by Carol Roi
He snatched the coat off the wall, his fingers hunting for and finding the slash through the back, as something long and heavy inside it banged into his leg. "Ow, damn it!" He opened the coat to find a broadsword attached to the left side of it with a strap. Ellison still had Pallas' katana; this wasn't her sword. It belonged to her opponent, and he knew the man would not have given it up without a fight. Things were coming together way too fast for him, and dropping the coat, he drew his weapon.
"Rafe! What are you doing?" Blair yelled. "Put that thing away."
Rafe shook his head. "I don't know what's going on here, but I have a very good suspicion your girlfriend killed the man on the bridge. How else would she have his sword?"
Blair's voice lowered into the soothing singsong Rafe had heard him use time and again with Ellison. "Rafe, you're not making any sense. First you tell me that Dee was killed, and now you're saying she killed someone. Which is it, man?"
Seeing movement out of the corner of his eye, Rafe swung his gun to bear on Diandra, his eyes meeting hers. He felt her gaze going straight through him, stripping him bare, paring him down to his true nature. He was suddenly very afraid.
He took a step back, and she went with him, her hand closing on the wrist of his gun hand. She pulled him toward her until the muzzle of the gun rested against her chest, directly over her heart. Rafe tried to break away, but her grip on his wrist was like a vise. Bringing her left hand up, she slid her finger over his on the trigger. His eyes widened in horror as he realized what she was about to do. His scream of "No!" was buried beneath the roar of the gun.
Her hands fell away from his as she collapsed, Blair's arms going around her waist, carrying her to the floor. Rafe simply stared at them, his weapon dangling loosely in his hand. What in the hell had just happened? Why had she shot herself? Why wasn't he moving to call for help? Spying the phone on the wall in the kitchen, he picked it up and attempted to dial. The gun still clutched in his hand bumped four numbers at once, and with a curse, Rafe flung it away from him.
"Rafe." He heard Blair, but didn't turn around, the effort of hanging up and redialing the phone taking all his attention. "Rafe, hang up the phone." When he didn't comply, Blair raised his voice. "Hang up the phone!"
The detective turned toward Blair, the receiver clutched to his ear, his finger poised over the keypad. Blair was cradling his girlfriend in his arms, making no attempt to try to staunch the flow of blood. Only& there wasn't much blood, not much at all. As Rafe watched, Diandra's body jerked as if she'd been struck, and she inhaled sharply as her eyes snapped open. The phone slid from his hand to thump against the wall. Somehow, sometime tonight, he had entered the Twilight Zone.
Blair pressed a kiss to his lover's forehead as she murmured, "Mmm, what a nice way to come back. Much better than awaking up in the freezing river."
He gave her a squeeze then helped her up. "Explanation time. Rafe, you think you can sit down on the sofa?"
He walked over to the loveseat and sat down, his body on autopilot, his mind still trying to come to terms with what he had just witnessed. This time he hadn't been 20 yards away, at night, on a dimly lit bridge. He had shot her, point blank, in the heart. She had died almost instantly, and recovered just as quickly.
Diandra sat down across from him on the couch, Blair beside her. Rafe watched as she pulled the top of the robe open enough to show him she was uninjured. He finally found his voice. "What in the hell are you?" he asked hoarsely.
She leaned back against the cushions before she answered him, Blair's arm automatically going around her shoulders, as if to protect her from whatever reaction Rafe might have at her next words. Her blue eyes regarded him coolly, then she said, quite matter-of-factly, "I'm immortal."
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Two hours later, Rafe exited the loft, feeling more confused than he had been when he'd arrived. Immortals. People who couldn't be killed by ordinary means, who spent a good part of their lives training, preparing to kill each other. Even now it turned his stomach. How could she stand it?
He snorted softly to himself as he climbed into his car. She'd had nearly 3,000 years to get used to the idea, of course she could be calm and collected when talking about it. She'd had plenty of practice. It was Blair's reaction, or lack there of, that had really thrown Rafe. He knew the anthropologist had probably heard the story more than once, but still he'd never flinched, never shown any sign of discomfort as Diandra had answered Rafe's questions. How could Blair, who got physically ill at crime scenes, be in a relationship with a woman who woke up every morning prepared to kill? And what kind of life could he have with someone who stayed eternally young while he grew steadily older?
It was just--freaky. He had agreed to keep their secret only because he couldn't see any benefit to anyone for Immortals to be exposed. Besides, he had a sneaking suspicion that if he'd said no, he would have vanished without a trace. He shivered, remembering the look in Blair's eyes as he'd made Rafe promise not to repeat what he knew to anyone. At that moment, he'd been more afraid of his friend than the Immortal.
He stopped for a red light. And what in the world was up with Jim Ellison? The detective had returned home near the end of their little chat, and informed Rafe that there was no need for him to file a report on the battle he'd witnessed, that it was "all taken care of." Rafe had taken that to mean everything had been swept under the carpet. A man was dead, and Ellison, the biggest straight arrow of all, was covering it up.
Rafe pulled into a parking space in front of his apartment building. He was going to go to bed, and try to forget this night ever happened.
Two months later
The bullpen erupted in chaos, the sound of automatic weapons fire, breaking glass and screams filling the air. Rafe caught a glimpse of Klaus Zeller, dressed as a beat cop, an AK-47 in each hand, striding through the station, screaming something at the top of his lungs. He was reaching for his weapon as the bullets tore through him. The impact sent him flying back to slam into the file cabinets. His last thought was a silent prayer to keep his partner safe.
Darkness and cold surrounded him. Somehow, when he had imagined dying, he had never pictured it like this. There should be light, and warmth, and maybe a tunnel to walk through. Not this& nothing. There was no time, no up or down. He thought he might be floating, but since he didn't seem to have a body any more, he wasn't sure.
Something tugged at him, pulling him back, toward what he didn't know. The force yanked harder, and he was falling& falling!
Rafe's body convulsed as his heart began to beat again, and, sucking in a lungful of air, his eyes flew open. His head felt like it was about to explode, and his stomach rolled ominously. He instinctively curled into a ball, trying to escape the overwhelming sensation that seemed to be inside him and around him at the same time.
A hand rubbed his shoulder, and a familiar voice called his name. "Blair?" He opened his eyes again, rolling onto his back to look up at his friend. Someone knelt beside Sandburg, a tall man with long, dark hair pulled back into a ponytail. Diandra's friend, he remembered vaguely, Duncan something or other, the one she'd sent to look out for Blair when she had to leave town. As his eyes met those of the other man, he realized his discomfort was fading. Somehow Rafe knew the stranger had been the cause of it.
Seeing he had Rafe's attention, the man spoke, his voice containing the slightest trace of a Scottish burr, "Welcome to immortality, Detective."
Finis
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