourself at home, like. He had some stuff to do but he'll be back."

"Thank You," Connor smiled as he passed through the open door.

***

Methos was pleased to see that the dojo was looking more like its old self. Amazing what some paint and a few new windows could do for a building. He was halfway up the steps to the front doors when he felt the presence of another immortal. He raced the rest of the way up and quickly let himself in. He placed the grocery bags, most of which contained cans of beer, on the floor inside the door and drew his sword. He slipped quietly into the main room of the dojo just as the lift began to descend from the loft above.

The lift came to a stop and the gate was raised to reveal a wiry figure with short cropped hair. He was wearing casual clothes and white sneakers, but it was the katana he wielded that grabbed Methos' attention. He recognized it almost instantly. After all it was one of a kind; Masamune's wedding gift to Ramirez. It practically shouted out its owner's identity, but just in case there was any doubt the other immortal dispelled it with one short sentence.

"I am Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."

Methos barked with laughter and after a few moments MacLeod joined in. When they finally paused for breath Methos gasped, "I thought..." But whatever he thought was smothered in even more laughter.

"Adam Pierson?"

"Right, first time," Methos confirmed between fits of giggles. "Did Duncan get that from you or is it a highland custom? Maybe I should start introducing myself in similar fashion. 'I am Adam Pierson of the clan Pierson.'"

"It would probably be more impressive than bursting into fits of laughter but, I dare say, not as destructive to your opponent's ego," Connor guffawed.

***

Paris, France -- May 19, 1997

Methos and Joe exchanged wary glances as they took in the scene before them. There was debris everywhere, obviously the result of a Quickening, but whose? Duncan was on his knees next to the body. As he and Joe moved closer Methos recognized it as being Richie's. Several thoughts hurled themselves through his head nearly simultaneously and he began to dread what he would find had happened here.

Duncan's erratic behavior over the last few days as well as what the police had said about Duncan being involved in murder and arson meshed with what Methos had seen Duncan do while under the influence of the Dark Quickening to form a horrifying picture. He pushed these speculations out of his mind, but they returned with a vengeance when Duncan raised his katana in a gesture of offering. Methos knew immediately what MacLeod wanted. It seemed they had come full circle. He had offered Duncan his head when they had first met and now Duncan was offering his own head to Methos. He refused. Duncan, like Warren Cochrane and many others before him, would have to learn to live with the fact that he had taken his student's head.

***

Seacouver, Washington -- May 10, 1998

"He did what?!?" Connor couldn't believe his ears. He and Adam had returned to the loft and opened some of the beer that Adam had bought, while Adam told his story. The problem was that the story had scared the hell out of Connor. His Kinsman, it seemed, had gone insane.

"He offered me his head."

"Let me get this straight. Duncan just may have gone mad. He killed his own student and then offered you his head. Right?"

"Unfortunately, that's pretty much correct," Adam sighed. "I was hoping you might know where he went."

"You mean nobody's seen him for almost a year?"

"He wandered off after I refused his offer and just disappeared. No one has even heard from him since. We buried Richie in Paris and I think Joe still has Duncan's sword."

"You mean he left unarmed? Why didn't you stop him? If he's dead I'm going to hold you partly responsible."

"The thing is, there's been no sign of his body either. If he were dead we should have had some kind of news by now."

"Possibly."

"You're his teacher; you know him better than anyone. Where is he likely to go after such an emotionally wrenching experience?"

"Holy Ground."

"Any idea where?"

One or two. There's an island where he built a cabin; we can check there first. Then there's Brother Paul's monastery as well as Det-sen."

"Det-sen? In Tibet?"

"Yeah, why?"

"It's gone. It was destroyed by an explosion fourteen years ago."

"How do you know that?"

"I was in the area at the time. We should leave that one until last. If he had been headed there someone would have told him about its destruction."

"What about Darius' church?"

"I've already been there. No joy."

"Right! I'll check the island while you make arrangements for our trip to Europe. I'll be back tomorrow."

"Agreed. However, before you go, have another beer."

***

Seacouver, Washington -- May 11, 1998

Methos was awakened around noon, when the sun through the window blasted him full in the face. He groaned and rolled over. Unfortunately, he was sleeping on the couch and all this accomplished was to dump him gracelessly onto the floor. He groaned again and got up to find himself another beer.

He took a sip and then feeling better able to cope with a new day began to survey the wreckage. They had been awake most of the night; drinking and playing anagrams. Methos had won when Connor, in a desperate bid to stump him had given him the beginning of Hamlet's soliloquy, "To be or not to be: that is the question, whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune." To which Methos had responded without missing a breath, "In one of the Bard's best-thought-of tragedies, our insistent hero, Hamlet, queries on two fronts about how life turns rotten."

Connor had spent the rest of the night trying to prove that Methos was wrong. He was still at it when Methos had fallen asleep.

There was a note from Connor on the coffee table, between the empty beer cans and the wads of paper from Connor's attempts to disprove the anagram. He had gone off to the island to see if Duncan was there. He'd also called his latest student, Ian Andrews, and asked him to meet them in New York. Methos waded up the paper and dropped in the trash and then set about cleaning up the place.

***

Connor pulled the canoe up on shore and started for the cabin. He sensed it almost immediately, another Immortal was here. He had just reached the porch when she came flying through the door her sword raised high over her head. He dove sideways to avoid her swing and reached for his katana. A vision flashed through his mind of the sword's blade shattering into a million pieces when he had fought Kane on holy ground.

"Stop!!! This is holy ground!! We can't fight here!"

The girl stopped her pursuit and glared at him. She was barely out of her teens when she had become Immortal. Connor looked her up and down and she returned the favor. After several minutes, she relaxed a little.

"This cabin belongs to Duncan MacLeod," she said. "Who the hell are you?"

"I'm Connor MacLeod; same clan different vintage," he laughed at the centuries old joke.

"What are you doing here?"

"I could ask you the same question. As it happens I'm looking for Duncan."

"So am I. My teacher is worried about him. She hasn't seen him in over a year. Nobody has."

"I know, that's why I'm here. What's your name and who is your teacher."

"My name's Michelle and Amanda's my teacher," she said as she returned her sword to a sheath that had been custom sewn into the lining of her coat. Connor relaxed, finally.

"I take it he's not here either."

"Nope. I arrived early yesterday and searched the whole island. There's no sign that he's been here in ages. I was just about to leave when I felt you approaching. When I saw it wasn't Duncan I thought I had best throw you off guard with a frontal attack. I'd forgotten the whole holy ground thing. Silly, huh?"

"Well, it certainly put me at a disadvantage, but a word of advice?"

"Sure."

"Don't forget again. No one knows what will happen if an Immortal takes a head on holy ground."

"OK, I'll keep it in mind."

"Good, now let's go."

"Where to?"

"To find Duncan."

***

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- May 11, 1998

Former Detective Leo McCarthy was sick of immortality. He trudged through the Pittsburgh International Airport lamenting on what his life had become. He hadn't trained this hard since the academy. In the nine months since he had been killed he'd done nothing but train. Swordsmanship training, martial arts training and just plain physical training. It didn't help that the person in charge of his training was half his age. How do you take an Immortal seriously when he was young enough to be your son? Now, to top it all off, his teacher was heading for New York City to meet Connor MacLeod and he couldn't go along because he was very publicly dead in New York.

As he made his way back to the car he felt an Immortal once or twice but no one challenged him, thankfully. He didn't think he'd be able to kill anyone even if he had to. He was a cop for crying out loud, or had been anyway. These thoughts accompanied him on his short drive to his home in a secluded part of Beaver County. He got out of his car and walked to his door. He had just decided that he wouldn't be able to even lift his sword in self defense when he felt it again.

A car was making its way up his long driveway and there was an Immortal driving it. It stopped next to his own and out stepped a young lady. She reached back inside the car and pulled out her sword, it was a cutlass of some kind. Leo gripped the hilt of his rapier and withdrew it from his coat.

"I am Marie DeFluevous. Where is that pratt, Andrews? I knew you two were living in this part of Pennsylvania. I had expected to spend quite some time searching. Imagine my surprise when I saw you at the airport."

"What do you want with him?"

"Why, his head of course. It took me a year to find him in New York, but he was with the Highlander so I decided to wait until he moved on. When he did, I followed him to Jamestown, but I underestimated him and he escaped. It wasn't until I'd heard that he'd taken you on that I found out that he was near Pittsburgh. You see when a very young Immortal takes on a student word gets around."

"I'm afraid you've had a wasted journey. You just missed him."

"Too bad. I guess I'll just have to settle for your head."

***

Scottish Highlands -- March 24, 1625

Connor made his way through the forest. He had no real idea of where he was going. Grief tore at his soul. Heather was gone and he finally understood what Ramirez had been trying to tell him. The pain that he felt now was just the first of many; if he continued to love he would continue to be hurt. Was there a reason for Immortality or was it a punishment meted out by God.

He was forcefully snapped out of his revelry by the presence of another Immortal. He cautiously moved into a small clearing at the mouth of a cave. Drawing his mentor's katana he slipped inside. There was a headless body lying on the floor and kneeling over it was another Immortal. He appeared to be in shock from the Quickening. Connor's foot brushed against a small pile of stones toppling them noisily. The sound alerted the other Immortal who leaped to his feet.

"I am Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

Connor was stunned. Another Immortal MacLeod. How could this be? Ramirez's words floated up from his past.

"Why does the sun come up, or are the stars just pinholes in the curtain of night?"

He smiled and put his sword away as he introduced himself, "I am Connor MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod."

***

Scottish Highlands -- May 14, 1998

The cave was empty. Well, that is to say that the cave was unoccupied. There was graffiti sprayed across every inch of the walls and the floor was piled with debris. It looked like a rubbish tip. Methos looked at Connor, who appeared to be lost in thought.

"Looks like the local youth use this place to party," he observed quietly.

"Tourists," Connor corrected. "No Highlander would disrespect nature like this."

"When was the last time you met a Highland youth?"

"I do live in Scotland at the moment, you know?"

"But not the Highlands."

"No, not the Highlands," Connor admitted. "Not for a long time."

***

London, England -- May 15, 1998

Leo hurried through Heathrow Airport toward the baggage claim. He'd feel a lot safer once he recovered the bags with his weapons in them. He had no real plan beyond that. In fact he hadn't had a plan since he'd hurriedly packed two bags and headed for New York. The only thing he knew for sure was that he had to find Ian or even MacLeod.

He'd gone into detective mode as soon as he'd landed at JFK. He went to MacLeod's antique shop on Hudson Street. No one had been there in months and none of MacLeod's associates had seen him in the past year. He finally gave up and called Angie. If anyone in New York knew where Ian had gone it would be her. Rollie had answered the phone. Leo said nothing; it was the longest 18 seconds of his life. Being dead to his best friend was killing him.

After three days in New York, desperately trying to avoid being recognized, Ange had come up with the information he'd needed. Ian had gone to London, so he had followed. Now he was here he didn't know where to start looking. Suddenly he became aware of something. Or rather the lack of something. It was only now that he didn't feel it that he realized that there had been another Immortal with him on the plain from New York. There was only one person it could possibly be.

***

Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania -- May 11, 1998

"Too bad. I guess I'll just have to settle for your head."

"Not today," replied Leo as he pulled out his old service revolver and pulled the trigger.

Her sword dropped from her grasp as she dropped to her knees. She looked up at him with hate in her eyes. He stared coolly back at her and replaced the gun in its holster.

"I suppose he taught you that," she gasped and fell to the ground.

***

Glenfinnan, Scotland -- May 16, 1998

"I hope Michelle and Ian have had better luck," mumbled Connor, uncomfortably.

Methos looked askance at him. The Highlander was nervously wringing his hands as they approached the inn. He looked like he desperately wanted to be somewhere else.

"Still not comfortable here? If it's any consolation I doubt anyone's still alive that would recognize you."

"Very funny. You should be a comedian."

Connor's accent had thickened and taken on a more natural Scottish brogue since they'd arrived in the Highlands. Methos wondered what he'd sound like if he ever returned home; assuming he could remember where home was after all the changes over the last five millennia. They passed silently into the inn and took a seat at the nearest empty table.

"I don't know why you dragged me back here. It's obvious that Duncan's not here."

"I just want to see if he's been here. Besides, how was I supposed to know you had never come back in the four hundred and sixty-two years since they ran you out?"

"Keep it down, for God's sake," Connor hissed.

"What can I be getting, for you gentleman?"

"Methos looked up at the waitress and said, "One Highland Ale for me and you better bring my friend here a Glenmorangie."

"Mister Pierson, isn't it? What brings you back here? Duncan's not in trouble again, is he?"

"We don't really know Rachel. We were hoping that you'd seen him. He disappeared about a year ago."

"Aye, he's good at that. I haven't seen him since Paris, sorry. Who's your friend?"

"Oh, where are my manners? Rachel MacLeod meet Connor MacLeod."

***

Salisbury Plain, England -- May 18, 1998

Ian looked around at the ancient stones and sighed. They were awe inspiring. He and Michelle had found no trace of Duncan in London or anywhere else in England for that matter. It had been a little awkward at first and he wasn't quite sure why Connor had paired them off together, but over the last week a bond had begun to develop. They were both still new Immortals in the cosmic scale of things and they had shared the same culture growing up. She even knew all the words to "I'm Just a Bill".

Now they had come to the last place on the list Connor had given them; Stonehenge. They had searched the surrounding countryside and come up empty, yet again. Now they were just waiting for Connor and Adam to arrive. Hopefully they had had better luck in Scotland.

He saw Michelle stiffen out of the corner of his eye and turned in her direction. She was looking quickly in every direction. He took two steps toward her and then he too felt it. Another Immortal, somewhere close but out of sight.

"Stay in the circle," he hissed to Michelle.

"Right, Holy Ground. No fighting. I remember."

Ian made his way around the inside of the stone circle trying to find the mystery Immortal. He was about halfway around when he saw him. He shaded his eyes against the setting sun. All the tension flooded out of his body as he realized that it was Leo. He waved. Leo waved back and ran toward him. Michelle joined him as Leo dashed into the circle.

"Glad I got here first," Leo panted. "Had to warn you."

"Warn me? About What?"

"About me!"

The three Immortals spun round to face the new speaker. She was about five feet tall with dark hair and she radiated an air of contempt. In her left hand she held a cutlass. Ian recognized her instantly.

"Not you again!"

***

Minneapolis, Minnesota -- February 6, 1996

Ian was locking up the pizza shop in which he was temporarily employed when he suddenly felt rather nauseous. The feeling seemed to remind him of something but he wasn't quite sure what. He hurried to his apartment. As he unlocked the door a voice leapt out of the darkness to his left.

"I am Marie DeFluevous and I have come for your head!"

Ian turned toward the voice, automatically reaching for a sword that he didn't carry. That was odd, what had made him do that. The owner stepped out of the shadows and the light glinted off the sword in her left hand.

"Well," he said, "I'm Ian Andrews and you're welcome to try."

He reached into his jacket and pulled out the handgun that his boss insisted he carry. Marie raised her sword and took a step forward. Ian pointed the weapon at her and pulled the trigger. She hit the pavement with a bullet in her heart.

With an odd sense of déjà vu Ian searched her body. In one of the pockets in the long coat she wore he found a large roll of bills, mostly hundreds. He ducked into his apartment and locked the door.

"Time to go," he muttered.

He packed his bag, grabbed the sword he had acquired from the maniac that had tried to kill him in Erie and opened the door. The same wave of nausea he had felt earlier crashed over him. He stumbled and a sword arced through the place he had just been standing. He swung his sword blindly and felt it impact with something soft and yielding. A body slumped to the floor. It was the woman he had shot not long before. What the hell was going on here? Taking his things, he fled.

***

Salisbury Plain, England -- May 18, 1998

"You should have taken my head in Minneapolis, Andrews."

"I didn't even know what we were. All I knew was that you were the second person to attack me with a sword. I thought it was some conspiracy against pizza shop employees."

"Then why'd you have a sword? Answer me that."

"I took it off the first person who attacked me."

"Did you shoot him too?"

"No, I didn't."

***

Erie, Pennsylvania -- September 29, 1995

Ian had just sent the last driver home and was sitting down to do his paperwork, when he felt rather nauseous. He left the office to find something to settle his stomach. At that moment one of the windows shattered and a huge man wielding a sword charged Ian.

Ian grabbed the closest thing to hand with which to protect himself, a three foot long fork, used to keep dough from bubbling in the oven. The maniac with the sword swung at Ian's neck. Ian deflected the blow with the metal portion of the fork's handle. The maniac swung again and again Ian deflected the blow. A third swing whistled past Ian's head as he ducked under it and jabbed the points of the fork into the maniac's stomach. There was a howl of pain and another swing. Ian deflected the sword into the tile floor and kicked his adversary where it would do the most good. The maniac recovered almost immediately and swung at Ian's head. This time the sword stuck in the wall and Ian just stabbed at his enemy repeatedly, until he was forced to retreat a little. Ian grabbed the abandoned sword and yanked it from the wall, a simple matter of leverage which seemed to have escaped the larger man's grasp. The maniac saw this and laughed.

"You can't kill me with that! You don't know how!"

Ian swung the heavy blade and caught the maniac in the side as he tried to dodge. Another swing which caused the maniac to change directions successfully kept him from reaching the fork which Ian had used to defend himself. A third swing caught the larger man across the shoulder, nearly severing his arm.

"Another time, boy!", howled the maniac as he started running for the window.

In a desperate attempt to stop his escape Ian, also running for the window, swung the sword with every ounce of strength he had. The blade sliced neatly through the maniac's neck and his head toppled to the floor. His body took a few more steps towards the window and fell to the ground as well.

Ian watched horrified as a blue aura surrounded the body and spikes of electrical current reached out for him. He tried to run but he couldn't. In the ensuing electrical cataclysm boxes burst into flames, fluorescent lights exploded and the gas ovens detonated, leveling the store.

***

Salisbury Plain, England -- May 18, 1998

"You know I find I don't really care. First, I'll take your head, then your student's and then the tramp's."

"Tramp! I'll give you tramp," bellowed the young girl that had accompanied Ian as she unlimbered her sword.

Leo drew his sword as well and watched as she lunged for DeFluevous. Ian stepped between the two women. The girl's sword speared right through him and she stepped back in shock. Ian dropped to his knees, looked up at her, muttered something that Leo couldn't hear and then pitched forward into the dirt. She dropped her sword and sank to her knees cradling his head in her lap.

"That'll save me some time," gloated DeFluevous.

At that moment they all felt the approach of yet another Immortal. DeFluevous turned partly away from Leo. He chose that moment to strike. She must have seen him move because she turned back toward him raising her sword as she did so. It was too late. Her head bounced twice and rolled to the feet of the new arrivals. MacLeod and another person stood over it staring at him in shock. Then all hell broke loose.

The blast knocked Leo against one of the standing stones. Lightning swirled around him. He was slowly lifted into the air and set spinning like a gyroscope. Faster and faster he spun light dazzling his eyes. He glimpsed both the head and body of Marie DeFluevous swirling around him. The light winked out and the standing stones all started to arc lightning back and forth across the circle. He floated toward the center of the circle, his spin slowing. The forks of lightning from the standing stones arced through his body convulsing it with pain. He prayed for it to stop and for the pain to end. Flames enclosed the circle and a strange shape made of pure lightning surged out of the ground directly below him. Slowly the shape coalesced into a young girl of perhaps fourteen. She was naked. Leo gasped as the lightning speared out of his eyes and into hers. Off to his right he noticed that DeFluevous' body and head had come to rest on top of one of the stone arches. Lightning arced from the other stones in the circle to him and then poured through his body and into hers as well. Every cell in his body cried out in pain and yet he could still see what was going on around him. There was one final explosion that hurled him out of the circle and he landed with a sickening crack.

***

Connor hurried to Ian's side. He was vaguely aware of Adam checking on the girl who had appeared in the center of the circle. Ian gasped back to life; his eyes darting this way and that. He slowly focused on Connor.

"Wha... What happened?"

"McCarthy took someone's head."

"On Holy Ground?"

"Yes, damnit. Didn't you teach him anything."

"I... I told him. He... He knew... the Rules."

Shaking his head as if to clear it Ian climbed slowly to his feet. He still looked unwell. A little to unwell for someone recovering from a stab wound. Connor looked at Michelle. She had tears in her eyes.

"It's all my fault," she said. "That could have been me. I almost broke the Rules."

Connor watched as Ian helped her to her feet. They held each other tightly. He wondered what Angie Ramirez would think about Michelle. The thought of Angie spurred him out of his revelry.

"McCarthy, I almost forgot," he said to himself as he ran through the dying flames and out of the circle.

He wasn't sure how far the explosion had flung McCarthy so he kept walking in the approximate direction hoping to sense him. If he was still alive that was. He almost walked right past the former Detective. A low groan had caught his attention and he rushed toward the sound. McCarthy was lying in a ditch that appeared to have been formed by the force of his body plowing into the earth. He was alive, but something was wrong. Connor couldn't feel his presence. He wasn't immortal anymore.

***

Ian and Michelle watched as Adam led the girl to the waiting car. Michelle had been trying to describe what had happened when Leo took Marie's head. She so far had managed to say only that it was kind of hard to describe. He had the impression that it had been worse that an actual Quickening and Michelle seemed to hold the same opinion. He wished he'd have seen it.

Michelle had picked up her sword and returned it to its sheath. She handed him Leo's sword and the two of them headed off in pursuit of Connor. The sound of movement from above alerted him at the last moment and he pushed Michelle out of the way as something leapt from the rocks above. It was Marie. She grabbed her sword and ran out of the circle. Michelle scrambled to her feet and started after her.

"No! Let her go. Let her go," he repeated tiredly and set off to help Connor find Leo.

Michelle stood indecisively for a moment or two than hurried after him.

***

Methos put the young girl in the Land Rover he had rented, checked that he had the keys on him and then locked her inside. The sound of running feet and the presence of an Immortal reached him at the same time. He turned and the running Immortals skidded to a halt a few feet away. He looked at her. She hadn't changed. Well, except for the scar around her neck.

"Close call, Marie. Lucky you were on Holy Ground or you'd be gone."

"Can it, Benjamin. I just want to get out of here as fast as I can. I'm not interested in fighting you."

"You should have thought of that two hundred and sixty years ago."

"Two hundred and fifty-eight," she corrected.

***

Paris, France -- November 23, 1740

Methos was happy. He had just married the love of his life. This life anyway. They climbed into their carriage and started their honeymoon as the driver roused the horses into motion. This is what life was all about.

The carriage came to a sudden halt and Methos felt an Immortal approaching. He retrieved his sword from the floor and began to scramble out of the carriage. The driver was dead, a crossbow bolt through his heart.

"I am Marie DeFluevous and I have come for your head!"

"Doctor Benjamin Adams. I don't believe we've had the pleasure."

Marie emerged from the darkness. She raised an eyebrow as she took in his appearance.

"Did I interrupt something or do you always fight nude?"

"I find the freedom it affords me advantageous," he joked.

She sprang and Methos parried the blow. They circled each other testing their defenses. Methos tried a couple of moves that hadn't been used in a millennia or two. She countered them both expertly. He wondered just how old she might be.

The door to the carriage opened once more and Methos watched helplessly as Marie turned and shoved her rapier through his bride's abdomen all the way to the hilt. He dashed forward as his wife fell dragging Marie's sword from her grip. He swung his sword at her several times but his anger unbalanced him and she was able to escape into the darkness.

***

Salisbury Plain, England -- May 18, 1998

Methos attacked; controlling his anger and using it to hone his skill. Mustn't lose control. She won't get away again. He came in from her right forcing her to circle away from Stonehenge. He wasn't going to let her get back to Holy Ground. He pressed his attack forcing her back; she was barely able to parry his blows.

"You've improved in the last two and a half centuries," she gasped through her teeth.

"I've had a lot of practice recently."

He continued forcing her back. She lost her footing on the uneven ground and fell. Methos closed in for the kill. She flung a handful of dirt into his face; blinding him. He felt here sword pierce his abdomen and he fell to his knees. As she pulled her cutlass from his stomach he pulled his dagger from its hiding place near his waist and slammed it upward into her chest. Her sword clattered to the ground as her life's blood flowed down his arm. Releasing the dagger, he stood and wiped the dirt from his eyes. Marie was sitting on her legs trying to pull the dagger from her chest. The life was slowly draining from her eyes as she looked up at him. His sword arced through the air, cleanly severing her head along the scar from Leo's sword.

***

London, England -- May 19, 1998

Ian walked into Leo's hospital room just as the nurse was leaving. He watched her walk down the hall and then closed the door. Leo started laughing.

"See what we miss being Immortal?"

Ian frowned. Looked at Leo and shook his head.

"Don't worry," Leo reassured him. "I'm alive and the Doctors say I'll be able to leave in a few weeks. I'm actually glad I'm not an Immortal anymore. It was cramping my style."

"What style?" asked Connor as he and Michelle entered.

"Check it out; the gang's all here. Come to bid me farewell?"

"Unfortunately, yes. We still have to find my kinsman."

"Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod," said Michelle in an atrocious Scottish accent.

"Please, don't make me laugh," Leo said as he did just that.

Adam came in and Connor began laughing even more. Adam looked at Ian and Michelle who were trying to stifle their giggles. Then at Leo and Connor who were making no such effort.

"Did I miss something?"

"Not really," said Ian between giggles.

"Well, in that case, I have good news. Duncan has turned up in Paris."

"When?" asked Connor, Ian and Michelle almost simultaneously.

"About three hours ago. A friend of mine saw him at Richie's grave. He cut his hair and he's still talking about demons, but he's alive and well."

"Good," said Ian, "Now, what about the girl from Stonehenge?"

"I called Amanda to see if she could take on a new student. She's on her way. The girl should be stealing priceless treasures in no time."

"And taking heads too, no doubt," added Michelle.

"Possibly," agreed Adam.

"I just love happy endings," said Leo from his bed.

"Me too," grinned Methos. "Me too."

###

## Author's Note

All of the stories in this collection were written for the fanzine Highland Blades published by GraphicsOne in the mid to late 1990s. Is Ignorance Bliss? appeared in Volume I, Wishful Thinking in Volume II and Full Circle in Volume IV. On Holy Ground, was submitted for inclusion in Volume V but was rejected for relying too heavily on two of my previous stories. I added some dialogue to cover a plot hole that existed in the original unpublished text and included it here as bonus material.

# About the Author

Richard L. Foland Jr. has lived a mostly nomadic life in western Pennsylvania, southeastern Ohio and (briefly) western New York. As his life has become increasingly more settled his faith in people, especially politicians, has become far more unsettled. He hates divorces, having been through one, and loathes large gatherings. The latter probably explains why he would prefer to sit alone at a keyboard rather than go to a party. It probably also explains why people think he might be antisocial although he would rather they called him Uncle Social.

You can follow his slow descent into inanity at the Pharos Blogject or on  goodreads.

## Other Titles by this Author

Time Out of Joint

At What Price?

# Previews

## At What Price?

Justin awoke to find that he couldn't move; his body, from the neck down, just wouldn't obey him. After several futile minutes, spent straining against whatever force was holding him, he gave up his struggles and began to study his surroundings. He was lying on a table or bed of some kind in the middle of a vast open space. A bright light blazed down on him from a great height creating a cone of illumination. He was vaguely aware of movement and muted sounds emanating from the darker areas outside the cone.

He tried to remember how he'd come to be in this position but his memories seemed content to cower in some dusty corner of his mind and refused to be coaxed out. Fear, however, had decided that it would like to occupy the space left by the absent memories and quickly spread downward from there until it engulfed his heart in its icy grip. Something was definitely wrong with this situation; he just couldn't tell what it was.

A figure stepped into the light cone and slowly walked toward him. It was a rather large man in his late forties with a touch of gray at his temples. He smiled down at Justin in a rather predatory manner. There was something familiar about that smile and Justin struggled to remember what it was. Fear tightened its grip on his heart and shifted its position just enough to allow a name to filter into his conscious mind. Alexander Vernick. Justin's eyes widened and a soft gasp escaped his lips.

"So you recognize me, eh?" Vernick's silky baritone voice echoed slightly as he spoke.

Justin nodded dumbly. Alexander Vernick had been his boss until he'd turned State's Evidence back in twenty twelve. He'd been relocated after that and had almost forgotten about his previous life in the intervening seven years. Now it came rushing back with a vengeance.

Vernick held up a large hoop of metal with several long thin needles projecting towards its center. The light glinted off the apparatus in a nearly hypnotic pattern.

"Do you recognize this as well?"

"A neural inhibitor," Justin managed to croak.

Now he knew why he couldn't move. The neural inhibitor had been invented to replace anesthetic in most medical procedures. When clamped around the patient's neck it intercepted all but the body's autonomic neural signals. This meant that the patient could not feel pain and also ensured that he didn't move during the procedure. It even recorded the neural impulses so that neurologists could study them. They were a boon to medicine, and to criminals. With the collars, they could torture a victim once during which he would feel nothing and then they could just sit back and let him experience the pain, he'd missed, continuously until he was broken. The best part was that the victim couldn't die from the accumulation of wounds and if he blacked out from the pain it would just be waiting for him when he regained consciousness even if his tormentors weren't present.

"Exactly! You are no doubt aware that you are currently wearing one but don't worry I'm not going to torture you with it. You see, I want your suffering to be worse than anything you could possibly imagine and physical pain although unthinkable is really quite easy to imagine. I thought about all the things I could do to you and ironically enough none of them seemed quite right until I actually found you. You and that new bride of yours."

The word bride was stressed rather oddly and fear took advantage of the opportunity to spread to Justin's stomach. Vernick snapped his fingers and two thugs walked into the cone of light dragging Alicia between them. Her eyes were as wide as saucers and she was shaking violently. Tears welled up in her eyes at the sight of him lying helpless on the table.

"If you've done anything to her, I'll..."

"Oh, come now. You're in no position to threaten me. However, you may put your mind to rest we haven't done anything to her. Not yet anyway. Have we my dear?"

Alicia shook her head to indicate that Vernick had indeed not harmed her. Justin sighed with relief. As if this were his cue, Vernick stepped towards Alicia and clamped the neural inhibitor he'd been holding around her neck. Immediately she slumped and was scooped up by the two thugs. Rough hands grabbed Justin, hauled him upright and slammed him into a nearby chair as Alicia was dumped onto the table. His head, the only part of his body that was still under his control, was strapped to the chair to prevent him from turning away from whatever they planned to do to his wife.

"The inhibitor will ensure that she feels nothing," Vernick was saying. "After all, I have no quarrel with her. She's just a useful tool in my revenge against you."

The thugs left and Justin listened as their footsteps faded into the distance. He wasn't really a religious man, hell, he wasn't even sure if God existed but as he listened to those echoing footsteps he prayed. He prayed for his wife, that she would be spared from whatever Alexander had planned. He didn't pray for himself; he wasn't important. The echoing thud of a door being closed stopped him in mid prayer. The thugs were gone, only Alexander, Alicia and himself remained.

"She's quite a beautiful woman," Alexander complimented as he walked slowly around the table. In his hand he now carried a jeweled stiletto, which glinted menacingly in the light. "This stiletto reportedly belonged to Lucretia Borgia; it's said that she used it while preparing the poisons that she so loved. Personally, I doubt that's true but one never knows. Of course, if it is that would mean that the blade is envenomed with the stuff. Shall we find out?"

###

## Kayleigh and the Caterpillar

Once, not so very long ago, in a place, not so very far from where you are now, lived a little girl named Kayleigh. Now, Kayleigh had a small problem; she was extremely curious. She was so curious, in fact, that her parents used to joke that it was a good thing she had not been born a cat and her grandfather called her "George."

One beautiful, sunny fall day Kayleigh's parents decided to have a family picnic. They packed a picnic basket with sandwiches and salads, as well as a blanket and some bottles of water. They loaded the basket into her mom's car and the three of them drove to a nearby park.

After arriving at the park they drove around until they found what looked like the perfect place for their picnic. It was a small glade which was surrounded on three sides by a large forest. The park road emptied into a gravel parking area that marked the fourth side.

"Don't go too far," Kayleigh's mom said as they climbed from the car.

"I won't," Kayleigh promised as she ran across the glade.

Kayleigh reached the edge of the glade and stopped. She looked into the forest and then back to the car where her parents were unloading the picnic supplies from the car. She was very excited about the picnic and she had just promised to not wander off, but she really wanted to see what was in the forest. She quickly decided that going into the forest would be okay if she only went a short way. After all, her Mom and Dad would call her when the picnic was ready. She walked into the forest.

There was a thick layer of leaves on the ground and they made a fun swishing sound as she walked through them. Little spots of sunlight speckled the forest where it wasn't blocked by the colorful leaves that were still on the trees. It was the prettiest place Kayleigh had ever been. Even the old dead tree being held upright by the branches of its living neighbors was oddly beautiful.

Kayleigh heard a rustling in the leaves nearby and began to move toward it. A squirrel burst out of the leaves at the base of a small bush and ran up the dead tree and across the branches that held it up. Unfortunately the movement of the branches caused by the squirrel's passage caused the dead tree to slip from their grasp and fall to the ground. Kayleigh screamed and covered her head with her arms as the tree crashed down on top of her.

###

