LIBERTY
Sleep had crept up and seized him while he waited for Cain to return. His thoughts were on none else than Amanda, as they had been for the past few days. How sleep had won out was a mystery only the gods of weariness could answer.
The shrill ringing of the telephone that woke him aroused a fit of anger that could wake the dead. Who on earth could be calling at such a late hour? "Hello!" Methos barked into the receiver.
"Well, good evening to you too," Joe responded on the other end.
"Joe? How'd you get this number?"
"You gave it to me on the fax you sent. Remember?" He chuckled briefly. "I hope I wasn't interrupting anything."
"Only sleep. What do you have?" Grateful for the cordless phone, he sauntered into the kitchen to find a drink. The refridgerator was still stocked. He popped open a beer and took a long gulp while Joe revealed his findings.
"That painting is amazing. I'd swear it was Mac too, but..."
"Oh no, I hate buts," Methos groaned. "You don't know how many of them I've heard in the last few days."
"Well, according to the history books, the business man in the painting is suppose to be Delacroix himself," Joe explained. "He apparantly decided to include a self portrait in the work."
"That's impossible," the immortal retorted. "That's got to be Mac. It's a spitting image of him."
"I agree, but I'm only telling you what the artist claimed to be true. I can't place Mac in France in 1830 when the work was completed, and he certainly had nothing to do with the National Guard that Delacroix was involved with." Joe paused for a moment. "Mac was in Waterloo in 1815, but Delacroix was in England at the time. I can't find where they may have crossed paths."
"It's there, somewhere. Keep trying Joe. I feel like this is the key to us finding him."
"Methos," Joe's voice was full of warning, "I don't think he wants to be found."
The immortal sighed and downed the rest of the brew he held in his hand. He returned to the refridgerator for another. "I know Joe. We all know."
Silence filtered from one end of the United States to the other. "I'll keep checking," the Watcher broke in. "And I'll let you know."
"All right. Talk to you soon?"
The distance in Methos' voice worried Joe, but he knew better than to inquire further. "Yeah, I'll be getting back to you." He said goodbye and closed the connection.
Methos set the phone down on the counter and sat down at the dining table. A quick glance at his watch told him that Cain had been gone for over an hour. Horrid thoughts of Amanda taking him out on the town filled his mind, and he jumped up to go in search of his new ward when the sensation nearly knocked him off of his feet. Really, he was going to have to get a grip.
Cain slipped inside as if he was doing his best not to disturb anyone. "I think that's hardly necessary," Methos voiced to the kid's back.
He jumped slightly. "Mr. Pierson, you startled me."
"Where have you been? It's been over an hour. I hope that Amanda hasn't poisoned that innocent mind of yours."
"No, no. She took a cab, and I just sat outside for a while, watching the traffic. It's amazing how busy it still is this late," Cain responded, trying his best not to seem fishy.
Methos was too preoccupied to notice the boy's fidgeting. "Next time, don't be so late. You should get some sleep. I expect you to be at the museum bright and early, and wearing those new clothes you got."
"Yes sir!" he responded, mockingly saluting Methos.
Methos shook his head. "Don't test me boy. After what I've been through tonight, you don't want to bear the brunt of my rath."
Reluctantly, he took the cordless phone from Cain and watched him slump back onto the couch before answering. "Pierson here."
"Mr. Pierson, this is Detective Mills, PPD. It seems we've got a problem here at the museum."
Methos groaned. "What kind of problem?"
"There's been a break in. We need you to come down," the officer replied.
"All right. I'll be right there." He hit the off button and threw the phone across the room.
Cain rose up, startled. "What's the matter?"
"Amanda!" Methos bellowed, surely loud enough that she could have heard him clear across the city.
Once dressed, he arrived at the musuem as quick as the early morning cab could transport him. Police cars filled the front parking lot, and yellow tape blocked off the entrance. Methos slipped underneath the tape to see what damage had been done.
The detective met him at the entrance, which was nothing but shattered glass. "Mr. Pierson?"
Methos nodded, horrified at the site. His worst nightmare had come true, and he couldn't wait to throttle her. "I got here as soon as I could."
"As far as we can tell, there's only one piece missing, but of course only you could tell us that for sure. Barney here believes there's only one missing." The detective was indicating the maintenace man who stood off to one side.
"Let me have a look," Methos supplied and proceeding through the gallery, the Detective on his heels. Nothing so far was missing, but when he rounded one corner, when he expected to see the painting that had been of such scrutiny, he saw nothing but an empty space on the wall on which it had hung. "This one, Liberty is gone. Was there any more?"
The detective shook his head. "This was the one reported stolen. Seems odd that it would be the only one out of all these great works. Do you have any insight as to why that would be?"
"No, I don't. I don't know why anyone would steal any of these in the first place," Methos infomed the inquizitive police officer.
"Why does anyone break into any place? Money. I'm sure these works are worth a pretty penny."
"Quite sure," Methos assured. "But why just one, and this one?"
"That's the mystery we hope to solve," the detective stated. "There is some paperwork that one of the other officers needs you to fill out. Right this way."
Methos was ushered back to the front of the museum where he was presented with mounds of paperwork, enough to make his desk look organized. All the while he worked on the report, his mind churned over the different ways he could and would torture Amanda. She would pay dearly for what she had done. He knew better than to trust her word that she would not hit the museum. She was a born thief and liar.
The paperwork weeded through, the doors barred shut, or better yet wooded together, Methos went on his way. Instead of calling for a taxi, he decided that a walk was just what he needed to collect his thoughts and to prolong the devious act he suspected he would perform at a certain hotel.
Of the same breed, same species or whatever it was that they were to be called, the easiest way to end his suffering would be to take her head. But, that was too easy, he determined. Somehow she would endure whatever punishment he deemed necessary for her final crime. Amanda, whatever her last name was, had stolen her last loot.
The hotel came into view much quicker than the first time he sought it out. His thoughts fueled his anger and his quickened steps. At this early hour of the morning, the traffic was light and no one stood outside the hotel. Usually a bell man posed at his station, but none were to be seen at this hour.
Now the question would be how he could obtain the knowledge of the room number in which she was staying. The bald shrimp at the front desk most likely had been paid off to not reveal any information pertaining to the likes of one garish female. Of course, some amount of force might tackle that obstacle.
Preparing himself for the harsh tone he was about to fall into, Methos told himself it was not at all surprising when the immortal made its presence known. Of all the craziness of late, it was none too surprising. Except, Amanda appeared at the edge of the shadows the neatly trimmed bushes lining the hotel provided. "You were the last one I expected to come here," she hissed.
In the past, rather past the last few days, he would have thought she would be the last person he would be hunting. What a difference a few days made. "What I want from you is first an explanation, and then I want the painting back."
Still hovering amidst the shadows, Methos was unable to see what emotions crossed over her face. "Just what are you talking about?" How infuriating she could be when answering a question with another question.
"Don’t give me that, Amanda!" he bellowed. "You know perfectly well what it is I’m talking about. Where is the painting?"
Her finger flew to her lips. "Shh! You’re going to wake everyone on the block up. We’ve got to get out of here. They’ll be down any minute."
"What nonsense is it you’re babbling about?" Finally, she emerged from hiding, clad in nothing but a black silk nightgown. "Good gracious woman, what are you doing out here dressed like that!?"
"I thought I was sleeping peacefully in my room, but come to find out, several immortals were out in the hallway trying to beat my door down! I climbed out the window," she explained. "And if you don’t mind, I’d like to get the hell out of here before they realize I’m not there."
A tickling of awareness wound its way from head to toe. "Feels like we’re too late for that," Methos whispered and grabbed her hand. He started running in the direction he had just come from, dragging her along side him barefoot and half naked. "Who are they?"
"I forgot to ask," she managed to spit at him. "Where are we going?"
"Back to the scene of the crime," he announced and made it clear with one look that she should say nothing more.
Down the streets of Philadelphia they fled, the sensation lingering on the brink of their senses. Methos’ instincts led him to believe that their pursuer must be the immortal he had chanced a meeting with the previous day. His association with Amanda remained a mystery.
When the museum came into sight, Amanda gasped at the horrid scene it produced. "What happened here?"
Methos stopped dead in his tracks, flinging Amanda before him. Her eyes told no tale of a heist. Her ignorance to his accusations had been genuine. "Amanda, someone took the painting."
Mouth fell open in astonishment. "And you thought it was me?!" She jerked her hand from his. "How..."
"I don’t know. I haven’t been thinking clearly lately, you were just the first..." Methos tried to explain.
"I can’t believe this!" she shouted. "Geez, I guess you know who your true friends are."
"And I don’t think they’re the ones coming up the street either," he commented once he spotted the intruders. Four burly men all dressed in a variety of colored suits marched toward them, guns in hands. "I think we should get out of here."
Amanda didn’t argue and followed the older immortal as he started around the back of the building. Suddenly out of the darkness, a tan car screeched toward them. Methos once again took hold of her hand to yank her out of its path. When the car missed its target, it swerved to turn and started at them again.
He still pulled her along beside him, not looking over his shoulder in fear the act would slow them down. "What's going on?" Amanda shouted from his side.
"That's what I'd like to know!" he shouted back, looking ahead trying to figure out where they could run.
The tan vehicle approached closer as no human being could outrun such a machine. Feeling the heat the car emitted at her heels, Amanda squealed with fright. Methos pulled her to the right, and the car followed. He pulled her to the left, but the car still followed.
The corner of the building appeared. A grassy hill with a chain link fence barred the car from further access. Methos and Amanda squeezed between the building and the fence, inching their way to the other side. They could hear the car driving off, no doubt heading to the other side as well.
"What are we going to do?" Amanda asked, between gulps of air.
"I don't know." Still they continued on to the other side. "Wait," he held up his hand and stopped. "Maybe we should go back that way. I think the car will be waiting for us over here."
Amanda nodded in agreement, and they scurried back to the parking lot. Dim light from the security lamp and fountain met them, the absence of headlights inviting. But another surprise was in store.
"At last," came a gruffness Methos recognized all too well, "the mice come out to play."
The pale marooned clad goon, backed by three more cronies dressed equally grotesque, stood beneath the security lamp, each with large, shiny black guns. "What do you want?" Methos demanded.
"I see you don't follow directions well," the biggest one in maroon said. "It's not you we've got a quarrel with, it's her."
Amanda stepped out from behind Methos. "Hey boys, why don't you put those things away. What could little oh me do to you big, muscular men? Besides, guns aren't usually the method we use, am I wrong?"
Reaching into his long coat, Methos revealed the Ivanhoe. "No, this is usually our means of defense."
"This is not your fight. You can't interfere," the goon warned. The others tightened their grips on their weapons. "You will come with us." He motioned to Amanda.
"Not unless you want to suffer," Methos warned, raising the sword.
Amanda touched his shoulder. "They've got guns," she whispered to him. "We can't take them all."
"And neither can we let them take us without a fight. Or are you afraid to go up against me?" he taunted the larger of them, the leader of the rabble.
The goon grinned wildly. "You don't get it do you? Well, I suppose we'll just have to teach you a lesson." One hand left the weapon and disappeared into his jacket. The others stood firmly.
Before Methos or Amanda knew what was happening, they were blinded by the headlights of the tan car as it whipped back into view. Both flinched from the bright light and did not see what materialized from the jacket. Methos felt the new intruder as it sliced into his heart. A dagger, plain hilted, protruded from his chest as a steady stream of bright, crimson liquid seeped into his sweater.
He stumbled back, Amanda catching him unaware to the cause of his fall. When she noted the knife, she gasped. "Methos!" she whispered, still vaguely aware that his identity was a secret. She was not given the chance to grieve or to attempt to save her friend. Cold metal met her temple, and she knew that one of the goons held a gun to her head.
"You'll come with us," Weldon announced, snatching her up and pinning her arms behind her back. "You give us any trouble and you'll be shot."
A door to the tan car stood open, waiting for them. She was shoved into the back seat, a view of what took place in the parking lot obscured by one of the bulky cronies. She said a quick prayer for Methos, knowing full well it was most likely worthless. But as the car sped off, no sparks or lightning could be seen or heard, and for her, it was a prayer come true.
It was the phone, that once again, woke Methos from his this time peaceful sleep. Cain had reached it before he could stumble out of bed. By the time the boy trudged into the bedroom holding the phone out to him, his head was pounding from what he believed to be a hang over.
