Yeesh, this took me long enough didn't it?

Chapter 8

They were far from sight of the road. No one was likely to see them here, accept for the snipers positioned many miles away.

Nicholas stood in the middle of a grassy field, sword drawn, his hair blowing in the wind. The faint whine of Richard's MP3 player spewing one of those angst-ridden, post-puberty teenage bands was the only thing breaking the silence.

"Has my taste in music inspired you at all?" He asked, trying to break the monotony.

"You mean the dinosaur bands you listen to?" Richard said. "Maybe when I'm five hundred…"

Nicholas chuckled. He was never one for nervous laughter, preferring a calm demeanor and a discriminate fashion. But Richard was younger and more prone to fear and anxiety. It wouldn't do either of them good if he thought his teacher was afraid as well.

A full hour past the time Nicholas indicated went by. Had Duncan scouted the place ahead of time? Did he know about the snipers?

"He must have figured this was a trap," Richard said, echoing his thoughts.

"Yes, but then where the hell is he?" Nicholas wondered. He was growing frustrated and tired from standing out here for so long. Perhaps that was part of Duncan's plan.

"I don't know, but I'm getting hungry."

"Are you ever anything but hungry these days?"

Richard gave a halfway grin.

"Well, I'm studious now and again."

"You've been picking up Horton's vocabulary. Not that I don't agree fully."

"Yeah well, all that studying has to pay off sometime. I just hope I live through this long enough to publish my own Chronicles."

The buzz hit them both.

"Richard, go." Nicholas ordered, pulling out his sword.

"But-"

"Out of here, now!"

Nicholas watched as his student gave in, reluctantly, retreating to a safer distance. If Duncan won this fight and tried to go for Richard, the snipers were ordered to cover him.

The sound of a trench coat brushing against the tall grass added to his growing sense of dread. He turned around as Duncan stopped.

"Been waiting long?" He asked, removing his katana.

"Not long." Nicholas replied, assuming his stance.

Duncan reached into a pocket and pulled out a radio. Before Nicholas could make a move to prevent it, he spoke a command into it. The sound of automatic weapon fire and screams of pain signaled the loss of his backup.

"You really didn't know me as well as you thought." Duncan said. "A few million can get you access to satellite photos of any area. They're getting quite detailed these days."

"This ends now!"

Nicholas opened with an aggressive swing. Duncan parried. They circled, each twirling their swords threateningly, waiting for the other to reveal an opening. Duncan faked a swing and when Nicholas attempted to block, he swung the blade once and sliced into his arm. Fortunately Nicholas' jacket took most of the blow and his arm was still good. He responded with another swipe.

Richard hit the ground and crawled towards one of the downed snipers, desperately hoping his black blazer and dark blue slacks wouldn't be a dead giveaway. His guess was that whoever shot the snipers would be watching the fight and nothing else.

A pool of blood was all ready forming around the body of the sniper. The man was slumped over the butt of his rifle, moaning in pain as he tried to take his last breath. Richard fought back the urge to puke as he turned the man over.

"My wife…" he moaned.

"What's her name?" Richard asked, holding the man's hand firmly. He wished there was something else he could do.

"S-s-ulch." His eyes went blank as he took his last breath.

Richard took the rifle and climbed to his feet, crouching low as he put some distance between himself and the body. Blood soaked his clothes, ruining the expensive fabric. James would give him hell about this later.

A spray of bullets cut the grass in front of him. One nailed him in the knee and he hit the ground. More gunfire caused Richard to cover his head. One bullet came within inches of his head.

When it stopped, Richard grabbed the rifle and tried to position it so he could look through the scope. He scanned the direction where the bullets were coming from and saw the man from the church reloading an AK47.

"You never learn, do you?"

He lined the sights with the man and tried to fire. But the blood from the sniper made the trigger slippery.

The man slammed a new clip into the AK47 and aimed again. Ignoring the pain in his knee, Richard got to his feet and tried to charge. Several bullets struck him, sending him flying before he hit the ground hard. The sniper rifle flew from his hands and as he managed a few gasping breaths, he could see the man cheering himself.

Don't worry. I'll be right back, Richard thought, before dying.

"You should go back," Duncan told Devon. "You're not safe in this world."

"I'm not safe anywhere," Devon argued. "Besides, I survived in New York for the last thirty years practically."

They were still in Central Park, trying to figure out what to do. Duncan didn't want to leave, in case some other immortal from this universe walked through the portal. A few times he would see mortals walking through the tunnel but not even noticing the portal. And when they came out on the other side it was clear they hadn't even left this world. So that was one complication out of the way at least.

But what if the evil immortals in this world found out about the portal? What if Darius had never been affected by the quickening that sent him to a life in the monastery? For all Duncan knew, someone like Xavier St. Cloud could be alive and well in this world, still determined as ever to claim the Prize.

Was Connor still alive here? Would he be the same person here, or some evil aberration like this supposed doppelganger Devon encountered. Devon was another problem all together.

"You may be good with a sword," Duncan said. "But the key to survival is not remaining where you can easily be killed. There are plenty of seasoned Immortals living in New York, far older than you or I. One mistake is all it takes."

Devon thought about this. He sighed.

"Jason left me his summer house in Vermont," he said. "I could always fake my death in New York and go out there. But the last time we were there another Immortal tried to kill us both…well, it probably wouldn't be a smart move."

"No, definitely not after only a few decades. You could move to the Midwest."

"The hard part isn't moving it's starting over again. If it weren't for Jason I'd never have had my diploma, I wouldn't have gone to college, and I would have been a stock boy for all eternity." Devon sighed.

Duncan could see he was both saddened and embarrassed about all of this. A familiar urge to place a friendly arm around the boy's shoulder crept up.

"Jason gave me everything," he went on. "I still remember when my boss told me the news."

"This is your captain speaking. We're now beginning our descent into New York. Please buckle your seatbelts and place your seats and trays in their upright positions."

Devon gazed out the window as the lights of New York City filled the window. Clouds floated gently by the window as the wings adjusted to make the descent. He couldn't wait to tell his boss the news.

When the plane landed and docked with the terminal, he removed his briefcase from the overhead compartment, checking its contents while he waited patiently for the other passengers to leave. Inside was a document, signed and dated by Mr. Carver, along with the bill of sale and property deeds to the Carver building in Boston. The old man was suffering from financial difficulties causing him to lose a good portion of his business, so rather than force him to file bankruptcy, Devon was sent on his very first assignment to claim the building in exchange for what his boss deemed to be a fair price.

Seeing no alternative and having no one else willing to bail him out, Mr. Carver took the offer and lost his business with a little less embarrassment than if he had lost it at the hands of the IRS.

Devon collected his suitcase at the terminal, and went into the restroom to be sure that his sword was still packed safely beneath the layers of clothing. He didn't need it in Boston, thank God, but now that he was back in New York it wasn't a good idea to go too far without it. He took it out and placed it in the sheath that was sewn into the fabric of his trench coat. The blade was small enough so that it took up very little space, and the coat was roomy enough that the sword didn't stand out.

In the limousine he fell asleep while the Yankees game played on the little television. The flashing lights of the police vehicles woke him as they neared his office building.

"Looks like another great day in New York," was the driver's uninvited comment.

He parked a few feet from the parking garage, where the police had set up a temporary road block and were currently directing traffic in alternate routes. As Devon got out of the car he saw the bright red lights of the ambulance coming from the lower level of the garage. It pulled out of the exit and wailed as it drove off.

Devon saw his boss talking to a policeman.

"Mister Sousa?" He spoke, trying to get his attention.

Sousa turned and saw Devon. His face was ashen with grief and shock. The policeman seemed to have enough info and he returned to the cruiser.

"Devon," Sousa said, his voice faltering. "Welcome back."

Devon was confused.

"Sir, what's going on?"

"You're twenty-three right?" Sousa asked, placing an arm around Devon. "Come to my office. You'll need a drink for what I'm about to tell you."

In the office, Sousa poured himself and Devon a shot of Kentucky bourbon. Unaccustomed to drinking, Devon took a polite sip while Sousa swallowed the shot.

"We got the building," he said, trying to fill the air with something besides the dread it was thick with. "Mr. Carver was happy to take the money."

"Excellent work," Sousa said, pouring another shot for himself. He was visibly distraught and Devon knew he was trying to calm down himself before saying what he had to say. "You know Devon, I had my doubts about you at first. But Jason has always been one of my finest employees. He was so certain you'd make an asset to this company and I wasn't disappointed."

Devon's heart stopped.

"Mr. Sousa…what happened?"

"I don't understand it," Sousa said, wiping his brow with a handkerchief. "Mr. Talbot was not the sort to make enemies. But…"

"What. Happened." Devon demanded, turning his fear into anger.

"He was on his way to the car an hour ago," Sousa said finally. "Apparently someone was waiting for him because the next thing you know, Shannon runs into my office and tells me to call the cops. Jason has been murdered Devon."

Devon looked down at the drink in his hand. Acting on impulse he swallowed it in one gulp, coughing as it went down the wrong way.

"How?" He croaked.

"That's the frightening part," Sousa answered, looking at him sympathetically. "The police say he was shot and then…his head was removed from his body. It was a clean cut, like the lunatic just wanted to make sure the job was done. The strange thing was, all of the lights, security cameras, everything was horribly damaged beyond repair, as if the mighty Zeus himself decided to walk in and have a field day."

Devon ran his hand through his hair. Somehow he always imagined Jason living longer than a few decades. He was wrong now.

"Jason left me the car, money, the house and the land around it." Devon told Duncan. "Mr. Sousa gave me Jason's office and his pay rate, so I was able to move to a pretty decent apartment in New York and still pay the property tax on the house. I actually get a pretty good return on that thing come April, 15th."

"Have you 'died' yet?" Duncan asked. Absentmindedly he led Devon out of the park.

"No," Devon answered. "Mr. Sousa passed away in 1999, so I used the opportunity to grab my file and fudge a few facts on it. When a new boss came and most of my coworkers were long gone I snuck back into the files as Mike Talbot, Jason's youngest son and Devon Talbot's younger brother. My 'relatives' had such high accolades that I was expected to be a chip off the old block. Gotta love the power of family."

"I know what you mean."

Duncan recalled all of the times his own "father's" reputation had helped him with tough situations. Before he could say anything else, a Lexus with tinted windows pulled up beside them. A black, unmarked van pulled up behind them and several men jumped out of the side, surrounding them and leveling automatic weapons. They were dressed like SWAT agents, possibly to avoid suspicion from civilians.

"Put your hands up!"

Duncan made a move to reach for his sword, but a startlingly familiar voice from the Lexus discouraged him.

"I wouldn't do that Mr. Macleod."

Duncan's heart pounded as adrenaline flooded his veins. An old rage welled him inside of him as he turned to face the man who'd brought so much pain to his life.

"James Horton." He said, with a voice that dripped like venom.