MacLeod released the boy, and started to get up.
Billy backed away and stood behind Sammy. "What are we going to do?"
"I think we're still going to take this dude's money."
MacLeod hadn't made it all the way to his feet when the three bullets tore into his body. His reflexes caused him to grasp the hilt of his sword just before he fell back against the wall.
Billy screamed, "Why did you do that?"
"I don't know!" Sammy was scared now. As he stuffed the gun into his belt he heard sirens in the distance. "Grab his wallet and let's go."
Billy did as he was told then followed his brother out of the alley and down the street.
MacLeod awoke in a cold, smelly place. He was naked and his body was covered with a sheet. He recognized a morgue instantly. Listening carefully, he decided there was no one in the room, and pulled the sheet off his head and sat up. Fortunately, he was on an exam table and not in a body locker. He scanned the room for any kind of clothing but didn't see anything useful. Wrapping the sheet around himself, he went to the door and looked out. He saw no one in the hall, so he left as quietly as he could.
Once in the hall MacLeod knew where he was because it hadn't been that long ago he had helped Michelle escape from this same morgue. MacLeod slipped into the linen supply room and found some physician's scrubs that fit him. In another supply room he found some paper footies and a mask.
Listening at the door, MacLeod heard no one outside. He went into the hall and started towards the staircase. He was thinking about how he could find out about his sword and other things when the elevator door opened. MacLeod quickened his pace, but stopped dead in his tracks when he heard a woman's voice.
"Doctor, are you lost? The surgery wing is the other way."
He turned to face the woman, pulled down his mask and smiled. "No, I'm not lost."
"Duncan!" Anne exclaimed as she rushed to where he stood. "What are you doing here?"
Tilting his head towards the morgue, he said, "I died."
Even though she knew the facts about Immortality, Anne was still somewhat in awe of a man who kept coming back from the dead. "So that's why you're dressed like that." Anne forced a smile as she examined his clothing. "You're going to become another missing body from this hospital, aren't you?"
MacLeod shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah. Can we go somewhere and talk?"
"Sure. I just got off duty and was going to check some things about one I lost tonight before heading home." Anne led Duncan to the doctor's lounge, but found it occupied. "Come on, let's go to the chapel."
As they waited on the elevator, Anne looked at the man standing next to her. "I wonder why I didn't see you come in."
"I imagine I was DOA and they brought me directly down here."
"What happened to you?"
Before MacLeod could answer the elevator opened and they stepped inside.
"Wait! Hold the door!" a nurse shouted as she ran to catch the elevator before it started up.
Because of the other passenger, they rode in silence to the first floor. The chapel was deserted at this hour and they took seats near the back. For several seconds the only sound was the Christmas music playing quietly through the sound system of the hospital. Finally, Anne said, "Well, I'm waiting."
"For what?"
"You said you wanted to talk."
MacLeod had only meant to ask for Anne's help in getting his clothes and sword, but now, sitting next to her in this place of sanctuary, he couldn't seem to focus on that.
"Tell me how you ended up in the morgue," Anne asked gently.
Pulling the mask off his head and running his fingers through his loose hair, MacLeod explained, "The last thing I remember was being shot by a street punk who wanted to take my wallet."
"So you were mugged."
"Yeah, I guess so."
Anne studied the haggard look on the face she knew so well. "There's more to it than that, isn't there? A street punk could never get the better of you under normal circumstances."
Duncan steepled his fingers under his chin and stared at the altar in front of the chapel. A recording of a children's choir began to play and the words of the song haunted Duncan...
Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.
"Christmas is a time for peace, joy, and goodwill to your fellow man," he said.
"Yes," Anne agreed quietly.
The song played softly in the background...
With God as my Father, brothers all are we.
"I collapsed in that alley because I'd been run through with a sword earlier tonight."
"An Immortal came after you?"
The words of the song mingled with Duncan's story...
Let me walk with my brother in perfect harmony
"One of my kind, a brother if you will, tried to take my head."
The song continued...
Take each moment and live each moment in peace eternally.
"I am Immortal. I have eternal life but at what price? Everyone around me dies."
The song ended...
Let there be peace on earth and let it begin with me.
"I killed a man tonight. What kind of peace is that?"
Anne placed her hand on Duncan's arm and wished she could see his face, but he continued to stare straight ahead. "You do what you have to do to survive."
For several seconds he didn't move as memories of so many dead friends, so much death and killing crowded his mind. "But does that make the killing right?"
This didn't sound like the Duncan Anne knew. He'd lived by the sword all his life and the death of one Immortal shouldn't effect him like this. "What made this guy different?"
MacLeod didn't answer right away and was grateful Anne didn't press. Finally he spoke quietly. "He boasted that he had killed Amanda."
Anne drew in a sharp breath. She had become friends with the brash Immortal and enjoyed her frequent visits. "Do you think it's true?"
Almost inaudibly, he said, "Yes." MacLeod turned to face Anne. "I heard about a month ago that Amanda might be dead and I've tried to contact her every way I could think of with no results."
"But don't you Immortals often disappear?"
"We do," Duncan reached for his coat pocket then realized he was still dressed in hospital greens, "but he had her necklace and Amanda never would have parted with it willingly."
MacLeod dropped his head into his hands. After several seconds he continued, "I've seen a lot of people die in my life, and I've killed many of them myself. I felt justified in taking LaSalle's head tonight, but what gives me the right to be judge, jury and executioner?"
"But isn't that what the Game is all about? There can be only one?"
"Yeah, but I've walked away from it before. The senseless, mindless killing..." Duncan stopped, unable to complete the thought.
Anne watched the man seated beside her for a few seconds and she could almost feel his pain.
"What makes me so different from the kid who shot me in the alley?"
Placing her hand on Duncan's face, Anne said, "You worry about what is right and wrong. You don't take a life easily and you don't kill for sport or gain." When Duncan remained quiet, Anne continued, "The very fact you're talking about this makes you different."
"Does it?" MacLeod asked wearily.
"Yes. You're a good, honest man whose fate puts him into this position. You kill only when you have to and you don't kill mortals."
"But I have, in war and...at other times."
"All right, but your Game, isn't it like a war? It's a fight to the death until only one remains. In war, even good and decent men do things they otherwise wouldn't." Anne paused for a moment and studied Duncan's brooding face. "What would have happened tonight if you hadn't killed LaSalle?"
"He would have taken my head."
"And would that have been better for the world? Would your death, the death of an Immortal who cares about people, both mortals and Immortals, have been better than getting rid of one who doesn't care who he kills?"
When Duncan didn't respond, Anne placed her hand on his arm. "There is more to this than the one death, isn't there?"
He turned to face her. Duncan felt good talking to Anne. She knew what he was, so he didn't have to hide his true feelings, but Duncan also knew it couldn't last. She hadn't been able to deal with all that his Immortality meant. "For some reason, tonight I can't escape the memories. There have been so many people I've lost, so many I've killed. Everyone close to me dies or leaves."
Anne knew she was one of those guilty of hurting him. She had given him hope of being a father to her child, then she left him. When Duncan had explained what his life was like Anne thought she would be able to adjust, but seeing him kill and wanting him to kill had been harder than she realized.
"The one constant in my life is death, kill or be killed. But the price I pay for the life I lead is being alone. You would think after all these years I would be used to it, but it still hurts just as much now to lose a friend as it did the first time."
"Memories are a part of the healing process everybody goes through when they lose someone close. You need to let yourself grieve, Duncan. You keep too many things bottled up inside and try to tell yourself the death that is so much a part of your life is normal. It's not normal, not even for you." Not knowing what more to say, Anne put her arms around Duncan and held him close.
After several minutes Duncan said, "You didn't have to hit me."
Anne placed her hand on her very large abdomen. "I didn't hit you, she kicked."
Putting his hand beside Anne's, Duncan felt the baby gently moving. "Does she do that often?"
"Sometimes more than others."
The tension now broken, Duncan looked down at his flimsy attire. "I don't suppose you could find my sword, clothes and other things, do you?"
Grinning, Anne said, "I'll see what I can do."
It was almost an hour later when Anne returned and she found Duncan asleep. She looked into the serene face and wished she didn't have to wake him. "You really are a man of peace, Duncan MacLeod," she whispered. Anne pulled the sword out of the bundle of clothing and examined it in the dim light of the chapel. "But your lifestyle won't let you live that life of peace." Anne shuddered involuntarily at the sight of the dried blood and bits of flesh on the blade. She was a doctor and saw such things everyday, but thinking about how she was holding a weapon that had killed so many unnerved her.
She touched Duncan's arm. "Wake up, sleepy head."
MacLeod opened his eyes and was momentarily disorientated. He focused on the sword in Anne's hand and remembered where he was. "You got it."
"Yeah, finally."
"What do you mean?"
"Since you came in as a gunshot victim and because of the blood on this, your things were secured for the police detectives to pick up. However, it seems they are short handed because of the holiday and they haven't arrived yet."
"Lucky for me since this blood would be linked to LaSalle when his body is found. I didn't have time to dispose of it."
Anne paused to reflect on how calmly Duncan talked about the man he'd killed tonight, as if he'd just left him sleeping in the park. She knew Duncan had to kill to survive, but all the death still bothered her. She shook her head ever so slightly to rid it of such thoughts. "I got most of your stuff but I couldn't find your wallet anywhere. That seems really odd because the hospital staff is very good about keeping track of a patient's identification, even one who is DOA."
Duncan stood and took the katana from Anne. "This is what really matters. Don't worry about the wallet. The punks who killed me probably took it."
"But you'll have to replace everything that was in it."
"It's no big deal. I've done it before."
Anne stared at him for a second then turned away. "Yes, I suppose you have."
As Duncan dressed he continued, "Actually, since I didn't have any identification on me when I was brought in, it makes me a John Doe. That means Duncan MacLeod doesn't have to die."
"I guess you're right," Anne agreed. She wrinkled her nose as she looked at the man before her. "You'll make quite a spectacle of yourself if you walk out looking like that."
MacLeod followed her gaze to his very bloody and torn shirt. "True." He picked up his coat. "This isn't too bad and should hide most of the evidence." He began to put it on when he felt Anne's hand on his arm.
"Can you stay and talk?"
"Why?"
"I've missed you, and even if I can't be a part of your life, you are my friend." She paused. "And tonight I think you need a friend."
MacLeod did feel the need to talk, but long years of life had made him draw into himself when he was hurting. Tonight's walk was supposed to be a time to allow him to forget the painful memories that haunted him in the loft, but it had only accentuated them. He felt worse now than when he'd started out so many hours before.
"I suppose I can stay for a while."
Duncan and Anne sat in the chapel for a couple hours talking about the things they had done since they had separated. Anne told him of her plans for the baby and how she would arrange her schedule to mesh her life as a single parent and an emergency room doctor. MacLeod told Anne some of the things that had happened since she had left Paris. He left out most of his battles and temporary deaths, but told her about Richie and Felicia.
"I'll miss Richie, too," Anne agreed. "He was a real comfort to me after I saw you die. The boy cared for you like a father."
"I know. Nurturing a young Immortal is probably as close to being a parent as I'll ever get. I've done..."
"Ohhh!" Anne exclaimed.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing, just a really strong contraction."
"You mean the baby is coming?"
"No, she's not due for another two weeks. I've been having these pains off an on for the last several days, and quite a few today. It's a normal part of pre-labor. That last one was just a little stronger than most."
The two friends had talked for another hour when Anne said, "Well, I think I was wrong."
"Wrong about what?"
"This baby is ready to be born."
"How can you tell? Are the contractions closer together?"
"They have been getting a little stronger all night, but the reason I'm sure now is because my water just broke." Anne tried to stand, but was hit with another strong contraction as she moved.
Duncan jumped up. "What can I do?"
"Go get a nurse and have her bring a wheelchair for me."
MacLeod started out the door, then remembered his bloody clothes and grabbed his coat. He returned in a few minutes with a floor nurse.
"Hello, Dr. Lindsey, I didn't know you were in here."
"It's me, Diana, and I think I'm about to have my baby, just a little early."
The nurse helped Anne into the chair and wheeled her to the elevator.
MacLeod followed behind. As the doors opened, he grasped Anne's hand. "I better be going now. Thanks for the talk." A brief smile touched his lips. "It helped." He didn't want to leave her, to be alone again, but knew it was time. Sharing the life of this child was something Anne had taken away from him months ago in Paris.
Anne looked into MacLeod's eyes and tried to judge how he was feeling. "Do you want to stay with me during the delivery?"
Looking at the impatient nurse who was holding the doors, MacLeod stammered, "I'm not sure if I should."
Another contraction caused Anne to catch her breath and double over in pain.
"Well, hurry up and make up your mind, mister," the nurse said. "This woman is about to have a baby."
MacLeod stepped into the elevator and held Anne's hand all the way to the maternity ward. When they gave MacLeod a gown and mask to put on, it simplified his problem of hiding his bloody clothes. As he waited in the anteroom while they prepared Anne for the labor and delivery, he thumbed through a magazine and a picture caught his eye.
It was Grace Chandler, or Isabelle Pontand as the caption stated. MacLeod had not heard from this old friend since she had left Paris a couple years earlier with a new name and the freedom to start a new life. MacLeod read the article with interest. It discussed the positive direction of Grace's research into the development of an anti-viral vaccine. There was great promise in her work and hope it would lead to a break-though in the search for a way to curb the spread of the HIV virus.
MacLeod's heart sank and his eyes misted over as he came to the end of the article. There he saw a small box edged in black with the following text: 'Doctor Isabelle Pontand was found brutally murdered in her home just two days before we went to press. There are no suspects and the police have no motive and very little evidence. Doctor Pontand's colleagues are attempting to continue her work, but according to her chief assistant, "The doctor's talent was unmatched by anyone on staff. She seemed to have a wisdom far beyond her years". Doctor Pontand will be greatly missed by all who knew her.'
MacLeod wanted to believe it was only a temporary death and Grace had voluntarily left her life for another place. But he knew she had no reason to leave her work, especially now that she was making progress. The article didn't say she'd been beheaded, but 'brutally' implied that to him. He stifled the cry that raised in his chest, 'Will this night of loss and memory never end?' He was still clutching the magazine when he realized a nurse was calling.
Following the woman into the delivery room, MacLeod couldn't help remembering the first time he'd seen Grace. It had also been the first time he'd seen a baby born. Things had changed a lot in 330 years, yet some things remained the same. Anne looked very uncomfortable as she paced the floor. "Are you all right, Anne?"
She stopped. "I'm fine...ohhhh... I just feel like I'm being torn in the middle."
"Well, it has been said that women are the stronger sex and if it were left up to men to have the babies, the human race would soon die out because we can't stand the pain."
Anne smiled. This man had been stabbed and shot tonight, he'd died at least once and maybe twice, and he was telling her men couldn't take pain. "I don't think that is true of all men."
Before Duncan could say anything more a nurse came in to check on Anne's condition. All the monitoring and frequent interruptions made having a meaningful conversation impossible so he and Anne just made small talk for the next couple of hours until it was finally time for the delivery. MacLeod watched the miracle of birth happening. A new life was brought into the world, on Christmas day.
The tiny little girl screamed at the top of her lungs and everyone felt that even though she was slightly premature, she would be a healthy child. The baby was placed on Anne's chest while they waited for the delivery of the placenta. Duncan caressed the baby's tiny hand with his, looked down at Anne's sweat drenched face and said, "She's beautiful, just like you."
Anne was too weak to say anything so she just smiled.
When the baby was taken away to be examined and bathed, Duncan asked, "What are you going to name her?"
"Debra Anne, after my grandmother."
"Debra, that's a pretty name." Duncan looked over to where the baby was being weighed and measured but he didn't see that activity. Instead, he saw a lovely red- headed lass named Debra Campbell. She had been dead since 1618 but he could still hear her voice and feel her touch. Two people died because of his love for Debra. If he hadn't been so stubborn in wanting to leave the village after he had killed Robert, maybe Debra wouldn't have died. They wouldn't have been arguing and she wouldn't have fallen from the cliff. Duncan's mind returned to the present as he realized Anne was still talking.
"... named after her too. She's the one who encouraged me to pursue my dream of being a doctor."
The nurse brought the baby back and gave her to Anne. "She sure has a lot of pretty red hair."
"She got that from her father," Anne said.
The nurse glanced up at Duncan's long black hair and raised an eyebrow slightly. She patted Anne on the hand and said, "You get some rest now, honey."
As the nurse walked away Duncan and Anne exchanged a look and they both giggled. "She doesn't know I'm not exactly the fathering type."
"I'm not so sure. Fathering a child isn't necessarily what makes one a good father. Would you like to hold her?"
"I...I don't know if I should." Duncan felt a pang of loss he didn't want Anne to see. For a very short time he had thought he would finally have a family with this child, but Anne's decision to leave him made that impossible. Even though he understood her reasons, it still hurt.
Anne saw the pain in Duncan's face and realized she was the cause of it. It had been selfish of her to ask him to stay with her during the birth of her baby. She wanted to share the experience with him because she really did care for him, but now knew it had been wrong. She thought of the sword he carried under his coat and knew nothing had changed. She still couldn't live with the killing.
"I'm sorry, Duncan. I shouldn't have put you through this. I know it must be..."
"I'm here because I want to be, Anne." Duncan reached out and picked up Debra. Cradling the infant against his chest he looked into her face. "The birth of a baby is what gives mankind a future. Children are the hope of the human race because within them is the hope that the new generation will make the world a better place." Gently rocking the child who would never be his, Duncan knew that hope was for the mortals of the world. For him, and all Immortals, there was only more death, darkness and killing.
"You've seen a lot of changes in your lifetime, haven't you?"
Duncan sighed. "Changes yes, but some things never seem to change." He placed Debra into Anne's arms. "Last night I took a life. Today you gave one back." Duncan watched as Anne caressed the baby. He knew the reason he was staying here was because he didn't want to be alone. But it was time to move on. Duncan bent over Anne and whispered, "I have to go now. Thank you for the conversation and for letting me share in the birth of this new little person." He kissed Anne gently on the cheek and then stood up. "Maybe someday we can talk again."
"When?"
"I think I'll come to her college graduation." He tilted his head slightly and smiled, "or maybe medical school."
Understanding this was his way of saying good-bye and telling her he was going to stay out of her life, Anne grasped his hand. "You're a good man, Duncan MacLeod. If you live to be a thousand, don't you ever forget it."
MacLeod gave her a little squeeze, and turned to leave. He placed his hand in his coat pocket and felt Amanda's necklace. Pulling it out, he returned to Anne's bed. "I'd like you to keep this. I think Amanda would want it worn by someone she called friend."
"Oh, Duncan, I couldn't. You knew her for so much longer than I did, you should keep it."
"No." Duncan placed the necklace around Anne's neck. "I have other ways to remember Amanda. I want you to keep this."
Anne touched the sparkling crystal. "This will be my memory stone as it will always remind me of both of you."
The smile faded from MacLeod's face as he turned and left the hospital room. He called a cab and rode in silence back to his loft. It was Christmas morning and the world would soon be alive with the holiday spirit. During the ride home, MacLeod made a decision.
Entering his loft, he pulled out his computer and sent an email message to the Realtor who had recently sold him the Edgar Estate. He asked her to sell it and the dojo. The proceeds were to be put into a bank account he provided in the message.
Next MacLeod sent another email message to his attorney. This man had been engaged many years ago to take care of MacLeod's estate in the event of his death. The message told the lawyer that circumstances made it imperative that MacLeod liquidate all his holdings in the Seattle area as he wasn't planning to be back for a while. The lawyer already had specific instructions about which things were to be sold and which were to be put into storage. MacLeod also asked the lawyer to set up a trust fund in the name of Debra Anne Lindsey. Even if he couldn't share in the little girl's life, he wanted to help provide for her future.
Shutting down his computer, MacLeod next pulled out his duffel bag. He packed some clothes, his various passports, and made sure he had the permit to carry his sword onto the plane. He called a cab and then picked up his computer and other luggage. With one final look around this place that had been his home for the last couple years, he entered the lift and went to the ground floor.
MacLeod was standing at the bottom of the landing waiting on the cab when the US Postal service truck pulled up. "Hello," the man from the truck said, "I'm looking for Mr. Duncan MacLeod."
"That's me."
"I have a priority mail package for you from a Connor MacLeod." He handed over the thick red, white, and blue envelope, and continued a light-hearted banter. "I guess your family is a little slow about getting things sent for the holidays."
As he wondered where Connor was and what might be in this package, MacLeod absentmindedly said, "Yeah, sometimes we're out of touch for centuries."
"What?" the postman asked with puzzlement in his voice.
MacLeod laughed to cover his slip. "Or at least it seems like it sometimes."
"Well, Merry Christmas, Mr. MacLeod."
"Merry Christmas to you to, and I hope you don't have to work all day."
MacLeod only had a moment to glance at the return address below Connor's name before the cab arrived. It came from a lawyer's office in New York. As he settled in the back seat of the car for the ride to the airport, MacLeod opened the envelope. Most of the contents were contracts, and other legal documents. He found two letters, one from a partner in the law firm and another hand-written one from Connor:
"Dear Duncan,
If you are reading this it is because I'm no longer in the Game. I hope you continue to have all the fun and most of the good women for many years to come.
I was proud to call you kinsman, and happy to have you as a friend. But we both knew, in the end there could be only one, and I was not destined to be that one. Maybe it will be you.
In life we never said good-bye. With this letter I bid you final farewell.
Good-bye my old friend.
Connor MacLeod of the clan MacLeod."
The package slid off MacLeod's lap as he shut his eyes and his head fell back against the car seat. He crumpled the letter in his hand and took several slow, deep breaths. He didn't move for a long time. In the last twenty-four hours he had walked into a nightmare of recollections and revelations and he just wanted it all to end.
Connor dead. Amanda dead. Ceirdwyn dead. Methos and Richie too. Learning of so many deaths so close together was more than MacLeod wanted to face. But he knew he had to go on. He knew he would go on. Death was a part of his life and losing friends was a part of that life. He didn't like the killing, but he couldn't change what he was.
His thoughts were interrupted by the arrival at the airport. MacLeod rode the subway out to the International concourse and found the first flight out of the country that he could make. His computer wizardry allowed him to come up with the proper paperwork. It was so easy to manipulate the system with just a little bit of hacking.
Within a very short time MacLeod was on a plane bound for New Zealand. It would be good to spend the cold winter months of the northern hemisphere down where it was warm and summer was just starting. In six months or so when the weather started to change, he would decide what he wanted to do next. But for a while, all MacLeod wanted to do was rest and remember the good times with the friends who were now gone. As hard as it was to go on, he wanted to live for several more centuries so the spirit of those now gone would live on in him.
While talking with Anne, MacLeod had come to realize that even though his physical body heals with amazing speed, the healing of his mind and soul takes much longer. He suspected it would take just as long as it would for a mortal man.
E-mail the author with comments or questions at burton_e@ykm.com
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