December 24, 2005, 315 PM, Switzerland
Frank Reilley breathed deeply. Stepping off the elevator, he stopped at the front desk, where a young woman asked in German, "May I help you?"
"Yes, I hope so. I need an updated train schedule of all trains leaving Geneva."
"Of course, sir. Did you need a taxi too?"
"No, not yet. I will not be leaving for a few days more."
"But, of course, sir. One moment please."
While she searched for a train schedule, Frank Reilley scanned the hotel lobby. He saw Asher and Richie before they saw him. They made a cute couple, holding hands, looking around the hotel lobby. Both wore jeans, but Richie wore a leather jacket, while Asher wore a black sweater-coat. He knew from experience, years of research, and have covering his own Immortals, that both hid swords. He shuddered once, to think his youngest granddaughter carried a weapon.
"Here you are, sir," spoke the young woman again. "Did you want me to call ahead to book your tickets?"
"No, no thank you," he responded politely, but his voice was still distracted, and he did not look at the young woman when he spoke. He jogged lightly to where the two young Immortals stood, and noticed Asher acknowledged him little surprise. "Hello, Ashley. It's been a long time. Your father had told you had died, with your mother."
"My father was misinformed." Her voice betrayed no emotion. "You remember Richie? I understand you met on the train here."
"Yes, we did." He stepped slightly forward to shake Richie's hand. He noted the young man had a strong grip. "How's the honeymoon, Richie?"
"Not quite what I expected," he answered truthfully, allowing himself a small smile. "You do know we are not really married?"
"I knew. I'll forgive you this time, young man, for living with my granddaughter in sin, but I expect to see a ring soon, understand?"
"Yes sir," Richie grinned.
"Good." He smiled; turning to face Asher again, the smile disappearing at the emotionless mask Asher still wore. "Are you not a little happy to see your old grandfather, Ashley?"
"My name is Asher," she informed briskly, pausing to let the statement sink, "and, I didn't come here to stage a reunion and play at happy families. I came to talk to you. About Sam."
"Ah, yes, Sam. That's the million dollar question." Frank Reilley paused again, to scan the hotel lobby, but he saw his boss nowhere in sight. "I'll buy you lunch. There's a nice little restaurant about half a minute walk from here. We can talk there. I always find I think better with food in my stomach."
Nodding, Asher agreed, and Richie exclaimed, "Let's go! I'm starving!" Despite herself, Asher chuckled, and Frank Reilley hid a relieved sigh to know she still did feel something.
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Frank Reilley lingered over his coffee. The waitress had already cleared the lunch plates, and had promised to be out momentarily with the check. He assured her they were in no hurry. "So, Ashl-Asher," he corrected himself, stumbling over the un-familiar name, "Asher, what did you want to know?"
"Why did he come?"
"To Switzerland, you mean?"
"In part, yes."
Frank Reilley sighed, and sipped some more of his coffee. "When you first left for California, to attend your first semester at UCLA, Sam joined the academy. I trained him. He graduated in the top of his class, and for a long time served as a researcher. A man by the name of Nick Wolfe was his first field assignment." At the surprised sound Richie made, Frank Reilley paused to ask, "You know Nick Wolfe?"
"He's a good friend of mine."
"Ah, yes, a fascinating man. After you visited Sam in Paris, little one, last December ago, Sam conducted his own research again on the side. When he returned from Paris the following April, he told me of how he had seen you, of how you were alive, well, and happy, that you were studying law. Are you studying law?"
"Yes. My term just ended. I start again come mid-January."
"I'm glad. You're doing what you always wanted to do. Keep your dream close, my dear," he sighed, sipped more of his coffee. "Sam became somewhat obsessed with the idea of you. Said he had returned your," he lowered his voice to a whisper for this word, "sword. He convinced the board to send him permanently to Paris, to watch you. He returned that summer. From what I understand, something of an uneasy friendship has sprung again?"
Richie scowled, and Frank Reilly threw his head back to laugh. "I share your sentiment, my boy. I love Samuel Clarke like I love my own grandson, but he is very hard to digest at times." He sobered, finishing the last of his coffee. "He manipulated your father into sending you that key, Ashl- Asher. He appealed to your father's very heart and hope that maybe you were still alive. They had found your mother's body, but not yours. I know I have never exactly accepted your father, and I am sorry for that much. He is truly a good man, and he loved your mother, and he loved his children. Sam used that to his advantage. The boy was born to be a lawyer."
"So, what does he want? If he truly wanted me dead, why send me a key to my childhood dreams? Why not kill me in Paris?"
Frank Reilley blinked back his surprise. "I never said he wanted you dead, Asher. If anything, he wants you, alive. I do believe he misses you."
It was then that the waitress returned with the check, and despite Asher's protests, Frank Reilley insisted he pay the bill. Finally, she backed down, but asked if she could at least leave the tip then. He nodded, mumbled of how she was like her mother in her stubbornness and agreed.
Walking out of the restaurant, Frank Reilley blinked against the late afternoon sun. "Do you remember what I said on the train, Richie?" he asked.
"Sir?"
"Keep her close, my boy. Forever is never as long you would like it to be."
Richie nodded, once again shaking the older man's hand, and in a moment of spontaneity, Asher hugged her grandfather tightly, whispering in his ear, "We never were very good at playing happy families." She paused, then added, "Merry Christmas."
Frank Reilley laughed again, but when Asher pulled away, he noticed a few stray tears in her eyes, and felt the hot salt streaks of his own on his cheeks. "Go," he whispered. "You take care, you hear?"
But Asher and Richie were already out of hearing distance.
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When Frank Reilly returned to the hotel not long after, Sam Clarke waited for him at the hotel bar, sipping a scotch and water on the rocks. "All go well?" he asked.
Frank Reilly slipped onto the stool next to him, signaling the bartender to pour him a drink, a beer, and he slid a few dollar bills across the counter. "I bought them lunch."
"Perfect. I'll visit them again. By tomorrow, this will all be over."
"I hate you, Samuel Clarke," the older man spat, fingers clutching the beer mug tightly, his knuckles fading to white around the edges.
Sam only laughed. "All in a day's work, my friend. All in a day's work."
Frank Reilley breathed deeply. Stepping off the elevator, he stopped at the front desk, where a young woman asked in German, "May I help you?"
"Yes, I hope so. I need an updated train schedule of all trains leaving Geneva."
"Of course, sir. Did you need a taxi too?"
"No, not yet. I will not be leaving for a few days more."
"But, of course, sir. One moment please."
While she searched for a train schedule, Frank Reilley scanned the hotel lobby. He saw Asher and Richie before they saw him. They made a cute couple, holding hands, looking around the hotel lobby. Both wore jeans, but Richie wore a leather jacket, while Asher wore a black sweater-coat. He knew from experience, years of research, and have covering his own Immortals, that both hid swords. He shuddered once, to think his youngest granddaughter carried a weapon.
"Here you are, sir," spoke the young woman again. "Did you want me to call ahead to book your tickets?"
"No, no thank you," he responded politely, but his voice was still distracted, and he did not look at the young woman when he spoke. He jogged lightly to where the two young Immortals stood, and noticed Asher acknowledged him little surprise. "Hello, Ashley. It's been a long time. Your father had told you had died, with your mother."
"My father was misinformed." Her voice betrayed no emotion. "You remember Richie? I understand you met on the train here."
"Yes, we did." He stepped slightly forward to shake Richie's hand. He noted the young man had a strong grip. "How's the honeymoon, Richie?"
"Not quite what I expected," he answered truthfully, allowing himself a small smile. "You do know we are not really married?"
"I knew. I'll forgive you this time, young man, for living with my granddaughter in sin, but I expect to see a ring soon, understand?"
"Yes sir," Richie grinned.
"Good." He smiled; turning to face Asher again, the smile disappearing at the emotionless mask Asher still wore. "Are you not a little happy to see your old grandfather, Ashley?"
"My name is Asher," she informed briskly, pausing to let the statement sink, "and, I didn't come here to stage a reunion and play at happy families. I came to talk to you. About Sam."
"Ah, yes, Sam. That's the million dollar question." Frank Reilley paused again, to scan the hotel lobby, but he saw his boss nowhere in sight. "I'll buy you lunch. There's a nice little restaurant about half a minute walk from here. We can talk there. I always find I think better with food in my stomach."
Nodding, Asher agreed, and Richie exclaimed, "Let's go! I'm starving!" Despite herself, Asher chuckled, and Frank Reilley hid a relieved sigh to know she still did feel something.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --------------------------------------------------------------------------
Frank Reilley lingered over his coffee. The waitress had already cleared the lunch plates, and had promised to be out momentarily with the check. He assured her they were in no hurry. "So, Ashl-Asher," he corrected himself, stumbling over the un-familiar name, "Asher, what did you want to know?"
"Why did he come?"
"To Switzerland, you mean?"
"In part, yes."
Frank Reilley sighed, and sipped some more of his coffee. "When you first left for California, to attend your first semester at UCLA, Sam joined the academy. I trained him. He graduated in the top of his class, and for a long time served as a researcher. A man by the name of Nick Wolfe was his first field assignment." At the surprised sound Richie made, Frank Reilley paused to ask, "You know Nick Wolfe?"
"He's a good friend of mine."
"Ah, yes, a fascinating man. After you visited Sam in Paris, little one, last December ago, Sam conducted his own research again on the side. When he returned from Paris the following April, he told me of how he had seen you, of how you were alive, well, and happy, that you were studying law. Are you studying law?"
"Yes. My term just ended. I start again come mid-January."
"I'm glad. You're doing what you always wanted to do. Keep your dream close, my dear," he sighed, sipped more of his coffee. "Sam became somewhat obsessed with the idea of you. Said he had returned your," he lowered his voice to a whisper for this word, "sword. He convinced the board to send him permanently to Paris, to watch you. He returned that summer. From what I understand, something of an uneasy friendship has sprung again?"
Richie scowled, and Frank Reilly threw his head back to laugh. "I share your sentiment, my boy. I love Samuel Clarke like I love my own grandson, but he is very hard to digest at times." He sobered, finishing the last of his coffee. "He manipulated your father into sending you that key, Ashl- Asher. He appealed to your father's very heart and hope that maybe you were still alive. They had found your mother's body, but not yours. I know I have never exactly accepted your father, and I am sorry for that much. He is truly a good man, and he loved your mother, and he loved his children. Sam used that to his advantage. The boy was born to be a lawyer."
"So, what does he want? If he truly wanted me dead, why send me a key to my childhood dreams? Why not kill me in Paris?"
Frank Reilley blinked back his surprise. "I never said he wanted you dead, Asher. If anything, he wants you, alive. I do believe he misses you."
It was then that the waitress returned with the check, and despite Asher's protests, Frank Reilley insisted he pay the bill. Finally, she backed down, but asked if she could at least leave the tip then. He nodded, mumbled of how she was like her mother in her stubbornness and agreed.
Walking out of the restaurant, Frank Reilley blinked against the late afternoon sun. "Do you remember what I said on the train, Richie?" he asked.
"Sir?"
"Keep her close, my boy. Forever is never as long you would like it to be."
Richie nodded, once again shaking the older man's hand, and in a moment of spontaneity, Asher hugged her grandfather tightly, whispering in his ear, "We never were very good at playing happy families." She paused, then added, "Merry Christmas."
Frank Reilley laughed again, but when Asher pulled away, he noticed a few stray tears in her eyes, and felt the hot salt streaks of his own on his cheeks. "Go," he whispered. "You take care, you hear?"
But Asher and Richie were already out of hearing distance.
---------------------------------------------------------------------------- ---------------------------------------------------------------------------- --
When Frank Reilly returned to the hotel not long after, Sam Clarke waited for him at the hotel bar, sipping a scotch and water on the rocks. "All go well?" he asked.
Frank Reilly slipped onto the stool next to him, signaling the bartender to pour him a drink, a beer, and he slid a few dollar bills across the counter. "I bought them lunch."
"Perfect. I'll visit them again. By tomorrow, this will all be over."
"I hate you, Samuel Clarke," the older man spat, fingers clutching the beer mug tightly, his knuckles fading to white around the edges.
Sam only laughed. "All in a day's work, my friend. All in a day's work."