Changes
by
K. H. Robnett
Part 1
"You cannot stay here any longer."
"You're sending me away?"
"Yes."
"But I have so much to learn..."
"You know the rules. You know how to defend yourself. You ignore everything else. What more is there?"
"You don't approve of what I'm doing."
"It is no longer my place."
"I just..."
"It's done."
"Will we see each other again?"
"The world is a very small place."
"Will you take my head?"
"Maybe."
-----------------------------------------------------------------------
The grinding sound of the freight elevator reverberated through the silent dojo. The room was enveloped in darkness, lighted only by the green glow of emergency signs, and the gaping maw of light from the hall.
...*RING* at three a.m., interrupting their drowsy conversation. Richie started to get up, but Gregor stopped him. "Let the answering machine pick it up. This is more important."
Sighing, Richie lay back down on the floor. Relieved at the sign of encouragement, he went on. "That's when everything fell apart. One minute, we're toasting their marriage, and the next, this guy barges in and shocks me into unconsciousness. I wake up, Tessa's gone. By that night, she's dead and I'm Immortal. I hide a couple of days at the warehouse, knowing Mac has a lot to do, getting the cops off his tail,, trying to keep me out of it. I read in the newspapers that Tessa's being buried in Paris. He didn't try to tell me, even contact me. He didn't want me there. About a week later he shows up at the shop. I'm going by to grab some more food. His car's outside, so I wait across the street. He comes out, and just stares at the door. That's when I walked close enough to buzz him. He turned, and looked at me. I could see it in his eyes. He blames me. Every now and then, when we're alone, and it's quiet, I can see regrets in his eyes. The way he looks at me. Maybe I should have died, and Tessa should have lived. And each time a little part of me wilts."
"Come on Rich, I don't think MacLeod would blame you for being what you are. From what you've told me, I can't see anything else you could have done. He probably blames himself. He's always taken more on his shoulders than anyone should. Who am I to complain? He saved me."
"He saved me, too. But it hurts, knowing he regrets it. I could have been like that kid. Very easily. Killing people for a few bucks. Scum."
"Don't even think like that. I may not have cared much the first time we met, but I do now. It's a wonderful thing to be alive. Never regret it. God, I was such a mess. I hope you know how sorry I am for what I put you through."
"Mac told me what you said to him. I'm glad you're getting help. You're the first Immortal that I've really known, except Mac. You're certainly the coolest I've met. And I know Mac values your friendship. As do I..." *RING* Once again, the phone interrupted the conversation. Gregor moaned, prodding Richie to get off. *RING* Untangling himself, Gregor pointed to the small refrigerator in his office as he reached for the cordless phone on the counter. Richie quickly came back with two open beers, handing one to the photographer.
"This had better be good!... Hey, Susan, wait, calm down. Take a deep breath Talk slowly...." Gregor's eyes widened, and he limply sat on the floor. "Oh my God. When?" Tears freely formed and fell, making circle marks on his slacks. "Was he...beheaded?...And shot?" Richie slowly removed the can from Gregor's shaking hand. "I'll be there... as soon as I can.... Yes... I love you, too. Be strong." Fazed, he laid the phone on the floor, letting Richie grab it and turn it off. "Oh, Jacko..."
"An Immortal friend?" Richie asked as Gregor stared into space.
"The best. There's a wedding picture on the wall."
Richie examined the photograph, labeled "Jason & Susan Talbot, May 14, 1980". In it, a young sandy blond man was holding hands with a gorgeous redhead. Behind them, Gregor and another woman stood, the group flanked by a trellis of greenery. Gregor looked happy and dashing in his tuxedo, no hint of the consuming madness Richie had experienced.
"I've known him since, God, the eighteen forties. I was a doctor...
>
...in front of Gregor. "Come on, Greg, you've had enough." Richie watched as his distraught companion downed yet another mouthful of liquor. Paying the bartender, he guided Gregor to the door. "You've got a flight to New York in six hours, and you can't be carried onto the plane."
"He kicked me out of his house. I visited them about two years ago. I upset Susan. Jacko looked at me like I was a stranger. We argued on the porch and he told me to leave him alone. Slammed the door in my face. Susan was crying. I never spoke to him again. I never told him..."
Outside, the cold night air brought some rational thought to Richie, struggling with the intoxicated Gregor. In the distance, flashes of light crisscrossed the sky, as a storm system moved in. The wind picked up, whirling debris and trash down the empty street. The turmoil in the air matched that of the Immortals. They stumbled down the sidewalk, both more tipsy then they'd admit. Down the street, past the alley. Richie noticed the buzz through his fog shrouded mind. Glancing up the alley, a man, sword in hand, waited. A light behind him masked any clue to his identity. The drunken duo wandered up the alley, drawn mysteriously to the stranger.
"Gregor Powers. How good to see you. And your friend, hmmm. Ah, yes. You must be Richard Ryan. We never officially met, but I saw you in Paris with MacLeod and the lovely Miss Noel. I would suggest, for your health, to leave Gregor standing there and move to the side of the alley. Mortals die so very easily. It would be a shame to lose you so early in the game."
"He's in no condition to fight, St. Cloud." Richie exclaimed, moving cautiously to the wall. "This isn't fair." He quickly searched for a weapon, cursing his carelessness at leaving both their swords at the gallery. He spotted a length of steel in the shadows of a dumpster.
"Who ever accused me of being fair, Mr. Ryan? Now, boys." The noise of a van door opening behind Richie made him turn. Two men jumped from the back, dressed in black with ski masks on. Both held deadly looking assault rifles, and proceeded to riddle Gregor's body with bullets. Richie stood in shock, not believing an Immortal would break the rules this much. Gregor jerked in a parody of dancing, then fell face first to the ground, a mass of agony, defenseless, dying. "Go now. I'll bring Mr. Ryan along as soon as I finish Gregor, and we'll all go see MacLeod and his lady together." The two men jumped back in the van and sped off into the night. Xavier moved slowly down the alley, savoring each moment. Richie moved to intercept him a few feet from Gregor, blocking his advance. "Now, behave, and I won't kill you slowly," the black man warned, raising his sword.
"Surprise!" answered Richie, brandishing the pipe. His opponent chuckled. A few mocking clashes informed St. Cloud that Richie wasn't the novice he expected. His missing hand evened the odds with Richie's inexperience and drunkenness, so much that the fight dragged on. Stamina again played the key factor, giving Xavier a much needed edge, and driving Richie to his knees.
*I-10 is, mmm, northeast of here - Can't guess how far, but it's your best bet.*
*Hitchhike!*
/Excellent idea./
> > > >
...down in the chair, handing Richie the other cup of coffee. "So there I was, no clothes and hitchhiking on the highway. I'm here to get my bike and then... I really don't know."
"I'd like to know who taught you the lightning trick. Ramirez taught it to me, but I haven't shown it to Duncan. Or anyone else."
"A friend..."
/DO NOT TELL HIM !! /
/I promised Juan I would not tell anyone about it./
"...said never be afraid to experiment."
/Loads./
"Well. I'm very sorry about Tessa. I know you and Duncan loved her very much. How is Duncan taking it?"
"Not very well." Richie took another sip of coffee, then stared at the dark liquid. "It's like he's given up. He's moody, and depressed."
"He's never taken the death of his friends and lovers very well. I don't either, but Duncan usually tries again after several years. Don't know how he does it."
"What was he like? When you first met him, I mean."
"Gosh, that was so long ago. He was very independent. Rebellious. He was used to getting his own way. He had trained all the younger warriors in the clan for several years, and really chaffed when I wanted to teach him different skills. I needed someone back then, and he needed to replace the clan that had abandoned him. I guess he was trying to prove he wasn't the things they accused him of. Accused me of. He ran into his first challenge and provoked a fight with a very old Immortal. He lost, of course, and then got so angry that the other wouldn't take his head. He became possessed with tracking him down. He'd disappear for days. I kept trying to talk to him, warn him, but he wouldn't listen. One day I had...
< < < < <
...had enough, Duncan MacLeod. You ignore my every word, you dinna' practice anymore. There is nothing more I can do. Go, and get yourself killed. That's all you really want to do." Connor paced back and forth, angry and upset. Duncan stood stunned in the doorway of the cottage, not believing his own kinsman would say this.
"What are you babbling, old man?"
"You canno' stay here any longer."
"You're sending me away?"
"Aye."
"This is my home..."
"No more."
"But I have so much to learn..."
"You know the rules. You know how to defend yourself. You ignore everything else. What more is there?"
"You dinna' approve of what I'm doing."
"It is no longer my place."
"I just..."
"It's done. Leave, and dinna come back. There is nothing for you here."
"There never was. All you cared about was your precious Heather and Ramirez. They are dead. I'm alive. I needed you, but you need no one. Think about that when you're alone at night, and no one cares." With those hateful words, Duncan stormed to the back of the small cottage, throwing his few belongings in a sack. He paused at the door, anger gone, replace, by sadness.
"Will we see each other again?"
"The world is a small place."
"Will you take my head?"
"Maybe."
"Then I guess there is nothing more to say." And into the night, Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod walked...
> > > > >
...past the pair at the table. "He didn't come back?" Richie asked, caught up by the story his friend had never told him.
"I don't know. I left about a week later. The area had too many memories."
"When did you see him again?"
"A hundred years later, in France. It was difficult, but we managed to put the past behind us. We don't talk about it now. I was there for him, he was there for me. That is what we remember. But still I regret... You must find him. Now. Heal the wounds you have caused each other. Don't make the same mistake I did. I..."
"Richard Ryan, please come to the desk at Gate 18. Richard Ryan to Gate 18."
"That's my stuff." Richie announced as he got up. He held out his hand. "Thank you. I'll think about it." The two Immortals, bound together by a common love, firmly shook hands.
"Do you have any plans for the next few days?" Connor casually asked as they walked to the gate.
"Not really."
"I'm attending an antique conference and convention here in Dallas. Would you like to attend? I could use a second opinion."
"I don't really know much about antiques."
"But you have worked with Duncan for awhile."
"Yeah. O.K. Let me get my bike."
"I'll meet you at the south exit. You can follow me into town."
"You know Dallas?"
"Since all this was a cattle ranch. I'll tell you over supper."
"See you at the exit."
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
With one phone call, Connor had changed his room to the Presidential Suite. They had supper in the air, in the revolving restaurant in Reunion Tower. Across the way, Reunion Arena gleamed in the lights, people still scurrying to set up for the weekend conference. They talked for hours, Richie enjoying the quiet companionship. He was surprised at how much Duncan and Connor were alike, finally realizing that Duncan probably idolized this man. As the bar closed upstairs, Richie and Connor moved to leave. In the crowded elevator, talk turned to mundane matters about the weekend.
"Care to join me for a five mile run in the morning? Or are you too old for it?"
"How about I get a banquet room, and we see how well Duncan taught you. Or are you to young for it?"
"Lead on, MacDuff."
"That's MacLeod."
"An antique by any other name..."
"...is called junk."
So absorbed by their conversation, neither noticed the single figure following them through the dark corridors of the hotel. Once they entered the suite, the young oriental pulled a cellular phone from his pocket and began to dial...
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
The two men in sweats moved in a circle, their swords weaving about them. Perspiration ran down their faces, only with small rivulets of blood from several nicks on their faces. Gasping for breath in the respite, Connor broke the silence.
"Would you do it again?"
"What?" The clang as the two swords met echoed in the room, as did sparks.
"Laura. Mako. Felicia."
Richie stopped and dropped his sword from a ready position. "No." It took all his control not to break into tears, for to go back and change things was his wish every night. "I've learned a whole bunch, and got a lot from it. But the price... it was too much."
In a burst of noise, several black clothed people burst from the doors at all corners of the room. Within seconds, the Immortals were circled by...
[Quiet. Back to back with Connor. And concentrate.]
The fight lasted less than a minute. A dart, loaded with deadly poison, was sunk into Connor's neck. Richie was quickly subdued by the twenty fighters and knocked unconscious. They dragged the limp bodies through the kitchens and into the back of a waiting van. The oriental man in a suit and tie smiled as the doors were shut, and the van sped off.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
It was dark and clammy. Richie hung suspended, chained by his wrists between to two columns. Next to him, Connor's unmoving body hung between the next two. Before him was a brazier filled with glowing coals. A sickly sweet smell permeated the air as the smoke wafted into his face. He faded in and out of consciousness, his head moving about. Two orientals approached, one the young man that had been following them. The other was older, dressed in an exquisitely detailed robe of orange and gold.
"You are right, it is Duncan MacLeod's friend. How fortunate. Our trap worked better than expected. How long has he been breathing the quandrothene?" the elder asked in precise, clipped tones.
"All afternoon. He should be ready."
"You have done well, Tsu Lin. Leave us. Prepare the young man's gear."
"Yes, Master." was the reply as he left.
"Mr. Ryan, can you hear me?"
After an eternity, Richie quietly answered, his lips slurring the word. "Yes."
"Good. I wish you to perform a small service for me. Will you?"
"Yes."
"Duncan MacLeod has taught you to use a sword?"
"Yes."
"You have fought with him before?"
"Yes."
"You have wounded him before?"
"Yes."
"When you hear my voice say 'Pawn takes Knight', I wish you to attack Duncan MacLeod. You will amputate his arms and legs. You will then disembowel yourself as he watches. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"You will do this?"
". . . Yes."
"I desire you to forget this discussion. You will forget meeting any Immortals on your trip. Nothing out of the ordinary has happened in the last few days. You have had a pleasant journey. You will continue on your pleasant journey. You will remember nothing until you hear my voice again. In a while, you will follow my assistant to a place you will camp at tonight. You will sleep, and awake refreshed. You will not return to Dallas. You will remember nothing. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
"Drift now, and forget."
Inside Richie's drugged mind, the conclave of voices yelled, getting softer by the second. Within moments, all that was once Mako, Phillipe, and the others was locked tightly away in the recesses of his mind. Slowly, the images and experiences that had affected his life disappeared into dark corners, hidden from him. His turmoil and recent acceptance washed away, leaving an empty hole filled with false peace. And that very special part of him, that knew and understood, was shut in a small box in his head, waiting for his new master's call.
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
Dawn rose Richie's campsite, his bike and pack near the line of trees. Yawning, he stretched and greeted the sun. He ran two miles up and down the highway and went through the kata before washing himself in the cold stream. Putting on his riding clothes, he banked the remains of his camp fire. Within minutes, he was ready to ride, north to Oklahoma, wishing something exciting would happen. Into the sun he rode, not caring where he went. Not knowing where his destiny would take him. Maybe he would look for his father. Maybe call and see how Charlie was doing, and subtly ask about Duncan. Who knows?
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
Two figures watched the scene in the smoke from the brazier.
"A very devious pawn you have played, Kiem Sun."
"Do not think Richard Ryan is merely a pawn in this game."
"What do you mean?"
"You are a pawn, Tsu Lin. Ryan is much more. A rook or bishop, perhaps. Not the gallant and honorable knight that MacLeod is. I don't know how, or why, but it works very well to my advantage."
"Shall I have him followed?"
"No. All the opening gambits have been played out. We are now settling into the mid-game. I can wait to play this piece. It would make a splendid end move, don't you think?"
"I still think Duncan MacLeod will see through your plans. How can anyone think you would simply cower on holy ground forever? Do they not know you are the one?"
"That is why I am the master. Duncan sees what he expects to see. Your brother's death. My fear. I have not worked for centuries without understanding my opponents. And he is my greatest."
"He will not be so forgiving, next time."
"He will have too much to worry about. And then he will be dead."
"Connor has awakened."
"Then we return to the task at hand."
The two left, neither noticing the abrupt glow of the coals, sending a small cloud of smoke billowing from the brazier. Silently, the smoke rose, hovering below the ceiling. There it slipped through tiny cracks, making its way to the outside. Buffeted by the winds, it scattered, moving around the globe. Dispersed. But it remembered. And it waited. The Game had only begun.
Story Notes:
Taken straight from a text file. Still experimenting with formatting. Sorry for the mess.
The End.
Kevin is the author of 33 other stories.
This story is part of the series, The Possibilities Trilogy. The next story in the series is Circles.
This story is part of the series, The Possibilities Trilogy. The next story in the series is Circles.
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