I've noticed in studying my Enhanced Statistics breakdown of the number of readers per chapter... that chapter 27 (aka Chapter 26) has about half the number of readers as most of the others. As I put two chapters up that day... I hope all of you have read it.

I've finished the actual writing process of the story... and while some editing on future chapters still needs to be done... I hope to begin loading two chapters a day... one in the morning... the other in the evening. Since the site's chapter numbering does not quite match mine (as I have a Prologue and an Entr'acte between sections of the story... be certain to catch them all. And now... on with my tale... I hope all of you are intriqued and eagerly awaiting:

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Chapter 33

Paris, the next morning

When Derrick had awakened earlier, it had still been dark. Hungry… his stomach complaining about the lack of food… he'd risen to find Ellie, still sitting in the dark in the middle of the floor of the other room… her eyes closed. He'd sighed, feeling that once again she hadn't been out. But she had. He'd had to remind her again yesterday that they both needed food… especially if they were staying here a few days. She'd looked at him dully and then nodded. Once more, she'd insisted he take the bed… while she concentrated on finding Methos by means of whatever connection the two of them shared. At least she'd freshened the linens some after that first night, shaking them out in the air of the courtyard.

He'd found day-old croissants in a bag on the counter, also some over-ripe pears, and, in the small refrigerator, some butter. He'd chuckled. Derrick had a feeling that Ellie had reverted to her old ways. No cooking for her… not on this trip! While that hand-to-mouth existence had worked when he'd been ten… he somehow doubted it would work for him now.

He filled a glass of water from the tap, then sat on the counter… gorging on the croissants and pears. Ellie never moved. Once he'd polished everything off… he'd gone down the stone stairs to wander again in the small garden.

The sound of the water bubbling from the small spring filled the air. The grove of stunted trees… was like a window on an untamed piece of nature. Derrick, however, missed the fields of the farm… and he missed the horses. The boy stared at the three-story stone walls with its fake windows peering out into the world and wondered why anyone would build such a place.

He shook his head. Sometimes Derrick really didn't understand these immortals… nor why it was he'd been blessed or cursed with some of the memories of one of them. One thing he was aware of, though, ever since that weird sharing of himself with Methos and Eleanor back in Scotland… he'd had no more visions… and no more odd thoughts in his head. His mind was at rest… as if whatever had been awakened in the aftermath of Eleanor's burning… had chosen to sleep once more.

"I'm not him," Derrick had wanted to assure her both before they'd left Scotland… and since. And he wasn't. He was himself… he needed to make decisions about his life… and not let some old memories of some previous life dictate his path. "It is the future that's important…" he'd told the image of the Lady long ago, and while the visions he got in dreams were mesmerizing… they didn't apply to his life now… nor to any future he might have. He rammed his hands into his jeans pockets and slowly walked about… deep in thought.

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Upstairs, Eleanor finally opened her eyes. She stood unsteadily and stretched. She'd had no luck. She could sense Methos… far away… but she could get no direction of where. His mind was open to her… but he seemed unaware of where he was. Indeed… he did not seem to be thinking at all… he was just there. But Eleanor could not discover where… and her head was starting to pound again. She was trying too hard.

Noting the open door to the other room, she glanced about searching for Derrick. She could sense him close by… his pre-immortal status unchanged. "Likely downstairs," she thought. Picking up the empty bag, which had held the croissants, she grinned. "Growing boys have to eat!" Wadding the bag up, she tossed it in a trashcan and descended the stairs.

She could see him wandering through the small grove… lost in thought. It had been dangerous to bring him here. Eleanor worried that his strange memories might overwhelm him in this place. She and Methos had slowly watched him… had not pushed… as if worried that they'd lose him if he recalled too much too soon.

"I don't think he was supposed to have recalled anything until he was grown," Methos had said recently. "Likely meeting us brought those memories to the forefront of his mind all those years ago."

"When he becomes immortal… will he remember them or forget them?" Eleanor had asked. "Until you met me… you didn't remember your childhood… and until we bonded… I didn't remember mine."

Methos had murmured softly, as he'd nuzzled her, his mind already on something else "I don't know, my love. I truly don't know."

Thus they'd tried to learn what Derrick knew… slowly… making notes of the things he said… hoping that eventually the memories would begin to make sense. Methos had encouraged him to work with the computer on his own… feeling Derrick might, by working with the pages, begin to make sense of the memories, or even solve the puzzle. But, as if he feared to say too much, Derrick had held his tongue about much that he evidently recalled, they'd both felt. But neither had been willing to force him… not at the risk of his learning for certain about his latent immortality… nor what would be necessary to bring it to fruition.

"If we're not careful… we could lose him," Methos had said.

Eleanor agreed. Losing Derrick was not something she wished to face. Not here… and not now! But, by bringing him to Paris… Eleanor may have precipitated the very event she feared… Derrick might figure it out… and she wasn't certain if she was ready for him to.

Plastering a smile across her face she joined him in the grove. "It'll be daylight soon. Dawn is already breaking."

"How can you tell? It's so dark in here."

Eleanor shrugged, "I just can. Maybe because I lived here for so long. It's holy ground here. Although I have never liked spending too much time on holy ground… I fear it… as a place where I have no power… where I cannot defend myself… I have often felt safe here."

"But not always?"

Eleanor sat on the rocks by the spring and leaned forward, to let the water flow over her hand. "No… not always. There was a time I was filled with anger and hate. There was a time I was dangerous to be around. I was not welcome here."

"You act like the Earth itself rejected your presence here." Derrick laughed at the thought.

Eleanor looked up and nodded with a smile. "Yes… perhaps it did."

Derrick settled on the rocks next to her, holding his hands before him and looking at them thoughtfully. "Are we safe here?" He glanced over at her as if worried about what might happen.

Eleanor offered a small smile and a shrug, "From other immortals… yes. They cannot enter here. Even if they should sense us from the street… even if they managed to enter here… which is unlikely… we are safe here. They can do nothing."

"But I can."

Eleanor stared at Derrick. "Why do you say that?"

"I'm mortal. Whatever prevents you from doing anything here… it holds no sway over me."

Eleanor grabbed his arm. "You… will do nothing… do you hear me? You will not interfere. You will not attempt to fight one of us. What we are and what we must do is not for you!" Eleanor bit her tongue as her thoughts continued with the words she would not say aloud, "Not yet… not yet." Placing her small hands on his face to ease the hurt in his expression, she softened her voice. "I can take care of myself Derrick… and I will take care of you. Promise me… you will not interfere if something happens. You have to trust me… trust that I do know what needs to be done."

Derrick nodded. Then he grinned. "But I am still hungry. Is there any chance we could get a meal… a real meal somewhere?"

Eleanor laughed and the grove seemed to be filled with the sound of tinkling bells. "I think we could manage a meal somewhere." She brushed her hand through his sandy hair with a grin. "Probably do us both some good! Besides, I want to see if Joseph has learned anything as yet. Come on!"

Hand in hand… Eleanor led him from the grove… carefully re-locking the iron gate behind them as they left. She returned the key to the church… making certain he could find it if necessary… and then they went in search of a meal… and some information.

-----

Byron Delano had lost the trail of the immortal he'd been following since that gas station in southern England. They'd likely come to Paris… it made the most sense… but had they remained here? Or had they taken a left turn and headed east… or simply passed through. Delano had no idea… nor did he think he'd ever know for certain.

He was still not quite certain what it was about the immortal he'd sensed that had so intrigued him. He'd caught a glimpse of a young man driving… and someone else in the car… possibly female… possibly a child… but that was all… that and a pull to follow… to find… to know.

Upon his arrival two days ago in Paris… he'd driven up and down the main thoroughfares… seeking the elusive immortal. He'd found nothing. He'd sensed a few others in passing… but not the other one. Yesterday he'd begun a search of hotels… still nothing. Today… he decided to climb the Eiffel Tower and stare out at Paris… as if somehow the vista would grant him a vision of where the immortal was or which direction Delano should take in searching. He wandered about the platform… gazing into the hazy distance… but nothing came to him. Likely he was wasting his time. It wasn't the first time.

Born in County Clare, Ireland… in 1886, he'd died during the "troubles" of 1916 just two weeks shy of his thirtieth birthday… or at least the date the orphanage had selected as his birthday when he was a boy. He'd been beaten to death in a riot… his head cracked open by a strongly swung billy club in the hands of a grimacing young policeman. Delano had awakened in the morgue… bodies strewn about… and there had been Lawrence Prescott… the policeman who'd killed him.

"Sorry about that… didn't realize it was you… nor what you were… till it was done." Prescott had shrugged sheepishly.

"What am I?" Delano had not always had a clear grasp of the essentials and had not realized at the time… that he'd died. For some reason he'd thought that maybe the policeman had recognized him as someone else.

"Oh… an immortal like me." Prescott had shrugged once more. "Come along, lad… There's much I have to tell you and not much time to be gettin' you outta here."

Delano had been dully suspicious of the young Englishman, who corrected him. "Not English… immortal… like you. We're brothers as there are so few of us about. I was just raised in England." Later Delano came to learn that the young policeman who looked every bit of twenty-one… was likely closer to one hundred and twenty-one.

Despite their beginnings, they'd become fast friends. Prescott had taught Delano about swords and the game… and Delano had taught Prescott about living in the moment. "If we might die today or tonight… then lift a glass and drink yer fill," Delano had advocated. Prescott, a nice enough chap but rather solemn and given to his dedication to serious jobs like law enforcement… had eventually learned to relax. But he'd been adamant that Delano not waste his life any longer in the petty squabbles of a people who were not his.

"You're an immortal Byron… Your people are others like me. You must focus on the game… on surviving… on being the best you can be."

"Then why do you do it?" Delano had asked his young teacher.

Prescott had gazed into the distance and smiled, "Oh… my goal is to keep safe as many as I can… Unfortunately… I messed up with you. I should never have been there that day… I should never have clubbed you. But I got carried away in the moment."

"Then your sorry I'm immortal?"

Prescott shook his head, "I'm just sorry it was me who killed you."

They'd parted ways a number of decades ago… and Delano had not heard anything regarding his teacher and friend in years. It was really the reason he'd been tooling about England, hoping to run into Prescott… and then that Land Rover had pulled out of that gas station… and Delano had followed.

Now… here he was in France… a country he didn't much care for… with few funds and fewer friends… and no prospects for anything in sight. Delano sighed as he headed down in the tower lift. He had the strangest feeling… he should have stayed on the other side of the channel.