Chapter 6

She was floating. It was the most curious sensation. If she didn’t know any better, she’d swear she was dead. Wait a second. She was dead. She remembered her arm breaking, the grinning face of the assassin, intense pain and then the slowing beat of her heart as it pumped out the last of her blood. Then nothing. Even now there was nothing.

No lights, no angles, no devils, no hell, no heaven. Just blankness and her budding awareness of it. Sorrow welled up in her. Her mother wasn’t here. There was no here, no after life, and she’d never see her mother again. Never get to say that she loved her and that she missed her. But it didn’t last long, the sorrow. Because wherever she was, she was no longer floating.

***

"Somebody murdered her." Jarod’s voice was harsh over the phone. I was still curled up in bed, reading a novel by Peter Benchley when the phone rang. The stupid phone was all the way over in what remained of Joe’s office, plugged into the only functioning phone jack left. The others were shot out or destroyed on principle. Fortunately, Jarod let it ring enough that I had time to scramble there. He didn’t even let me spit out a ‘Hello.’

"Who?" As far as I knew everyone was okay, but that was more than a few hours ago. I had been letting my mind mull over everything with all the associated conflicts and ended up reading a book to get away from it. Now the worries slammed back.

"Miss Parker. Somebody got to her in the hospital." His voice was grim and mournful. I had a feeling he cared for the wench more than he really wanted to admit.

"Do you know why?" Picking up the phone and being careful to avoid the remaining mess, I headed off the blood stained carpet to somewhere less grotesque. Though I didn’t like her much myself, I kept my voice soft, trying to comfort Jarod.

"It could have been a lot of people; she had enough enemies. But it doesn’t seem right. The timing’s too close to last night."

"Someone coming to finish off the job?" I didn’t like that idea very much. Too many people that I’d begun to care about were involved last night.

"It could be. If you can get a hold of Joe, I’ll call your brother." He sounded very tired.

"I’ll call Richie and Duncan as well. They’re not in the police report, but someone could have been outside monitoring the fight." I waited, expecting a reply, but I only got silence. "You going to be okay?"

"Yes. But I have to tell Sydney."

It took a second for the name to register, but then I nodded to myself in understanding. "Just don’t take too long and be careful. Where do you want to meet?"

"Meet us at the bar."

I wasn’t given a chance to reply. I looked at the phone cord stretched out of the office. Giving a sigh I walked over and called Joe, to warn him. There was no answer. He should be home right now, but he might have had to go in to talk to the police. Or he could be late getting in. Hundreds of reasons for Joe not being home flashed through my mind.

A few phone calls later, my heart was in my throat and I was racing through the streets to Joe’s place.

***

The figure in black stepped into the Dojo. The throbbing in his head rose to a peak until he spotted the figure on the floor. She’d really done an artistic job. The runes around the edge were a nice touch. He almost wished he had a camera. The sword in the heart was leaving the poor boy in limbo land though. Stepping through the drying pool, his feet stuck slightly and he dreaded cleaning them off later.

Crouching down beside the body he looked into the face. Duncan really looked nothing like his cousin. Or would that be uncle? Who cares? With a practiced twist, the sword slid out, so he stepped away and allowed the youngster to come around.

A few moments after the sword was removed, there was the sound of labored breath being drawn into empty lungs and the guy on the floor scrambled to get up. Turning back around from his inspection of the Dojo, the man watched with a faint gleam in his eye as Duncan MacLeod got to his feet with a very disgusted look on his face. A few choice words later, Duncan looked around him in the typical manner. His eye’s finally rested on the black figure now sitting on one of the free weight benches. It was Jane’s Immortal.

"What do you want?" Duncan was far from being a happy camper and would give most disgruntled postal workers a run for their money.

"Is that anyway to talk to the man who just pulled a sword out of your chest?" The stranger just sat there with a faintly mocking grin on his face.

"Give me back my sword and we can discuss it." Duncan managed to make it sound smug, though that’s far from how he was feeling.

"Feeling a little insecure are we?"

"When strange Immortals come around and start playing with people’s lives, I think I can allow myself to feel a little uncertain about their motives." That, and the fact he could still feel his bones knitting together, put him in a rather bad mood.

"Oh fine." With a flip of his wrist, the Katana went flying hilt first at MacLeod, who deftly caught it and rested it in his arms, almost cradling it like a baby.

"So why are you here now?" Duncan immediately began carefully wiping the blade off with the corner of his shirt. He’d have to clean it properly later, but he wanted to get the bulk of the gunk off first.

"Here, now, as in Seattle at the moment, or here, now, as in your home at midnight?" Again, the stranger replied with that mocking tone.

"As in here, now, in the Dojo, at midnight?" Duncan managed to mimic it perfectly.

"Oh simple. I was following Mary." This time the man was condescending.

"Who’s Mary?" Duncan ground his teeth in silence; the game was getting on his nerves. The stranger simply pointed at the now not so perfect circle of blood on the floor.

"She always was sadistic. You’re lucky she didn’t cut your head off just for the hell of it. She’s been known to do that you know." The man got a kick out of how Duncan’s eyes widened as he said that.

"How nice to know that now." A sarcastic bite managed to come out despite Duncan’s intentions to the contrary.

"Well, you did a fairly good job slowing her down and she’s gone underground for the moment. You should have at least a few hours peace before she gets started again."

"What do you mean a few hours peace?" Duncan was starting to get a bad feeling about this.

"Just full of questions this evening aren’t you? She’s eliminating everyone on her list, which is everyone who’s still alive after that botch up of a job at the bar. With the exception of Ann." That must have hit a nerve because the mocking tone disappeared and was replaced with a hard edge.

"How did she know about me?" Duncan had made sure he and Richie were out of the limelight before anyone showed up and everyone else was dead.

"Oh, even I know you and the child Richie left before the police and I was across town at the time," the stranger snapped.

"She was there?" Duncan didn’t think so and the images that played in his head if she’d participated left him feeling faintly queasy.

"No, but someone else was and that person provided her with the list."

"Do you know who?"

"If I knew who, they would have a sudden desire to fly off a very tall building." There was a sharp bite in the voice of the man that had Duncan believing him at face value.

"Taking this a little personal aren’t you?"

"I’ve spent a long time removing Ann from their sphere of influence and I’m not about to give her back to them."

"You really care about her, don’t you." That Jane was attached to this man Duncan knew, but apparently it went both ways.

"That is not your concern. I came to see if you still had your head and that was it. On a whim, I decided to help you out of your predicament. I can see now that was a mistake. I should have just taken your head." The bite in his voice had gone from cold to frigid, with a sarcastic edge that echoed out of the man's eyes.

"Why didn’t you?" From everything Duncan had heard about the man, he figured it was a fair question.

"Well, aside from quite royally pissing off Ann, and if you’ve ever seen her truly angry you would understand my reluctance in that area, Connor would have mine in return."

"You know Connor?"

"An old friend. Of a sort. We do have a tendency of ending up at daggers drawn, so we try to meet on holy ground. Just in case. We get along much better at a distance." The man looked off into midair, quite possibly remembering a few of the times he and Connor had met.

"I find that all too easy to believe." Duncan said that under his breath, but evidently not soft enough from the raised eyebrow.

"We are getting dreadfully off topic here." The stranger that Jane called Father abruptly stood up and clapped his hands together.

"I didn’t realize there was a point to all of this."

"Oh I assure you there is." The man grinned as he said that and Duncan was reminded of Jane's mischievous smile.

"And what is it?" A person has to wonder if an Immortal's teeth repair as well as everything else. Particularly since it looked like Duncan was going to need that information soon if he didn't stop grinding his teeth.

"I couldn’t tell you, now could I? It would spoil the fun." Turning around, the man was almost out the door before he spoke over his shoulder. "Aren’t you coming? I'm sure you can lend a hand."

***

By the time I got into Joe's apartment, I knew something was wrong. I was almost completely out of breath and had to blink the dark spots out of my eyes as I gulped air into starving lungs. I had run full tilt from the Bar to here and as I entered the open door, I cursed myself for being too late. I fell to my knees beside Joe, the sharp protest from the one knee as I landed only added to my sorrow.

I didn't cry though. I just stared at the body dry eyed, willing there to be some sign of life, for his empty eyes to blink, for a miracle to happen. But I had been what I was for too long not to know death when I saw it. There was nothing I could do.

It wasn't fair! Everything he'd done, everything he'd survived to be killed now. He came through last night with hardly a scratch! And now his smile was gone, his laugh was silenced and his music quiet. He deserved to die of old age, surrounded by family and loved ones. To die now, because of me, because he helped me. . .

I don't know how long I just sat there unmoving, After a while, I could feel it building. Feel the rage as it first burned through me, only to settle in the pit of my stomach as a cold lump, sending out icy tendrils till I was cold and numb all over. It wasn't over; not by a long shot. The Assassin, whoever it was, wasn't done. There was still Fox, Dana and Jarod. Duncan and Richie could take care of themselves.

I gently reached a stiff hand forward and carefully closed Joe's eyes. I knew what I had to do. All I had to do was wait. Find a place, watch Fox and Dana. The Assassin would show up soon to complete the job and then I'd have them, and whoever sent them. There was more to this than just the Center.

I stood up, the blood rushing into my legs with fiery pins and needles but I didn't feel it. My first step was unsteady and my knee started throbbing again, but I just walked out, having given myself over to the cold fury that cleared my head, pushed away pain and numbed my soul.

***

The first breath was the worst. It seared through her lungs forcing the tissues to expand. Her eyes opened wide staring into a blank whiteness and her hands spasmed shut, tightening on the sheet beneath her while her entire body burned as blood started to flow through empty veins. The next breath was easier, but only marginally. With another breath, Miss Parker ripped the cloth off of her face and sat up shivering. She had never been so cold in her life. A few moments later, she could finally breathe without feeling like her lungs were going to burst.

She wrapped the sheet around her, rubbing her arms lightly in confusion. Stepping off the gurney, she pulled the cloth tighter around her. Why the hell was it so cold? Finally she let her eyes roam the room. A body lay on a gurney beside her, completely covered with a sheet. With trepidation, she reached out a hand and jerked it down, revealing a face. It was an old man, his face blue and his glassy eyes staring at nothing. He was obviously dead.

Someone had a very sick sense of humor. This was not something to do to a person who was stuck in the hospital for an unknown length of time. Come to think of it, she felt surprisingly well and was standing without any difficulties. The sheet wrapped around her was pulled away and she looked at her leg where the bullets had plowed through only to find smooth, unblemished flesh.

Her legs gave out from under her and she ended up sitting on the freezing floor. The cold seeped through her and chilled her to the bone as recent events flashed through her mind. Jarod, the bar, the hospital, the assassin, the pain. She remembered opening her eyes only to see through a haze of red from the blood streaming down her face. The last thing she remembered was the feel of a knife slicing through her side and the sensation of flesh parting on the blade.

Her mind spun around in circles; she should be dead. No one could survive something like that and even if they did, they would not be sitting in the morgue without a scratch on them. Her heart pounded in her chest and she could hear the rush of blood through her ears, eclipsing all sound. The pieces spun together and she realized that even though she didn't understand what on earth was happening to her now, she knew she had been dead.

***

She wasn't in the bar. As Mulder, Jarod and a limping Scully entered by the unlocked front door, Jarod felt a spike of worry. The place was looked pretty rough, but no more so than was to be expected so everyone breathed a sigh of relief. An hour later, they weren't so easy. There'd been no sign of her. Duncan, Richie and Joe weren't answering their phones and the brief flurry of worry they'd all felt earlier was again making itself known.

By the time Richie showed up, Mulder was ready to go looking for her. Once the young Immortal relayed what had happened to him, Mulder was already out the door before Jarod caught up with him. Scully stayed behind with Richie, waiting for whoever was left to show up. If any one was left to show up.

Mulder got behind the wheel of his rental and a few minutes later, parked in front of Joe's building. He slammed his fist into door in frustration as he couldn't just waltz in because of the security door. His hands searched for his ID while he scanned the list of names for the manager. Before he reached out to punch in the buzzer number, Jarod pulled the door open and stuck the lock pick back in its case.

They both paused in the doorway, looking at the body of a man they hardly knew, yet mourned just the same. Another coincidence among far too many. Stepping into the room, Jarod looked around, letting the feel of the room seep into him. Mulder checked Joe's body, pausing a moment over the closed eyes. Samantha had been there.

The two men looked at each other, both of them coming to the same conclusions. There was someone killing the survivors from the fight last night. Joe's death was not as natural as it would appear, so now Sam was after his killer.

By the time the two of them made it back to the bar, Duncan had arrived. Richie took Joe's death very hard and Duncan seemed to fold in on himself with the news. Deciding the bar wasn't the best place to spend the night and that it would be a good idea for everyone to stick together, a very somber group of people left the building. As an after thought, Jarod locked the door as they left.

Chapter 7

The glass shattered as Miss Parker punched her fist through the window. The green medical scrubs didn’t exactly go with the desperate look on her face, but it was the best she could get her hands on at the time. She blessed the Center idiot who had chosen a hotel hosting a convention. Because it was so busy, she’d ended up with a ground floor room which meant a ground floor window. In a minute she was through the window and rummaging through her room.

She wouldn’t have much time so she quickly grabbed a bag and started to throw clothes in. She quickly pulled off the green scrubs and changed into a pair of sturdy dress pants and a light sweater. Boots were soon on her feet and her back up gun was tucked into her waistband. An extra clip, with a box of bullets, was thrown on top of the cloths in her bag.

She paused when she came to her attaché case. She didn’t know what was happening to her but she clearly understood what happened when she died. A Center Assassin had killed her and Daddy would know if an Assassin had been hired to kill her. He did nothing to stop it, perhaps even ordered the hit himself so everything changed and all deals were off. She was sick of everything she’d learned about the Center and was ready to leave, but she’d felt like she had to finish the one job. Once Jarod was captured and brought in, she could have left the Center and all it stood for behind. Now that didn’t matter.

Her thoughts shattered as the sound of feet pounding down the hallway reached her ears. Ripping open her case, she left her files but grabbed the wallet she’d tucked in there when she’d gone to the bar to get Jarod. It seemed like a lifetime ago. By that time the footsteps were right outside the door. Climbing back out the window she was off and running down the street with her bag slung over her shoulder, not looking back.

***

The tap on my shoulder was the first indication I had that someone was there. Swinging around, my fist connected with something with a dull thwack before it was enveloped in an iron grip. By that time, I caught a glimpse of who was behind me.

"You should have heard me coming." It was Father. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pierced through me.

"I was looking for someone else." I was too tired to say much more.

"No excuse." His face looked more worried than mad.

I looked at him, too numb to really care about why he was there so I turned back to the scene of daily life playing out below me. I wasn’t in the mood to talk.

"You’d have a better chance of stopping her if you were inside with them." There was the soft brush as he came to sit down beside me. "When was the last time you slept?"

"Why do you care?" My voice was flat, emotionless, but like many things in the past few days, such as eating and sleeping, it wasn't important enough to worry about.

"Oh, I don’t know. A passing fancy I guess. Here." Something crinkled and I glanced over at the granola bar he offered, raising an eyebrow in question. "I figure you haven’t eaten either." I took a bite of the offering and watched the cars passing by on the street.

"I also brought you a present." He seemed determine to get a conversation out of me, so I obliged.

"Oh?"

"You’re a tad like talking to a stone right now." There was just the tiniest hint of exasperation in his voice, but other than that he seemed as calm as he had before. I didn’t say anything.

"You gave this to me a year ago, for safe keeping." He dropped a black backpack on my lap, then took out a pair of binoculars and examined the hotel across the street, zeroing in on the room that held my brother and his companions. With nerveless fingers I opened the bag.

The first thing I pulled out was a pair of soft leather boots; ankle high, soft soled and died a mottled black. There was a set of matching daggers in wrist sheaths, a nine millimeter Glock in a well-worn shoulder holster, a bandoleer filled with small throwing knives, a black case with vials of assorted poisons, painkillers, antidotes and sedatives, high-tension wire, tazer, a laptop complete with case and some other assorted gear. It was my kit. Everything a good little assassin needed to be successful and at that moment, I wanted very much to be successful.

"Why are you doing this?" Much as I appreciated the gift, I didn't understand why he was still there. I almost desperately wanted to be alone.

"I thought you could use an extra hand." Again he had that calm voice that cut through the cold I was wrapped in, that kept me from feeling anything beyond the need to stop the Assassin.

"I’m fine!" I snapped at him, hoping he'd take the hint and leave me to my vigil.

"No. You’re not." His hand reached out to my arm but I shrugged it away and spun to face him.

"Who are you to care!"

He looked me over from head to toe, his hard eyes boring into mine. "I know you better than you could ever know yourself. Right now, you’re doing this to punish yourself for not being there for Joe. The guilt is a cold ball in the pit of your stomach and all you want to do is kill what you think is the source of that pain."

"She killed Joe," I reasoned, failing to keep the rage out of my voice.

"So you’re going to kill her."

"Yes." I looked away, trying to bring back the icy coldness that had been replaced by hurt and anger and a load of other emotions I didn't know how to deal with.

"And what about the people who sent her."

"I’ll take care of them later."

"What if they don't wait for later? They’ve already sent in a team of operatives as well as an Assassin. What sort of resources do they have deployed? Who do they have tracking the people they’re after? What sort of equipment do they have access to? Are they local, national, international? Don’t you know?" In all this, his voice never rose above his normal tone. He just fired the questions at me, each one rebounding through me and further crumbling the numbness that I had so welcomed earlier. "You’re not thinking Ann."

"My name is not Ann." I growled at him, the rage that had been building in me focusing on the man who stood before me.

"Then who are you?" He didn’t notice, or didn’t care.

"I don’t know!"

"You’re the only one who does." His words cut through the rage, leaving me with only desperation.

"What do you want from me!"

"I want you to pull your head out of your ass and start paying attention!" That was the first time he raised his voice. I spun away from him, unable to look at his face anymore. My mind went numb and I couldn’t think. I was waiting for something to happen so I could at least act, wanting the Assassin to show up so I could do what I needed. All I wanted was to feel her blood on my hands, the stilling beat of her heart and the chill of her flesh as death settled into her bones. Again, I felt a hand on my shoulder, gently resting, as if afraid to startle me.

"Samantha." The voice I remember reaching out to me in my dreams, soft and gentle, so much different from the sharp biting tones that he usually used, turned me around. My eyes traced the random play of sunlight across the roof floor. "You shouldn’t do this alone. Let me help."

***

Two days. Samantha had been missing for two days. Mulder paced the confines of his room, shooting a glance through the doorway to the young figure sitting in a chair. Richie had taken things hard. His eyes where still red rimmed, but the hard gleam in them spoke clearly of the anger there. There was an answering gleam in MacLeod’s face, but there was more acceptance there. The two of them had spent many hours talking, the soft whispers filtering through the walls of the suite during the night as the two immortals dealt with the death of their friend.

Giving up on pacing, Mulder sat on his bed and flicked on the TV. There wasn’t much time left before he and Scully would have to head back. Their plane was booked for two days from now, giving Scully a bit more time to heal before the long flight. When he’d asked A.D. Skinner for even more time, but couldn’t give a reason, they were recalled. The case was considered too cold to justify the expense.

When he’d mentioned the deaths of Miss Parker and Joe, Skinner admitted it was suspicious but Joe’s death was ruled natural causes and Miss Parker’s brutal murder, while unconfirmed, was thought to be committed by a mental patient who was being treated at the hospital for self inflicted wounds more serious then his institution could handle. He’d escaped his room and hadn’t been seen since. It would be thoroughly investigated, yes, but by the hospital, who was only interested in covering their butt against a wrongful death suit.

Mulder almost told Skinner about Sam and what had happened to her, but paranoia won and he’d grimly hung up. After all this time, he still wasn’t sure where Skinner fit into the scheme of things, sometimes helping, sometimes hindering the two agents’ search for the truth. That was enough for Mulder not to trust him with the precious information about his sister. Giving up on TV, Mulder got up and went back to pacing.

Sitting in the living area of the suite, ignored by Richie who sat near the window and watched the street below, Jarod stared at his laptop. He closed the program after reading the same screen for the last ten minutes and still having no clue as to what he’d read. The automatic motions of shutting down his computer started without much conscious effort on his part. Gently lowering the screen he slid it back into its case then spent the next five minutes waiting for his mind to catch up.

He knew, in some part of his mind, he was simply going through the grieving process, simply following the steps everyone goes through when a person they care about leaves a void behind them. But he never expected the crushing sorrow, mixed with guilt and anger that threatened to overwhelm him. If he hadn’t been at the bar, Miss Parker wouldn’t have followed him and she would still have been alive. In his chest was this cold center of grief that the last two days had done nothing to dissipate. In fact, it had simply gotten worse. Jane was missing and Joe was dead.

When he actually managed to get his mind working, he had a good idea what Jane was up to. She’d be stalking the Assassin as an expression of her grief over Joe. Finding Joe dead had been a blow to everyone and when Jane had disappeared, fear and anger had been the most noticeable emotions. Two days of waiting had reduced the rage and the fear had lost its edge in the boredom of waiting. Now, everyone was just numb.

Scully came out of her room, limping slowly to the coffee maker and pouring herself a cup before quietly returning to the comfort of her room, where she’d been writing up some reports. She wondered at the point of trying, because they sure were a nice piece of fiction. What she’d been able to write.

While she didn’t have the emotional involvement everyone else with her seemed to have, she easily picked up on Mulder anxiety. Not to mention the fact that Mulder’s quest to find his sister had at some point in the last years, become her own. To find her and lose her so quickly. . .

She wasn’t sure what she was feeling, but carefree and happy she wasn’t. There was worry over Samantha, a feeling of guilt over the death of Jarod's friend, Miss Parker, and a sense of loss over Joe. In the short time she knew him, she found him to be a good man who kept in trust the secrets given to him, but also willing to do the right thing. She wished she’d had the opportunity to get to know him better. Sitting back down at her lap top she tried to form enough of a sentence to pass muster in the report.

***

Miss Parker walked down the street, feeling more confident then she had in a while. She was free. For the first time that she can remember she was free. Free of the Center, free of Daddy, free of Jarod, free of everyone and everything else. She didn’t think too deeply into her resurrection. It sparked a feeling of fear that, though currently stilled, was ready to flare up in the pit of her stomach and make her hands shake. Pausing for a second, she glanced at a window display before moving on.

Heading down an alley, she stepped into a dim hallway and up a set of decaying stairs. It wasn’t the Ritz, but it was a roof over her head, which was more than she’d had the first night. She’d already emptied out her accounts via ATM, maxed out her credit cards on cash withdraws and then dumped the lot, along with her ID. She didn’t want anything that might lead the Center into believing that she was alive.

She jammed the key into the lock and opened the door to her room. She had found this place through blind luck and was paid up for the month. She now had time to figure things out and hopefully, she could create a new life. Taking a deep breath she looked at the pristine room around her. Like the stairway leading to it, her little bachelor’s apartment was old, but the paint was relatively new and the bits furniture that were included had an aged elegance that appealed to her.

Pain suddenly lanced through her head. A sharp pounding that grated up her neck through the base of her skull and exploding in her temples. She made her way to the window and opened it up looking at the street below, hoping the fresh air would help. There was a man there, standing on the street and staring up at her. The moment her eyes laid upon him the pain in her head disappeared, replaced by a shiver that ran up her spine.

He stepped into the light of a street lamp and gestured to the back alley. Unsure why, she went down to meet him. Just before she stepped into the alley she pulled out her gun, letting her hand fall naturally just behind her. The alley was dim, but there was enough light filtering in to see the man. He was fairly tall, bright blond hair contrasting with his tanned face. The heavy oilskin slicker must have been stifling, but he apparently didn’t mind.

"Didn’t think I’d get a bitch this time, but I must say, you’re a looker at least. Last girl I fought was a bloody cow." He spoke with an Australian accent and, while he was fairly good looking, Miss Parker really didn’t feel like trying to guess at his motive.

"Nice compliment. Now get down to business." She waited for him at her end of the alley.

"What no introductions? I’m Jack Marlin." He paused waiting for her to answer. "I really would like to know who I’m about to kill."

"Well, I don’t like to play by the rules."

"Well then, as you said let’s get down to business." At that, he pulled out a sword. This guy was obviously a few bricks short of a full load. Or maybe he was just dealing with some major feelings of inadequacy.

"You’ve got to be kidding." She just looked at him, not sure if she should shoot him or call the funny farm.

"You act like you’ve never seen a sword before?" He almost sounded hurt, though the smile on his face didn’t waver in the least.

"I prefer more modern weapons." She raised her hand, the gun pointing unerringly at his face.

"Come now, that’s cheating," he said. She expected a bit more reaction, but this guy took it in stride. She was definitely going to call the loony bin. They faced each other off for a few minutes before he rushed her. He was fast. Very fast. He was already half way down the alley before she fired her first shot.

It hit him in the chest, causing him to jerk but it didn’t slow him down and he came on anyway. Two more shots and he was on her. He hit her chin with the hilt of his sword, her head snapping back and lights exploding in her head. She then gasped as the blade slid into her gut. With the strength she had left she slammed the grip of her pistol into his temple. He staggered back and she put a bullet through his brain. The back of his head sprayed out against the wall to drip down in glistening streaks.

Now on her knees, she was gasping for breath. She passed out just as her head started pounding again and the last thing she heard was the hollow ring of footsteps.

***

Mary stretched languidly, only wincing slightly at the cut in her side. It wasn’t very deep and after two days of rest, she was ready to go after the last of her targets. Three left, then bring in the stray, Ann. That would actually be a true challenge, they where almost evenly matched. And they only said they wanted her back alive and relatively coherent. That left a lot of territory uncovered. She allowed herself a brief shiver of anticipation. Oh well. Time to get moving.

Tonight was the Feds’ turn. Two bullets in the back of the head, a-la gangland murders. According to her information, there were enough people who wanted those two dead she could easily retire from the money already hanging over their heads. Not that her maters would ever allow it. They were probably already collecting it themselves.

Getting up, she dressed in the dark outfit she used for night work. The throwing knives were strapped to her back and matching guns slide into shoulder holsters. Various other surprises where stashed elsewhere and the bulkier equipment was hidden in a backpack. She was ready to go.

***

Again there was the horror of the first breath. But as the air entered her lungs, she grew stronger and more aware of the world around her. She was still in the alley and was now staring into the face of a complete stranger. It wasn’t a bad face, but she’d had enough of complete strangers. Her fist met his nose and within a second she was up and running. He caught up with her before she was halfway down the alley. He grabbed her arm, wrenching it around so her feet flew out from under her and she landed on her hip, pulling her assailant down with her. Unfortunately he landed on top and completely knocked the wind out of her.

"You don’t play fair, do you?" It was a cultured British voice, just on the civil side of cynical.

"What do you want?" Miss Parker just wasn’t in the mood for civilities.

"Well, I was just doing my civic duty and pulling a sword out of your gut. And they say Chivalry is dead." The sarcasm dripped out of his mouth. He tried to move and only dug an elbow into her side. She started to lose her temper, frustration was raising its ugly head and confusion was running rampant.

"Just get off of me!" She levered a hand under his chest and managed to push him off. By that time she’d gathered he wasn’t an immediate threat, so she didn’t follow through on some of the thoughts running around her head. In the mean time, he’d started muttering under his breath in what sounded like Latin of all things while he got up and started to brush himself off. He held out a hand which she ignored.

"I’m more than capable of getting up, thank-you." Her tone of voice was a close match for his. "Shouldn’t we be getting out of here?"

"Why?" They were almost the same height, though she was just a shade taller in her heals. She didn’t let it go to her head, much.

"Well, the dead body over there for a start." She jabbed a finger down the alley, then impatiently wiped it off on her when she caught sight of the blood staining her hand.

"Oh, you mean Jack. He left as soon as I showed up." The man noticed something stuck to his pants and was twisting around to pick it off. She gave him a strange look.

"But I blew his brains out. Literally." She turned around and looked down the alley to where the body was supposed to be. There was still a wet mess dripping down the wall, but the body was gone.

"Well, that does take time to recover from, but he’s a fast healer." Having pulled the piece of paper stuck to the back of his leg he now was trying to shake it off of his hand, not noticing the growing mystification on Miss Parker’s face.

"You don’t just recover from a bullet in the brain." She pushed her hand through her hair, wondering if she just stepped into the twilight zone or something. Having shaken off the piece of garbage the man looked up at her, his face freezing as he took in the scene Miss Parker presented.

"Oh no." He backed away from her and started to shake his head. "No. I’m not doing this, let Duncan be the noble teacher."

"What are you going on about?" The confusion had just doubled.

"You have no idea what you are, do you?" His eyes pierced through her, staring into the depths of her soul.

"Well, human’s a start," she snapped off, a wry smile dying on her lips when the man standing in front of her answered.

"Not exactly."

"What do you mean, not exactly?"

"Let me guess, you just had some kind of traumatic experience and woke up in the morgue. You got a vile headache and then you met Crocodile Dundee." The guy took a step back and this time, he was the one who ran a hand through his hair

"How’d you know that?" Her voice took on a low tone and she let a sinister note creep in. He ignored it and started muttering to himself again, this time in what she thought was German, but it was much more guttural. He turned to her and switched back to English, though he wasn’t exactly talking to her.

"I suppose I can take you to Duncan, he’s more set up for this. Or maybe Amanda. She might be more you’re style." He gave her a complete once-over with a raking glance that probably didn’t leave much to his imagination.

"I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about, or why corpses are walking but I’d really at least like to know who in hell I’m at least talking to!!!!!!" Now the only note that colored her voice was borderline hysteria. He paused for a moment, as if looking for an appropriate answer.

"Adam Pierson. For now."

"For now." She seemed to have calmed down with the normal answer.

"And you are. . . " He let the sentence dangle, waiting for her answer.

"Miss Parker."

"That’s it?" Adam thought that perhaps she had relaxed to much.

"For now." She shot his previous words at back at him with a smirk. He smirked back. "So if you’re not exactly human, what are you?"

"I’m really going to have to do this myself, aren’t I?" He took a deep breath before continuing. "Let’s see. I’m Immortal, you’re Immortal. Our friend Jack, also Immortal, was trying to cut off your head so he could take you’re Quickening, which is a bit like Chi, or life force. We all play the Game where we go about taking heads to see who’s left at the time of the Gathering, because there can be only one. Holy ground is the only place where you’re not allowed to fight, but other than that, its pretty much survival of the fittest. Or the slyest. I really don’t think you’ll have trouble with that." He finally paused and looked at his not so captive audience.

"Right." She looked at him, then dismissed his tale with a laugh. "Now tell me a western."

"What?" He looked at her in disbelief.

"Game? Quickening? You’ve got to be kidding."

"Do I look like I’m kidding?" He almost spat out the last word.

"No, I’m thinking more along the lines of certifiable."

"You don’t get it. You can’t die! Not unless some one takes a sword and removes your head from your neck." Before she could reply, a hand was pointing her gun in her face. It lowered and she saw a spear of flame from the nozzle.

Chapter 8

My eyes narrowed as a shadow caught my eye. There wasn’t anything particularly outstanding about the shadow, it just seemed a bit too dark and hiding more than it should be. From my spot at a second floor window, I could look across the street and see straight down the alley beside Fox’s hotel to where the shadow fell. Getting up, I hit the fast dial on the cell phone Father gave me and relayed my news. Then I was out the door, a light black vest proof against the late night chill.

As I stepped out a side door and into the night, I searched for the shadow across the street but it was just an empty shadow. Light steps carried me across and I stepped into the alley. Adrenaline surged through me, clarifying my senses. Walking among the dark shadows, I waited for my prey. Father and I had spent a fair bit of time talking about this, planing this. I knew who I was after; her weaknesses, her strengths. I knew what I had to do.

A slight scratch of sound led me to a doorway and then I was in the hotel. It was an emergency exit at the end of a hall, supposedly locked from the outside, but that never stopped one of us. A glimpse of dark gray slid down the hallway in front of me before it whipped around, the short black ponytail slapping her neck.

"Took you long enough, Mary. But then you were always slow to pick up on a tail." I stood there, looking more confident than I felt. She knew me better than I knew her and I couldn’t let her know that my knowledge of her was second hand.

"Well, hello there, Ann. It’s been along time. You really ought to keep your nose out of my business." She relaxed only marginally once she had made out my features, straightening up and coming towards me.

"This is my business. You’re here because of me." The narrow hall wasn’t the best place for a fight, but I’d no doubt been in worse situations. I hope.

"Well, yes, but this part is just cleaning up loose ends. I was saving you for later. It’s been a while since I went up against one of us. Although you’re Duncan was very well trained. He was actually a bit of a challenge." It took me a moment to realize she didn’t know he was alive and I was half tempted to let her find out the hard way. She never had the patience for proper surveillance. But the cold pit of fury in my gut was starting to unwind tendrils throughout me and I wasn’t going to share this fight with anyone. So I laughed in her face.

"You really have no idea what you’re up against do you." I was out for blood.

"I know enough," she snapped. By now she was only a few feet in front of me, but not close enough to attack without broadcasting it like a public satellite.

"Always the one to rush in, never looking over your shoulder, or at what’s sitting under your nose."

"Well, teacher’s pet was the one who couldn’t handle the pressure." Her voice lilted, teased.

"I simply don’t enjoy other’s pain." I let a defensive note creep in my voice, hoping she’d fall for the trap.

"But I do. That always bothered you didn’t it." She took a step forward, triumph shining on her face over my discomfort. My hand snapped out in reply and hit her chin, open palmed. I was aiming for her nose, but she was already pulling her head back by the time my hand hit her face. The defensive posture I had adopted earlier was gone, replaced with lethal intention.

Mary fell back, twisting around so the movement covered the small hand gun she pulled out. The barrel was over-sized with the addition of a silencer. The flare of a shot lit up the hallway as I ducked back, flipping off two throwing knives that thudded into the wall near her head. I didn’t really register the second spat as a bullet burrowed into the door behind me.

She’d backed up and ran into a hall. I rushed after her but by the time I got around the corner, she was already out of sight.

***

It took a few seconds for her fury to die down. How dare she! This was her job and she dared to interfere. Ann’s turn was soon enough, but she couldn’t wait. Ducking through a door a soon as she was around the corner, Mary raced through the room and out the other side. In her mind she followed the route she had planned; take her targets out first and then deal with Ann. It was simpler that way.

Her concentration became total as she swept other thoughts aside and focused on the job. That was what made her one of the best Assassins the Center ever produced. Once she started, nothing stopped her and she had never lost a target.

Down the hallway, turn left, through the door and up the stairs, three floors and then suite 309. Two dead, Three if the pretender got in the way, but it wasn’t much of a priority. Then she could take Ann down at her leisure.

Turning the corner, a fist shot out and buried itself into her nose. The lights in her head quickly dissipated and Mary focused on Ann. Somehow the girl had gotten ahead of her, but that didn’t matter. Since Ann was in such a hurry, she’d take care of her now. There was a fight to fought.

***

The afternoon spent studying the blue prints was quite well spent. I still had to run full tilt, but I got a break with the elevator so I caught up with her at the top of the stairs just as she turned the corner. No word play this time, just my fist in her face.

As she fell, I saw a flash of metal as she pulled out a knife. We were in one of the main hallways making silence a desirable option. She came at me, using the floor to push off of as she barreled into me. I blocked the swipe of her knife, but a fist snuck through my guard taking my breath with it. An elbow in her face gave me a moment to get my own blade out.

The clang as metal met metal seemed loud in the silence of the night, but no heads popped out of door ways. She was still on her feet and our knives met in almost identical moves. I took a deep breath and let instincts and training take over. Her black eyes became my focus and I slid another blade out, using my knives to block the sting of her blade and to slide through her defenses in response.

A slice here and a slice there. The tip of my dagger slashed at her face leaving a trail of crimson behind. Hers reached out leaving a trail of fire across my arm, but the sharp bite soon became lost in the cold that enveloped me. This fight, this confrontation was be all and end all of my existence. Making her pay for what she’d done was my reason to be there.

A whisper of sound came from behind me, the click of a door and I started to turn, just catching the underhand flash of a knife arching up to my stomach. I wouldn’t be able to block it so I put it where I wanted it. My left hand flashed forward just in time for the six inch blade to plant itself between the bones of my arm. The sound of my knife dropping to the carpet seemed to echo in my head.

Twisting my wrist wrenched the knife out of her hand and brought a gasp of agony from my lips, but my eyes narrowed and a round house kick sent her flying into the wall behind her. She then fled down the stairs. I took a short cut and jumped over the railing to land in front of her, not feeling the sharp pain in my knee as I landed. Blood dripped down my arm as I crouched in front of her, a pool just beginning to form under me as we tried to stare each other down.

We both let knives fly at the same time, she dashed around the curve of the stairs and I rolled backwards down the stairs. Only one of the two I released ended up in the wall. But then I realized my mistake and scrambled up to the landing as fast as I could, stumbling once as my foot missed a step.

I peeked around the corner, expecting an answering spat of a bullet, but there was none. I scrambled up the rest of the way, only to fall for the same trick I played on her. I barely had a chance to register the foot flying at my face before it hit.

Lights exploded and my head snapped back, throbbed with the force of impact. I slashed out with my knife from the floor and sliced across her ankle. She gasped, then hopped back, trying not to fall over. It was a fairly deep cut and was bleeding like a stuck pig. That gave me a moment to get a my foot under me.

I lunged at her, pushing her back into the hallway and away from the stairs. I was getting sick of those stairs. Tackling her also had the advantage of slamming her into the wall with a satisfying crunch. Before I had a chance to let her drop, she grabbed the hilt of the knife still stuck in my arm and twisted.

She didn’t get a chance to wrench it all the way out, because the fire alarm blared through the silence. So much for peace and quiet. Heads immediately popped out of doors looking in our direction and shocked exclamations rolled out of mouths. The smarter ones ducked immediately back inside. Those that didn’t got an eyeful. Mary’s foot flew at my knee, then she pushed off from the wall and dove over me as my knee collapsed, rolling when she hit the floor. By the time I turned around, she was over the railing and half way down the stairs, leaving a trail of blood. I scrambled after her.

Or at least, I attempted to.

***

Mary paused at the very bottom of the stairs in an empty doorway, her breath coming in great gasps as she tried to ignore the pain in her ankle. She cursed Ann as she grabbed a bandage and wrapped it around the wound. A few times around and then a tensor was tightly wrapped over it, slowing down the bleeding. She could walk on it.

People streamed down the hallway, ignoring her in their panic to escape. She stayed against the wall, working her way against the crowd and deeper into the hotel. Ann would be coming after her to finish this and she wanted to be ready.

She stepped through a door and away from the crowd, slipping a new clip into her automatic. Following the hall, she made her way to the main entrance. She wanted to move this to a new hunting ground, someplace familiar to her but not to Ann. She had to hurry though, if she wanted to get out of the building before Ann caught up with her.

***

When my foot hit the ground, my knee gave way. The throbbing I’d been ignoring had intensified to a sharp, intense pain. That was not a good sign. I pulled myself up and was a bit more careful on the stairs. I’d pay for this later but that was later and if I wanted to catch Mary before she had a chance to leave I had to hurry.

Down a floor, the hotel was beginning to empty of its patrons who now surged around me and clogged the stairs in their panic to escape. They didn’t seem to notice anything wrong with me, but just nudged me around and I used the extra bodies to take the weight off my leg. The crowd was more of a hindrance then a help, though, and I just about killed the person who caught the blade stuck in my much abused arm.

Since ripping it out was a bad idea involving serious blood loss, it wasn’t the smartest thing to do at that particular moment, but I was about ready to do so anyway. At the bottom of the stairs I paused. There’d be too many people outside for Mary’s taste. And she wouldn’t want a crowd with me on her tail.

I knew what the alarm meant. Father had shown up and he would watch Fox, Jarod and the others. He would keep them safe so I could take care of Mary. She would be trying to head for ground more comfortable for her and not so familiar to me.

Looking at the ground there was a fairly obvious blood trail. Didn’t mean that was the way she actually went, but it was a place to start. Following the trail deeper into the hotel, I took the chance to do something about my arm.

I could still use my hand, though not well, and the knife sticking out was an easy a target. Wrapping an elasticized bandage around it cut the blood flow down to a slow trickle, but I had already left a hefty blood trail myself. A first aid kit is another one of those things every good Assassin had on hand.

My knee was down to a dull throbbing mess, but it was currently obeying orders so I let sleeping dogs lay and the shallow gash on my right arm was pretty much forgotten now that it’d stopped bleeding. That, combined with everything else, I could ignore and so it would wait. Other than that I was in perfect health.

Reaching the end of the hall I paused, listening to the faint noises in the back ground. There was the dying murmur of people evacuating the building and the faint groan of the elevators, but not much else could be heard over the intermittent wail of the alarm.

Then it abruptly cut out, making it much easier to listen. I strained my ears, hoping for any trace of noise through the sudden silence. I wanted her and I wanted her badly. Turning right, I followed a faint, uneven tread. I wasn’t the only one limping now.

I smiled at the thought, enjoying the hunt. The footsteps weren’t that far ahead, but she wasn’t too close either. I finally pulled out my gun. There was no need to care about silence anymore.

Following the noise, which incidentally did follow the diminishing blood trail, it led me through the hotel to the other side, towards the main entrance. There was a hall that led to the parking lot that came off the lobby, so I figured that’s where she was heading. The main entrance would be too busy for her to sneak out.

I glimpsed her through the glass walls of the restaurant where food was left unattended on the tables, so I broke into a run. I caught up to her in the lobby and getting a clear view, I let the shots ring out. The slugs dug into the ground by her feet, causing her to jump back and lose her balance, precarious as it was. I didn’t want her dead. Yet. By the time she was back on her feet, I was in her face.

I backhanded her, the gun in my hand gave it just that extra force. Next was a side kick into her gut, smashing into the ribs I’d bruised, if not broken, earlier. My left palm found her face, causing my arm to start bleeding again with a vengeance.

She came back by grabbing me and using my momentum to flip me as she fell back, going with the flow of my punch. I tucked up and rolled, keeping a grip on my Glock. She was immediately back up and advancing. I twisted as soon as I could and fired two shots at her legs. My aim was a little off though and only one shot hit.

The leg collapsed underneath her and she screamed in protest. I got up and limped over to kick the gun she’d managed to pull so it flew out of her hands and across the room. I smiled as she struggled to sit up.

"Why? Why are you doing this? Why not kill me? You’ve had the chance." She breathed heavily, holding an arm across her stomach, bracing her definitely broken ribs.

"I want you to feel what Joe felt. Helpless." I leveled the gun at her head, finally letting the rage completely engulf me. A death’s head grin spread across my face. "How do you like the feeling?"

"This is my job. Why can’t you accept that?" She was getting desperate, sweat started to sprout on her, till now, dry face.

"You like your work to much." I kicked her in the face, watching blood pour down from her nose. Then she grinned, her face reflecting mine.

"I love it." The hand around her stomach flashed out and three knives followed the line of her arm to me. One I managed to dodge by twisting forward, but the other two struck; one buried itself into my shoulder and the other glanced of the back of my ribs. It only made me madder. I put another bullet in her leg and was rewarded by the grimace that replaced her smirk.

I walked up to her and shoved the gun in her face. My finger tightened on the trigger and I looked into her face, watching the sudden horror pass across her face as she stared her death in the face. I reveled in that look, how it scrunched up her features and how her eyes glossed over with panic.

But then I stopped. The rage, the anger, all the hurt just drained out of me at once. We were so much alike, I could see her blood thirst in me, see my rage in her. I’d had enough. I’d had my revenge, I’d beaten her and it was enough. I turned and started to limp away.

"NO! You can’t walk away from this!" she yelled. I heard her scramble behind me and turned around. She was crawling over to where I’d kicked her gun. A thousand thoughts spun through my mind. Joe, my brother, Jarod, all the people she’d killed, all the people I’d killed, the Center and the people behind Mary.

"Mary," I watched as she froze and turned to look at me. "Consider yourself retired." I fired off two shots, one into each knee.