LIBERTY
An excitement long repressed coursed through her veins as she stepped out of the cab and onto the streets of Philadelphia. It had been quite some time since she was last in the states; that had been with MacLeod. Now without him, she would do what she pleased and what she did best.
Amanda glanced at the building looming before her. The Federal Reserve Bank had never been on her lists of heists, especially ripping off the government, except the time that Corey Raines had decided to rob an armored car from the Federal Reserve. But that plan had been blown to bits, literally. This would be the motherload of them all.
A group of young men and women entered the Bank, a tour of some sorts. Blending in with them unnoticed was easy and gave her the opportunity to get a closer look at how the government operated in securing their precious money.
Once inside, a ditzy young blonde took charge as tour guide and began to usher the group around the first floor of the building. Amanda's attention was aimed at the guards who stood at their assigned posts and the tiny black boxes between doors. She deduced that the security system consisted of electric beams, like most of the places she had burglarized.
Nothing exciting was being revealed in the tour, and Amanda was fast becoming impatient. Where was all the good stuff? "Where do they keep the vault?" she asked. Several members of the group chuckled and nodded in agreement. The blonde made excuses to why the vault could not be shown that day, and Amanda sighed. Just my luck, she thought.
Finishing the tour, she broke free and walked along the street to examine the Reserve's surroundings. Where would be the ideal place to enter? she wondered as she eyed the larger buildings nearby. Sometimes, the roof was the best place. Later she was to check into the hotel and pick up the package that should be waiting for her. Building plans and all the important details were suppose to be included in the package, but she always liked to check things out for herself.
Suddenly bored with thoughts of checking into the hotel, she decided to explore the city. Philadelphia had never been one of her favorite cities. It lacked the glamour and romanticism that Paris would always hold for her. However, while she was here, she might as well make the best of it.
Crossing the street in the direction of what appeared to be a very busy part of town, she noticed a flyer attached to a street lamp flapping in the breeze. It was not common that a piece of paper would catch her attention, but this particular sign had the name Delacroix printed in thick, bold letters across the top. "Delacroix," she whispered, the name familiar on her tongue.
Where had she heard that name before? She continued to read the notice and discovered that this Delacroix was a nineteenth century artist whose paintings were to be shown in the Philadelphia Museum of Art. "'Delacroix: The Late Work, an exhibition of some seventy paintings and forty works of art on paper from public and private collections around the world,'" she read aloud.
Not knowing why this intrigued her, all thoughts were now focused on discovering where and why she knew this name. Then the night not too long ago in Joe's bar came to mind. Methos had mentioned he was now co-owner of the Philadelphia Museum of Art.
To her utter astonishment, her heart quickened. Was she just nervous about encountering him after their quarrel, or was is something more? Perhaps Methos had the answer for her; not just to the Delacroix question but to why her heart beat so. Any remaining shred of interest in the upcoming heist had withered away.
Checking her watch, she was certain that the museum would still be open, but if he would be there, she did not have a clue. There was only one way to find out.
Setting down his luggage inside the door, Methos took a look around his newest home. The only pieces of furniture inhabiting the apartment were new; a sofa which faced the windows to the east and a lonely computer rested on the circular dining table near the kitchen. "Not much one for decorating," he commented to his companion. "The sofa folds out into a bed. You can sleep there."
A hallway to the right of the kitchen led to the only other room in the apartment besides the small bathroom. Here was his bed, newly acquired as the rest of the pieces. His other apartments were still furnished, and he would not dare remove his belongings from there. Moving was never on his to do list. In the future, if he spent more time in this apartment, he would consider hiring someone in.
Methos threw his suitcases on the bed and reentered the living area. Taking two beers from the refridgerator, he tossed one to Cain. "So, now it's time that you told me about yourself. Where are you from?"
Cain popped open the beer and fell back onto the sofa. He could not help feeling comfortable in the placid aura with which the apartment seemed to glow. "New York. This is the first time I've been away from there."
"How long..."
"Two years," he was quick to answer, knowing what the question was going to be. "Gunned down in the alley outside my sister's apartment. Drug dealers." His blue eyes were filled with pain and sorrow that were sure to follow him for the rest of his days.
"Okay, then how did you find out about us? Who was your teacher?" Methos queried.
Cain shook his head. "It was a woman. I don't remember her name or if she even told me. She didn't stay long, just long enough to warn me that if we did ever meet again, she wouldn't be quite so friendly."
Methos was not sure he bought the story, but it would do for now. The boy did not seem able to hurt him, and that raised the next question. "What weapon do you use?"
To that, Cain smiled sheepishly. "I don't."
Eyes narrowed at the revelation. "It's a wonder you've survived these two years. What, you're only sixteen, or were when you died?"
The kid could only nod. "You're lucky, I tell you. New York is a bad place to be hanging around if you're immortal. Hell, it's bad enough for mortals." He paused for a minute. "I suspect what you're looking for is some type of protection. Well, I'm sorry, there is no protection from confrontations with others like us, unless you confine yourself to Holy Ground. Usually, that's not the best choice.
"You need training since you obviously don't own a sword much less how to handle one. But I don't have time to teach you or the patience. I'm sure I could find someone around here, not immortal that is, that can teach you the art of sword handling. You're welcome to stay here as long as you don't cause any trouble and stay out of my hair. I've got some very important business to tend to here in the city and don't have time to be bailing you out of whatever nonsense I'm sure you could find yourself in."
All the while, Cain listened intently. Despite the fact that he had been brought up on the wrong side of town, his sister taught him to respect his elders and to pay attention when others were speaking. So far, this Mr. Pierson harbored a disliking for him, but by the minute, it was as if he was warming up to him. The terms of his agreement were not all that bad. Just as long as he could stay away from the trouble that seemed to track him down no matter where he was, he knew that things would work out just fine.
"I might could even get you a job, if you'd be willing to work hard and not screw around," Methos continued. "I help you, you don't screw up. Deal?"
Cain wasted not one minute in thinking it over. "Deal. I promise you, you won't regret this. Now, what about this job?"
If Methos was around, his prescence was not felt, at least not yet. The museum was much larger than she had expected, and Amanda found herself winding her way through the growing crowd to find the exhibit. When at last the presentation was discovered, she became engrossed with the beauty of Delacroix's work. His use of balance and imagery fascinated her.
It had been so long since she had appreciated art. She recalled the last time she had really given it any thought. As always, her thoughts turned to Duncan. That last time had been Tessa's work. Although she never outwardly expressed her opinion, Amanda truly believed that the woman had been gifted. Duncan had seen that as well and was one of the reasons he loved her to perfection.
A woman's heart could be so easily lost, she thought to herself. With Duncan, it was more so, and she wished that he was with her now so that she could share her rediscovered passion. Too, he might be able to refresh her mind about this Delacroix fellow.
The exhibit was one of the larger showings she had ever seen in her lifetime, not that she had seen so many. Of course, that would explain it. The flyer had said that there were over a hundred pieces on display. It would take a day to see them all, and perhaps longer to really appreciate them.
His Death of Sardanapalus she discovered was inspired by the poetry of Lord Byron. Fitting, she thought. There also was a set of 17 lithographs to illustrate a French edition of Goethe's Faust. This series instigated a smile. Many times she had heard this tale, and each time, it grew more fascinating.
One of Delacroix's major themes, she realized, was one of a historical nature. The Battle of Nancy and The Battle of Poitiers played at her memory, and she soon lost interest in them. She was just approaching a piece titled Liberty Leading the People when she felt the presence.
First thought, it had to be Methos. At least she prayed he was the instigator of her startled state. She scanned the crowd, but no one seemed to be searching her out.
If the signal could get any stronger, it would spear her backside. Spinning around, eyes so intriguing met hers. For a moment, she was unable to tear away from the sight, but there was more to examine than just the soul. The man wore a suit of gray, complemented by a deep, azure blue shirt which set his hazel eyes afire. The form underneath was well defined, not overly so. Again, Amanda felt her heart quicken.
After several moments of basking in his heated gaze, realization dawned on her. This man was strikingly familiar, and one of her questions had been answered. The man under her intense scrutiny was Methos.
He had been giving instructions to one of the many workers in the gallery when a tingling of his spine announced the prescence of another. At first, he had brushed it off as he assumed it was just Cain. Methos had decided to bring the kid along the first day and let one of the regulars show him the ropes. It would not be long until he would get the hang of it, he was certain. And his surety confused him even more.
But when he turned to look for the boy, his eyes locked with the one woman who had a knack for surprises. The extravagant that she was, she wore a blouse of crinkled gold and black trousers, accentuated with a golden chain that hung loosely about her hips. Her hair was still the same raven color it had been when he last saw her just a few days before. Why his breath had caught in his throat was beyond comprehension.
Not noticing the flaming of her cheeks, his first thought was that she had come for only one reason, and a frown creased his features. He would not allow her to ruin his gallery, he decided and excused himself from his employee.
Amanda dimly smiled when he strode toward her. All comprehension took flight, and suddenly she faught to find something to say. It was as if a cat had actually gotten her tongue. But after he approached her, she had plenty to say.
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Methos demanded, under his breath in hopes that he would not attract a crowd. "I want you out of here this instant!"
Shocked, Amanda placed her hands on her hips. "What do you mean? I'm a person just like anybody else. Maybe I wanted to see this exhibit!" The tension that had parted them the last time had resurfaced.
"If you're thinking of pulling one of your stunts here, think again. I'll know exactly who to blame, and don't think I won't turn you in." Methos mirrored her action and put his hands on his hips.
"Ha," Amanda snorted, a little too loudly, which received a dirty look from the older immortal. "You think I'm here to steal one of your precious paintings? Think again! I've got bigger fish to fry."
"Just don't you even think about trying anything here. I'm warning you." He knew his face was glowing red with anger. Why she enflamed him so he could not fathom.
As if they needed more problems, both heads became alert to another presence. "You expecting company?" Amanda questioned, hoping that was exactly the case.
Methos sighted Cain advancing and sighed. Already this day was turning into a disaster. "It's okay. It's only the kid."
Eyebrows rose in wonder. "The kid?"
"Mr. Pierson?" Cain voiced his concern once he now faced the two immortals.
Methos nodded. "It's all right. Cain, this is Amanda. Amanda this is Cain. He's going to be working here at the museum."
"Oh, how exciting," she feigned delight.
"You a friend of his?" Cain asked, skeptical.
"You a friend of his?" she redirected the question to him.
Methos was becoming even more preturbed with her. "Cain is my student. Weren't you just leaving?"
Amanda smiled devilishly. "Now now Adam, you can't get rid of me that quickly. I want to admire your art exhibit. Delacroix happens to be a favorite of mine." She turned back to the painting she had been unable to fully examine.
"I'm sure, indeed," Methos mumbled.
Cain also turned to the painting and became engrossed with it. After several minutes of silence, he stated, "Hey, you know, I think I know that guy."
Amanda followed his finger pointing to a character in the painting. A man in a top hat was poised to the left of the allegorical figure of Liberty, so strkingly realistic. Once she concentrated on the figure a bit longer, Amanda gasped and clutched Methos' arm.
The hazel eyes that had been so warm just moments ago were now shooting icy daggers at her. Methos reared his arm back. "What's gotten into you?"
"Meth...Adam. Is that who I think it is?"
Methos reluctantly gave in to her demand to look at the painting and studied the figure himself. In disbelief, the vision before him was Duncan MacLeod. "Cain, you said you knew this guy? Where, when?"
Cain scratched his head. "Oh, I think I saw him about three or four months ago."
"In New York?" Methos asked.
Amanda took the kid's hand in hers and squeezed a little too tightly. "What did he say his name was? Did you talk to him long? How was he? Did he say where he was staying or going?"
The younger immortal snatched his hand from her grasp and looked at her in bewilderment. "I think his name was...Duncan. Yeah, Duncan something. It was in New York."
A longing to see his friend had been mounting in his chest for some time, and this was the first lead on his whereabouts. "Go on," Methos prompted Cain.
The boy started to fidget, and Amanda recognized his nervousness. Surely the kid was not lying about seeing Duncan. How could he know what his name was? Unless Methos had talked about him. "It's all right. Duncan is a friend of ours. What happened when you met him." This time when she put a hand on his shoulder, he did not shrug away.
"I met him at the airport." One quick glance to his savior was stolen, but Methos missed it. "He was getting out of a cab when I felt him. He searched me out and found me at the telephone booths. I guess I was hiding from him."
"What did he say?" Amanda demanded lightly.
Methos frowned at her. "Let him tell the story. What did he say, Cain?"
Cain swallowed hard. "He told me who he was and asked if I wanted a challenge. I told him no, that I couldn't fight."
"You can't go around telling us that!" Methos warned. "You're going to lose your head for it."
Amanda wondered at the old man's concern. How long had he known Cain? But then she turned her thoughts back to the story. An explanation of Methos' crazy inner emotions could wait until later. "That doesn't sound like Duncan. He wouldn't challenge anyone if he didn't know them."
"I guess he thought that I might have been after him. But when I told him that, he just walked away." Cain worked on the inside of his lip as if finished with his story. The other immortals waited impatiently for more.
"Wait," Methos broke the silence. "There's got to be more to it. You didn't go begging him to be your teacher, to take you with him?"
From the coloring of the boy's cheeks, Methos got his answer. So this was his game. "How long have you been up to this? Has this been your con for many years? And I was stupid enough to fall for it!"
The female immortal turned startled eyes to Methos. "What are you talking about?"
Cain shook his head vehemently. "No, I swear to you, it's not like that. They were after me, so I hung out at the airport trying to find someone to help. I swear it's not a con. I don't know how to fight."
With head down, Methos sighed. They had only been in Philadelphia for one day. How could he have believed that the boy was for real? "Who was after you?"
Amanda was beginning to see the dilemma unfolding. That Methos would take a student was the first surprise. That he had no idea about the boy's background was another. She had never known him to be so trusting, except with Joe and MacLeod.
The two waited for the answer. Cain stalled as long as he could but soon discovered that he had no choice but to confess. "Walter Ambrosi."
For several moments, none of them spoke. Methos had no clue to who the man was, but Amanda gasped. "You mean, the crime boss in New York? That Walter Ambrosi?"
"Crime boss?!" Methos exclaimed and several patrons glanced his way. He hovered in close to them. "Cain, what kind of trouble are you in? Damn, I knew I couldn't trust you."
"I didn't do it," Cain sincerely promised. "He's one of us. His goons were the ones who killed me and my sister. That's how I met him. When I came back, they took me to him. He wanted me to be one of them." He paused when Methos began to shake his head in disbelief.
"But I wasn't like them, I swear to you. He sent me on several jobs, but I never went through with them. I couldn't! I wanted to leave him, but I couldn't fight."
"What about this woman you said was your teacher?" Methos demanded. He thought he had caught him in another lie.
"She worked for Ambrosi too. It seemed like he had a band of immortals to do his work. She took me aside for about a week and showed me some moves, but I didn't have a sword or anything. It was not allowed."
"That would explain why he has reigned over New York for so long," Amanda whispered, having put two and two together. Glancing back to the wall, the painting suddenly came back into focus. "What about Duncan? What happened there? Where did he go?"
"I didn't follow him all the way to his flight," Cain replied. "I'm sorry, all I know is that it was somewhere south. He mentioned going somewhere warm."
"That could be anywhere," Amanda mumbled.
But Methos had not heard enough of Cain's story. "You, go back to work, and then we're going to have a talk later."
Cain nodded and trodded off into the musuem. "Don't you think you were a little hard on him?" Amanda shot at Methos.
"Hard?" his tone mocking. "The kid lied to me. How else am I suppose to be?" He ran a hand through his hair. What had he gotten himself into?
Amanda, shaking her head, had had it with his sardonic observations. She reached out to touch the painting, but Methos quickly grabbed her arm. "You, of all people, should know how many alarms that would set off."
"Oh stuff it, Methos. You know, I don't know what's wrong with you, but you're really getting on my nerves." She fumed for a minute, ignoring him. Then she continued softly as tears began to gather in her eyes, "I'm sorry. You know how hard this is for me."
Startled at the sudden rise of tears, Methos wrapped his arm around her. "I know, and I'm sorry I snapped at you too. I haven't exactly been myself lately, either."
Oh yes you have, she thought silently, but did not dare say it to him. That would only make things worse. To her surprise, she took comfort in his embrace. She told herself it was only because she was in such a vulnerable state. Finally recovering, she glanced back to the painting. "Do you suppose Delacroix knew Duncan?"
So lost in thought, he had not realized that she had spoken to him. He had been pondering over her tears and his hasty offer of support. An odd surge of protectiveness overcame him, and quite frankly startled him to death. Then he realized she was talking to him. "Oh, I don't know. I'm not even sure that Duncan knows about this. Don't you think he'd have the original for himself if he did?"
Amanda nodded slightly, still wrapped in his arm. A warmth spread across her back, and she began to feel a little woozy. Sighing heavily, she stepped out of his hold and a little closer to the painting. "1830. Where was Duncan in 1830? Wasn't he in the states then?"
"You're asking the wrong person," Methos commented.
Amanda quickly spun around. "Joe!" The gloominess faded with her exclamation.
Methos nodded and smiled. "Elementary, my dear Amanda."
She stifled a snort. "Who are you, Methos Holmes?"
Shadows of the past haunted his features. A scowl led her to believe she had struck a weak cord. "Uh oh. This isn't something you want to tell me about, is it?"
Methos turned from her quizzical gaze. "If you'll excuse me, I've got work to do." And he stormed off into the museum, leaving Amanda with her mouth wide open.
Methos and Cain arrived at the newly acquired apartment in downtown Philadelphia in the early morning after their flight had landed. To Methos' surprise, the young immortal had kept his mouth closed, and he wondered if it was because he was truly grateful that someone was taking him in. This made him wonder about the kid's situation and prompted him to ask some questions.
She was met with the unmistakable scent of a museum as soon as she opened the door. The odor had always bothered her, although it never affected others she knew. Amanda supposed it went back to her days of posing for Rodin. Some not so pleasant memories could be the root of the problem. But today she would forget about the stench and continue her quest for answers.