II – A wrong step
The night became day. As the sun soared to set itself as the beacon of New York City and half the Earth, Connor was walking restlessly towards the address John had given him. He halted at the traffic lights and glanced backwards. There was something that had been bothering him.
The lights changed to "WALK" and he started to move again. He headed towards a deserted street and suddenly hid behind a parked van. He waited, certain something would occur.
A blonde woman, her hair tied in a ponytail, wearing a neat white skirt, a red shirt and a white jacket moved past him, searching for someone he was sure who was, strode past him. He grasped her roughly by the arms and pushed her against the van.
"Who are you?" he demanded. "Why are you following me?"
The woman stammered silently before speaking. "What...? What do you mean, sir? I was—"
"You've been behind me for at least an hour. Who are you?" Connor's voice became deep and coarse.
"I don't know what you're talking about, MacLeod!" she said it in a tone that had almost convinced Connor, until a slip of the tongue deceived her in the last word. Her face reddened and she gave in to distress. She was really pretty, and she had a nice pair of blue eyes, as well of another nice pair a few inches below.
"I'm sorry." He apologised, realising he had been brusque, and let her go. "Who are you?" he asked again, this time calmly.
"OK. My name's Scarlet Lambert. I'm a Watcher."
"A what?" Connor queried.
"We've recorded your activities, and those of all the other immortals, for a long time."
Connor rationalised what she had just said. That meant that she knew everything about him? About Ramirez, Heather, even Duncan?
"Bullshit." He spat out.
"Last night you visited John the Revelator, who is actually your friend John Crane, whom you met when you captained the "Dido". Before that, you hunted and scared the shit out of Shaun Collins. Before that, you've been on a headhunting spree after information on who might have killed Rachel."
Connor stared at Scarlet numbly. So these people knew about immortals.
"How...?"
"It's a long story to tell how I started on this. It's not that I live on this but..." she stopped when she realised he wasn't listening. Connor had staggered back and glared at her with discomfort. He turned and left. Scarlet watched him do so, and waited till he was far enough to continue tracking him, though she shouldn't.
-----
Connor turned into the street where the domicile John had given him was supposed to be, visibly affected by what he had learnt. Ramirez had said that mortals should never know, because they would fear and drive him away. Though Connor knew better enough to disregard that opinion, he found himself befuddled by the sudden cognition of mortals who did know – and had known for a long time – of immortals and never interfered.
The bell that rang in the back of his head announced he had arrived at Muriaz' place. It was a numb, old building that seemed left to fall by itself. The outside paint was cracked, and at least a dozen of windows were broken. Not many people lived there, surely.
He opened the main door and walked in. There was no elevator, only the stairs, which loomed upwards. Connor began his way, remembering that Muriaz was only in floor 2. Two floors later, he found a deserted alley which led to an open door at its furthest end. From inside that apartment, he could hear some heavy metal tunes. Though he had never liked that sort of music, he grinned at it, wondering why.
Connor treaded towards there and stuck a head to make recognition of the place. It was an empty room. To the door's right, a neatly done bed extended towards the wall, behind it a table with a pile of pocket books. Opposite to the table, there was a small table in which a blond-haired blue-eyed lean man who was having some ravioli, dressed in a sweatshirt and trousers, and with a rapier next to him.
"You're Muriaz?" he questioned unfriendly.
"Yeah. Joseph Muriaz. Judging by that beige mackintosh, you must be Connor MacLeod." The other replied calmly before gulping a fork with two ravioli in it. "Take a seat. Want some?"
"No."
"You miss them pal. What can I do for you? You're here to fight? Or you want something else?"
"You heard about the antique shop bombing?" He grunted.
"Yeah. Sorry about your daughter."
"Do you know who did it?" The question was violent, lacking any courtesy whatsoever.
"No. I've heard rumours only. An immortal priest was said to be involved." Murias replied calmly.
Connor felt fuelled by anger. He stood up and clenched his fist on Murias' shirt, making him stand up with a strength that shouldn't be normal for a man the Highlander's height.
"Who did it!" Connor bellowed.
"I told you I don't know, MacLeod!" Muriaz responded with a little fear, as he tried to calm down the other gesturing with his purple-dotted arms.
"I think you do, but you don't want to tell." This time some cleverness leaked through the coarseness of his voice.
"I don't. Now get out or I'll call the cops!"
Connor smirked angrily and let him go. Muriaz pulled his shirt to straighten it and didn't notice Connor's katana drawing in against him until he felt an acute pain in his neck expanding and then his brain emitting signals of dolour that blasted his head as it plummeted against the floor.
"Now I'll know." Connor hissed, going on his knees and lifting his sword to the roof. The door closed by itself. The lighting began to flicker. The cold brought by humidity ceased. The heat brought by a heater ceased. Connor felt his body stiffening as the quickening seized him. The lights cracked and the dust of the floor soared, creating a whirlwind that surrounded Connor, as bolts hit him.
When it was over, Connor stood up detachedly and stared highly at the corpse of Muriaz. Then he felt a knot in his stomach at the realisation of what he had done. How could he—? And for nothing. The man had been telling the truth. God and the Child! Revenge doesn't lead anywhere, let alone to the never-accomplished redemption immortals seek fruitlessly. Finding the killer wouldn't bring back Rachel.
Gripped by guilt and repentance, he ran away from the apartment and the building, as he would also do from New York, walking hurriedly away in the deserted street, unaware of Scarlet's presence so close, containing the disgust the murder of Muriaz had brought.
AUTHOR'S NOTE: the two characters introduced in this chapter are non-canon.