Richie was reading his essay for his application to the Michigan University
of Law. He practically had it memorized; he had read it so many times. He
had been assigned two essays, one an analysis of a fictional court case and
one about his life. The first had been the easier of the two. As he had
started the biographical essay, he found himself trying to get too in-depth
and continually had to go back and take out some reference to his
immortality. He had been working on the essay for two weeks and still
hated it. For someone who hated to talk about himself, he sure was getting
into it. They had given him three thousand words and he had made it to one
thousand by the time he was done talking about Emily. Then there was Greg,
then his time between Greg and Duncan, then his time with Duncan and Tessa,
and his time at Somo. He was trying to figure out what to take out when
Heather came in.
"Hey," she grinned at him. "Any luck?"
"No," he groaned sitting back and stretching. He had yet to find a lead on an apartment or a job that were in decent proximity to the O'Neal's house and school. "I'm trying to distract myself with these essays."
"But," she supplied for him.
"But I can't stay in the limits. I'm just too complicated."
"You don't seem very complicated to me."
"Really? The woman I grew up thinking was my mother turned out to be a foster mother, I spent twelve years in foster homes, one of which was burned down by Nazi wannabes, and I have a juvie record that could fill the Grand Canyon. Not complicated?"
"Your house got burned down?" Heather asked.
"Well, not totally."
"What happened?" she asked sitting on his knee and looking at him.
"Long story short." he sighed. "They were black, I was white and we were all Jewish. 'nuff said."
"Not exactly something you could leave out, huh?"
"Not really."
"Hum. do you really have to put in so much about Emily?" she asked scanning the screen. "You could shorten it a bit."
"I guess. I just. need to cut about half of this out." He glanced at the clocked at the bottom of the screen. "After I pick up Courtney from ballet and Brandon from play group." He clicked the save button and popped out his disk. "You going to be home for dinner?"
"No, I just came home to pick a few things up."
"If I pout will you stay?" he asked standing up and kissing her.
"I don't know." she teased.
"I'm told I was a real brat as a child."
She laughed. "Fine. I'll stay."
"Be back in twenty minutes."
Richie hated going into the ballet studio. It was filled with moms and very bored little brothers. Little brothers that jumped at the chance to play with the only adult male in building.
"Hi Richie!" a few called when he walked in.
"Hey guys." He looked into the studio and saw that the girls were getting their things together. Courtney was one of the first into the waiting room.
"Ready?" he asked while walking up to her.
"Yeah," she said with a smile, casting a superior look at the other girls who all watched jealously as she left with Richie.
"Your mom just called," Richie said as they got into the car. "We're going to get Brandon, take you home to get changed and pick up Heather, then meet for dinner at Chili's."
"Cool."
They picked up Brandon, who was all excited about the game of Red Rover they had been playing when Richie showed up. He chatted all the way home until Courtney couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm going to take my own car," Heather said meeting them on the driveway. "Then go back to school after dinner."
"I'm riding with Heather!" Courtney announced.
"We'll meet you there," Heather said, kissing Richie through the open window.
At dinner, the large group chatted and laughed loudly, more than once attracting the attention of the people around them. Alex told them more about his trip around Europe, Heather told stories about newest ditzes in the sorority house, Courtney told everyone about her horrible experience dissecting frogs in biology, and Richie talked about his latest attempts at finding a job and apartment.
"You know you are more than welcome to just stay the year," Melinda reminded him.
"I know, and I really appreciate that. But I feel weird just freeloading."
"You're not," Steven told him. "You are taking care of Brandon and that is a full time job."
"You're telling me," Richie smiled. "But I still feel wrong just staying at your house."
"Well, just know that we have no problem with it. You are a part of the family now," Melinda smiled at him.
"Thanks," Richie smiled back.
. . . . . .
"Can I ask you something?" Richie asked as he and Adam sat down after a rather intense training session the next morning.
"Sure," Adam said handing him a water bottle.
"Have you been seeing any other immortals around?"
"Just you. I haven't even seen Greg this year. Why?"
"I could swear someone's been following me around. I just get this feeling that there's an immortal near by, but as soon as it hits me, it's gone. And I almost always feel like someone's watching me."
"Are you sure you're not being paranoid?" Adam asked. "Have you actually seen anybody?"
Richie looked at the ground. "No. no one's ever there. But I get the feeling all the time."
"Are you sure it's an immortal?"
Richie looked up at Adam with an indigent expression. "I may not be five thousand, but I know what an immortal feels like. I'm not stupid."
"I know; I grade your papers. I'm just saying you don't know what all is out there. Richie, you spend most of your time on a college campus surrounded by people. Have you ever considered that it may not be an immortal?"
"Then what? I can sense underage drinkers and pot heads?"
Adam rolled his eyes. "You say the feeling is only there for a short while then goes away."
"Right."
"And an immortal never approaches you."
"Right."
"Well, maybe they're not immortal yet."
Richie cocked his head to one side. "You can tell that?"
"Why do you think MacLeod let you hang around?"
"Because he knew," he answered after a minute.
"Exactly. There's a lesson for you to learn. You can't judge everything by your first instinct."
"Mac says to go with your instincts," Richie challenged.
"When fighting, yes. Don't over analyze what you are doing. Just do what your body tells you to," Adam enforced the lesson. "But when it's not a life or death situation take the time to really think all the details through. In your experience, people follow you around to get to MacLeod. but you're a big boy now and that won't always be the case. People may come after you to get to you, or they may have no interest in you, or they may have no idea that they should be aware of you."
"Uh-huh," Richie said nodding slightly to show he was listening.
"And taking the time to carefully look through every situation can save you a lot of fights and troubles. Don't challenge someone because they made you mad, or hit on Heather, or because they have bad fashion sense. If you think you may want to take someone on, do the research; see if you have any chance of beating them. And if you have doubts, don't do it."
"What if they challenge me?"
"You don't always have to fight just because someone wants you to."
"But, Mac says."
"I don't care what MacLeod says," Adam interrupted. "You have his opinion and now you'll have mine. The Gathering has nothing to do with honor; it has everything to do with surviving. There is no shame in running to keep your head."
Richie smiled. "I've done that before."
"So have I. and I still do it. Don't fight because you can. Fight because you have no option but to do so. Keep your head."
. . . . . .
Richie could tell something was wrong as soon as he walked up the steps to where Brandon's class sat waiting to be picked up. As soon as Brandon's teacher, Mrs. Westbrook, saw Richie, her expression changed.
"Again?" Richie asked looking down at Brandon who was pouting on the steps with a bruise forming on his left cheek. "Who was it this time?"
"Billy Clark," Mrs. Westbrook told him. "I've already set up an appointment to talk to his parents. Can you have Mr. or Mrs. O'Neal call me tonight?" She handed him a note.
"I'll have Melinda call as soon as she gets home," he promised. "Come 'ere little man." He picked Brandon up. "You okay?"
"Uh-huh," Brandon said softly, putting his head on Richie's shoulder.
"Ah, you sound like me," he scolded lightly.
Later that evening, Richie greeted Melinda at the door. "It happened again," he said handing her the note.
Melinda sighed. "That's the third time in the last two weeks. Where is he?"
"The little punching bag is in the kitchen coloring."
Melinda gave him a fleeting smile and went to check on Brandon. All year long, the other boys had been picking on Brandon. What Brandon lacked in fighting ability and size he made up for in attitude. needless to say Richie sympathized with the boy a great deal. Melinda and Steven had been trying to find a way to keep Brandon from being the victim without turning him into a fighting machine. Richie's first impulse was to tell them to sign Brandon up for karate lessons, but he didn't want to interfere so he kept his mouth shut. Brandon played the sympathy card but otherwise didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that he was getting picked on.
While Melinda was on the phone in the living room, Richie started dinner. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he looked at the six year old sitting at the kitchen table humming and coloring. Suddenly he had an idea. He concentrated as hard as he could on the boy. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he found what he was looking for. It was there. barely but it was there. A faint immortal buzz. The stalker had been Brandon all along. Richie laughed at himself and shook his head slightly. So much for the immortal drama of his senior year. Richie turned back to the stove and dumped pasta into the water.
He let his mind wonder and found himself staring at Brandon again. He was so young, totally unaware of what was to become of him. One day the little boy who could barely read Go Dog, Go was going to be wielding a sword and chopping off people's heads. if he won his first challenge. Soon he would be sucked into a world of secrets, violence and death. The innocent first grader would be a cold-blooded killer. Richie had little hope for himself it was so late in the game, what was Brandon going to do?
"Hey, little man, you wanna meet one of my old babysitter?" Richie heard himself ask.
"You have a babysitter?" Brandon asked.
"Yup, when I was little. He's a professor now. Do you want to meet him?"
"Yeah!"
Richie decided he would call Adam after dinner. He would know what to do.
"Hey," she grinned at him. "Any luck?"
"No," he groaned sitting back and stretching. He had yet to find a lead on an apartment or a job that were in decent proximity to the O'Neal's house and school. "I'm trying to distract myself with these essays."
"But," she supplied for him.
"But I can't stay in the limits. I'm just too complicated."
"You don't seem very complicated to me."
"Really? The woman I grew up thinking was my mother turned out to be a foster mother, I spent twelve years in foster homes, one of which was burned down by Nazi wannabes, and I have a juvie record that could fill the Grand Canyon. Not complicated?"
"Your house got burned down?" Heather asked.
"Well, not totally."
"What happened?" she asked sitting on his knee and looking at him.
"Long story short." he sighed. "They were black, I was white and we were all Jewish. 'nuff said."
"Not exactly something you could leave out, huh?"
"Not really."
"Hum. do you really have to put in so much about Emily?" she asked scanning the screen. "You could shorten it a bit."
"I guess. I just. need to cut about half of this out." He glanced at the clocked at the bottom of the screen. "After I pick up Courtney from ballet and Brandon from play group." He clicked the save button and popped out his disk. "You going to be home for dinner?"
"No, I just came home to pick a few things up."
"If I pout will you stay?" he asked standing up and kissing her.
"I don't know." she teased.
"I'm told I was a real brat as a child."
She laughed. "Fine. I'll stay."
"Be back in twenty minutes."
Richie hated going into the ballet studio. It was filled with moms and very bored little brothers. Little brothers that jumped at the chance to play with the only adult male in building.
"Hi Richie!" a few called when he walked in.
"Hey guys." He looked into the studio and saw that the girls were getting their things together. Courtney was one of the first into the waiting room.
"Ready?" he asked while walking up to her.
"Yeah," she said with a smile, casting a superior look at the other girls who all watched jealously as she left with Richie.
"Your mom just called," Richie said as they got into the car. "We're going to get Brandon, take you home to get changed and pick up Heather, then meet for dinner at Chili's."
"Cool."
They picked up Brandon, who was all excited about the game of Red Rover they had been playing when Richie showed up. He chatted all the way home until Courtney couldn't take it anymore.
"I'm going to take my own car," Heather said meeting them on the driveway. "Then go back to school after dinner."
"I'm riding with Heather!" Courtney announced.
"We'll meet you there," Heather said, kissing Richie through the open window.
At dinner, the large group chatted and laughed loudly, more than once attracting the attention of the people around them. Alex told them more about his trip around Europe, Heather told stories about newest ditzes in the sorority house, Courtney told everyone about her horrible experience dissecting frogs in biology, and Richie talked about his latest attempts at finding a job and apartment.
"You know you are more than welcome to just stay the year," Melinda reminded him.
"I know, and I really appreciate that. But I feel weird just freeloading."
"You're not," Steven told him. "You are taking care of Brandon and that is a full time job."
"You're telling me," Richie smiled. "But I still feel wrong just staying at your house."
"Well, just know that we have no problem with it. You are a part of the family now," Melinda smiled at him.
"Thanks," Richie smiled back.
. . . . . .
"Can I ask you something?" Richie asked as he and Adam sat down after a rather intense training session the next morning.
"Sure," Adam said handing him a water bottle.
"Have you been seeing any other immortals around?"
"Just you. I haven't even seen Greg this year. Why?"
"I could swear someone's been following me around. I just get this feeling that there's an immortal near by, but as soon as it hits me, it's gone. And I almost always feel like someone's watching me."
"Are you sure you're not being paranoid?" Adam asked. "Have you actually seen anybody?"
Richie looked at the ground. "No. no one's ever there. But I get the feeling all the time."
"Are you sure it's an immortal?"
Richie looked up at Adam with an indigent expression. "I may not be five thousand, but I know what an immortal feels like. I'm not stupid."
"I know; I grade your papers. I'm just saying you don't know what all is out there. Richie, you spend most of your time on a college campus surrounded by people. Have you ever considered that it may not be an immortal?"
"Then what? I can sense underage drinkers and pot heads?"
Adam rolled his eyes. "You say the feeling is only there for a short while then goes away."
"Right."
"And an immortal never approaches you."
"Right."
"Well, maybe they're not immortal yet."
Richie cocked his head to one side. "You can tell that?"
"Why do you think MacLeod let you hang around?"
"Because he knew," he answered after a minute.
"Exactly. There's a lesson for you to learn. You can't judge everything by your first instinct."
"Mac says to go with your instincts," Richie challenged.
"When fighting, yes. Don't over analyze what you are doing. Just do what your body tells you to," Adam enforced the lesson. "But when it's not a life or death situation take the time to really think all the details through. In your experience, people follow you around to get to MacLeod. but you're a big boy now and that won't always be the case. People may come after you to get to you, or they may have no interest in you, or they may have no idea that they should be aware of you."
"Uh-huh," Richie said nodding slightly to show he was listening.
"And taking the time to carefully look through every situation can save you a lot of fights and troubles. Don't challenge someone because they made you mad, or hit on Heather, or because they have bad fashion sense. If you think you may want to take someone on, do the research; see if you have any chance of beating them. And if you have doubts, don't do it."
"What if they challenge me?"
"You don't always have to fight just because someone wants you to."
"But, Mac says."
"I don't care what MacLeod says," Adam interrupted. "You have his opinion and now you'll have mine. The Gathering has nothing to do with honor; it has everything to do with surviving. There is no shame in running to keep your head."
Richie smiled. "I've done that before."
"So have I. and I still do it. Don't fight because you can. Fight because you have no option but to do so. Keep your head."
. . . . . .
Richie could tell something was wrong as soon as he walked up the steps to where Brandon's class sat waiting to be picked up. As soon as Brandon's teacher, Mrs. Westbrook, saw Richie, her expression changed.
"Again?" Richie asked looking down at Brandon who was pouting on the steps with a bruise forming on his left cheek. "Who was it this time?"
"Billy Clark," Mrs. Westbrook told him. "I've already set up an appointment to talk to his parents. Can you have Mr. or Mrs. O'Neal call me tonight?" She handed him a note.
"I'll have Melinda call as soon as she gets home," he promised. "Come 'ere little man." He picked Brandon up. "You okay?"
"Uh-huh," Brandon said softly, putting his head on Richie's shoulder.
"Ah, you sound like me," he scolded lightly.
Later that evening, Richie greeted Melinda at the door. "It happened again," he said handing her the note.
Melinda sighed. "That's the third time in the last two weeks. Where is he?"
"The little punching bag is in the kitchen coloring."
Melinda gave him a fleeting smile and went to check on Brandon. All year long, the other boys had been picking on Brandon. What Brandon lacked in fighting ability and size he made up for in attitude. needless to say Richie sympathized with the boy a great deal. Melinda and Steven had been trying to find a way to keep Brandon from being the victim without turning him into a fighting machine. Richie's first impulse was to tell them to sign Brandon up for karate lessons, but he didn't want to interfere so he kept his mouth shut. Brandon played the sympathy card but otherwise didn't seem to be bothered by the fact that he was getting picked on.
While Melinda was on the phone in the living room, Richie started dinner. While he was waiting for the water to boil, he looked at the six year old sitting at the kitchen table humming and coloring. Suddenly he had an idea. He concentrated as hard as he could on the boy. Wrinkling his nose in concentration, he found what he was looking for. It was there. barely but it was there. A faint immortal buzz. The stalker had been Brandon all along. Richie laughed at himself and shook his head slightly. So much for the immortal drama of his senior year. Richie turned back to the stove and dumped pasta into the water.
He let his mind wonder and found himself staring at Brandon again. He was so young, totally unaware of what was to become of him. One day the little boy who could barely read Go Dog, Go was going to be wielding a sword and chopping off people's heads. if he won his first challenge. Soon he would be sucked into a world of secrets, violence and death. The innocent first grader would be a cold-blooded killer. Richie had little hope for himself it was so late in the game, what was Brandon going to do?
"Hey, little man, you wanna meet one of my old babysitter?" Richie heard himself ask.
"You have a babysitter?" Brandon asked.
"Yup, when I was little. He's a professor now. Do you want to meet him?"
"Yeah!"
Richie decided he would call Adam after dinner. He would know what to do.