Richie Ryan looked into his bedroom mirror and made the final adjustments to his tie. "I'm fine, Mac. Be right there." This evening had been planned for weeks now, and he wanted it to be perfect. He slipped into his navy blue jacket and gave himself one last inspection. Charcoal slacks, light blue pinstriped shirt, blue and silver striped tie. Not bad. Now if he could just stay awake through the symphony part of the evening, everything would be just fine. He straightened his shoulders and headed for the living room.

"Wow, Tess. You look fantastic." She wore a form fitting black dress. Its turtle-neckline hid her scars, but the slit up the side revealed her shapely legs. A silver clasp secured her upswept blonde hair; matching earrings dangled from her ears. A sense of contentment washed over him as he caught the scent of her perfume. He kissed her cheek. "Happy Anniversary."

"Same to you, Richie. And you're quite the charmer yourself."

"He does clean up nice, doesn't he?" said Duncan. "Now if this mutual admiration party is over, we need to get going or we'll miss the start of the symphony."

Duncan picked up the keys. Richie looked at the two lovers as they led the way to the car. One year ago, Tessa had been shot and had nearly died. Richie had been fatally wounded as well, but had joined the world of Immortals. Since that night, the three of them had bonded even closer as a family, and tonight they were going out to celebrate. Not only that, but Duncan and Tessa had decided that Richie could be left in charge of the antique shop while the two of them had their own private celebration in New Mexico. He was determined to show them he was worthy of their trust.

Tessa had picked the symphony, but had turned over the choice of restaurant to Richie. Remembering the apprehension on Duncan's face when she had announced that decision brought an involuntary grin to his lips. He'd toyed with the idea of choosing some diner or even a fast food place, but he really wanted tonight to be special for the three of them. He had made reservations at an exclusive French restaurant, and then waited until this morning to reveal his selection to Duncan. Sometimes you just had to seize the moment, and his moments in power were few and far between.

The three of them sipped champagne in the concert hall lobby before the start of the symphony. Duncan had his arm around Tessa's waist. The Scot kept glancing Richie's way, but never made eye contact. Richie checked his tie. It felt straight. Since they had entered their Immortal teacher-student relationship, sometimes Richie felt like he was back in third grade, being called upon to solve a math problem at the chalkboard. He hadn't liked it then, and he wasn't totally comfortable with it now, although he knew Duncan had his best interest in mind.

He tried to come up with an appropriate toast when the lights flickered. Tessa smiled at Richie. "It's time. We should find our seats."

"Right," said Richie. "Time to go in."

Richie discovered to his surprise that he enjoyed Mozart. With Tessa sitting between them, Richie didn't have to deal with any lessons from Duncan, which he knew would have been inevitable had it been just the two men at the concert. Duncan had taken Richie to an opera once. Richie hoped he'd never have to endure that again.

At the restaurant, Richie again felt Duncan watching him as they approached the counter. "Reservations for three. The name is Ryan."

The maitre' d led them to a table in the back. "I hope this will be all right, Monsieur Ryan?"

"Actually, Pierre, I believe I specified a table by the window." Richie pointed to a table with a view of the waterfront. "I think that one will be suitable."

"Oui, Monsieur. Of course."

Snooty French waiters. Not tonight. He'd learned to deal with them in Paris, and this "Pierre" was probably "Pete" from Brooklyn anyway. Richie sneaked a glance at Duncan. Richie couldn't be sure, but he thought he noted a hint of approval in his eyes.

"So, Richie. How did you like the concert?" asked Duncan after they were seated.

"It was pretty cool. I didn't know Mozart wrote Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. Or songs for Looney Toons either."

"See, Richie; classical music doesn't have to be boring," said Tessa.

"I sure liked it better than opera." Richie saw Duncan's mouth open. A brief expression of pain crossed his face before he closed it again. From the look on Tessa's face, someone had just received a swift kick to the shins under the table.

Duncan had ordered escargot for everyone. The waiter set the plates and the appropriate utensils on the table. Richie glanced at Tessa who gave him a reassuring smile. She'd warned him that Duncan loved them, briefed Richie on the techniques of eating them. Richie was going to prove he could fit in no matter how exotic the cuisine. She'd also explained that the waiter would place his napkin in his lap which had saved him from a rather embarrassing moment. Richie clasped a shell in the tongs and manipulated the morsel of meat out.

"Mmmm. Rubber bands cooked with garlic and butter. Not bad, but they could have left the rubber bands out," Richie said. He continued eating and finished his portion without looking up at Duncan.

At the end of the meal, their waiter appeared with a chocolate soufflé and set it on the table with a flourish. Tessa's eyes lit up with surprised delight. "I hope you don't mind that I ordered it," said Richie. "I've already paid for it," he added. "I wanted tonight to be extra special. You both have made such a difference in my life - not that becoming immortal didn't make a big difference, but-"

"Richie, that is so sweet of you," Tessa said. "Now stop talking so we can eat this before it falls."

As they savored the hot, creamy chocolate confection, Richie once again felt Duncan's eyes on him. He finally gathered the courage to return the stare with a questioning look of his own. "What, Mac?" You've been watching me all night. Did I use the wrong fork for the salad, or stir my coffee with my dessert spoon or something?"

Duncan's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Of course not. You did fine."

"Did fine? Like this was a test? Can we take the boy out in public?"

"Richie, stop," said Tessa. "I think what Mac's trying to say is that we're both very proud of you, not for your table manners or being able to eat a snail, but because we love you and we're glad you're part of the family. In fact, you've made us a family."

"Tessa's right," said Duncan. His voice was gentle. "You're more than my student. You should know that. If I've stared, it's because I'm proud of you, too. I've been remembering what you were like when we met, and how much you've grown. And that I've probably never thanked your properly for all you did for us after Tessa's accident. I couldn't have managed without you."

Richie felt his face grow hot. He hated the way his pale complexion announced his embarrassment to the world. "I'm sorry. I guess I was really nervous about tonight. Between what the night means, and the fancy surroundings, I didn't want to do anything you'd be ashamed of. I guess I overreacted."

"Not to mention overindulged." said Tessa. "I think we can chalk a little of this up to champagne, wine and brandy." She raised her snifter. "To our anniversary."

The two men raised their glasses in salute. "Happy Anniversary."

Richie set his brandy down. "Mac, Tess ... I've had a great night. It's been perfect, really. I kind of have one more thing I'd like to do for you two, if you think it would be all right."

"What, Richie?" asked Tessa. "You don't need to do anything else."

"Well, it's not that late, and I thought I'd go to Joe's and relax for a couple of hours-not that Mozart wasn't just fine and all that. But you two can go home alone. You know, kind of some privacy for a while. I'll get a cab."

"We get the picture, Richie," said Duncan. The look he gave Tessa spoke volumes. She blushed, but nodded her assent. "Go. Have fun, but don't do anything foolish. The shop opens at ten tomorrow, remember," he added.

"Moi? Foolish? Never." Richie grinned and got up from the table. "Thanks again for a great night. And you have one, too. I'll be at work on time. Promise." He had Pierre call him a cab and headed to Joe Dawson's bar.

Richie opened the door to Joe's and let his eyes become accustomed to the dim lighting. He was surprised to see the room almost full this late on a Sunday night. He stepped up to the bar.

Joe looked up from the counter he'd been wiping. "Hello, Richie. You're all spiffed up. Special occasion?"

"Like you don't know?" Richie had accepted the fact that there were Watchers keeping tabs on Immortals. Joe was a good man, and a great blues musician; Richie preferred to ignore the fact that he probably knew more about Duncan MacLeod than Mac knew about himself. He'd never asked Joe if anyone was watching him. Some things were best left in the shadows. "Mac, Tessa and I went to the symphony and to dinner. It's been a year since ... you know."

"Already? Time does fly now, doesn't it? Can I get you something?"

"Just coffee." Richie took his cup and found a seat at a table near the band. He pulled off his tie and put it in the pocket of his jacket.

Joe came to the stage and sat in on the next set. They began with a soulful rendition of When a Man Loves A Woman. Richie was engrossed in the music, another new form he had come to appreciate since meeting Duncan and Tessa when he felt someone taking the seat next to him.

"Hope you don't mind me joining you?"

Richie looked up at the speaker. A woman, probably in her early thirties, with a luxurious mane of auburn hair hanging halfway down her back leaned across the small table. She wore a black leather jacket over a royal blue turtleneck. He couldn't make out the color of her eyes in the dim light, but they echoed the smile on her lips. "Not at all. My name's Richie. Richie Ryan." He gave her what he hoped was a mature smile and offered his hand. "I don't think I've seen you in here before."

"I'm Kathleen." She tossed her hair back with a flick of her head and sat down. "A friend told me about this place. Said I'd enjoy it. I think she was right."

"Joe's good, isn't he?"

"Joe?" She glanced at the stage. "Oh, you mean the music. I was thinking about the clientele." She gave Richie a provocative smile. A waitress came by and Kathleen ordered an Armagnac. "Can I get you one? I hate to drink alone."

Richie forgot about how much he'd already had to drink. "Sure, but my treat. I insist."

As the set ended, Kathleen excused herself and headed for the ladies room. Richie took in her long legs and short leather skirt. Very short skirt. Could this night get any better? She was gorgeous and she was sitting with him. A little older than his usual dates, a little heavy on the perfume, but what the heck?

When Kathleen returned to the table, she leaned over Richie, her hair brushing against his face. "You want to come back to my place?" she whispered.

"Oh, yeah."

When Richie came out to the kitchen for breakfast the next morning, he saw Duncan and Tessa exuding the afterglow of a night well spent. He wondered if he looked the same. Maybe it was all the alcohol with dinner, or maybe it was Kathleen's hypnotic hazel eyes and red hair, or maybe she had just been genuinely interested in him for his sparkling personality and charming wit, but they had gone back to her apartment and spent the night discovering mutual pleasures. Lots of mutual pleasures.

"Didn't hear you come in, Richie. Hope it wasn't too late," said Duncan.

"I got enough sleep, if that's what you're worried about, Mac. I'll open the shop as soon as I get cleaned up."

Mac joined Richie in the shop shortly before it opened. "I wanted to give you our itinerary. We'll be leaving day after tomorrow. I should be here to help with the shipment of Egyptian artifacts, and then you'll be in charge. You can call Jimmy if you need any backup."

"I told you, Mac. I can handle it. Don't worry about a thing. I can take care of myself. And the shop. You two have fun."

***

Duncan and Tessa had been gone two days. Richie had made a few sales he knew would impress Duncan. He was just getting ready to close for the weekend when the door chimes jangled. A glimpse of flaming red hair caught his eye. He looked up to see Kathleen standing inside the doorway, dressed in brown leggings and a very tight green sweater.

"Well, hello there," he said, his pulse already quickening. He lowered the pitch of his voice. "I've been thinking about you."

"Same here. I thought maybe we could grab a bite and see what transpires."

"I'm all for transpiring. Let me lock up, change my clothes and we'll be out of here. Did you drive over?"

"Yes. My car's out front. I'll met you there."

"Okay. Ten minutes max."

Richie double checked the locks on the apartment and the shop and joined Kathleen at her car. "Any ideas about where to eat?" He tossed his jacket in the back of the green Chevy and climbed in beside her.

"I know a great place outside of town. It's a bit of a drive, but worth it."

"Drive on."

The stars were just beginning to sparkle against the darkening sky as Kathleen turned off the main highway and onto a country road. "Isn't this beautiful, Richie? Just look at the moon." She reached over and put her hand on his thigh.

"I don't think I've ever been out this way," he said, sidling a little closer to Kathleen. "How much farther? I'm getting hungry."

"Not much longer. Ten, maybe twenty minutes."

"I can wait that long." He moved closer to her, running his hands through the mane of her hair.

"Richie - not now. I have to watch this road, or I might miss the turnoff. We'll have plenty of time for that later." She smiled at him, licking her lips in a way that made Richie almost want to skip dinner.

They navigated a narrow dirt road and arrived at what looked like an old farmhouse set back in a stand of maple trees. Kathleen stopped in a clearing amidst the trees, turned off the ignition and got out of the car. "We're here. Come on."

"Are you sure they're open? There's only one other car here, and there aren't many lights on. And there's no sign-."

A deep voice resounded from the direction of the house. "Welcome, Richie Ryan. I've been expecting you." Richie swiveled to see a tall, bony man descending from the porch of the house. Dressed in jeans, boots and a plaid shirt, and a silver-buckled belt complete with a holstered Colt .45, he lacked only the Stetson to be the stereotypical cowboy. The look in his eyes was pure malice.

Richie's heart pounded. "I'm guessing you're not the maitre 'd," he said. He turned to Kathleen. "I suppose this means that dinner's off, right?"

"Got it in one, kid," she said. "For you, anyway." She strode up to the stranger and slid her arm around his waist. She looked cold and hard. Richie wondered how he had thought her beautiful.

Richie faced the cowboy. "Hey, I don't know what I've done to piss you off, but I'm sure we can talk about it."

"Your very existence pisses me off, kid. People like you shouldn't be allowed to live while the rest of us have to get old and die. But while you are alive, why not have some fun and make a little money, too?"

Richie stood, poised, as the cowboy approached. This was no Immortal challenge. This was the kind of fighting he knew from his days before meeting Duncan. He hadn't been very good at it then, but he was ready to see if all the training with Mac and Charlie DeSalvo would pay off. It might have, too, had the man not pulled out the gun and shot him.

***

Richie woke with a start as air inflated his lungs and his heart began pumping blood through his body once again. He lay still, shivering, until the agony of coming back to life passed. He couldn't imagine this ever getting easy. Once his head began to clear, he turned his attention to his surroundings. Blackness engulfed him. Only his confidence that Immortals didn't suddenly go blind kept panic at bay. The air smelled damp and musty, as if he were in an old basement. Not until he automatically wrapped his arms around himself to ward off the chill did it dawn on him that he was naked.

This is not good. Think. Figure out where you are.

He rose to his feet, head down, hands on his thighs, until the dizziness passed and he could stand upright. Slowly, he began moving forward, arms outstretched in front of him, inching his way across the floor. It felt like hard packed dirt, its gritty residue sticking to the soles of his feet as he stepped carefully through the darkness. His fingertips grazed a flat surface, and he identified it as a concrete block wall.

Okay, a wall. That's better. Now, let's see where it goes.

He turned to his right and walked forward, one hand on the wall, counting his paces. At thirteen, he reached a corner. Great. Thirteen. Glad he wasn't superstitious. He continued. Ten paces the other way, and another corner. No difference in the wall. He reached high and low, but could discern nothing that indicated a door, window, or any possible means of escape. At eight paces back along the opposite wall, he reached another juncture. This one appeared to be some sort of reversed alcove-a small protuberance along the middle of the wall, about four feet square.

He explored the final wall. He touched something wooden at shoulder height. It angled up and he recognized it as a staircase. No handrails, just bare wood steps with no risers between them. Almost a ladder. Under the staircase he felt a plastic bucket. It was empty. He wondered if his captors had left it there intentionally, or if it had just been something they had overlooked when they locked him in. Locked.

Wait. If there were stairs, they had to go somewhere. There must be a door.

Richie crawled up the steps on hands and knees and felt what had to be a door at the top. It was metal of some kind, but there was no handle on his side.

Disheartened, he sat on the steps momentarily, then decided that in his unclad state, the rough wood was asking for trouble. He started to walk back and forth across the room to determine if there was anything in the middle. About five feet from the bottom of the steps he found a plastic picnic cooler. He opened it and felt inside. There was a gallon jug, heavy with some liquid. He opened it and tentatively sniffed the contents. No odor.

What's the worse thing that could happen if you drink it? It's not like it'll kill you. Not permanently.

He took a small sip. Water. He realized how thirsty he was, but permitted himself only a few sips. He had no idea how long the water had to last. He felt around in the cooler and discovered some bread, two apples, and some of those individually wrapped things Tessa called "plastic cheese." He unwrapped one and ate it and took another two sips of water. He'd save the apples for later.

Continuing his quest, he found a pile of scratchy blankets not far from the cooler. Wrapping himself in one, and ignoring the itching, he sat down on the remaining ones and hugged his knees to his chest. He would get out of this.

Think, Richie. Think. They know you're an Immortal or they wouldn't have shot you and dumped you somewhere with food and water. If they know about Immortals, they must know how to kill you. Maybe you're being held hostage? If they're trying to hold you for ransom from Duncan, you'll have a few days to stick this out. You can do that.

Richie dragged the cooler and blankets over to the niche created by the outcropped wall. Home Sweet Home. He made a nest out of the blankets and tried to get some sleep.

He was awakened by a blinding light stabbing his eyes. Squinting and shielding his eyes against the glare, he looked toward the stairs. His assessment of his surroundings had been accurate; other than the blankets and cooler, the room was indeed bare.

"Good. You're awake." Richie recognized Cowboy's voice. "Put your hands on top of your head."

Remembering the gun, Richie complied, even though it meant dropping the blanket. Cowboy kept a flashlight trained on Richie's eyes. Despite the light in his eyes, Richie could tell that there were two other men behind Cowboy. One grabbed his wrists and strapped them together behind his back with plastic restraints. "You gonna walk nice, or do we knock you out to get you upstairs, kid?"

"I'll walk nice. I don't suppose you have any pants I can borrow?" Richie recoiled from the sting of the slap one of the men delivered to his mouth.

"You don't talk unless we tell you to. Got that?" said the second man. Richie said nothing. "I said, you got that?" the man said again.

"Excuse me. Does this mean I can talk now?" asked Richie. This time he tasted blood from the slap.

Half dragged, half pushed, Richie ascended the stairs surrounded by his captors. They shoved him onto a ladder-back chair with a woven rush seat, yanking his arms over its back. He started to complain about how the seat felt on his naked buttocks, but decided he'd been slapped enough already. They taped his ankles to the chair legs. He sat in defiant silence and waited. He was in a spacious room with heavy black curtains at the windows. His captors sat on an oversized brown couch facing him; there were pole lamps at either end of the couch, but other than that, the room was empty. The terra cotta tile floor chilled his bare feet.

Cowboy sat in the middle with a beefy looking man with a pock marked face and a crew cut on one side, and a slight, almost frail looking man on the other. Brutus and the Professor, Richie thought. Brutus spoke. "Where'd you find this one? He seems kind of puny. For what I'm paying, I should get top quality."

"We take what we can get," said Cowboy. "Besides, looks can be deceiving. This isn't exactly the same as the hunting ranch; we can't breed 'em like the big cats. But then, we can use 'em a lot longer."

Richie's heart pounded, and he could feel the sweat begin to drip into the chair's seat. He hoped it was just sweat. He'd heard of hunting ranches where people paid big money to hunt illegal game. He'd read "The Most Dangerous Game" in high school. He'd thought it was pretty good at the time. Right now, he couldn't remember who'd won. Had to be the good guy. The bad guys never won in high school lit.

"I won the toss. I say knives first," Brutus said.

Knives? Knives were not good. He tried to keep the fear from his face as Brutus got up and unsheathed something that looked like what Captain Hook would wear in his sash. A scimitar, that was it.

Great. Do you really care what it's called? It's sharp, that's what it is.

"Are you sure you want to do this?" Richie asked. "What have I done to you?"

"What did I tell you about talking without permission?" Brutus used the hilt of his knife to smack Richie's head so hard that the chair toppled over.

Dazed, Richie found himself being hoisted back to a sitting position. He concentrated on the fireworks display in his head and tried to ignore the knife. "Better than New Year's, not as good as the Fourth of July," he said.

This time, the Professor slapped him across the face.

"I love them on the first day," said the Professor. "They're so brave. How long before this one begs us to stop?"

"Shut up. All bets in private. No fair messing with the odds," said Cowboy.

"Sorry," said the Professor. He looked at his fingernails, then gnawed on the side of his thumb.

Richie barely noticed the knife slice down his calf. It wasn't until he felt the blood oozing down between his toes that the pain began. Then Brutus went to work, slowly and methodically. Kathleen came into the room from the kitchen, a look of arousal on her face.

He didn't know how long he'd been there; the blood loss had him drifting in and out of consciousness. He refused to give them the satisfaction of begging them to stop, but he could hear himself screaming with the pain.

Richie was barely aware of Cowboy calmly approaching with Richie's own rapier in his hand. "Time's up," Richie heard him say. A stabbing pain pierced Richie's chest and everything went black.

Then, the awful sensation of coming back to life filled his being again. Cowboy's voice sounded hollow, like a bad phone connection from a tunnel. "Welcome back, kid. Kathleen's put some fresh food in your cooler. I trust you found the bucket under the stairs. We'll see you again."

Richie felt himself being dragged across the room. At the top of the stairs, someone cut his bindings and kicked him down into his prison. He groped his way to his corner, wrapped himself in a blanket and paced, fighting the anger and frustration that twisted his gut. Finally, he slept.

In the darkness, Richie lost all sense of day or night. Even upstairs, the curtains obscured any evidence of time. He had no idea if his captors brought him to the surface once a day, three times a day, or skipped days at a time. During the intervals between sessions, he slept. Dreams of being home with Duncan and Tessa carried him away from his chamber of horrors.

***

Duncan scanned the line of cars at the passenger pick-up lane outside the airport, then looked at his watch for the tenth time in as many minutes.

"Mac, maybe Richie's stuck in traffic," Tessa said. Or maybe he had a flat. He knew what flight we were on; he said he'd be here."

"Well, he's not here, and it's after seven thirty. Considering the plane landed at six, he's had plenty of time to get here, even in traffic. We'll take a cab back to the apartment, and if I find he left us here for any reason other than he was busy making the biggest sale in the shop's history, he's going to regret it." Duncan wouldn't allow any other thoughts to penetrate his consciousness. Richie was late because he had forgotten or had been unavoidably detained. This was not a time to think about lost Challenges.

"You're afraid some Immortal came while we were gone, aren't you?" Tessa put her hand on Duncan's arm. "I'm sure it was something else. Something you'll be mad about, but he's fine."

Duncan didn't answer. He pulled Tessa toward the cab line and gave the driver the shop's address. The shop was closed, as it should have been at this hour. Duncan paid the cabbie and looked around. Nothing seemed out of place. He accounted for both cars as well as Richie's bike. He unlocked the shop door.

Tessa started to move toward her studio heading for the apartment. "Wait," said Duncan. "Let me check first. "Richie?" he called. No response. A quick trip through the apartment revealed some unemptied trash, Richie's unmade bed and dirty laundry on the floor in his room. Nothing unusual. No notes, nothing but some routine messages on the answering machine. "Damn!" he said.

Tessa moved past him and opened the apartment door. "Mac. Come here."

"What? Did you find something?"

"The newspapers. They haven't been picked up since..." She looked through the pile. "Since Friday."

"Friday? It's Wednesday." Duncan rushed back to Richie's room. His sword was missing.

Tessa followed behind him. "But, Duncan, he'd have taken his sword no matter where he went. You taught him that. He could have been running an innocent errand. It isn't necessarily another Immortal. Remember when you got hit by that car? We couldn't find you right away, either."

Duncan heard her trying to convince herself that Richie was all right. That he'd come back through the door with an embarrassing explanation of where he had been. He clasped her hands. "We'll find him. One way or another, we'll find him."

Duncan retrieved Richie's address book from his room and made a few calls to Richie's small circle of friends. No one had seen or heard from him. Duncan paced the living room, pulling his hair loose from its clasp, running his fingers through it.

"Tessa. I'm going to Joe's. You stay here and wait in case someone calls."

Tessa nodded. "I'll be here. Please, call as soon as you know anything." She kissed him and picked up the suitcase and took it to the bedroom.

Duncan must have hit every red light on the drive to Joe's, each one pulling the knot in his stomach just a little tighter. Deep breathing at the intersections didn't help. He burst through the door at Joe's and looked for the Watcher bartender.

"Mac," said Joe. "Welcome back. How was New Mexico?"

"Fine," he said automatically. "But I never told you we were going to New Mexico."

Joe raised an eyebrow and smiled. "Can I get you something? Where's Tess?"

"Joe, I need to talk to you. In private, if possible."

Joe must have sensed the urgency; he called out to Mike. "Take over for a few. I'll be in the back." Duncan followed Joe into his office.

Joe shut the door and turned to face Duncan. "Now, Mac. What do you need?"

"Where's Richie?"

"Richie? How would I know? Isn't he at home?"

"No, he's not, and from the looks of things he's been missing since sometime Friday. I thought you guys kept track of us."

"You know that's not how it works, MacLeod. Richie hasn't been immortal that long; he's not very prominent in the Game-a few challenges, but he hasn't even taken his first head yet. Besides, he's usually joined to you at the hip. Why waste a Watcher?"

"Joe, I've got to find him. I have no idea where he might have gone. I do know that no matter how young and impulsive, he wouldn't disappear for five days without a word."

"You know we're not supposed to interfere."

"This isn't interfering. Interfering is you warning me about another Immortal. Interfering is you calling me in New Mexico to tell me Richie's taking a challenge and to rush back and help. This is helping a friend. Mortal or Immortal, we have a missing person, and I really don't want to go to the police. Please." Duncan tried to keep his voice level and calm. He knew he wasn't succeeding.

Joe hesitated for a moment before he answered. "Okay. For a friend, I'll make a few calls. But there hasn't been much Immortal activity around here lately. I do remember Richie was here last week, late. He left with a very attractive redhead. I'd never seen her before, but they seemed to hit it off right away. I'd say she was mortal, though. Richie never looked up when she came into the place."

Duncan watched as Joe walked around his desk, sat down and reached for the phone. "Thanks, Joe. I'll be waiting." He turned toward the door.

Tessa was waiting for him when he got back to the apartment. She wore her long silk Japanese robe and had a fire going in the fireplace. She handed him a snifter of brandy and looked at him expectantly.

"Joe doesn't know anything. He knew we were in New Mexico, but nothing other than Richie apparently left the bar with a redhead the night we celebrated our anniversary. He promised to look into it. But if it's not related to Immortals, I don't know what good he can do."

"Come. Sit. There's nothing we can do tonight. You're tired. We had a long day. Tomorrow will be a fresh start."

"You're probably right."

"But you're still going to try something, aren't you?"

"Tessa, I can't sit here. Five days. He could be anywhere, but he could be nearby. If he's alive, I'll sense him. I'm going to drive around for a while." He handed her his snifter and kissed her gently. "You try to get some sleep."

She nodded. He knew she'd be right there when he got back.

Duncan returned hours later. Tessa looked up from the couch. He shook his head. "Did Joe call?" he asked.

"Nothing. Mac, it's nearly one AM. Let's try to get a few hours sleep."

Duncan poured himself a brandy and swallowed it in one gulp. He poured another and took a small sip. "You're right. I'll be right in."

"Bring your drink into the bedroom. I need you to hold me."

They got into bed. Duncan finished his drink, Tessa snuggled on his chest. He set the glass down and wrapped his arms around her, nuzzling her hair. They spent the night in fitful sleep, taking comfort in each other's presence. The sound of the phone brought them both to instant consciousness.

"Hello," Duncan almost shouted into the handset. He felt Tessa getting out of bed.

"It's Joe. I don't have much yet, but I thought you'd want to know we may have found a connection."

"Go on."

"A gorgeous redhead appears in a number of Watcher reports. Some clerk noticed a similar description in a couple of places and started looking to see if she showed up again. She did. She might be some kind of Immortal groupie, but most of the Immortals she hooks up with disappear."

A ball of ice formed in Duncan's stomach. "What do you mean, disappear?"

"I mean, I have at least six different Watchers whose assignments were seen dating this woman over the last year or so. Since she's not an Immortal, no one paid much attention. Then, they just sort of lost track of their Immortals. It happens. We're not on twenty-four hour surveillance, you know. We put out the word, and usually the Immortal shows up somewhere else."

"But not these six, right."

"Not yet, anyway."

"And Richie's likely to be number seven."

"Mac, I don't know what to say. I'm afraid you're right. But I've already got one of our top researchers trying to trace this woman. If anyone can dig her out, Pierson can. She's become tied to Immortals, so I've made it a priority project."

"Thanks, Joe. Please keep us informed."

Tessa came back into the room. "I listened in on the extension. Why don't I believe that this woman is kidnapping Immortals and taking them to some sort of island paradise?" Her voice started to crack, and she sat on the edge of the bed. "Richie is part of us. I didn't like it when you brought him in, but now he's family, and-"

Duncan sat beside her and pulled her into his chest. "Shhh. We have a lead now. We'll get him back." He stroked her hair and let her cry.

***

Richie sat nestled in his corner, clutching a corner of his blanket to his cheek. He hated the dark. Had hated it since one of his foster fathers used to lock him in the closet whenever something Richie did made him mad. And it seemed that no matter what Richie did, it made him mad.

He heard the footsteps approaching the door again, then the blinding light. He automatically turned and extended his hands so they could cuff him, then stumbled up the stairs toward his chair. He was vaguely aware that his audience changed from time to time. He tried to remember faces, voices, but they had become a blur. In addition to the three he remembered from his first session, there had been at least two more.

"I think this one's almost used up. There's hardly any fight left in him. Maybe we should just get rid of the abomination."

"I think we can get a few more days out of him." Richie recognized Cowboy's voice. "We don't have anyone else lined up to take his place yet."

Richie knew that when he reacted, they hurt him more. But now, it seemed that if he didn't fight back somehow, they'd just kill him. He couldn't bear any more pain, but he just wasn't ready to die. Not like this. He wanted to die in the Game. With honor, like Duncan always talked about. Overtaken by fury, Richie squirmed away from the grasp of his tormentors. He lowered his head and butted Brutus in the stomach. The satisfaction of hearing the air forced from his captor's lungs was short lived as four hands forced him back and secured him in his chair.

"That's better. Looks like there's a bit more life in him after all. I believe it's my turn today." Brutus displayed a malevolent grin as he hoisted himself up off the floor. As he slowly approached the chair, Richie closed his eyes and tried not to think.

Richie felt himself coming back to life and being dragged across the room. "I can walk, you know," he said. "You don't have to throw me down the stairs every--" He felt the shove to his back along with the freeing of his hands, and he tumbled down once again. He thought his arm was broken this time. Gritting his teeth, he made his way back to what he considered his room and tried to align the bones as best he could so they would knit faster. Hot tears welled in his eyes. "Mac. I need you." Weeping with pain and despair, he finally slept.

***

MacLeod walked into Joe's office at the bar on Saturday morning. The man looked up from a stack of papers on his desk. "My God, Mac. When's the last time you slept?"

"Probably about the same time you did. I can't look any worse than you do. Now, what do you have that you didn't want Tessa to hear? She's not too happy about being left at home."

"I didn't have the guts to tell her."

"Tell her what, Joe? Don't tell me Richie's-"

"No. At least we don't think so. But, you remember the Hunters?"

"Yes. I thought we got rid of them."

"We did, but apparently there's some SOB who seems to have managed to maintain his Watcher connections to dig out Immortals. He uses this redhead to bring them to him. We're working on-Mac, are you all right? Sit down."

Duncan heard Joe's last words through a loud drumming in his ears. He realized he was supporting himself on Joe's desk. He sat, then shook his head to clear it. "Sorry. Go on."

"It's not that much, but we have a face." Joe handed Duncan a snapshot. "This was taken in Texas about two months ago. It was just pure luck; a Watcher on her first assignment was being overly conscientious. Do you recognize her?"

Duncan stared at the picture. The Watcher had snapped it just as the redhead was turning away from the Immortal so she was practically staring into the camera lens. "No, I've never seen her before. I think I'd remember her." He set the picture back on Joe's desk.

"Any man would. She's a looker." Joe picked up the picture and put it with a stack of papers on the side of his desk.

"I've got Adam Pierson on it," Joe continued. "One of our best at digging out just about anything. The kind of perpetual grad student who lives in the library. He's also a genius with just about any database on the planet. He's going through public and not so public records-you're not hearing this, you know-and we should be able to have a name for her any time. I just thought you'd want to know what she looks like. For all we know, she could be looking for you, too."

"Thanks, Joe." For the first time since he and Tessa had returned home, Duncan felt there was a chance that he might see Richie again. "You'll let me know when you get a name?"

***

"So, who is this Adam Pierson?" asked Tessa over dinner that night.

"Apparently some hot shot Watcher researcher. Joe seems to think that if anyone can find Richie, he can."

"I hope so." Tessa picked at her food and pushed her plate away.

"Me, too." Duncan cleared the table, scraping the uneaten food into the disposal. The two of them stood in strained silence for a moment.

Tessa broke the stillness. "Duncan, it's not your fault. From what we've heard, this woman is pretty good at luring young men away. Even if you'd been here, he could still be gone."

"But I'd have found him by now."

"How can you be so sure? He just doesn't come home one morning - why would he be easier to find? It's obvious he's well hidden."

"But -"

Tessa put her hands to his face and stroked his jaw. "But you can't stand being helpless, so you're blaming yourself. We have to let the people who know where and how to search do the looking for us right now."

Duncan gathered her in his arms. "I love you, you know."

"I know. You're going out again tonight, though, aren't you?"

"Tess, I have to. I can't sit here."

"I know. Be safe."

The next morning, Tessa insisted that Duncan accompany her to church. "It just feels like I'm doing something," she explained. Duncan sat through the service, but the usual calm he felt on holy ground eluded him. He dropped Tessa off at the apartment afterwards, then headed to Joe's. At least there he had the feeling something was being done.

He parked in the alley. The light was on in Joe's office. Duncan knocked on the back door. He waved through the glass pane in the door, and watched as Joe manipulated himself out of his chair to let him in.

"Nothing yet, Mac. I said I'd call you."

"I know. I just can't stand the waiting."

"It's that helplessness thing again. It wasn't your fault, Mac."

"That's what Tessa says, but I just can't help feeling like I should be doing something more."

"You could go out front and clean."

Duncan raised his eyebrow.

"Okay, so go pour us both a beer."

Duncan had just walked back into Joe's office, beers in hand, when the phone rang. Joe motioned for Duncan to wait. "Got it. Thanks, Adam. Buy yourself a case of beer and send the bill to me." Joe looked up at Duncan. "That was Pierson. The redhead's Kathleen O'Malley. Has an apartment in Seacouver on Broad Street. Sixteen fifty, apartment 256."

Duncan set the beers down on Joe's desk. "Make that two cases of beer, and put them on my tab," said Duncan.

"Oh, no doubt about it."

"I'll let you know what I find out at her apartment." Duncan left and drove directly to Broad Street.

No one answered the knock on the apartment door. Duncan pulled out his set of lock picks, said a quiet thank you to Amanda for her breaking and entering tutelage, and let himself in. The apartment looked neat and tidy and recently occupied. He found food in the refrigerator, and plants thriving on the windowsill above the kitchen sink. He moved to a small desk and rummaged through the papers stacked on top. In a folder of bills to be paid, he found one for the rental of a house somewhere out in the country. That seemed to be the only lead. He noted the address, put everything back the way he found it and hurried down to his car. He pinpointed the address on the map from the glove compartment, made quick calls to Tessa and Joe and started off, determined to remain calm.

The drive to the country seemed interminable. Time and again he pushed away the idea that he might already be too late. Thirty minutes into the drive, one of Seacouver's inevitable rainstorms began. He turned on the windshield wipers, their rhythmic thumping echoing his pleas. Hang on. Hang on. Hang on.

By the time he wound his way down a narrow dirt road, the skies had blackened, illuminated only by the occasional flare of lighting. He saw three cars parked in a copse of maple trees, and an old house with a wide front porch just beyond them. He turned his car around and left it under the trees and out of sight of the house. He glanced into the back seat of a green Chevy and saw Richie's jacket. The car door was unlocked; he opened it, removed the jacket and tossed it into the trunk of his T-bird. He made a mental note of the license plates to pass on to Joe later.

He strained his senses, but picked up no signs of immortality. Please, Richie. It's almost over. Not until he crept up the front porch did he feel the faint resonance of an Immortal. Relief washed over him. Dark curtains obscured his view into the front of the house. Following the porch, he crouched beneath the lighted kitchen window, then raised himself just enough to peer inside. He recognized Kathleen O'Malley distributing plates heaped with roast chicken, mashed potatoes and something green. Two men--one large and beefy, the other slight, both definitely mortal, sat at the table. Duncan drew back and waited impatiently until the threesome began eating. Duncan watched as they became engrossed in animated conversation, their voices muted by the wind and rain, before returning to the front door, his pocket toolkit in hand.

Counting on the howling of the rainstorm to muffle any sounds of his entering the house, he tried the front door. The old lock gave him little trouble. Still squatting, he felt the door being pulled open.

"Looking for something?" asked a tall man in jeans and boots. He held a gun pointed at Duncan's head.

Duncan gave the man a broad smile. "Actually, yes, I am," he said. Duncan's hand shot forward, snagged the man's ankle and yanked it hard. The gunman fell to the floor, momentarily stunned. Duncan had no trouble pinning his hand to the floor and wrestling the gun from him. One blow with the butt of the Colt sent the man into oblivion.

"Where's Tex with the beer?" he heard someone call from the kitchen. Duncan moved toward the sounds.

"Sorry, but Tex is indisposed." Duncan entered the kitchen with the gun pointed at the threesome. "No, I don't think you want to move. Shall we move to the living room? Hands on your heads, please."

Kathleen and the smaller man moved past him complacently. The large one charged at Duncan with a roar, sending the gun flying from his hand. Duncan spun around and met his assailant with a knee to the groin. The man doubled over; Duncan grabbed him by the shoulders and threw him against the door jamb, rendering him unconscious. The smaller man tried to get past him and out the door. Duncan grabbed him by the belt, turned him around and slammed his fist into the man's jaw, sending him slumping to the floor. Whatever these men were, they weren't fighters.

The front door was open; Kathleen was nowhere to be seen. Shaking his hand against the pain of bruised knuckles, Duncan studied the room. A roll of duct tape on the floor beside a ladder-back chair caught his eye. Perfect. He picked up the tape and bound the three men securely, wrists and ankles. "Gotta love MacGyver," he said.

Richie's sword lay on the floor beside couch. Duncan picked up the weapon, trying to ignore the implications of the sticky coating of half-dried blood. As he approached the door, the Immortal's resonance grew stronger. Duncan turned the knob and pushed against the door. An animal stench mixed with basement dampness assaulted his nostrils. He pulled off his coat, rolled it up and set it in the doorway to keep the door ajar. Duncan flicked the light switch at the top of the stairs and found Richie cowering in a corner. "It's over, Richie," he whispered. "Let's get you out of here. Can you walk?"

Richie remained oblivious to Duncan's presence. Duncan hoisted him up over his shoulder and carried him upstairs. He retrieved his coat and stepped over the still unconscious bodies on the living room floor. Half walking, half running through the deluge, he covered the distance to the T-bird and lay Richie's now mud-slicked body down across the back seat. He set his katana and Richie's rapier on the passenger seat, climbed into the driver's seat and drove off.

Fifteen minutes down the road, the downpour lessened to a misty drizzle. He pulled the car into a tree-covered traffic turnout. "We're out of there, Richie." He turned around and took a good look at his passenger. What he saw sickened him.

The smell in the car was definitely coming from Richie. His hair hung in grimy, matted tendrils, his skin barely visible beneath a coating of slimy filth. He lay curled in the fetal position on the back seat of the car. Duncan fought back his anger and placed his coat over the motionless boy before continuing.

He reached into the glove compartment for his mobile phone and called Tessa. "I've got him. He's alive. Not well, but alive."

"Thank God," she said. "What did they do to him? What did you do to them? What can I do?"

"Slow down, Tess. I don't know what they did to him, but they're tied up for now. Look, I need to get back on the road. We should be home in an hour. I think a hot bath would be a good idea. Love you."

Next came a call to Joe. Duncan struggled to keep his anger in check. "I found him. I stole him out from under them. I left three men tied up at the house. Kathleen got away, but you have her address." He gave Joe the license plate numbers. "Much as I'd like to get my hands on them, it's probably better if your people check it out. They're used to discretion."

"We're on it, Mac," said Joe. "And I'm glad you found Richie."

Duncan spoke to Richie all the way home. He hoped the youngster heard him. At the apartment, he lifted Richie from the back seat. Tessa had the door open.

"Oh my God!" She rushed out to them. "Is he all right?"

"Physically, he'll be fine in a day or so. I'm not sure about his mental state. I have no idea what they did to him. How about that bath?"

"It's running."

Tessa helped Duncan unwrap Richie from the muddy coat. Duncan lowered Richie into the warm water, not waiting for the tub to finish filling. Tessa supported him and they soaked and scrubbed the grime away. It took three changes of bath water, but he finally appeared to be clean. Tessa struggled with the tangled mat of Richie's hair and poured half a bottle of conditioner onto his head to release the snarls. "Do you think I should just cut it?" she asked.

"Let's let him decide when he's awake."

Richie accepted their ministrations without any sign of recognition. They might have been bathing a large rag doll. They wrapped him in one of Duncan's plush robes. He seemed gaunt and emaciated although he had only been gone a little more than a week. Duncan started to carry him to his bed.

Suddenly Richie struggled from Duncan's arms. "I told you I can walk. You don't have to kick me." Duncan and Tessa exchanged a startled look. Richie pulled away, took two steps, and then began to collapse. Duncan rushed to support him, and Tessa followed. The two of them held him up as they walked to his room.

"You're safe, Richie," Tessa murmured. "You're home."

"They can't get you. Joe's going to make sure of that. You're fine," Duncan said. "You'll get some sleep, and you'll feel much better in the morning."

Tessa had cleaned Richie's room; there were fresh sheets on the bed, and a pitcher of water and glass on the nightstand. Duncan sat Richie down on the bed. "Try to get some sleep," he said. He patted Richie's shoulder; the boy gasped and recoiled from his touch.

Richie stared into space with unfocused eyes. He grabbed the comforter from his bed and dragged it to the corner. He enveloped himself in it, hunched down on the floor and began rocking back and forth.

Tessa moved toward him. "Richie. You're home. You're safe." She crouched down beside him.

"Go away." Richie pulled the cover over his head.

"Let's leave him alone for a little while. Maybe he'll realize where he is and talk to us," Duncan said.

They sat on the living room couch, the door to Richie's room open so they could hear him.

"Oh, Mac. What did they do to him? Why is he pushing us away?"

"I don't know, Tess. I don't know. But he's home now, and we'll take care of him."

She got up and stood in the doorway of Richie's room. He hadn't moved from his corner spot. Duncan followed and put his hand on her shoulder. "Do you hear him?" she asked. "He's saying, 'I'll be good. I'll be good.' What kind of animals would do something to cause this?" Tears streamed down her face.

Duncan tasted the salty moisture on his own face. The strain of the last days had eased, and with it, the control he'd had over his emotions. He squeezed Tessa to him until she gasped for breath.

"I'm sorry," he said, releasing his hold. "Did I hurt you?"

"No. I know exactly how you feel."

"We should try to sleep. We'll hear him."

"I don't think he should be alone," Tessa said. "I'm going to sleep in here." She lay down on Richie's bed.

"Move over." Duncan climbed in beside her, drawing her close. Relief allowed the luxury of sleep, but neither felt rested when they awoke the next morning. Duncan got up and headed for their bedroom.

Tessa sat up and looked at Richie, still huddled in the corner. Her stomach tightened as she imagined what it must have taken to reduce the cocky young man to this state. After a shower that did nothing to wash away her feelings of tension, Tessa went into the kitchen and made pancakes. Forcing a cheery smile on her face, she loaded a tray and brought it back to Richie's room.

"Good morning, Richie," she said. "I brought you some breakfast. How about you hop into bed, and you can eat?"

Richie blinked and put his hands to his eyes, a look of puzzlement on his face. He made no move to leave his cocoon.

Tessa exhaled, although she didn't realize she had been holding her breath. She crossed the room and set the tray down beside Richie. He reached for the pancakes and started stuffing them into his mouth.

"Richie. Slow down. There's plenty. Don't eat so fast or you'll make yourself sick. And how about using the fork? That way, you can put on some syrup and you won't get all sticky."

Richie stopped and peered at Tessa. "Tess? Is it you? Am I home? Is this real?"

"Yes, Richie. Duncan found you yesterday. We're so glad you're home."

"Home. Home. I'm home. No. I'm dreaming again. They'll be back for me. They always come back."

"Richie, nobody's coming back for you. Duncan and Joe took care of them. They're gone. You're here with us, safe, where you belong." Tessa clasped Richie's sticky hands in hers. "You're home."

"Home," he repeated. He removed his hands from Tessa's grasp and wiped his mouth. His eyes met hers and he burst into tears. "I tried. I really tried. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."

"Shhh, Richie. You have nothing to be sorry about." She moved the tray aside and rocked Richie, stroking his curls as he wept. "You're home. We're here."

She heard Duncan enter the room, but motioned him back and let Richie cry himself out. She handed him a tissue.

"I don't know why I cried like that."

"I don't know why you didn't. From what we can tell, you've had a rough time. Do you want to talk about it?"

Richie's eyes took on a glassy stare. He looked down into his plate. "Nothing much to talk about. This girl kidnapped me, and then I just waited until someone found me."

Richie methodically finished his pancakes and curled himself back into a ball. Tessa took the tray back to the kitchen. She found Duncan waiting for her.

"I don't know what to say, Mac. He stuffed the food into his face with his fingers. He seems willing to take orders. It's like he's fading in and out of reality."

"He needs to talk about it. I know that much."

"I agree. I just don't think we should push too hard yet."

Just then, Richie walked into the kitchen, stark naked. Tessa raised her eyebrows, then averted her eyes.

"Good morning, Richie," said Duncan, his voice even. "We're glad to have you back. How about you put some clothes on?"

Richie seemed oblivious to his state of undress. "Clothes. Yes." He turned and left the room.

"Shell shock. Post Traumatic Stress," said Duncan.

"Do you know how to treat it?"

"Not really. But I do know it will take time and patience."

Richie wandered through the apartment, in and out of the shop, and sat at his bedroom window. The haunted look in his eyes still remained. Tessa called him to the table for dinner. He came out of his room, took his customary seat and began wolfing down his meal. After a few bites, he slowed down. Duncan and Tessa attempted light conversation about the weather, Tessa's current art project, and Richie's recent sales in the shop. He responded to Tessa, but seemed afraid to meet Duncan's eyes, mumbling his answers to the Scot's questions into his plate. When Richie's plate was empty, he pushed back from the table and roamed aimlessly around the apartment once again.

"Why don't you come sit by the fire, Richie?" asked Tessa. "Duncan will join us when he finishes the dishes." She didn't mention that doing the dishes was usually Richie's chore.

Before he sat down, Richie turned on every lamp in the room. He sat down next to Tessa, his hands in his lap, staring into the fire. Duncan came in a few minutes later. Tessa could see Richie stiffen. She looked at Duncan. He'd noticed it, too. He moved to the stereo system and started a Mozart CD playing. The bright sounds of the overture to The Marriage of Figaro filled the room.

"Richie. Do you remember the concert?" Tessa asked. "They played Mozart that night. Then the three of us went to dinner at Chez Normandie."

"I guess so."

"Do you want to talk?" asked Duncan.

"I don't know."

"Mac, maybe Richie is still tired. Richie, would you like to go to bed?"

"Okay." He remained sitting motionless on the couch.

Tessa took his hand and led him to his room. She went to his dresser and pulled out his usual sleeping uniform of boxers and a T-shirt and handed it to him. "Here. Put these on and get into bed."

Richie did as he was told. Tessa's heart sank as she watched the shell of the young man behaving like an automaton. She shut off the light. Richie screamed.

"Oh, Richie. I'm sorry. Here, I've turned the light back on." She went to the bed, where Richie had hugged his knees to his chest. She ran her fingers up and down his back. "Lie down and get some sleep."

Richie tucked himself into a tight ball and pulled the covers under his chin.

Tessa stormed out to the living room. "Oooh, just give me one minute with whoever did this to him. Just one minute-"

"Tess, calm down. Joe's handling them. As much as I'd like to deal with these ... animals, right now getting Richie well is our priority. And I've talked with Sean Burns; he said Richie has to face what happened. It won't be easy for any of us. But he's young, he's strong and resilient. I'm sure we'll make progress. We can't undo the damage overnight."

"You're right, but I'm still furious."

Late that night, screams from Richie's room awakened the couple. Duncan threw back the covers, but Tessa put her hand out to stop him. "Wait. He's more relaxed with me. I think he's still got you mixed up with the men who hurt him."

Tessa rushed to Richie's room. She held him. "Richie. It's me, Tessa. You're home. It's a nightmare. Please, tell me about it. Nightmares don't hurt so much when you talk about them." Tessa barely heard Richie when he began to respond.

"It was dark. Like the closet. I couldn't be good enough, so it was dark all the time."

"Richie, I'm sure you were good enough. They were just very evil people. Did they hurt you?"

"Yes," he whispered. "I tried not to cry."

She looked up and saw Duncan standing just outside the doorway, out of Richie's field of vision. He nodded approvingly.

"We've talked before about crying. It's okay to cry, especially when you're hurt. How did they hurt you?"

Richie shook his head violently. "They took my sword. Don't tell Mac."

"Richie, no. Mac brought your sword back. It's over there, see?" She pointed across the room where Richie's rapier lay across the top of his bookshelf. "He cleaned it for you, too."

"Don't tell Mac," Richie repeated over and over. Then, "Can I go to sleep now?"

"Of course, Richie. Do you want me to stay here for a while?" The grip he had on her hand tightened. She sat up against the headboard and let Richie lie in her lap as she massaged the taut muscles in his neck. Soon he was asleep. "Go back to bed," she mouthed to Duncan. "I'll be fine."

The dawn added its brightness to the perpetual light left on in Richie's room. Tessa extricated herself from under Richie and went to make some coffee. She found Duncan already in the kitchen.

"I looked in on you a little while ago; you were still asleep. How did it go?" Duncan asked.

"Not good. He woke up three more times."

"You should have called me."

"No. One of us needs to be rested. Besides, I think he's afraid of you."

"Afraid of me? Why?"

"He thinks he's failed you. You showed your trust, and he feels he betrayed it. You're a father figure to him. He loves you. Remember, he hasn't had a positive father figure before. He equates displeasing you with being punished or thrown out, like what happened with so many of his foster parents."

"But he knows better. We've had a strong relationship."

"I'm sure deep down he knows that. But right now he's so emotionally messed up he can't think; all he can do is feel. And it's those old feelings that are all mixed up with his new life."

"Why do you think he's comfortable with you?"

"Probably because I'm more of an older sister to him than a mother figure. Someone he's willing to confide in. He didn't say much last night. I think he was talking in his sleep, but it sounds like they did a lot more to him than keep him locked up in a basement.

Tessa stopped talking as Richie walked into the kitchen. This time he was dressed in faded jeans and a tattered old sweatshirt that had probably once been blue. Tessa never thought she'd be glad to see it again. She'd tried on more than one occasion to relegate it to her studio rag pile, but it always found its way back to Richie's room.

"Good morning, Richie," Duncan said. "Can I fix you something for breakfast?"

Richie gave a noncommittal shrug.

"Oatmeal?" Duncan asked.

"Sure."

"Richie, you hate oatmeal," Duncan said. "How about French toast?"

"Okay."

Tessa finished her coffee preparations. "While you two have breakfast, I'm going to take a shower. I'll see you later." She gave both men a kiss.

In the shower, Tessa adjusted the water as hot as she could stand it, trying to soothe the knots in her stomach. Her tears mingled with the sharp spray. The water was almost cold before she felt in control.

After her shower, Tessa checked and found Richie was back in his room, staring out the window. She went out to the living room; Duncan had cleaned up the kitchen. She assumed she would find him in the shop, preparing for opening. She started to join him when the doorbell rang.

Tessa answered the door to a man about her age, tall and lean, dressed in jeans and an oversized sweater, a coat slung over his arm. Hazel eyes peered at her over a hawk-like nose.

"Tessa Noel?" he asked.

She noted the British accent that added an air of dignity to his simple question. "Yes. Is there something I can do for you?"

"I came by to see how Richie is doing. I hope I'm not intruding."

She looked at him warily. "How do you know Richie?"

"I'm sorry. I should have introduced myself. My name is Adam Pierson and-"

"Adam Pierson! Please, come in." She stepped aside and led him into the living room. "We owe you a debt of gratitude. Thank you so much for your efforts in finding Richie." She motioned him to the couch.

Tessa watched her guest glance around the room. She recognized the look that had come over his face and turned to see Duncan entering through the studio, katana at his side. Richie appeared around the corner, his face an impassive mask, but his rapier in hand. Great, she thought. Another Immortal. Until recently, she'd known only Duncan, and now her living room was a Gathering place.

Adam stood up, palms upturned away from his body in a gesture of peace. "I didn't come to challenge. I wanted to ask about Richie."

"Duncan, this is Adam Pierson. You remember how he helped us."

Adam bobbed his head. "Thanks for the beer, by the way."

Duncan hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "Let's talk in the shop. Tessa, you'll excuse us, please. Keep an eye on Richie."

Tessa opened her mouth as if to protest, but forced a polite smile. "Can I get you anything, Mr. Pierson? Coffee, tea, a beer?"

"As long as you offered, a beer would be fine."

Tessa retrieved a bottle from the refrigerator and handed it to Adam. She gave Duncan a look that said, "I'll speak with you later," and went to Richie. He sat just inside the doorway of his room, knees drawn to his chest. His rapier rested on the floor at his side, within reach of his fingertips. Tessa knelt down beside him, marveling at the strength of his conditioning. Barely able to function, he still reached for his sword at the sense of another Immortal.

"Hi, Richie. You can relax. Adam Pierson is the man who led Mac to you. He's talking with Mac now. I think you can put your sword away. Would you like to come sit in the living room?"

He picked up his sword, rose to his feet and sat on the edge of his bed. He stared at the floor. Tessa reached for the sword, but Richie would not relinquish his grip. She kissed him on the forehead. "I'll be out in the living room if you want me."

She paced restlessly, wondering what the men were talking about, then flopped onto the couch with a book, resigning herself to wait until they returned.

***

Duncan led the other Immortal into the shop. Katana still at the ready, he asked, "What do you want?"

"As I said earlier, I have no desire to challenge you. I'd just like to talk to Richie."

"Why a Watcher?" Duncan spoke the words he knew Adam must be waiting for.

"What better place to hide? I got tired of the Game and it seemed a good place to disappear for a while."

"Does Joe know you're one of us?"

"No, and I'd prefer it stay that way."

"Then why reveal yourself to me?"

"I trust you, Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod. You come from an age where honor had meaning, and you have lived your entire life that way."

Duncan watched as Adam moved through the shop, stopping to look at some of his most ancient and valuable pieces. The look in his eyes made Duncan suspect that this man had seem some of them when they were new. He wondered how old he really was.

"Not bad," Duncan said. "You get to keep tabs on the competition. Who's your assignment?"

"I'm not a field agent. I'm in research, working on the Methos chronicles." He bent to examine a display case of silver.

"Methos, as in the legendary 5000-year-old Methos?"

Adam looked up. "The same." He met Duncan's eyes at last.

Duncan saw the bemused expression cross Adam's face, and knew his own visage had just revealed the understood connection. "You're Methos."

"It does make it easy to keep the dogs at bay, being your own Watcher. And, as I said before, I trust your sense of honor implicitly. I'd appreciate it if you'd just think of me as Adam Pierson for now. But I really did come about Richie."

"Why should I let you talk to Richie? What can you do for him? And more importantly, why would you come out of hiding to help a kid who's still in his Immortal infancy?"

"I just thought I might be able to help." He paused. "Someone helped me once," he added quietly. "I know how he feels."

"How?" Duncan asked.

"Bergen-Belsen."

Duncan saw the look of pain and despair flit across Adam's' face as he spoke those two words, then disappear behind the mask of guarded neutrality once again. He nodded. "All right. But so help me, anything happens to Richie and your head is mine."

Methos raised his beer bottle in acknowledgment. "I understand."

The two men returned to the apartment. Tessa stood, her displeasure at being left outside the circle obvious. She gave Adam a brusque nod. Duncan moved to put his arm around her waist; she pulled away and stared at him. "Please call Richie," Duncan said. "Adam would like to talk to him. It's all right."

Duncan heard Tessa mutter something about brandy and cigars as she went to Richie's room. The youngster followed her back into the living room, his rapier still at his side.

"Richie," Duncan said. "This is Adam Pierson. He's one of the good guys. He'd like to talk to you for a while."

Richie stared at Adam with the same haunted look he'd been wearing since they'd found him.

"It's chilly outside, Richie," the old Immortal said. "Why don't you get your jacket and we can go out for a walk."

Richie turned without speaking and went back toward his room. Tessa started to interrupt, but Duncan touched her shoulder. "It's okay, Tess. Let them go."

Richie returned wearing his jacket. His sword was no longer visible, but Duncan knew it was with him. Adam slipped his coat on, and the young Immortal followed the oldest out the door into the crisp afternoon. Duncan stared after them as they walked down the street, Richie's shoulders slumped, head bowed. Adam walked alongside, his hands shoved in his coat pockets. Tessa's voice brought him away from the doorway.

"So, are you going to tell me what this is all about, or should I just go crochet something?"

"Tessa, calm down. Adam, as you figured out, is an Immortal. And no one else is to know that, especially Joe."

She nodded. "I can see why it wouldn't be good for Adam if the Watchers knew he was immortal. But what does any of that have to do with Richie?"

"It doesn't. But Adam is a survivor; he's seen some bad times himself. He can understand what Richie's going through much better than we can. I think someone helped him out of the darkness once, and he's returning the favor." Duncan enveloped Tessa in his arms, stroking her hair and inhaling her special scent. "I love you. I think you'll just have to trust me on this one."

"I love you, too. And I trust you."

"Good. Now let's try to get back to business. I have to open the shop, and I thought you had a new project you were supposed to be working on."

She half-smiled up at him. "Back to business it is, then."

Duncan left Tessa in her studio and continued into the shop. An elderly couple wanted to know if the value of some family jewelry would cover a European vacation. He let them down as gently as he could; they might be able to afford a week in Portugal as long as they flew coach and went in the off season.

Tessa joined him a while later. "I couldn't concentrate on my work. This just happened." She handed him her sketch pad.

Duncan glanced at the sketches she had been making and recognized Adam Pierson. He looked at the eyes that stared at him from the page; they were warm and caring.

"You have a knack for getting down to the essence, Tess. I trust him."

"I hope you're right."

The traffic in the shop was slow but steady throughout the morning, providing a much needed distraction. The shop was empty when Duncan felt the return of Adam and Richie. He turned the sign on the door to 'Closed.'

"They're back," he said to Tessa. The two of them went back to the apartment. Duncan waited at the front door.

Adam and Richie came through the door, faces ruddy with the chill, hair windblown. "I'll see you again, Richie," said Adam as the youth went toward his room.

"Well," Tessa said. "How did it go? How is he? Where did you go? What did you do?"

"Fine. The same. We walked. I talked," answered Adam. "You don't cure this in three hours, you know."

"So, what's your prognosis?" Duncan asked.

"You certainly are inquisitive. May I have a beer, please? I've been talking nonstop for over three hours."

"Mi casa es su casa," Duncan said, nodding toward the kitchen.

Adam returned and lowered his body to the couch, took a sip of beer then set the bottle on the table. Tessa wordlessly handed him a coaster. "Sorry," he said and slid it under his beer. He stretched his long legs out in front of him and stared into the fire. "It was a start. If you don't mind, I'll come back tomorrow."

Duncan and Tessa exchanged a look. "Fine," the Scot said.

Adam reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small vial of pills. "These should help you get some sleep."

"I'm sorry, but I don't think I'm going to take pills given to me by someone I just met a couple of hours ago," said Tessa.

Adam smiled. "They're not for you, they're for Richie. If he sleeps through the night, you should, too. Just use them for a night or two; he'll have to confront his memories on his own, but he needs some uninterrupted sleep first." He handed Tessa the medicine. "Give him two of these at bedtime."

She examined the label. "Excuse me, but how do you just walk in and have a prescription for sleeping pills for Richie Ryan in your pocket?"

"I was a doctor before I was a Watcher. I figured Richie could use a good night's sleep. From the looks of things, so could the two of you."

"Thank you," Duncan said. He took the pills from Tessa. "I think you're right."

Adam returned the next day. "Good Morning. I see the pills helped," he said.

"Yes. Thanks," said Duncan.

"Sleep deprivation is a terrible thing. Is Richie ready?"

"I'll get him." He went to Richie's room and found him sitting on his bed, sword in hand. "It's okay, Richie. It's Adam. He'd like to walk with you again. Get your jacket."

Richie picked up his jacket from the chair and shuffled off to the living room. The two Immortals replayed the events of the previous morning.

***

Richie struggled against the hands pinning him down. "Please, no. Not again."

"Shh. You're dreaming, Richie. It's okay. Wake up."

Soothing words penetrated his consciousness. He felt Tessa's gentle hands on his back. "Tess?"

"It's me. You're home in your own bed."

"I'm sorry."

"What for?"

"For waking you. I've been doing that a lot lately, haven't I?"

"Don't worry about it."

"I'm okay now, Tess. You can go back to bed. Really. I'm fine."

Tessa gave him a skeptical look. Richie turned his back to her and closed his eyes. As soon as he heard her leave, he opened them again. He remembered one of his foster moms had told him that going to the bathroom helped get rid of bad dreams. That was easier than having to talk about them. He pulled off the covers.

Back in bed, he stared at the ceiling. It bothered him that he was still leaving the bedside lamp on at night, but no amount of shame could counteract the terror that overcame him when he turned it off. Duncan and Tessa said they understood, but he still hated showing his weakness. They seemed to accept the fact that he'd have these uncontrollable crying jags for no apparent reason. He hoped they didn't know that he'd been sick to his stomach on more than one occasion since he'd come home.

Mac never goes off the deep end, Richie thought. Except for right after Tessa's shooting, but that was different. Nobody was hurting him; he was just worried. He's always in total control. He'd have escaped from that basement. And taken out those monsters, too. Richie fell into a troubled sleep.

A rare gleam of bright Seacouver sunlight shone through Richie's window the next morning. He got up and waited for Adam. They'd only met a few days ago, but Adam seemed to know what to do. He never asked Richie to talk about anything. He just walked. And talked. And talked. The man never stopped talking; he talked about history, about women, about music, about some of his challenges. He didn't talk about being locked up in a basement or having people slice you open and watch you heal. Richie knew Adam was older than Duncan. Probably at least as old as Darius, but he knew better than to ask.

Two weeks passed. The days merged into one another. Adam came over every morning and they went walking. They walked in the cold, in the wind, and in the rain. They'd come back and Adam would have a beer.

Richie worked at getting back into his old routine. He tried to help Duncan in the shop, but sometimes a customer would come in whose build, or clothes, or demeanor triggered a memory, and he would have to run from the room. He started avoiding the shop during the day, going in after hours to clean, arrange the stock, and do paperwork.

A month went by. Adam never missed a walk. Richie enjoyed hearing about the past. Adam could do what his history teachers had never been able to do-tell him what it was like to be there. Richie began asking the occasional question. Slowly, the topic of man's inhumanity to man crept into the conversation. Richie asked him about the Revolutionary War, the Civil War.

"No," said Adam. "I didn't own slaves then. I was a doctor."

"Did you know Mac? What was he doing?"

"I met MacLeod the same time I met you. Why don't you ask him what he did during the Civil War?"

"Maybe. What about World War II? Where were you then?" Richie saw Adam's expression go blank. "Hey, I'm sorry. I mean, you don't have to talk about anything if you don't want to."

"No, Richie. I don't mind. But let's sit down." The two found a bench by a stand of pines. "I was in Germany for a lot of the war. Trying to help. They thought I was a Jew, and sent me to one of the camps. Bergen-Belsen."

Richie was silent for several moments. "And that's why you're helping me." He paused again. "It was terrible, wasn't it?"

"Yes, it was."

"How did you get over it?"

"I learned to deal with the images. And someone took me on long walks."

Richie looked at him. "Can you help me? With the images, I mean."

"Of course. You know I'll be back tomorrow."

"Yes. I'll be ready."

Another week passed. Richie started initiating conversations. "What do you think about opera?"

"I don't much care for it. I prefer more contemporary music. Why?"

"Just wondering if it was an Immortal thing, or something special with Mac. Except for stuff like Mozart, just about all that used to allow on his big stereo system was opera."

"Why the past tense?" Adam asked.

"Well, now, if I put Nine Inch Nails or Smashing Pumpkins on in the living room, he just looks at Tessa, but never says anything."

"And does that bother you?"

"I think they're afraid to upset me. But sometimes I wish they'd treat me the way they used to. You know, get mad when I screw up. I know I must be driving them nuts. Heck, I'm driving me nuts."

Adam smiled. "You're doing fine."

***

A few days later, Tessa was in the kitchen making fruit salad when Richie and Adam came back from their walk. They joined her in the kitchen, Adam helping himself to a beer, and Richie sitting at the table. "Did you have a nice walk, Richie?" asked Tessa.

Richie looked at Adam before answering. "Okay, I guess. It's windy."

Tessa smiled. "Would you like to help cut up some fruit?"

Richie went to her side and cut an orange in half.

"That's good, but you have to peel oranges before they can go in the salad. Why don't you work on the apples," she said and handed him one.

Richie took the apple in his hand. He rotated it in his palms. He dropped it as if it were on fire and raced out of the room.

Sitting on the edge of his bed, Richie waited for his heart to stop pounding. Freaked by an apple. Well, at least he didn't cry or puke this time.

He took a deep breath, stood up, held his head high, and walked back into the kitchen. Adam was still drinking his beer. Richie picked up the knife and began cutting up apples for the salad as if nothing had happened. "I kind of ate too many apples once," he offered as way of explanation.

***

Richie tried to fight off his attackers, but he couldn't move. His arms were pinned. He struggled in vain. "Just tell me what you want. I'll do it, just tell me what you want," Richie whimpered.

A man's voice called softly. "Richie. It's Duncan. Mac. You're safe. You're home. It's all right. Wake up; it's just a bad dream."

Richie opened his eyes. His fear must have been obvious. Mac sat on the edge of Richie's bed and took his hand. He spoke in soothing tones. "I'm not going to hurt you. You can stay right here, in your bed, in the light. You haven't done anything wrong. I want you to relax, Richie. Just lie back. I'll be here. You don't have to do anything."

"It's okay, Mac. I'm awake now." He wished Duncan would go away.

"You know I'm very proud of you. You did your job. You stayed alive until I found you."

"Only because they didn't take my head. I didn't do anything."

"You stayed alive. That's all that matters. Whatever you did, that was the right thing."

"If you say so."

"Richie, can you tell me anything about what they did to you?"

"It hurts too much. I'm okay; you can go back to bed."

Duncan made no move to leave. "Can you try just a little? Just squeeze my hand if it hurts. I'll share the pain with you."

Richie pulled himself to a sitting position. Adam had told him he'd be able to talk about what happened eventually. Maybe he really could do it. "Adam said it's easier if you move the pictures in your head far away, and make them not so real - you know, black and white instead of color, cartoon drawings instead of photographs."

"And is Adam right?"

"Pretty much. The images still come, but they don't seem as scary."

"Good. Then why don't you keep on doing that and see if you can talk about what happened."

Richie took a shaky breath and stared at a point high on the distant wall. "They kept me in the basement in the dark. They gave me apples, cheese and water. Itchy blankets. And a bucket."

Duncan squeezed Richie's hand. "That's a good start. Can you remember anything else?"

"There were different men, but Cowboy was always there. He was the leader. I think he charged the other guys big bucks to come play. They'd bring me up from the basement. They taped me in a scratchy chair while they had their fun." He fought back the images of the blood, the pain. "Then they'd kill me. With my sword. When I came back, they'd kick me downstairs until the next time."

Richie hesitated a moment. He could do this. Pretend it's someone else. It's just a cartoon show. He dug his hands into Duncan's palm and took another cleansing breath.

"The burning was the worst." He spoke in a dull monotone, eyes glued to his focal point. "Matches, candles, sometimes hot pokers. It hurt so much, and the smell made me sick. Drowning was the easiest. And at least I'd be semi-clean for a day." He paused when a flicker of motion crossed his peripheral vision. Tessa was in the doorway.

"It's okay, Tessa. If I'm going to get through this, it'll be easier just to do it once."

Tessa came in and sat on the other side of Richie's bed. Her eyes glistened with tears.

"I had to figure out what they wanted so they'd stop cutting me, or shooting me, or hitting me, or whatever ... how could they enjoy that? They made up rules, different ones each time. Sometimes if I made any sounds they'd hurt me worse; sometimes they would give me a break if I made a lot of noise or tried to get away. They'd bet on how long before I'd beg them to stop. I tried not to... not give them the satisfaction ... but ... I begged. I cried." Richie's voice cracked, and he wept, his head buried in Duncan's chest. He felt the soft touch of Tessa's hands on his back. He pulled back and touched Duncan's wet face. He saw only compassion in the Scot's brown eyes.

Duncan held him for several minutes before speaking again. "You're doing fine Richie. We'll get through this together. Can you go on?"

Richie drew strength from Duncan's embracing arms. "A couple of the guys would, you know ... well, they'd have their hands in their pants...even Kathleen watched sometimes, and she'd get this look..."

"They're sick, Richie. Evil and sick," Duncan said.

"I know, but it still hurt just as much. And sometimes they'd ... they'd ... "

"It's okay, Richie. Go on," Duncan said, gently stroking Richie's back. "None of this was your fault."

"I can't. I just can't."

"You can, Richie. Close your eyes, take a deep breath, and just say it," Tessa said softly.

Richie paused. "They raped me," he whispered. He felt his face burning with shame. "One ... put my ... you know ... in his mouth, and later his ... up my ... I couldn't stop it. I hated it, but I still ... still ... ."

Everything he had ever tried to keep inside seemed to come flooding out in gut wrenching sobs. Memories of his foster parents entwined with those of his tormentors. He cried tears of anger, of fear, of shame, of relief. He sobbed until he had nothing left.

Richie felt Duncan's arm around his shoulders. "Listen to me," he heard the Scot say. "You have nothing to be ashamed of. It was pure violence."

Totally drained, Richie sniffed and collapsed into the protective custody of Duncan's broad torso. He was home.

The three sat together in silence for several minutes. Tessa's quiet voice broke the stillness. "Richie, I know Duncan would want a drink right about now.< How about you? Scotch? Brandy? Or maybe hot chocolate?"

Richie peeked up at Tessa. "Do we have any ice cream? All of a sudden, I'm hungry."

"You've got it. Mac?"

"You two can split the ice cream. I'll stick with brandy."

Tessa smiled and left the room to fetch their treats.

Richie woke up first the next morning. He felt his face flush when Duncan and Tessa came into the kitchen, but he forced himself to meet their eyes. "Would you like some breakfast?" he asked. "I was going to scramble some eggs."

"We'd love some," Duncan said. "How about I make the coffee, and Tessa can make the toast."

The threesome sat around the breakfast table, enjoying a meal for the first time in a long while. "Think you can help me in the shop for a while today, Richie?" asked Duncan. "I've got some crates that need to be unpacked."

"Sure. Glad to help." Richie smiled. "At least until Adam gets here."

Duncan flashed a smile back. "After breakfast, then."

Life slowly approached its normal proportions. Richie did chores in the shop during business hours although he refused to wait on customers. He still couldn't trust his emotions. Although the fits of anger and the crying spells had lessened, they crept up almost without warning. He started going back to Charlie's dojo to train, and ran with Duncan most mornings. Richie and Adam continued their daily walks. The nightmares diminished in frequency, and he began turning off the lamp when he went to bed.

After dinner one night, Richie got up from the table and put a CD into the player. Duncan and Tessa exchanged one of their disagreement looks. Duncan shook his head. Richie turned up the volume. Tessa glared at Duncan, marched over to the stereo and turned it off.

"Richie, that's enough. You have a perfectly good system in your room; if you want to listen to these Mashed Squash -"

"Smashing Pumpkins."

"Fine, Smashing Pumpkins, then. If you want to listen to the noise you call music, you do it in your room with the door closed or the headphones on. And another thing. You're supposed to be doing the dishes. You can start tonight." She stood there, hands on her hips and stared at him.

Richie grinned as though his face would break, then embraced Tessa in a bear hug. "I love you, Tess." He went to the kitchen where Duncan was standing with a bewildered expression on his face. "You, too, Mac."

The Scot stood still for a moment, then wrapped his arm around Richie's neck and rubbed his knuckles through Richie's hair. "Well," he said. "Get going. There's a counter full of dishes waiting to be washed."

***

Epilogue:

The seasons passed. Richie had his good days and his bad days. He worked off his anger at the dojo or sparring with Duncan. He could face customers in the shop. Adam came by every now and then, and he and Richie would disappear for hours, sharing beers and quiet conversation when they returned. Adam joined them for Christmas dinner. Soon the second anniversary of the shooting approached. Tessa opened the mail and found three concert tickets.

"Mac, do you know who might have sent these?" She handed him the envelope.

He looked at the tickets. "Not a clue. Richie? Did you order concert tickets for us?"

"No. Let me see." He took the pieces of pasteboard from Duncan and laughed out loud. "They've got to be from Adam." He looked at Tessa. "Guess you get to pick the restaurant this time. We're going to a Queen concert."

The End