What Really Happened in That Las Vegas Parking Lot


by Henry Wyckoff




You know, when watching The Immortal Cimoli last night (the American Version), I couldn't help but notice that they left so much unresolved. Sure, we know that in Las Vegas, some immortal died that evening, but we don't know who. Naturally, we all knew that it was Cimoli who bit the dust, but do we really know?

This is what I think happened.



The Immortal Cimoli hung up the cellular phone after saying good bye to his mother. //You never know when you're going to die, so you might as well end each conversation as if it's your last. ...I wouldn't want to leave this earth without telling my mother that I love her.//

He thought about the time he 'died' the first time, and remembered how his mother wept over his body. //Sure, I didn't die that time, but think about the anguish she went through. What if I came back to life, but couldn't come back to her? What if I left her that way without resolving anything? I can't let that happen again.//

He looked around warily. He felt the buzz of another immortal. It was amazing how it made his brain want to explode. It was a headache that aspirin wouldn't kill. Only time would. It wouldn't fade until the immortal left range -- but at least it would be bearable.

In the faint light, he could see the silhouette of a figure. He might have been some homeless drifter, by judging the outline. He could see a trenchcoat, an unkempt appearance, and a wicked-looking blade. This was one hell of a killer.

The immortal didn't identify himself, as Duncan was inclined to do. He didn't say a word -- he simply approached.

"Is there anything I can do for you?" he asked nervously, stammering. //Keep him talking. Try to see if this guy is even remotely human.//

The man, who was now visible, only grimaced. Maybe he was a few marbles short, or maybe not. He had a roughened appearance, with a great deal of scars. What had once made Cimoli identify him as a drifter made sense now -- in the light, he had the appearance of a sea captain from the last century -- the canvas trenchcoat minus the floppy hat and pipe. He couldn't identify the sword, but then that wasn't his field.

"You're new at this, aren't you?" the man's accent was some kind of American, with a touch of MacLeod's accent in there as well. More piratey, though.

"J- just this week." //Why do I gave memories of Damon Case?//

"Then stand still, and you'll be doing yourself a big favor."

"I will, huh? How do you figure that?" He was talking quite rapidly, backing up against his car. //Almost there! Just another inch and you'll get it!//

"You're a real greenie!" smiled the captain. "I'll be taking your head, and there's nothing more painful than having it chopped off in more than one try." He took one step closer.

"Just make it quick," pleaded Cimoli.

"You can count on it." The captain's face took on a sorrowful cast. Perhaps he even regretted it.

//I hope this works!// "Can you offer me a last request?"

That stopped him,"Are you sure you're not a young one? No matter. I'm obliged to give you one last request. What do you want? A cigar? A meal?"

"No. An answer... How can you kill? How can you keep on killing?" //I've always wondered about that. Duncan never answered me.//

The captain's eyes narrowed, but he nodded. "It's never easy. I wept like a girl when I took my first head, but I knew that I had to do it. It never gets any easier. Each killing is a new one, and I have to tell myself that at least it wasn't me."

"Then why are you coming after me?"

He grimaced,"You're too much in the open. You might draw undue attention onto the other immortals. I like my privacy."

"That's why you're doing it?"

"It's as good a reason as any... But I don't need one." His face hardened, as did his sympathy. "There can be only one. Remember that."

//That's the cue.//

The sword swung, but just before it reached its target, Cimoli ducked, the blade missing his head by a fraction of an inch.

//Now!//

When he rose, several puffs of white smoke surrounded him instantly. Thick smoke hung for three feet in all directions for a few seconds.

//Good thing I still have my props from the 'old days'!//

The captain was in the middle of the smoke, and lost all his vision. It was just long enough for Cimoli to act.

The head fell on the floor, and Cimoli was about to go on his merry way. "I learned that lesson a few days ago," he muttered. "It's a good thing that there aren't any rules against using tricks." That was the one thing that he found hard to understand: the rules. No killing on holy ground... No two-on-one...

He wasn't prepared for the lighting bolt that hit him, coming from the downed body of the captain. He collapsed onto the ground, screaming in agony, thrashing about as hell erupted in the parking garage.

He dialed the phone as he left, making sure to take the swords with him -- stashed in a hidden compartment underneath the passengers' seat. "Mama... It's me. Yes, I'm all right... Someone just wanted me to show him some of my other tricks."

Cimoli felt like his nerves were shredded and run through a blender, but he was feeling better. ...And stronger, and calmer. His stuttering stopped, and his motions became smoother as he navigated through the traffic. He even felt that he had a better sense of where he was going.

He heard police sirens in the distance. //Keep on talking...//


The End



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