This is my first pure HL story. The concept of Highlander belongs to 
Davis/Panzer Productions, Inc. No infringement is intended. The song 
'More Than You Know' is copyrighted by it's respective owner/s, and 
all copyright kudos belongs to them. 
This story and it's characters are created and copyrighted by me. 
I do not claim this story to be historically accurate, nor am I sure 
that the song quoted fits the period in question. So, if such things 
bother you, you better skip this one. 
All and any criticism, comments etc. are extremely welcome. (But if 
you simply detest my efforts, rather than continue reading, and then 
complain to me, I'd suggest that you exercise your right to use 
the delete button... :))


LOVE HURTS
by DCE aka ViciousGurl
<geek-tastic AT gmx DOT com>
(c) 1997



August, 1940


Love hurts, or so they say. But it's not love that hurts you, it's 
the men. They all start out by thinking that they can handle it, 
that love is enough, that love conquers all. But sooner or later 
they all find that they can't handle it, after all. That they can't 
take me, or my secrets, any more, and they leave. 

And so it goes. Every once in a while I let myself forget the 
inevitable end, and I fall in love. What follows is a few years 
filled with bliss, until he decides that he wants a family, and 
someone to grow old with. That he can't take the beheadings, or 
anything else that goes with living with an immortal, any more. 
And he leaves. 

Like George. 

We lived together happily, or so I thought, for twenty-five years, 
and then, suddenly, one day he just told me he couldn't take it any 
more. He wanted children, and a 'normal' life, what ever that meant. 
The point was, he wanted out, so he got out. He had been in his late 
forties when he left me. A few years later he had married Maryanne. 
She was a few years younger than him; a lot younger than I was, but 
she *looked* the right age. They had a son, Michael. He was seven 
years old when George had his heart attack. 

I looked at the young, curly haired boy who was standing next to a 
short, blond woman. He looked a lot like his father. In him a piece 
of George would live on - a different kind of immortality from mine.

George.

I shifted my eyes to the casket, as they began to lower it to the 
grave. George had finally gotten the family he had wanted so much, 
but he wouldn't be there to see his son grow up. 

I wasn't bitter at George, not any more. After all, it had been ten 
years. I really hoped that he had found happiness with his new 
family. I knew he had loved me, but it just hadn't been enough. It 
hadn't been his fault. It was just the way things were. I had known 
that long before I ever met George, but I couldn't tell my heart 
what to do anymore so than George had. 


The service was beginning to come to an end. It had been a beautiful 
ceremony, but it was time for me to leave. I hadn't been invited to 
this funeral, of course, I doubted that Maryanne had ever even heard 
of me, and I didn't feel like explaining how I had known George. And 
there was always that odd chance that George had kept a picture or 
two of me, and Maryanne would recognize me. I didn't feel like 
explaining why I hadn't aged a bit, either. 

To tell you the truth, I hadn't planned on participating to George's 
funeral. I hadn't kept in touch with him since he left me, and I had 
no idea where he lived, let alone that he had died. I was simply 
passing through Chicago, when I noticed the ad in the paper. I'm not 
sure, exactly, why I came here. I didn't feel any need for closure, 
I had already said my good-byes to him. I guess, I was curious. 
After all, the man had been a part of my life for, at least in 
mortal terms, a long time. But we had both moved on, on our separate 
ways, and although I felt a little saddened by his death, I couldn't 
say I was heartbroken. 

But coming here, and the thought of him, had made me think of all 
the others, as well. There hadn't been that many men in my life, 
but even among the few, very few of my relationships had ended even 
somewhat happily, or lasted 'til death. 

Men. 

But maybe it wasn't really the men. Maybe it was me, and my inability 
to choose and find the *right* man. Maybe I should just give up on 
mortal men, and try to find one of my own kind....

I felt a heavy sigh forming at my chest.

Marc.

The one Immortal I had loved. The one Immortal I still loved. 
Ironically, that had been one relationship that *had* lasted 'til 
death. 


I turned to return back to my car when I felt the presence of 
another Immortal. I didn't have my sword with me, but that didn't 
matter -  we were on holy ground. As I searched for the other one, 
my eyes stopped at a tall, dark-haired man who was looking at me 
as if he'd just seen a ghost.
 
Well, the feeling was mutual. I felt my heart stop for a moment, 
and then it began racing like there was no end. 

The man took a few steps towards me, and then he stopped. He looked 
extremely pale, and his voice was rough as he whispered: "Leonie?"


**********************************************************
**********************************************************


My name is Leonie Fleur, but in my present life I go by the name of 
Lenore Chandler. I don't know exactly where or when I was born, none 
of my kind do, but Henri and Colette Arnould, my parents, found me 
on their field in an early June morning in 1540. They had no 
children of their own, and even though I wasn't the son they had 
always hoped for, they took me in, and called me their own. I was 
lucky; they were neither rich nor educated people, but they loved 
me. 

When I was seventeen I met a man who would change my life. 

He was one of Comte de Tugny's, our landlord's, guests. On that 
faithful day he got lost riding, and he stopped by our house to 
ask for directions. 

I had never seen such a man before in my life. He was clad in silk 
and lace, and he wore the most distinguished looking moustache. He 
had dark, laughing eyes, and to me he looked like a prince. He was 
the handsomest man I had ever laid my eyes on. 

He taught me everything I know. He was my first love - my best love.  
He was my mentor, my lover, my best friend - my husband. And I died 
for the very first time by his hand on my twenty-ninth birthday. 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Flashback^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

July, 1557


I was feeding the chicken when I noticed a man riding to the yard. 
I could tell right away that he was not a commoner, and I pondered 
whether or not I should call maman, but she was ill with the fever, 
so I decided against it. At first I got scared, and I thought that 
the man had been sent to collect some taxes that had remained unpaid, 
taxes we could not afford to pay, but then I realized how stupid I 
was being. They wouldn't send someone like him to perform such a 
task. No, this man was finely clad, and he rode the most beautiful 
black stallion I had ever seen. It was quite obvious to me that the 
man must be some kind of royalty. 

I shed the rest of the seeds from my apron, and waited. 

The man rode closer, and stopped only a few meters away from me. For 
a brief moment he had a look of surprise on his face, and then he 
smiled as if to himself.

"Well, well. What have we got here?"

My brown dress was cheap and worn, and it looked even worse when 
compared to his attire, and my white apron wasn't as shiny as it had 
been four days ago, when I had last washed it, but none of that gave 
this stranger the right to look at me as if I was a piece of meat, 
and he was trying to decide my worth. 

I felt my cheeks flush, and I flashed my blue eyes. He might be 
royalty, and I may only be a commoner, but I was not a piece of meat. 
I had to bite my tongue to keep quiet in front of his inspection; my 
parents had taught me how to behave, and I knew I shouldn't talk but 
to answer to his questions.


"Tell me, petite, what's your name?" his voice was low, and a little  
husky.

I was hardly petite. I was taller than most of the other women in 
the village, but the man looked like he was quite tall himself, so 
I thought that to him I probably looked relatively short. 

"Leonie Arnould, monsieur."

"Leonie", he repeated, letting my name slowly roll over his tongue.

"Tell me Leonie, have you lived here for long?" he then asked. 

I thought it was a rather stupid question, but I answered to him 
none the less.

"This is my home, monsieur, I have lived here all my life."

He nodded silently, and turned his attention from me to the house 
and to the surrounding grounds for a moment. Then he returned his 
gaze back to me, and he smiled again.

"Have you ever dreamed of seeing more of the world than just your 
village, Leonie?"

"Who wouldn't have. But we are not all as fortunate as you monsieur, 
to have been born into a position which would make it possible."

I didn't understand why, but my answer made him laugh heartily.

"Well put, my petite Leonie, well put. But I have a feeling that one 
of these days, you will also have your chance", he said looking at 
me as if he was trying to see into my very soul. 

Despite of the warm summer air I felt a shiver run through my spine. 
He hadn't sounded malicious, but somehow I got the feeling that he 
knew that what he had just said, would one day happen. 

Then he interrupted my thoughts as he asked for the way back to the 
chateau de Tugny. I told him how to get back to the main road, and 
swinging his blue cape, he galloped away. 

*******************

Three weeks later my world had shattered irreversibly. 

Mama's fever had gotten worse, and then papa had been infected, too. 
I had cared for them as best I could, but it had all been for no 
avail. They had both died during the same night, only few hours 
apart from each other. 

I knew they weren't the only victims of the fever in the village, 
but most of the others had been infants, or elderly people. My 
parents had been neither, and I still couldn't quite comprehend 
that they were gone forever. 


We were coming back from the graveyard, when I saw the stranger 
again. 

He stopped at the sight of the mourners. I saw him ask something 
from one of the boys, who motioned towards me and the priest. The 
man stared down at me for a long while with a strange look on his 
face. I don't know why, but I got the impression that he was 
displeased to see me. Then it seemed as if he had reached a decision 
about something, and he got down from his horse and walked towards 
us. 

He nodded at the priest first, and then he greeted me:
"So, we meet again, Leonie Arnould. Must be fate." 


It wasn't fate, it was a funeral - my parents' funeral. I had barely 
managed to stop crying as I had listened to the priest trying to 
comfort me, but now the tears began to flow anew. The chocking grip 
I felt in my throat, made it impossible for me to answer anything to 
the man in front of me. 

The priest gave me a disapproving look, and took it upon himself to 
pay attention to such an important looking man. 

"It is very good of you monsieur, to come and try to help unburden 
the grief of young Leonie, on this sad day. It is very good of you, 
indeed."

The man didn't even look at the priest as he gestured to quiet him 
down, and when he spoke, he addressed his words to me: "What will 
you do now?" 


Yes, what was I going to do now? I had asked that question from 
myself a million times already, but I still had no answer. What was 
I going to do? Where would I go, now? I had no-one to take care of 
me, and I knew I couldn't stay home, since it didn't really belong 
to us but to Comte de Tugny. 

"I don't know, monsieur."

My words were but a whisper, and I sounded truly pathetic, but then, 
I felt pathetic. I was all alone in the world, and I was scared. I 
felt the grip in my throat tighten again, and I had to make a 
conscious effort to steady my breathing. 

"Do you have any relatives, Leonie?" 

Before I managed an answer, the priest had already began one of his 
own: "I'm afraid, monsieur, that the girl has no-one, now that her 
dear parents are departed. You see, poor Leonie is a foundling...."

His explanation died down as the man paid him no attention. 

The dark eyes held my own blue ones for a long while, and I felt as 
if the man was trying to tell me something without words. 

Finally he spoke up: "I can help you, Leonie. Do you trust me?"

"How could I, monsieur? I don't know you."

The priest drew a sharp breath at my most inappropriate comment, and 
was about to chastise me, when the man nodded: "Of course." 

With a somewhat theatrical manner he took his hat, and waving it in 
a swirl, gave me a lavish bow: "Marc Hugo Jaques Joseph de Payrat, 
at your service mademoiselle."

At first I thought that he was making fun at me, but his sincere 
eyes  revealed no mockery. 

He looked at my blank expression expectantly, and noted then with a 
slight, crooked smile: "Ah yes, that wasn't quite what you meant, 
was it?" 

I said nothing, and he continued: "Of course not. But I would like 
to help you, and to get to know you, Leonie."   

"Why?"

There was only one reason I knew of why a gentleman like him would 
like to get to know a girl like me. I had seen many enough of the 
old Comte de Tugny's bastards running around the country-side, and 
of what had become of their mothers, to know that I did not want 
that fate for myself.

He must have read my thoughts, because he continued with a gleam in 
his  eyes: "I didn't mean that in the biblical sense, ma petite -- 
not necessarily."

I felt my cheeks grow hot, and the fact that the priest was standing 
right next to us just made it worse. 

"You are most generous, monsieur, to offer...." I mumbled, trying to 
think of a polite way to refuse him, when I was interrupted.

"No, I'm not."

His comment was short and firm, and it left me without words. I 
didn't understand anything anymore. I couldn't for the life of me 
to come up with a reason, any reason, why he would want to help me. 
I could feel the curious eyes of the villagers on me as they all 
wondered why this man, who was obviously a part of the nobility, 
paid such attention to me. I was tired, my eyes stung from crying, 
and I just wanted to go home and be left alone. 

"I am just doing what I wish someone had done for me, when I was in 
your situation", the man continued in a low voice. 

He smiled a little at my confused expression: "And, I think you have 
got potential, Leonie Arnould."

I could just stare at him wide eyed: "I don't understand, monsieur."

"I know, but you will", he said with a suddenly sincere expression. 
He grazed my cheek ever so lightly with his fingers: "You will."
Then he continued with a more brisk voice, as if he was already 
regretting his offer: "You don't have to give me your answer right 
away. I'll come to hear your decision in a few days." 

With that, he mounted his horse and left.

******************

When he came to hear my decision three days later, I still didn't 
know what my answer was going to be. This, despite of that I had 
done little else but thought of my situation, and his proposition. 

The way I saw it, I had four options. I could try to take care of 
the farm by myself, but that was a stillborn idea; it took more 
than just one person to take care of all the things on the farm. 
Another choice was to try and find a position in the chateau de 
Tugny, but I already knew that they weren't hiring, not at the 
moment anyway. So, besides monsieur de Payrat's offer, that left 
me with only one other choice: marriage. 

I wasn't without suitors, so I might be able to find someone who'd 
be willing to marry me, but the question was, was I willing to marry 
them? My parents had gotten along just fine, even though they hadn't 
married for love. In fact, love didn't play much of a part in 
marriage plans, but I didn't want to marry just anyone. I guess, 
love would come with time, but I would have preferred to find someone 
I could find at least tolerable while waiting for that to happen. 

My tumult thoughts came to a sudden halt, when I heard a knock on 
the door. 

It was him. 

"Well, have you had enough time to make up your mind, Leonie?" he 
didn't waste any time for formal pleasantries. 

He walked further into the room, and nothing seemed to escape his 
inspecting eyes. I knew that everywhere he looked, he would find 
the telltale signs of poverty. But where he saw poverty, I saw 
little things that reminded me of my family. 

Finally, he turned his attention back to me: "Well girl, what's it 
going to be?"

His tone revealed his impatience, and I wondered for the umpteenth 
time why he was doing this, when he so obviously resented the idea. 

I took a deep breath, and prepared to refuse his offer: 
"Monsieur....."

Then I stopped, and found myself actually *wanting* to accept the 
chance he was waving under my nose. 

The very beginning of my life had been a chance, so why not take a 
chance now, too, instead of choosing the safety of marriage. He had 
said, the very first day we had met, that one day I would see more 
of the world. Well, here was my chance, maybe the only one I would 
ever get. 

I took another deep breath, and began anew: "I will gratefully 
accept your generous offer for help, Monsieur de Payrat."

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


And that is how the biggest adventure of my life began. I didn't 
know it at the time of course, but it would be an adventure to last, 
not just a lifetime, but several lifetimes. And it will not end, 
until someone takes my head.

During the following years nothing in my life remained the same. 

I learned that Marc de Payrat wasn't part of the royalty after all, 
but he did appear to be a part of the nobility. He took me to his 
country house, which to me was as grand as any chateau, but in 
reality, was considered to be merely a comfortable place for a 
gentleman to relax and spend some time. 

To my surprise, I was not given a position as a servant in his 
household, but that of a student. And, in an effort to retain 
certain respectableness in our situation, I was introduced to the 
rest of the household as 'Monsieur de Payrat's distant cousin'. 

As soon as we had settled in, my education began. I learned to read 
and write, and he even hired a tutor to teach me some arithmetic. I 
was taught how to talk, walk, and act like a born noble woman. He 
personally took it upon himself to teach me several foreign languages, 
such as Latin, Greek, English and even a little bit of Russian. But 
the subject I found, at the time, to be the most peculiar one, was 
the one he was the most adamant to make me learn. I'm talking about 
fencing. He didn't give me any explanation as to *why* it was so 
important to him that I would learn that 'manly' skill. Whenever I 
would gather up the courage to ask him about it, he made it quite 
clear that even if I never learned anything else, he wanted me to 
excel in this one subject. And even though he was rather strict 
about my education in general, he didn't lose his temper if I missed 
a lesson or two in other subjects, but if I was late for my 
fencing lessons, there was hell to pay. 

I knew perfectly well that I owed everything to him. Besides a few 
mementos from home, I had nothing of my own. He gave me the food I 
ate, the clothes I wore, and a roof over my head. And all he asked 
from me in return, was for me to become the best swordswoman I could 
possibly be. So, I practiced, and I practiced, and I practiced - 
and I did learn. 

During the first year he had been my teacher, by the second year he 
had also become a friend, and by the third year we had become lovers.


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Flashback^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

January, 1560


"Good morning, Leonie."

I paused, and then resumed walking into the morning room. It didn't 
matter how quietly I tried to sneak, he always seemed to know when 
I was close by without even turning to look. 

"Good morning."

I got seated, and tried to decide what to taste first from my plate. 

"So, how did you like Machiavelli?" Marc asked as I began to eat. 

He had given me a copy of Niccolo Machiavelli's ''The Prince' a week 
earlier, and told me to read it with care. 

"I thought it was quite interesting", I answered as soon as I had 
swallowed my mouthful, "I can't say that I agree on everything he 
wrote, but he had some interesting ideas."

"And did you understand everything you read?" 

"I think so, yes."

He regarded me closely for a moment, and seemed to be satisfied 
with what he saw.

"Good." 

I looked at him, amused, for a few seconds before I spoke up: 
"I thought you had given up on testing me during breakfasts."

He gave me an innocent smile: "I have -- mostly." 

Then he proceeded to tell me about a horse he was contemplating 
on buying - in Latin. 

********

"Ready for our morning ride?" Marc asked, after we had finished 
breakfast.

"I'm ready, if you are."

I really looked forward to our everyday ride. I loved riding, and 
the feeling of freedom it gave me. Every time I got up on a horse, 
I felt as if I could go anywhere, be anyone, do anything.... In a 
word, I felt, unstoppable. 

Marc had several horses, but the one I liked the most was a gray 
gelding called Serge. He wasn't very big, but he had a lot of spirit, 
and we got along just fine. Marc's favorite was Boniface, the big, 
black stallion he had rode when I had first met him. 

"Race you to the old tree?" I asked as we got out of the barn yard. 

Marc glanced me from the corner of his eye, and grinned: "Just tell 
me when."

"When!" I yelled, and spurred Serge into galloping. 


The air was crisp, and the wind made my eyes water a little, as I 
leaned flat against Serge's neck. Or rather, I tried to lean flat 
against his neck, but riding with the women's saddle, I didn't 
manage it very well. 

Marc had taught me how to ride using both women's and men's saddles. 
I actually preferred the latter, because I found it more secure, 
especially while jumping, but as Marc had reminded me, it was 
important to learn to use the women's saddle as well. 


I was about ten meters from the old tree, and nearly felt the taste 
of victory in mouth already, when Boniface spurted pass us. 

I arrived to the tree only few seconds behind Marc, and slowed down 
laughing: "Just wait 'til next time! We'll beat you then."

"Of course you will", Marc mocked me. 

Our breaths vaporized in the cool air, as we joked with each other. 
The wind had reddened our cheeks, and I couldn't help but notice 
how it had made Marc's dark eyes shine. I thought he looked very 
handsome in his fur lined cloak.  

My laughter began to fade away before his stare, and I thought I  
could just gaze back into his eyes for the rest of the day, and be 
quite content. Sometimes, when he looked at me like he was looking 
at me right now, intensely, his eyes even darker than usual, I 
thought that my heart would just burst from all the love I felt 
towards him. He made the backs of my knees sweat. 

"Leonie..." his voice was a little hoarse as he spoke up, so he 
tried again, "Leonie, marry me."

"What..?" I was certain I had heard him wrong.

"Marry me, Leonie", he repeated steadily, "I know it is uncustomary 
to propose to a woman you're in love with, but who cares about 
customs. I love you, and I want to marry you, if you'll have me."

He was totally serious. He really wanted to marry me, even if I 
didn't have any money. I looked at his expectant expression, and 
noted that he wasn't quite as confident of his success as he usually 
was. I liked that. I liked the knowledge that I could make him as 
nervous as he sometimes made me. 

"Yes", I smiled broadly at him. 

"Yes?" he breathed as if he couldn't believe his ears. 

I laughed at the goofy smile he had on his face, now: "Yes!"

Now we were both laughing and feeling light headed. We rode closer 
to each other, and stretched out for a kiss, which nearly made me 
fall off my horse. 

***********************

I was in seventh heaven for the rest of the week. I just couldn't 
believe that Marc would really want to marry me, Leonie Fleur 
Arnould, a common nobody. But he did. Or, so he said. 

Even through the haze I was in, I couldn't help but notice that 
something was wrong. At times Marc seemed to be as happy about all 
of this as I was, but at other times.... His moods seemed to change 
without a warning, and sometimes I got the feeling he regretted his 
proposal. 

The final straw came two weeks later during my fencing lesson. 

I was wearing a white shirt and short breeches, sans the codpiece,  
naturally, which Marc had given to me for our training sessions. As  
I had learned, it was immensely easier to move properly in men's 
clothes than it was in a skirt. Even so, Marc had insisted that I 
occasionally practiced in my normal clothes, as well, 'so I would 
be prepared'. 

I had just parried his latest blow, when he called our training to 
a halt, again.

"Leonie, you'll have to do this properly!" he sounded irritated. 

"I *did* do it properly!" I knew I had done the move exactly as he 
had taught me to.

He had been snappy all day, and I could feel my own temper rise as 
we spoke. I watched how he tried to calm himself down, and felt 
sad all of a sudden. I knew what I had to do.

"Marc..." I said carefully, "you don't have to marry me."

That got his attention. His head snapped up, and he looked - scared. 

"Leonie..." he began, but I cut him off. 

"You have been like this ever since you proposed to me. If the 
thought of marrying me makes you feel -- trapped, and if it makes 
you *not* want to be near me, then I *don't want* to marry you", 
I had to stop for a while before I could continue, "we can just go 
on the way we are now."

He looked as if he was about to say something, but I went on: "I 
love you Marc, and marrying you can't make me love you any more 
than I already do. And not marrying you, won't make me love you any 
less."

I looked at the engagement ring he had given me, and took it off my 
finger. 

"It was a wonderful offer, but I'd rather keep you than the ring."

He didn't make a move to take the ring I was holding out for him. 
Instead, he closed his eyes, and shook his head slowly. Then he came 
to me, and placed the ring back on my finger.

Holding my hand he looked straight into my eyes, and sighed: "I *do* 
want to marry you, Leonie, if you'll have me after you hear what I 
have to tell you."

I looked at him calmly, and waited; there was nothing he could say 
that would change the way I felt about him. 

He took a deep breath and began: "My name is Marc Hugo Jaques Joseph 
de Payrat, that much is true. But I wasn't born in 1528..., I was 
born in 1428."

I blinked once, and gave a short laugh: "Marc, what...?"

He wasn't laughing. He was deadly serious. 

"I was born in 1428. Leonie, I'm Immortal." 

"Immortal", I repeated. 

I tried hard not to sound too doubtful, but I was glad that we were 
alone, since he could get himself into serious trouble if someone 
heard him say things like that. 

Marc shook his head, and I heard him mutter: "...no other way..." 

He took my face between his palms, and looked deep into my eyes: 
"I need you to do something for me, Leonie."

"Anything", I promised, even though he was really scaring me by now. 

He took a dagger from his belt, and held it before my eyes: "I need 
you to take this off, afterwards, and wait. Just wait, and do not 
call anyone. Do you understand?" 

I nodded slowly, even though I really didn't understand. 

He held my eyes for a moment longer, as if to be certain that I 
would do what he had asked from me. 

Then he smiled tenderly, and whispered: "I love you, Leonie."

The next thing I saw, was him to push the dagger straight into his 
own heart.

"MARC!"

I caught him as he began to fall, but he was too heavy, and we both 
fell to the ground. 

"No, Marc, no", I repeated again and again. 

I took the blade off his chest, and tried to press the wound with 
the hem of his shirt. It turned into crimson in no time, and I could 
see the blood, Marc's blood, begin to flow between my fingers. 

I opened my mouth to call for help, but I remembered his words 'just 
wait, and do not call anyone'. I fought with myself for more than a 
few seconds, but in the end I did as he had asked me to. 

Tears flowed down my cheeks, and I couldn't see properly, but what 
did it matter. Marc had just killed himself before my eyes in an 
effort to prove that his disillusion was the truth he, for some 
reason, believed it to be. 

Still pressing the wound tightly, I cried. Why had he done this? 
What had made him think that he was immortal? The questions filled 
me, and I didn't notice at first that something had changed. Then, 
my chaotic mind finally registered the steady movement I felt 
underneath my palms. 

Heartbeat.

I stopped breathing, and waited to feel it again. And there it was. 
Marc's heart was beating again! And then I saw his eyelids flutter.
I couldn't believe what was happening. He had been dead just a 
moment ago! I was certain of that. But now, I was as certain that 
he was alive!

I watched in amazement as Marc opened his eyes, and smiled to me. 

"Marc..?" my voice was but a whisper.

He got up from the floor, and lifted me as well. 

"I'm sorry, Leonie, but this was the only way", he brushed my tears 
away. 

"You're alive!" that was all I could think of. 

I looked at my hands which were still covered with his blood, and 
then I looked at him. There was no mark left on his chest, and I 
finally believed.

"You're immortal...."

"Yes", he said simply, "I'm Immortal. I don't age, and I live 
forever - unless someone takes my head."

"Your head?!" I was lost again.

"There are others like me, Leonie..... *You* are one of us."

"No, you're mistaken", I shook my head, and tried to smile, but 
failed miserably.

"No, I'm not", he took my bloody hand into his, "You are like me, 
Leonie."

My eyes were as big as plates, as I stared at him. He hadn't lied 
me about his immortality, so why would he do so now....?

"But..., but I *do* age", I tried to say feebly.

"I know", he smiled at me reassuringly, "You won't be *exactly* like 
me until you die for the first time."

"Die?" I didn't understand anything anymore, "but you just said..."

"We don't know that we are Immortals until *after* our first death. 
Yes, we die, just like mortals do, but we don't stay dead. We wake 
up, just as you saw me wake up, and we keep on living as long as we 
don't loose our heads."

I had tried very hard to follow, and understand, his explanation, 
but now I was at loss again: "Why would you loose your head?"

"As I said, there are others like us, and we're all players in the  
Game. You see Leonie, it is said that in the end, there can be only 
one of our kind left, and the last one will win a prize. Now, no-one 
knows what the prize is, but we all know what the Game is all about, 
and how it is played", he stopped for a moment, but continued then 
very calmly, "We fight each other, and the winner takes the head of 
his opponent, and with it he gets all his power. That's what we 
call the Quickening."

I didn't know what to think of his explanation. I believed that he 
wasn't lying, but it didn't make any sense to me. Why would anyone 
fight over a prize, if they didn't even know what that prize was? 

"You said that there can be only one", I looked at him carefully, 
"and since you said that I'm like you, does this mean that you will 
have to take my head?"

He almost laughed at my question, but managed, just barely, to 
suppress it. He shook his head, and very gently, drew me into his 
embrace and held me for a long while.

"I could never take your head, Leonie", he whispered into my hair. 
Then he released me, and explained: "We don't *have* to fight 
anyone we don't want to. We can choose our fights, just as mortals 
do, as long as we don't fight on Holy Ground. That's our refuge, 
the only one we have." 

*******

That evening I retired early, and for once I actually used my own 
bedroom. I needed time to really understand everything Marc had 
told me today, and for that I needed some space. 

I still couldn't quite believe that Marc was Immortal. It was simply 
too amazing. And he had told me that I was one, as well. I didn't 
really know what to make of that. I didn't feel any different, but 
then I thought that that was probably because I hadn't died, yet. 

That thought stopped me. I hadn't died yet... How was one supposed 
to talk and think of death so -- casually. The thought of death 
scared me. I didn't want to die. 

I pushed the thought out of my mind for the moment, and concentrated 
on other things. 

To think that Marc had lived for over a hundred years! All the 
places he must have seen, the history he has witnessed as it has 
happened.... all the people he has seen die....

Why did all my thoughts seem to end with the thought of death, 
when I had just learned of Immortality? 

Well, at least I now knew why Marc had been so obsessed with making 
me learn how to use a sword. But even though I enjoyed fencing, I 
didn't think I could actually kill anyone, let alone take someone's 
head!

The thought made me shiver under my blankets. Then I remembered 
that Marc had said that I could choose my fights, and I felt a little 
better. That was until I realized that that would only work as long 
as my opponent was willing to pass the fight as well. If he wasn't.., 
well, then I'd be in big trouble.

*******

It was late morning when I woke up. It was no wonder, since it had 
been very late when I had finally managed to go to sleep. When I 
got to the morning room, Marc was already there, looking as if he 
hadn't gotten much sleep, either.

"Good morning."

"Morning", his answer was a little strained. 

I sat at my place, and took a good look at him. He really didn't 
seem to be well, and it occurred to me that maybe it had something 
to do with what had happened yesterday.

"Are you all right, Marc?" I was a bit worried now.

He didn't answer right away. He just sat there, and looked at me 
for a long while. Now I was getting really worried.

"Yes, I'm fine", he answered finally, "did you sleep well, Leonie?"

"Yes, after I finally managed to go to sleep."

"And, have you had enough time to make up your mind?" 

I knitted my brows slightly: "Make up my mind about what?" 

He took a deep breath, and said: "About whether or not you still 
want to marry me."

I looked at him in astonishment. It had never even occurred to me 
that he might question my answer. Then I realized that he thought 
that I might not want to marry him because of what he was. 

I reached for his hand across the table: "Marc, when I said last 
night that I needed time to think, I didn't mean us. I love you, 
and no matter who, or what, we are, *that* will never change." 

To my relief, Marc's strained expression began to fade. 

"I just wanted time to think of everything you had told me about 
Immortals. Even you have to admit that it takes some time to get 
used to the idea that we exist in the first place", I smiled at him 
now. 

His cautious smile changed into a grin: "You're right. I had just 
forgotten what it was like to hear about it for the first time."

"Well, I guess you're allowed to forget some things, after all, 
you're not that young anymore", I teased him gently. 

"Ouch, that hurt", he laughed, "you just wait until you reach my 
age, young lady."

*********

Later that day I brought up a subject I had thought of last night.

"Marc, what happens if I won't die until I'm old?"

"What do you mean?"

"Well, you said that I would age normally until my first death. 
What if I die old? How am I supposed to fight in the Game as an 
old woman? And what about us? Wouldn't you feel awkward being 
married to a woman who looked like she could be your mother?"

"Leonie, I would love you no matter how old you looked like", he 
began with a tender, crooked smile, but continued then with a more 
serious tone "but I wouldn't worry too much about the rest of it, 
if I were you. For some odd reason, our kind seems to die at a 
reasonably young age."

"But what if that's not the case with me?" I persisted. 

"Leonie, you're nowhere near of dying of old age, so why worry 
about it now? You still have a lot of time ahead of you." 

Marc obviously didn't share my worry, so I dropped the subject, but 
in my mind I still mulled over it.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^


Two months later I became Madame de Payrat.

The following years were one of the, if not *the*, happiest of my 
life. There was only one thing that shadowed my blissful existence 
- I hadn't died yet. 

In retrospect, it seems fanny how obsessed with my own death I was, 
but at the time I failed to see the humor of the situation. 

When my twenty-eighth birthday arrived, and I still hadn't met with 
a deadly accident, I decided that if nothing happened before I 
would turn twenty-nine, I'd take matters into my own hands. The 
reason I decided on the twenty-ninth, was because that's how old 
Marc had been at the time of his first death. I didn't want to be, 
or look, older than him. Vanity? Perhaps, but to me, it was a very 
serious matter. 

I didn't tell Marc of my decision, but after a while it wasn't too 
hard for him to come to the right conclusion. I pulled some pretty 
stupid stunts in an effort to die 'accidentally', but ironically, 
Lady Luck seemed to be on my side, and nothing happened. So finally, 
a week before my twenty-ninth birthday, I decided that since 
nothing else had worked, I would use a dagger as Marc had done once 
before, and get it over with.

However, I was then, as I still am, slightly squeamish about pain. 
Marc knew this, of course, so two days before D-Day, he bluntly 
told me not to worry, he would take care of it. 

So, on my birthday his gift to me was a vial of poison. He never 
told me where he had gotten it, but he assured me that it would be 
painless. And it was. I simply fell asleep, and when I woke up, I 
had changed.

I remember how pale Marc looked, when I opened my eyes. He said 
nothing, but for the longest time, he just hang on to me. He held 
me so tight, it was a miracle that none of my ribs didn't break. 
It was only then that I realized what I had asked of him - and 
what I had done to him. He never spoke of that day again.


During the following years, we lived in Italy for a few decades, 
and from there we moved to Spain. That is where we met Pepin. He 
was Immortal, like us, but he was far older than the both of us put 
together. None the less, we soon became fast friends, and when Marc 
and I decided to move back to France, Pepin came with us. 

But we soon discovered that France had changed. The times were 
turbulent, and we were going to learn it the hard way. 


^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^Flashback^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

September, 1792


"Pepin, let go of me! We have to help Marc!" I struggled in vain in 
his hold. 

"Be quiet!" Pepin hissed into my ear, "how do you plan to help Marc, 
if they get you, too?"

"Dead men can't catch anyone", I whispered back, bloodthirstily. 

"There's six of them, and only two of us", Pepin shook his head, 
"we're good, but even we're not *that* good. For once Leonie, think 
with your head, and not with your heart!"

I knew that he was right, but that didn't mean that I had to like it. 
None the less, I stopped struggling, and tried to calm down. What we 
needed now was a plan, and time was of the essence. These people 
weren't content with just killing their enemies. No, for too often 
for my comfort, they also felt the need to behead them. 

"I have few friends, who may be able to help us, even now", Pepin 
said as he finally let go of me. 

I turned to look at him, and felt my hope flare: "Are you sure?"

"No", he was being brutally honest, "but I'd say they're the only 
hope we've got."

I regarded him for a while, then took deep breath: "All right, let's 
go then."

He shook his head: "No, they're rather particular with whom they 
are seen these days. You wait here, and I'll be back as soon as I 
can."

"Pepin, I can't just sit here and wait. I  have do *something*!" 

"I'm not risking my neck to help Marc, just so that he can take my 
head if something happens to you."

His attempt for a joke was wasted on me. 

"Pepin..."

"Leonie, I'm not going to risk the life of my friends by taking you 
with me, and I won't risk your head for something that may not 
even work out", he looked at me sternly, and I knew I wouldn't be 
able to make him change his mind. 

"All right", I sighed resigned, "but hurry."

*********

Four hours later Pepin hadn't still returned, and there was no sign 
of Marc. I couldn't wait any longer, so I took my sword and left the 
house.

I had walked barely three blocks when I felt another Immortal, and a 
few seconds later, I saw Pepin. 

I run to him, and gripped his arm: "Where's Marc? Did you find your 
friends?"

"Yes, I found them", he sounded terribly tired, "but it was already 
too late, Leonie."

"No...." I whispered, not wanting to hear the rest.

Pepin looked at me with sad eyes: "He had already been taken to the 
guillotine...."

"No, not Marc.... not Marc....." I shook my head in denial, and 
tried to back away from him. 

Pepin grabbed my arms, and stopped me: "We can't stay here. They'll  
be looking for us, too."

I didn't care. They had killed Marc. They had taken his beautiful 
head, and wasted his Quickening. There was nothing left, they had 
taken everything from me. 

Pepin must've guessed my thoughts. He shook me none too gently, 
and said almost with violent force: "You're still alive! Giving up 
now, and loosing your head, won't bring him back. If you don't want 
to live for yourself, live for him! If you die, his death was for 
nothing. Is that what you want, Leonie?"

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

***************************************************************
***************************************************************

August, 1940


"Leonie?"

"Marc?"

The incredulous look on his face changed into a shadow of a smile, 
as he took a step closer to me. 

"Leonie? But how...? I thought you were dead!"

"He said you went to the guillotine...." I mumbled, as I lifted my 
veil to see more clearly.

My heart was racing, and I was utterly out of words. All we could 
do was stare at each other, and try to convince ourselves that we 
hadn't gone mad all of a sudden. 

"How...? Pepin told me that they had gotten you, that you were 
dead", Marc had finally managed to form a whole sentence.

I shook my head slowly: "No. He told me that I was too late, that 
you had already gone to the guillotine." 

He knitted his dark brows: "Why would he have lied?"

"I don't know", I couldn't tear my eyes off him, "I can't believe 
it's really you, Marc."

"Jack, actually. I use the name Jack Andrews nowadays, Leonie", he 
had that near smile on again.

I nodded slightly, of course he wouldn't still be using the same 
name. 

"It's Lenore, Jack. Lenore Chandler."

His eyes flashed with what seemed a lot like amusement over my 
seemingly easy use of his new name. After that, either of us didn't 
seem to know what to say, and we were back to staring at each other. 

There were so many things I wanted to say, and yet there seemed to 
be nothing to say. What could one say to someone who was supposed to 
have died a hundred and fifty years ago? Looking at him, I couldn't 
help but thinking of all that might have been, had fate not have 
interfered. And it made me realize with painful clarity just how 
different we were, now. We had both changed, and we were no longer 
the same people as we had been at the time of the revolution. So 
many lost years, lost opportunities, lost dreams....

I could see from his eyes that his thoughts weren't that different 
from mine. The euphoria I had felt for a second there, was lost, as 
I realized that we had become strangers to each other. 

"So, what are you doing here, Marc?" I managed a smile, even if it 
wasn't quite genuine. 

My question seemed to drop him back to the ground. 

"I was visiting my sons grave, -- my wife's son's grave", he finally 
said gesturing somewhere behind himself. 

I know I shouldn't have been surprised, but I was. He was married. 
He had had a son. What was I supposed to say now? Congratulations 
on your marriage? I'm sorry for you son? 

He interrupted my chaotic thoughts: "What about you, Leonie? What 
brings you here?"

I swallowed a little, as I motioned towards George's grave: "My 
former... partner - he was buried today." 

As I looked at there, I saw no-one. The ceremony had ended, and 
they had all left already. 

"I'm sorry", Marc said quietly. 

"Thank you." 

And again, I didn't know what to say. I needed time to actually 
come to grips with the fact that Marc was still very much alive, 
but there was no time. 

He glanced at his watch: "I'm late for an appointment, but I need 
to talk to you, Leonie. Can you meet me later today?" 

He had spoken hastily, and he looked worried, as I didn't answer 
'yes' immediately. 

"Marc, I'm only passing through Chicago, and I'm already a day late 
because of the funeral...." 

"Where are you going?" he didn't seem to understand my reluctance, 
"Leonie, we need to talk. Please."

I never could say no to him. 

"I'm going to Detroit. If you still want to talk after you've thought 
it through, you can find me at the 'Top Hat Club'. I'll be there most 
nights, and if I'm not there when you arrive, leave a message to the 
manager. He'll make sure I'll get it." 

He looked relieved as he gazed deep in my eyes, and promised: 
"I'll be there." 


I just stood there after he had left, unable to decide what to do 
next. Finally, I took a deep breath, and slowly walked to my car, 
where the chauffeur had patiently been waiting for nearly four 
hours to take me to the airport.

*******************

"Lenore! I heard you were back in town."

"Hello, Rusty", I greeted, as I turned to face the short, red-haired 
man in front of me. He was dressed in flashy clothes, and he had the 
familiar, cocky smile on his face. 

"You still look as stunning as ever", he said eyeing me 
appreciatively. 

"And you still have a way with words, Rusty", I smiled slightly 
amused. 


Rusty O'Brien was the number one man of the big man of Detroit. Not 
much went on in the city that he didn't know of. His boss owned most 
of the other nightclubs in town, and it was Rusty's business to make 
sure that he didn't have too much competition. 

When I first opened my club, he had tried to smoke me out. I'm not 
exactly sure why, but for some reason he seemed to like me, and they 
had soon left me and my business be. I guess, the fact that I wasn't 
afraid of him, had been a new experience, so he had become 
fascinated of me. Of course, he also thought that there was something 
more to me than met the eye, but he had no idea how right he was. 
For some reason, he had gotten into his head, that I had a secret 
past, or something. He had pretty much convinced himself that I had 
certain connections to the east coast, maybe even worked for someone 
really big, so he had made certain no-one hassled me or my business. 

That was also the reason why he made a point to dine at my club at 
least once every time I was in town. That, and the fact that he 
liked to be seen with me. The way he figured it, it didn't hurt to 
make sure people knew of his connection with someone who had 
connections. And, as he had told me once, I added a certain prestige 
to his appearance. He liked that word, prestige, and he used it 
quite a lot in his speech.


"So, how long are you staying this time, Lenore?" 

I shrugged my shoulders a little: "Two, three weeks. I haven't 
really decided yet." 

"Well, in that case I better act quickly", he gave me a sly grin, 
"Shall we have dinner together tonight?"

"Sure, why not."

If nothing else, he would at least keep me busy, so I wouldn't have 
time to think of Marc. Besides, I had developed a genuine fondness 
towards Rusty, over the years. I thought he was funny, in a scary 
sort of way, and he was never dull. 


"And maybe this time, I can persuade you to sing in one of our 
clubs, too?" he asked, grinning at our private joke. 

He never failed to ask me, and I never failed to refuse him. 

I gave him a crooked smile: "You know I only sing in my own clubs, 
Rusty."

"You can't blame a guy for trying..."

**********************

I was waiting for Marc to show up as he had promised. I wanted him 
to come, and at the same time, I dreaded the idea of seeing him 
again. Then, four days later, the agonizing wait was over.

I was in the middle of my number, when I sensed his arrival. I 
looked at the door, and there he was. I almost forgot the lyrics 
to the song, and quickly turned my attention away from him. 

......
Man of my heart, I love you so
Lately I find, you're on my mind
More than you know

Whether your right, whether your wrong
Man of my heart, I'll string along
You need me so, more than you'll ever know

Loving you the way that I do
There's nothing I can do about it
Loving may be all you can give
But honey, I can't live without it

Oh, how I'd cry, Oh, how I'd cry
If you got tired and said good-bye
More than I'd show, more than you'd ever know

More than you'd ever know


I finished the song, and had the band take over. I never even 
glanced at Marc's direction as I made my exit. When I got backstage, 
I had one of the waiters deliver him a message, asking him to me 
meet me in my office. I thought that would be a suitable middle 
ground between my private quarters, and the public club. 

Even though I was expecting him, my heart almost jumped out as I 
heard the knock on the door, just a moment after I had sensed him 
on the other side of it. 

"Come in."


To a casual observer he would have appeared to be perfectly calm, 
but I hadn't forgotten what signs to look for, and could tell 
differently. 

"Hello Jack."

"Lenore", he nodded at me.

"I hope you don't mind meeting me here. I thought this would be a 
bit more private than the club, but if you'd rather..." 

"No, this is fine. I don't think we need an audience for this." 

No, we certainly didn't, I thought, but said aloud: "If you haven't 
had dinner, yet, I have it from a good authority, that the food in 
this place is excellent."

He smiled politely as he declined my offer. 

"Well then, please, sit down", I motioned towards the comfortable 
arm-chair, "can I get you something to drink?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine", he assured as he sat down. 

I seated myself opposite him, so that we had a small table in between 
us. An uncomfortable silence followed. 

Finally he gave out a short laugh, and said: "I thought of a million 
things to say, and to ask from you, but now I can't seem to be able 
to remember any of them."

I gave him a slightly nervous smile: "Well, that makes two of us."

The gulf between us seemed to become just a tad narrower. 

"How are you, Leonie?"

How was I? To my surprise, when I seriously thought of the answer, 
I realized that I had had a pretty good life, all things considered. 

"I'm good, Marc", I said after a moment's silence, "I'm not saying 
that it hasn't been a bumpy ride at times, but on the whole, life's 
been pretty good. Not perfect, but good."

He looked as if he had been holding his breath while waiting for my 
answer, and had only now noticed it. 

He took a deep breath before he spoke up: "I'm glad. I was worried 
that..."

"That I wouldn't have been able to make it without you?" I asked 
him quietly, arching my brow.

He look slightly embarrassed, but then his expression got darker: 
"What I really want to know is why Pepin did this to us. It just 
doesn't make any sense to me. We were friends, all of us. I've been 
wrecking my brain trying to remember if I ever did anything to 
cause this..."

"I know", I said softly, "I don't understand it any better than you 
do."

"Guess we'll just have to find Pepin, and get some answers out of 
him, then", Marc said grimly.

"That might be easier said than done..."

He gave me a sharp look: "What do you mean?"

I sighed heavily before answering: "He's dead."

I saw the look on his face, and knew what he was thinking of. 

"Yes, he's definitely dead. I saw his body, and his head, myself."

"When?"

"Ten years after the revolution. He helped me get to England, and 
he was visiting me there, when it happened. I never found out who 
did it."

I could see my own frustration being reflected from his eyes. We 
would never know why all of this had happened. Not that knowing the 
reason would have changed anything, but it might have helped us to 
understand this cruel -- joke. 

What might have been....

"Marc, I want you to know, that I was coming for you, back then.... 
But on my way, I met Pepin, and he told me that you had already been 
executed.... There was no reason not to believe him, after all he 
was such a good old friend", I gave him a small, sad smile, "I just 
want you to know that I didn't abandon you."

"I know", he returned my smile, "I was coming for you after Pepin 
had gotten me out of the prison, but he told me that they had 
already taken you. He told me you were already dead."

In each others eyes we could read the pain, and the sorrow, we had 
endured because of Pepin's lie. But life had gone on, and the pain, 
and the sorrow, had been dulled into something we had been able to 
live with. A hundred and fifty years was a long time, even for our 
kind. 

What might have been....

Finally I broke the silence: "Now what? You taught me everything I 
know, but you never told me how to handle a situation like this one."

His smile was crooked as he said: "Maybe because I never anticipated 
that this kind of a situation might occur." 

I got up from my seat, and took a cigarette from my desk. I had 
stopped smoking when I had been with George, because he hadn't liked 
the taste of it, and I hadn't smoked since, but I had always kept a 
pack for an emergency. And if this wasn't an emergency, I didn't 
know what was. The simple fact was, that I was nervous, and I 
*needed* a cigarette, right away. 

"Has life been good to you, Marc? Tell me about your family, tell 
me about your wife. Is she one of us?"

He regarded me silently for a while, then he spoke with a calming 
voice: "Like you said, it hasn't always been a smooth ride, but all 
things considered, it hasn't been a bad life."

He paused to think for a moment.

"As for my wife.... Four days ago, that would've been an easy 
question, but now.... Yes, my wife is one of us, but the woman I 
call my wife isn't."

He saw my confused look, and went on: "I never got married again. 
Sheila and I live together, and to the world, she is Mrs. Andrews, 
but we never made it official."

He had surprised me again. I took a puff from my cigarette. 

"Yes, it is easier that way. No risk of someone getting nosy of the 
phony records we create for our new lives", I understood perfectly. 

"Yeah, something like that", he agreed. 

"Well, I wouldn't worry if I were you. I doubt that there's a judge 
who would still consider us a married couple", I said dryly. 

"I don't know, we're still both alive, and neither has 
re-married...." he tried to make a joke. 

"Let me re-phrase it. I don't think we could find a judge to grant 
us a divorce, since it might prove a little difficult to explain 
the date on our marriage certificate."

"So where does that leave us, Leonie?" 

I looked at him a little sadly. I had had four days to think about 
this, to think of all the what ifs and if onlys, and so had he. 

"Nowhere. There's no us, anymore. Leonie Arnould and Marc de Payrat 
knew each other, and they were married. But they both died a long 
time ago. Lenore Chandler and Jack Andrews, on the other hand, just 
met four days ago. They have no obligation to get to know each 
other." 

He looked at me seriously again: "No, there's no obligation, but 
does that mean that they *can't* get to know one another?"

I stub out what was left of my cigarette. 

"What would be the point in that, Marc? I mean, I can't see myself 
having a casual conversation over a cup of tea with you and your 
wife. Can you?"

He shook his head slowly: "No." 

He got up from his chair, and walked to me. 

"So, now that I've found out that you're really still alive, we just 
decide that we're ships in the night, and never meet again? Is that 
what you're saying?"

What had he expected? We were no longer who we used to be, we had 
our own separate lives, and he was married. I didn't understand why 
he was making this more difficult than it had to be. 

I closed my eyes for a second, and sighed. Then I lifted my eyes to 
meet his gaze.

"No. Neither of us knows what happens in the future, but right now...
I don't think it would be such a good idea to keep in touch. I doubt 
your wife would be thrilled about the idea. But who knows, maybe 
we'll meet again after another hundred and fifty years", I ended my 
little speech in a feeble effort of humor. 

He said nothing, but he had the strangest look on his face. Was it 
.... relief? I wasn't sure. Maybe he was relieved over the fact that 
I wouldn't be meddling into his new marriage, or that I hadn't 
completely shut out the possibility of us maybe becoming friends 
again in the future. I wasn't sure.

"You always were a classy lady, Leonie", he said softly.

He looked at me as if he was trying to memorize every line on my 
face, then he stepped a little closer, and brushed his lips ever 
so lightly over my cheek. 

Then he went to the door, and he was gone, again.

*************************************************************

December, 1941


It was less than a month 'til Christmas, and America was at war. We 
had finally been pulled into the nightmare, which had been a reality 
to most of the world for over two years already. Christmas was 
supposed to be a time for joy, but now it was time of good-byes, in 
far too many cases, forever. 

But despite of that, or maybe because of it, many people were doing 
their best to go on as if nothing was out of the ordinary. I was one 
of them. I had contemplated on going to Europe, and doing my part 
in the war efforts, but I'm not really what one might call a big 
humanitarian. Besides, I had already gone through one World War, 
and that had been quite enough for me. 

So instead, I had accepted an invitation from Kate Lowell, to come 
and spend the Christmas with her and her family in New York. Besides, 
one of my five nightclubs just happened to be in New York, so I 
thought I might check upon it as well. 


".... I just count my lucky stars that Jim is too old for active 
duty", Kate said as we were doing our Christmas shopping, "but try 
telling that to him! I swear, if it weren't for the kids, he'd find 
a way to join in on the 'fun'!" 

"I don't think he meant it quite that way..." I tried to calm her 
down a bit. 

I knew it was her worry talking, but she really could get quite 
verbal, and *loud*, about this subject. Although I didn't mind 
hearing about it, and giving her a chance to get it out of her 
system, I doubted that the rest of the shoppers in the department 
store were all that enthusiastic about the matter. 

"Talking about the kids..." I knew just what would take her mind 
off the war, at least for a while, "I can't believe how much they've 
grown since I last saw them!"

Kate shook her head, smiling: "Tell me about it! And it seems like 
it was only yesterday, when they were my little bundles, and I was 
changing their diapers, and now... It won't be too many years now, 
before they will be all grown up, and they'll want to move out.... 
But that's the way it is with children, you know."

Actually, I didn't know, but I kept that little bit of information 
to myself. 

"I think, I'll try to find something nice for Jim, first..." Kate 
went on, but stopped suddenly. 

"Lenore, are you all right?" she looked at me questioningly. 

"Yes, I'm fine", I gave her a reassuring smile. 

Actually, I had just felt another Immortal somewhere near by, and I 
was trying to take a look around without being too obvious about it. 

"Oh my...." 

Kate's sigh caught my attention.

"What is it, Kate?"

"There's a *very* handsome man over there, staring at you", she 
nodded slightly towards the man. 

I felt a shiver run down my spine, as I slowly turned to the 
direction she had indicated. I was not equipped to handle a fight 
right now; my sword was in the trunk of my car. I let my eyes slide 
through the crowd, but they were stopped by a pair of dark eyes. 

Marc. 

I felt my eyes widen with the surprise, but I recovered soon enough, 
and turned back to Kate. 

"You were mistaken, Kate, he wasn't staring at me, he is staring at 
you. That new hat of yours is really becoming", I teased her, trying 
not to look as nervous as I suddenly felt. 

Kate smiled sweetly, and slapped my arm: "I have been married long 
enough to know when a man is staring at me. He is definitely 
interested in you, Lenore." 

"Didn't you say that you wanted to find something for Jim? I think 
I saw some very nice shirts over there...." I tried to get her 
attention away from Marc. 

"Ooh, he's coming this way", was all the response I got. 

And right after that I heard Marc's voice behind me: "Lenore, I 
thought it was you."

Reluctantly, I turned to face him, and forced a polite smile on my 
lips: "Mr... Andrews, was it?"

He flashed me an amused look on my innocent tone: "Yes, that's 
right. Jack Andrews."

Kate made a small sound, and I remembered my manners, and made the 
introductions. 

"It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, ma'am", Marc made a 
small bow. 

"Likewise, I'm sure", Kate had fallen under his spell already. 

There was a small silence, which Kate interrupted: "I think I will 
go and see those shirts for Jim, Lenore. You just stay here and 
catch up with Mr. Andrews, and I'll be right back."

"No, Kate wait...!" 

But she was already gone, and there was no other choice but to 
reconcile myself to my fate. I gave an inaudible sigh, before I 
turned back to meet Marc. I didn't quite understand why I felt so 
nervous around him, but I did. I just didn't know how, exactly, I 
was supposed to treat him, or how to react to him. As a friend,  
a man I had been madly in love with, a stranger? He had been all of 
those things to me, and now, I just felt.... awkward. 

"Why do I get the feeling, that you would have preferred if I hadn't 
come over to say 'hi'?" Marc asked me lifting his brow. 

I looked at him frustrated for a few seconds before I sighed: 
"I just don't know who we are to each other, now. I don't know 
how to introduce you to someone, or what to call you..." 

His smile was far more confident than mine, as he answered: "You 
can call me what ever you want, Leonie."

I got a wicked gleam in my eyes: "You just may live to 
regret that one."

And for a moment, I felt like we had gone back in time. He felt..., 
*we* felt, familiar again. 

"Knowing you, I just may", he laughed a little. 

Unfortunately, that innocent remark reminded me of the fact that 
he really *didn't* know me, not anymore. He must've read what was 
on my mind, since the laughter in his eyes died, and he shook his 
head a little. 

"Leonie, don't..." 

He paused, and was about to say something, but then obviously 
thought better of it. Instead, he took a deep breath, and continued 
with a totally different tone: "I'm glad that we bumped into each 
other like this, I had wanted to see you before I leave."

"Leave for where?"

"They will ship us to Europe a day after tomorrow."

He sounded as if he was going to a big adventure. All of a sudden, 
I understood Kate's attitude towards Jim much better. 

"Well, I would tell you to take care of yourself, but we both know 
that you have more than excellent chance of getting out of it all 
alive", I said dryly. 

"I woudn't be too sure about that", his tone wasn't filled with such 
boyish enthusiasm anymore, "the weapons we have around these days, 
can do some pretty nasty things to one's neck, if you know what I 
mean." 

His comment made me blink, and I felt a twinge in my stomach as I 
realized that this might very well be the last time I would ever 
see him. Suddenly, we were both very serious. His dark eyes held my 
blue ones, as we couldn't think of anything to say. I remembered the 
first time we had met, our wedding day, the day of my first death, 
our life together.... And for the first time since I had found out 
that he  was still alive, I felt totally at ease being close to him. 
He was no longer Jack Andrews, but Marc de Payrat, the man I had 
known for so long, so long ago. 

And then someone with a huge pile of packages bumped into us, and 
the moment was gone. 

I felt slightly embarrassed, and I had to swallow before I found my 
voice again: "I guess you better watch out for your head then, after 
all." 

"Leonie..." he reached for my hand, but what ever he was going to 
say, remained unsaid, as we saw Kate coming towards us. 

He gave me a little smile, and squeezed my hand: "Take care of 
yourself, Leonie. And, don't loose your head."


Kate reached me a moment after Marc had left. She had obviously 
found something for Jim, since she had two neatly wrapped boxes in 
her arms. But instead of telling me about the gifts, she gave me 
a look from the corner of her eye, and asked: "So, where have you 
been hiding him all this time, hmm, Lenore?"

That dropped me promptly back to reality. 

"I haven't been hiding him anywhere. For your information, Mr. 
Andrews is a happily married man. I only met him once about a year 
ago in a funeral, and he was just being nice right now, as he came 
to say hello."

Kate gave me a look which told me that she hadn't bought a word I 
had just said. 

"Kate, I'm telling you the truth!"

"Of course you are", was her patronizing answer.

*************************************************************

April, 1944


When I arrived to the club that evening, an hour before we would 
open, the place seemed unusually quiet. As I walked towards my office 
I felt as if all of my employees were -- staring at me. But when I 
turned to look at them, they all became very busy all of a sudden, 
and refused the eye contact.

I knitted my brows slightly, wondering what could have happened, 
but decided then not to worry. If something was going on, Alphonse 
would fill me in on it in just a moment. 

Just as I had finished my thought, Alphonse hurried towards me. 

"Good evening, Alphonse."

"Mademoiselle", he nodded. 

"Is there something you would like to discuss with me, Alphonse?" 
I finally asked as he just stood there, looking distressed. 

He looked at me seriously behind his round glasses, and sounded 
sympathetic as he said in a low voice: "I'm sorry, mademoiselle 
Chandler. It arrived here earlier this afternoon from the Top Hat  
Club. I don't know why it was sent there, but I assure you, that 
they delivered it here as soon as it was possible."

As he finished, he gave me a crumpled up telegram. 

For a moment I just stared at the paper in my hand. Many of my 
friends had received these dreaded messages from the Department of 
War, but why I had been sent one, was a mystery. 

"We are all very sorry for your loss, mademoiselle Chandler", 
Alphonse interrupted my thoughts. 

I lifted my eyes from the telegram, and looked at the short, slightly  
chubby man in front of me. He looked at me worriedly, and I almost 
smiled as I saw his expression. 

Dear Alphonse, he had become somewhat of a confidante during the 
seven years I had known him. He had come to America eight years ago, 
and hadn't been able to find employment until he came to see me. I 
considered myself very lucky to have gotten him; Alphonse was 
undoubtedly the best club-manager I had. I had been delighted by 
his continental charm from the beginning, and he had been delighted 
by my fluency in French. Another aspect in him I was particularly 
fond of, was his discretion. No matter what I told him to do, or how 
strange things happened, I could trust him not to repeat any of them 
to another living soul. 

Sometimes I got a feeling that he knew much more about me than he 
led on, but of course, that was all just in my mind. But then, I 
suspected that I wasn't the only one with a secret past. I think 
Alphonse may have been a sailor, or perhaps he had been in prison, 
in his youth. He had this odd, round tattoo on his wrist, and when 
I had asked him about it once, he had dodged the question. I had 
decided not to pursue the matter, after all, we were all entitled 
to our own little secrets. 


"Thank you, Alphonse", I said calmly, "I will call you if I need 
anything."

"Very good, mademoiselle", he nodded at me again, and watched me 
enter the privacy of my office.

********

I sat behind my desk turning the telegram over in my hands. 

Well, there's only one way to find out what this is all about, I 
told myself, and opened the telegram. 

I glanced it over quickly enough, but only few words actually 
registered in my mind.

.... Lieutenant Jack Andrews.... killed in action....

I stared at the words, not understanding them at first, and the only 
coherent thought that came to me was 'why did they send this to me?'
I wasn't really worried, after all, we weren't all that easy to kill 
off, but why I had been notified of this, too, was the question I 
kept asking myself. 

I read the telegram over again, and knitted my brow. Marc must've 
listed me as one of the people to be informed in case something 
happened to him. But the real question was 'why'? Why would he have 
done that, was beyond me. 

Unless.... Assuming he hadn't told his wife about his Immortality, 
he would want someone to know, if he really would get killed - 
permanently. I remembered what he had said the last time we had met: 
"The weapons we have around these days, can do some pretty nasty 
things to one's neck, if you know what I mean." 

All of a sudden, I had a sick feeling in my stomach. I drummed my 
desk with my fingernails, and took a cigarette from my secret stash. 
With slightly trembling hands I lit it, and took a long puff. 

Marc had been right, we were hard to kill, yes, but we were not 
indestructible. I closed my eyes, and sighed heavily. I couldn't 
understand why I was reacting this strongly to the possibility of 
his death. We had only met three times after his 'resurrection', 
and it wasn't like there was anything between us, anymore. 

Then why was I feeling this cold knot in my gut? So, maybe I hadn't 
buried all the feelings I had towards him, after all. Or, maybe I 
felt this way because of the past we had shared. I didn't know, and, 
at the moment, I didn't really care. 

Assuming that I was right about the reason he had listed me, it 
still didn't really answer the question of 'why'. He would have 
needed to list another Immortal, yes, but I was hardly the only 
Immortal he knew. 

Well, what ever his reason may have been, the fact was, that I was 
the one with the telegram. That meant that it was up to me to find 
out just how accurate it's message really was. 

I called Alphonse through the intercom. He had barely entered the 
room as I fired my question.

"Do we know anyone at the Department of War, Alphonse?"

He thought about it for a while before shaking his head: "I don't 
think so, mademoiselle." 

I gave an audible sigh, and thought silently to myself: "Of course 
not. That would have been too easy." 

Out loud I said: "Very well. Please have someone book me a ticket 
to the next possible flight to Washington, will you, Alphonse?"

He looked at me silently for a moment, but then he only said: 
"Very well, mademoiselle Chandler, I'll have it done right away."

********************

Five days later in Washington, I was getting really frustrated. 
After all this time, I hadn't even got past the person at the front 
desk. Apparently, I wasn't the only one trying to get some answers 
concerning the men we had sent to the war. 

As I looked at the wives and mothers and daughters who were waiting 
with me, I couldn't help but feel for them. At least I knew that 
there was more than a slight chance that Marc was still alive. But 
for most of these women, there was no hope. And yet they clang to 
their hope 'til the last possible moment; hope was all they had left. 
I remembered how I had tried to console my friends, as they had been 
notified of the death of the loved one. Thinking of my words now, I 
felt ashamed. All I had managed to offer them, were empty words. And 
yet, at the time, I had truly thought that I was helping, just a 
little. 

Finally it was my turn again. I went to the desk, and got the exact 
same answer as all the previous times. I didn't even bother to 
listen the miserable monologue come to an end, as I turned and left 
the building. 

That was it. I had tried to do this through the official, proper, 
channels, and I had failed. It was time to collect some old favors.

*******

After two days, I had my answer. The body of Lieutenant Andrews had 
somehow been 'misplaced'. But my source told me that most likely 
the body had been left to the enemy territory, and there was no way 
of claiming it until after the war. And the chances of finding it 
when ever that blessed event might occur, were nil. In essence, I 
was told to arrange a nice memorial service, and get used to the 
idea that for Lieutenant Andrews, there would not be a marked grave. 

I thanked my source for the information, and ended the call. I had 
learned all I needed to know. Marc was still alive. Most likely, 
still alive. 

*************************

I got back home to New York, and tried to put the whole thing behind 
me. I told myself over and over, that I had already done everything 
I thought Marc had wanted me to do, and that was it. But it wasn't. 
Don't ask me where I got the crazy notion that Marc had listed me, 
not only to check on him in case I was notified of his death, but 
also, to make sure that his 'widow' was taken care of. 

I knew it was insane, but the thought just kept nagging at me. I 
tried to convince myself that Marc would have made all the necessary 
arrangements to ensure Sheila's financial future. But it was as if 
I had told myself *not* to think of a pink elephant. All I could do 
*was to* think of the blasted thing. 

Finally, I gave up. Even if this wasn't what Marc had intended, it 
couldn't hurt, right? And, if I was totally honest with myself, I 
*was* just a tad curious. Of course, if Marc *had* told Sheila of 
his Immortality, this could end up in my embarrassment. 

Oh well, wouldn't be the first time, I thought as I dialed the 
number of my solicitor. 

*************************

A week later I got a call from Mr. Foster, my solicitor. 

"Miss Chandler, I looked into the situation concerning Mrs. Andrews, 
as you asked me to, and I can assure you, that she is being taken 
care of. As it turned out, Mrs. Andrews is no longer Mrs. Andrews, 
but a Mrs...." I could hear him shuffling his papers on the other 
end of the line, "...ah yes, Mrs. Haskell. She filed for a divorce 
from Mr. Andrews in 1943, while he was in Europe. And since Mr. 
Andrews didn't object to the case, the divorce was granted. I 
suppose the fact that the then Mrs. Andrews, appeared to be pregnant, 
helped the matters along." 

"I see."

There was much more I wanted to say, but I doubted that it would 
have made any sense to Mr. Foster. 

"So, you see Miss Chandler, there is no need for concern", he 
was just saying, "also, I took the liberty to check upon the matter 
of Mr. Andrews' estate...."

This one got me mentally on my toes. Why on earth had Mr. Foster 
done that?! If Marc's little paper trail wasn't perfect, Mr. Foster  
might have found out something he wasn't supposed to, and what would 
I do then?

"It seems, that Mr. Andrews was a sensible man, and he left a will. 
I didn't look for the specifics, but it appears that he has left 
everything to a distant relative of his", Mr. Foster finished his 
report. 

"Well, thank you very much for your time, Mr. Foster, you have 
been most efficient in this matter."

"I am glad you found our report to be satisfactory, Miss Chandler", 
Mr. Foster replied, and soon afterwards he finished the call. 


I dropped the receiver down, deep in my thoughts. So, my curiosity 
had gotten to me, as I had found out more than I had really wanted 
to. Now, it was definitely time for me to put an end to this matter 
concerning Marc. If there was anything else he wanted to be done, 
he was just going to have to do it himself. I was through poking my 
nose into matters it did not belong to. 

Satisfied with my decision, I finally threw away the telegram I had 
received from the Department of War. Once again it was time to leave 
the past behind, and concentrate on the future. 

*****************************************************************

June, 1947


The war had finally ended, and it was time for peace and prosperity 
again. 

I had moved to the west coast, and quite enjoyed the change in 
climate. Although I knew that it was about time to move on, to 
create yet another new life for myself, I was somewhat reluctant to 
do so. I liked the life of Lenore Chandler, and I had made some 
great friends I didn't want to leave behind. Even the business was 
flourishing; all five of my nightclubs were still doing fine, even 
if I had transformed three of them into family restaurants. I had 
made some other changes, too. I no longer participated personally 
into the business, but handled all that through my solicitor. It 
wasn't the way I wanted it, but people were already wondering what 
was the secret of my 'youthfulness', so I had thought it to be for 
the best. 

I promised myself that I would seriously think of my next life, 
right after my birthday. It wouldn't do much good to postpone it 
indefinitely, since I knew that it had to be done sooner or later 
anyway. And, I had already toyed with  some interesting ideas about 
what I could do for the next ten years, or so. It was really just a 
matter of picking the one that appealed to me the most. And of 
course, there was the question of where I would live.... I hadn't 
been in Europe for quite a while, now.... but then, I had always 
liked South-America..... 


I looked at my image from the bathroom mirror, as new ideas begun 
again to swirl on my mind. What was it about in the act of brushing 
my teeth, that got my imagination to overflow? I shook my head, and 
vowed for the umpteenth time to myself that I would make up my mind, 
once and for all, *after* my birthday. I rinsed my mouth for the 
last time, and headed towards the bedroom. There I sat in front of 
the dressing table, and brushed my long, black hair until it shone. 

Just as I finished dressing up, the doorbell rang. 

"Who could it be at this time of the day....?" I muttered to myself, 
but after checking my watch, I realized that it was already after 
9 a.m. 

"Miss Chandler?" a lanky teenager greeted me, as I opened the door. 

"Yes?"

"I have a delivery for you, miss. Please, sign here", he handed me 
a pen. 

After I had signed the receipt, and given him a nice tip, the boy 
left. 

Taking the long, light package to the living room, I wondered who 
could've sent it. Gingerly, I opened the box, and found..... a 
bouquet of withered roses. 

"Someone certainly has a weird sense of humor", I said to myself, 
as I searched the box for a card. I found a letter instead. 


"Dear Miss Chandler, 

This was delivered for you to your Top Hat Club in Detroit. Since 
for the past two years you have handled all the club's business 
through our office, and because the manager didn't know how else to 
reach you, he sent the delivery to us. And I have, in return, sent 
it to you. 

Mr. Edwards, the manager of the Top Hat Club, has asked me to inform 
you, that unfortunately, he has no knowledge of the sender of the 
package. The package was delivered to them by a third person, who 
did not identify himself to them...."'


The letter was signed by Mr. Foster. 


I tossed the letter to the table, and looked at the flowers again. 
It was no wonder they had withered after the detour they had made 
before reaching me. But who would send me flowers via Top Hat? A 
secret admirer? 

I laughed a little at my own thoughts. A secret admirer, now 
really.... Then I thought of the two men who had been my escorts 
quite often recently. Danny and Vincenzo were cousins, and quite 
competitive towards each other. A mysterious flower delivery might 
well be their idea of a good joke. 

Well, it had been a very sweet gesture, whoever was behind it, I 
thought, and took the flowers to the litter bin. 

*********

The next morning, just after 9 a.m., my doorbell rang again. It was 
the same delivery boy as the day before, but this time he didn't 
bring me flowers. Instead, I found a delicious selection of fine 
chocolate underneath the wrapping paper. 

"Mmmm, great choice for a gift", I thought as a piece of chocolate 
melted in my mouth. 

Like the flowers, this package also came with a letter from Mr. 
Foster. I glanced through it, and saw that it read about the same 
as the previous one. And still no indication of who was behind this. 

*********

On the third day I received a huge bottle of lavender bulgarian 
water. Now I was pretty certain that Vincenzo was the one behind 
the gifts; he had just the other day teased me about my abundant 
use of it. And he was right, I loved the sent of lavender, and 
tended to use it nearly every day. 

This gift had also come to me via Mr. Foster's office, but this time 
it had been delivered straight to them, and not to the Top Hat Club. 
Mr. Foster's letter was a tad touchier than the previous ones, as 
he, very politely, reminded me that their office was not meant to 
be my private post office. I wrote him a polite reply, promising 
that as soon as I would find out who was sending me these gifts, I 
would tell him Mr. Foster's regards on the matter. 

I must confess that I was quite enjoying being wooed like this. I 
had always thought that there was nothing like a touch of danger, 
or a touch of romance, to spice up one's life, but I most definitely 
preferred the romance bit. 

However, now I thought the time had come for me to finally confront 
both Danny and Vincenzo about this, and see what would happen. I 
enjoyed a light flirt as much as the next person, but I just wanted 
to make sure that neither of the cousins had lost the sight of the 
fact that that was all this was, flirting. I had began going out 
with them because I had known that neither of them was really serious 
about me, and that was the way I wanted it. If the situation had 
changed for either of them, I wanted to know it now, so I could put 
a stop to it, before it would get any further. 


So, that same evening as I had dinner with Danny, I asked him 
straight out, if he was the one sending me the gifts. He looked 
rather dumbstruck by my question, and told me that he had no idea 
what I was talking about. He appeared to be telling me the truth, so 
now I was more convinced than ever that Vincenzo was the culprit. 

But when I had lunch with him the next day, his answer was the same 
as Danny's had been. 

"So, you're quite sure that you didn't send me this lovely silver 
bracelet, this morning?" I asked him again, just to be absolutely 
certain, and showed him the piece of jewelry in question. 

"Sorry", Vincenzo shook his head grinning apologetically, "I just 
wish that I *had* thought of doing something like that. Guess, it 
must be one of your other admirers, Lenore."

I fingered the bracelet on my wrist, and gave him a dry smile: "Oh, 
that was a big help, Vinnie."

"Sorry, that's the best I could come up with on such short notice", 
he smiled back at me.

"I guess, I'll just have to sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride 
while it lasts, then", I sighed finally, and emptied my glass. 

"Oh, don't worry, Lenore. If the guy goes through that much trouble, 
he's bound to show up in person pretty soon. I know that's what I 
would do", Vincenzo assured to me. 

*********

On the fifth day, I received a pair of silver ear-rings, which 
matched with the bracelet. And this time, there was no note from 
Mr Foster. Apparently, this gift was delivered straight to me. 

By this time, I was in pretty friendly terms with the delivery boy. 
I had learned that his name was Tom, and that he was a student in 
the university. And the reason he worked in the delivery firm part 
time, was to help his parents finance his studies. He seemed pretty 
happy about this gift campaign scheme, since I always gave him a 
generous tip, which he said, added nicely to his regular salary. 

The sixth day brought along yet another piece of jewelry. Now, I 
had a matching set of ear-rings, bracelet and a necklace. 

"Not bad", I thought as I tried it on, "not bad at all." 

My personal Santa obviously had a good taste. None of the gifts had 
been overly expensive, but they were all items I might have selected 
myself. 

********

The next day also happened to be my birthday, and I couldn't wait 
to see what Tom would bring me this time around. So, when the 
doorbell rang at 9 a.m., I hurried to open it with a big smile on 
my face. 

But before I reached the door, I felt the unmistakable presence 
of another Immortal. I stopped to my tracks, and without a thought, 
turned to fetch my sword. 

A few seconds later I had my sword ready, and I opened the door 
gingerly. The first thing I saw was a *huge* bouquet of red, yellow 
and white roses. When I looked up, I met with a pair of dark, 
smiling eyes.

"Happy birthday! My name is Mark Arnould -- and you are one tough 
lady to find, Leonie Fleur."

His smile became a bit broader, as I just stood there, my mouth 
a gap. 

"I know it hasn't been quite hundred and fifty years yet, but I.... 
I was wondering if you might be willing to negotiate about that 
matter?" 

I had finally managed to close my mouth, but the hint of insecurity 
in his voice brought a slight smile on my lips. That, and the 
realization that we were finally meeting on equal starting points. 

"That depends...." I paused for effect. 
 
"Yes?" his voice revealed a sliver of hope.

".... on what kind of a compromise you had in mind?" 




The End