Parce Que J'ai Péché

Chapter 15

It is a pleasant room, almost a second home. It was assigned to me when I was a resident all those years ago and it has become almost a refuge, a place of peace. I still use it when it is my turn as resident physician, one week every two months. My desk I found at the marché aux puces when I was a poor student and it has become familiar to me, comforting. I studied here far into the night on many occasions.

And now it is the retreat of a grown man. The great leather chair is my pride and joy, leather-bound books in solid cases, photographs of Mathilde and Nikki, a nice one of Martine, a few old friends, one of Sean and myself taken when I received my degree. If I cannot be in my own bed or in Martine's arms, then it is where I feel most at ease. It would seem that I think often of Martine these days.

When I am in residence, the bed can become a sofa and the room becomes a little sitting room, even a consulting room. And now once again, it is a refuge. Through the window, the morning woods are quiet, still in the winter air. It is a good place.

Pierre comes in looking pleased. He sits beside me, forearms on his thighs - it is his favourite pose, I think - smiling.

"How do you feel this morning?"

"Much better, thank you."

"You passed a good night, yes? Better than the last two, I think." he asks.

I am barely awake but my head does not hurt so much, for which I am most certainly grateful. "Yes, I passed a very good night. What did you give me?"

"Propranolol. It works well for anxiety and helps you sleep. Only a modest amount for now. But it had been forty-eight hours and it seemed safe to give you something."

"I am drowsy still."

"Yes, I know. But I'd rather have you drowsy than bouncing off the walls driving me insane asking for cigarettes or insisting that I release you. I'll let you have a pipe, if you like. I have called Nikki. She's worried but I told her that you were doing fine. I told her that you were in a minor car accident, so as not to worry her too much. And I told her that you would be spending time at home. I understand it is your birthday tomorrow."

"Tomorrow? Oh, mon Dieu. I had forgotten."

"I'd like you to stay for another day or so; I feel certain that there is a concussion. But I won't force you, either. You know what is involved and what you would be risking by over-exerting yourself. You need rest."

Indeed, I know only too well. And yet I cannot lie here like a lazy worm while Eddie sits in the abbey and wonders why I have not contacted him. He knows where I live, I am sure. I should not want him going to my home.

"I have no choice but to leave, mon ami. There is some business which will not wait for me while I take naps like an old man."

He chuckles. "You will not live to be an old man if you push it too hard. I am going to let you get up today, get dressed. You may go to the physicians' lounge and smoke there, if you feel up to it. My little concession. Perhaps it will convince you to stay for another day."

"And perhaps I can have Miss Thomas bring my car from Paris."

"Only if you don't intend to drive. You are on medication and I can't yet be sure that you won't become dizzy or even pass out under stress. All right?"

I know this to be the truth. He speaks out of his concern for me and out of his kindness, for Pierre is a kind man above all. I smile at him through the haze. "I shall behave myself."

"Good. If you feel up to it, you may take your breakfast in the lounge. I should like to see how you manage when you are up and about. If there is any sign of dizziness, you are to come back to bed immediately and let me know. Understood?"

"Absolutely. Thank you."

When he is gone, I find that I am not anxious to be up. But I need a cigarette and it is really quite generous. Personally, I would not have allowed it. Perhaps Leah has asked him to do this. She came yesterday but only spoke of ordinary things, of Mathilde and Nikki. She asks often after Martine; I believe she would like to see me married and settled down. Perhaps she is not so wrong but what can I offer Martine now? 'If they come for you…' Until a week ago, it was not even in my mind and now… now it is all I can think of. It will be some time before I can breathe easily again, I think. No, it is not a time to consider marriage.

The aide knocks and asks if I need him this morning. I tell him that I believe that I can see to myself and he leaves. He was a sailor in the French navy and finds this job very much to his liking. We are glad to have him. Sean established a good staff here. He paid them well and the practice has carried on. It would be a good place for Adam if it should come down to it. I wish he could see that, but I shall not push him. I have begun once again to wonder what has become of my star patient - my only patient for now, it would seem. I doubt that he would consent to see anyone else. I have heard nothing more and I am becoming anxious for him.

I lie here, my eyes closed, for a little longer until I feel a little more awake, then I raise myself to a sitting position. I am lightheaded but it does not hurt so much as it did only yesterday. I swing my legs out of bed. I am dizzy but it is no worse than for anyone who has been lying down for more than two days, non? Perhaps it is not so bad as Pierre thinks. When the dizziness clears, I stand - carefully. Aiyiyi! My head feels as if it has hit the ceiling! But it subsides momentarily… Ah, not so bad. In the little bathroom, I get a shock - my face in the mirror! Oh, mon Dieu! I look terrible! And that bandage… No wonder Pierre wants to keep me here. I would frighten little children and dogs looking like this! No doubt Adam will find it endlessly amusing. Ah… and what do I tell him? I shall have to think of something before I see him again.

I am able to see to my needs, although it takes me a while. I feel better for a good wash but a shower would have been very welcome. I have to sit for a moment before dressing myself, but the thought of a cigarette helps me finish. They have not allowed me my shoes, I notice. Ah, Pierre, how little you trust me, mon ami. And perhaps it is just as well. There is a pair of slippers in my small wardrobe from last winter. I find them and put them on. And then I go in search of tobacco.

The lounge is very pleasant, in a converted parlour of the old mansion, small but intimate. Sean believed that his staff worked better if they did not feel that they were in an institution along with the patients. There is even a young lady who waits on us. Apparently, she has been told to expect me. When I go in and find my favourite armchair, she comes immediately with a package of cigarettes - my own brand! - and a clean ash tray.

"Bonjour, Doctor Galbon. How are you this morning? We have been worried."

I take the cigarettes from her; my eagerness is quite pathetic! "Merci, Mademoiselle Chevolleau. You are looking very pretty this morning. That is a new dress, yes?"

"You always notice, Doctor. I shall bring your breakfast when you are ready. Would you like it now?"

"Perhaps in a few moments." I hold up a cigarette. "I have something to take care of first."

She laughs and leaves me to my little ritual. I know that she is also a smoker, though perhaps not so dedicated as I. There are only three of us who smoke in here and this is our little corner, guarded most jealously as our little domain. It is by the window, a most coveted spot. I light the cigarette and the first taste is heaven. I can already hear my nerves quieting. I am sure my 'petites cellules grises' are most grateful and I can almost feel my headache receding as I relax and enjoy for the first time in over two days.

The morning newspaper is on the side table along with the latest copy of Paris Match, though no-one will admit to having an abonnement to the thing. It comes regularly, sits there, becomes dog-eared as if by magic and yet no-one ever reads it! Mais, certainement, it is very amusing. And I am avoiding thinking the things I need most urgently to think about.

Mademoiselle Chevolleau returns but it is not with my breakfast. She tells me only that Pierre wishes to see me immediately in his office. I thank her, take a last drag on the cigarette and stub it out. Merde! I pocket the cigarette package and go to his office. His door is closed, which is unusual. I knock and he calls to me to enter. I open the door and am surprised by what I see. My stomach tightens.

Pierre beckons to me. "Come in, please, René. Sit down."

David Gabrieli is sitting in Pierre's best armchair. He turns torward me as I go in. "Doctor. I'm glad to see you're up and about." His tone is… civil. That, I am certain, is for Pierre's benefit. I doubt that what he feels toward me is very civil at the moment.

And my headache has returned. "Good morning."

Pierre looks a little uncertain how to proceed. He does not want his patient upset and he can hardly miss the tension in the air. "René, M. Gabrieli wishes to speak with you privately. You may use my office." He stands up and comes around the desk. Before he leaves, he turns to Gabrieli. "Monsieur, I realize that your business is urgent, but I must insist that you do not tire my patient. I will return in fifteen minutes at most; I can grant you no more than that."

Gabrieli nods. "Of course. I'll be as brief as possible."

Pierre inclines his head graciously and leaves me alone with my displeased superior. I lower myself into the other armchair. Gabrieli crosses his legs and folds his hands over his stomach. He regards me with a look I can only describe as scornful, which is perhaps better than anger.

"I'm very disappointed in you, Doctor. I gave you an assignment I was sure you of all people had the intelligence to handle and you bungled it.

Ah, I was wrong. He is also angry. It is in his voice. "I can only apologize, Monsieur." I can hardly say that I hope no damage has been done.

"You have landed me in a very difficult position. Miss Thomas has filled me in on what happened." My hand goes automatically for my cigarettes before I remember where I am. "You can begin by telling me what happened on Tuesday."

"May I assume that you have been to M. Croft's apartment?"

He nods. "You may."

"Then you have seen what was there. I did not get farther than that myself before… before I was interrupted."

"You found nothing, then."

The diary in the drawer springs to mind. He will have found it, non? And he will assume that I found it also. If I fail to mention it… "There was a diary, in the little drawer under the poster. I did not get a chance to look at it. It was in my hand when M. Croft found me."

"I've read it. It was mostly a paean to the virtues of our Mr. Pierson, some of it quite explicit."

And so much more than this, I think. M. Croft did 'favours' for people, for Adam; it would be in there. How much of what Croft told me in the car is in that little book also, I wonder? If he wishes to tell me, he will do so. To ask would be… inappropriate. "I found no tapes, Monsieur. I was able to search the bedroom but not thoroughly. M. Croft himself assumed that I had come for it and told me that he would never keep such a thing there. It is in keeping with his personality."

"Do you have any suggestions as to where it might be?"

I shrug. "I have not had time to give it any thought. It could be anywhere - a safety deposit box, perhaps."

"A chronicle is mentioned. Do you have any idea what that's about?"

I hesitate, take off my glasses and rub my eyes. This is something which I would prefer that he not know, yet Croft told me that the chronicle and my tape were in the same place. Better perhaps that Gabrieli find it. But I cannot bring myself to tell him - it belongs to Adam. "No, Monsieur, I do not." And it would seem that I am indeed the liar Miss Thomas thinks me to be. Yet anyone who tells me he does not lie is lying; it is an interesting truth. And I am already tiring. I put my glasses back on; thank God Pierre has told him only fifteen minutes.

"I hope you at least understand how serious this appears to be, Doctor. What did he tell you in the car? I presume he told you something."

"Oh, yes. He told me a great deal. And much of it was… fantastic? And yet I think also that it was the truth." A twinge of pain makes me wince. I wait a moment before proceeding. "It was very disordered. And yet I think he was what he said that he was."

He does not answer right away. Perhaps he is considering doing this some other time? I can only hope. And I need a cigarette, as usual. He sighs. "I'm sorry to push you, Doctor, but I must know. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

I nod. It is quite true. "I am perhaps even more aware of that than you, Monsieur. And yet it cannot be told in a few minutes. I am not even sure where to begin. You will forgive me; I am not thinking clearly and the memory is not pleasant."

"I just want some idea of what I'm dealing with. If I am to make this man disappear, I need to know how deep he was into it, do you understand?"

"Oui, Monsieur. I understand very well." And I do. I would not wish to be in his position. "It would seem that M. Croft was an éminence grise. And has been for a long time. He told me of pulling strings as high up as the Regional Director himself, arranging appointments, 'transfers' - disappearances. He did not create the Hunters, yet he financed them, likely through embezzlement, investing the money… He did 'favours'; I would think that a little blackmail was involved on occasion. He did not give me names and details; he merely bragged of his power to control. And of his hatred for myself, of course. I doubt sincerely that I was the only one."

"He was quite talkative, in other words. Why was that, do you think?"

I shrug. "His kind need to brag, to tell others of their exploits, their power. What is the use of power when no-one knows? He had to stay quiet, of course, or it would be over. He wanted their fear - it is always an element of this kind of power over others - yet he was denied it. He contented himself with manipulating - and perhaps destroying - in secret."

"And yet he told you."

"I was not going to live to tell others. He could afford to indulge himself."

"And he very nearly succeeded in that. You're a very lucky man. Miss Thomas did an excellent job. But I needed him alive."

I sigh. "Yes, I am aware of that."

"Do you have any fucking idea how badly you've screwed things up, Doctor? Unless the man kept records, which I doubt, and unless we find them first…" He shakes his head and rubs his brow with his fingers. "And if the Council ever finds out what happened to him… need I say more? I'm not sure I could save your sorry ass. Hell, I'm not even sure I'd want to."

"I can write up a report on what he told me, as much as I can remember."

"You are damned right you will! If you were in better health, I'd have you do it right here and now. As it is, you'll hand it directly to me when it's done. I'll send someone I trust. I'd like you to stay invisible for a while, not show your face at HQ. Do you think you can manage that? Write it by hand - I don't want it on anybody's hard drive. And don't, for God's sake, make copies."

He thinks me a fool. I am getting too old for this. "Of course."

"As a matter of fact, I want you to stay right here until this has been taken care of. You're out of the way and there's someone keeping an eye on you. Dr. Lamartine tells me he's put you on medical leave. There'll be a memo to personnel to keep your pay in order and that will stand as a reason for keeping you out of sight if we need one. Tomorrow, I'm sending Miss Thomas to fetch you and the two of you can decide how you want to solve that other little problem of ours."

"I am not sure that Pierre… Dr. Lamartine…"

"I don't give a rat's ass what Dr. Lamartine thinks. If this isn't cleared up, his patient is likely to be six feet under in any case. Eddie Brill can blow us all out of the water and the matter is too delicate to leave to anyone but those already directly involved. And this time, I expect you not to screw it up. I have something for you."

He takes an envelope out of the pocket of his overcoat and hands it to me. I open it. In it, there is an American passport and a sum of money. I do not count it. A folder contains a plane ticket for New York on the evening flight from Charles de Gaulle airport. The name on the passport and the ticket is Paul Johnson. I open it. Inside is Eddie's photograph, a fairly recent one from updated personnel files. It is a very good forgery. And I doubt that the ticket is genuine. The HQ Documents Department has some very skillful people.

I close the passport and replace it in the envelope. "How are you going to get this to M. Brill?"

He looks at me down his nose. "I hope you're joking, Doctor. That is entirely up to you but I would suggest you hand it to him yourself."

I stare at him. Of course he would expect me to arrange it. How foolish of me. I notice that my hand shakes as it holds the envelope; no doubt he sees it as well as I.

He folds his hands over his stomach again. "The real Paul Johnson has been dead for a couple of years, but his records are still on file. If that passport should fall into the wrong hands, it will look genuine." He pauses and looks sternly at me. "But I don't expect it to fall into the wrong hands. When the job is done, destroy it."

I am horrified. "Monsieur, I did not sign on to be a nettoyeur - a cleaner! I must object."

"Don't tell me you've changed your mind. Croft must have really rattled your brains. You're not telling me that you were going to let our Mr. Brill go after telling me you were going to kill him, are you? You're a lot smarter than that and I expect you to deal with your own mess, Doctor. And try not to get yourself murdered this time. Oh, one more thing. For your information, the cconcierge in Croft's apartment house has been dealt with so you don't have to worry about her testifying against you." He chuckles. "She was really looking forward to it. I don't know what you said to piss her off but piss her off you did. All taken care of."

He stands up just as Pierre comes in.

Gabrieli looks at Pierre and nods. "I was just leaving, Doctor. Thank you for the use of your office."

When he has left, Pierre puts a hand on my shoulder. I find I am trembling a little. "Are you all right? I shouldn't have let you do this."

"It's all right. It was… necessary."

"I want you back to bed. Mademoiselle Chevolleau will bring your breakfast."

"No, I wish to stay up."

"I wasn't asking what you wanted to do, René; it was an order from your physician."

I get out of the chair - and my head seems to hit the ceiling again, of course. He is most likely right; I shall need to lie down again. If I am to carry out M. Gabrieli's orders… and I am to have another visit from Miss Thomas. It will be a birthday I shall not forget for a while, I think.

I take my medication and sleep the rest of the morning. I am surprised when the nurse puts a nicotine patch on my arm; as I said, Pierre is a kind man. In the afternoon, Leah comes to see me. We talk of M. Gabrieli's visit and how I feel about what is to happen.

"Must you do this, René?" she asks me gently. She is very concerned for me, and she has reason. I am a little unnerved myself.

"It is right that I do this myself, Leah. I cannot ask this of others."

"If you give him the passport and the money, he will be gone from your life. Can you not leave it at that? It is certainly not a matter of justice; your own hands are not clean."

She asks me only what I have asked myself. I believe I know the answer. I take my glasses off and rub my forehead. The headache has become very bad again. Yet I think it is more the pain of my overworked conscience than from the lump on my skull. She waits patiently for me to compose myself.

"It is no longer just my own life, as I thought. He does not yet know about Croft but when he does, he will no longer fear reprisal. He has information which he would be most happy to sell to those who might be interested - and there are many of those, I am quite sure, those who would depose Gabrieli to begin with. The organisation would return to a state of corruption. My own continued safety and that of my family is only a minor consideration. I must do this." I put my glasses back on and look at her. She is sad for me but she understands. "And I do not do this lightly. But I took this path many years ago, Leah: now I must follow it - I have no choice."

She sighs and stands up. "Then I will be here for you when it is done." She smiles and pats my hand. "I shall not tell you to go with God. I doubt He would approve."

****

Today I am fifty-four years old. And this is not exactly where I had intended to be for the occasion. I have called Nikki and spoken to Mathilde. Perhaps I shall see them today but I have not promised. It is necessary to go to Reims, although the thought does not fill me with pleasant anticipation. I woke early and was pleased to find that I felt better. Sleeping well for two nights has been good for me; I should make a habit of it. The nicotine patch has probably helped but it has not cured me of wanting the real thing. I have just had my breakfast in the physicians' lounge; Mademoiselle Chevolleau brought me a croissant with a candle in it. I have no idea who told her that it was my birthday. She sang "Bonne Fête" to me and I felt like a fool but it was a nice thought. And now I am enjoying a cigarette at last.

I am quite calm, which surprises me. The Zoloft cannot be having much effect just yet; it is the other one, I suppose. Something new, perhaps. Little white things that work quite quickly. Adam would most certainly not approve but I am glad of them. But then, I do not need to defend myself from Hunters… Ah, René, you will never forget, will you?

"Doctor? They told me that I'd find you here."

I turn my head to see Miss Thomas coming toward me. I stand and greet her. "I have been expecting you. Would you care for coffee?"

"Yes, thank you. I didn't stop on the way."

She sits and I catch Mademoiselle Chevolleau's eye. She knows what I want. I sit down and offer Miss Thomas a cigarette. She takes it.

"I shouldn't get started again," she says. "I'm beginning to feel like Miss Parker."

"Miss Parker?"

She shakes her head and laughs. "Never mind, Doctor. Someone you aren't likely to meet."

I shrug and light the cigarette for her. Adam would not give a damn but her father might be upset. On the other hand, she is a grown woman and I am not her father.

"I understand that M. Gabrieli has spoken with you," I say.

She nods as she takes a drag on the cigarette before replying. "Oh, yes. He most certainly has. And I understand that you know what's supposed to happen very soon. Is it safe to talk here?"

"Oh, yes. Mademoiselle Chevolleau does not speak English. And this is Holy Ground."

She laughs again yet I am surprised by her nervousness. "That's a concept that doesn't apply to us. I rather wish it did, don't you?"

"It did once, Mademoiselle."

"Sanctuary? Yes, I suppose it did. Now that means something else." Her face darkens as she says this.

"What do you know of Sanctuary, Miss Thomas?'"

She smokes for a few moments before replying. Mademoiselle Chevolleau comes with coffee on a silver tray, coffee for two. It is customary for guests of the physicians.

When Mademoiselle Chevolleau retires, Miss Thomas looks at me, frowning. "I have heard dreadful things. I also heard that it has been destroyed. They would have put Ben there if they could, wouldn't they?"

I nod. "Yes, I am afraid they would have done this, if they knew. But there is no longer any danger of that, is there? And he improves. Have you had any word?"

"I spoke with my father on Thanksgiving… on Thursday. They are both well. No doubt you will have your patient back soon, Doctor. Did you ever find out why Gabrieli allowed him to go?"

I shrug and smoke my cigarette. I find it difficult to face her even now. "Miss Thomas…" She merely looks at me, waiting. Last Sunday, I thought I knew it all. I was the experienced Watcher, she the inexperienced newcomer. And now? Now she has seen me murder a man - and she has saved my life. It has changed things. Do I tell her? Now that I am thinking more clearly, it seems foolish not to say anything. I had thought that Gabrieli would remain uninvolved - it would appear that I was wrong. "Miss Thomas, M. Gabrieli called me to his office on Monday morning. I was terrified that he had found out. He took me to lunch and confronted me. M. Croft did denounce me - anonymously - a week before, perhaps more. Because it was anonymous, M. Gabrieli chose to do some checking before confronting me - he is not so easily led down the garden path, as you English say." I laugh but it is nervousness. I have been seriously shaken by the week's events and it will take me some time to feel at all normal again, whatever that might mean. "He made it very plain that if I step out of line, he will have me executed."

"Oh, my God." She sighs. "Still, it's best to know where you stand, I suppose." She finishes the cigarette and stubs it out. "You know, I find this rather absurd. A week ago, such a statement would have made my hair curl. And now…"

I finish my own cigarette and sit back. "And yet it is a fact of the way we live. They told us at the Academy how it would be. Did you ever believe that it would apply to yourself?"

She picks up the coffee and smiles. "No, I didn't. I suppose I was idealistic. And now the Council would have almost as much reason to put a bullet in my brain as in yours. Or in Gabrieli's. And he knows about you."

I drink some of my own coffee. "Indeed. It was convenient to give Adam permission to go to Scotland while he did the checking. He could not risk that I was still involved with the Hunters. It was to keep Adam safe from me, I think."

"And he has changed his mind, I see."

"Now you are going to tell me that M. Gabrieli told you what he knew of me?"

She smiles and stares into the coffee. "Yes, as a matter of fact, he did tell me. Just in case it was you I needed to shoot." She finishes the coffee and puts the cup down. "Are you ready to go? I shall wait for you in the parking lot."

It is time, René. I sigh and finish the coffee. "Yes. I shall not be long."

****

Pierre is not a happy man. I could say the same for myself. I have the papers and the money in my pocket. And my medication. Is it only a week since my world fell apart? At least Miss Thomas is a good driver. We shall be at the bar soon.

"What are you thinking about, Doctor?"

"Not very much of anything."

"You've been very quiet. You'll tell me if you're having trouble?"

I smile. "Of course. I do not enjoy pain, Mademoiselle. I have my medication in my pocket."

"All right. I don't need you collapsing on me again."

"I have not had a chance to thank you," I say. "I am grateful."

"I see they washed that awful old pullover of yours. I should have brought you something. I wasn't thinking."

"I have grown rather attached to it over the years. May I ask what happened on Tuesday? I think I missed part of the movie."

She chuckles. She has smoked a couple of cigarettes on the journey; I believe she is as nervous as I. It will help us both to talk - and I sincerely wish to know.

"When Gabrieli called me, I was fit to be tied. I did not want to have the Regional Director himself ordering me off on some wild goose chase to haul you out of whatever mess you'd landed yourself in. I thought you could take care of yourself and told him so. I'm afraid I was even a bit rude. Anyway, to make a long story short, there I was outside Croft's apartment just in time to see you coming out, looking a little frightened, if you don't mind my saying. And he was immediately behind you. I assumed he had a gun in your ribs. Was I correct?"

I sigh. "Oh, yes. It was not my best moment."

"And your driving was remarkably sedate for Paris. I was in contact with Gabrieli, of course, wondering why the hell the boss himself was running the show personally. But he's involved, isn't he? Up to his big brown eyeballs."

"Oh, yes. He cannot afford to abandon us. When he decided to take on Methos as his own project, he made himself vulnerable. Perhaps that is some comfort."

"If we go down, he goes down?"

"Something like that."

"I rather think I like that, Doctor. Thank you for the reassurance."

I laugh. I believe this week has changed M. Dawson's little girl. "But you did manage to stay behind me."

"Yes, I did - God knows how. I was a little worried. But I wasn't the only one. O'Reilly was doing a sort of tag thing with me."

"O'Reilly? Who is this?'

"You don't know him?" She chuckles. "He most certainly knows you."

But perhaps I do. "He is a tall man with curly hair?"

"Yes. Remember him? He's been tailing you for a month now, he says. He also said that you never notice because you always have your head up your arse."

"I see. And this M. O'Reilly…"

"I'd tell him where you were; he'd intercept you; I'd turn off and he'd keep me informed until I could pick you up again. It worked remarkably well. Once on the highway, we couldn't do that but we both just kept going. I got to you first. And I'm glad of that, Doctor; I'm glad I was the one. O'Reilly's a bit of a shit, I'm afraid. He wouldn't have given a damn if Croft had blown your head off; I found I cared. It was horrible!" She stops speaking. I offer her another cigarette and she takes it. It has been a hard week for both of us. "I heard him say those things to you; it was so cold! I couldn't get a shot off sooner; I was in danger of hitting you. It has to have been awful for you. I shan't forget in a hurry."

I light her cigarette and my own. "Nor shall I, Mademoiselle. But I am sorry that you had to see what I did."

"I would have done it myself. I have to admit that I wanted to."

"It was better that I do it. Do not be too anxious to kill; it cannot be undone. Or forgotten."

"No, I don't suppose it can. Although O'Reilly seems to have no trouble forgetting. He was IRA, you know. Shot some poor sod in the line of 'duty' then watched him get up again. The man's Watcher recruited him. Offered him a choice - join us or join your victims. He rather liked the idea of using his talents elsewhere and now he's one of us. We do seem to attract the sleazier element."

"Oh, yes. It has always been this way, I think. Which does not say very much for the two of us, je crois."

She smiles and smokes the cigarette. She is becoming harder, perhaps, which saddens me, although it will keep her alive longer. For her sake, I hope that she does not need to become cold as well.

"There was something I meant to ask you about."

"Yes?"

"Croft said something about a chronicle belonging to Adam. You must know what he meant, or he wouldn't have mentioned it."

"Yes, I do know, although I am a little puzzled myself. It was Eddie who told me about it. Croft cannot have known that - or at least I think not. Perhaps he assumed that Adam had told me. I don't know. But I am beating about the bush here." I take a drag on the cigarette before going on. My thinking is not very well ordered, I see. It will have to improve if I am to have my wits about me. "There is a chronicle, written on clay tablets, very ancient. It is a Methos chronicle, written by Methos himself, or that is the rumour. I have never asked Adam about it, since we are pretending that I do not know who he is. I do know that it was used as bait by Horton to trap him some years ago. Adam went to retrieve it - and Horton was there. The idea, according to Eddie, was that if the Hunters killed Methos, it would send the greatest message of all. Horton assumed, as did everyone except Croft, that Adam had heard the rumour and had come for it as part of his Methos project. It seemed logical and there were no consequences. And that little confrontation is on one of the tapes now in your father's safe, by the way. It is as well that you should know."

"And no-one knows where this chronicle is now?"

I shrug. "Croft knew. I had hoped that it might be at his apartment. Eddie told me that the tape and the chronicle were in the same place. Of course, he also claimed to have them himself. And now I have no idea which of them was lying, although I am more inclined to believe Croft."

"And it could still turn up?"

"The tape? Oh, yes. Its whereabouts may or may not be in a diary M. Gabrieli took from the apartment - and has read - but I have no idea where to look."

My head gives me a twinge and I take off my glasses and rest my eyes. I am grateful that it is Miss Thomas who is driving. I am not at all sure that I am ready for this.

"What do you remember. Doctor?"

I shrug and put my glasses back on. It is something I have asked myself - and been unable to answer. "Very little after… after I killed him. And I am not sure if what I do remember is the truth."

"You were not making a lot of sense and you were an awful mess. There was blood everywhere; I'm surprised you made it back to the car."

"I no longer remember even that, Mademoiselle. Perhaps it is just as well."

"I was in a panic, Croft lying there with a hole in his head, you busy bleeding all over the back seat of the car… I phoned Gabrieli and told him what had happened. It only rang once before he answered. I don't think he was in his office, either, perhaps a bar, somewhere noisy."

"No doubt he did not wish to be overheard."

She snorts. "No doubt." Her impression of M. Gabrieli is changing rapidly, I think. Perhaps it is a revelation - and perhaps it is a disappointment. In any case, she is unlikely to tell me. "He told me that O'Reilly would take care of Croft and I was to take care of you, get you to the hospital where you worked since they wouldn't ask awkward questions. He had to give me directions and I made a couple of wrong turns but I got there. They were waiting for me. I thought for sure you were going to die in the back seat of my car and all I could think about was what I would tell your daughter. And Adam, of course. I'm rather glad I didn't have to. I was sure you'd had it, you know."

"Pardon?"

"I was sure I was going to be delivering a body and it was not a pleasant thought. I still haven't got all the blood out."

I shrug. "Pierre has not told me the details - and I do not think that I shall ask."

She is silent for a while, watching the traffic, which is very busy. We do not have much farther to go. She finishes the cigarette and stubs it out. "Stephen wants to help."

"Bon. I think we are well past worrying about interference."

When she parks the car in the courtyard behind the bar, Stephen comes out to greet us. He looks a little worried, although I doubt that it is for the state of my health. I do not think that Stephen cares particularly whether I continue to inhabit his world, but I could be wrong. I have been wrong about people quite a lot lately, non? When I get out of the car and stand, I am a little dizzy but nothing to be worried about. It passes in a moment. I am surprised when he comes to be of assistance.

"Are you all right, Doctor? Miss Thomas has filled me in on what happened."

Ah, it is 'Doctor' now. Perhaps he feels embarrassed; the last time I saw him he was, after all, very drunk. "I am just a little dizzy. I have been flat on my back for three days; it will take a little adjustment."

"All right. Miss Thomas left me in charge for the morning, since I have a certain amount of expertise in the management of such establishments. I have coffee on."

Inside, we go to the table at the back of the bar. It is still too early for customers, which suits us very well. We shall not have to huddle in Joseph's little office, although the sofa is quite comfortable. If I need to lie down, I can always go there without being disturbed. And yet, there is not time for such little luxuries, is there?

When Stephen and I are seated, Marie brings the coffee. She asks me in French if I should like a cognac. Indeed, it is tempting, but it is not a good idea. It does not mix well with Zoloft - nor, very likely, with those little white pills, or the painkillers… damn! I decline the offer and she smiles at me sympathetically, which puzzles me at first. Then I remember my bandaged head and how I looked in the mirror this morning, which explains that. Ah, René, you are no prince charming today!

Miss Thomas disappears into the office and returns with a package wrapped in brown paper. She hands it to me.

"You left this behind, Doctor."

It is heavy and I can guess what it is. I unwrap it - it is my gun and the silencer; it has been cleaned, by the smell of it. "Thank you."

"That was the one I took from you. I thought you might need it."

"It has lived under my bed for years; I had thought it would stay there for many years more."

Stephen appears a little anxious. He clears his throat. "Right. Let's get on with this, shall we? I understand there's some urgency."

"Indeed," I say and shrug. "I would normally take care of this myself…"

"It's all right. Miss Thomas has brought me up to speed, including the fact that you shouldn't drive. I'm happy to help."

"It is appreciated."

Miss Thomas leans her forearms on the table, all business now. "Dr. Galbon has the passport and money and the plane ticket. I have taken the liberty of telephoning the abbey. I had a hard time understanding the priest…"

I am surprised. "You telephoned to Père Jean? How did you find his name?"

"That's not important, Doctor. I did call and I spoke to him - he was very concerned for your health, by the way. He wants to see you when you're able to go."

"Yes, I am sure that he does."

"If you will stop interrupting…" She glares at me and I concentrate on my coffee. Stephen is smirking. Perhaps it amuses him that a young woman can tell me to shut up with impunity - and have me obey. I cannot say that I feel the same way. "He told me that Eddie is getting a little nervous. I said we would take care of that soon. I got the distinct impression that he knew exactly what I meant by that." I wave a hand absently. I am not going to open myself to another little reprimand. "He is expecting us at one o'clock."

"How do you want to handle this, Doctor?"

I put my coffee cup down. "I have not given it a lot of thought. I have been a little… preoccupied. But I do not wish to do anything in Reims. I have to live there, my family is there…" I shrug. "If anything should go wrong…"

I do not get a chance to finish the thought. Miss Thomas is looking over my shoulder in surprise. I turn around. An elegantly dressed woman of about my own age approaches us. I stand politely, as does Stephen.

"Dr. Davani," Miss Thomas says. Ah, now I know. This is Adam's academic advisor - and Joseph's lady. Joseph has excellent taste, if I may say so.

The lady smiles - a little nervously? "Miss Thomas. Am I interrupting anything?"

"We were about to leave, actually. May I introduce you to Dr. Galbon, Adam's therapist…?"

Dr. Davani tears her eyes away from the bandage on my head and extends her hand to me and I take it. "Ah, yes," she says. "Adam has mentioned you, Doctor. I am pleased to meet you." I do not get the impression, however, that she is paying very much attention; these are pleasantries only, essential but not what she came here for. She is worried, if I am not mistaken.

"And Stephen Keane. He's looking after Ben's bookshop."

Stephen also shakes hands without speaking. Neither Stephen nor I sit down. It would be interpreted as an invitation to join us and that is most certainly not our intention. Dr. Davani looks at Miss Thomas, obviously unsure how to proceed with the two of us men here.

"I was wondering about your father, Mademoiselle…"

"Yes, of course. I spoke with him on Thursday. He's very well, asks to be remembered. I'm sorry we can't ask you to join us. I shall tell my father that you came around when he gets back. Will that be all right?"

Dr. Davani looks a touch startled, I think. I doubt she is used to being thrown out of bars. "I spoke to him myself on Thursday," she says, "but he did not say why he was in Scotland. I was wondering if you could tell me."

I give Miss Thomas a warning look. She should not meddle in her father's romantic affairs, despite her own feelings on the subject. Such interference only does all parties harm in the end. She glances at me briefly; she understands.

She smiles at Dr. Davani. "Certainly. He had business dealings with the people who make Glenfiddich; they invited him to have a look at their facility at their expense and he took them up on it. It was rather rushed, I'm afraid. He should be back on Monday."

"I see." And she smiles graciously. "Thank you. If you will have him call when he comes home, I should be grateful."

"Absolutely."

"Then I shall leave you. Good day, gentlemen."

We 'gentlemen' make a little bow and watch her leave the bar before sitting back down.

Stephen is amused and grins at Miss Thomas. "I think that's what you call the 'brush-off'. Did I detect a little hostility there?"

Miss Thomas glares at him. "That's none of your business. And I think we should get going. We have a couple of hours in the car and we can discuss details then. I'm driving."

Stephen bridles a little. "And may I ask why I should be reduced to being a passenger?"

"Because we are not taking that red show piece of yours, Stephen. Anyone could follow that from half a mile away."

This strikes me as funny and I cannot suppress a little laugh at Stephen's expense. It would seem that he, too, has been put in his place by a young woman. I am beginning to think that Adam has his work cut out for him if he wishes to take on this one. On the other hand, she is certainly worthy of him. I am beginning to think that it will not be such a bad thing - when the time is right.

****

Chapter 16

Once out of Paris, the traffic has become much lighter. I have chosen to sit in the back seat so that I may rest if I should need it. We have yet to decide how to proceed once Eddie has the papers and it is becoming something of a farce. I have listened to the conversation without taking part until now, not being able to concentrate well. I presume that it is due to the medication. I can understand Adam's reluctance - it may keep one calm but does nothing for keeping one alert. I am beginning to wonder whether I shall be able to do this; my dislike of committing murder once again seems quite another matter.

"Are you all right back there?" Stephen asks over his shoulder. "You're awfully quiet."

"It is the medication, I think. It is difficult to concentrate."

"You sure you're going to be able to pull this off? I'm quite willing, you know."

"Thank you, but this is my 'mess', as M. Gabrieli put it to me."

"Rather an old mess, I hear."

"Pardon?"

"You know - leftover mess from when you were a Hunter."

"Quoi?!"

I hear Miss Thomas groan a little. "Stephen! You're not exactly a model of discretion, are you?"

Stephen is indignant. "What did I say?" There is an embarrassed silence from Miss Thomas. I am horrified. "Well, come on. What did I say?"

Miss Thomas lets out a disgusted sigh. "I asked you to keep it to yourself. It isn't something Watchers like having broadcast, you know. If it gets out, Dr, Galbon can, as the Americans say, kiss his arse good-bye. Unlike you, we don't recover from a bullet to the head."

I listen to this with growing alarm. "May I ask exactly what was said, Miss Thomas? I told you in the strictest confidence."

I apologize. "I apologize, Doctor. But you were not exactly in my good books on Sunday. You'd handed me quite an unpleasant shock, one that I'm not entirely over…"

Stephen takes up the challenge. "I called Miss Thomas on Monday morning - with a hangover, I might add…"

"That was your own fault," Miss Thomas says indignantly. "I did not bend your elbow for you. If you made an idiot of yourself, you have only yourself to blame."

"I beg your pardon! I was the one who was thoroughly left out in the cold - by everyone, I might add. If you weren't so busy mooning after… Ben!…"

"And that is none of your business either…!"

"Arrêtez!" I roar. "Silence! Je vous en prie! Oh, mon Dieu, my head will fall off in a moment. Can we not discuss the business at hand? It is in the open now; it cannot be taken back. But I would appreciate, M. Keane, if you would say nothing of this to anyone, most especially Adam. It would be disaster for the therapy."

"Now there's another issue. I think it's hog swill, to be perfectly honest. I know you mean well, Doctor, but it's only a cut above planting toenails by moonlight and incantations over a dead chicken. When you've been around as long as I have…"

Miss Thomas cannot resist. "Oh, here we go again. You've been around since Moses was a stonecutter… You're beginning to sound like every other Immortal over a hundred that I've ever met…"

"Moses was never a stonecutter…"

"Oh, bugger it, Stephen! Put a sock in it! We're all nervous…"

"Speak for yourself."

Blessed silence follows, thank God. "May we discuss the issue at hand?" I say. "We have left it to the last minute to have a plan."

"Now that was sensible!" Stephen says with disgust.

"Stephen, what the hell is your problem?" Miss Thomas replies.

Stephen sighs. I think that he is used to being in charge and this is difficult for him. "All right," he says. "How do we want to do this?"

"The flight time is 19:30, Paris time," I say.

"I thought the ticket was a forgery," Miss Thomas says.

"It is, but the flight is genuine in case he thinks to call the airline to check that. He is required to be at Charles de Gaulle by 17:30. The train from Reims reaches the Gare de l'Est at 16:30. He changes easily to the Gare du Nord on the Métro and the train to the airport runs every fifteen minutes. Once he is on the train to Paris, it will be very difficult to trap him anywhere by himself."

"Then why let him get on the train?" Stephen asks.

"Pardon? How else will he go to Paris? He has no car."

"Why wait until he gets to Paris? Miss Thomas told me you have him stashed in a monastery. Just lure him out of the place, into the nearest alley... and Bob's your uncle."

"I do not wish to do this in Reims, M. Keane. I have my family there…"

He turns in his seat to look at me. "What difference does that make? They're not involved."

"And I wish to keep it this way! If it should go wrong and the police are involved…"

"Gentlemen!" Miss Thomas says quite loudly. "Doctor, Stephen is right, you know. I understand that you want to keep your family out of all this but if the police are involved, does it really matter if it's in Paris or if it's in Reims?"

I am shocked. For so many years now I have kept my life separate from my home that it has become habit to think this way. But they are right, although I am very reluctant. "Very well. We shall do this in Reims."

"That's the spirit," Stephen says. I wish that I felt as cheerful about murder as he seems to feel.

I fish in my pocket for the little white pills. It has been four hours and it is most certainly time. My hand trembles as I take off the cap and shake the two pills into my palm. I swallow them easily enough. Miss Thomas sees what I am doing in the rear view mirror and Stephen watches also. I feel no need to explain but Stephen disapproves. Tant pis. It is not his head that hurts or his hand that shakes. I put the pills back into my pocket and take out a cigarette.

"M. Keane, will it bother you if I smoke?" "Not at all. Used to smoke myself."

"Miss Thomas?"

"Go ahead, Doctor. I won't have one."

I light the cigarette and open the window. I am already tired and the cool air on my face helps me.

When Stephen turns to me again, I am surprised at the concern on his face. "I understand about your family, Doctor. Miss Thomas has told me that you have a daughter. A long time ago, a very good friend of mine had a little son. I swore an oath of loyalty to his father; that Mortal family was under my protection but his father died protecting him after his murderer shot me dead. I have never forgotten - or forgiven. I envy you your child - and yet in our world, they can be pawns. We won't let anything happen to her. You have my word."

I am quite touched - enough to forgive Miss Thomas for telling Stephen about Mathilde. "Thank you. I shall remember it."

Thinking is not coming easily. I try to put myself into Eddie's shoes; what will he think when I hand him the envelope and tell him to have a nice life? He has never trusted me one inch; he is not about to begin now. He will wonder how I am going to do it once he is off the grounds of the abbey, without a doubt. He knows that I will not willingly risk trouble with him in the future. Once he finds out that he no longer needs to fear M. Croft, he will become bold; what I told Leah is quite true, even if he himself does not yet know this.

The traffic on the highway has become a little thick. Stephen turns to me once more while Miss Thomas takes care of it. "Any ideas yet?"

I see he leaves it to me. And it is sensible. He does not know the situation at the abbey. "I was just wondering what Eddie will say when I hand him his freedom. He does not trust me."

"I wouldn't trust you either, frankly."

I smile. "But what would you do if you were Eddie?"

"I don't know the gentleman. We shall have to play it by ear."

****

We park the car out of sight around the corner from the gate to the abbey. I, of course, shall go into the abbey and give the envelope to Eddie. When he comes out, Stephen will follow him, with his cell phone. I shall rejoin Miss Thomas… and we shall wait for our opportunity. He must not be allowed to disappear into the French countryside. He will believe that if he is to make his flight, he must take the train. Stephen has much more experience with these things than I. He tells me that it is often a mistake to plan too closely. One can never predict the quarry beyond a certain point; one stays flexible and does not fear to act on the instant. I wish I felt his confidence.

I feel for the envelope in my pocket; it is there, safe and sound. I do not carry my gun; that would be most foolish and Père Jean would not allow it. When I get out of the car, Miss Thomas wishes me luck. Stephen gets out also, but does not come with me. He must watch where I go, since he does not know the abbey. I almost feel his eyes on me as I cross the street to the abbey gate. I ring the bell and wait. I turn in time to see Stephen cross the street and move out of sight. Miss Thomas drives out of sight also.

It is some time before Frère André comes to answer the bell, which worries me. When he comes, he is not suprised to see me. Not at all. No doubt Père Jean has told him that I am coming, but there is something else. He looks… frightened. He does not speak to me but opens the gate. Before I go through, I turn to look back. Stephen stands several metres away, looking at me. I make a puzzled expression, he tilts his head slightly; he has the message - possible trouble. My heart rate climbs and my head reminds me of what happened so recently. I ignore it and go through the gate.

Frère André nods, turns quickly and walks ahead of me. I follow, more alert than I had expected to be. Self-preservation is a strong motivator to pay attention and I can feel the adrenaline. I try to keep my breathing deep and measured. We cross the courtyard and enter the abbey without a word. The good brother is normally quite talkative and pleased to see me; there is most certainly trouble with Eddie. Inside the abbey, Frère André leads me to the guest quarters. He hesitates before the door to the parlour and turns to me.

"René, please do not do anything foolish."

I shake my head. "Of course not. I understand. Open the door."

I straighten myself and take a breath as the door opens. I see Père Jean sitting in one of the arm chairs with Eddie standing behind him.

"Join us, Doc," Eddie says, smirking. "You're right on time."

I thank Frère André and go through the door, closing it behind myself.

"Are you all right, mon Père?" I ask.

He inclines his head. "Yes. M. Brill does not intend me any harm."

"That's right, Father." He grins at me and switches to English. "I don't mean anybody any harm but I'm no fool." He shows me the gun he is holding. "The good Father here was kind enough to tell me you were bringing me my stuff. I couldn't help wondering what else you were bringing."

"I am sorry, René," Père Jean says. "I should not have told him."

"It is not your fault, mon Père. I should have warned you."

"Hey, hey! Let's stick to the business at hand, shall we? Do you have the papers and the money?"

"Of course. Where did you get the gun?"

He shrugs and grins at me. He enjoys having the upper hand. "I always had it. Brought it with me. Had it that day I followed you to Reims. You really think I'd be unarmed?"

"And you brought it into a monastery."

"Why not? They don't frisk you. It works on the honour system. I'm wondering why the hell you didn't figure that out for yourself. You've been out of it way too long, Doc. How's Gabrieli these days? Still hunting the Hunters?"

"What do you want?"

He laughs. "You asked me that last week. Means you want to get to the point. I like that. And the point is you're coming with me. I let the good Father here go, and you take his place."

I shrug. "Whatever you wish." I smile at Père Jean. "It's all right, mon Père. I will go with this man."

He stands up and turns toward Eddie. "This is unnecessary," he says.

"Never you mind, Father. The Doctor and I go way back. He knows all he has to do is behave himself."

Eddie's French is nearly unintelligible but Père Jean nods graciously before turning to me. I know that he has not forgotten our conversation regarding my intentions toward Eddie. "Do not do anything rash, René. God be with you."

I only smile and move to let him pass. When the door is closed, I wait for Eddie to tell me how it will be. He has had a chance to think about this, more than I, je crois.

"Show me the papers," he says. I take the envelope out of my pocket and take out the contents. I show him the passport and he takes it from me, putting it inside his jacket. "Now the money. Count it so I can see you."

"This is hardly necessary," I say.

"And I trust you like I trust a whore not to have the clap. Count it."

I fan out the bills in my hand so that he can see them. "Three thousand American dollars and five hundred euros."

"Fine. Hand it over."

I do as I am told. "If you believe that I would harm you inside the abbey, you are mistaken."

"Doc, some of the things I've seen you do… I'll do this my way, if you don't mind. What's the time on that ticket?"

I look at the ticket to remind myself. "19:30 from Charles de Gaulle."

"Fine. Then we're taking a little train ride, you and me. You got any objections?"

I shrug. "No."

"Lift your jacket and turn around so I can see your back."

Ah, he also remembers where I keep a gun. I do as I am asked.

"Good. Now I'm wondering why you're not nervous. What have you got planned, Doc? I promise you, anything happens, you're going down. Hell, I may do it anyway just for the satisfaction. By the way, what happened to your head?"

I touch the bandage with my hand. "An accident. I would have come sooner."

He stares at me but I do not look away. I doubt he believes it but I will say nothing more and he knows it. "Yeah, right. And I'm Santa Claus." He waves the gun at me. "Let's go."

I go back into the hall and he follows close behind, the gun in his pocket. Frère André, brave soul, is waiting to take us to the gate. I see that he is terrified and I smile at him, tell him everything is all right. He walks quickly ahead of us, his footsteps nevertheless quiet after long habit.

Now that it has begun, my heart rate has slowed and I find myself quite calm; perhaps it is the medication and perhaps it is only that my emotions are numb after all that has happened this week. The pain in my head is not so bad. Eddie is very nervous, I notice. I hear him breathing rapidly close behind me. It will make him foolish, although he is no stranger to such things. I believe even that he enjoys it, although I doubt that it has ever been a question of his own life or that of his victim. And Eddie does not enjoy being the prey.

In the courtyard, I watch Frère André's habit flap about his shoes across the flagstones. He will be glad to see the back of us today. He opens the gate and allows us to pass. I give his shoulder a little squeeze.

"I will be all right," I tell him.

Once through the gate Eddie tells me to stop. I watch his face as he looks about, furtive but controlled. Satisfied, I suppose, that he is in no immediate danger, he shoves my shoulder with his hand.

"Move. Where's the nearest busy street?"

I point to the left. It is the direction Stephen took. "Just up here."

"Go ahead, Doc. We're going where there are people and you're getting us a cab."

I obey, wondering where Stephen is waiting. The abbey wall is continuous here and I see no likely place for some distance. I do not hurry.

"How's that kid of yours, Doc?"

"She is well. I have been in Paris making the arrangements."

"You took your sweet time about it. The monks are fucking boring. Walk a little faster."

"I am not well," I say. "This is as fast as I can manage and there is plenty of time."

"I'll be the judge of that. When does the train leave?"

"We have until ten minutes to three."

"Christ on a crutch! I guess we'll be keeping each other company in the station. You can buy me a drink."

As I walk, I reach for my cigarettes and take one out.

"Hey," he says. "You can give me one of those. They wouldn't go buy me any."

I stop walking and hold the open packet toward him. He takes one. "Some of the brothers have not left the abbey grounds in thirty years or more. They do not run casual errands for cigarettes."

He takes one with his left hand - his right holds the gun in his pocket - and I light them both. "Yeah, well, I was a guest. They have to do it for me, right?"

"They are not obliged to cater to your habits. You could have gone for them yourself."

He takes a deep drag on the cigarette. "Not without you in plain sight. How do I know there isn't some guy on a roof with a rifle right now?"

I shrug and put the packet back into my pocket. "You don't." I turn and continue to walk.

"You are some fucking cold cat, you know that?" He laughs. "And you got a death wish. I got friends. I don't show up to tell them different, that tape goes to Gabrieli."

I smile to myself; at least one of the 'nasty surprises' is gone. Dead and buried somewhere. 'If they come for you…' Ah, well, they still may, Leah; they still may.

"What are you thinking, Doc? I can never tell with you."

"Nothing that concerns you."

"I'll believe that when hell freezes over. When we get to that street up there, you hail that cab. And you keep your mouth shut."

We say nothing to each other as we walk. I smoke the cigarette and watch the street ahead of me for any sign of Stephen or Miss Thomas, but I am not likely to see them any more than is Eddie. If I can see them, after all, then so can he. And there appears to be nowhere that Stephen might be waiting, no alleyways, no arches leading into inner courtyards. Shop doorways, busy with Saturday shoppers doing errands, buying little things for Christmas already. I envy them.

"Up there, Doc," Eddie says. "Where the people are."

By the time I have finished my cigarette, we are at the shopping district. It is quite crowded, just what Eddie wants. I flick the butt into the gutter and look for passing taxis. He stays within inches of me. I have yet to see signs of Stephen but I am sure they are not far. Perhaps this is the reason I am calm; this time, I am not alone.

I see a taxi and hail it but the driver ignores me and passes us by. I am not anxious to be out of sight of Stephen or Miss Thomas but I have to trust them. In any case, with an hour and a half before the train to Paris, it will not be difficult for them to guess where we have gone. Eddie has no choice but to take the train, after all, and it is a public place; there will be plenty of people waiting to go to Paris.

Two more taxis go by but the next one pulls to the curb. Eddie tells me to get in first. I want to look for Stephen again but I don't risk it. I get in, hoping that one if them has noticed. Eddie slides in beside me and I tell the driver to take us to the station. As we pull away from the curb, I catch sight of Stephen's red hair. Bon.

It is only a short ride, not ten minutes, and we sit in silence. When we arrive, I pay the driver and get out. Eddie slides out right behind me and the taxi leaves. Inside the station, there are few people yet. The 12:30 train has left and it is early for the next one. It is very open but it is also quite cold. Eddie pulls his jacket about himself and looks for the ticket booth. There is a sign with an arrow; we go inside the building.

"You're buying two tickets, Doc," he says.

Ah. It seems that I am going to Paris after all. "I have not enough money with me."

"Fuck."

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a hundred-euro note. "I want the change."

We go to the ticket booth. The ticket seller knows me well.

"Bonjour, Dr. Galbon. You're not staying the weekend?"

"No, Madame. I have to return to Paris…," I touch the bandage, "…to see my own doctor."

"Ah, non! Are you all right?"

Eddie digs me in the ribs. "Oui, Madame. It is not so bad. Two tickets for Paris, s'il vous plaît. One way."

"Two? Is your daughter going with you?"

This time the dig in the ribs makes me wince. "No. It is for a friend who does not speak French. He is shy about asking for a ticket."

She laughs. "Tourists!" And she gives me the tickets and the change.

When I turn away from the booth, Eddie holds out his hand for the ticket and the change. I had them over.

We still have over an hour and I need to sit down. My headache is throbbing a little and I do not feel well, although my nerves are still well-behaved. I am not due for my medication for another two hours.

"We should sit down somewhere," I suggest.

"Yeah, well, I'm not freezing my ass off on no fucking platform where anybody could pick me off easy. There's gotta be a coffee shop."

It is what I expected, although I would have preferred to stay on the platform, cold or not. I say nothing but turn away and walk toward the café.

"Hey!" Eddie calls as he trots after me. "Don't go running off like that. You stick by me."

I shrug. "You are not going to shoot me here. And I don't give a damn for your threats."

"You watch it, asshole. I got the gun."

Inside the café, we find a table well away from the windows. Eddie is taking no chances. I find that I cannot focus my thoughts on how to get him off by himself and I am not in the mood to argue with a gun. Eddie is a desperate man. He knows his chances are very thin and if he cannot see any way out, he will most certainly take me down. He has waited for years, after all. The thought does not upset me in the least; whatever the medication is, it is certainly being put to the test. By the time we get to Paris, I shall want to take a nap!

On the chair beside me, Eddie is like a ferret, nervous and alert, looking everywhere. He misses nothing. When the waiter comes, it is Robert, an older man who has worked here for as long as I can remember. I am a regular customer.

"Bonjour, Doctor," he says. "This is not your usual time."

"No, but I have business in Paris."

"Cognac?"

"Not today, merci. I am taking medication for my head and it does not go well with cognac, unfortunately."

"Ah. It looks very bad. Perhaps a coffee and a croissant?"

Eddie is glaring at me. I smile at him.

"Oui, merci. My friend is paying."

The look on Eddie's face is priceless and I am enjoying my little joke. Robert looks at Eddie, eyebrows raised. "Et vous, Moniseur?"

"The same," he says, to keep it short.

When Robert has gone to fetch the coffee, Eddie scowls at me. "You fucking asshole! What are you playing at?"

"I have no money, remember?" I say, smiling. I am a little giddy, a reaction I had not counted on.

"Yeah, well, watch it. You're acting real fucking weird."

I shrug. "It is not every day that I am forced onto a train at gunpoint. And, as I told you, I am not well." And if I cannot stay focused, it is going to get me killed. I am beginning to understand the drawbacks of medication while needing to consider one's continued existence; the two are most definitely not compatible. I am very glad that Stephen and Miss Thomas are watching my back since I seem at the moment to be incapable of worrying about it for myself.

Robert comes with the coffee and croissants and Eddie throws the money onto the table. His manners always did need improving. The coffee is hot and very good but it does not help me to concentrate any better. I find my mind wandering a little. I watch a woman coming through the door with two tiny children. She is very pretty and reminds me of Mathilde's mother. And then I think of Mathilde, so unlike her mother. She is at home, wrapping a birthday present for me, hoping that I shall be there for her to give it to me. It is the first birthday I have missed since she has been old enough to remember these things. I shall have to make it up to her at Christmas. If I am still alive, of course. One can never tell.

And then I notice Eddie. He has been speaking to me and is now trying to get my attention. I turn to face him and watch his mouth moving, listen to the sound it makes but it does not really make any sense. And yet it should. I don't understand what is happening.

"What the fuck's the matter with you, Doc?" he says. "I need you awake. Snap out of it!"

"It is too warm in here," I say. "Perhaps if I can go outside…"

"You're not fucking going anywhere except where I want you. I'd dump you as soon as look at you but I'd swear on a stack that you've got somebody ready to blow me away as soon as I get careless."

I shrug. "As you wish."

And yet I need the fresh air or I will fall asleep. I push my chair back and stand up. "I'm going outside," I say, and walk away.

"Jesus Christ!" I hear him say behind me. I really do not care.

Before I have gone more than a few metres, he is beside me and I feel the gun in my ribs once more. What can he do? Shove me against the wall and scream at me to behave myself or he will shoot me? The idea strikes me as absurd and I laugh quietly to myself. I keep walking until I am outside. He follows me. The platform is still fairly empty, very exposed.

"Hey!" he hisses. "Stop acting so fucking weird! Sit back down where I can keep an eye on you."

I turn and look him in the face. "Or what? You will do nothing here and you have said yourself that you need me alive." I shrug. "Horton thought that the tape would be a leash about my neck, but it was not. Do not make the same mistake. You are a very foolish little man, Eddie. And you will be dead soon and no longer a thorn in my side."

I hear myself say this and wonder if I have lost my mind. On the other hand, perhaps I have found it.

"You bastard! Anything happens to me, that tape goes to you know who and you're dead."

"I do not believe that you have the tape. You offered me no proof, after all. You counted on shock, and it worked very well. But I have had time to think, mon ami. Things are not the same as they were. You have the papers and the money. Just go."

"I don't know what the fuck you're playing at Doc. The way I figure it, you want to come with me. You can't afford to have me disappear off that train and you can't afford to kill me here any more than I can waste you where you stand. But I do have that tape. Believe it. You really want to take that chance? I am going to Paris and I am going to get on that plane and you can kiss my ass."

I see his features twisted with hate and scorn and I am unmoved. He is nothing, just a nasty little man full of noise, a thing to be despised, not feared.

"Eddie, Eddie… You already believe that I have arranged for your death. Why deny it? " I shrug. "Of course I have. Why should we play games? You are out of the abbey; soon you will be out of Reims. Are you so sure you want me on that train with you?"

He stares at me. And now he begins to think. René, you are an idiot. That gun in his pocket is real enough and so is his hatred for you. "This passport is phoney… I know that… The fucking plane ticket! This is a set-up!"

"What did you expect? Gabrieli knows it all - about me, about you. By the way, Harold Croft is dead. He tried to smash my skull with a stone and he was no more able to kill me than you were."

The look on his face is quite comical - first rage, then disbelief, now terror… And rage again. I grin at him.

"You son of a bitch!"

And I catch sight of Stephen stepping onto the end of the platform. He has a gun in his hand…

Eddie sees me looking over his shoulder and panics. He turns to see what I am looking at and I reach for his right arm. But the medication has slowed my reactions and I am not nearly fast enough. He grabs my sleeve and pulls me forward. As I begin to fall, he brings the gun down on my head - right on the wound. I cry out and roll to the platform to get out of the way. I hear a loud crack, but the bullet misses and prangs into the platform beside me, sending up chips of cement. I open my eyes long enough to see Stephen charging down the platform toward us. Eddie fires and Stephen goes down. Eddie drops to the platform beside me…

"This is it, asshole…!"

…and rams the gun against my temple. I hold my breath…

Pardonnez-moi, mon Dieu…

I see the hole appear in his forehead as if by some sudden magic. His face goes rigid, and then slack and he topples over, landing on top of me. I cannot move. The pain in my head is terrible and blanks out everything else. I hold my head and moan.

"It's all right, Doctor." It is Miss Thomas' voice coming through a haze of pain. "It's all over."

Then someone is pulling Eddie off me and hauling me into a sitting position.

"You took an awful chance."

It is Stephen. Of course it is Stephen. Stephen cannot die from a mere bullet.

I hear running feet and the voices of passengers, some frightened, some curious. Then a voice of authority calling out in French.

"What happened here? Is everyone all right? There's been a shooting!"

And now the police will come, I suppose. It can hardly be avoided. And I shall have to write another report to Gabrieli to say how I have made another mess of it.

But it is done. Thank God. It is done.

****

Epilogue

It is a beautiful day. I slept all morning. They woke me at seven to give me my medication. I took it and chased them away and slept again. I think it worried them; Pierre came to check on me but I told him that I was just very tired and wished to be left alone.

I have not really recovered from Saturday. I sat on the cold platform, Stephen supporting me, not really knowing what had happened, hardly daring to believe that it was over, trying to think what we should tell the police.

And the police did come. Quite a number of them, or perhaps not so many as it seemed to me. And the medics to take the body away - and to see to my head once again. I had passed out by the time they arrived and there is not a lot I remember. The wound opened again and they wanted to take me to the hospital but Miss Thomas told them that I was already a patient, on a day trip to my home for my birthday. They called Pierre and he vouched for the truth of it. And insisted that Miss Thomas return me at once.

And yet I am relieved. It is as though a mountain has been lifted from my shoulders. It was quite late before we were done. It was very late before the police let us go, mostly, I believe, at the insistence of the medics. I suppose I can expect a visit from their investigator. It is not something that one walks away from easily.

I sat in the back of Miss Thomas' car under a blanket with my jacket behind my head. The medic wanted to give me painkillers but I refused. Pierre would want to check me for brain function and that would confuse it. I could put up with it for the forty minutes or so that it would take to get there. I asked to be taken to see Nikki and Mathilde before we went back but Miss Thomas refused. Pierre was most definite about having his patient back.

Stephen was very quiet. We were all tired and he had been weakened by the healing from the bullet. They told me what happened. Stephen saw me get into the taxi and Miss Thomas was close. They lost me in the traffic but, as I supposed, they found the station, after stopping to ask for directions. Miss Thomas asked the ticket seller if she had seen us and was told that we had been there a few minutes before and gone to the café. Stephen had been prepared to get on the train as well should it come to that, but when I walked out onto the platform they were ready. Stephen exposed himself to draw Eddie's attention while Miss Thomas got as close as she dared. She got all the way to a bench and sat down as though she were a passenger. It is as well that I never looked behind me.

Stephen drew Eddie's fire, of course. This I knew. But it was Miss Thomas who killed Eddie. It was an excellent shot. I knew that she had been practising at the firing range; I did not know that she had acquired such skill. I wonder how she will cope with her first kill.

And yesterday I stayed in bed on Pierre's orders. The chaplain came to have a word with me and give me Communion. Perhaps it is the medication or perhaps I am simply too tired, but I do not feel remorse about Eddie. I must go to Confession when I am in Reims again, likely before the end of the week. I would go home today but Pierre has convinced me to stay for observation - and a little therapy with Leah, since my sleep is still very disturbed by nightmares and they leave me quite depressed in the morning. The medication does not seem to touch that yet.

And I shall see Martine before I go. I have spoken to her on the telephone. It is perhaps time that I told her everything. If she still loves me then… well, then we shall see.

And now the nurse has been in to tell me that my patient is here to see me. Adam and Joseph arrived home late yesterday. Miss Thomas told them only that I had had an accident and was confined to the hospital as a patient with a head injury. And that I insisted on seeing Adam here. The aide has made up my bed for me and it is once again a comfortable sofa. I am dressed comfortably and the pain in my head is not too bad. The wound had to be sewn up again and there was some bleeding over Saturday night but it has closed now. I am starting the report to M. Gabrieli and I am not enjoying it. And it is he who wishes me to stay here, out of sight, and presumably out of mind.

When I hear the knock on the door, I go to open it. Adam stands there, looking a little sheepish - and a little nervous perhaps?

I am very glad to see him safe and sound and treat him to one of my best smiles. "Come in, come in. Sit wherever you feel comfortable."

He stares at me. "You look like hell. I should have stayed to keep an eye on you."

I shrug. "I am still alive and it does not hurt that much."

He takes off his coat and tosses it over the end of the sofa before sitting down. I ease myself into my leather chair. I find that if I do not move too quickly, my head does not object. He looks around as though to orient himself, frowning a little, uncomfortable. I take out my cigarettes and light one. It is a concession that Pierre has made to keep me here; it does not make him happy but he lives with it. I do not wait for Adam to begin; it is always easier if the therapist opens the session.

"Someone from the kitchen staff will bring us coffee in a moment. How was your little holiday?"

He leans forward, his forearms resting on his thighs. "Umm… I'm sorry about taking off on you like that. I should have told you I was going."

"And I would have objected." I shrug. "It has turned out well. Miss Thomas tells me you caught up on your sleep. You look better than you have for months. It was good for you, yes?"

He shrugs and looks at the floor. "There was a quickening that really took it out of me."

Ah, he admits with this that he is an Immortal. It is the first time he has brought it up and it is a step forward. "But you have recovered?"

He shakes his head slightly. "I'm not sure. I'm having some bad dreams."

I can appreciate that feeling. "What is troubling you now? Is it being here?"

He makes a gesture with his hand. "Yeah, this… er… I'm not comfortable here."

I take a drag on the cigarette and watch him. "Can you tell me why this should bother you?"

He purses his lips in thought and rubs the palms of one hand with the fingers of the other. It is a nervous gesture I have not seen in him before. "Memories, I think. I associate this place with Sean. And it was on the grounds here that I saw him die. You don't forget that. Ever."

Ah, this I had forgotten. "No, you do not. I am sorry, mon ami. I should have realized. But this is not all, I think."

There is a knock at the door. I get up to open it and it is Mademoiselle Chevolleau with the coffee. I take the tray and thank her. I put the tray on my desk and pour for both of us. There is a plate with petit fours and I put it on my bedside table where Adam can reach it. He says nothing while I do this little ritual. I hand him his coffee and sit down again.

He is ignoring my last question and I shall not push it. I know what it is, in any case. He worries that I will suggest that he come here as a patient himself. And it is, after all, what I have in mind as a place where he would be safe. It is Holy Ground and it is pleasant with a caring staff, some of whom know about Immortals. It was named after Ste. Agnès, after all, a saint who lost her head and is thought of as the patron saint of Immortals.

"Tell me about your trip," I say, to steer things in a new direction.

He shrugs and stirs his coffee. "Nothing to tell. It was all right. How was your week?'

I also shrug and stir the milk into my coffee. "We are not talking about me. This is your hour."

He does that thing with his face, a sort of half-smile, half-smirk of amusement, eyes down. "I'm not sure this is working out."

I finish stirring the coffee and put the cup down. "Then we should call it off, non?" His head comes up - I have caught him off guard. I shrug. "If you do not wish to pursue this, then there is no point in continuing. It is up to you."

"And you would be okay with this?"

"No, I would not. But I will not go on fighting you always. Either you wish to do this or you do not. And we will do it on my terms, since I am the professional. You have consented to the therapy under pressure from others, mostly Joseph. Your crisis required our intervention but since then, it has been less necessary, although that could change. I have told you that I am able to help but only if you wish it. And it will be here that you see me. I am on medical leave; I come here to see my own therapist and to see you, which can be accomplished on the same day. And I go home at night, not to that apartment in Paris. I can be a father to Mathilde, as I should be; I can work in my garden…" I shrug. "Under these conditions, I should be happy to see you. Or not, as you see fit."

He is a little stunned, I think. Bon. I am tired of games.

"What exactly happened last week, René?" he asks quietly.

"Perhaps one day we shall speak of it. But not today. Do you wish to continue these sessions?" He looks at me, saying nothing. He has never really made this decision for himself and it is time that he did or we shall continue in this little dance that wears us both down. "You must make the commitment for yourself, my old friend. And, yes, I care very much what happens to you; yet I can be of no help unless you wish it."

He looks at me and gives me that same little half-smile. "Well, this is more like the old René. It must have been an interesting week without me to babysit."

I ignore it. "Do not make up your mind now. I will not become your keeper, Adam; I am not here to be a nanny to you. You must take responsibility for your own healing. And now I think I am going to throw you out, mon ami."

I stand up and smile at him. He also stands and picks up his coat. And he laughs silently, his eyes quite merry. I think it will go well.

"I have your number in Reims," he says. "I'll call you."

"I am always happy to hear from you, even if it is only for a beer. And that also has been too long, has it not?"

He laughs. "Yeah, way too long. I haven't seen Mathilde for a while. And I've missed Nikki's cooking."

"Bon. And I shall be happy to show you my garden. I shall expect to hear from you."

When he is gone, I am content. I have said what I needed to say. I take a great chance here - and there is a little bit of bluffing in what I have said. But the therapy cannot proceed on the old footing. And if he does not agree? Ah, René, you do not want to think of this.

I retrieve the untouched plate of petit fours, go to my wardrobe and take out the bottle of cognac which I keep there. I place it on my desk and settle into my chair. I am going to enjoy this.

I am just settled when there is a knock at the door. Before I can get up to answer it, it opens. Adam's head pops around the door. He is smiling rather sheepishly.

"Would Thursday here be all right with you?"

"Of course. How would three sessions a week instead of every day suit you?"

He smiles the half smile. "It would suit me fine. See you Thursday."

And he is gone. And I heave a sigh of relief. Time for a little reward, René.

I pour a good drop of cognac into the coffee, recork the bottle and set it aside. The petit fours are very fresh; the cook is a marvel. I think he sent them because it was my birthday last Saturday. When I finish them, I enjoy a sip of the coffee before lighting up a cigarette and settling back to look out the window. It has begun to snow a little. It will not last but it is pretty. There is a CD of Puccini in my player, if I remember correctly. I reach for the remote and press the play button.

It is not so bad. Perhaps one day they will come for me. Until then…

END

You are visitor number

3Ú4View Page Stats See who's visiting this page.