The rest of the day passed miraculously without event. Duncan and Tessa never even found out that anybody was out on the lake besides them. However long that would remain so was anybody's guess but for the time being, neither Richie nor his sister saw any reason to worry. Even if they did find out, Duncan never saw any of the four nitwits that kidnapped them, he would never put it together. Now Kronos might prove to be a problem, but if Duncan would even remember him, that was also anybody's guess, and Richie had no interest to quiz Mac on how good his memory was to find out.

Connor's decision to bring Richelle out here may have been the safest choice for her, but Richie still thought the whole thing had been a mistake. They were all on eggshells and they all knew it, any chance they had to actually enjoy this vacation had gone straight down the tubes the minute Connor pulled up outside the cabin. All that night Richie wracked his brains on if there was anything at all he could come up with that might salvage part of this trip.

In some ways, Richie realized he actually missed the way things used to be, back when Richelle and Mac were constantly at each other's throats. At least then there were people talking, now, for all reasons involved, the four of them in the cabin together were practically still as a tomb. Dinner had been eerily quiet, very long, drawn out, awkward moments of silence because nobody had any idea what to say, maybe he was going crazy, but he would've actually taken the fighting over this. And Richie had also noted that during the entire meal, Richelle barely picked at her food, literally picked through the smallest pieces of meat on her plate and picked them up and barely chewed on them. Now Richie hoped like hell that Connor would come back alive too, but more so he hoped that his sister snapped out of this soon, he was starting to worry about her.

It was now 11 o' clock at night, and the two of them were holed up in Richie's room again and were confined to little more than sitting on the floor and looking at each other. Richie scratched his head and tried to think of something to break the silence, but also tried to make sure he didn't say the wrong thing, he knew that would be an easy mistake to make.

"Hey," he said, getting her attention. She quit staring at the floor and looked up and over at him, "So exactly what has been going on in New York? You say a while back you started dating somebody?"

"I don't date anybody, you know that," she flatly replied.

"Well you said something about meeting a guy, didn't you?"

"Yeah," Richelle answered uninterestedly, "His name's Fred."

"Fred?"

"Yeah," she said, "You couldn't miss him, got real skinny legs, this spiky bright neon blonde hair…"

"Where'd you meet him?"

Richelle looked towards the wall for a minute before looking back at him and answering, "In the subway station."

"That figures," Richie said, Connor always was telling her weird people lived down there.

"Yeah," Richelle said to him, "I had planned…that the next time you came out, you could meet him. I think you'd like him."

"If you do, I probably will," he told her.

Richelle heard him talking but she was gone, her mind was reeling back to a couple months ago when Connor had first found out about her new friend.

It wasn't uncommon for Richelle to fall asleep listening to music, the girl clearly didn't believe in headphones. And it wasn't that Connor objected to the music, he liked music, he liked all kinds, he even liked the new stuff that everybody complained rotted brains and corrupted morals, but waking up at 6 A.M. because the radio was blasting 80s rock, was not how he intended to start off his Saturday. He'd merely headed down the hall to Richelle's room to shut off the stereo so they could both get a couple more hours' sleep, but as soon as he pushed the door open he saw the lights were left on, and there were two people in the bed. Finding a guy in Richelle's bed with her wasn't anything unusual, but when the guy wasn't her brother, that was unusual, in fact, so far as Connor knew, it was a first.

Well, he resigned himself to what he'd been preaching to his cousin for the last year, she was an adult, and whatever or whoever she was doing wasn't any of his business. He did what he came in to do, he went over to the stereo system and shut off the music, but that was the joke, just like old people who fall asleep watching TV, shut it off, and then they wake up because they hear the transfer from sound to silence, and Richelle did, and so for that matter, did the scrawny, odd looking kid next to her.

"What's going on?" Richelle asked as she tried sitting up in the bed and just flopped back against the pillows.

"What time is it?" the guy asked.

Richelle opened and closed her eyes a couple times before they stayed open and she shot up in the bed with a startled expression on her face, "Connor!"

"Don't mind me," he said, slowly retreating towards the door, "I'm just passing through. As you were."

No such luck. Richelle threw back the covers and hopped out of the bed and followed him out into the hall all the way back to his room.

"It's not what you think."

"What I think is irrelevant," Connor told her, "You're 19, you can do whatever you want, it's no business of mine."

"It is," she said as she closed in on him so he had no choice but to look at her, "That guy in there's a friend of mine."

"Well I should hope so," Connor replied.

"Would you just meet him? Would you just come in and get to know him, huh?" Richelle asked.

"You're serious?" he asked her.

"Yes," she told him, "I'm very serious. I have nothing to hide."

"Apparently," Connor noted.

He followed her back down the hall and they found the blonde subway rat was still in bed and had now made himself comfortable in the middle of it with nobody to push him out of the way. He looked like he was on the verge of going to sleep, but when they stepped in he inquired, "And who would this be by chance?"

"Fred," Richelle said dryly, "This is Connor, he owns the place."

The guy yawned and pushed back the covers and sat up as he said, "Well in that case," he got up and shook Connor's hand and said, "You have a very nice place here, Mr. MacLeod."

Connor was mildly taken aback by that but recovered and told him bluntly, "Thank you, don't think of taking anything."

Fred laughed, a short, amused, raspy, "ha ha", and said to Richelle, "I like this guy, he's funny."

"So's your face," Richelle said as she went over to him and smacked him upside the head.

"Sorehead," Fred replied as he rubbed the back of his head.

"So how exactly did you two meet?"

"Would you believe in the subway station?" Richelle asked.

Connor did something akin to a double take and said to her, "I told you about the freaks living down there."

"And I found proof," she gestured to Fred.

Connor ignored that and turned to the young man and said to him, "So Fred, what brings you here?"

"I was invited," he answered.

Connor turned back to Richelle and asked her, "Was I home when this happened?"

"Yes," she answered.

He closed in on her and asked her, "Were you?"

She laughed and swiped at him and said, "Come on, Connor, knock it off."

The two exchanged a few playful blows before Connor stepped back and said to the young man again, "Alright, I guess it's alright if you stay here, but don't make a habit of it, I have enough company coming through this house as it is."

"Oh hey," Fred raised his hands in a mock surrender gesture, "Whatever you say, Jack."

"Well," Connor addressed them both, "I can tell none of us is going to be getting anymore sleep, if you're hungry I'll get started on breakfast in a few minutes, come on down when you're ready."

He got dressed, headed downstairs and put on some coffee and started frying half a pound of bacon, outside it was still dark but he knew it wouldn't be for long. Connor didn't remember what time he'd even gotten to bed, but he had a sneaking suspicion it wasn't long enough. He helped himself to a cup of the coffee before it was even finished because he had a feeling he'd be needing it, he still felt like he could go back to sleep but he knew that wasn't going to be happening.

A short while later, Richelle and Fred entered the kitchen, both presumably wearing the clothes they'd fallen asleep in, Richelle in a pair of blue jeans and a shirt she'd cut the sleeves off of, and Fred…well, it was New York, that might explain the bleached jeans and the long tan trench coat he was wearing. The more he thought about it, Connor would swear he'd seen this guy before…no, couldn't be…and yet…no, he knew, he'd seen someone that looked like him in a movie once. Or, this guy was trying to look like that guy, oh well, whichever it was, it made no difference to him.

If Connor had to guess, he'd peg the guy at being around Richelle's age, 19 for sure, probably not a day over 24, and it was easy to guess, that whoever and whatever this thing was, didn't have anybody at any home waiting for him to come back anytime soon. No surprise, in the time Richelle had been living here he'd gotten a good look at a lot of the people she called friends, all of them throwaways their own families didn't want, maybe that was why they all connected. A sad state of affairs, one that by his own nature he understood too well because he'd been more than discarded by his own people, for Immortals though that was just the way of the world, there was no excuse for mortals to suffer that same fate of abandonment by their families. And yet, that particular epidemic seemed to grow worse with every passing year, how? Why? He was nearly 500 and even he couldn't answer.

One thing Connor was quick to notice, for the time of the morning it was, this guy Fred was too quirky. Maybe he'd been drunk the night before and just hadn't switched into a hangover yet, or maybe he'd just overloaded on Jolt Cola, all the sugar and twice the caffeine, least that's what the promoters said, whatever it was, he looked two steps from bouncing off the walls, and despite this, he still took the coffee and drank a cup of it.

"You don't sleep much, do you, Fred?" he asked.

"This is New York," Fred replied, "Who sleeps?"

"Good point," Connor remarked. He reached around and snagged Richelle by the wrist and asked her, "And what were you doing back down in the subway?"

"This is still a free country, I can go wherever I want," she told him.

"I know," Connor said, "But it seems to me every time you go down there, I get a call telling me to come pick you up and save the police the trouble."

"What can I say?" Richelle responded, "I'm a popular person down there."

"Notorious seems more fitting," Connor told her, he turned towards Fred and asked him, "And you?"

"I was waiting on a train," he answered humorously.

"Ha-ha," Connor remarked dryly.

The two younger people didn't stick around long, they helped themselves to some of the bacon and very little of the eggs Connor cooked, and while Fred was at the table downing another cup of coffee, Richelle went over to the liquor cabinet and took two large, new bottles out and set them on the table.

"Hey!" Connor looked up at her and inquired, "What's with all the booze?"

"We're going to a birthday party," Richelle pressed her hands against the table and looked down at him.

"And?" Connor asked, "What is it, Bring Your Own?"

"Well we didn't get a present," she said to explain.

"Oh," Connor nodded, "I get it."

"Can we take it?"

Connor briefly examined the bottles and saw one was a bottle of elderberry wine, and the other was vodka, "Sure, why not? I'm guessing they have enough champagne."

"Connor," Richelle looked like a brilliant idea had come to her, "Why don't you come with us?"

"Who, me?" he asked, "Ha-ha, no thank you, I think I'll pass."

"Oh come on," she said as she grabbed him by the arm.

"I don't think so," Connor resisted, "I wouldn't know anybody there."

"That's fine," Fred told him, "Neither do we."

"It's one of his friends," Richelle told Connor, "But I'm going, you should too." She jeered him on, "Come on, Connor, aren't you always the one saying you love birthdays?"

"When you've had as many as I have," he told her, "You're not so fond of them anymore."

"Come on, Connor," she persisted, "It'll be fun."

He finally gave in, "Alright, I guess I better agree before I have that thing helping you." He pushed his chair back and stood up, "Is it formal or casual or…"

"It's come-as-you-are," Richelle told him.

"Ah!" Connor remarked, "I hope nobody was in the bathtub when they got the call."

Connor had gone with them to the birthday party; it was in a building in the downtown area that looked about ready for the wrecker's ball, for whatever reason this did nothing to slow down the parade of people coming into and out of the place for the party. They had to walk up three flights of stairs because the elevator was broken, and had to push their way past 15 other people just to get in the door, and inside, the place was small, cramped, barely furnished, horrendously decorated for the party, and the two bottles they had brought proved to be the most expensive booze put out for the reception, the rest was cheap wine, cheap champagne, cheap beer, alongside very cheap food, but nobody seemed to care. Everybody was drinking, everybody was enjoying the music playing, most of the people were dancing, and everybody seemed to be having a good time. Despite not knowing anybody, it didn't take Connor long to start striking up a conversation with a few of the women who were present, and they seemed to enjoy his company as well, though for what he knew, that could've been the alcohol talking, but for the time being, he didn't care.

Over the course of the party, he stayed back and watched everybody else's antics, including Richelle's, who seemed intent on getting good and drunk for the rest of the day. When everybody else was engrossed with each other, he went over to her at the refreshment table where she was downing a paper cup of vodka and said to her, "You really miss Richie, don't you?"

She turned to him and asked, surprised, "What? What're you talking about?"

"You always do this, Richelle," Connor said, "When Richie goes home to Seacouver again, you get lonely and start keeping company with anybody you can stand to be around for more than 10 minutes without strangling them."

She looked to him and told him, "I'm entitled to have a life outside of my brother."

"I know that," he told her, "I'm just telling you how it is."

"Yeah well," Richelle took another drink, "I'm staying for the party, if you have a problem you can leave."

"Hey," Connor reached over to her and put his hand on her, and when she didn't try biting him, he extended his arm around her and pulled her against him. Somehow she could hear him over the music as he spoke softly and said to her, "It's alright, Richelle…I get it. I've had a lot of experience in being alone, I know it sucks. Just don't get in more than you can handle, alright?"

She was hesitant to answer him but she finally said to him, "I know who to trust."

"I know you do," he said, "But don't lose yourself in the process."

There was a moment of silence between them before Connor broke it and attempted to lighten the mood, "Hey, it's a party, right? Let's go find Fred, I'm going to teach you guys a new game."

"Now there's a dangerous sentiment," Richelle noted as they walked off to find her new friend.

"So what's he like?" Richie's question brought Richelle back to the here and now and the highly overrated reality.

She looked at him and said quietly, "Well, Connor likes him."

"Connor likes anybody," Richie replied.

"Who're you telling?" she asked with a small, knowing smirk, "The truth is, we hadn't really been home long enough for me to track him down again. Maybe when we go home again I won't be able to." She looked to her brother and said, "You know none of my friends have a tendency to stick around for very long."

"Hey," Richie told her, "You still got me."

"Fortunately," she said, "That's something anyway." She looked up and over to the dark window that looked out into the night but couldn't see anything, "I wonder where Connor is?" She turned to Richie and said, "I wonder what he's doing right now?"

Connor had been on the dead run for almost 40 hours straight, and it was definitely starting to tell on him. He knew that he had to stop somewhere to rest, the only place that was a possibility for a wanted Immortal was of course, holy ground. But he couldn't afford to take any chances, he couldn't and wouldn't settle for just any holy ground. There was a church he knew about, he knew the man who was in charge of it, if he could get there, he might buy himself some time. He wound up taking a five hour detour just to reach the church, it was a place he hadn't visited in many years, he was very thankful that memory wasn't something that started to go with age when you were Immortal.

To the outsider's eye, it might've looked like any other church, but it wasn't. The property was gated off by tall, wrought iron gates, the church itself stood in the middle of the property, looking like it had just appeared out of nowhere. It didn't in any way look like it had been standing here for the past 70 years. Nobody came to this church, not really, not unless they were looking for a place to hide.

Connor had abandoned his car a mile back so he wouldn't be as easy to tail, though he knew it didn't buy him any extra time. Like a madman possessed he ran the entire way, never stopping, never slowing down, even when he reached the black iron gates he didn't slow down, he hit the unlocked gates and threw the doors open and ran up to the steps of the church. He expected the front doors to be locked but for some reason they too opened up as soon as he made contact with them. He shut the doors behind him and locked them, though in his exhaustion driven paranoia, he wondered how long that would actually keep somebody out? He wandered through the darkened building, hoping to meet with a familiar face, but there didn't seem to be anybody, that should've been obvious, he didn't even feel a Quickening. He didn't understand it, but unless there was a direct threat to him in the church, it was something that would have to wait until he'd been able to rest, to get to the bottom of.

He found the chapel, a key in one of the large impenetrable doors, he knew the routine. He locked himself in the chapel and feeling slightly more protected from the outside forces, wandered down the main aisle and laid himself out on one of the pews. In the church he normally frequented he'd never dream of conducting himself like this, but this was not a church for worship, it was a sanctuary specifically for those that needed it. He knew that, and took comfort in the fact that it was, and so didn't linger on the probabilities of the sacrilege he might otherwise be committing by his actions here. If he was going to survive a fight, he needed to sleep, he needed to rest and pull himself together. The last two days had already been a nightmare, the impending showdown was only going to be worse, he knew that, he had to be ready. Fear was ordinarily a good source of adrenaline, but even that could only last so long before it finally ran down like everything else; here, where he knew he should be safe from the people out to get him, he allowed himself to crash, and within a matter of moments he was out cold sprawled out on the church pew, momentarily no longer with a conscious care in the world.