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Chapter Five
The Morning After
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Afternoon sunlight streaming through the drawn curtains hit her face and woke her.

Sue blinked against the light, and looked around the room.

She knew where she was, and how she had gotten there. The memories of the past day were all perfectly clear in her mind, but the reasoning behind some of her actions were not so readily apparent.

What was apparent was she was again herself. She could remember Eadgils, but trying to recall specifics of his life now only drew blanks. Specifics of her own life however, were not so hard to recall. She thought of her Father, the stories about her Mother, and her life growing up. She could not believe her Dad was not her real Father. It just wasn't possible. Thinking that was like losing him all over again.

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September 12, 2000, Gardena, California...

Sue was watching a movie in the living room while waiting for her Dad to get home. He was covering for Myra Chandler's Watcher, as she once again passed through Los Angels on one of her several, frequent trips.

Sue thought back to her first, and last, meeting with Myra, on the beach two and a half years before. That woman really creeped her out.

Dad was supposed to be relieved by Mike at 5:00, and it was almost 8:00pm now. What was unusual was not that her father had been delayed, things happened, but that he hadn't called. That wasn't like him at all. Still, she wasn't really worried, after all, he was probably stuck in traffic or something and his cell phone was probably dead.

She jerked up as the doorbell rang. She rose, and headed to the door. She looked out the peephole, and her heart skipped a beat.

Standing outside was Mike, and two other local Watchers. Their expressions were glum at best.

With her heart pounding in her chest, and a knot of ice forming in her stomach, she opened the door.

"Hi Mike." She said simply.

"Um, Sue. Hello. Can we come in, please?" he asked, a painful expression on his face.

"Sure", she said, stepping back and gesturing towards the living room.

They stepped in, and Mike pointed at the couch. "Sue, please sit down. I need to tell you something."

The knot of ice in her stomach exploded, and her throat suddenly was blocked by a rock while her head started to spin and throb. She sat down mechanically, already fearing she knew what Mike was about to say.

"Wha-what is it?" she finally managed to get out, her voice trembling.

"Sue, I'm sorry. We all are. It's your father. He's been killed."

The world spun, and darkness started to close in. Her legs wanted to tremble, but at the same time, they were going numb. So were her hands. She could no longer feel her fingers. She did manage to get out one gasping word though. "Haaow?"

Taking a deep breath, and looking at one of the other Watchers, he said "He was stabbed. By a sword."

Suddenly, a cold, stark realization settled over her. The numbness faded as her heart began to thunder. Anger washed her being, as an alternative to the loss she couldn't really face. She stood up in a sudden violent move, catching everyone present by surprise. "That BITCH!" she yelled, visions of Myra's head rolling along the ground sans body filling her head, replacing the ones of her father, skewered like a piece of meat on a shiskabob.

"Now, calm down Sue," Mike said, "We don't really know who did it. When I went to replace him, I found his body. I placed some calls, and it is being taken care of. We will try to find out what happened, but for now, we really don't know. All we know is that Myra was meeting someone, and he was watching it. But whatever happened, remember the Watcher Oath, I WILL DO SO WITHOUT INTERFERING IN THEIR LIVES, NOR ALLOWING THEM TO KNOW OF MY PRESENCE. TO THIS I SWEAR AND PLEDGE MY LIFE,"

"I'm not a real Watcher," Sue retorted, "Look, no Tattoo." She said, displaying her wrist.

"Not yet, but if you ever hope to be, and if you want to honor your father's memory, you will still follow that rule. The rule he GAVE his life for."

"Oh, Mike!" she cried, the anger fading as fast as it had come, its place taken by a previously inconceivable emptiness. The tears finally broke, and she clung to Mike, sobbing.

"Hush, it's alright honey. It's alright we'll take care of it. Don't worry." He said, hugging her to him.

Mike and one other Watcher stayed with her that evening, sleeping on the couch and in the guest room.

The next day, they arranged for everything. They had arranged for a private service and burial. As far as the rest of the world would be concerned, her father would just disappear. They told her they had set up a trust to make the house and utility payments, as well as provide a fund for clothing, food, etc. They also promised her that when she turned 18, there would be a spot open for her at the Watcher Academy in Paris. They would help her honor her father's memories by following in his footsteps.

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The tears of loss were flowing once again, as she once more mourned the loss of her father. She also realized she had a problem. Actually, a set of problems. She was a Watcher, and her subject was dead, by Hunters, and she was missing. But she was also now an Immortal. Everyone would be looking for her.

Picking up the phone, she placed a long distance call to a number she had not used in several years, but was still ingrained in her mind from the several calls she had made after Mike had been recalled to Seacouver.

"Joe's Bar" came the voice on the other end of the line.

"Yes, uh, is Mike there, please?" she asked.

"One moment, may I ask who's calling?" the woman on the other end asked.

"Yes. Tell him it's Sue."

A few murmured voices, a faint shout, some sort of thump, like a door slamming, and a rattle as another phone was picked up on the other end of the line was all she could detect.

"Sue?!" Mikes voice came through the line, and as it did, she could hear the first phone being hung back up.

"Mike!" she replied.

"Sue, where are you? Are you alright? We heard about Eadgils, what happened? I was so worried when we didn't hear anything from you."

"Hunters." was all she said to Mike. Then she took a breath, and started again.

"In the order you asked, though, I'm in a Motel 6 somewhere between Atlanta and Savannah. I am fine, just a little shaken up, with maybe a bruise or two, certainly some sore muscles. I haven't had time to really look. And as I said, Hunters happened. My pager was fried, there were three dead bodies, and I was more concerned with getting away myself than anything else. They almost killed me as well. I, I shot one of them. But, I was too late, he still went ahead and, he killed Eadgils, Mike. Just like that."

"What about the Quickening? I saw pictures of the scene, and we had people on-site, but there doesn't look like there was much of anything at all." Mike asked.

"I don't know. I wasn't really watching, I passed out after I shot the Hunter. When I woke up, Eadgils and the two Hunters were dead. Mike, there has to be someone on the inside. They didn't just find Eadgils on their own. Someone has to be working with them. That was why I called you. Of all the Watchers I know, you are the one I know I can trust. What should I do?"

"Well, you are right that there has to be someone on the inside. Some people were thinking it was YOU. I told them that was bullshit, but they brought up how your father was killed by an Immortal, and that was enough to make you a suspect. Then, with you missing, your supervisor said he couldn't get a hold of you, and that you hadn't checked in for several hours."

"Mike, he's lying. I checked in just about an hour before the attack. He paged me asking for a Location/Status update. I think he leaked to the Hunters. He also paged me just BEFORE they attacked, telling me to report to Savannah HQ. Check the pager logs. You'll see he's lying."

"Ok honey, Joe and I'll check. You just stay put, and keep your head down. Call me in a while, and I'll have more for you. Can you do that?" Mike asked.

"Uh, yeah. I am kinda out of it anyhow, so that is not a problem. And Mike, when this is over, I want to take some time off and go home. Ok?"

"Sure thing. I'll make sure Joe knows not to reassign you for a while, so you can take a little time off. Now, stay put, and keep your head down. If nothing else, the Hunters may be looking for you for a little clean-up and pay-back. Ok?"

"Ok," she said. "I'll call you this evening."

With that she hung up the phone, and climbed out of bed, stepping right on the blade of the Katana. As the cold chill shocked through her foot, she looked down to see the blood start to flow over the blade and onto the floor.

"Damn!" she muttered, sitting back down and lifting her foot, taking it in her hands, and turning it over so she could see the sole and examine the damage. What she saw instead caused her breath to catch.

She watched in amazement as the cut was crisscrossed with little sparks, and started to close, the blood having already stopped flowing. All she felt was a slight itching as the skin healed back, leaving only a red line, which it's self faded away.

When even the line was gone, she wiped the remaining blood off her foot, and examined the area minutely for any trace of injury. Nothing.

Releasing her foot, she again stood up, this time carefully not stepping on the Katana, and in fact bending over to pick it up and place it more safely on top of the television, out of the way.

She then continued on into the bathroom, and looked at the mess her appearance presented in the mirror. With a shrug of resignation, she pulled off her nightshirt and panties, and tugged her hair free from its braid before stepping on the dirty towel left casually on the floor and into the shower.

First off, she thoroughly washed her body, before attacking her hair with both the Shampoo and Conditioner from her Emergency kit.

Finally clean, she climbed out, and used the last towel to dry off.

She grabbed the spare bra, along with the Maroon shirt, black jeans, and the last clean panties from the Emergency kit and got dressed.

Next she brushed out her hair, until it was reasonably dry and tangle free, once again flowing back over her shoulders in a shining brown mane.

A touch of makeup, and she collected the keycard for the room and headed for the door. Her shoulder brushed the handle of the Katana as she walked by, bringing her to a stop.

She stood there contemplating the handle of the Katana for a few moments, before picking it up. A few experimental swings succeeded only in almost decapitating the already headless bed. Realizing she had absolutely no idea how to handle such a weapon, she was suddenly stuck by a thrill of fear. It was totally unlike the rapiers she had learned to use in France.

She was now an Immortal. She was therefore expected to be able to defend herself with a sword. If she came upon a Headhunter somewhere, it was quite unlikely they would accept a "Sorry, I just started, could you come back and fight me next year?" from her and go away. No, more likely they would see her as an easy target and collect her head as quickly and with as little fuss as possible. An echo of the guarded wariness Eadgils had felt for so long it was automatic to him thrummed in her mind. What had happened to him, anyhow? Last night, she was more him than her. But today, it was almost like yesterday had never even happened.

In any case, she would need some sort of protection, and she couldn't very well run around Macon dangling a Katana in her hand, especially one she had no idea how to use. Thinking back, she remembered the .45 in the car, taken from the Hunter, and now a weapon used in an unsolved triple homicide. It would not be a very good idea to wander around Macon toting that around in her hand either.

With a sigh of resignation, she looked at the other two weapons in her so called "Arsenal". Last night, she had also carried up a Bowie knife, and a stiletto style throwing knife. While she had no idea how to throw such a knife in a manner likely to impale a target, she could hack and slash with some competency using either the Bowie, or the stiletto, thanks to the classes she took in Paris the year before. The Bowie had a scabbard which looked to be designed to be worn on the back under clothing. She decided to give it a try on for size.

Returning to the small bathroom, she pulled off her shirt, and examined the straps on the Bowie's scabbard. Sort of like a reverse bra, there was a loop for going over each shoulder, and a belt for around the torso. The scabbard was apparently reversible, so it could be drawn from either the left or the right, from the top or the bottom, depending on which slots the straps were fed through.

After some experimentation, she finally decided she felt best with the Bowie high on her back, handle facing her lower right side, where she could easily reach up and back with her right hand to release and draw it.

The Bowie was thus somewhat hidden under her shirt, assuming she layered the light jacket from Ed's "Back House" over it. Next, she turned to the stiletto boot knife. Since she was wearing track shoes, which really needed washing, she noted, taking in their dungy appearance, she couldn't really put it in a boot, but it also had straps for its scabbard, meant to wrap around the calf, and hold it in position. Once in place, she pulled the cuffs of her pants down, and voila! Armed Civilian. Of course, she would never pass even the most casual pat-down, but at least she could walk around in relative anonymity, and might have a remote fighting chance if she came across an aggressive Headhunter. Snickering at the unintentional pun, she again collected the keycard, but also grabbed the plastic bag with her bloody blouse as well as the katana, and headed down to the car.

Katana stuffed nicely under the seat, and bloody blouse stuffed in the duffel bag in the trunk along with the bloody coat she had been wearing the night before and the hard drives from Ed's computer, she was ready to find food.

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