Highlander: Carl Robinson Files

"Take care of yourself, Carl Robinson, if you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come by the dojo," said my long-time friend Duncan MacLeod, the legendary Highlander, as he clasped me in a bear hug, and I smiled and embraced him warmly. I haven't met a lot of good people in my nearly two centuries of living upon this earth, but the tall, dark-haired Scotsman with the kind smile is one of them. Dude's saved my life more times than I care to count.

"I'll hold you onto that, Mac," I said, and then I got on the next bus leaving the City of Seacouver, and hit the road. My name is Carl Robinson. If you were to look at me, you'd see a six-foot-four, well-built and dark-skinned, ruggedly handsome African-American male in his early thirties. This is where you'd be wrong. I've been alive for a long time. Indeed, I was born in 1824 in the City of New Orleans, Louisiana. Yup, I consider myself as American as apple pie, not that my country was kind to me in my early days.

In my time, I've been many things. A slave, a soldier in the Buffalo Soldiers unit during the U.S. Civil War, a baseball player in the Negro League and later a superstar in Major League Baseball. Now, I'm a man starting a new life. One of the perks of being an Immortal, I guess. You can always start over. I haven't made many friends as an Immortal, since the world is full of prejudice and as a black man, I cannot escape it. I'd like to think I'm an okay guy, doing only what I must to survive.

Actually, that's not one hundred percent true. I have always felt that I was meant for great things. Born as a slave on a farm on the outskirts of New Orleans, Louisiana, I chafed under the bigoted and brutish hand of the plantation owner, Seth Hobart. One day, Hobart's daughter got pregnant and gave birth to a mixed-race brat, and even though I had nothing to do with it, Hobart killed me for it because, according to him, someone had to pay.

After Hobart killed me, I rose as a newbie Immortal, unaware of what I was or what had happened to me. You see, it's only after we die for the first time that we become Immortal. I encountered a fellow named Matthew McCormick, and the moment he came near me, I felt something. No, not like that. I felt the Buzz, which is how us Immortals know another of our kind is around.

"You're an Immortal, Carl, put aside mortal concerns, a great destiny awaits you," Matthew told me, and he taught me about the ways of the Immortals. Basically, there are men and women in this world who are born different. After we die for the first time, we become Immortal. From that moment on, we cannot grow old or get sick, we heal quickly from injuries that would kill normal humans. Welcome to the life of an Immortal. It's all fun and games, until a psycho with a sword comes gunning for your head, and you have to fight him or her, or die.

Fighting other Immortals with a sword to defend one's head is how we stay alive, but not why we live. After that encounter with Matthew McCormick, I hit the road but not before paying Seth Hobart and his son for their brutality and racism. I killed the bastards, alright? I just wanted to make them pay and I did. Mother nature or whatever unimaginable power made the world decided to make me Immortal, and I decided to use it to my advantage.

The United States of America isn't kind to the black man, and the fact that I was Immortal didn't make a whole lot of difference. After I left the Hobart Plantation, I roamed across the continental U.S. and settled in the City of Boston, Massachusetts. I didn't find it a whole lot easier in the great north, but I wasn't a slave anymore and being an able-bodied man, I was able to find work. White northerners didn't own slaves but they weren't a whole lot nicer than the rednecks of the Deep South, let me tell you.

Time passed, and in the mid-twentieth century, I became a professional baseball player. Yes sir, I got me one sweet arm. Later, when segregation ended, with the encouragement of my new friend and fellow Immortal Duncan MacLeod, the man who saved me from the Klan one fine day in the marsh, I joined the world of Major League Baseball. That was a long-time dream of mine, ladies and gentlemen.

I had it pretty good as an MLB star in the late 1990s, and I was worth millions. My face was everywhere, and I was practically worshipped for my fame, my athletic prowess. I was on Fox sports, The WB Network, and CNN. In fact, I even had city mayors and other career politicians approaching me asking if I ever thought of a career in politics. Me, Carl Robinson! And then it ended. The past has a way of catching up to you, and indeed, that's what happened to me.

As it turns out, Matthew McCormick, the first Immortal I encountered and my First Teacher, was the husband of one of Hobart's daughters. Yes, the man who taught me about Immortality came after me because I had killed his father-in-law Seth Hobart, the slave owner and abusive bastard who owned me like you own a plough or a mule. Matthew had become an FBI agent and came after me for killing a cocky Immortal duelist named Myron Corman, the south paw dude who came for my head. It was self defense but Matthew McCormick wanted my head anyway.

Add to that the fact that the cops wanted me for questioning in Myron Corman's death, and things didn't look too good for yours truly. My coach Trey Franks tried to save me from trouble by confessing to the murder of Myron. Well, that last bit surprised me. You don't see a lot of old white dudes putting themselves on the line for us brothers, that's true.

I was touched by this, and wrestled with my conscience, until, with some prodding from Duncan MacLeod ( the Scotsman is a pain in the butt ) I decided to own up for what I'd done. Matthew and I were about to fight to the death, which is what us Immortals do, and then Duncan MacLeod interfered because, well, that's what he does. I swear, if this dude wasn't my good buddy, I'd seriously give him a kick you know where. He can't stay out of people's business!

"Matthew, if you win, don't let Trey Franks take the rap for me, the man thinks he's garbage, nobody is garbage," I said to Matthew McCormick as I drew my sword and prepared to face the man I once considered a friend and mentor. Matthew looked at me, a bit surprised by my words, but nodded before raising his sword, ready to face me in a fight to the death.

"Matthew, is this the man you want to kill? Listen to what he's telling you," Duncan said, stepping between Matthew and I after we'd drawn our swords to fight. I got to tell you, both Matthew and I were pissed off by Duncan's interference, but the Scotsman came up with a solution. A rather ingenious salutation to a lot of my problems, come to think of it. Slick fellow he is, my pal Duncan MacLeod.

We faked my death and fooled the world like only Immortals can. I went down in a hail of bullets, thanks to the local cops, then my fellow Immortals Matthew McCormick and Duncan MacLeod sprang my newly revived body from the morgue, and just like that, I was a free man. Matthew forgave me, and we're officially square on this.

"You're a good man, Trey," I said to my former coach as Matthew McCormick and Duncan MacLeod looked on, then I hit the road. In the eyes of the mundane world, professional baseball legend Carl Robinson was dead, shot by the cops after he refused to surrender. Trey was grief-stricken over my apparent death, and I couldn't let things end this way. I had to let my old friend know I was still alive, so I paid him a little visit at the baseball stadium.

"Take care of yourself, Carl, you shouldn't be here, it's not safe," Trey Franks said, and I looked at the portly, middle-aged white guy and smiled, nodded and left. Just like that, I left the baseball stadium where I played so many home games before an audience of thousands. I began a new life. I moved to Boston, and decided to return to school. I became someone new, and enrolled at Northeastern University's School of Business. I figured if I couldn't be a professional baseball player, I'd become a corporate shark and make a ton of money.

I got settled into my new identity and new life in the City of Boston. I must say, I really like this town. Deval Patrick, a black man, was elected Governor of the State of Massachusetts in this very town. This place is racially diverse, and the locals are liberal and friendly for the most part. Yup, looks like I've got a new lease on life. A few months went by, and I got a call from Duncan MacLeod and his buddy Joe Dawson, the bartender/Watcher who let me stay at a room in his bar while I was on the run from the cops.

"Well, well, Mac, I'll see if I can teach this kid a thing or two," I said, and MacLeod laughed and wished me goodbye. I went to Logan Airport to greet my new apprentice, a tall young African-American Immortal named Derek Worth. The brother seemed a little stiff, which I kind of blamed for him having hung around my good buddy MacLeod, whom, let's face it, is kind of uptight.

"Hello, sir, are you Carl Robinson?" Derek Worth asked me, having sensed me as an Immortal as I approached him in the crowded terminal at Logan Airport. I nodded, and told Derek I was the friend that MacLeod and Joe Dawson told him about, and he relaxed somewhat. We shook hands, and just like that, a new chapter of my life began. Great, now I'm someone's teacher. The one duty I'd avoided for so long as an Immortal had now befallen me. Frigging awesome, eh?

"Welcome to Boston, Derek," I said, as I helped the young brother with his luggage, and we took my car and headed to Dorchester, where I live. A lot of people think poorly of Dorchester because its populace is mostly African-American or Latino, but I like the area's vibrant feel, its diversity and culture. I actually found a Cajun restaurant in the area, Maison D'Or. I'm a native of New Orleans, I don't have to tell you what Cajun cuisine is to me.

I began teaching Derek the ins and outs of sword-fighting, as well as some basic facts of Immortal life, and I actually grew to like having Derek around. The young brother and fledgling Immortal seemed to like Boston, and I even helped him enroll at a local school, Bay State College. I decided to accompany Derek to Orientation Day, not that I'm into acting like his Pops or anything, and we both got the surprise of a lifetime when the Dean of Students, Kyra Albright, turned out to be an Immortal.

"Well, hello there, gentlemen," the six-foot-tall, blonde-haired and athletic lady, whose name tag read "K. Albright," said as she approached Derek and I. Clad in a dark gray vest, white blouse and dark gray Capri pants, the lady looked stylish and beautiful. I felt a frisson as she came near us, one that had nothing to do with the Buzz that we Immortals feel when one of our own is nearby.

"I'm Charles Robeson, this is my nephew Derek Worth," I said to a smiling Kyra as I shook her hand. The tall blonde lady looked at me then at Derek. I don't look a day over thirty five and Derek looks twenty. I look awfully young to be Derek's nephew, and as if reading my mind, Kyra Albright smiled and looked at us, shook her head and sighed.

"Well, nice to meet you, Mr. Robeson and Mr. Worth, I see that good looks run in the family," Kyra Albright said, and then she winked at me. Ladies and gentlemen, when you meet someone special, you simply know. As it turns out, I was right. I took Kyra's card, and then gave Joe Dawson a call a few hours later. I wanted to find out more about this lovely fellow Immortal.

"Kyra was born in 450 B.C. in Sparta, ancient Greece, and has been a fighter, one way or another, her whole life, most recently she was a professional bodyguard for a deceased judge, and now she teaches criminal justice at a private college in Boston," Joe Dawson said, and then, laughing, the old buzzard told me that Kyra got involved with MacLeod in 1640 in France, which I did not need to know about.

"Thanks, old friend, do you understand the meaning of the term TMI?" I said to Joe Dawson, laughing, before saying goodbye. I hung up, and then drove home. I've given Derek a sword, and he's keeping it with him while saying at the dorms at Bay State College, and he has my cell phone number if things get hairy. As for me, I'm Googling the lovely Kyra Albright, because, dammit, I can use some body guarding, if you catch my drift.

"So, tell me about yourself," Kyra Albright said to me, a week later, as she dined inside the Club Café restaurant, a chic place located inside the Back Bay Area of Boston. Clad in a black leather jacket over a red tank top and blue jeans, Kyra looked more like a biker chick than a college professor, but I didn't mind. No sir, I didn't mind at all.

"Southern guy born and raised by way of New Orleans, and I am back in Boston after a long hiatus," I replied, and Kyra nodded, and sipped on her Pepsi. I took a bite of the New England clam chowder that sat in front of me, and smiled at Kyra. I had trouble believing that the tall, thirty-something blonde woman who sat across from me was thousands of years old, older than even my friend Duncan MacLeod, one of the oldest and most powerful Immortals I'd ever met.

"Well, let me give you a warm welcome back to Boston," Kyra said, and I swear, her foot brushed against mine under the table. I smiled at Kyra, and noticed that one of the waiters and some of the patrons sitting around this fancy restaurant were looking at us. I sighed, realizing that even though this is the twenty-first century, with President Obama in the White House and all that, some things never change. The sight of a black man with a white woman irks a lot of people.

"It's good to be back," I said, and Kyra looked at me, took a look around and fell silent. Of course she doesn't understand. Kyra Albright and I might both be Immortals but we do come from different worlds. I encounter racism and prejudice daily, and cannot escape them. I am a black man and will be one until the day that I die. Immortal or not, Kyra is a tall, blonde-haired white female. The type of person who is welcome everywhere. How can she understand?

"Excuse me, I noticed you stare a lot at my date and I, is there a problem?" Kyra Albright said cockily, glaring at the skinny white dude in the waiter's outfit, and he shot me a look then apologized profusely. I looked at Kyra Albright, beyond shocked by what she just did, and to be fair, pleasantly surprised. Seriously, I wasn't expecting such a reaction from her.

"Well, Kyra, you are full of surprises," I said, laughing and I raised my glass to her. Kyra Albright clinked her glass against mine, and we exchanged a smile. Damn, this lady isn't too shabby. Not at all. As I said before, ladies and gentlemen, the lovely Kyra Albright was full of surprises. This Immortal gal lives her life fast, and doesn't take any prisoners. Well, I happen to like that in a woman.

"I live life on the edge, Charles Robeson, if you come with me, you'll see what I mean," Kyra whispered to me, and then we left the Club Café restaurant together as the stuffy white clientele looked on disapprovingly. Yup, even in liberal Boston, where you see college guys and gals walking around with Obama T-shirts, people get in their feelings when they see a brother with a white lady, but I actually don't give a damn about what they think. Brothers date white women now, learn to deal with it.

"Oh I see what you mean," I said, sighing happily as I lay in bed with Kyra Albright, in her lovely Brighton townhouse. After making love for several hours, even Immortals like Kyra Albright and I can get tired. Let me tell you, this lady knows how to wear a brother out. Kyra rested her lovely blonde head against my chest, and stroked my manhood gently.

"Get ready for round two," Kyra Albright whispered, and then she took my dick into her mouth. I smiled happily as I watched Kyra suck on my long and thick chocolate dick. Winking at me, Kyra slid a finger up my ass, and I grinned nervously. For some reason, Kyra's finger up my ass got my dick harder, and soon I was ready to cum. When I did, Kyra drank every last drop of my cum.

"You're insatiable," I said to Kyra, watching as the tall, alabaster-skinned, Amazonian blonde gal got on top of me. Kyra's lovely breasts swayed from side to side as she straddled me, and I put my hands on her hips. I slapped Kyra's ass and she grinned, then smiled lustfully at me. Hot damn, this woman is something else. Kyra grabbed my dick, and rubbed it against her hairy cunt.

"You got no idea," Kyra said, and then she sighed happily as I thrust into her pussy. Kyra wrapped her arms around my neck, and I slapped her ass some more as I fucked her. Passionately we went at it. I put Kyra on all fours, and took her like this. Hot damn, I used to think that white chicks had no butts but Kyra Albright definitely changed my opinion on things. This tall white Amazon has an ass that would make tennis legend Serena Williams green with envy!

"The things I'm going to do to that ass," I said to Kyra, who laughed as I gripped her hips and slammed my dark dick into her cunt with all the force I could muster. Kyra's big white booty shook under the force of my thrusts, and the tall Amazon squealed in delight. I gripped Kyra's long blonde hair and yanked her head back as I fucked her, and I made her yield to me. I fucked her and didn't let up until Kyra tapped out, and then I pulled out of her.

"Now that's what I call a good shag," Kyra said to me, as she lay on her back, a fine sheen of sweat covering her body. I looked at the lovely woman who lay next to me and smiled. I kissed Kyra on the lips, and then a while later we shared a glass of wine before I hit the road. I had an extra bounce on my step as I pulled up to my house in Dorchester, and smiled to myself as I went to sleep. I texted Derek Worth to check up on him and he's fine. Ladies and gentlemen, I am definitely loving my new life in Boston.