"WHAT?!" said Sarah and Derek simultaneously once John and Cameron got home, staring at the dark-haired man incredulously.
Derek had been having a cup of coffee while sitting on the front porch when the vintage black Charger pulled up to the house. His initial admiration of the beautiful classic auto gave way to surprise and alarm as a dark-haired man got out, followed by John and Cameron. "What the hell?" he asked. "Why aren't you two in school?"
"Derek," John said. "Something kind of happened on the way to school …"
Looking out the window, Sarah hurried out and noticed the stab wound above Cameron's waist and John's shell-shocked expression as John started to talk about swords and lightning and beheadings.
"What do you mean, you cut off his head? In broad daylight?"
"Lightning? There's no lightning, there isn't a cloud in the sky!"
"And you did all this in front of a witness? What the hell is wrong with you?"
"You just let him stab you in the stomach with a sword?"
"What are you still doing with that sword?"
"Who the hell is this anyway?"
Sarah and Derek each jostled with each other as they advanced and screamed their questions at the three, only to be interrupted by Macleod's loud whistle.
"We should really talk about this inside," he said. "I have things that I don't want to discuss in the open, and," he added, gesturing at Cameron, still walking around as if having had a yard of steel stuck into her cut didn't bother her, "I get the feeling neither do you."
Once inside, after introductions were made, Duncan opened up with a question. "This will sound like a strange question," he asked, "but did John here have a very, very, very near death experience recently?"
Reflexively, Sarah and Derek both independently decided to fall back to their standard procedure when confronted with questions from a stranger: Deny everything.
"I don't know what you're talking about," said Sarah firmly.
"Please," Duncan said. "I know something must have happened. John should, by all rights, be dead right now, shouldn't he?"
"Look, buddy," Derek said. "I don't know who you are, but—"
"Yes," interrupted John, looking at Duncan as he answered. "By all rights, I should be dead. I shouldn't be alive to talk to you right now. But I'm not, and I don't know why."
"John!" said Sarah, staring at him urgently.
"What?" asked John. "So what if he knows? What's he going to do? Kill me? He could have tried earlier. So worst case scenario, he tells everyone I'm immortal. Who's going to believe him?
"But on the other hand, if he has information about what happened to me, we have everything to gain," John reasoned.
Cameron looked at them both. "I agree."
"Shut up, tin head," Derek said reflexively, causing Duncan to quirk an eyebrow.
"I suppose it's easy to start with a demonstration. Do any of you have a knife?" he asked. As Sarah got up and headed to the kitchen, he added, "probably not a kitchen knife, if you can help it. You might not want to use it to cut up food after what I have planned."
"Here," said Derek, yanking a black push knife out of his pocket, slamming it on the table.
Picking it up and flicking it open, Duncan remarked appreciatively, "Nice knife." Derek's knife was no kitchen knife or pocket knife, nor was it a blade for hunting. It was a push knife, and it was designed for stabbing humans, even through body armor. "Here," he said, handing it back to Derek. "Hold on to this. Hold on tight."
Grabbing his wrist tightly, he looked around at them all. "Now, promise me that no matter what happens, you don't call the police or a doctor," he said.
"Don't worry, we don't really call the police around here," remarked Derek dryly.
"Good," Duncan said, and without warning, his hand flicked out and slapped Derek hard across the face. As Derek flinched and tensed and everybody else froze in shock, Duncan grasped Derek's wrist and, holding it steady, he impaled himself on the knife, plunging it into the heart before slipping off.
"Shit!" screamed Derek as he looked down and saw his knife, now covered with Duncan's blood. Even Cameron's eyes displayed a degree of surprise as they all stood over Duncan's prone form. Sarah left the room, coming back with an armful of towels. "Damnit, these were new towels," she said. "What?" she added at their look. "Bloodstains are hard to get out of hardwood floors." She propped up Duncan for a moment and laid some towels on the ground before lying him back down.
"So now what?" said Derek.
"We wait," John said.
They were witnesses as 20 minutes later, Duncan's eyes popped open and he sat straight up with a gasp.
"Why was that necessary?" asked Cameron, cocking her head.
"To make sure you didn't just think I was crazy," Duncan replied. "I could, uh, use a drink," he added hopefully.
A minute later, a Jack Daniels in his hand, he said, "My name is Duncan Macleod. I was born in the Highlands of Scotland in 1592, and I cannot die. I am immortal, and now so are you. Had I plunged that knife into your heart," he added, gesturing at John, "the same thing would have happened. You would have died. And 20 minutes, you too would desperately wanted this drink. The difference is, I doubt your mother would have given it to you." Winking, he tossed his drink back, draining the glass as he stood up.
"Anyway," he said. "It's been a pleasure meeting you all."
Macleod walked toward the door as Derek called, "Where the hell are you going? You can't just leave after dropping a bomb like that on us …"
Cameron leaned in and whispered to John, "A bomb? What bomb? I did not detect any explosive device going off."
Nudging her, he whispered back, "Shh! Later!"
Macleod turned back, looking at John: "Oh, don't worry. You'll see me again this Saturday. I'll be coming back to begin your training, bright and early."
"Training?" asked Sarah. "Training for what?"
"To survive, of course," he replied. "To fight, to live, to survive."
"I've been training him to survive since he was three years old," Sarah retorted angrily. "He doesn't need your training."
"Yes he does," Duncan said somberly. "He's moving in my world now." And he turned and walked out the door.