LIBERTY
The line rang on endlessly, and Methos had to ponder over Joe Dawson's whereabouts. In such case of an absense, the old man usually left a message somewhere that would reach the immortal. But, he supposed, for all the times he had shown up unannounced and uninvited, it was payback.
Since all his ties with the Watchers had been broken, Methos sometimes relied on his bartending friend to dig up information as needed, not always pertaining to other immortals. Research had been his specialty in the secret organization, but the zeal to dig up the past had been buried for some time now.
"He could be just out and about," he mumbled to himself. Always expecting everyone to jump at his every command...that thought sounded vaguely familiar, and an image of Amanda came to mind. How she ruffled his feathers! Lately, it appeared that they both had taken a liking to boiling the others blood.
Shaking his head, he set the receiver down and grimaced at the paperwork that cluttered his desk. Methos made a mental note to take care of the mess the next day, but for now he was finished with work. The museum closed later than usual due to the exhibit, and the immortal had been itching to get away, not only to investigate the painting but to see what type of trouble Amanda was planning on getting him into.
She had denied the museum was the target of her scheme. Underneath the charm she so casually displayed, he could read what her intentions here in the city were. That the museum truly was not her target was only one of his prayers. Amanda in a big city could only mean trouble. So often, those closest to her were drug in the middle of it all.
The face appeared in the doorway before he even sensed the other immortal. "Mr. Pierson, are you going to stay here all night?" Cain looked every bit of his sixteen years in his torn blue jeans and black rock-n-roll t-shirt.
"Didn't I give you money to go get some decent clothes?" Ever since the run in with Amanda, his mind had been focused on everything but the museum and his new charge.
The boy squinted in confusion. "What money?"
Methos shook his head and dug into his pocket. "Here," he handed him a wad of twenties, "go get a nice outfit. It doesn't have to be a suit, but some slacks at least. Pick something up to eat while you're at it." He then removed a key from the desk. "This is a key to the apartment. Be there by ten. I don't want to be disturbed in my sleep."
That his guardian had suddenly entrusted him with money and a key caught Cain offguard. Had he not just recently voiced his disgust in taking him on after his past had been revealed? But the boy did not argue. Mr. Pierson was not in the greatest of moods. "I will," he agreed and took off before he could change his mind.
A shrill ring from the desk caused Methos to start. "Philadelphia Museum of Art," he greeted the caller none too friendly.
"I'll never get use to you saying that," came the raspy voice of the man he so desperately had been attempting to find.
"And where the hell have you been? I've been trying to get in touch with you all afternoon." Methos sounded the concerned father.
Joe took his time before answering. "Someone still poking you in the ass?"
"And just what is that suppose to mean? I'm fine."
"Sure could have fooled me," Joe responded in a low tone. "I spent all day yesterday on a plane. I'm back in Seacouver. Had some business to take care of. Thought I'd let you know I was back in the States."
"Yeah, thanks. I've got something here I think may interest you."
"And that would be..."
Methos waded through the papers until he found what he was looking for. "Have you ever seen the artwork of Eugene Delacroix?"
Joe chuckled. "I'd have to say no on that one. Never even heard of the guy, why?"
"Well, it appears that he in some way knew Duncan." The immortal waited for the reaction he expected the Watcher to deliver.
Joe was not disappointing. "When and where?"
"That, my friend, is for you to find out. I can only give you a little information, all that I know." He glanced at the paper he held before him. "The painting is called Liberty Leading the People, and Delacroix completed the work in 1830. If my eyes and Amanda's aren't lying, then I would say Mac is the guy clad in the business suit. I'll fax you a print in a few minutes. But when and where he knew him, I haven't a clue."
"So you're saying that this painting is in your museum? When did you discover it?"
"Just today. I never took the time to browse around, and I wouldn't have even seen it if she hadn't have pointed it out."
Joe was suddenly confused. "Amanda? Did you say she was there?"
Of all the new information Methos was passing along, that woman would stand out. Sighing, he confirmed Joe's question. "She's up to no good, I can smell it. Of course she denies it, but I know better."
Again Joe laughed. "I swear, you two would argue over whether to have the roll of toilet paper up or down."
Methos was not amused. "The woman better not touch this place. I don't care who she is, I'll put her ass in jail."
"All right, now that you've cleared that up, fax me that print. I want to see it for myself."
After breaking the connection, Methos set to faxing the picture across the States to the machine Joe would be waiting impatiently by in his bar. He scribbled a short note at the bottom before sending it. Now that he had spoken to his researcher, it was time to do some researching of his own.
Outside, dusk was falling over the city, and the fear that something sinister lay ahead swept over him like the dry winds of a desert. Amanda was up to no good, he was certain. "If I were Amanda, where would I be right now?" he asked himself out loud. It often helped him to pretend to put himself in another's shoes.
Travelling to a city where none of her "friends" lived, the most extravagant hotel would cater to her every delicate need. Then again, this being a large city, there would surely be a dozen ritzy hotels, or so he thought. This could take all night, and he only had a few hours before the curfew he set for Cain would be up. He would not break that curfew.
Methos opted to hail a cab. The chill was beginning to set in, and it would still be several days before his Range Rover would arrive. Not settling that before he himself arrived was a choice he now regretted. "Where are the best hotels money can buy?" he asked the foreign taxi driver.
The dark man grinned, revealing pearly whites, and nodded enthusiastically. "I take you there!"
The immortal smiled wryly in return. His eyes scanned the streets as they moved through the city. Although it was early fall, Methos yearned for snow. For reasons uncomprehendable, snow provoked a calmness to burrow deep within his soul. As far back as he could recall, the winter months had been a time to rejuvenate from the effects of the Game.
There was no way of escaping it. No one, not even Duncan could escape the seizure they were plagued with since the day of their birth. Philadelphia held an appeal Methos could not quite lay his finger on, but once it snowed, the city would feel like home. The Game continued with no obstructions, never ending until only one head reamained.
Returning back to the issue at hand, his eyes focused on a large hotel ahead. "Stop here," he commanded and began to pull out the fare.
Methos was not concerned with the name, failing to note which hotel he was about to check. It did not occur to him that he had no clue as to what Amanda's last name could be, or who she was posing as these days. Perhaps the man at the front desk would remember her. If Amanda had been there, he would remember.
"Excuse me," he began when the plump, bald man turned his attention to Methos, "do you remember seeing a woman here earlier today? She would have short dark hair, having an exquisite taste for clothing, and her name being Amanda?"
Before the attendant could answer, the sensation swept over him. Turning with a scowl already in place, he expected to see her waltzing in with a smile of pure evil plastered on her face. But Amanda was nowhere to be seen. Damn, his sword was at the office. How could I have forgotten it? he cursed himself.
No one stood out in the steady stream of patrons trickling in and out of the hotel. His sudden movement gave his identity away, and he could only hope that the run in would be peaceful.
"Did you say Amanda?" came a deep, throaty voice from behind him.
Methos whirled back around to the man but found it was no longer the bald attendant. A tall, bulky man, looked to be in his late thirties when he first died, voiced the question. He wore a suit, almost like the one he wore, except it was a pale maroon, which caused the natural reddening of his features to enflame more. Not a flattering color, Methos mused. "Yes, I did. What's it to you?"
"I believe I'll ask the questions here," the large, dark haired man stated. "Why are you looking for her?"
Friend or foe; one of the labels the rather large and frightening immortal might wear could only be applied by Amanda. She was fast becoming the object of everyone's anger, and Methos could only guess why. "She must have stolen something from you, right? Well, she's taken something from me, and I only wish to get it back," he lied, but the lie might just save his neck.
"After he's done with her and the brat, you may never get what it is you're looking for back. I suggest you leave town and forget you ever saw me or her," he warned.
What had Amanda gotten herself into now? he wondered, but most of all he wondered how quickly it would take her to drag him into the middle of it. It seemed that had already happened, whether she had planned it or not.
"Okay," Methos caved. "I never saw you, never heard of Amanda. Good luck in finding her." With that, he casually turned on his heel and slowly walked out of the hotel. Better to save his head now in case he should run into Amanda so she would receive the tongue lashing she deserved.
Another cab transported him to his apartment. To his amazement, Cain had already made it back. Methos felt him as he was unlocking the door. A female giggle greeted him. Short, dark hair peeked over the top of the sofa, and long, slender legs draped across one arm. Amanda.
"How did you find me?" Methos demanded after he slammed the door.
She sat up fully. "You've got some nice workers there in that museum of yours. What? You're not mad are you?"
Methos was fuming. "Oh, why would I be mad? I've just been looking for you and happen to run into one of us at the hotel who just happens to be looking for you. He tells me to get out of town and forget I ever saw him or heard your name. Would you like to explain this to me?" He was unaware that he had begun to tap his foot impatiently.
Amanda eyed him for a moment, taking in how upset he had become. "Which hotel would that be?"
"I don't know!" Methos burst. "I didn't pay attention. Some bald, fat man worked at the desk."
"That would be my hotel then. Gerald's such a sweety," she cooed.
"Yeah, well so was that giant who would have torn my head off with his bare hands. What have you done to him, or anyone else here? He said someone else was going to do you in. You and the 'brat', whoever that is."
"Who's going to do me in?"
"I don't know! I didn't exactly make small talk with the brute. Besides, I was told to mind my own business and to get out of town."
She swung her legs back in front of her as she sat up. Placing a finger on her chin, she appeared to be deep in thought. "You know, I don't have a clue."
"It just seems oddly amazing that I'm not the only immortal concerned about your plan. Surely, you know something about that," Methos prodded. His coat removed, he moved in front of the sofa to get a better look at her. Her face would reveal her secrets.
But her face only revealed her confusion. The puzzled state of her eyes gave it away. "The only explanation I can come up with is that he was there delivering the package."
A wicked chuckle escaped the older immortal. "I'm sorry, and the package would be..."
It was her turn to laugh. "Oh, just the plans for my big adventure."
"Couldn't you do something better with your life than steal? I mean, you've got forever ahead of you. Why run for the rest of it?"
"Run? Who says I'm running? This is what I do, and it's not all bad. Sometimes I give back," she insisted.
Methos snorted. "When did you ever do that?"
"Well," she sat up straighter to prepare for her revelation, "I helped Mac and Fitz get the Stone of Scone back for Scotland. That was for the people. And I helped you get the crystals."
He glared at her for even recalling the event. "But that still doesn't give you the right," he protested, and suddenly stopped. All he was doing was wasting his breath. Nothing could convince her otherwise, and he was confused as to why he was even attempting to steer her away from her criminal mind.
"You just don't understand, Methos. You don't know the rush, the adrenalin that pumps through your body. That's the greatness of it all." Her hands were clenched into fists and she pounded her knees as she gave her speech.
Methos only shook his head. "Yeah, but the ones you steal from suffer from the burn."
"And by that, what do you mean?"
"Doyle, listen to me," Methos pleaded to the man who sat behind the desk, pen in hand. "Your work is much more important than this fantasy you've got your head into."
"This fantasy, my good Doctor Adams, is going to make me famous," the exuberant medical man replied. "Don't you realize that once you've got a passion for something, it becomes your life? Writing has become my life."
"As medicine once was," Methos mumbled. "Your practice of medicine can make a difference in the world."
"And writing can't?" Doyle retorted. "Look at the world, Adams. What would we be like without Shakespeare or Byron?"
Methos rolled his eyes. "I'm just saying that we need doctors more than writers."
Doyle sighed. "My good friend, I appreciate what you are trying to do, but the passion's gone. I'm afraid I would be no better at healing the sick than I would be at flying. Now, what would Sheringford Holmes say to all of this?"
"Really, if you're going to go through with this, you might as well use a less professional sounding name. He's suppose to be a detective, not a doctor."
"And what would you have me call him then? I'm eager for any suggestions," Doyle commented.
After a moments hesitation, Methos responded, "Sherlock Holmes. Cunning, don't you think?"
Doyle's mouth twitched in consideration. "I don't know. I don't really like it. I think I'll stick with Sheringford Holmes."
"Just a thought," Methos grumbled. His friend was becoming more distant by the minute. The far away look in his eyes revealed that he was off in another land; a land of detectives and confusing cases. "I'll be heading out now. I've got a call on Baker Street to make."
"Close to home, eh? I will see you soon?"
"Perhaps." Methos tipped his hat at the doctor-turned-writer and slipped out the door.
His hands were on his hips. This action was becoming familiar of late. "No, what I'm trying to tell you is that he stole my idea. He already had the idea about the detective, but he claimed he didn't like my name. Then he used it and took credit for it!"
Amanda chuckled lightly. It would not do good to rile the immortal further. "What's the point?"
"The point is, my idea was stolen. And Holmes' address in London, 221 B Baker Street, that was my address! That's where I lived! He stole that too! And I was the one trying to talk him out of writing."
"I don't believe this!" Amanda exclaimed. "That's why you were so mad earlier when I called you Holmes? A sore spot, huh? You thinking up Sherlock Holmes. What a hoot!"
"I see my wisdom here is lost. The point I'm making is that when you steal from people, you take their most prized possession, whether it's an idea or money. You strip them naked, and they're left feeling insecure."
"Are you insecure, Methos?" Amanda questioned, more seriously.
Methos skirted the inquiry. Tired of trying to convince her, he plopped onto the sofa. Repressed memories were surfacing, and now was not the time for that. Amanda always had a knack for disrupting things.
Amanda noticed his distraught mood that came on so suddenly. She had plucked his feathers one too many times. She eased back onto the sofa next to him. "I'm sorry."
The statement was simple, but he felt her meaning. "I may have been at one time, insecure. Sometimes I wonder why I'm still alive."
Amanda huffed. "Don't think like that Methos. You're the oldest person alive. You've got wisdom that the smartest scientist can't comprehend. The world would be dull without you."
He turned golden green eyes on her. "Really?"
Her smile was genuine and she nodded. "Mine certainly would be."
In the years that he had known Amanda, he had always joked with MacLeod about their relationship. He had never had one with her, but he did not deny that there had been some physical attraction. Perhaps that was why they could inflame each other so.
But now, some unknown force drew them together, and he felt his being moving closer to her until his lips met her soft, inviting ones.
