DISCLAIMERS:  Standard disclaimers, all characters from Highlander belong to
Davis/Panzer and Rysher, et al.  No intent to infringe on these rights is herein
contained and no profit is made from the presentation hereof.  You will
recognize the only character to which I lay claim.

AUTHORS NOTE: This story was developed as a direct result of a discussion on the
HIGHLA-L concerning the fact that Anne Lindsey was behaving in a manner based on
the only information available to her in relationship to Duncan and his actions.
My thought was what would happen to any person meeting and getting to know
Duncan when there were no strange occurrences or situations, with a twist.  Hope
that you enjoy.  Please, any and all comments are appreciated... this would
never have been posted had it not been for the direct encouragement of Toni
Mandry (otherwise known as Ma Wombat) who also gave me many suggestions which
hopefully has made this story better.  If you like it, it is her fault.
 

PASSION AND RAIN
  by Lisa W
 

Joe Dawson scanned his living room, shaking his head with wry bemusement. This
had certainly been an interesting evening, not that it was over yet, not by a
long stretch.  He smiled as he viewed his sofa and shook his head once again
noting one very dead Duncan MacLeod who lay sprawled upon the furniture.
Thinking of the ancient Chinese curse, interesting indeed he mused, as he
patiently waited for the inevitable.

I may as well put things in order and fire-up the computer Joe thought to
himself.  Until Rich gets over here with a change of clothing for Duncan and
Adam gets back from taking Ruth home there is nothing much to do but wait.
After all, the computer was the reason that Joe had brought Duncan to his house
rather than the dojo.  That and the fact that it was easier for him to maneuver
one dead body in *his* house, what with the ramp and the wheelchair, than at the
dojo despite the elevator.  Upper body strength could only do so much to offset
a dependence on artificial limbs.  Dragging a dead body just was not in the
manual.

Hopefully, once Duncan recovered and Adam had returned, they would be able to
decide on a reasonable course of action in the aftermath of the strange events
of the last several hours.  Joe was not unclear as to exactly what had
transpired; it was the why that had him completely at a loss.  The simple
recitation of the facts did not clear the matter in the least.  Duncan had been
shot, assailants unknown, purpose unknown.  What remained was one very upset
lady and quite a few unanswered questions.

Joe thought of Ruth.  She had been Duncan's companion when he was shot, but she
was unaware of his immortality and therefore thought him dead.  She did not know
that he would revive and she had been distraught - to put it mildly.  This was
one of the details to sort out.  At the moment however, there was nothing much
left to do, other than make coffee and wait for the others.  Until everyone was
assembled, no decisions could be made, no course of action planned.

Ruth had calmed down a bit.  Adam was very helpful and kind.  He had made her a
cup of tea, herbal mint, and sat with her to be certain that she would be
comfortable alone at home for the night.  He had suggested that he could remain,
sleeping on the couch in the Great Room, to make certain she felt secure.  Ruth
resisted his solicitude, she needed to be alone.  She needed to think.  She
needed to decide.

After Adam left, she remained at the kitchen table and was unaware she had dozed
while, in her minds eye, the evening replayed itself with an intensity that
caused her pulse to quicken, her breathe to catch....

Noooo! The next rifle report rang as clearly in the night as the first and she
felt herself being slammed into the slightly opened car door.  Two more reports,
two more heartbeats and the screaming of the tires of the gunman's car when it
careened into the darkness as she slid to the pavement and Duncan's body came to
rest in her lap.

Noooo!  Not again!  She held her friend's body and pressed her bloodied hands to
the wounds, to no avail.  His life slowly seeped through her fingers and stained
her gown. There was nothing to be done, she silently bemoaned, she had killed
another friend.

Shortly after Joe had settled himself at the desk and began opening files and
folders on the computer, he heard the distinctive sound of a motorcycle.  Rich
had arrived and Adam, he hoped, would not be too long in bringing the T-bird.
As Joe moved from his desk to let Rich into the house, he noticed that sleeping
beauty appeared to be stirring and was also about to join the land of the
living, again.  Two out of three.

Duncan revived with a gasp and a startled look around assured him that this was
not where he had died.  This was not the morgue and this most certainly was not
his loft.  Slowly, with life and clarity, came the realization that he was at
Joe's house and that there was an immortal in close proximity.  Probably a
friend, but not necessarily.  He remembered the feeling of Presence just before
the report of the firearm and the feel of the bullets searing his lungs, tearing
his heart.  From where he lay prone on the couch, he could neither see Joe nor
the other immortal, and they could not see him.  He could, however hear the
voices and the quiet conversation.  He recognized the measured cadence of Joe's
relaxed voice and the equally modulated tones of Richie Ryan.  All was well for
the moment Duncan sighed to himself.

What remained, Duncan thought as he rose slowly from the couch, was the question
of what do about Ruth and perhaps, what exactly had happened that found him
reviving on his friend's sofa.

Ruth came abruptly awake as she re-lived the nightmare of the last few hours.
Actually, she despaired, the nightmare had begun more than 25 years ago, she
merely thought that it had disappeared.  Vanished the same way that her dreams
of a normal life had left when she fled her home to escape the murderer.  She
had felt so safe here, it seemed as if she could actually begin to enjoy life
again without the fear.  It had been 15 years since she had become who she was
now, almost 25 years after the trial.  But it was a lie, as was her life. She
could not hide from him anymore and she could not cause anyone else to pay the
price for her single act of courage, her impetuous act of stupidity.

As the night began to brighten with the dawn, she determined that there was
really only one choice.  There had only been one choice all along but she had
clung , in desperation, to the hope that 3,000 miles was enough to dissuade her
enemies.  That she was wrong in her assessment, and that Duncan had to pay the
price was too much for her.  Not Again!  Not Ever Again!

With her decision made, her course plotted, she took the first step and went to
her computer. She owed Duncan an explanation.  That he was dead and could not
hear her story, would not deter her.  She would tell her tale to Joe Dawson who
would be able to appreciate her motives, or so she hoped.  And, in the telling
of the tale, make amends to Duncan and all who had fallen before him in payment
of her action.

She sat at her home work station and began to compose her Email ...

With Deepest Sympathy to Joe Dawson:

I suppose that I should start with the beginning.  It was innocent enough and so
long ago.  Or, perhaps, merely the story of the moment, as I am not really
certain as to the true beginning.  I hope that the telling of the tale is the
ending of it.  Only time will test this truth as in all things great and small.

Though we have met and talked, we do not really know one another and so, I will
begin with an introduction, both of who I am and how I met Duncan MacLeod.  As
you would agree, I am neither beautiful nor plain but somewhere in the middle.
In my youth, I could be well turned, when I took the time and effort.  However,
in my middle years, which is when we met, I no longer cared to take the time or
make the effort.  You see, I work in construction, actually as a building
inspector, and therefore it is not necessary that I make myself to be anything
other than I am.

When I began, 25+ years ago, it was a distinct liability to show up at a job
site in heels and nylons.  Not only did the construction supervisor discount me
and pay little heed to my inspection review, but the catcalls and come-ons of
the workers were a definite embarrassment, if not to them at least to me.  Or so
I thought.  As I grew more comfortable in my job, and frequented the sites on a
regular basis, I began to gain the respect of the men.  Of course, through the
years there were a number of women showing up as construction workers at these
sites as well as in my job; but that is another story entirely and not germane
to the here and now.

I had been completing city building inspections for perhaps 2 years before the
first serious attempt at bribery came my way.  I had heard from co-workers that
this was not atypical, particularly when the economic picture was glum and the
investors had more to gain with slipshod construction and substandard materials
than to lose if a bribe was reported.  What I did not know, and certainly was
not expecting was that my refusal to accept the offer would lead directly to a
murder, one which I had the misfortune to witness.

Occasionally, I think about how things could have been different had I kept my
own council.  But, being young and idealistic, there really was no other choice.
I testified and the murderer was convicted.  What I didn't see was the "big
picture".  Until my first friend was killed.  Because of me.  Because of what I
saw and testified that I saw.  The police promised me safety, and they tried.  I
must admit that I was safe but, within a period of 4 months, three friends had
been killed. I had killed them merely by being their friend.

The only choice I had, I was told, was to move, relocate, change my name, change
my looks, become someone else.  I would not go into the Witness Protection
Program. I did not want even the police to know how to find me or where I was.
After 10 years, a little plastic surgery and gravity, I truly believed that I
had eluded the ones that wanted me dead. So, I moved one more time and found a
job in the only field I really knew and enjoyed and began to live a normal life
again.  And that is how I met Duncan MacLeod.

I had been a building inspector for the City of Seacouver for over 15 years and
was the most senior inspector on staff.  That meant, I could usually pick and
choose the assignments that I wanted to accept.  While I stayed away from the
larger developments, there were enough remodeling, refurbishing and general
restoration of the older houses as well as the owner/builder jobs to keep me
busy.

When I had moved to Seacouver, I had selected a home on the outskirts of town,
one needing some remodel and restoration of its own.  At that time, I was still
very hesitant to mix in the demanding hustle and bustle of city life and felt
safer removed from the center of this type of activity.  I had a cat for company
and made few friends.  In fact, the only indulgence that I allowed myself was
dancing, ballroom and big band.  Fortunately, Seacouver had several places where
you could enjoy this activity and bringing your own partner was not a necessity,
if you were a good enough dancer that is.

When the restoration and remodel of the old house in my neighborhood hit the
inbox, I naturally took the assignment.  I was very familiar with this property
and knew that it would take a skilled individual some time to completely
refurbish and remodel the property.  I wondered idly which contractors had bid
the job and hoped that it was someone with whom I had had a good relationship.
This was going to be a long project and I wanted it to be done right; the old
house deserved a second chance; didn't we all.

To my chagrin, when reading the proposal for remodel, I noticed that there was
no general contractor and no subs.  In fact, there was only one name on the
permit application, Duncan MacLeod.  While it was not unusual for an individual
to buy an older property and do the work themselves, this job was bigger than
most people could handle without the help of at least a few subs, plumbing and
electrical at the minimum came to mind.  Well, this was likely to be a problem
child and I wasn't any too sure that I really wanted to tangle with a man who
thought that he could restore and remodel an entire house by himself without
expert help.  Those type of men usually had a definite problem with women
knowing at least as much, if not more, than they did, particularly about
construction.  Never mind that I had been crawling around footings and
foundations, and inspecting joists for longer than some of them had been alive,
they were men and genetically knew better.

I decided to give Mr. MacLeod a chance and, if it didn't work out, or if he
wouldn't listen to me when I made my inspection reports, I would pass him onto
one of the other field inspectors as was my prerogative.  One of the perks of
being the supervisor.  I was getting close to retirement anyway and didn't need
the hassle.

Despite these misgivings, hope springs eternal and I considered that perhaps Mr.
MacLeod would not prove to be the "typical" can do man with testosterone to
spare. After all, it was convenient to have someone working on the house.  If
all worked out well, it would mean that I could go home directly after an
inspection, or could start first thing in the morning before going to the
office.  With these thoughts, I planned on the preliminary inspection for the
following day.

This is the real beginning of this tale and the events that bring me to this
point; this is the first step on the path which has brought me to this day, this
night.  I wanted you to understand a little about me and what had shaped me.  I
wanted you to know me so that you could forgive me, because I can not forgive
myself.  Perhaps forgiveness is too strong a request.  Perhaps, all that I can
wish for is understanding.  You will have to decide, I have already made my
decision.

As was typical in Seacouver, the day had started drizzly and rained off and on
for hours.  While driving to the MacLeod property, I amused myself with the
thought that my life could use a little more passion and a lot less rain.

As I indicated, I really only had two passions, my cat and dancing. prefer the
Latins; the sensuous melding of motion and-tempo of the Argentine Tango, the
controlled passion of the English Tango with head flicks and heel stamps; then
there is the staccato of the Cha-Cha, the heart beat rhythm and pulse racing
excitement of feet and arms and torso; not to be forgotten is the Rumba with its
languid movements in slow/fast time and the glide of telegraphing one move to
the next; and finally the Samba, the laughter of the Latins, the humorous
harlequin which tells a story of pure enjoyment of dance and movement and life.
Along with the Latins comes the Swing.  That Big Band North American version of
the older, established beat of the cousins to the south.  Both East Coast Swing
with it's wild gyrations and West Coast Swing with the control exhibiting the
slotted pattern were to be enjoyed.  Despite my avowed preference, however,
nothing can compare to the Waltz.  This was the dance of scandal, to actually
touch your partner.  To hold and be held so close that one's center is the
other's, to feel the lead in the intake of breath, in the turning of the eye or
the quirk of the mouth.  For two to move as one in 3/4 time and the world is
forgotten, reality is hands and feet and body and music until there is nothing
else.  Such is my passion.  I tell you this to speak to your musician's soul, to
ask for your patience as I tell my tale; I will not take long and this is the
only chance for someone to know who I am.

My dance partner at the time when I first met Duncan, though a very good dancer,
was also a physician at Seacouver General . Because of this, he could not be
relied upon to always show up, or to be able to stay to the end of a dance.  He
was on call virtually always.  Ob/Gyns are like that, he would laugh, the only
thing you could depend on about babies was that they were born when they wanted
to be and not on anybody else's schedule.  I supposed that I would have to find
another partner as some point in time but, I am getting ahead of myself and I
truly want you to understand.

I had decided that Mr. MacLeod and I would get off to a good start if he
understood that my intent was not to make life difficult for him, but rather to
help if he had any questions or problems.  I even brought a list of general
contractors and subs that I had worked with over the years and knew that they
would be able to complete a job of this magnitude. I was fairly certain that
when Mr. MacLeod knew of the scope of the work needed, he would realize that he
had bit off more than he could chew.  By being helpful, I also viewed myself as
being neighborly" and hoped that he would appreciate both my knowledge and
advice.

At least, that was what I had planned.  You know what they say, the best laid
plans and all.  Pulling up to the property, the first person that I noticed was
a young man, strawberry blond, well muscled and shirtless.  If this was Mr.
MacLeod, I was in trouble.  I was old enough to be his mother and I had met
enough young men to know that most of them didn't want mother telling them how
to play "nice" with their toys.

I got out of the car and managed with only two hands to carry my clipboard,
pencil, a full set of blueprints, a camera and my dignity.  This was partially
due to the many years of practice but mostly to the knowledge that as soon as I
got to the house, I would be able to unload most of the cumbersome items onto a
work table.  The young man looked up at my approach and smiled.  OK, maybe this
wouldn't be so bad, he has a very charming smile and he didn't seem to be
antagonistic, at least not yet.

"Mr.  MacLeod?" I asked.

He just shook his head and nodded off to the path around behind the house. He
smiled broader, if that was possible, but didn't say anything.  I noticed that
he had several nails in his mouth and was working with a hammer on a
recalcitrant 2x4.  I smiled back at him, dropped my load on the worktable off of
the deck and took the path around to the back of the house.

Coming around the house I noticed the man who stood regarding the house with an
intensity that appeared to forestall his being aware of my approach.  This
presented the perfect opportunity for me to observe and remain unnoticed.  Mr.
MacLeod was well built and dressed for the job at hand.  Solid blue denim jeans,
not those yuppie brands with the designer names, but good old fashion Levis and
a long sleeved heavy blue work shirt.  If clothing were to tell me anything,
this man had done this type of work before.  His long dark hair was pulled back
in a ponytail, similar to how I wear my hair on the jobsite, and his broad
shoulders and body carriage spoke of muscles accustomed to doing labor not just
work-outs in the gym after a hard day at the office desk.  Perhaps this man
could do justice to this old beauty.

As I continued around the house to where he stood, I looked in the direction of
his regard and noticed the condition of the siding and footings which were the
object of his scrutiny.  Perfect.  Here was the opportunity to start off with
presenting myself as both knowledgeable and helpful.

"Looks like moisture damage, possibly dryrot.  I doubt that it's settlement or
you would see hairline fractures horizontally as well." I continued, "It appears
that the drainage had been regraded for some landscaping features and the water
would be directed to pool right about there."

He looked up at my comments and turned to look at the sweep of the lawn as I
commented concerning the drainage.

"Mr.  MacLeod?" I extended my hand in greeting, "Ruth Gar, your friendly
neighborhood city inspector." I introduced myself willing all to be well.  This
man had presence and I felt myself wanting to be able to visit him regularly, as
the job necessitated of course.

"Ms.  Gar" he took my proffered hand in a full grip.  It was my turn to be
sized-up and I returned the handshake as was my wont.  I felt the calluses and
the strength and judged that this was a man that did things for himself and took
whatever steps were necessary to learn how to complete a task that he set for
himself.  I could see the small twinkle as his eyes smiled at my returned full
handed shake.  I could never abide the fingertip shake of a "lady".  I wanted to
know the type of person with whom I was working and this man's willingness to
return strength for strength, despite the fact that I was a woman, told me much.
That I gave strength for strength I hoped would tell Mr. MacLeod the same thing.
I noticed the quiet regard as he took in my practical attire, work boots, heavy
pants, a long sleeved flannel shirt and long dark hair tied back in a ponytail
with no make-up to adorn my clearly aging face.

"I wasn't expecting you today" he stated, clearly asking a question.  "I only
just applied for the permits last week and was told that it would be several
weeks before I should expect an inspection.  Is there a problem?"

"No, not at all" I explained, "I live not too far from here and didn't want to
hold-up any of the preliminary work because 'That darn building inspector'
hadn't been out yet." We both smiled a knowing smile. it seemed that Mr. MacLeod
and I had developed an immediate understanding of how things were and this might
be a very pleasant way to end several days work, for a long time.

He went back to looking at the footings and sidings and asked honestly what I
would do to solve the problem so that it would not happen again after the
remodel was completed.  Just that simple.  He accepted me as an equal when it
came to knowing about construction and houses.  I was going to enjoy this job.

After some detailed discussion we walked back to the front of the house where
the young man continued to work with the hammer and nails.

"Richie Ryan, meet Ruth Gar." he stated simply "She is the city inspector and
will be coming out here regularly as we complete different stages of the
remodel."

I extended my hand to Richie and he gave me the same courtesy as MacLeod though
a little less confidently and with a slight look of askance to his friend.  That
this man was younger was obvious, that there was more to the relationship
between them was also apparent though I didn't think that they could be father
and son.  Perhaps Richie was an apprentice and this project was meant to teach
him the building trade.  Well, if I could help that would be fine with me.  I
was certainly knowledgeable enough to be of some assistance and maybe I could
give him some pointers that would help him with future jobs.

"Mr.  MacLeod, why don't we get down to some basics here and then I will leave
you gentlemen to your task."

"Duncan", he stated simply, "Call me Duncan."

I nodded and we went to work immediately.  I explained the procedures and the
total mundanity of the process.  I left him my business card and made sure that
he knew how and when to get in touch with me.  As I left the property, I
realized that it had stopped raining and, with a small shake of my head,
realized that this was just the jump start I needed; a little passion indeed.
No, its not what you are thinking.  I never expected to be passionate about Mr.
MacLeod, Duncan; I was excited about the old house and what it seemed that
Duncan could do for it.

My life continued on much as before.  I went to work, I did my inspections, I
fed my cat and on Sunday nights I danced.  I found myself at the old house only
occasionally in the beginning as the initial work proceeded slowly and the
actual items requiring inspection were few and far between.  I enjoyed visiting
with Duncan when I would come by and he always asked my opinion on some plan or
prospect for the property.

Perhaps he could feel my intense joy at the work on this house and the fact that
it was being kindly regarded again after so many years of neglect.  Or maybe he
sensed that I was the one being restored even as was the house.  I honestly
don't know which emotion he was noticing, I wasn't even aware of the second,
until much later.

After one such visit, Duncan suggested that I come over to his place in the city
to look at the redesign of the interior plans and make some comments before he
submitted them.  I indicated that that would not be appropriate and declined.
He simply looked at me for a moment but said nothing further.  I did begin to
show up at the old house more frequently than necessary after that however,
using the excuse that it was on my way home.  Duncan seemed to understand and we
spent several pleasant afternoons talking about the remodel, houses and
construction, and life in general.  Richie was there as often as he was not
there and he would join in our talks when the mood suited him. on one such
visit, Duncan was working with another friend and Richie was nowhere around.

"Adam Pierson, meet Ruth Gar" Duncan introduced us.  "Ruth has been helping with
the remodel" he smiled and continued, "as well as other things."

Adam gave Duncan a curious look but said nothing other than "Pleased to finally
meet you, Duncan has been telling be about you."

I must have looked startled because both men smiled kindly and then more openly.
I didn't spend much time at the house that day.  It almost seemed as if I had
interrupted something very personal.  While I was there, I quietly observed
Duncan's friend Adam as Adam quietly observed Duncan.  I know that I saw a deep
and consuming affection between these men.  Whereas Richie seemed to elicit a
protective demeanor from Duncan, Adam's personality allowed Duncan to express
his open nature with the give and take more common among bothers-at-arms or very
old friends with much in common.  I was glad that Duncan had such a friend and I
was possibly a little jealous because I did not.  Be that as it may, both Duncan
and Adam were accommodating and I managed to finish the inspection before the
next rain storm began.  I thanked them both for their time and told Duncan that
I would see him next week again unless he needed me sooner.

After only a short time, I had made a habit of spending several afternoons a
week with Duncan at the old house.  I really enjoyed the progress he was making
with the property as well as our talks.  For such a young man, he seemed to have
a grasp on life that surprised me. Of course, I am no ancient myself, but I
found that I had more in common with him than with several of my contemporaries.
While we never seemed to talk about ourselves or our pasts, we were never at a
lack of topics to discuss ranging from the mundane to the macabre to life in
general, the state of the world and which fitting or fixture to use in the bath
or kitchen.  The ease with which we settled into this pattern made for a level
of comfort that I hadn't thought possible for the past 20 some odd years.  I
began to forget the promise I had made, I began to forget that I killed my
friends.

As I explained, my passions were few and relatively simple.  My cat and dancing.
My dancing partner, the doctor, while a very good dancer, though somewhat
unreliable due to being on call virtually all of the time, had called to remind
me that the Sunday dance had been moved to Friday on this particular week.  That
meant that I would either have to go home early to change or bring my change of
clothes with me to work.  This was not a tough decision as I was not about to
let my co-workers know about this particular facet of my personality. That meant
I would have to get home earlier than usual and probably would have little time
to visit with Duncan.  I could always see Duncan another day, but dancing only
came once a week.

The only difficulty I foresaw was that I really had an inspection to complete on
the old house and I had told Duncan that I would be there.  I did not want to
disappoint him and I did not feel good about shirking my responsibility to the
job.  A compromise was in order.  I determined that I could complete the
inspection on the old house and still make it home and change in time for Dr.
Marc.  I would have to make an apology to Duncan for not having time to visit,
but he would understand.  After all, it was not as if the time he spent with me
was important to him.

I hadn't decided if I was going to tell Duncan the truth about why I was there
only to complete the inspection.  I didn't think that my personal life really
interested him despite the time we spent talking.  It seemed to me that we both
were looking merely for an uncomplicated companionship for a few hours in the
afternoon; a time to relax before getting on with the rest of one's life.  But,
I also didn't want to lie to him.  That went against my grain as a professional.
As we had met in this capacity, and as I was still completing a professional
service for him, I felt compelled to tell the truth.  It was perhaps the right
thing to do, but it was also very wrong.  For this is where my tale begins to
coalesce.

While dancing to the Latins and the Waltzes and the Foxtrots, Dr. Marc's beeper
called.  This had happened before and it never really bothered me. I could
always find another partner; I was a regular and also a very good dancer and
therefore in demand.  Many of the attendees were singles and switched from
partner to partner throughout the course of an evening. The problem was a ride
home.  Because of the change of evening, several of my friends that I knew could
be counted on for a ride were not able to come on Friday.  Prior engagements.
This meant that I would have to take a cab, not an inexpensive venture, or go to
the hospital with Marc and wait until this baby made its appearance.  Of course,
the most frustrating part of this decision was that I would miss out on the rest
of the evening of dancing.  As I said, this was one of my very few passions and
it only came once a week.

As we made our way back to the table that held our belongings I felt a hand on
my shoulder.  Quickly turning, expecting to say good-by to yet another
acquaintance for the evening, I was startled to see Duncan MacLeod, dressed to
the nines.  He smiled and asked if he could have the next dance.  Dr. Marc
looked at me impatiently, he really had to go, now.

"Duncan MacLeod, Dr. Marc Sopor.  We were just leaving to go to the hospital" I
introduced them and explained to Duncan.  "I really should leave with him or
I'll have to take a taxi home tonight and I don't relish the idea of traveling
that far out of the city in a cab."

Duncan regarded me with one of his quiet smiles, the one that can only be seen
in his eyes, and suggested that he would be willing to take me home if I would
consent to dance with only him for the rest of the evening.  It was an offer to
good to refuse.  Even though I had no idea if he was a good dancer or not, I
truly had no desire to leave and spend hours at the hospital with Marc.

"I hope that you can Tango as well as you can build" I said with a slight smile
and nodded good-by to Marc who was already halfway to the door.

"Well, we'll just have to see, won't well Duncan said as he moved me to the
dance floor and the music began.

Not being one to miss an opportunity for teasing I commented that Duncan
cleaned-up remarkably well.  He laughed and noted the same about me.  I should
mention that he had never seen me in a dress, let alone a 3/4 length ball gown
with my hair in ringlets pulled back and up and my dancing shoes with 1 «" Cuban
heels.  Of course, I had never seen him in other than work clothes either.  We
made a fashionable pair with Duncan in his suite and tuxedo shirt showing a
slight ruffle at the vest line and waist length bolero coat.  I need not tell
you that he cut a fine figure and turned many a head that night.

I must admit that, while Marc was a very good dancer, Duncan moved as if he had
been dancing forever.  If you don't dance, you can't possibly understand how
important it is to have a good partner.  For the man, the woman must know how to
follow.  For the woman, the man must know how to lead.  While this sounds simple
in concept, try executing heel turns, Rondes or even a Leg Crawl without the
proper lead.  You could find yourself in traction or with a sprained arm if one
partner intended an Aleman to a Hockey Stick and you executed a left-faced turn
instead.  Additionally, for me because I am tall, I need a partner with a longer
leg than mine.  If not, I spend the night with my back arched and my knees
flexed to accommodate the shorter step of the man.  While I have done this in
the past, I have paid for it the next day with muscle aches and cramps.
Regardless of how good my partner looked,.this was not something to which I
would willingly acquiesce.  One of the reasons that I enjoyed dancing with Marc
was because he was tall enough for me.  Duncan was even taller and I could
really stretch and enjoy the movement of the dance.  Perhaps, if I could
convince Duncan to come more often, I could get out of the 1 «" Cuban heels and
actually start wearing the 3" heels that made me feel as if I was floating when
waltzing.  Couple all of these factors with the fact that Duncan could lead
well, and I was as near to being in heaven as I ever thought possible.  Talk
about a little more passion.  This evening would not be a bargain that I was
going to regret anytime soon, or so I thought.

The dance progressed and it was time to leave before I knew it; like Cinderella
at the ball.  While we gathered our belongings together I realized that I was
going to have to tell Duncan where I lived in order for him to take me home.
Other than the time I had spent with him at the house, I really didn't know
anything about this man.  That I trusted him to be honest and kind was based
solely on general discussions and the affection that he poured into the remodel
of an old house.  Did I really want this person to know where I lived?  Not only
that, I still had a professional relationship with him.  Would this small
kindness jeopardize the integrity of that relationship?  I had nearly decided
that I would take a cab home after all when Duncan spoke-up with the perfect
solution.

"Why don't you call Seacouver General and see if your friend Dr. Sopor has
finished with the delivery.  I could drop you there and he could then take you
home as planned."

That Duncan recognized my concerns and was willing to give them merit without my
even having to voice them went a long way in easing my mind about having him
take me home.  Just to make the decision easier, I decided to call the hospital
anyway and determined that I would prefer to have Marc drive me home if he were
available.  I no longer was as worried about Duncan providing the same service
if Marc was still busy, but practicality would win out.  As it happened, Marc
had just finished and all was well with the new mother and baby.  He would be
ready in 30 minutes to drive me home if I so choose.  While Duncan's offer was
genuine, he did live in the city and Marc lived close to my house. it would be
more convenient for Marc to provide the ride rather than Duncan.

Having decided on the course of action, Duncan drove me to the hospital.  I had
expected him to simply drop me off at the front entrance, but he parked his
vintage T-bird and walked with me to the Emergency entrance instead.  I looked
at him with a question in my eyes and laughingly challenged that dancing must
have given him some physical ailment that he needed the Emergency room.  He
laughed as well and told me that a friend of his was on duty and he wanted to
say hello to her.  As we entered the hospital I stopped to have Marc paged and
turned to continue to the emergency room admitting desk.  There stood a very
beautiful, very pregnant dark-haired woman with her back partially turned
speaking with the admitting nurse.  She did not see us enter nor did she see the
look on Duncan's face.

I don't know what I was expecting, but I certainly was not prepared for the
mixture of sadness and hope which shadowed his features.  When the woman turned
and saw Duncan her face became animated and her smile, though hesitant was
honest.

"Dr.  Anne Lindsey, meet Ruth Gar," Duncan stated simply, "a friend" he added by
way of explanation.

We looked at one another, neither quite trusting the description provided by
Duncan, but held out our hands to make acquaintance.  Dr. Anne was a no nonsense
type person and gave as good as she got when it came to handshakes.  I have
already told you what I expect from this form of greeting, and she did not
disappoint.  She was obviously one of those "pasts" that Duncan and I did not
talk about.  Well, he now knew that I danced and I now knew that he had a doctor
friend who may have been more at one time, or perhaps he wanted to be more in
the future.  We had passed a threshold of sorts in our friendship.

As we stood in this awkward tableau, Marc came down to the Emergency room. I had
indicated that was where I would be when I had him paged; I knew how easy it
could have been to miss each other searching throughout the hospital.  He smiled
when he saw Anne and reminded her about her next appointment on Monday.  It
seems that he was her Ob/Gyn. Small world.  It was also obvious that Duncan
wanted to talk to Anne and I was very tired after a long and enjoyable evening
of dancing.  Marc was equally as tired after the delivery and so we made our
farewells and headed home.

Life went back to the standard routine after that.  I spent several afternoons
at the old house with Duncan on the way home from work.  Richie was there
occasionally and so was Adam, but never the two at the same time.  I found that
curious, but held my tongue.  It was none of my business to pry.  Duncan would
show-up at the dances on Sundays every few weeks and would make certain to save
a few for me.  If Marc wasn't around, or had to leave, he would come to my
rescue.  On the few subsequent evenings when Marc was called to the hospital, he
would offer me a ride home.  I always declined because there were several others
who came on Sundays that lived in my area and I knew it was an imposition for
Duncan to have to drive out to the country to take me home when he lived in the
city.

One such Sunday, I noticed that Duncan had come to the dance with Adam.  I
wondered if Adam was as good a dancer as Duncan.  Feeling a little frisky and
very forward, I asked him for the next dance.  It was a quickstep.  I was a
little concerned only because, if you don't dance well, a quickstep was the
surest way to find your feet tangled in your partner's and with the potential
for your posterior to find the floor.  I was pleasantly surprised to find that
Adam was also a very accomplished dancer and his height nicely complimented
mine.  No back arching or knee flexing necessary for him either.

The evening progressed pleasantly with me spending the majority of the time
dancing with either Duncan or Adam.  Marc had begun to see someone on a personal
basis and was trying to teach her the rudiments of dancing.  When he got
frustrated or she was tired, he would dance with me. He still provided me a ride
to and from the dances, but I found myself beginning to look for a new more
permanent partner.  While I hoped that I might convince Duncan to fill this
spot, I was still not comfortable enough on a personal level to ask.  I would
have to do something soon however because the work on the house was almost
complete and I had no illusions that my visits with him would probably come to
an end with my signing-off on the final final.

Again, I was surprised by Duncan's uncanny sense of my thoughts when he
suggested that he might be willing to come to the dances more regularly if I
thought that I might need a partner.  He had noticed Marcel's involvement with
Sheryl and realized that I was changing partners more often than I had in the
past.  He stated that he truly enjoyed the dancing and had not had much
opportunity for this pleasure in the recent past he also smiled and said the
company was worth it.

Though I still knew very little about his past, ever since meeting Anne we had
begun to discuss more personal details.  I let on a little about where I was
from and some of my family history and he began to tell me a little of his
experiences.  More was left in the breach than in the telling, but we began to
trust the companionship as simply that.

Therefore, when he offered, with only the slightest hesitation, I accepted. This
was further uncomplicated by virtue of the fact that our professional
relationship was shortly to be terminated.  The next Friday would be the last at
the house.  He had called for the final final and the work had been completed.
I was looking forward to having him as a neighbor and realized that it would no
longer be an imposition for him to take me home after the dances.

Imagine my complete astonishment when I discovered some time later that he had
given the house to Dr. Anne.  After all the time and effort and yes, money, I
simply could not believe the largess of his act.  Also, this still left me at
the whim of others to get home or I would have to bite the bullet and provide my
own transportation.  It was not that I didn't have a car, or that I minded the
drive.  It was more a feeling of loneliness that even this small chore I would
now be doing all by myself.  I steeled myself to the reality and decided that to
indulge my passion, a little more loneliness was not going to be an
insurmountable obstacle.

Time has no meaning when you can see the future as a progression of the past.  I
mean to say, that when the sameness of the days that stretch behind are the
color of the days yet to come, you do not anticipate danger, nor do you remember
it.  This was my final miscalculation.

Duncan proved to be a good friend.  I would still visit with him in the
evenings, several times a week.  Now however, I went to his dojo, he had yet to
come to my house. Duncan had decided that since I could dance so well, I should
be able to learn some basic self defense.  He seemed to be concerned that I
lived so far from the city and was alone most of the time.  I was willing to
give it a try and began to enjoy the classes.  There were several older women in
the class that I joined and I was neither the best nor the worst, the leanest
nor the most rotund.  During class, Duncan showed no preferential treatment
toward any of his students and this was appreciated by those of us who felt
somewhat out of our element.  After class, and after I changed back into regular
clothes and the dojo was closed for the evening, I would occasionally join
Duncan in his loft for a quiet cup of tea and an hour or so of conversation.
Nothing more.

During the months of our developing friendship there had been times when I
noticed an anxiety in his eyes or a tiredness that had little to do with the
physical work on the house.  When I would question him about the problem, he
would shrug and brush it off.  I did not pry.  It was not because of any lack of
curiosity or concern, it was simply that I was not willing to answer the same
questions should he ask them of me.  We were a perfect pair, seeking and giving
only that which the other was willing to impart.

On occasion I would ask after Adam.  Richie was managing the dojo so I saw him
rather regularly.  We had generally hit it off and he seemed to accept me as a
confidant to some degree, perhaps a surrogate mother.  I could always tell when
he and Duncan had had a disagreement.  Both of them would be surly and brood for
hours, but I had to admit that Duncan had the art down to a science while
Richie's natural humor seemed to overcome his disquiet in a shorter time frame.

When asked about Adam, Duncan would become quiet or agitated.  His response
seemed to be in direct proportion as to whether he had heard from Adam recently
or not. That there was a deep relationship there was very apparent but Duncan
was the type of individual who seemed to expect only limited recompense for the
excessive generosity of his spirit. This seemed particularly true in the case of
Amanda, whom I had not had the pleasure of meeting.  I only knew of her from the
stories Duncan had told as we both laughed about her exploits with a certain
horse and another mutual friend named Kit.

While it was not my place to make any comment, having spent the majority of my
life alone with only the rain and my cat for company, I didn't want to see a
young man turn away the opportunity for the closeness possible in the company of
good friends.  I determined that there would be some way I could express my
gratitude for the time and effort that Duncan spent in developing and
maintaining our friendship.  It was not to be said that I left any debts unpaid.

Unbeknownst to Richie, he had set the pattern for my actions.  When singing up
for self-defense classes and filling-out the paperwork, Richie pointed out to me
that my birthday and Duncan's were the same.  Of course I made some comment
about my having a few years on Duncan at which point Richie's eyes twinkled and
his smile grew even a shade more blinding.  Here, I thought, was the opportunity
to show this gentle man exactly the value that I placed on our companionship.

It was thus that I set in motion the final steps that bring me to this point.
You are the judge, I have held nothing back.  I had honestly thought to act out
of kindness and affection.  I should have remembered.  I kill my friends.  No
more.

One Friday evening, after a work-out at the dojo, Duncan was feeling the need to
be out among people.  He suggested that we go for a drink at the bar of a friend
of his. You might recall this first meeting; or perhaps not.  I immediately felt
an affinity for you, Joe Dawson.  I recognized within you a similar loneliness
and holding yourself aloof, yet a deep abiding need to be involved.  We were
like souls.  We both had a tendency to hold ourselves as separate but put music
in the mix and we were as expressive as could be expected from one person to
another.  I liked you, Joe, upon first acquaintance.  This was, perhaps, the
greatest benefit of having met and become a friend of Duncan's; the opportunity
to meet you.  Your music spoke to a place in my heart that had been buried for
so long I thought it dead.  I looked forward to the times that we spent in your
tavern, quietly talking and listening to your music.  I was also pleased to
learn that you knew Adam and Amanda and most of Duncan's other friends as well.
Here was the perfect opportunity to try to do something nice for a friend.

After work, several weeks after that first meeting, I went to the bar alone.
Though there was some surprise on your part to see me walk into your place;
being ever the gentleman and consummate bartender you brought a club soda with a
twist of lime.  Talk about first class treatment, I was impressed by your memory
after only having been there a few times.  Of course the joke we had made the
first time I came in with Duncan probably had something to do with this.  After
all, who goes into a bar and orders only water with a twist of lime.  I had
changed it to club soda after you and he had teased me mercilessly.  On this
particular evening, you may remember, the bar was well attended, but not over-
crowded.  The smoky atmosphere lent itself to quiet conversation.  I mentioned
to you that I would like to talk and we moved to a table so that we would not be
disturbed..

We passed several minutes in small conversation.  You asked how I had met
MacLeod and I told you the abridged version.  We laughed about my initial
reactions and perceptions of Duncan as I related them.  Apparently you knew this
man very well.  This made my request even easier.  It seemed to me that you were
a friend that wanted his friends happy as well. Before I made my specific
request, I asked how well you knew Adam and Duncan's other friends and could
they be gotten in touch with if necessary.  While you seemed slightly taken
aback with this apparent topic change, you answered that you and Adam had met
some 10 years previously and kept in touch on a regular basis.  You were
reasonably certain that you would be able to contact most of Duncan's friends
but your demeanor clearly showed both curiosity and some suspicion.  I quickly
assured you that my interest in Duncan's friends was for a surprise party and
reminded you that his birthday was going to be here two weeks from Sunday.  At
the mention of a surprise for Duncan, your grin was irrepressible and you
promised to provide any assistance that I felt willing to accept.  You had
several suggestions the best of which was to involve Richie in the planning as
he could best make certain that Duncan was kept in the dark and could help with
contacting the guests.

What neither of us noticed at the time, though I remember it clearly in
retrospect, was the man that had arrived shortly after I did and had taken a
seat at an adjacent table.  He was nursing a beer and looking completely
enthralled by the game on the TV over the bar. Of course, he could clearly hear
our conversation if either of us would have thought to pay attention.  But just
then, we had our attention focused on planning this little fete which I was
clearly hoping would provide the perfect thank you for the time spent in
charming company.  With the details settled, I reminded you to have Adam meet us
after the dance on the Sunday of the party as a back-up in case Plan A did not
work to get Duncan to the location of the party without his suspicion.  Joe was
relatively sure that that would present no problem.

So we had a plan and I had a co-conspirator and without knowing, I had also
signed my friend's death warrant.  Which brings me back to the point of the
beginning, and to the ending of it all.

Everything went as planned and we danced for hours.  The band was particularly
good and played a wide variety of rhythms which left us exhausted but well
satisfied.  I had already asked Duncan to take me home after the dance
indicating that my car had to have some work done and it was not finished by
Saturday when promised.  His concern about my getting to work the next morning,
tomorrow, no actually today, was touching.  I assured him that I could get a
ride to town in the morning, in fact had already arranged it.  He suggested that
I stay at the loft with him, on the couch of course - that is, he would take the
couch; but I would not hear of it.  We continued with this friendly bantering as
we walked to the T-bird and a light drizzle began to mist the air.

As he began to open the passenger side door I saw him stiffen abruptly and turn
around as if hearing something, someone calling his name.  Then I heard the
first shot and his body slammed into mine, forcing me to slide down toward the
pavement.

Noooo!  The next rifle report rang as clearly in the night as the first and I
felt myself being slammed into the slightly opened car door as our bodies slid
to the ground. Two more reports, two more heartbeats and the screaming of the
tires of the gunman's car while it careened into the dark and I held yet another
friend's dying body on my lap; his blood staining my hands, my dress, my soul.

Noooo!  Not again!  I held Duncan's body and pressed my hand to the wounds, to
no avail.  His life slowly seeped through my fingers and ebbed into the mist
that had turned to a driving rain.  There was nothing to be done, I had killed
another friend.  The light drizzle of a few moments ago had become a steady
downpour and mixed with the tears on my face as his blood, his life was washed
onto the asphalt.

I know that I was mumbling something about calling for an ambulance, the police,
someone who could help and that it was all my fault.  I knew who it was, I just
couldn't believe that he would still be after me all these years latter.  All
that I had wanted was a little more passion in my life and a lot less rain and
instead another friend was dead.

You and Adam arrived at some point and removed Duncan from my lap.  I didn't
understand your insistence that we get moving, I still don't.  After all, Duncan
was dead when it should have been me lying on the pavement.  As you brought your
utility vehicle beside the T-bird and, with Adam's help, lifted Duncan's dead
body onto the back seat of the car, I continued to sit, unmoving, my tears and
the rain one.

Perhaps, I hoped, you knew something I didn't about fatal gunshot wounds. Maybe
there was no time to wait for the ambulance and if we could get Duncan to the
Emergency room only a few blocks away they would find a way to save him.  But I
knew better.  I had seen my share of dead bodies and Duncan was certainly one.

While you rushed away with the body of yet another friend, Adam kept talking to
me to keep me focused.  He was asking why I thought that I knew the shooter, who
I thought he was.  I couldn't tell him the story, the one I had never told
anyone, the one that might have saved a life if I had been more honest with my
friend, with myself.  I merely sat and stared at my hands, the blood, the rain.
I didn't even realize that Adam had maneuvered me into the T-bird and that we
were going toward my house.  I was unresponsive and unaware as I sat in the car
of a dead man in a dress covered with his blood while a house full of guests
waited for someone who would never celebrate another birthday.

As I sat and Adam tried to break through the catatonia that was my demeanor, I
finally realized what I should have done so very long ago.  Now, no one would
miss me.  I had no one to remain around for.  In a few years I had planned on
retiring and traveling, but I had no one to travel with.  Than hadn't bothered
me before, but now I knew I couldn't afford to make any friends, ever.  I
finally realized that while I had thought that I was the madman's target, I was
not.  I had hurt him and his business operation and in his sadistic mind, it was
much better to cause me pain in this manner than to kill me outright.

How he could have found me, all these years latter I can not begin to imagine.
That he was even still alive to continue the pursuit is beyond the scope of my
understanding.  That he had found me and was continuing to haunt me was all the
motivation that I now needed. I would no longer be responsible for his vendetta.
I would end it here and now.

I turned to Adam when I realized that he had stopped talking.  Apparently he had
asked me a question and, when I did not answer, his regard clearly showed
concern.  I made some small noise, perhaps a sigh, and looked at him directly.
I did not want to go home, not while there were people there expecting to see
someone who would never come.  I couldn't bring myself to just call and tell
them the party was off.  These were Duncan's friends and they deserved to hear
the truth in person, to see the truth in my telling of it.  I didn't realize
that I was already home.

"This was going to be the first time that Duncan would have seen my house." I
was talking to keep from screaming at the injustice of the night.  "I had never
had occasion for him to come all this way after he finished with his house.  He
would have appreciated the remodel job that I had done, don't you think, Adam" I
asked to keep up appearances.

"Ruth," Adam said sharply, "It wasn't your fault.  I know that you think it was
but this could have happened to anyone at any time.  It really had nothing to do
with you," he stated in a sincere voice trying to convince me.  It was futile.
I knew the truth.

I looked at him with a glazed expression.  How could he understand the
loneliness of the years behind me and the stretch of those to come.  He was
almost as young as Richie, certainly not even as old as Duncan.  How could I
make anyone realize that for me, there was no more possibility of passion and
only the rain remained as company.  I smiled at him as if I believed his words
and told him it would be all right in the morning.  For once, I knew that it
would be all right in the morning.  Duncan may have died tonight but so had I.

I finally noticed where we were though I wasn't aware of arriving.  The house
was empty.  I was surprised and it showed in my face.  Adam told me that Joe had
called to tell Richie what had happened and everyone cleaned-up the party
makings and left before we arrived.  I don't know whether it was better this way
or if my true penance would have been to face Duncan's friends and admit my
guilt.  In either case, it was done and I went slowly into my house.

This is the end of my story.  I had said that I would leave nothing out, that
you would have to judge.  I hope that this was not too long in the telling.  How
do you put a life on paper?  How do you ask another to decide when you are no
longer effected by the conclusion?  I am sending this to you because, of all the
people that I have known in the time that I was here, you seemed to be the most
attuned to my reclusive nature.  I wish you a little more passion and a lot less
rain.  For me, the rain has stopped as has the passion.  The bath is prepared
and by the time you receive this Email I will have made the final absolution.

Yours in perpetuity,

Ruth

By the time Adam arrived at Joe's house, Rich had left.  Duncan had changed into
the clothing that Richie had brought and he and Joe were sitting at the kitchen
table drinking coffee laced with a little something stronger.  They would need
all the help they could get to determine what would be best.  The first and
foremost issue was the concern for Ruth.  She was Duncan's friend, but Joe had
seen a depth in this quiet woman and he felt a connection that he had yet to
explore.  Adam's views were more pragmatic, they usually were.

The three friends wrestled with the many possible scenarios until neither
caffeine nor alcohol of any variety would provide clarity of reason to sleep
deprived brains.  In the end, they all acknowledged, it would be Duncan's
choice.  For the moment, a few hours of sleep seemed the wisest course.  As
Duncan rose to leave Joe suggested that he spend what was left of the night,
sagely pointing out that following the excitement, coffee and scotch, Duncan was
in no condition to drive home.  Duncan reluctantly agreed, dying once a night
was enough for him.

The men made ready to go to sleep.  At least Joe's house had more than one
bedroom and each man was comfortable for the moment.  No one noticed the
flashing Email Icon on Joe's computer which had been abandoned at some earlier
point in the discussion but never turned off.  Each man found sleep and solace
in the thought that with the morning would come clarity of reason and purpose
and a decision would be attainable.  There would always be tomorrow.

The curtain is closed, the stage lights dimmed and the house lights brought up.
This story is not finished, but it may not be completed.  None of us know the
effects we will have, only those we have had.  The possibilities at this point
are several and varied.

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