When Conspiracies Collide:
Auspicious Beginnings
Axianna - permanantpsycosis.iwarp.com/

I know this intro is a bit long, but you only have to read it once.

Disclaimers: 

Jane is mine.

Duncan MacLeod, Richie Ryan, Joe Dawson, Methos, AKA Adam Pierson, 
Immortals, the Game, Watchers, Joe’s bar and the Dojo
all belong to Rysher’s and their creators. 

Jarod, Miss Parker, Sydney, Broots, Mr. Raines, Mr. Lyle, Angelo, 
Brigitte, Kyle, Mr. Parker, Mrs. Catherine Jameson Parker,
Sweepers and the Center belong to their respective owners, such as NBC. 
I expanded their universe to include the Assassins.

Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully, AD Walter Skinner, Cancerman, the 
Lone Gunmen, the Well Manicured man, Mighty Morphin’ Bounty hunters, 
Giant Fluke men, Eugene Tooms, William Mulder, Mrs. Mulder, Samantha 
Mulder, Mrs. Scully, Melissa Scully, the X-Files and it’s associated 
conspiracy all belong to Chris Carter, 1013 and all those guys.

This is a work of fiction that I’m not making any money of off so don’t 
sue me. It’s not like I have any money in the first place. Just talk to 
all the people I owe money too, including the Bank. I’m just a poor, 
starving student, who’s soon to be a poor, starving working stiff 
trying to pay of student loans.

Continuity: 

Just forget about it and call it an AU; it doesn’t really fit in 
anywhere. But if you want to get picky, it could take place before the 
season finale of the 97-98 season for Pretender (Season 2) and X-files 
(Season 5) and so before XF: Fight the Future. I do mention in passing 
various things that have occurred in previous X-Files, but nothing too 
major and it’s not like you have to have watched every episode to get 
what’s gong on. For Highlander, just ignore the season 5 finale. Maybe 
I should take out membership in Clan Denial… RICHIE LIVES!!!!

Personal notes:

Thanks to Michelle and Terri for encouragement and picking out holes in 
the plot. They also put up with me calling them and obsessing about 
this thing. Also for my Mom, for reading it in the first place and for 
correcting my grammar in the second. She even liked it. 

As for myself, all I can say is that I’m finally DONE!!!!! This part at 
least.

Rating:

Well, nothing too bad in this one, a touch of language and a little 
violence, but this would hardly rate a PG 13 on TV ratings. People do 
get hurt, but not bad. In this one.

Summery:

Meet Jane. See Jane meet Duncan and Richie. See Jane give them a funny 
look. See Jane meet the Pretender. See Jane run. See Jane meet Mulder 
and Scully. See Jane punch Mulder. See Jane mess with all their lives.

***

Prologue

He hated this part of his job. The money was great, but when he had to 
actually watch his handy work in action, it made him wish he’d never 
been born. After a day like this one, he'd get as high as he could 
without killing himself, bury himself in the nearest willing body and 
try to pretend the world didn’t exist. 

It was the eyes that got him, that look of intense confusion as the 
mind just. . . emptied. They didn’t know, couldn’t possibly understand 
what was happening to them. He could isolate a single thought and 
remove it from memory, or he could wipe the mind completely clean, 
leaving an empty husk. This one was one of the slightly more lucky 
ones, if you could call any of the poor bastards lucky.

The last needle was plunged into the vein, emptying the chemical 
cocktail into the blood stream and racing the enzymes to the delicate 
tissues of the brain. There it would start disrupting synapses and 
disconnecting pathways. The process was fairly permanent. Not in all 
cases, but those occurrences were far and few between, requiring a 
particular set of circumstances. For all practical purposes, they never 
recovered. This lost soul would be lucky enough to remember what 
century it was, let alone the date. Names were now a thing of the past 
now that memory was gone. At least the mind would stay relatively 
intact this time.

Chapter 1

I woke with a really big headache. One of those headaches with Excedrin 
written all over it. I think Tylenol and Beyer were also vying for 
advertising space. Cracking open an eyelid, brilliant light pierced 
through my head and the pounding went up a few notches. Maybe I 
wouldn’t open my eyes just yet. Bringing a hand to my face, I could 
feel my elbow grind as it moved. Something else to add to the list. 
Placing a hand over my face, I tried opening my eyes again, marginally 
more successfully this time. The light still shot through me, but the 
hammers on my head actually started to ease up a little. Staring at my 
palm wasn’t all that interesting so spreading my fingers, I let the 
sunlight filter through. I was outside then. 

Finally propping myself up with an elbow at my side, I forced myself up 
into a sitting position. Lightning I wasn’t really seeing started to 
explode and the those hammers started back up again with a vengeance. 
Squinting at the destruction around me, I wasn’t too surprised. It 
seemed to fit, even if for the life of me I had no idea what I was 
doing there. Glancing around, I found I was in the basement of a half-
constructed building, its naked skeleton partially destroyed by the 
explosion. An exploratory hand over the back of my head came back with 
blood on it: wet, sticky and dark. I didn’t even want to think about 
what that meant.

A more thorough look around revealed that there wasn’t much to see. 
Framework above me, concrete walls around me, debris under me. Now 
what? I should get up and move, see how bad off I was. But why? Not 
thinking about that, I tried to get up. 

Getting my legs under me was an interesting experiment. One knee didn’t 
look too healthy and maneuvering the other so that I could push myself 
up took some time; everything was going rather slow. Finally pulling 
myself up by sheer determination I wavered a few minutes, watching the 
world spin without me, before I even tried to put some weight on the 
swollen knee. Not too bad, I thought, as shooting pains radiated from 
it. If this wasn’t bad, what was? 

I couldn’t remember. 

Putting my full weight on that knee dropped me back on my butt, as it 
gave out under strain. Ignoring the agony, I pulled myself over to one 
of the walls and managed to get up again. This time locking the joint 
stopped me from falling and I managed a few tentative steps. Looking 
around for a way out, there wasn’t much. I could pull myself up over 
the edge, but I had no idea what was on the other side. No ladders were 
evident, but there was a pile of scrap in a corner that I could climb 
up on to see what was out there. 

Peeking over the edge revealed a few fire trucks, an ambulance and a 
sprinkling of cop cars around the smoking corpse of a building across 
the street. Not good. I froze as the thought crossed my mind. I was 
hurt and there was an ambulance there, more than willing to help me, 
but I felt that revealing my presence to the ‘authorities’ would not be 
in my best interest. Actually it filled me with dread. The pounding in 
my head increased in tempo as I tried to think about that. My mind 
scrambled as it tried to remember something, anything. I couldn’t 
remember the last few days, I couldn’t remember the last year; my name, 
my age, who I was, what I was, what I was doing there. It was just 
blank. All I had were a few impressions: light playing across a face 
that I can barely see, a spoken word, I can’t hear, and a bright flash. 
Maybe that was the explosion? 

Driving the rising panic down, I made my way to the other side of the 
basement. I was just tall enough to reach the top of the wall and with 
a lot of grunting, I managed to pull myself up by my hands. Legging 
myself up a little further I managed to swing my good leg over the top 
and roll onto the ground on the other side. Thank heavens they’d 
already back-filled the foundation. My knee wouldn’t have survived a 
drop very well.

I was now on the far side of the skeletal building and out of the 
immediate search zone. Most of the people were concentrating on the 
remains of the other building, which, from the looks of it, had been 
the business section of a strip mall. Searching my pockets came up with 
about twenty dollars, cash, and nothing else. I could probably call a 
cab or something once I got far enough away. To where, I didn’t give a 
thought.

Carefully glancing around from behind a stack of 2x4s, I checked out a 
group of rubbernecks off to one side, a safe distance off, pointing and 
gawking. Too far off to mingle in with, though. Not to mention the 
blackened, ripped remains of my sweatshirt wouldn’t allow that. 
Underneath it was a fairly clean white T-shirt that might pass. Ripping 
off the gray remains, I left them behind the pile of lumber, ignoring 
the goose bumps that started to form despite the spring sunshine. 

Trying to walk as normally as I could I started to off, heading to the 
street running behind my shelter. Would have gone fine if I hadn’t 
fallen. There was a fair bit of junk lying around from the construction 
and the explosion, and I caught my foot on a piece of board.

I fell hard, smashing into the concrete that eventually would become a 
parking lot. Blood started to ooze down my leg, but I didn’t notice. I 
was too busy curled up around my knee, trying not to pass out while the 
blood pounded in my ears. Blackness came in waves, interspersed with 
surges of pain. And then there was panic. I had to leave, I had to get 
away, I couldn’t be caught. When a hand touched my shoulder, I knew 
they’d found me and that I had to escape.

***

Max looked at the destruction around him. He’d seen worse and 
fortunately there were hardly any injuries. Thank heavens for small 
miracles. Pushing aside another piece of ruble, he caught a glimpse of 
movement out of the corner of his eye. Standing up he looked over to 
the framework building across the street but didn’t immediately see 
what had caught his attention. Wait, there it was again. Someone was 
climbing out of the basement. Waving to Chris, he pointed over to the 
building and ripped off his helmet once he was far enough away. Taking 
a deep breath, he thanked the various deities in existence that the 
thing was finally off. Then he ran a hand threw the sweaty mess of his 
hair and ripped off his heavy yellow coat to leave behind at the truck. 
They’d have to check over by that building any way, so he might as well 
do so now.

Telling Hank where he was off to, he jogged across the street and went 
around to the back. Once around the corner he noticed a figure curled 
up on the ground, barely moving as she rocked back and forth with her 
back to Max. Her long, dark brown hair was loosely tied back, looking 
the worse for wear, and was matted with blood that was seeping down her 
neck. Great, just what he needed, some princess in need of rescuing. It 
looked like something hit her from the explosion. While there where a 
couple other minor injuries out front, they’d already been taken care 
of. Apparently someone had hit the fire alarm so everybody was out of 
the building by the bomb went off. Otherwise it could have been much, 
much worse. 

"You okay, Miss?" 

The woman hadn’t noticed him as he circled around her. He didn’t want 
to startle her and if she’d hit her head hard enough, she might be a 
little out of it. Once he was in front, he noticed her arms wrapped 
around her one leg, her eyes shut and her face drawn from the pain.

"Hey Miss, I’m with the Fire Department. Can I take a look at your leg? 
Miss, can you hear me?" He kept up a running dialogue as he got closer. 
So far, she hadn’t even noticed him. He reached out and placed a hand 
on her shoulder, now that he was crouched directly in front of her. As 
soon as she felt his touch her eyes snapped open too wide and a hand 
shot out to hit him in the jaw with an open palm. He fell back, his 
head ringing loudly and he cursed those stupid baggy pants that tripped 
him up and landed him on his butt. They may have saved his life 
multiple times, but this wasn’t one of them. She had reached behind her 
and now had a piece of rebar, about a foot and a half long, racing 
towards his out stretched legs. Quickly scrambling back, the bar still 
managed to hit his foot, but it was protected by his heavy boots. Now 
that he was out of her immediate reach, he stood up and wiped his hand 
across his forehead, dabbing at the blood trickling from his lip. 

She looked at him with glassy, panic filled eyes and her mouth 
stretched into a grimace. Then she threw the piece of steal at him. 
Moving his arms up to protect his face, he managed to deflect most of 
it, but he’d have some real nice bruises to show for it later. Glancing 
back, he saw her scrambling away, half-crawling, half running, 
regardless of her leg. Racing up to her, he went to help her up, still 
offering reassurances, when she smashed a piece of concrete into the 
side of his head. While he normally enjoyed fire works, he wasn’t too 
impressed when they were inside his head. 

‘Screw this,’ he thought, ‘Let the paramedics deal with this. Or the 
police. They’re trained for it.’ Shaking out his head, he got up and 
hollered out, still keeping the injured woman in sight.

"Hey, Hank!"

"What?"

"Get over here with some help! I got a live one here! Won’t let me get 
near her!"

"You can’t handle her by yourself!? I’m disappointed!" 

"This is one very nasty damsel in distress! The lights are on, but 
nobody’s home!"

Hank was having a good chuckle over that one. Max didn’t care what Hank 
thought; he’d seen the look in that girl’s eyes and she wasn’t too 
happy about going anywhere she didn’t want to. She’d stopped crawling 
by this time and was looking around her. Somehow this didn’t sit too 
well with him. 

She started moving again, over to a pile of rocks that had been cleared 
from the site. Once there, she picked up a fist sized stone and hurled 
it at him. He just dodged out of the way and noticed another one 
heading his way. Running back he hid behind a pile of lumber that, 
while not out of her range, at least prevented him from getting pelted. 
He winced as a rock hit with a heavy thud and bounced over the top

"Listen lady, I just want to help you!"

*thunk*

"You know, it’s a bit early in the relationship to already be throwing 
things at me."

No thunk. That was good.

"Listen, some guys are coming and they’re gonna help you." Because, he 
wasn’t gonna step within striking distance thank you very much. "Just 
don’t hurt them okay? Are you still there?"

Cautiously poking his head over the pile of lumber, he looked over at 
the woman, again hunched over her leg and trying to get back up. She 
must have hurt it something fierce, but it didn’t look like she was 
slowing down any. By that time, Hank had finally shown up with some 
paramedics and was heading in his direction. He warned them about 
getting too close and then went back to the less treacherous semi-
demolished building that was threatening to fall over.

It took the Hank, the two paramedics and two other police officers to 
eventually subdue her to the point where they could strap her down. She 
seemed almost resigned once they had her down, but she’d left her mark 
on them. Hank was walking oddly; she must have canned him really good. 

There were also some bleeding noses, as well as multiple bruises on all 
involved, and one of the cops came away with a broken arm. He didn’t 
look too impressed as it was getting braced. Max watched as they 
transferred her onto a gurney and into the ambulance. Ten bucks said 
she’d end up in the psyche ward by night fall. Shaking his head, he 
went back to sifting through the ruble.

***

I must have passed out, cause the second time I came around I was much 
more comfortable. The head was still pounding, but within manageable 
proportions, and I couldn’t feel my leg at all. I love modern medicine. 
Painkillers are wonderful things. 

White walls. Most places have white walls but that particular smell of 
antiseptic and illness, identified this as a hospital. Oh joy. I hate 
hospitals. They’re right up there with Police Stations. Well, time to 
get out of there. 

As I tried to sit up, I found my progress impeded by straps. Forcing 
down a wave of panic, I took a deep breath and made myself to calm 
down. Both arms and, yup, as I shifted a leg, I could feel the 
restraints around my ankles. I was mildly surprised they didn’t have 
one across my midriff and shoulders. Amazing the damage you could do, 
even if your hands and feet where tied down. I pulled at the straps 
some more, determined to get out of them.

I stopped struggling when I heard footsteps in the hall. After a few 
moments, a doctor came in. She was a tired and worn down woman in her 
late thirties. She glanced at me, looked at the chart in her hand, went 
over to a monitor and then scribbled some notes. She turned to leave 
the room without saying anything to me. 

"Excuse me, but why am I here?" I must have startled her because she 
dropped the chart she was holding, the clatter loud in the quiet of the 
room. 

"I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you were awake."

"You looked right at me." Who was this chick?

"Let me rephrase that, I didn’t realize you were coherent." She didn’t 
look too happy about having to talk to me.

"Excuse me?" I said, letting my irritation slip into my voice.

"When you came in, you were unconscious and I wasn’t aware you had 
woken up." That doesn’t explain why she was hanging from the ceiling 
when I spoke up. Besides which, like I’d said, she looked right at me 
with my wide-open eyes.

"Why am I strapped down then?" This. . . person was really starting to 
get annoying. 

"I’ll go get Dr. Doyle, he could probably explain things better for 
you." Make that really, really annoying. "It may take a few moment 
though, he’s a busy man." The woman promptly turned around and fled. I 
guess I hadn’t made that much of a first impression. Though that bruise 
on her temple, which I hadn’t seen when she walked in, might explain 
the straps. But what to do now? I didn’t particularly feel like 
sticking around; the straps weren’t exactly making me feel all that 
welcome. 

I still had the drive in me to get away, the panic was still at the 
edge of my thoughts, but I don’t think they were gonna let me check 
myself out. Let's see. The straps were pretty standard with buckles and 
padded leather. Kinky. Pulling my thumb in so far it was nearly 
dislocated; I managed to pull my left hand through the strap. A few 
seconds later, I had the other straps off and was ripping off the 
bandaging, to examine my knee. It wasn’t moving that well. Aside from 
being swollen to the point of abnormality and the stitches on the one 
side, I think I had royally damaged the cartilage. Oh well, I’d live.

It took me a few moments to wrap the thing up again and then I stepped 
out of the bed, heading over to the wardrobe that was against the wall. 
My leg didn’t hurt, it just didn’t move. Opening the closet door, there 
was a robe and the remains of some of my clothing. Not fair, they cut 
the jeans off. At least the boots, with the socks stuffed inside, were 
in one piece. Well, we’re gonna have to find something to replace the 
pants, cause those hospital gowns would embarrass a stripper. Grabbing 
my also intact shirt and my boots, I eased open the room door. 

There was a short hallway with a few open doors before you hit a 
nurses' station. Well, let’s see who else they have in this section. 
Walking away from the nurses’ desk, I passed a few closed doors and 
then past an open one. Bingo. Looks like someone just went out for 
treatment. 

Closing the door behind me, I quickly rummaged through the guy’s 
personal stuff. There was a pair of Dockers that, with a belt would be 
passable, a wallet with a few dollars cash (sorry, but I had a feeling 
I could use all the cash I could get), a pack of cigarettes, a shirt 
that could go over the T-shirt and some keys. Leaving the cigarettes 
and the keys, I put on the pants and eased them carefully over my re-
wrapped knee. Next my T-shirt and then the boots. It took me a few 
minutes to bend over in a way that wasn’t putting any pressure on my 
knee but so that I could still reach the laces. Next the wallet was 
emptied of the cash, about thirty dollars, then placed with the keys 
and the dress shirt had the sleeves rolled up to be eased over the 
remains of my T-shirt. I was a bit more stiff than I wanted to admit. 
Spying a travel bag by the bed, I figured it might come in handy. 
Emptying out the books and crossword puzzle, I shoved them into a 
drawer and shoved the cash in one of the pockets, putting my stash in 
the back pocket of the pants. I slung the strap over my head, leaving 
both hands relatively free. As finished as I was going to get, I 
stepped back out of the door, looking more like a visitor than a 
patient. Provided you ignored the limp. Maybe I’ll pass a blind nurse. 
Hey, I could hope. 

Still out of sight of the desk, I noticed a door that didn’t lead to a 
patient’s room. It was a supply station. Yes! Slipping in, I started to 
search through the medical supplies looking for anything that might be 
useful. All the medication was behind locked doors but there were 
dressings, bandages, gloves and that sort of thing neatly packed away 
on shelves. I grabbed a few tensor bandages, threw in a few rolls of 
gauze, followed by some medical tape. There was also some peroxide and 
hundred proof alcohol that could come in handy. Stuffing everything in 
the travel bag, I headed out the door and then, bag over shoulder, I 
put my shoulders back and walked as normally (and quietly) as I could, 
pass the nurses' station. I must have a rain check for luck, cause the 
nurse never even looked up from her station. Exiting by the stairs, I 
made my way to the main floor and then it was out the front door.

I had fifty dollars plus change in my pocket, the clothes on my back 
and no idea of who I was, where I was, or even what year it was. I was 
in trouble. First thing I wanted was a bottle of Tylenol, extra 
strength and a paper. That would see me through the day and answer some 
questions for me. Finding a 7-11, I got the paper and the painkillers, 
then sat down on the sidewalk in the sun and read.

It was Friday, April 24th, 1998, I was in Seattle and Bill Clinton was 
President. There was a small article about the explosion that I was 
found at, but it was mostly speculation, no facts. Everything else was 
human-interest stories and politics. I think I hate politics. If I 
didn’t before, I do now. There were ten stories about the affairs of 
the president and they were all the illicit kind. I pity his wife.

Leaving the paper on the bench, I got up and headed down the street. I 
was mostly running on instinct and considering I was still alive, it 
seems to be working. Right now, my instincts were yelling at me to keep 
moving and disappear.

A few hours later, my knee was in agony and I was in the back of a dark 
alley, trying to keep myself from being stabbed. The guy with the knife 
was an absolute amateur, so that didn’t bother me, but the pain in my 
knee did. I couldn’t walk – or run – as fast as I should considering 
the situation. Dodging a swipe at my midsection, I tried to give the 
guy another chance.

"Listen, you really don’t want to do this. I didn’t really mean it when 
I said you looked like a drowned sewer rat." I hopped back on my good 
leg, as the knife stabbed out to my stomach. This guy had no 
imagination. "Besides, in India being called a rat could be considered 
a compliment." I don’t think that helped. The punk lunged at me and I 
let myself roll with it, going down, grabbing him by his coat and 
smashing him head first into the pavement. He landed with a wet smack 
but he got up again, wavering uneasily on his feet.

"Forget this." I was still on the ground, now facing him. This guy just 
wouldn’t give up, but I was in a hurry; I wanted to find a hole to hide 
in before dark and this was wasting too much time. Hands behind me, I 
kicked up with my good leg, butt still planted. Caught him in the groin 
and he was down for the long count. He was starting to turn an 
interesting shade of green and he probably wasn’t going to be popular 
among the girls for a while. I’d pity him, but I wasn’t feeling 
particularly charitable at the moment.

Crawling over, I picked up his knife, a cheap butterfly affair and 
though sorely tempted to plant it between his ribs, I just used it to 
add force to the punch that knocked him out. Crawling up the side of 
the wall I noticed my audience for the first time. Great.

"You didn’t see anything. You’re gonna turn right around, go back 
inside and pretend this never happened. Got it?" I never realized I 
could growl like that. I have to admit I sounded particularly mean. 
Flipping the knife closed, I pocketed it and looked back at the young 
man who was unfortunate enough to have witnessed this sad excuse of a 
fight. He hadn’t moved, the garbage bag hanging limply in his hand as 
he stood at the back door of what a sign proclaimed the Cairo Pub. 
Instead of menacing him quiet, I’d scared the life out of him and he 
just stared at me.

"Listen, drop the garbage, turn around and head back inside. I’m not 
gonna do anything to you. I just want to get out of here, Okay?" I 
didn’t want the guy to pee his pants and he relaxed marginally as I 
said that. Picking up the bag I dropped and turning around to leave, 
I’d barely taken a step, when a voice bellowed out the door.

"Mike! How hard is it to take out the damn trash!" The voice got closer 
and then stopped as it reached the door. "Mike, what’s wrong." Now the 
voice was softer, concern coloring its timber.

"She. . . she. . . " Still walking away, I never saw the finger pointed 
in my direction. 

"She what Mike?"

"She beat up Angelo."

"What!?!?!" 

"She beat up Angelo. . . with a bum leg." Great, I was now on my way to 
becoming an urban legend.

By that time, I was around the corner and back on the main street. If 
you could call it that. Turning left, I crossed in front of the 
building and headed down a few blocks. This was more of an industrial 
district now, but there was still the occasional restaurant and bar. It 
was almost dark by now and I really wanted a place to crash. I 
eventually settled on a warehouse that, while not empty, was closed for 
the weekend. Rummaging through some of the metal scraps, I came up with 
a thin piece of steel. The raw edges snagged at my hand, but by 
carefully twisting it around and fiddling with it, I came up with a 
suitable lock pick and started in on the people entrance beside the big 
bay door. The lock eventually clicked and I eased the door open when 
the alarm rang out. Pulling open the alarm panel, I went to work.

A minute later, I was sitting in the lunchroom with the alarm disabled 
and feeding false information to the monitor station, wherever that 
was. I rummaged around and came up with a dozen cans of soup, some 
dried Chinese noodles and the usual clutter of lunchrooms every where. 
Opening up the can and dumping it in a bowl, it went in the microwave 
and three minutes later, I was chowing down. I hoped I wasn’t allergic 
to tomatoes. Curling up later in a corner, I pulled a moving blanket 
over me and promptly fell asleep.

The next morning, I was up with the crack of dawn and exploring my 
temporary lodgings. It was a small metal shop with some older punching 
machines and a metal bender that looked like it had seen better days, 
as well as a couple hand operated cutters and a hand press. It was a 
pretty small shop and was probably a small order company of some kind. 
From some of the half-finished work, it looked like they made light 
fixtures. 

Already my knee was starting to grind and I could feel the pain 
building up. I had to do something about it. Fortunately, there was 
enough junk laying around that I’d be able to come up with a solution. 
Scrounging through the scraps, I came up with a few lengths of 
galvanized steel, each about an inch wide. That could work. Smoothing 
the edges on the grinder, punching the appropriate holes with the hand-
held punch and riveting it together, left me with a passable brace that 
should help take some of the strain of the joint. 

Two pieces ran the length of the joint with four bands circling around: 
the top one all the way around and the other three half way around the 
back. It wasn’t the most secure, but it would keep my knee immobilized 
and should take off some of the strain. I’d have preferred to have the 
bands circling all the way around and clipped in the front or 
something, but it had to avoid the stitches and I needed to be able to 
slide it on and off. I could improve on it later. The grinder took off 
the corners and after wrapping anything that might dig in or poke with 
PVC tape, I padded my knee with some of the dressing from the hospital, 
wrapped a tensor over the mess and slipped the brace on as snug as I 
could get it, using duct tape to keep it all in place. The mess was as 
secure as I could get it and when I put some weight on it, it didn’t 
hurt all that badly. With my pants on over top you couldn’t even see 
it, although I still limped.

Walking around, I started to look for anything that might come in 
handy. I stuffed handful of miscellaneous wiring in with the gear I 
still had from the hospital, added a few roles of duct tape, PVC tape 
and clear packing tape. I had to get going soon, this wasn’t someplace 
I wanted to be seen and the panic was starting to eat at me again. 
Careful to make the theft as unobtrusive as possible, cleaning up the 
dishes I’d made and erasing as much of my existence as I could, I reset 
the alarm, closed the door and locked it. 

Stopping at a bus stop, I took a load off and give my leg a rest. It 
wasn’t all that bad and the Tylenol was enough to make it bearable, but 
I didn’t want to over do things too much. When a bus pulled up, I 
didn’t look the gift horse in the mouth. So digging out enough change, 
I got directions to a mall and was on my way. 

Two hours later left me twenty dollars poorer, but I had some metal 
buckles from a craft store, a canvas strap for tying stuff down to your 
pickup truck, a cotton-by-product camp blanket, a box of meal 
replacement bars that were on sale, a large bottle of the cheapest pop 
they had, a three pack of underwear, a tooth brush, comb and hitting a 
second hand store a block over got me a slightly worn black wind 
breaker that could double as a rain jacket. 

Heading back to the mall, I took advantage of the washrooms. Combing 
out my hair, I found the goose egg on the back of my head. No stitches 
but there was a jagged cut. Braiding my hair back and tying it with the 
elastic left from the hospital, I pulled out the toothbrush and 
scrubbed off a layer of plaque. After washing my face I looked at my 
reflection in the mirror. Not quite curly, not quite strait, brown 
hair, down past the middle of my back, was ruthlessly smoothed down and 
braided. Dark brown eyes stared back at me from deep-set sockets, faint 
blue smudges underneath accenting them. Features were just a little too 
irregular to be pretty with a generous mouth, though the pale color 
almost made it invisible. I wasn’t too tall, but not short either, and 
with a trim figure, but nothing flashy. My clothes didn’t exactly hang 
on me, but you could tell they weren’t bought with me in mind. On the 
whole I didn’t look too bad, but I wasn’t going to go out and win any 
beauty pageants. I pretty much faded into the background.

Feeling more human, I found a shoe repair shop and taking out the 
canvas strap and the buckles, I told the guy behind the counter what I 
wanted. He was a nice, generous man, waving off my offer of cash and 
did it for me for free. Fifteen minutes later, I had three straps, each 
over a foot long with a buckle secured using shoe tacks to rivet the 
material around it and best wishes that my luck will improve. I told 
him with all honesty, that it was as good as I ever remember it being. 

Taking the three straps, I put them along with the left over canvas in 
my bag. The duct tape would hold my knee for now, but it wasn’t a 
permanent solution and these straps would be more secure. Wandering 
over to the supermarket, I browsed around, availing myself of all the 
samples that they had out for the Saturday shoppers and finally left 
after receiving pointed looks from the clerks. 

By now, it was evening and everything was closing down. Heading back to 
the industrial zone, I found a less prosperous area and broke into an 
abandoned front office. The black paper over the windows kept unwanted 
viewers from looking in and gave me a modicum of privacy. I took a back 
office just in case though. Emptying my bag, I started to organize what 
I had, eventually setting up a bit of a bed out of strips of packing 
foam over in one corner. I nibbled on one of the bars, washing it down 
with some pop.

Stripping down a little, I unwrapped my knee and took a closer look at 
it. The swelling was better than yesterday, so the brace was helping, 
but I should still ease up on it. Taking the brace off completely I 
carefully flexed the joint, listening carefully and feeling it grind 
slowly. It was stiff, no doubt, but with some rest it should be better. 
I had food, the water here ran and while there wasn’t any heat, the 
weather was warm enough that I wouldn’t freeze. I could stay here for a 
while and give my leg a chance to heal.

Chapter 2

A few days later, with some rest and relaxation, I took the stitches 
out of my knee. It no longer felt like it had a black smith pounding on 
it and the goose egg on the back of my head had practically 
disappeared. The panic that had been driving me was gone now and while 
I didn’t like thinking about the gaping hole that was my past, it 
wasn’t bothering me. For some reason I didn’t have a lot of desire to 
find out who I was. 

By now, I could walk around without feeling like Igor, I was running 
out of breakfast bars and I was starting to climb the walls. Time to 
meet the world.

Bracing up my leg, the canvas straps done up over some scraps of cloth 
left by the previous owners of my abode, I got dressed, packed up most 
of my gear, leaving the bedding and a few other bulky things, and left 
my sanctuary. I planned on coming back, but you never know what could 
happen so I didn’t leave anything behind that I couldn't replace. 
Brushing off some of the dust that I’d collected on my clothes I knew I 
didn’t look too bad, considering. 

After a day of wandering around, my knee was sore, my feet ached and I 
was nowhere near the office I was using as a place crash. It was stupid 
to let myself get so far away, but I felt the need to get out and see 
things. It wasn’t so much that everything was new, it was more like I’d 
never taken the time to look before. I’d spent an hour watching a 
street busker play his heart out for the lunch crowd before I finally 
moved on. All this wandering around conspired to leave me in a section 
of town farther from the industrial strip than I’d like.

Sucking it up and berating myself, I got up off of the doorstep I was 
taking a break on and started to make my way back. A few blocks over I 
stopped, listening to the strains of music lilting out of a door. It 
came from a bar, nothing fancy, just heavy wooden doors under a blue 
neon sign that proclaimed the place to be Joe’s. There was a moody, 
sultry tone that called to me. Giving into my curiosity I stepped in 
the doors, letting the melody wash over me. 

It wasn’t very crowded and I was able to get a small table in a dim lit 
corner. It took a while for the waitress to get to me, which was just 
fine with me; I only had about twenty dollars left and no idea where I 
could get some more cash. By the time she got to me, I just ordered a 
plate of the fries that seemed to be on most of the tables, accompanied 
by ribs in many cases, and turned my attention back to the man on 
stage.

He wasn’t all that much to look at, older, with the character of a 
lifetime etched across his face, hair that would ordinarily be swept 
back, falling into his eyes as his head bent forward over his guitar. I 
watched in fascination as his fingers played over the strings, pulling 
out pure emotions and weaving them into a song that reached into my 
soul and touched my heart. He left me with the impression that this man 
knew what it was to love and also what it was to hurt.

The song didn’t end so much as blend into another one, this one more 
playful -- not so much joyful, but more like it teased and jumped along 
like a woman playing hard to get -- and then there was a love song, 
touchingly sweet and unfulfilled. After about thirty minutes of 
playing, he got up amid a round of heart-felt applause and walked stiff 
legged up to the mike.

"Well, you guys have been nice enough to put up with this amateur and I 
should get back to tending the bar like I’m supposed to." There were 
good natured comments to the extent that he never should have quit his 
day job, but these where refuted by the rest of the small crowd with 
the ease of familiarity that made it obvious that this was part of the 
regular performance. "Well, not to disappoint you, but I’ve got a few 
other guys who’d like their minute in the spotlight, so be nice to 
them." With that, he reached back for a cane and leaning on it heavily, 
descended off the stage and over to the bar.

The new guys weren’t as good, but the moody jazz eased a few aches and 
I couldn’t make myself get up and leave. I just sat and let the notes 
wash over me. Once, I even found myself humming along, words coming 
unbidden that I knew belonged with the song. It got later and as the 
crowd got smaller I munched on the cold fries, getting a coke to wash 
them down, until it must be well past the time I should have left. But 
I didn’t want to leave the warmth of this place for the cold and most 
likely painful walk back to the industrial zone. 

***

The place was almost empty, the crowd having dwindled as the hours got 
later. It was the middle of the week, so that was to be expected. Joe 
sat behind the bar and looked out at the people left. There was a crowd 
of university students off for the summer and enjoying their freedom 
from studying, a couple that had been lost in each other's eyes for the 
past hour and a girl sitting off in the corner. She didn’t order much, 
but it wasn’t crowded so Joe didn’t care. She wasn’t part of the normal 
crowd, just walked in from the street, sat down and lost herself in the 
music. She almost looked like part of the university crowd, but there 
was desperate look that most students didn’t have, except maybe around 
exams and those were over. Maybe she’d just had a hard day. By now the 
band was on the last set and the bar would be closing soon after so she 
reached into the travel bag beside her, pulled out enough to cover her 
order then sat back, her legs stretched out in front of her, to enjoy 
the last few songs. 

The small group of students started to break up when the music was 
over, with one of the more obnoxious ones staying in his seat, 
practically sulking. Left alone by his companions he finished off his 
beer then headed over to the girl in the corner. She was still sitting 
there, as if getting up the courage to face the great outdoors and when 
the guy pulled up a seat, she stared blankly at him. 

From his spot at the bar, Joe had a good view for the show. He could 
hear most of what they were saying and waving over one of his 
bartenders, Russ, he asked him to keep an eye on them just in case. The 
guy was pretty plastered.

"So what you doing here all by yourself, sweet thing." She ignored him. 
"Hey, did you hear me?"

"Get lost." Guess she wasn’t in the mood.

"Come on sweet cheeks, give a man a break." His face had a cocky grin 
on it. She rolled her eyes at the comment before replying. 

"Sweet cheeks? You’re mother obviously abandoned you at birth." 

The guy’s red face got even redder as he sat and stuttered for a few 
seconds. "What the hell do you know about anything?"

"More than you do apparently." She had a definite bite in her comment.

"Oh you think you’re so high and mighty." He leaned over her table in 
an attempt to intimidate her. 

"Well at least I’m not thinking from below the waist." She wasn’t 
intimidated.

"At least I got something there." His face went red and he started to 
bluster.

"I wouldn’t be too sure of that," she snapped.

The woman, Joe had revised her age up a few years, was still as calm as 
before. The guy however was letting his voice get louder, disturbing 
the peace of the couple in the middle of the floor that were dancing to 
the soft blues piped in to cover the silence. Russ was getting out from 
behind the bar, ready to run interference.

"Listen here bitch, nobody talks to me like that." Most people would 
have gone away to lick their wounds in private, but this guy was either 
too stupid or too drunk to care.

"Must not get out much then." This time he grabbed her wrist, holding 
it in a stiff grip.

"I don’t think you understand me you little whore, nobody talks to me 
like that because I don’t let them." 

He was pulling her wrist back, twisting it at what couldn’t be a 
comfortable angle. She just smiled at him, flicked her hand around and 
out of his like he was holding nothing but air. That smoothly led to 
her grabbing his wrist, digging her fingers into the joint and twisting 
it around, not like he had, but pinned down to the table.

His face went sweaty and when he looked up at the girl, fear leached 
the last of the color from his face.

"Now here’s a lesson for you. A girl says get lost and you get lost. No 
ifs, ands or buts. Got it." Her voice had gone from playfully sarcastic 
to deadly serious in those few seconds. "And if you ever grab the wrong 
person like that again, be prepared for a broken arm."

Russ was behind her not sure of what he should be doing: rescuing the 
woman, who no longer needed it, or the guy, who didn’t deserve it. The 
woman increased the pressure a bit, just to let him know that she could 
break his wrist if she wanted to, then pushed him away. Russ grabbed 
the guy by his other arm and escorted him from the premises.

The girl simply got up, picked up her bag and limped over to the bar 
where Joe was still sitting. Nothing as pronounced as his own gait, it 
was more like a stiff joint that didn’t bend. Something clicked in the 
back of Joe’s head. Something about a girl at Cairo’s. Richie was in 
here earlier this week with a story about this girl with a bad leg 
taking out one of the local toughs who’d tried to mug her. Could be the 
same woman.

"I’m sorry about that, I sometimes say more than I should." Her voice 
had lost its icy edge and now was toned down to a soft alto.

"That’s okay. He’s not a regular but came with some friends. I’m Joe by 
the way." He put down the glass he was drying and held out his hand. 

"I sorta figured that. You can call me Jane." She had a firm grip. Then 
she sat down on one of the stools.

"I noticed you liked the music." He picked up another glass and 
continued the chore of polishing them off.

"What an inane thing to say." Her hand with a pretzel paused halfway to 
her mouth as she realized what she said.

‘Ouch, she does say more than she should.’ Joe thought.

"There I go again. I must be more tired than I thought, but yah, I did 
like the music." She sounded tired as she brushed back a strand of 
frizzed brown hair that worked its way loose of the braid. 

"Not a problem, I’ve been insulted worse. I’ve also done worse to 
others myself, so consider yourself forgiven. It was worth it just to 
see that guy brought down a few pegs."

"He was pretty full of himself wasn’t he?" She grabbed another pretzel.

"Yah he was." He chuckled as he finished the last glass and put the 
towel under the counter.

"I should get going, you’re probably closing soon." She didn’t make any 
effort to get up though.


"Normally yes, but I don’t want to disturb the two love birds." Joe 
pointed to the couple still swaying together on the dance floor. 

"I should get going anyway, I have a long walk ahead of me." This time 
she leaned over and picked up her bag.

"Walking on that leg?" He was surprised that she’d be doing a lot of 
walking.

"Not as bad as it looks, just smashed the knee a little while ago. It’s 
healing and I can still get around in the mean time." Her look said 
more about how her leg was feeling then what she was saying.

"How about something to see you on your way then? More pretzels, a 
drink, a cab?" He took a few swipes at the bar with a damp cloth, 
mopping up a few stray rings.

"Thanks, but no. I’m tight on cash right now."

"Are you new in town?" A strange look paced over her face as he asked 
that and with a short laugh she answered.

"You could say that. Why’d you ask?"

"The travel bag." He pointed to the bag she had hanging from her 
shoulder.

"Oh" She leaned back onto one of the stools, not fully sitting this 
time but taking the weight off her leg.

"Have you got a place to stay yet?" Joe was starting to get the idea 
she probably didn’t, at least nothing legal, and she quite probably 
didn’t want anyone to know it.

"Nothing permanent. But I have a place to crash, it’s just a bit of a 
ways away from here."

"How about I pay for the cab and you pay me back when you can." He 
figured it was the least he could do for the night's entertainment. 

"That’s not likely to be any time soon," she admitted, dryly.

"We’ve all had bad luck at one time or another." He didn’t even want to 
think about some of his.

"Some more than most, but I’ll live," she joked. Joe just reached 
behind him, picked up the phone and quickly called a cab.

"Well, it’ll take a few minutes for the cab to get here. Do you listen 
to blues much?" He watched with satisfaction as she settled back in her 
chair and started munching on the pretzels again. He was going to have 
to refill the bowl soon.

"Not really, but I liked your performance." 

"You make it sound like Carnegie hall or something. I’m not that 
good." He could feel the heat rising in his face.

"Yes you are," she insisted, "In your venue." 

"Do you play?" He nodded over to the stage and the set up of drums, 
piano, guitar and a few other instruments lying around.

"Not sure." She looked a little uncomfortable for a moment. Not so much 
at the question, but at her reply.

"That’s an unusual answer."

"I’m an unusual person." She gave a rueful chuckle. Joe just raised an 
eyebrow. "It’s a long story. Actually what I know of it is rather 
short."

"Oh?" Joe shot her a confused look. 

"Never mind. I wouldn’t want to bore you with it." She tried to down 
play it and the look in her eyes, the desperation he noticed earlier, 
was back. 

"I thought that’s what bartenders were for?" he teased, hoping to break 
the tension. She just gave him a look that said drop it, then changed 
the subject.

"Do you always go for live bands?" she asked.

"As often as we can." he said. "We’ve scraped the bottom of the barrel 
a couple of times, but there’s a good jazz community out here and they 
like to play in smaller joints."

"It’s more intimate I think." She looked out over the bar and at the 
couple still swaying together. 

"Yah, it’s always nicer to see who you’re playing for," he admitted.

"Do you usually play up there yourself?" 

"It’s a perk of the job." His cocky grin gave away just how much he 
liked his perk.

***

Two and a half months later, I had managed to spend every evening I 
could at Joe’s for the most part. The music created an atmosphere that 
really appealed to me; it let me forget that I was a person without a 
past and it eased the panic that still rose up in me on occasion. After 
the band for that day was done, I’d sit and talk with Joe until the wee 
hours of the morning and though I still kept some stuff at my 
sanctuary, more often than not, Joe let me sleep in a spare room at the 
bar. 

I eventually confided my story to him. Since I didn’t remember all of 
it, there wasn’t much to tell but he offered to help me find out who I 
was. I didn’t want to know and the vehemence of my answer took him by 
surprise. Since then he let me have my blank past and we talked about 
the moment and sometimes, a bit about the future. I had no idea what I 
was good at, or what I could possibly do, but I needed to do something. 
I couldn’t stay in the anonymity of the street forever.

My leg healed to the extent that I could take the brace off, provided I 
wasn’t planing on standing on it all day. The joint remained stiff but 
I could get around well enough. A few of the regulars would say "Hi" 
but everyone else pretty much kept their distance, mostly because my 
tongue had gotten away from me a few times with interesting results. 
There was a whole group of guys from the university who avoided me like 
the plague.

I still didn’t have a name although ‘Jane’ seems to have stuck. I said 
it at first as a bit of a personal joke; the only references to me were 
as Jane Doe. It seemed to suit me though and I answered to it so it 
would do for now. Joe was letting me help out on the days I wasn’t 
wandering the city and I subbed in for who ever was late or sick and he 
paid me enough so that I wasn’t starving. I even got around to picking 
up some clothing that actually fit. I got enough so that I wasn’t 
totally disrespectful, but I didn’t want to tread too far on charity.

Right now it was early evening, a bit of a supper crowd had gathered, 
and there was some taped music piped in over the sound system. I was 
starting to recognize some of the Jazz and Blues that was constantly 
playing and pegged this as Frank Morgan. The mournful wail of a 
saxophone mixed with the sun streaming in the windows and some residual 
cigar smoke to give the place a surreal, dreamy quality. I wouldn’t 
have been surprised if a creature from Faerie stepped in. I was close.

Joe was behind the bar and I was sitting at it munching on a sandwich 
and nursing a pop. For some reason I don’t really like drinking. The 
door opened, letting in a shaft of light, bringing me back to the site 
where I first woke up. Shaking my head loose of the memory, I let the 
music ease the hole in me and concentrated on my food. Joe waved over 
the two people who came in and they moved over to a spot beside me. 

"Hey Mac, I thought you were out of town right now." When I heard the 
word Mac, my head spun around and I stared at the man beside me. I 
expected shorter, lighter hair and a leather jacket instead of the 
taller man with dark hair that was taking off a duster. Joe shot me a 
glance through calculating eyes and I knew I'd be hearing about this 
later. Joe was still after me to at least go to the police and see if 
there was a missing persons out on me. This brief exchange went mostly 
unnoticed by the two men. The other guy was slightly taller with short, 
curly red hair. They both had the easy grace of confidence.

"I thought you were supposed to know everything about me, Dawson. And 
you can’t even tell when I’m due back. I’m disappointed." The dark guy, 
Mac I guess, sat beside me, but didn’t pay me much attention.

"If you’d quit taking off like that I wouldn’t have to sic people on 
you." Joe pulled up his stool behind the bar and sat down, his 
patronizing grin just egging on his friend.

"I have to do something to keep your life interesting."

"You’re more likely to send me into an early grave." The banter between 
these two seemed like the teasing of good friends, although there was 
something more between them that I couldn’t put my finger on. There was 
also something about this Mac guy and his companion that seemed 
familiar. Not the flash of memory when I first heard his name; this was 
different. Well, I didn’t want to know, so I let the thought rest and 
waited for Joe to quit being rude and introduce us. I should have been 
more patient, but this is me we’re talking about.

"Are you gonna introduce us, you old cripple, or do I have to torture 
it out of you?" I blurted out.

"Who you calling an old cripple, you gimp. Besides, I need the 
disability check to keep this dump open." Joe took it in stride and 
spat back the same. The young red head, however, was staring at us with 
his mouth open and the Mac guy looked a little shocked. "Jane, meet 
Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod and his side kick, Richie Ryan, the 
street punk."

"I must be a bad influence, you’re starting to sound like me." Holding 
out a hand to them, I waited a moment before it was enveloped in a 
strong grip, the calluses on Duncan’s hand striking another note off in 
my head. Ignoring that as well, I pressed on. "Just call me Jane."

"Nice to meet you, I think." His voice held a slight Scottish burr, but 
it was buried beneath a bunch of different influences that made me 
think this man had traveled a lot.

"Same." Richie’s hand had the same calluses, but seemed much more. . . 
young.

"So, how long are you in town this time, Mac?" Joe reached under the 
bar and placed two beers in front of them. I just dug back into my 
sandwich deciding not to enter too much into the conversation. The 
familiarity of the two strangers had shaken me and I needed a few 
moments to settle things in my head. This continued until Joe pulled me 
back in.

"Jane, you really need to start exercising that knee soon, or it’ll 
stiffen up so bad it’ll be useless." He was up to something.

"Not useless, I could still trip people with it." I looked up from the 
crumbs on my plate, not sure if I wanted to know where this was going. 
"But you’re right, I need to work on it some more. Just walking isn’t 
cutting it."

"Well, Mac owes me a few favors and he happens to own a Dojo a few 
blocks away." He was taking this somewhere I was pretty sure I didn’t 
want to go.

"Hold on a second Joe, I’m not set up for beginners let alone any sort 
of physical therapy." Duncan looked a bit like a trapped rat. I was 
feeling much the same way.

"Joe, what are you getting me into?" This is like the time he invited 
the cop over to talk to me. I bolted and took off for a week.

"Hold onto that thought for a second," Joe then looked back at Duncan, 
"She’s no beginner and you did fine with Richie."

"That was a special case and you know it." Mac was starting to look 
even more uncomfortable.

"I don’t think this is a good idea Joe." I was starting to feel like 
bolting was a better idea.

"One day, that’s all I’m asking. Test her out Mac. I think you’ll be 
surprised and Jane, this will do you good." He said it like a car 
salesman saying ‘Trust me, of course this car will run.’

"You’re meddling again Joe." I was really starting to feel the need to 
bolt. The only thing stopping me was the fact my bag was in the back 
room and I didn’t have my lock pick, such as it was, on me. 

"You owe me too, Jane." He was playing dirty. "One day."

"One day?" Duncan and I said it at the same time, looked at each other 
and then we both relaxed a degree more. One day can’t be all that bad.

"One day."

***

It was a sunny morning as I walked to the address of the Dojo. I had my 
brace on, but I planned to take it off when I got there. Wouldn’t do my 
leg any good to exercise with it on. What was I saying, I wouldn’t be 
able to exercise period with the thing on. 

Stepping in, I entered a large open gym with a pair guys sparing in one 
corner and a fairly extensive free weight set-up in another. Raking the 
fighters over with a critical eye, I picked out a few openings that 
hadn’t been exploited by the other partner and watched the play of 
attack and counter, enjoying the familiar smell of sweat and energy.

The red head from yesterday came up beside me, Richie, now dressed in a 
pair of loose sweat pants and a tank top. "What do you think?"

"Not too bad, though the shorter one needs to improve his balance. He 
keeps over extending himself." 

Richie’s reply was his eyebrows climbing up his forehead. "Mac 
apologizes but he’s been called away for a little while and he asked me 
to put you through a bit of a warm up before he gets here." 

I’m pretty sure that was on purpose, to discourage me and soften me up 
before he threw me across the room a few times.

"Let me change first?" I was just sweetness itself.

Half an hour later, I was sweating, but my breath was still steady and 
nothing really hurt. Much. I knew I’d feel it tomorrow though. Richie 
put me through the paces with some light weights, nothing more than 
establishing my strength and flexibility, and then we sparred a little. 
We’d only gone a few rounds when Richie paused, held up a hand and 
looked around him. That’s when Duncan finally showed up. I had wandered 
over to a fountain and was getting a drink by the time he actually 
walked in.

"How are you doing, Jane?" Duncan waltzed in, a smug, little grin 
showing on his face. I think he was disappointed that I wasn’t gone 
already.

"Not too bad. So are you gonna spar with me, or do I have to mop the 
floor with him first?" I jerked a thumb in Richie’s direction. What 
little sparring there was with him was pretty relaxed and I was ready 
to stretch myself a little. 

"Are you sure you want to?" Maybe he wasn’t the type to beat you within 
an inch of your life to teach you, you couldn’t fight. I think he was 
just annoyed at Joe for saddling him with me.

"Come on, I’m big girl. I won’t cry when you throw me, as long as you 
promise the same thing." Two can play at the patronizing game. That got 
to him. He didn’t even change; he just stripped off his shirt revealing 
a fine set of muscles and kicked off his shoes.

"We’ll start off easy than; you attack, I’ll defend. Nothing major." 
Oh, he was too kind. Bet he thought he’d be nice, let me get in a few 
hits and then send me off home like a good little doggy. He had another 
thing coming.

"If you want." He just stood there, relaxed, not even in a defensive 
posture. I noticed Richie hadn’t warned him about how hard hit. Gosh 
darn. I circled him; he didn’t even turn with me, but let me go 
completely around him. He knew exactly where I was at all times and 
from his stance, I knew that if I where to attack his back, he’d still 
block me. Instead I completed the circuit, limping only a bit and 
ignoring the slight ache in my knee.

When I faced him again, I just threw a feint to his face and followed 
through with a quick jab to his stomach. He easily blocked them both, 
not too hard, but hard enough to make the skin sting. Not pulling his 
punches then. I shook out a hand slowly, making a show of it. It didn’t 
really hurt, but it was fun to watch the slight knowing grin on his 
face. To be fair I was giving him what he expected. So far.

I threw a couple more feints, following through every once in a while 
to test out his reflexes and letting him know what I was doing. His 
face quickly lost the condescending grin and it was replaced with an 
honest smile that matched my own. Now that we had dispensed with 
preconceived ideas, we could get down to the business at hand. A good 
match.

I started by aiming a spinning kick to his head, pivoting on my good 
leg. He ducked under this and kept his word to stay defensive. I 
followed this by dropping down and sweeping my leg just above the 
ground. A bit of an awkward move, but good at getting the opposition to 
jump around a bit. I threw a flurry of punches at his head and body, a 
few getting through his defenses and I heard him grunt a bit as I made 
contact with his gut.

A few minutes later, I managed to throw him. It was a bit gawky because 
my knee bent under me faster than I wanted and I ended up on the floor 
myself.

Picking himself up, he shook out his limbs and stood to face me.

"Let’s take this up a notch then." And that was all the warning I had 
before I had to go on the defensive myself.

Twenty minutes later, I’d been thrown a few times, once almost across 
the room, but I was having the time of my short remembered life. I felt 
this was the part of my life before that I enjoyed the most. The 
stretching of my limits and testing myself against another person. I 
wasn’t as good as Duncan, but I still made him pay for every time he 
threw me. We were both breathing heavily but steady by the time I was 
getting back up from the last throw. We had gathered an audience during 
the spar and when Duncan called it quits a brief spatter of applause 
greeted us.

In a gesture of the moment he grabbed my arm, made a courtly bow, that 
I returned with a reasonable facsimile of a curtsy (I have no idea 
where I could have picked that up from) and then we both turned to our 
watchers and made a grand stage exit. 

Sitting down on a bench, Duncan let out a rich chuckle, his face lit up 
with good humor.

"You were holding out on Richie weren’t you?"

"I was toying with him. Allowing him to maintain his male dignity." I 
said, keeping the tone light, but I winced a little as I lifted my leg 
up beside me. 

"How does it feel?" He moved over a bit and gestured for me to move it 
over so he could take look at it.

"Not to bad, though I probably over did it today, as always." I didn’t 
like the fact that my leg throbbed as much as it did, but I downplayed 
it. He ran a practiced hand over the joint, flexing it gently.

"You did, but if you stay off it tomorrow, you should be okay. What did 
you do to your knee any way?"

"Just twisted it really good, then damaged the tendons and banged up 
the cartilage when I fell on it soon after." At least that’s what I 
could piece together from what little I remembered and from what I 
looked up in a medical dictionary at the library.

"Well, next time, we’ll take it easier on you and exercise that knee 
more gently," he said, easing my leg back down to the bench

"Go easy on me next time and I’ll sweep the floor with you." I wasn’t 
about to let him baby me when I wanted nothing more than to expand my 
limits. There was a fair bit he could teach me.

"Is that a threat?" he asked.

"It’s a promise."

***

It was about three weeks later when I found out what exactly Duncan and 
Richie were. In a way I already knew, I just didn’t realize I knew. I 
was almost at the Dojo, when the sound of clashing swords drew me to 
the alley on the far side of the Dojo. I was just about to round the 
corner when Richie came out and dragged me into the building.

"It’s nothing you want to get involved with," he said, offering no 
other explanation.

"Richie, those were swords. It sounds like fight." I looked over my 
shoulder trying to see but not really bothering to break out of his 
grip. Richie glanced nervously around and then pulled me into the Dojo.

"It was probably just somebody going through the garbage out back, 
rattling a few cans." He continued his campaign to make me believe that 
nothing was wrong.

"Richie, that was sword play, not falling cans." Straining all my 
senses, I couldn’t hear the clash of steel on steel, but I had an idea 
it was still going on. There wasn’t any static in the air.

"What, people fighting with swords in Seattle in the twentieth century, 
You’re nuts." He gave out a shaky laugh.

"Listen you weasel," I grabbed Richie by the collar. I’d been on my 
good behavior the last month, so something was bound to break. I don’t 
think I was used to restraining myself in my previous life. "I want to 
know what is going on and I want to know now." All of a sudden I felt a 
shiver go up my spine and my fingers tingled with the build up of 
static in the air. I dropped Richie and looked over at the large glass 
windows that showed the main gym as they started to rattle. Instinct 
took over and I dived across the desk.

I made it behind just as the glass shattered, sending shards flying. A 
few moments later the lights followed and burst as an overload of 
localized lightning raced through the circuits. The computer on the 
desk started to smoke and I could see the flashes of light flitting 
from metallic surface to metallic surface, throwing off instant shadows 
that glared in stark relief.

Finally the static was released from the air, only the smell of ozone 
betraying it’s earlier presence. Standing up from my spot behind the 
desk I leaned forward, hands pressing into the glass, trickles of blood 
slipping down my arms from cuts I hadn’t avoided. I didn’t notice any 
of this. I was lost in the pounding of my head, the throb of a memory 
trying to break free.



It was the clash of swords in an abandoned building, the interplay of 
two masters, both older than they looked. One taller, lanky, the other 
shorter, wiry. There was a dance of give and take, attack and defense, 
love and hate, until a step faltered and the dance was over. With 
savage glee, the shorter man whipped his sword through the other, the 
point gleaming through the thick blood pouring out the back.

"It’s been a while since I played the game. I forgot how fun it is." 
The English accent betrayed him as a foreigner. Putting a foot on the 
chest of the kneeling man, he pulled his sword free with a practiced 
twist. "What is it I’m supposed to say now? Oh yes. There can be only 
one." With a casual swing of his hand, the sword bit into the other’s 
neck, cleaving head from shoulders.

I made a noise from my corner and the Englishman turned to glance at 
me, his eyes cold.

"I told you not to come." And then the lightning hit him.


Falling back, I managed to catch myself before I fell to the floor but 
only just. Over the beat of my heart, I could hear Richie rush over to 
me, but I shrugged him off, my legs now steady. I looked around at the 
shattered glass, blown lights and decimated electronics. That was 
definitely a Quickening. Duncan. And Richie? Both of them. They were 
Immortals; but they didn’t fight?

Running out the door, I headed around to the alley. There on the ground 
was a headless body and near it was Duncan, down on his knees, sword in 
hand, still in the thrall of the Quickening. I could already hear the 
sirens in the distance. Pulling him up by his hand, I glanced up at the 
sides of the alley. No windows looked in. Good. By now he was coming 
more to himself and we were at the back door of the Dojo.

"What are ye doin’?" he asked, not really with it yet.

"Saving your Immortal butt, that’s what and your accent’s slipping." I 
dragged him through the door.

"Why?" He was standing straighter now and looked less shell-shocked.

"I don’t know." Closing the door behind us, I called out to Richie and 
ordered Duncan upstairs to change as fast as he could. I headed over to 
the first aid cabinet and pulled out some gauze and tape. Wiping off 
the blood on my arms with a piece, I let it soak through the gauze and 
waved Duncan over as he came down the stairs.

"I can take care of myself you know."

"I know, but this will help things along." I reached up and put the 
bloody gauze on his arm, taping it in place so that it looked like a 
bandage that was starting to bleed through. "I’m all cut up and you 
should be too, since we were sparing in front of the windows when it 
all broke loose. Shoot! Cover that for a second." Once his hand was 
over the bandage, I flicked as much of the blood still on me on him, 
making us both look rather messy.

"You’ve done this before?" he asked. I’m sure curiosity was eating him 
alive, but now wasn’t the time.

"I think so, you want to start looking over my cuts? The police should 
be in here by now. Where’s Richie?"

"I sent him out to gawk for me. Who suspects the bystanders?" He took 
the package of gauze out of my hand and reached in the kit for some 
antiseptic. Dribbling some on a wad, he started to dab at the cuts on 
my arm just as Richie escorted a few officers in the Dojo.

To be more accurate, it should be pointed out that the officers were 
more along the lines of forcing themselves in with Richie dragged 
behind. Time to start the show.


Chapter 3

Duncan managed to avoid being arrested this time, but mostly because I 
was his alibi. He couldn’t have been out chopping somebody’s head off, 
if he was inside the building with me, getting cut up by flying glass 
when it happened. But that was nowhere near the end of it. I plunked 
down a tankard of beer in front of a customer and headed back to the 
bar. It had been a long afternoon of making statements and misleading 
the police and then this evening, one of the waitresses called in sick 
so I was subbing in for her. That meant I couldn’t leave now that all 
three of them were taking the opportunity to grill me.

"Listen, Joe, you know I’d tell you if I could, but I can’t." My 
exasperation was starting to show.

"Why can’t you say anything?" Duncan was the most disturbed by this. 
Not many people knew about Immortals and most of those who did were 
either intimately involved with one, or a Watcher. I sat down on the 
stool and turned around to face Duncan and Richie.

"What, Joe hasn’t spilled his guts already?" I snapped.

"I keep the things told to me in confidence, in confidence." Joe looked 
at me with sharp eyes. I think I hit a nerve on that one but what else 
is new.

"The truth is I don’t know much myself. I woke up outside the Treemark 
Mall just after an explosion there with a busted knee, a bruise on my 
head and no memories." I explained, keeping my head down as I wrote 
down a new order on my pad.

"How did you know about us then?" Richie wasn’t impressed with this 
mess either.

"I always knew, I guess. I just didn’t remember until this morning. It 
clicked and I remembered something. I can remember what I knew before 
-- knowledge, like facts and instincts -- and things just started to 
fit together. The way you both move, your muffled accent," I looked at 
Duncan and Richie, than just at Duncan, "And the sword fight was the 
last bit. It fell into place and I remembered. I don’t know how else to 
explain it." I stopped talking, feeling the throbbing in my head pick 
up in pace. Whether from the buried memory or my stress level I wasn’t 
sure. 

"I can’t remember exactly what it was now, but I remembered about 
Immortals and the Game. Even about the Watchers." I glanced up at the 
man walking in the bar, not really seeing him but noting which table he 
sat at and went back to the conversation. "I just don’t have any 
memories."

"Have you talked to the police about this, maybe they could…" Richie 
looked surprised as I cut him off mid sentence.

"No!" Actually the whole room looked surprised at the statement. I was 
starting to get loud. Lowering my voice I continued in a harsh whisper. 
"I don’t want to know who I was, I don’t want the police to go digging 
around about me and I don’t want to broadcast to the world where I am."

"Why?" Richie’s question paused me for a moment. 

"I don’t know and I don’t want to know. I left something behind and I 
don’t want to know what it is." Picking up the receipt pad, I took a 
deep breath and got up off the stool. "I’d better go see to whoever 
just walked in."

***

Jarod looked up at the sign over the door, proclaiming the place Joe’s. 
Since he came to Seattle looking into an explosion at a mall, he’d been 
poking around trying to find out why. The police and firefighters were 
stumped as to the motive, but there was one and it was a specific one. 
The bomb was designed to kill someone. He just had to find out who that 
someone was and why.

Opening up a red notebook he looked over the few articles that had been 
published concerning the explosion. The initial article from the day 
after the explosion had a basic description and a lot of empty 
speculation. Flipping the page there was another article listing 
casualties and a brief description of the Jane Doe who had left the 
hospital before the police could question her. She was still wanted for 
questioning but it’s believed she left town. Jarod was with the police 
department right now and just happened to have been assigned to find 
her among other things. He stepped into the bar and headed over to a 
table. 

The woman had been found at the explosion, out of sight behind another 
building, with an injured knee and a head injury. When they tried to 
take her to the hospital she put up a fight, breaking a few noses and 
an arm before they got her in. When she woke up, she asked a few 
questions of one of the doctors and getting no answers, she then 
disappeared. For the past two days Jarod had been following her trail, 
finally ending up here. He'd checked everyone else out and they were 
clean. That left this girl and she was the only person who might know 
the reasons.

Sitting down he glanced over the room with his gaze darting over, with 
the rest of the room’s, as a loud ‘No’ was heard from the vicinity of 
the bar. There were two men and a woman, arguing with what Jarod 
assumed was the proprietor. Well, maybe it was more of an intense 
discussion. The woman lowered her voice then got up, picked up a pad 
from the counter and headed his way. Her dark, long hair and slight 
limp pegged her as the woman he was looking for. Her face however 
stopped the blood in his veins, sending premonitions of dread through 
him. He knew who she was, who might want her dead and she could very 
well be the end of his freedom if not his life. When she got to the 
table however, he relaxed marginally as he looked up into her eyes and 
felt his curiosity soar. She didn’t recognize him.

***

I looked into the eyes of the man at the table. They were faintly 
familiar, a soft dark brown that looked me over with a strange 
intensity. Shaking off their influence, I raked him over with a glance, 
taking in everything from his shoes to his mostly grown out buzz cut 
which looked only faintly awkward. He screamed cop on the surface but 
his attitude was different. It wasn’t as hardened, as guarded as a cop 
gets after a few years. He was either new, or not a cop. New from the 
looks of his hair.

"What can I get for you?" I stood just off to the side, all my weight 
on my good leg trying to spare my other as much as I could. I only had 
a tensor on it, so I didn’t want to over-do things too much.

"What would you recommend?" He wasn’t gonna flirt with me was he? There 
were a few guys who still tried. I usually cut them down to size 
quickly, but there was something else about him. Not the same thing as 
with Duncan or Richie, but something.

"How drunk do you want to get? And when do you have to be human 
again?" I let my frustration filter into my voice, hoping the guy would 
keep his distance.

"I was thinking of food." He looked like such an innocent.

"In that case, Ribs. They have very good ribs here. What about to wash 
it down?" I scribbled ‘ribs’ on the pad and waited as he made up his 
mind.

"That sounds good and I’ll have a coke with that." He looked up and 
smiled, and his whole face lit up. This was definitely not a cop. He 
was still too. . . sweet. I took a final glance, told him I’d get right 
on it and headed back to the bar.

The Three Musketeers where still sitting there, now moving on to 
guesses as to what I used to be, guessing everything from ex-CIA to a 
Hunter, whatever that is. Richie threw in FBI and NSA as well. Joe, my 
stalwart supporter, said I was running from a bad relationship. Duncan 
just threw them the occasional odd glance and kept his mouth shut.

Sending the order into the kitchen, I sat down and joined back in. The 
speculations into my past had gone from potentially normal to the 
insane.

"Catwoman, I’m telling you, she’s Catwoman."

"Richie, that’s from a comic book." Joe looked faintly disgusted with 
that suggestion. Duncan just looked confused.

"I know, it’s the perfect cover." he insisted, taking a sip of his 
beer.

"Do you really think she’d run around in a black spandex costume, 
complete with pointy ears, crawl around on rooftops to steal from the 
insanely rich and then let herself this get far down in the world? 
She’d be in the Caribbean enjoying the wealth." Joe replied.

"I prefer the running from a evil Immortal scenario. So Jane, where you 
adopted daughter or significant other?" Fine time for Duncan to enter 
the conversation.

"Man, like I’d tell you." That one disturbed me, but I hid it and let 
it slide. They were just playing around now, trying to get me to blush. 
After a few more minutes, the order of ribs came in and I took it out 
to the table with a large Coke.

"Here you go, anything else I can get for you?" I looked down at the 
guy and again wondered what he was. I was pretty good at picking out 
what a person did and what they were like. But I couldn’t get a handle 
on this one. His actions and mannerisms all said one thing, but his 
attitude was something else. It was almost like he was acting out a 
part, while not letting it change him. It sounded almost like me at 
times.

He immediately picked up a rib and started munching. "These are really 
good." He said that like he’d never had them before. "Actually you 
could do me a favor?" 

"What?" I was starting to get an uneasy feeling about the whole thing. 
Most people don’t sit and converse with their waitress.

"You could tell me why you didn’t stay in the hospital after the 
explosion?" His voice had gotten low and edgy and he looked at me from 
the corner of his eyes.

This was not good. Turning around I was already halfway to an emergency 
exit before he’d finished speaking. Getting up and following, he caught 
up with me in the alley.

"Wait a second!" He grabbed my arm and I flipped. He blocked the fist 
aimed at his head, but missed the knee. He was in pain, but he’d gotten 
a good grasp on my arm and didn’t let go. At least, not until Duncan 
grabbed him from behind and spun him against the wall. Next thing he 
knew he was pinned with Duncan’s arm almost, but not quite crushing his 
windpipe. He gagged a little, before going silent and waiting. I just 
ran, frustration and fear giving me strength. Not as much as I’d have 
liked, but I could make fair time and I was around the corner and gone, 
slipping once leaving a red smear behind me.

***

Rubbing his throat thoughtfully, Jarod fully entered his ‘cop’ mode. 
"I’m Detective Logan, I just wanted to talk to her." His voice low and 
gravely, only partially because of the pain still throbbing in his 
throat.

"If this is about the body outside the Dojo, we already gave our 
statements. What do you want now?" This was from the man who’d pinned 
him up against the wall. He had an undefined accent and Jarod couldn’t 
seem to get a handle on him either. He’d already botched things up with 
the Jane Doe and things still weren’t going that good. He had no idea 
what a Dojo was.

"I’m looking into the bombing at the Treemark Mall. I need to know if 
she's the person that I’m looking for. I didn’t mean to scare her." 
That bad, he finished off mentally. He tried his best to sound sincere, 
regardless of various aching body parts.

"I don’t know what you’re talking about." The gray haired proprietor 
had joined them, leaning heavily on his cane and inspecting Jarod from 
top to bottom.

"Yes you do. I just want to help her. Please." There was a note of 
beseeching that resonated between them. There were a few moments of 
silence, as the two looked at each other, communing on a level beyond 
words.

"Let’s take this inside, Russ is tending the bar alone right now." With 
those words barely off his lips, the older man turned around and walked 
back into the bar.

***

I had a stitch in my side, my good knee was scrapped from when I had 
fallen and I was breathing heavier than the last time Duncan and I 
spent an afternoon throwing each other across the mat. Slowing down I 
looked around me, noting where I was and where I could go. It was 
stupid of me to run off but there was something about that man that set 
me on edge. Not so much the man but what he represented. Let’s just be 
honest, I panicked and I fled.

I sat down on a curb, looking out at the darkening sky around me. I 
needed to get to the office, though I’d barely been there for the last 
two weeks, and pick up what I still had there before I left town. It 
wasn’t much, but I’d stashed some cash and a few clothes there along 
with the stuff I had nicked from the hospital. 

An hour later, heavily limping, I’d made it to the building. Heading 
round back, I pulled out the lock pick I’d fashioned what seemed like a 
lifetime ago and opened up the door. It was still dark and deserted, 
easing my worries that someone legitimate had moved in. Making my way 
by feel I headed to what had become my bedroom and searched for the 
flashlight I had placed there. Turning it on, the room flooded with its 
dim light. 

Taking off the ruined jeans, I ripped off the tensor wrapped around my 
bad knee, its purpose fulfilled for the day, and examined the scrap on 
the other knee. It wasn’t too bad a gash. It was dried up now, with 
gravel and dirt stuck in it. I took the flashlight with me and limped 
into the bathroom. I tried the taps, letting them run for a minute to 
clear out the pipes, before dipping a scrap of cloth in the stream of 
water.

A few tense moments later, I had it mostly cleaned out. Opening the 
bottle of alcohol, I poured it over the scrape and hissed in as the 
pain flared up. Flexing the stiffness out, I limped back to my bed, 
still there with the blankets folded in a corner. Leaving the scratch 
alone now that it was clean, I checked out my other knee. It was a 
little swollen, but being wrapped eased the beating it took from 
running. There were a few raw spots from a fold in the tensor that 
rubbed during the unexpected workout so I dabbed those with a bit of 
alcohol saturated cloth, I knew they’d disappear in a few days.

By that time, I was bushed and fell back on the pad I called a bed, not 
nearly as comfortable as the one in the back room at Joe’s, and decided 
to get a good night sleep before moving on. A few moments later, I fell 
into an exhausted slumber, barely remembering to pull the blankets over 
me.

***

I didn’t wake up so much as jump up. A sound had managed to break 
through my sleep and drag me into the land of the living. It wasn’t 
very loud and could pretty much be anything. I was still listening for 
what woke me when a footstep had me out of my bed and after my knife.

Creeping up to the door I peeked around the side, the early morning 
light making it easy enough to see. There was nothing there, so I 
started down the hall to the corner near the back door. Peeking around 
that corner I saw a dim shape in what, at better times, might have been 
the lunchroom. Flipping open my knife, I crept up behind him and with 
the ease of familiarity slipped the knife in around his throat, resting 
it gently against his jugular.

"I want to know what you’re doing here and you have thirty seconds to 
explain. If I don’t like your answer, I hope you don’t have any plans 
for today." This came out in a harsh whisper. I didn’t like my solitude 
interrupted.

"You’re good, I didn’t heard you coming." It was the guy from Joe’s; I 
guess he was a cop. Great, just who I didn’t want to see.

"What do you want?" This came out even harsher. I wanted to be left 
alone, not harassed and harried.

"I just want to know why someone wanted you dead." The man was still 
calm, making himself as non-threatening as he could.

"Why do you think someone wants me dead?" I eased up on the knife, 
moving it back but still in easy range. I didn’t trust this guy. Yet.

"The bomb had a directional charge. It was set to blow out the lobby." 
This wasn’t good news but that didn’t explain why he thought it was me 
that whoever set the bomb was after.

"So?" I let a belligerent note slip in.

"Everyone else has been checked out. You’re the only wildcard." He 
tried to stand up a bit more but I moved the knife back in, dimpling 
his flesh.

"Oh? And suppose I set the bomb myself and just didn’t want to get 
caught. In which case I’d slit your throat right now and rid myself of 
a pesky cop. If that is in fact what you are." I could feel his pulse 
jump as I said that, making me wonder who on earth this guy was, if he 
wasn’t cop. Then again it could be because I hadn’t let up on the 
knife. I eased up just a tad.

"You were found near the building, injured. If you had set that bomb, 
you wouldn’t have been in range when it went off." This guy was good. 
Oh man, I just echoed what he said.

"And if I’m simply incompetent?" I said coyly.

"The Center doesn’t teach incompetence." His words set off a whole 
bunch of bells and whistles in my head. I felt a fist close around my 
heart and the world narrowed as this sunk in. I had to know. 

"What’s the Center?" Panic was starting to set in and the knife was 
back in the hollow of his neck, blood just starting to well ever so 
slightly underneath it.

He tensed for the first time, confusion coloring his voice. "You don’t 
know?"

"Oh, Bloody HECK!" I stepped back, flipped the knife off with all the 
frustration in me and watched in satisfaction as it sunk in to the 
hilt, sticking out of the wall. I had needed to do something and since 
I didn’t particularly feel like killing him before he gave me some 
answers, throwing the knife would have to do.

"Bloody heck? I’ve heard some color expressions, but that one is 
unique." He gave a glance at what I was wearing, a T-shirt and 
underwear barely visible in the shadows and amusement lit up his eyes. 

"Don’t ask me, I don’t even know my own name." I turned away and in 
frustration, glared at my knife still quivering in the wall.

"The head injury." The guy's tone was softer, as he moved up behind to 
me.

"Yah the head injury. I can’t remember anything from before the 
explosion." I walked over to the wall and yanked the blade out, 
flipping it closed.

"Has anything come back since?" He certainly was curious, wasn’t he, 
and I’d had enough. Bad enough I let slip the whole amnesia thing, but 
I wasn’t about to spill what little else I did know to whoever this guy 
was. I turned around and faced him.

"Listen not to be rude or anything, but I don’t like my space invaded 
and I don’t even know who you are. So, let’s leave it at that. Now get 
lost." I was trying desperately not to lose it at this point. I’d 
either break down into tears, or kill someone. The tears scared me 
worse.

"Okay." He backed off a few feet, leaving me my space. "I can help you 
though."

My head exploded as he said that. Deep in my mind, another memory tried 
to surface, triggered by those words. But the pain strangled it off, 
leaving me with only those words, spoken by an accent, an English 
accent that was whispered in my ear. 

I staggered against the counter.

"Are you okay?" The man’s voice broke through the mists in my head and 
I managed to nod my head before I gave up on hanging onto the counter 
to sit down on the floor in a boneless heap. He knelt down beside me. 
"How long have you been having these headaches?"

"Not long, they start when I remember something. It’s like they 
strangle the thought out of me." I was too tired to maintain a front, 
it was pretty useless by now anyway, so I gave up on it and let my 
anxiety show. He put a hand was on my wrist and checked my pulse; his 
fingers cool against my skin. 

"Is there somewhere with more light in here?" His other hand was 
against my forehead.

"What, you moonlight as a doctor besides the whole cop thing?" I 
blinked against the emotions still rolling around in my head.

"Something like that." His eyes almost glowed in the dim light that 
filtered through the building. For some reason, I wanted to trust him. 
But I don’t trust easily.

"One of the offices has the paper ripped off the window; the sun should 
be coming through it by now." Grabbing his hand I got to my feet, much 
more steady now, and walked over to the office I mentioned. 

Sitting me down in a shaft of light, he gave me the once over; looked 
at my eyes, checked my fingernails, that sort of thing. Then he checked 
out my knee, easing it through a full range of motion, asking if it 
hurt and if so, when it hurt.

"You should have stayed at the hospital at least another day." He eased 
my knee down finally and turned his attention to me.

"I couldn’t." I paused, wondering what I was doing. "Why am I telling 
you this, I don’t even know your name!" I was getting confused. He was 
not what I expected; he didn’t act the way most people did, so innocent 
once moment and the next he had a focused intensity that was almost 
scary.

"Jarod."

"Your name?" I was starting to sound as stupid as I felt. He just 
nodded though, as if this was okay. Maybe it was considering how 
scrambled my head was.

"What are you going by right now?" he asked, gently.

"Jane. How original, huh." I just stayed where I was, feeling the sun 
on my face.

"How often do the headaches come? With the memories?" He did sound like 
a doctor right then.

"This is the second time and I remember a bit more this time. The pain 
was worse though. The first one was yesterday."

"After the person died outside the Dojo? You were there?" Back to cop 
mode.

"Yah." I don’t think Duncan would like the way this conversation was 
going. Tough.

"Normally returning memories aren’t accompanied by such severe 
headaches. The tests they did at the hospital didn’t show anything 
unusual though." He started talking, explaining things I guess.

"I thought medical records were confidential?" I raised an eyebrow at 
him.

"They are. I’m sorry." He looked more than a little embarrassed and 
glanced back at me.

"That’s okay. I didn’t exactly stick around to read them over myself. 
What else did you find?" I asked. Jarod explained what he’d found out 
and after asking a few more questions, was quiet. I was starting to get 
worried here. "So Doc, am I gonna live?" 

Jarod looked over to me and his whole face lit up as he smiled at me. 
"Of course."

"Then what’s the deal? What’s wrong, aside from the glaringly 
obvious?" I was finally starting to feel like I was back in control and 
his silence wasn’t very comforting.

"I’m not sure." That didn’t make me feel any better.

"Oh that’s comforting. How did you find this place any way?" I figured 
it was time to change the topic.

"Your friends were worried; they gave me this address. It’s a nice set 
up by the way." He looked around him as he said that, I started to 
wonder where he’d been that this place was nice in comparison.

"Yah. It’s the Ritz all right." I’ve got to work on my sarcasm problem. 
Eventually I picked myself up and headed to the hallway. "Let me get 
some clothes on and get out of here. Too much noise and the 
neighbors’ll get suspicious."

Chapter 4

"Tell me again why we’re doing this, Mulder?" The petite red head 
looked over at her partner.

"Headless bodies, turning up over the last hundred years and those are 
just the ones documented." He held open the door to the building called 
Desalvo’s Gym, letting his partner in first. "The last one was just 
outside this building." 

"Oh." Stepping in, Scully looked at the boarded up windows and the lack 
of lighting around the place as the heat of the building wash over her. 
She should have worn the mini today, but no, she had to be 
conservative. She wished she knew more of what was going on, but Mulder 
had dragged her out of the office first thing this morning to catch the 
flight here and because of a bout of insomnia the night before, she’d 
fallen asleep as soon as she hit her seat on the plane. All this left 
her feeling like ‘It’ in a game of wink murder, trying to catch up with 
what everyone else already knew. 

"Are they out of business?" She tried to kick her brain in gear.

"Right around the time of the reported incident there was a localized 
storm that centered on the murder site, encompassing a five hundred 
yard radius." The tall, dark and some might say handsome FBI agent 
looked over to his partner, waiting for the inevitable reply.

"No storm is that localized." She gave the expected answer as she 
lifted her face to look him in the eye and was rewarded with a familiar 
gleam.

"Exactly." 

She replied with what Mulder had long ago begun referring to as ‘the 
look’. 

"Can I help you?" A young man came down the stairs hidden off in a 
corner, tank top showing off an impressive set of muscles. "We’re 
closed for repairs right now."

Flashing their badges in unison, Mulder started off. "This is Special 
Agent Scully and I’m Agent Mulder. We’re looking for Duncan MacLeod, 
Richie Ryan and Jane Nygma?"

"I’m Richie. They brought in FBI agents for a dead body?"

"Why are you so sure all this is about a dead body?" Scully decided to 
play devil’s advocate.

"Some guy turns up decapitated in the alley and you want to talk about 
something else? Please, by all means." Walking past them, the young man 
moved into the office. Sunlight streaming in through a window provided 
enough light to see by, but only just. "Not much privacy without the 
glass, but there’s no one here to listen so it’ll do for now. We’ve 
already cleared out the debris, but it’ll take a while to replace the 
fuses that blew and the fried wiring."

"Do you work here Mr. Ryan?" Everyone took a seat, Scully and Mulder in 
front of the desk with Richie behind it. Scully then started the 
interview, going over the questions asked by the police and a few of 
her own that popped up as she thought of them. Ten minutes later Duncan 
MacLeod showed, rolling up his shirt sleeves as he came in; there was a 
ten degree temperature jump between the Dojo and outside due to the no 
longer functioning air conditioner.

"Mr. MacLeod?" Mulder got up as the Scotsman entered, Scully a 
heartbeat behind him.

"Yes, what can I do for you?" He gave them a speculative glance before 
giving Richie a look that caused the young man to scramble out of his 
chair.

"Agents Mulder and Scully here are from the FBI. Did you know Mac, that 
these beheadings have been happening for the last hundred years?" 
Richie decided to play the enthusiastic young scamp.

"Oh?" Duncan was going for least said, least damage done.

"And a fair number seem to be occurring right around you Mr. MacLeod." 
Agent Scully cut to the chase.

"Please call me Duncan. And as far as the murders go, these are 
dangerous times. Bad things happen." He flashed a disarming smile in 
her direction as he claimed his chair back from Richie’s influence.

"Considering there was one right outside of here, I’d think you might 
be a bit more worried." Mulder was being strangely quiet, so Scully 
continued on without him. He had his reasons no doubt. She just wished 
he’d tell her about them every once in a while.

"Like I said, dangerous times. And this is a dangerous neighborhood, 
Agent Scully." He leaned back and gave her another grin.

"Hey, Mac. I’d love to stay and talk but I’ve got an appointment to 
keep." Richie glanced at his watch to emphasize the point before he 
walked to the door. 

"Will we be able to contact you later, if we need to Mr. Ryan?" She 
glanced over at him, her attention still mostly focused on MacLeod.

"Sure, I have an apartment a few blocks away from here." Bending over 
the desk he scribbled on a piece of paper then held it out to the two 
federal agents. "There’s my number." With no further adieu, Richie 
turned and left.

"Back to the problem at hand," Scully murmured, then tucked the paper 
into a folder and faced MacLeod. "Duncan, can you tell us if you’ve 
ever seen this man?" Scully flipped a picture of the corpse onto the 
desk, Duncan picked up the picture, giving it only a cursory glance 
before answering.

"I’ve already gone over this with the police. Have you had a chance to 
talk with them?" Dana was getting ready to kill Mulder, for dumping her 
into this mess, and at herself, for not having read the file before the 
interview. She could have spent more time on it in the car or 
something. Trying not to let her irritation show she looked over the 
papers on her lap and tried to think of another question.

This pretty much set the tone for the rest of the interview. Scully 
asked a question, Duncan avoided the answer without seeming too evasive 
and Mulder was quiet. Half an hour later, Scully was even more confused 
then when she started this interview. There was absolutely no reason 
for the two of them to be talking to this man. If he was the killer, a 
simple interview wasn’t going to get it out of him. Scully was starting 
to think Mulder was using this case as an excuse to get out of 
Washington. 

Mulder just sat beside her; the only question he’d asked was to find 
out how long MacLeod had lived in Seattle. Wrapping up her questions, 
there was what sounded like a faint snort from beside her. Turning her 
attention to her partner, she saw his eyes betray a humor that he’d 
managed to wipe from his face.

"Do you know where we might be able to find Ms. Nygma?" That brought 
the total count of questions from Mulder to two.

"Pardon me?" Duncan looked a little lost for a second before it sunk 
in. "Oh, you mean Jane. She came in here a few times a week to work out 
and to strengthen her knee. Other than that I don’t really have much 
contact with her. Now if there isn’t anything else, I have a 
electrician to find. He was supposed to be here first thing this 
morning. If you’ll excuse me." Getting up, he escorted the two agents 
to the front door, locking it behind them.

"What was that all about?" Scully was ready to throttle someone.

Mulder looked over at her and she looked a little annoyed. "Did you 
look at Jane’s full name?"

"Jane Elizabeth Nygma. It’s weird but then, so is Fox William Mulder."

"Jane E. Nygma? I wouldn’t want to speculate at this too early in an 
investigation, but I would guess it’s an alias. On another front, 
MacLeod was supposed to be in front of the large glass windows during 
the incident, but there was no evidence of an injury on him today. No 
even any scratches on his arms."

"It’s possible he wasn’t hurt," she countered.

"The police report states that MacLeod and the woman, Jane, were 
sparing together when the window exploded," Mulder shook his head. "And 
according to one of the detectives, they both had some minor 
lacerations." 

Scully gave in that point without a fight. There was sure to be an 
explanation, but that didn’t mean she had to argue it out that moment. 
"How about we find a hotel instead of letting me flounder around this 
case without a clue of what’s going on." 

Mulder looked over at his partner, finally taking in her shadowed eyes 
and tired expression. He instantly felt contrite; ever since her 
illness and subsequent remission, she had been back to her usual self. 
But every once in a while he saw signs that her health, though 
improving, was not as great as she’d like people to believe.

"Mulder, I’m fine. I just want to go over the files before I make a 
complete ass of myself again." She knew what was going through his mind 
and while she was touched, he was being over protective. Again.

"Scully, are you psychic?" Mulder unlocked the car door, opening it for 
her. He was so old fashioned in some ways, but he never treated her as 
anything but competent. Everything he did was out of courtesy not 
condescension.

"No, I’ve just been around you long enough to know what you’re 
thinking." Stepping in the car, she reached over and unlocked the door 
for him. "Did you get a reservation?" Please, no more places with rates 
by the hour.

"Not yet, I thought I’d let you choose this time." He got in the car 
and started it up.

"I’m sure there’s a Quality Inn or something around here." Yes! Dana 
sent up a quick prayer of thanks, as she considered the luxury of 
working air conditioning and a clean bathroom. It was odd that Mulder 
didn’t have them booked one already, but she wasn’t going to argue.

Driving off, they never noticed the figure hiding in the shadows.

***

Stepping into Joe’s, I went up to the bar and asked Russ where Joe had 
disappeared to. Being told he was at the Dojo surprised me, but I 
didn’t think anything of it. Waving Jarod over to a table, I ordered 
the two of us some fries and a couple of burgers then got us something 
to drink. Taking them over to the table, I sat down.

Not saying anything, I waited for Jarod to break the silence. On the 
walk over, we hadn’t said much, except for him asking me why I choose 
the name Jane. I told him about the first night at Joe’s but other than 
that, I didn’t say much. Now silence weighed over the table like a 
heavy blanket, almost smothering. Once out in the light of day I had 
tensed up, wondering why I had allowed Jarod into my confidence. 

"What’s your first memory?" His voice broke through my reverie, 
dispelling the heavy quiet.

"Waking up outside, after the explosion." My voice was flat and rather 
lifeless, "And I wasn’t scared. The sun was blinding and my head hurt, 
but I wasn’t scared."

"My first memory is of a bare room, and of being watched. I was very 
lonely." We both stared off into space for a few moments digesting the 
revelation of the other, the same way a person stares at an accident. 
Picking up my ginger ale, I looked at the lines of loss and pain that 
had turned Jarod’s face hard.

"I like mine better." I said.

"I do too." 

I tried to keep a straight face, but I wasn’t very successful. My 
efforts were rewarded with a rich chuckle as the lines on Jarod’s face 
smoothed and he looked me in the eyes. Taking a sip of his Coke, the 
mood at the table lightened and the music started to flow over us, 
working its familiar magic on me. 

"Do you have any memories of before, anything at all, even a glimpse or 
a word?" It seemed to be a moment for personal questions and Jarod had 
taken the lead again, leaving me to answer.

"You know, when I first woke up I had these glimpses. I can’t really 
remember them fully, but they are the only things I remember from 
before. I don’t want to forget them." Pausing as the waitress, Nadine, 
brought over the burgers and fries, I picked up a chip and ate it 
before I continued, felling the need to talk about it.

"The first is of a face. I can’t really see it. The shadows are too 
dark and the light too bright. The light plays across it, flickering or 
something. The next is a word; softly whispered out, so soft I can’t 
hear it. I don’t know if I’m saying it, or someone else, or if it’s 
just in my head. The last is just light. Bright, white, blinding light. 
It’s cold and harsh, but I don’t fear it." I swirled the ice in my 
drink around, seeing the mysteries of the world unfold in the play of 
reflected light. "What about you? Any weird mysterious memories?"

"My first memory is the one I told you of, from when I was five. Before 
that, it’s just blank. Nothing." Jarod gingerly picked up the burger 
and took a bite, ketchup dribbling down his hand. 

"You know, this is a depressing conversation." I ate another fry, 
dragging it through the gravy before popping it into my mouth. 

"It is, isn’t it." He looked up at me and we both grinned at each 
other. There was a bit of a pause before I replied while I took a bite 
of my burger.

"So what do you do for fun? Can’t be all work and no play." I watched, 
rather amused, as he wiped away the ketchup off his hands, only to have 
a new dribble form as he picked his burger up again.

"Have you ever been on a roller-coaster?" The corners of his mouth 
tugged up as he suggested this, daring me to say yes.

"Don’t think so. No."

"Good. Neither have I." The hint of a smile grew until his whole face 
was transformed. It took us a total of ten minutes to finish the 
burgers and then we were out in the sun, heading to the amusement park.

***

Stepping into the pristine room Dana Scully dumped her suitcase on the 
bed, which was soon joined by a full travel bag. Quickly, she began the 
ritual of unzipping the bags and disgorging their contents, happy that 
this time she wouldn’t have to worry about any bugs. 

Hanging up a few blouses and some dress pants, she kicked her shoes 
across the room then sat on the bed, massaging her feet. Through the 
wall she could here Mulder going through a similar ritual next door and 
comfort washed over her by the familiar routine. They didn’t have 
adjoining rooms this time, so they listened to each other through the 
walls. 

She slipped out of the skirt she was sweating in and pulled out a pair 
of lighter pants, keeping her blouse the same. Then, she pulled the 
file from the police station out and threw it on the bed before digging 
in the honor bar. Pulling out one of the cans of pop, she opened it up 
and lay down on the bed with the folder open in front of her, letting 
herself get lost in the details of this case. 

They were holding the body for her so that she could go over it 
herself. No family has come to claim it and all they had was a sketchy 
background. Name: Alan Marcus, age: 38, height, eye color, etc., were 
all taken off of his driver’s license. He’d been living in Toronto for 
the last five years with his wife, recently deceased. A week ago, he 
left for Seattle. Before Toronto though, the name drew a blank, so the 
guy was living under an alias. There have been a number of those 
lately. 

Reaching behind her she snagged the witnesses’ reports and looked over 
their statements. They should go over Jane’s testimony with her. Aside 
from her obvious alias, the fact that Duncan MacLeod had been 
implicated in a number of similar murders, warranted thoroughly 
checking his alibi. 

She dug through the pile of papers and finally pulled out Mulder’s 
collection. As she started reading through the information, she knew 
her eyebrows where crawling up her face. The shear numbers involved 
with this case made her wonder why one of the more outrageous tabloids 
hadn’t picked up on this. 

Doing some quick math with the dates and places involved, her mind 
started to spin over the impossibility of one person committing these 
murders. Not even Eugene Tooms could be in two places at the same time. 
Some of these recent murders had take place minutes apart on opposite 
ends of the country. Also included was a report from Interpol with more 
beheadings throughout Europe, though they seemed to be tapering off 
there and increasing here in North America.

Scully’s train of thought was derailed as she heard a loud voice come 
through the walls of the hotel. She couldn’t make out what the person 
was saying but the voice was pained and angry. It took a moment to sink 
in that the noise was coming from Mulder’s room. Leaving the file on 
the bed she got up, pulling her jacket on to hide her holster and 
headed to Mulder’s door. She barely had time to raise her hand to knock 
before the door opened of its own accord and Mulder barreled into her.

She sat, stunned, in the middle of the hall for a moment. Then she 
reached up with a hand to the figure still standing in his doorway. 
"Want to give me a hand up and then tell me who was on the phone?" 
Mulder pulled her up with one hand then walked around her and down the 
hall without a word. Letting out an unladylike curse she dashed into 
her room to grab her card key and her shoes, then dashed after him.

Finally catching up, she grabbed his arm and managed to pull him around 
to face her.

"Mulder, what the hell is going on?" She looked at him, catching the 
look of a caged animal before he turned from her again but this time he 
didn’t stalk off. "Mulder, talk to me. Don’t shut me out."

"Do you want to talk to Jane today or wait until tomorrow? We should be 
able to catch her at her work address. I don’t know if she’ll be there, 
but it’s worth a shot. The home address is bogus. It’s in the 
industrial zone, some empty office setup." Turning around to face her, 
Mulder was back to his usual self, the incident pushed from his mind as 
he turned to the case at hand. 

"Give me another hour. I’m almost done reading the files." Dana looked 
up at her partner, worried more now, than she was earlier. "If you want 
to talk about it, I’ll be in my room." Turning around she went back to 
her room and back to the files. After twenty minutes of staring at the 
same page without reading anything on it, she got up, put the papers 
together in her bag and was back outside Mulder’s door. 

***

By the time we’d gotten back to Joe’s it was past the just off work 
crowd and was starting on the music crowd. Joe had a young band from 
out of town playing later that evening, but till they got set up, there 
was the ever-present background music piped in. It was a Friday night 
and the band had been advertising this gig for the past two weeks. 
Jarod and I burst through the door, still laughing over his attempt at 
parallel parking and full of the good humor from the park. 

We had spent most of the day going on the rides. The Rollercoaster 
lured us back again and again and the Merry Go Round seemed to have a 
special fascination for me. The Zipper almost made me puke and the boat 
ride that went all the way upside down, turned Jarod a peculiar shade. 
Once we’d both managed to settle our stomachs Jarod discover Cotton 
Candy. 

I have no other way to describe it. We walked past a stall set up 
spinning the sugar. First he just looked at the set up, then went and 
talked to the owner and a few minutes later came back with two huge 
clouds on their paper sticks. Passing the pink one to me, he put a 
handful of blue in his mouth. Neglecting to mention the potential for 
political incorrectness in this division, I watched as he closed his 
eyes, enjoying the sensation of the spun sugar melting on his tongue. 
If he was a cat, he’d purr. 

After the cotton candy, there were mini donuts, French-fries, salt 
water taffy, corn dogs, hot dogs, Belgian Waffles, jumbo lollipops, 
candy apples and the mandatory ice cream cones. If I’d ever had that 
much junk food in my life before, I’m sure I would have died from the 
sugar shock. I was giggly and felt like the world had been lifted from 
my shoulders. Trying our hands at the games, we both were more than 
successful; I won a giant teddy bear and Jarod opted to get three red 
bulldogs instead of trading in for a larger prize. 

Walking on our way to the car we passed one of those antique photo 
shops, where they do pictures of people garbed up like the Wild West or 
something. I got a rather silly idea in my head and dragged Jarod in. 
Half an hour later the photo was done, Jarod in a somber suit and 
string tie, face straight, and me in a modest period dress with a high 
collar and long sleeves, sitting down, parasol in hand, with Jarod 
standing behind me. It was pretty good and I planned to give a copy of 
it to Duncan as a joke.

Stashing the animals in the back of Jarod’s car, we headed back, trying 
to sing along with the songs on the radio, but both of us failing 
miserably as we failed to catch the words and started to make up our 
own. Finally turning the music off, Jarod found a spot to park that 
might have been a little too small, but I wasn’t going to say anything 
about it. Finally getting the car in, after a long series of backing up 
and moving forward, we made our way into the bar, the good mood 
lingering as we found a table near the back. It was close enough to 
hear, but far enough to talk. Too bad the good mood didn’t linger 
longer.

The band had finally started playing and the floor was filling up. Joe 
came up and after a few moments of explanation to him, we got on the 
topic of music and I stood in awe as Jarod and Joe got into an animated 
discussion on the origins of the Blues movement. After a few minutes of 
that I knew more about Jazz, Blues and R&B then I ever wanted to know. 

Heading over to the bar through the crowd, I noticed a couple that 
really didn’t fit in. Getting the drinks we’d ordered as we came in I 
headed back to the table, watching out of the corner of my eye the 
tall, gawky man in a trench coat and the short, red-head beside him, 
similarly dressed. They were scanning the crowd, looking for someone or 
something. Making it back to the table, I sat down and pointed them out 
to Joe.

"Oh damn, they’re back." He wasn’t too impressed when he saw who I was 
pointing to.

"Whose back?" Jarod turned his attention back to the table after 
letting it wander over the crowd. 

"FBI agents. They’re probably here about the beheading." Joe leaned 
back in his chair and rubbed a hand over his eyes. I could fully 
understand his anxiety; I was already half out of my seat. I seem to 
have a panic reaction to civil authority figures, but Jarod put a hand 
on my arm and I sat back down. I tensed up again, as they walked over 
to our table.

"Jane Nygma, I’m Agent Scully, this is Agent Mulder." The short chick 
started the ball rolling as they flashed and then hid their ID, giving 
a nod of recognition at Joe.

"Pleased I’m sure." I loved the way I slurred contempt into that.

"And you are…" The tall guy, who looked like he got up on the wrong 
side of his rock, looked pointedly over at Jarod.

"Jarod Logan." Jarod didn’t say anything else, and Joe looked like he 
expected him to say more.

"If you’ll excuse us, We’d like to talk with Jane for a moment, in 
private." Ahhh, they were being so polite. I wasn’t in the mood for 
polite. Time to mess with things.

"Buzz off." I said. Short, sweet and to the point.

"Excuse me?" What a reaction out of Scully. It’s a wonder she ever made 
it in the Old Boys Club.

"Listen, I’m here for the music. Want to talk to me, do it here, do it 
now and put up with my friends." I picked up my drink and took a large 
gulp. I’d been sipping the Long Island ice tea up until then.

"Fine. First off, I’d like your real name and your real address. 
Second, I’d like to know why you’re covering for a murderer and third, 
I’d like to know why you think you can screw with the authorities." 
Brilliant questions coming from Special Agent Mulder. Maybe that was 
more a statement of intent.

"First, Jane is my name, ask any one here and that is my address. 
Second I’m not covering up a murder and third, I don’t like you." 
Flashing a sarcastic grin at them, I turned my attention back to the 
music, trying to calm my attitude down. I wasn’t really mad, but I was 
getting there quickly.

"Jane E. Nygma? I’m sure it was funny at the time." The dumb male was 
still trying to assert his authority.

"What can I say, my parents had a queer sense of humor." I probably 
should have been more careful, but the guy at the station taking the 
statements was such a dweeb.

"Your address says you live in the middle of an industrial zone." So 
the guy wasn’t as dumb as he looked.

"It’s a mailing address. I’m not gonna give out my home address to 
every jerk I meet. I don’t kiss till the second date either. Leads to 
misunderstandings." I looked up at Mr. FBI agent and winked at him. He 
took a deep breath and suddenly switched gears, going for a less 
antagonistic approach. Guess I was getting under his skin.

"How long have you known Duncan MacLeod?" His voice was calm, but his 
eyes were still sparking away.

"Just about as long as I can remember." He didn’t like that. "We go 
waaayyy back." About a month, which for me, was waaayyy back.

"What about his assistant, Richie Ryan?" He ignored the pleading looks 
given him by his partner. I was ignoring the pleading looks given me by 
Joe. I was really starting to feel antagonistic; the panic of early had 
completely vanished leaving me in the mood for a fight. 

"Who?" You know, I always thought it was rude of people to roll their 
eyes back. 

"Richie Ryan, red head with attitude," he snapped. I just caught the 
glimpse of a delicate foot slamming on Mulder’s toe. I’m starting to 
like the woman. Not much but starting to. 

"Oh Richie, yah, nice kid." I gave a nice easy answer, just to mess 
with his mind.

"How old are you Jane?" he asked. I’m surprised the guy was still alive 
throwing out questions like that.

"Twenty-five." Another good safe answer, which of course he didn’t 
believe.

"Really?" Told you he wouldn’t believe me.

"No, but then you shouldn’t ask a women her age, it’s annoying." I just 
grinned. This was getting fun. 

"Are you new in town?" He was now asking nice, safe questions. This was 
definitely going to be fun.

"You could say that I’m new here. I can’t really remember the last time 
I was in Seattle." I said, with perfect honesty. He just smiled at my 
answer. That was annoying, that meant I was giving him what he wanted. 
Then again, what he thought was the truth was probably so far off, I 
could let him keep thinking it.

"Where did you live before you came to here?" He dug a little deeper. 

"Oh here and there. I like to travel." I like being evasive, it lets 
people pick their own answer out of what you said.

"You said you were sparing with MacLeod at the time of the murder?" His 
partner was getting into the scene now. Oooh, tag team interrogation. 
Now all they needed was a cheap lamp to shine in my face.

"Yup." My smug grin didn’t phase her in the least. She’d be much harder 
to annoy.

"Did you have any injuries, from the flying glass?" Scully was looking 
me over, trying to see any scraps, but the long sleeve shirt I had on 
had hidden them. Where on earth was this heading?

"Yah, a few, minor cuts, nothing much." I let my confusion over her 
question filter into my voice. She opened her mouth to ask another 
question but her partner cut her off.

"What about MacLeod, was he hurt?" Mr. Mulder threw in his two bits.

"Don’t ask me, I was quivering in a corner." Well, not really but they 
didn’t have to know that.

"I think you know a lot more than you’re telling, Jane." He wasn’t too 
bad at drawling out a sarcastic tone himself.

"What can I say, I like my secrets." I opened my eyes wide, baiting 
him, wondering just how far I could push him.

"I want you to tell me the damn truth of what happened." His face was 
starting to get a little red, as I really started to annoy him.

"You really think you want the truth." I leaned forward, a sneer on my 
face.

"Yes, I want the truth!" He leaned forward until we were almost 
touching noses.

"YOU CAN’T HANDLE THE TRUTH!!!" I think it was from a movie, but I have 
to say it fit nicely. It got to him, his face turned an interesting 
shade of bright red, but I think he got the idea to back off. Or maybe 
his ears were just ringing.

"Nice Jack Nickelson impression." Maybe this guy wasn’t such an anal 
retentive bastard after all. But I still didn’t like him. Much.

"What can I say, I should be on stage." I leaned back in my chair and 
picked up my drink, swirling it around. I was still uncomfortable, but 
I could handle those two. Scully took over the interrogation again at 
this point. I couldn’t blame her; her partner wasn’t getting very far.

"Did you see any suspicious people around in the morning when you came 
in?" She leaned back in her own chair and glared at Mulder as he opened 
his mouth to say something.

"No, it was pretty empty when I stepped in." This wasn’t so bad; nice 
easy questions, nothing too strenuous.

"Did you know the deceased?" she asked.

"Nope" I wished it lasted longer, but Mulder stuck his nose back in.

"Why do you think someone would go and cut off the head of someone 
else?" His look was just daring me to say something cocky.

"I don’t know!" What type of half-brained question was that? "Maybe his 
father hit him." He was really getting on my nerves, so obliged him. 
"Did your father ever hit you?" 

I found out exactly how far I could push Agent Mulder as I was picked 
up by the throat and hauled up out of the chair. This guy had big 
hands. Jarod was up an instant later and Mulder’s partner was trying to 
reason with him. Might have worked given a chance but I jammed a 
knuckle into his shoulder hitting a nerve center. He crumpled to the 
floor while I managed to stay on my feet. 

"Listen, I answered all the questions the cops asked and while I may 
not be too happy about yours, I answered them. As for my life, don’t go 
digging. I like my secrets the way that they are." Leaving him on the 
floor, I walked over to the bar, blood still moving too fast for me to 
sit down. Jarod came up behind me, asking me if I was okay.

"Sure, I just crumpled a federal agent, pretty much challenged him to 
find out everything and anything about who I am and I don’t know what 
on earth is going on around me. Yup, I’m just FINE." I turned around to 
face him, finally calming down to a less antagonistic level. "Is he 
okay?"

"Yes, wounded pride, mostly. I think he has some unresolved issues 
about his father." Jarod sat on a stool beside me.

"Some? With a reaction like that, he’d have been knocked around a fair 
bit and was probably blamed whenever anything went wrong." Jarod looked 
over at me, a funny look on his face. "What did I say? You’re looking 
at me like I just sprouted a second nose or something."

"Why do you assume abuse as opposed to his being angry at an insult 
about his father?" There was a bit of an odd note in Jarod’s voice, 
although the curiosity almost drowned it out.

"The look in his eyes. He wasn’t angry, he was hurt. An old hurt." I 
explained, picking up a pretzel and fiddling with it as opposed to 
actually eating it. 

"What do you think he’s feeling now?" His question was quiet as though 
he didn’t want me to blow up at him. Can’t say I blamed him the way I 
went after the Fed over there.

Before I answered, I looked over at Agent Mulder. He was sitting at the 
table now, waving his partner away and ignoring the curious glances 
thrown his way by the people who heard the commotion over the base of 
the band. His every move was slow and heavy, like it was weighted down. 
He wiped a hand across his face then took a swallow of my drink.

"He’s worried about something, something that’s been bothering him a 
long time. And it’s all been brought back to him, all the guilt and 
anguish. He blames himself for it. He’s…" Shaking my head I cleared 
Mulder’s thoughts out of my mind and watched as he started towards me. 
I shouldn’t have been so hard on him, but something about him rubbed me 
the wrong way. Kinda like he wasn’t who I thought he should be. That’s 
a weird thought.

Getting up from my stool I headed over and met him part way.

"Listen, I’m sorry. I don’t like people who nose into my business but I 
shouldn’t have reacted the way the I did. I apologize." I looked down 
at me feet and tried to sink into the floor. 

"Who are you?" His voice was harsh and the accusing tone hadn’t left. 
Looking up, I saw dark brown eyes, looking into mine, and they were 
very hard.

"I don’t want to know." The stark honesty of my reply echoed in my 
voice.


Chapter 5

Leaving Mulder standing in the middle of the room, I headed over to the 
girls washroom and stood looking in the mirror. Like I had over three 
months ago, I looked at the person I was; she seemed familiar and yet, 
I didn’t know who she was. So many things were coming at me and were 
almost haunting me. This life wasn’t letting me start with a clean 
slate. It seemed to be becoming dangerous not to know who I was. 

Breaking my gaze away from the mirror, I started running water in the 
sink and splashed some on my face. The shock of the cold helped me calm 
down more but my mind was still throwing things at me and my emotions 
were boiling just under the surface. I was going through the entire 
spectrum, all mixed up together, making it impossible to isolate one 
feeling and identify it, naming its cause. 

I looked up as the door opened and the woman, Scully, came in. She 
looked mad. I guess it’s not every day someone takes down her partner. 
She came up to me and gave me the once over. It was an interesting 
feeling because she was a good head shorter than I was. 

"Who the hell do you think you are? I could have you arrested right now 
for assault and for interfering with a federal investigation." She 
wasn’t quite yelling but she was pretty close. 

"I’m not interfering, I’ve been cooperating! I’ve told you all I can, 
but if someone starts yelling in my face and grabbing me by the neck, I 
defend myself."

"If that’s cooperating, I’d hate to see you being difficult." Her tone 
was lighter but there was still a hard glint in her eyes. "Perhaps it 
would be easier if you started at the beginning and explained 
everything, we have your statement, but you were ‘cooperating’ with the 
detective at the station."

"What the hey, everyone else knows, why not the rest of the world." I 
turned to look at the face in the mirror then let my reflection look at 
the agent. "I can’t remember anything past a few months ago."

She searched my face, looking for signs of deception, staring into my 
eyes before her face softened a degree and she leaned against the 
counter.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Again she looked me over, but this time 
less critical, more questioning. I don’t think she missed anything 
about me from the hastily brushed hair swinging down my back in a braid 
to the red rimmed eyes to the hiking boots that I hadn’t gotten around 
to replacing with something a little lighter.

"Not much to say. I woke up outside a building three months ago. Didn’t 
know who I was."

"Why didn’t you go to a doctor, or the police?" Her tone was curious, 
but also cautious.

"I didn’t want to know who I was. I was running from something and I 
don’t know what." I moved over to the counter and pulled myself up onto 
it. Leaning my head back against the glass, I fiddled with the laces of 
the boot I’d pulled up beside me. "Things keep happening and I don’t 
understand them. Everything seems to be somehow connected with who I 
was." I let my foot drop down to swing around with the other. "I seem 
to be explaining this a lot lately. This is the third time in the past 
two days."

"Why didn’t you tell anyone till now, why are you afraid of your 
past?" She jumped up to the counter beside me, her legs swinging over 
the edges and we unconsciously fell into a rhythm together.

"I wanted a clean break. I wanted to start out new. I knew I was 
running from something and it scared me. When I woke up, the first 
thing I did was run. Then I hid out for a while. I was still edgy, but 
I thought I was safe. I met Joe and he helped me out. Gave me a bit of 
a job and let me stay here at night instead of heading back to where I 
was crashing. Now, things are starting to come back and when they do, 
things get more confusing then when I first woke up." Scully seemed 
easier to talk to than her partner. For me at least.

"What about Duncan MacLeod?" she prompted.

"He’s a friend of Joe’s who’s helping me with my knee injury. I go to 
the Dojo to do a few exercises; stretch it out, build up some strength, 
that sort of thing. We spar a bit too. I wasn’t lying early. Duncan’s 
not a murderer. We were sparing when the lights exploded and the window 
shattered." My foot was back on the counter and I was twisting the 
laces together. "I got annoyed at your partner’s attitude when he came 
in. So I let my tongue get away from me. I've had problems with that 
before. Just ask Joe about it."

"Well, I’ve had to deal with that before. I’m just used to hearing it 
from Mulder." She slid down, her high heals clicking against the hard 
tile. "Do you think they’ve got him calmed down now?"

"Probably. They’re much less offensive than I am." Getting down I 
rejoined the party and hoped I wasn’t doing the wrong thing by letting 
those two know about me. 

After stepping out of the bathrooms, Scully went to go find her partner 
and I went back to the now empty table. Jarod was nowhere to be found, 
the two agents left without further adieu and Joe was talking on the 
phone at the bar. Picking up my half-finished drink, I remember Mulder 
taking a swig of it and put it back down untouched. 

I was tired. Every part of me felt drained and I didn’t want to move. 
The music from the band that I had thoroughly enjoyed earlier, now 
grated against my nerves. I could feel the notes pound against me like 
a downpour against a rock, stinging and ever so slowly wearing me down. 
Joe finally finished on the phone and came on over. He took one look at 
me and sat down, leaning over to talk.

"You should go to bed. There’s not all that much to do tonight and you 
look like hell."

"You look great too, Joe." I was really starting to rub off on him. Or 
him on me. Or something like that. My brain was starting to fog up.

"Well, you’re the one who always speaks her mind. Now go get some 
sleep." Getting up, I headed for the front door only to be called back 
and shown to the room in the back that Joe sometimes let me sleep in.

"This is your room now. So use it." He left no room for argument and 
turned back to the bar leaving me in the doorway by myself. Closing the 
door, I sat on the edge of the bed. 

I’d been sleeping here on and off for over a month and it looked pretty 
much the same as when Joe first showed it to me. I had some clutter on 
the table and my bag was sitting in the corner, forgotten since 
yesterday’s flight from Jarod, but that was it. Making a decision I got 
up and opened the door, hoping that Jarod hadn’t already left and that 
I just hadn’t seen him. Wandering back into the bar, I went up to Russ 
and asked if anyone had seen Jarod. 

"Yah, he left just after you disappeared." He finished the drink he was 
pouring and placed it on the bar. I could feel my face fall in 
disappointment. "He left something for you though."

"What?" I had an idea, but I wasn’t sure. Russ wiped his hands off and 
went around the corner, pulling my giant bear out of the storage room.

"He said to apologize for leaving without saying anything, but he had 
to check some things out. I think that’s what he said, at least." 
Taking the bear, I simply thanked him and carried it into my room. Once 
there, I set him on the head end of my bed, tucked in as much as was 
possible into the corner. He wasn’t all that tucked though. 

Slipping back out to the bathroom, I got ready for bed and when I got 
back, I slipped under the covers, my head cranked at a bit of an angle, 
but I didn’t care. Burying my face in the soft fur, I fell asleep, 
lulled b