LIBERTY
Total darkness, not very welcoming when first awakening. How many times had he made acquaintences with the fiendish diety? Too many times to count, he decided. This awakening, just another star in the sky.
Coughing and sputtering, Methos became aware that someone aided him in sitting up. His eyes were clouded, unable to see his helper, but his body could not deny what type of helper it was. Struggling out of the question given his weakend state, his hands fumbled inside his coat in search of his weapon.
"Mr. Pierson?" Cain's young voice could not have been more inviting at the time.
"Cain, is that you? Thank goodness. Are they gone?" His hands left their search and began rubbing his eyes in hopes of clearing the fog.
After a few quick blinks, the boy came into focus, crouched before him. "Who? What are you talking about?"
They were alone in the parking lot, the car gone, Amanda gone. "They took her," Methos began, and stood up with the help of his ward.
"Who took her?" Cain inquired. "There was no one here but you. I came to see what was wrong with the museum and found you out here. What happened?"
Methos waved him away. "Nothing to concern you. The museum won't be opened in the morning. Someone stole the Liberty painting."
"But who would want to do that?" Cain asked, horrified. "It wasn't Amanda, was it?"
Nodding his head, he gave Cain the answer. Just moments before, or had it been that long, he stood with sword in hand ready to defend her. Sword. Methos whirled around to find his sword on the pavement where he had dropped it. Funny that they had left him to live and not take his sword. Something was wrong here, definitely wrong.
Then he remembered the dagger. His hands went to his chest but found no protruding object, only a sticky glue his own blood had made. "Was there a little knife in my chest when you found me?"
Cain's eyebrows furrowed. "No. I didn't see anything except your sword. What are you going to do?"
Desperate himself for the answer to that very question, Methos hung his head in defeat. Giving up had never been his style, but with Amanda gone and no clue to who would want to kidnap her and why, the drive to conjure up a rescue plan was lost with any other hopes of revealing the mystery. "I don't know. I just don't know."
Ever since returning to the apartment after the disaster at the museum, Methos had confined himself to his room. Cain let him be which was what the older immortal had expected. For two days, the phone had rung so many times he lost count, but each time Cain took care of it. No questions asked; Methos was content to brood on his on.
Studying the situation unfolding in the other room, he noticed the boy was silent or his voice was deliberately low. "What's going on out there?" Methos called.
"Adam?" The raspy voice of the Watcher rang into the empty air, and Methos almost started at this unexpected visit.
He lept from the bed and threw the door open. "Joe, what the hell are you doing here?"
Cain stepped aside to allow the aging Watcher entrance. With cane in hand, Joe stiffly walked to the table, draped his coat on the back of the chair, and sat down. "I have been trying to call you for the past two days. Why is it that you don't answer your phone?"
Shaking his head, Methos sat down opposite his friend. "Do you have some news?"
He sounded so hopeful, Joe was afraid to say what he would tell him next. "Well, yes, and no. I did discover when Mac and Delacroix met."
"When was that?" It was Cain who voiced the question Methos was thinking.
Making his presence known once again, Joe turned inquizitive eyes to his immortal friend. The times he had called to speak to Methos, some kid had answered and insisted that Mr. Pierson was not to be disturbed. This must be the kid.
Methos read his eyes. "Joe, this is Cain. Cain, this is Joe, he's a friend of Duncan's and mine. He also knows Amanda. You can trust him, just don't ask any questions."
The young immortal nodded at the order and sat down on the sofa but kept an ear tuned to the conversation. Joe was likewise confused by Methos' sudden outburst but kept his opinion to himself. Instead he continued with his story. "It was 1806 when Duncan was in the English army in Paris. His troop marched through the city, and the Delacroix family home was one of the houses they quarterd in. Delacroix was just six years old. Maybe Mac made such an impression that he used his face in his painting."
Incredulous, Methos slapped his forehead. "So what you're telling me is that the painting has nothing to do with where he might could be? Why would I even think that in the first place, and why would anyone want to steal it?"
He was just blathering, but Joe caught the last. "Someone stole the painting?"
"It happened the other night. The police called so I went down to the museum. What I can't understand is why it was the only work from the exhibit that was missing." Methos sighed. "And then for some reason I thought that Amanda did it and they took her."
Joe placed a hand on his friend's arm. "Wait, what about Amanda? You're not making sense."
"When I got to her hotel to confront her, two immortals were chasing her. So I found myself dragging her all the way back to the museum with those goons and their guns on our tails. We were pinned, and the next thing I know there's a knife in my heart."
"Do you have any idea who they were?" Joe's grip on his cane tightened.
Methos sadly shook his head. "She thought maybe they had something to do with the heist she was suppose to pull, but no one ever delivered her the plans to the Federal Reserve."
The casual way he explained the whole thing surprised Joe. "I wouldn't put it past Amanda to get involved in something as outrageous as pulling a job at the Federal Reserve. But immortals after her? The manner in which they took her doesn't make sense."
"But, then why someone would steal the painting doesn't either," Methos stated the obvious.
Silence filled the room. The Watcher stroked his salt-and-pepper beard absentmindedly. The older immortal gazed off into space, the question turning over in his head. The silence was interrupted by the seemingly youngest of the three. "Maybe someone else thought it might lead them to him."
"It just doesn’t make sense," Methos and Joe announced, surprised at their mutual statement. Joe chuckled and waved for Methos to continue.
"Unless someone has been tracking the exhibit, I find it strange that some passerby would just up and lift it," he explained. "And even if it had nothing to do with MacLeod, then why was it the only piece taken? Extra effort was spent to get it out of the middle of the collection."
"Perhaps Duncan is the only one who can shed some light on this," Joe announced.
That generated a chuckle from his friend. "I believe it was you who said he doesn’t want to be found."
His finger rested on his lips, and Joe shot a questioning glance toward Cain. "Maybe I did."
Methos took the hint. "Ah, Cain, why don’t you take a walk. Joe and I have some catching up to do."
The boy nodded and grabbed his coat. "I’ll be back in a little while."
Joe let slip before the young immortal was out the door. "One of my guys got a lead on MacLeod."
Cain was out the door, closed it behind him, and laid an ear to the keyhole. He'd have a few seconds before he'd have to vanish so Adam would know he was gone.
"Where?" Methos questioned.
"Texas."
He tensed when another immortal came into range. Glancing behind him, he saw that Adam would not be the one to greet him. Weldon, a sight not at all welcomed, marched toward him. His taste in clothing had not changed since the last time he saw him. The turquoise suit had to be the least inconspicuous outfit he had to chose from.
"Well, it seems I find you alone once again," the goon growled. "Ambrosi wants to see you."
"Why now?" The boy’s nervousness shown through his clenched fists.
"It’s time you proved your loyalty," Weldon explained. With a wave of his hand, the sensations grew as three more goons emerged from the shadows.
Instinct told him to run, and Cain began to back away. "Now, we can do this peacefully."
"Peace was never part of our vocabulary." Guns were drawn, and Cain knew escape was hopeless. But it never hurt to try.
It did not take him long to locate the action. There across the street were three huge men with guns. Outlandishly dressed, their identities became clear: the immortals who kidnapped Amanda.
Methos could not sense them and cursed his so called gift for having a limited range. Their target lay lifeless on the pavement, and as one goon hoisted the body over his shoulder, Cain’s blond hair became visible.
"Damn!" Methos spat and dodged for the door, snatching up his coat and sword in the process.
"What is it?" Joe called after him, but he did not slow.
Once down the steps, Methos burst through the front doors and out onto the walk. No one, not a single hint of awareness to be felt. He cursed his slowness. By the time Joe joined him, Methos was crouched by the spot where Cain had been slaughtered. His fingers were coated with the boy’s blood. "He’ll live," he told Joe," but if they keep him alive is the question."
"Dawson, Joe Dawson." The name was repeated once more in a much louder tone. This time, Methos craned his neck to peek through the crack that his bedroom door made hung ajar, but saw only the back of Cain's head.
Once outside the apartment building, Adam’s signal could no longer be felt. Cain smiled, congratulating himself on his find. Who this Joe was might come into play in the future, but for the moment his identity did not matter although he was most assuredly mortal and knew about them. Of course, he may prove to be full of more valuable information. Cain thought it best to get on the old man’s good side.
Methos and Joe both turned quick heads to the window at the not so distant sound of gunfire. "That’s a first," the immortal commented and moved to open the pane.
