THE ELIZABETH SERIES
Chapter Two
THE SURGERY
By JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS: DM, M, A, J, Amy OCs Elizabeth, Kevin, Logan,
Darrell Foley
SUMMARY: After Joe was shot by Logan, Methos wants revenge,
but can't trust the Immortal whose fault it was.
~~~~~
NEW YORK CITY - SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
Joe was pissed about many things as he laid helplessly on the
sidewalk in front of his building. For starters, the guns had come
out of nowhere. For another, he wasn't able to get out of the way
quickly enough . Another, he was in massive pain. Lastly, there
were hands all over him. He fought off Amy and Methos. "Just
leave me alone!"
Methos opened Joe's shirt to inspect the damage. The bullet had
gone into his shoulder making his right arm useless. "You're going
to be alright, Dad," Amy said, catching Joe's attention, and
suddenly making the pain and anger lessen. She held her hand
over the wound to help stop the flow of blood, which only made it
seep up between her fingers and down her hand.
Methos took off his coat, then the button down shirt he wore over a
T-shirt. He bunched up the shirt and laid it over Joe's shoulder to
soak up the blood.
"Hey," Joe smiled at Amy. "Why couldn't you have called me that
while I was still on my feet?"
"I haven't thought I'd lost you before. I'm not going to lose you too,
am I?"
"No," Methos firmly pronounced, to calm them both. He opened
Joe's shirt to check where the blood was coming from.
Kevin ran back, winded, and announced, "I got a license plate.
AXD 776. It's a Jersey plate."
Duncan said, "Good work. Write it down," Amanda put her arm
around his waist as he stood up after Elizabeth died.
Methos said, while tending Joe, "AleXanDer the Great. First
Olympics were in 776 AD. It's etched in my brain."
Joe said, "Help me up. Who were those guys?"
"Why don't you tell us," Methos said as he and Amy held him flat
on the ground.
"I have no idea. They came out of no where." Joe looked at
Elizabeth then Duncan. "She saved my life." Methos glared at the
dead immortal's body, finding that very hard to believe.
"What happened?" Amy took her coat off and put it under Joe's
head for a pillow.
"We were talking and heard a car come speeding around the
corner. I saw a door open," Joe sputtered. Then he looked back
over at Elizabeth's corpse. "She pushed me. I might have gotten
that plug square in the chest if she hadn't."
Elizabeth violently revived. She rolled and got to her knees while
the healing lights formed all over the front of her body. Hating what
the healing did and how it felt, she screamed as the bullet hole and
the sword slashes sewed themselves up. Sometimes, during the
healing process, which could be even more painful than the injury,
she would think it might be better to just have it all end. She'd died
too many times for her comfort and the thought of Logan still out
there waiting for another shot at her didn't lighten her mood.
Elizabeth felt a hand on her back and pushed it away, "Don't touch
me!"
Duncan lifted his hands and stepped back and said, "Fine."
She felt her neck and wondered if she was in heaven. Judging by
the pain she couldn't be, she had to be in the land of the living.
Duncan didn't take her head, and that truly surprised her. She
screamed out, "Joe?!"
"I'm right here," he said.
"Oh, thank God," she said as she crawled around Duncan's legs
toward Joe. No longer concerned with the immortals who could
have taken her while she was dead, she focused on Joe, "You're
bleeding. Are you all right?"
"I've been better."
Methos seethed, "He's been shot, lady!"
"I didn't see him coming," she told Joe. She noticed the rest of
them looking at her as if it was all her fault. "I didn't see him
coming... I'm sorry."
Amy asked, "Was that the guy who's been after you?"
Elizabeth nodded then grimaced realizing that Amy had told them
absolutely everything, but, Joe was her main focus. She inspected
Joe's wound on his right shoulder. Methos thrust her hands away
from his friend. "You've done enough!"
Elizabeth sat back on her ankles, wounded by the dismissal and let
Adam Pierson take over the medical detail of Joe, a gunshot victim
that she knew she could help. She'd patched up such wounds
during the four wars she worked as a nurse, from the Civil War all
the way through to the events in Vietnam that had never officially
been declared a war. Adam looked like he knew what he was
doing, but she still wanted to get in there and do it herself.
She caught a confused glance from Amy, who had just recently
found out about her immortality. Now she could see the bloody
remnants of what they did to Elizabeth all over her shirt.
The denim man was just around the corner, talking into his pocket
tape recorder, excited because what he had been expecting for so
long had finally happened. Her chronicle was full of reports of
Logan attacks and he'd wondered if they were real or creative
record keeping from watchers who were bored following her. She
stayed away from other immortals, thus, there wasn't much to
chronicle. "Elizabeth revived following Joshua Logan's attack. I
think he would have taken her head if the other's hadn't shown up.
One of them brandished a sword, so he's immortal, but I don't know
who he is. I'll have to look it up later to add to the report." The
rapidity of his voice didn't slow as he whispered the evening's
events into the macro recorder. "Joe Dawson was shot. I've already
anonymously called an ambulance for him, but... wait!"
He peered closely at the sidewalk where they laid. "The immortal
and another man are lifting Joe up. They're carrying him inside."
Elizabeth held Joe's hand when Methos and Duncan lifted him to
the door.
Methos said to her, "You! Go!"
His voice boomed at her and she dropped Joe's hand. "I can't leave
him."
"Get the hell out of here!"
She thought that if Adam had his hands free, he would have flicked
his hand like he had so long ago in Wyoming. She thought it was
him, but it wasn't until the moment when he yelled, that she sure of
it. Elizabeth stood aside for Amanda to go into the building carrying
Joe's broken cane and his left leg that had come loose. Amy
grabbed her arm and Kevin pushed them both through the door.
~~~~~
When they got to Joe's apartment, a siren blared on the street.
Kevin went to the window to look outside and commented, "There's
an ambulance out there."
"Somebody saw what happened?" Amanda asked.
Duncan and Methos deposited Joe on the couch and then laid him
down. "Get me some towels, a knife, warm water, and something to
pull the bullet out with," he told Amanda. With the light shining on
Joe's body, the mass of running blood seemed to radiate.
Elizabeth scrutinized Adam as he put pressure on the wound to
stop the bleeding. She asked, "Are you a doctor?"
Methos cringed from the sound of her voice. Why didn't anyone
listen to him? "What are you doing here?"
She didn't have time for his orders, Joe needed tending, not wishful
thinking that the wound would go away, so she repeated, "Are you
a doctor?"
"I was."
"How long ago?"
"I still know what I'm doing, if that's what you're insinuating," he
replied, irritated that she was still there.
"Well, I've been a nurse and I've done this before. Recently. Let me
do it." The first gunshot wound she patched up was on a Union
soldier after the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg. Those wounds
were horrid, gaping, mangled.
"Recently? For one's you've shot?"
"No!" Elizabeth tried to calm herself, the adrenaline rush from the
night's events hadn't yet abated, but she couldn't get into a pissing
match with Adam. He was too self-righteous to reason with, it was
all her fault, and Joe was too close to losing too much blood to
survive. There was no time for an argument over who was more
qualified to lead in the extrication of the bullet.
Methos unbuttoned Joe's shirt to get a look at the wound on his
right shoulder. "Have you had a lot of innocent bystanders that
needed stitching in your life?"
Joe whined, "Don't fight over it, just get it out!"
"I will," Methos said.
Joe held his hand up to stop Methos from touching him. "Maybe
she's more... delicate, if you know what I mean," Joe winced. "The
last time, I think you cut more than you needed to."
Methos wondered when he would ever get credit for anything! Joe
had been dying after Jacobi shot up the execution scene. But he
had to admit that he was nervous working on him, "You're still
alive."
"Barely!" Joe was using a lot of the little strength he had left.
Duncan said, "Somebody do it!"
Amanda came back with the supplies and Elizabeth said, "There's
got to be better light."
Elizabeth went through the apartment looking for things she'd need,
collecting things as she went along. One of the first things she took
was the bottle of Scotch on the liquor table. Methos and Duncan
lifted Joe again and he grunted from the pain as they brought him
into the kitchen. Kevin pushed the mail and a coffee cup onto the
floor and they laid Joe on the table. Amy flicked the switch and the
flourescent over the table blinked, then glowed.
Amanda set the supplies down next to Joe and said, "What do you
need to put him out?"
"Anesthesia would be nice," Elizabeth said, then went to search the
bathroom.
"Maybe we should call up that nice, clean ambulance," Joe said.
"A gun shot wound would be reported," Duncan said.
His comment didn't mean anything to Kevin. "So? Whoever did this
should pay for what they've done!"
"This is immortal business," Duncan said. "We don't let the police
into what we do."
Joe grimaced from the pain. It was getting hard to breath and he
was feeling weak from the loss of blood. Amanda pointed out that
they couldn't perform surgery with him alert. "Just hit me over the
damn head!" Joe yelled, then cringed from the exertion, it required
effort just to breathe.
"Funny," Methos smiled.
"Then just do it. It hurts already..." Joe was fading.
Methos grabbed a towel and soaked it in the bowl of hot water,
then started to clean off the area around the wound. Elizabeth
appeared from the bathroom with a shaver,a glass of amber liquid,
a bottle of peroxide, and a bottle of hand sanitizing gel that she set
on the table by Joe's hip. She hunched over Joe, putting a glass to
his lips, "Drink this."
Methos grabbed the glass, slipping some of the liquid on Joe's
chest. "What is it?"
"I found some sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. I crushed one
into a shot of scotch."
"Sounds good to me," Joe said.
"Okay," Methos lifted Joe's head as he drank it.
Elizabeth looked at Methos next to her. "Excuse me," she said. "I'll
need room."
"We'll both do it," he said as he looked at the slashes in her blouse.
She wasn't concerned with the fact that her chest was exposed
through the slits. Amy had seen it and came out of Joe's bedroom
with a t-shirt.
"Thanks," Elizabeth said as she pulled it over her head. She asked,
"Did the bullet go all the way through?"
"I don't think so," Joe muttered, sleepily.
She smiled at Joe, "You're still awake?"
"Barely," Joe shut his eyes.
Elizabeth and Methos gently turned him on his side. Methos got on
the other side of the table and helped keep his right shoulder off
the table for inspection. Elizabeth lifted his arm to pull it out of his
sleeve, but Joe groaned. She picked up a scissor, cut away the
sleeve and gathered the material under Joe's back. Blood had
dribbled down his armpit and onto his back, but there wasn't an exit
wound.
"Okay," she said, letting Methos hold Joe up. She took another
towel, dipped it in the bowl of water and wiped at the blood to make
sure. "You see anything?"
Methos looked, just skin. "Nope." He gently laid Joe back on the
table. His eyes were closed, he still had a pulse, but it was weak.
Methos, checking his wrist for a pulse told Elizabeth, "Just to be
sure that sleeping pill mixed with alcohol didn't kill him in his state."
It was steady.
Elizabeth wiped the blood from the wound and told Amanda to
sterilize the paring knife. Then she tied a kitchen towel over her
face as a mask.
Amanda asked, "With what?" She handed her the peroxide she got
from the bathroom with one hand while she wiped Joe with the
other. Methos pulled Joe's shirt out from under him and they both
saw the scar left by Jacobi's gunshot. Methos cringed, this mortal
had been through too much, checking the pulse on his neck again;
it was still steady. Elizabeth rubbed sanitizing gel on her hands and
scrubbed them together.
Elizabeth poked and pinched at Joe and he didn't move. She
hoped he wasn't in a deep sleep that prevented movement but
allowed him to feel every little thing. Just get it over with fast. With
the razor, she shaved the area around the wound that Methos had
cleaned off. Amanda handed the paring knife to Elizabeth and she
made a tiny incision through the round entry wound. Methos
watched every move she made on his friend intently, even moving
to her side of the table to get a better angle. He looked at the bottle
of foreign substance she had put on her hands. Sanitizing gel. He'd
never heard of it, but he wasn't in need of the product himself.
Methos used the gel on his hands, rubbing them together, making
sure he got the liquid under his fingernails. He helped pull the skin
apart after the incision was made.
Duncan watched their work from the end of the table, holding Joe's
head. Amy and Kevin stood holding each other as they watched
the surgery.
Elizabeth spread the flesh away at the wound with her fingers,
found broken bone. "Have you ever set a shoulder blade?" she
asked Methos.
He shook his head but said, "We'll have to wing it," as he covered
his face to prevent germs from being transferred to Joe.
He worried about the unsanitary conditions they were working
under something he himself never had to think about it. She
brushed at the bone gently with her fingernail and a small piece
came off. The rest of the shoulder blade was solid and pure. She
lifted the small piece out of Joe's shoulder and held it up. "He can
live without that, can't he?"
"He's going to have to," Methos said, gently searching inside Joe
for the bullet. "Ah, found it."
She put the bone chip in the bowl and looked at the silver that
Methos found embedded in Joe's shoulder. He couldn't get a hold
of it. "I have fingernails," she said. "Let me do it."
He moved his hand away and she squished her fingers toward the
bullet, trying to grasp it between her nails. She almost had it, but it
wouldn't loosen, it had been flattened by impact with the shoulder
blade. Every attempt to get a hold of it tore more of Joe's shoulder.
"I need tweezers or something."
Amanda got one out of her purse, poured peroxide over it and
handed it to Elizabeth. She gave it back. "Something bigger. It's too
small."
Kevin had found a pair of tongs from Joe's drawer and said, "Will
this work?"
"No. That's too big," Methos said.
"Does he have a screwdriver or chopsticks, anything?" Elizabeth
straightened up, working the kink out of her lower back. The blood
on her was dried and itchy. Sweat poured down her forehead and
neck. "I could use the knife, but I don't want to cut him anymore
than I have to. What do you think?"
Methos wiped at the blood that collected in the hole, created by the
surgery, on Joe's chest. "That knife has a pretty wide tip."
Amy got the tool box from his closet and set it between Joe's feet
on the table. They rummaged through it and found dirty, rusty
pliers. She held them up. Elizabeth grimaced. "There's not a
chance in the world that could get sanitized."
Methos dabbed at the blood that filled the cavity, "Find something,
quick!"
Elizabeth looked in the box and said, "That screwdriver will work."
"Sure," Amanda smiled. She pulled them all out and poured
antiseptic on them .
Elizabeth stood back, not wanting to touch the unsanitary tool,
saying, "Not the Phillips, the flat ones, the smaller the better."
She was so nervous she had never done this before, especially on
a friend. Amanda slapped the small flat head screwdriver she had
sterilized in her hand like she'd seen on ER and Elizabeth waited
for Methos to clean the blood from the area so she could see the
bullet. She stuck the screwdriver alongside and under the bullet,
nudged it. Methos' head was right next to hers as he scrutinized
her work. "Do you want to do it," she asked him.
"You're doing fine. Just, get under it."
As she took a deep breath and steadied her hands she realized
that Methos had taken a deep breath also. She took another and
held it, to make her hand as steady as possible. She positioned the
screwdriver under the bullet and wedged it free, then pulled it out
with her fingers and dropped it in the bowl.
They all took a breath. "Needle and thread," she asked.
Duncan handed her a needle, already sterilized and threaded.
"Wonderful," she said, then sewed him up.
~~~~~
Duncan and Methos changed Joe's clothes and put him in his bed
while Amy, Kevin, and Amanda went into the living room for a well
deserved drink. Elizabeth took a shower to finally get the blood and
sweat off her. The tension and fear didn't leave her no matter how
hard she scrubbed.
When she got out, she looked at the condition of her clothes. Her
shirt was shredded, her pants were all bloody, even her shoes. She
wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door a crack,
hoping to find Amy or even Amanda to help.
Adam walked by. "Hey," she said. He turned to her at the door.
"Does Joe have any clothes I can borrow? My are kind of kaput."
"I'll see," he actually smiled and walked back into Joe's bedroom.
She waited behind the closed door until he tapped on it and said,
"This is all I could find." He nudged a black undershirt and a pair of
khakis and a belt through the narrow opening of the door.
"Thank you," she said, then was surprised by the appearance of a
pair of socks too.
Amy, seeing that Adam and Duncan had finished getting Joe
comfortable in bed, went to him. He looked so frail, so vulnerable.
Things she'd never seen that man exhibit before. He was always
strong, reliable Joe. Amy sat on the bed and took his hand. Lifted it
to her mouth and kissed it, praying that he would heal.
She was jealous that some of the immortality that his apartment
was overrun with couldn't help him. After losing her mother, she
could not lose her father. He was so pale. Did he need blood? He
lost a lot on the table. Should they get him to a hospital for a
transfusion?
When Elizabeth came out of the bathroom, she saw that the
kitchen was cleaned up. She wanted nothing more than whiskey to
calm her shaky hands. The pants and belt were way too big. She
looked through Joe's drawers in the kitchen and found a ball of
twine. She cut off a length and put it through the belt loops on the
khakis and tied it so they wouldn't fall down before she got back to
her apartment.
She walked into Joe's bedroom and found Amy sitting with him.
When she neared the bed, Amy looked at her, the woman she'd
known as a teacher and a friend. In the last 24 hours, she found
out Elizabeth was immortal, had an immortal after her and she
could patch up a gun shot wound. Amy's mind boggled to think of
what else she would find out. Elizabeth misjudged Amy's reaction
to her being there, and was going to make a quiet, but quick exit.
Before she could leave, Amy grabbed her hand and said, "Thank
you so much."
"He wouldn't have got shot if I stayed away from him."
"This isn't your fault."
Amy looked at Joe, caressed his face, kissed him on the cheek and
stood. Looking at Elizabeth with the new found information, she
said, "So, you're a surgeon too?"
"No. Nurse. I've unfortunately had a lot of practice taking out
bullets. Wars can't seem to be waged without them."
Amy looked at her, learning so much about Elizabeth in so short a
time was unreal. "A nurse? You're a trauma nurse too?"
"Only when need be. I really don't like that line of work."
"Well, you saved Dad's life. Thank you."
"I got him shot."
Amy walked to her and hugged her. "Enough of that. Who was he?
That immortal?"
"My nightmare."
"Come on and tell us about it."
She led Elizabeth out of the bedroom and into the living room
where the others had gathered for a well deserved drink after a
long day. "That man almost took your head," Amy said as she sat
by Kevin.
Elizabeth stood in the hallway entrance, waiting for retribution from
the group; Joe's friends and his daughter and future son-in-law.
"Did he?"
"Yes. It was only after he saw us that he took off."
"He never went that far before," she said and leaned against the
door frame, thinking she wasn't welcome. That knowledge didn't
help calm her. The one hope that she had held onto, to help her
get through the last hour, was the idea that Logan was through for
another 20 years. Maybe it wasn't over. He would come back for
her head. Why did he want it now? Had she learned enough for
him to finally want her quickening?
Methos asked, "Who is he?"
Amanda gestured to the last glass from the bunch they'd brought
into the living room, "Help yourself."
Elizabeth examined the coffee table that doubled as a 'bar'. "Is
anybody else drinking whiskey?" They all shook their heads. "No
need for a glass then." Only after two big swallows did she say,
"His name is Joshua Logan."
"Never heard of him," Duncan said.
"You haven't heard of the one-legged immortal who shoots first?"
Duncan shook his head. "How did you meet up with him?"
"He turned me."
"Why?"
"Revenge, I guess," She shrugged, it was the only explanation she
had come up with after years of asking herself that same question.
"A friend of mine cut off his leg."
"Some friend," Methos muttered.
"He only meant to do good," she told him, all of them. "Carlton was
only trying to save his life."
###
GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA - JULY 3, 1863 - 2 AM
###
After the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg, the fatalities were
almost overwhelming for the residents of that small town. Elizabeth
and her dead husband owned a hotel-tavern in the 'diamond',
which was the town square. Because of it's size, the Tiger's Eye
Inn was used as a make shift hospital for both Union and
Confederate casualties.
After the long day of bandaging, assisting and talking to the
wounded, Elizabeth walked out onto the front porch and stretched,
she had never worked as hard as she had that day. She worked
out the kinks in her back from bending down to the floor, hunched
over crying men, and breathed in the fresh but gun powder laden
air. A shudder went up her back when she reflected on the
magnitude of the carnage left on the men's bodies.
The town butcher, Carlton Spencer, walked out and stood by her.
She noticed the hacksaw in his hands along with other tools of his
trade he brought into the fray of the day. They nodded to each
other.
They stood in silence, there was nothing to say. No words to
express what they had done and seen. Just thankful it was finally
quiet. Elizabeth had a bottle of whiskey in her hands, only a couple
of inches left on the bottom, but it would make her feel better. After
taking a sip, she handed it to Carlton. He took it and raised it in
thanks, drank a bit, leaving some for her.
He lit a cigar and took a couple of puffs. He noticed Elizabeth
spying the cigar. He handed it over. She was surprised. Women did
not do such things, in the presence of men. "I won't mind," he said.
"You look like you could use something to help you relax."
She took it holding it awkwardly, then inhaled from the end like
she'd seen men do in the saloon. It was the worst thing she could
have done. She thought she'd never stop coughing. He laughed
and pounded her on the back.
"Yes, that was very relaxing," she choked.
"You have to start small and work your way up to a full inhale,
Ma'am," he stated.
They heard a scuffle of feet in the alleyway. Elizabeth followed
Carlton to the corner and peered around. There was a Confederate
and a Union soldier in hand-to-hand combat. Both men were like
angry dogs shoving, punching and kicking each other. They fell
together on the street and rolled as they choked, hit and scratched
each other.
Carlton tried to pull them apart. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Haven't you
done enough?"
The Reb looked up at them from atop the Yankee, jumped up and
reached into his coat. Before the other man could get to his feet,
the Reb took out his pistol and shot the Yankee on the ground,
making both Carlton and Elizabeth jump from the surprise and the
sound. Carlton tried to stop the Rebel but he ran off.
The Union soldier rolled from side to side, howling in pain as he
held his leg. Elizabeth reached him first. "Sir? Sir? It's all right," she
said, like she'd been saying for two days to gunshot victims.
Carlton dropped to the ground and stopped the soldier, "Let me
see the damage!"
The Yankee ground his teeth and tried to stop the man from
touching him. The pain was intense; he couldn't stop the shudder
that vibrated from the wounded area, above the knee, on it's way
through his body and up to his heart. Carlton didn't like the look of
the wound at all. The bone was shattered and the skin had
shredded from the rolling. Mud and blood mixed and flowed out
from the gash at a heavy pace. He yelled at Elizabeth, "Get my
tools! This man is going to bleed to death! Hurry!" He looked down;
there wouldn't be anything to sew together. That leg had to come
off.
She ran for the tools and whiskey bottle on the porch of the saloon
and ran back to them. The Yankee was saying in a foreign accent,
"Don't touch it. It will heal!" A lot of the men who fought the Civil
War were immigrants and some didn't even speak English, but that
Yankee's accent seemed cultured, wildly out of place.
"Sir! You're leg isn't a leg anymore," Carlton yelled, trying to settle
the man down. "You need a solid foundation to be stitched up or
you'll die! Let me help you. Liz! Where are you?"
"No! It will heal I'm telling you! Don't touch it!" The soldier screamed
as his leg flopped away from him at an awkward angle.
Elizabeth came back and Carlton grabbed the hacksaw from her
hand. "No!"
She shouted, "Let me at least find some morphine or..."
Carlton grabbed the whiskey bottle from her hand and poured the
few drops that were left onto the leg wound. The Yankee howled
from the fierce pain of alcohol poured over an open wound.
Manically brushed at the wound, making it worse. "Don't touch me!
I'm warning you! It will heal!"
"They're all so damn optimistic," Carlton said as he through away
the bottle and grabbed the man's leg. Elizabeth tried to take in the
accent the man was using. It seemed English, but harder. He
suddenly seemed out of place. He wasn't American.
She asked Carlton, "Are you sure? Let me find Doc." It seemed so
barbaric to just hack off a leg without an examination from a
qualified medical doctor... but Carlton had seen a lot of wounds that
day. He'd seen a lot of deaths from blood letting, maybe he knew
best.
The soldier was ready to pass out from the pain but was still
fighting. Carlton fought to control his leg and yelled, "He's losing too
much blood! Hold him down!" He pulled her to the ground and she
landed over the man's chest. The soldier pushed her, but was
weak. She held his shoulders steady as Carlton positioned the saw
higher up on the leg than the wound.
"We don't even have thread to sew him up! Carlton, think! You're
going to kill him!"
Elizabeth was surprised by the suddenness of Carlton's thrust with
the saw. She thought she saw blue sparks form around the saw
blade. Carlton flinched, "Ow! It shocked me!"
The Yankee screamed from the pain of the saw embedded in his
leg. "Get it out! It will heal! Just give it time! I have to relax and it will
heal! Don't cut it off! I'm warning you!" He grabbed Elizabeth's face
and looked at it, studied every line and curve so he could
remember. "Don't let him do this! You're one of us! Get him away
from me or you will all die! I'll see to it! You'll pay! You'll all pay!"
Carlton again clamped onto his leg and sawed. The man shrieked
as his leg was separated just above the knee. Elizabeth thought
she was going to faint from the splash of blood that spouted from
the stump. She turned her head away and saw her young
sister-in-law, Marcy.
Marcy, having heard the commotion, ran to them. "What in the
world?"
Carlton stood and said, "We need a needle and thread. We have to
close this man up."
He pushed Elizabeth to the saloon. "Now!" The Yankee was
whimpering, laying on his side, looking at his detached leg. Marcy,
who had seen enough butchering to last a life-time and thought it
was over, at least until the battle started up again, cried out, "Why?
Why did you do that?"
"He was going to lose it anyway," Carlton stated, keeping his hands
on the end of the stump. "The sooner the wound's closed, the
better."
"But, Doc might have been able..."
"This man didn't have a leg left. It was torn apart. Shredded."
Carlton pulled the skin tight to the end of the bone and tried to hold
it tight to stop the bleeding. "Where is that woman? He's going to
bleed to death!"
Marcy knelt down to the soldier, saw a look in his eyes that she
would never forget. His face did not show the relief she'd seen on
many of the men they helped, it reflected pure evil. Even so, she
took his hand to calm him, it was what she was best at. Cutting up
sheets and bandaging and talking to the men before the doctor or
nurse could get to them, that's what she was best at.
The officer grabbed her, yanked her closer. "It would have been as
good as new if you hadn't interfered! Damn you to hell!"
The look on his face and the strength of his grip scared her and
Marcy wretched her hand back, stood up, backed away. Carlton
was stunned. Blue sparks again appeared, this time at the ends of
the skin he held, making him jerk his hands back. He stared as the
skin folded on it's own and fused together. The stump finished
healing and the end product looked like the head of a drum, tight,
no seam at the stump. Before Carlton could utter a word of shock
at what he witnessed, a knife slid into his back.
The tip of the blade was visible when he looked down at his chest.
Marcy screamed as the Yankee pulled the knife out of Carlton and
pulled himself up on his remaining good leg. Marcy was rooted to
the spot, shocked at what she witnessed.
The soldier hopped to get his balance on one foot and stared at the
woman. Marcy was hyperventilating from the shock and couldn't
move. She could only whisper, "How?" as he moved toward her
with the bloody knife in his hand. She screamed when he clamped
his hand on her shoulder.
Elizabeth ran through the maze of covered bodies, trying to sleep
on their make-shift beds in the saloon, with a needle searching for
some thread. She found a roll in the corner and ran out the back
door with it.
Expecting to see the injured man with Carlton and Marcy, she was
shocked to see two bodies on the street. It took her a moment to
realize who they were.
When she did, she screamed, "Marcelene!" She ran and fell on the
ground next to her. "No!" She reached out her shaking hand to
Marcy's neck, felt the bone. "No! Oh, my God!"
~~~~~
NEW YORK CITY - JOE'S APARTMENT
Elizabeth finished her story for them all. "Logan kept hollering that it
would heal, but... that's what all the wounded cried out. They didn't
want you to touch them. Just leave them alone, as if some magical
power would swoop down and take care of them." She blanched
when telling the story to such a somber panel, knowing now that
Logan did indeed have a magical power to take care of his wound.
"How were Carlton and I to know that he was speaking the truth?"
After taking another gulp of whiskey, she said, "So, I found their
bodies in the alley. The one legged man was no where to be found.
Only one set of footprints led to the street. No one saw him.
Everyone thought I was crazy when I told them how they died, or
how they must have died."
Elizabeth took another swallow and realized they were watching
her closely. "After the battle ended and the soldiers were gone, we
buried them. I was almost convinced I was indeed crazy and the
exhaustion and the massacre of the war in our backyard played
tricks with me. Then, he came back."
###
GETTYSBURG - JULY 10, 1863
###
The whiskey bottle in her desk was the only liquor she didn't turn
over to the union cause. She drank straight out of the bottle,
finishing it up. She picked up the photo of her husband Teddy, who
had lost his life in the Battle of Fredericksburg the December
before, and wondered what he thought when the end came. She
had been so sorry she was unable to see his body one last time;
then grateful she hadn't, she'd seen enough death.
Alone, and sleepy, with Teddy's picture on her chest, she slumped
down on the settee and closed her eyes. She didn't hear the door
open downstairs, or the foot on the steps. Only when the Yankee
opened her door did she open her eyes. For a second, she had the
thought that it was Marcy.
The whiskey had doused her brain and she was dizzy as she sat
up. Then she screamed when her eyes focused on the figure of a
one legged man who, using a cane, made his way across the room
to her. Before she could stand, he fell on her. They scuffled, fell on
the floor. He pulled a knife out of his coat and held it to her throat.
"I should just take your head now for what you did to me," he said,
mouth inches from her face. "But I won't. It will be that much
sweeter later, once you've developed." She pushed out at him, but
his bulk kept her on the floor. He sneered, "You learn well, girlie.
I'm going to look forward to your quickening!"
He moved the knife lower and she couldn't move a muscle. He told
her, "My name is Joshua Logan and we will meet again!" Then he
jammed the blade into her side, and twisted it. He enjoyed the sight
of her bulging eyes, her open mouth gasping for air, her hands
futilely groping for help. When she relaxed and died, he was
happier than he felt in a long time. He leaned down and kissed her
on the mouth, biting and pulling her bottom lip.
When he got to his feet, he saluted her. "We will meet again, dear
lady," he smiled. "Then I'll take your head."
~~~~~
HOURS LATER
Elizabeth revived from the stabbing, dazed, wondering if she was in
heaven. Initially there was pain, then blue healing lights appeared,
she had no idea of where they came from or what purpose they
served, then there was no pain from the stabbing she knew she
had experienced. Her room looked the same. Maybe that's what
God did, made a room just like what you're used to so you can
acclimate to heaven. The blood on her dress and the floor gave her
pause. Wouldn't God have washed away the blood?
It was early morning and she could clearly hear the children, who
were again allowed to play outside once the battle was over, from
her room. When Elizabeth stood, she saw her reflection in the
mirror above the bureau. The soft wind rustled in her window. After
sponging the blood off herself and changing clothes, she rolled up
the blood stained rug, put it in the closet and went downstairs.
Then outside to take a walk thinking it would clear her mind, still
believing she was in heaven and would eventually meet up with her
husband, Teddy. and her sister-in-law, Marcy.
What she saw on her long walk south of town was splintered trees
and puddles of blood on the grass. A couple of the people from
town were scrounging around the vacated battlefield, looking at the
ground for mementos. The stench of gunpowder and death still
hung in the air. "This can't be heaven," she intoned as she looked
around the surroundings of the once peaceful farming landscape,
where just a week before, not much ever happened. "This can't be
heaven at all."
As she was making her way back to town, she saw something
glitter in the tall wheat stalks. Was it a soldier who had not been
found and buried? Was it an answer? Was it a sign from God? She
walked towards it. The glint came from a long, bloody cavalry
sword. Normally, the sight would have sicken her. Weapons of any
sort scared her, the blood on it's blade should have reminded her
too much of the misery she'd witnessed the last week. It should
have been abhorrent to her, but she leaned over and picked it up,
by the blade.
A bead of blood flowed down her finger. She dropped the sword.
She put the cut to her mouth then pulled it out when she got the
shock of her life. Blue sparks swirled around the cut and, as she
watched fascinated, the blood stopped flowing and the skin
reconnected itself. After brushing the finger off on her skirt, she
inspected it. There was smeared blood, but there was no trace of
an injury.
Lightheaded from the sight, she staggered. There wasn't any way
she could explain that to anyone! She headed back toward the
safety of town, but stopped and turned, looked at the sword on the
ground. She felt that if she didn't take it, she would be leaving
something behind. For some reason, she needed that sword. Was
it a macabre souvenir of the massacre? Or something more? She
had no idea what that more could be, but leaned down and picked
it up again, by the hilt. Held it. Swished it around in front of her, got
it tangled in the weeds, scraped it along the ground.
When she got back to her room, she wondered if it was all a
dream. Caused by the grief of losing everyone in her life. There
wasn't anyone to give her answers, or to talk to about her 'dream'.
She was already the poor widow, also the brazen woman who
owned the tavern and had rooms for rent, she didn't want to be the
raving lunatic, too. They were still talking about how she actually
thought a dying union soldier with a freshly hacked off leg killed two
strong, young people. Their version of the incident was a reckless
rebel who butchered all in his path.
~~~~~
NEW YORK CITY - JOE'S APARTMENT
They all had listened to her story, once in a while, Duncan, Methos
or Amy getting up to check on Joe. Amanda asked her, "Logan just
turned you and left you to figure it out yourself?"
"That's right. After the war was over, I traveled the country on
horseback, trying to find an answer to Carlton and Marcy's deaths,
my own, why I was still here. It was a confusing time to say the
least and my only friend was my horse, Pilgrim."
###
VIRGINIA 1867
###
One night after setting up camp for herself and putting a can of
beans over the fire, she heard a shuffling in the woods. Then she
realized she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. The sensation
wasn't just the fright of the unknown out in the woods and she knew
it. It was a ringing sensation, like a buzzing. She was surprised to
see an Indian standing amongst the trees, just out of the campfire's
light. She grabbed the rifle she purchased in Pittsburgh and aimed
it at him, suddenly scared to death remembering all the stories
she'd heard of savage Indians.
The Indian smiled and walked toward the campfire light. "There's
no need for that, Anovaoo'o [young woman]," he said. He wore
buckskin from head to foot. His long black hair was gathered in a
pony tail and he had a non-threatening tone of voice. His face was
solemn but not at all threatening. His eyes sparkled from the flames
of her campfire as he edged near her, very slowly so she wouldn't
feel the need to use the firearm.
If she had learned one thing in the four years since meeting up with
the dagger, it was not to trust anybody. "Stop right there!" Her voice
sounded much more in command than her nerves as she directed
the rifle at his chest, it's long barrel swaying from fright. She looked
him over to determine if he was carrying a knife.
He just held out his hands saying, "I am not here to hurt you. I felt
you as I was walking back to my home. You are one like me. Don't
you know that?"
Elizabeth didn't like hearing pretty much the same words used by
Joshua Logan, the man who had killed her, 'that she was like him.'
"What do you mean? I'm not an Indian."
"No, but you are an Immortal."
"A what?"
The Ojibwa, Hotohke, was shunned from his tribe after his first
death 500 years before. When he revived after a poisoned arrow
pierced his back and killed him, his tribe thought evil spirits had
taken over his body and that he would bring nothing but
wickedness to them all. He was asked to leave and Hotohke left
without trying to convince them that he wasn't evil. Hotohke didn't
even known if they were right or not. He was certainly alive when
he shouldn't be. In his travels, he was found by another, who had
been found by another, another link in the chain of immortality.
As he looked at the young woman standing by the fire with a rifle
trained at his heart, he knew she was scared. She must be a new
one. He softly stated, "You've had an unexplained trauma." The
buzzing sensation had softened and his voice remained so tranquil.
Elizabeth lowered the weapon wondering if this man would have
the answers she had been searching for these past four years.
Hesitant, she asked, "How do you know?"
"You've been killed."
"I'm dead? Really dead? This is heaven?"
"No. You are simply not what you thought you were all your life. Let
me explain it to you." She still held the rifle in her hand. It wasn't
trained on him now, but it could be in a moment. Hotohke motioned
to it,
"We have no use for modern weapons. We rely on the sword."
Her eyes darted to the cavalry sword she'd felt the need to have
after her death. Its hilt was sticking out of a rolled cloth in her
wagon. "Come with me," Hotohke suggested. "I'll tell you all you
need to know."
The pull was great and she stepped closer to him. He shook his
head. She stopped. "You have to leave that," he pointed at the rifle.
Instead of wondering what she had gotten into, or who the man
was, or if she was in danger, she simply laid the rifle down on the
ground and stepped closer to the great Indian. When he smiled
and held out his hand to her, she gladly accepted it as the first offer
of acceptance from another human being since she was turned
four years earlier.
Hotohke brought Elizabeth back to his home, just a mile away from
where she was camped, and provided her with all the answers she
had been searching for. As he handed her another piece of bread
that she hungrily accepted she said, "So the one legged man who
healed... he's one like you."
"And like you. You cannot die unless you lose your head. All
wounds will heal given a little time."
"I'm not crazy," Elizabeth smiled, relieved. "It actually happened."
She felt better than she'd felt in a long, long time. The air flowed
into her lungs easier, there wasn't a sense of burden on her
shoulders. She giggled, felt young. He stood and walked to the
corner of the tent. When he sat down next to her again, he had a
sword in his hands and held them out to her.
"This is the extension of your arm, your heart, your soul. You do not
use a rifle. Take this. I will teach you to use it."
"I already have one of those."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"You hold on and swing?"
"It helps if you know how to hold it and most important, how you
swing it. There is a technique, a... finesse. It's your survival. You
must learn to use it."
~~~~~
DURING THE NEXT MONTH
Elizabeth was not a good student at the start of her training, but
Hotohke was patient with her. He laughed at her a lot, but she
didn't get angry or embarrassed. His laugh was light, but seemed to
come from the base of his gut. During their training, he was patient.
She asked how many immortals there were. He said he had no
idea, but he had come across many, so there must be many more.
She stepped back from her teacher and took a little breather from
the full morning's exercise, "You don't by chance know Joshua
Logan?"
"No," he said, keeping his sword up. "We haven't crossed paths."
He stood on guard, waiting for her to rejoin him.
"He's the one who killed me," she said angrily.
Hotohke sadly shook his head, "He'll have to deal with that when
he journeys to the spirits."
"Joshua Logan," Elizabeth stewed, let her sword drop to her side.
"I've said that name over and over again in my head. I want to find
him. I want to kill him and now I know how."
He solemnly shook his head, in full teacher mode when he said,
"You will have the spirits angry at you if you seek out immortals.
You only fight when you have to. When there is no other way.
When you are on the right side."
"I am on the right side," she argued. "He turned me and knew what
he was doing. He killed me."
"But you still live," Hotohke argued. When would she accept it? "He
didn't take anything from you. He made you immortal." He tapped
his sword tip on hers and said, "You've stalled long enough. You
have to train."
###
JANUARY 1870
###
During their years together, Hotohke finally convinced her that all
thoughts of revenge were worthless to her mind and spirit. He
taught her only to fight when she needed to and when there was no
other option. When she couldn't or wouldn't grasp that concept, he
pulled on a leather strap that he wore around his neck. At it's end
was a piece of black leather with a carving of what appeared to be
two heads of a deer, connected at the neck. He told her, "This is a
symbol that helps me remember my true self. It was made by my
father and given to me on the eve of my adulthood. It is called a
soul catcher, a remembrance to give you peace of mind," he said
as he laid his finger on her forehead. "And in spirit." He put his
finger on her heart.
His finger lifted her chin and he told her, "You must travel the
correct path, Elizabeth, or I have failed. as your teacher."
Initially most of the moves he showed her were defensive. He
continued to be patient with her, but berated her whenever her
concentration left the fight, and she focused on the stone in her
shoe, or the lack of food in her stomach. She had to learn to fight
under all conditions, even when injured. He eventually started to
teach her offensive maneuvers; thrusts, disarming and capture of
her opponent's weapon, and how to lead up to the coup de gras
swing. Then, it was practice, practice, practice. As well as the study
of her spirituality. She had to know of the spirit of peace that
resided within her and had to know how to call upon it when she
needed to.
They told each other of their lives while they'd clean and sharpen
their swords; cleaned his tent and the wagon that she lived in;
exercised. Elizabeth was lucky indeed that she found Hotohke, or
rather, that he found her. Her terror and the fear of the unknown
had washed away and she became more secure in her immortality
being with him. She watched Hotohke closely to learn how to act
and how to fight.
During the time with Hotohke, he was everything to her, but there
was never any intimate contact beyond the accidental brush of his
hand against hers when he handed her food or oil for her sword.
She wanted to get as close as she could to the man, but he
seemed to be beyond earthly needs. He was too pure, knowing,
God-like in her eyes. And, disappointingly, he never made the first
move. She wondered if he was married, or in love with someone
that he saw on the rare occasions he would take off and come back
with no explanation as to where he was. The lack of intimate
relations in her life didn't make a difference to her. She had gotten
used to being alone since Teddy was killed and was too happy and
satisfied as she grew stronger physically and emotionally to be
concerned about it.
###
JULY 1870
###
One a hot summer evening, Elizabeth took the covering off her
wagon and slept under the stars in the back. She awoke to the
strange buzz. She pulled her head up to look over the ledge of the
wagon to see if Hotohke wanted anything. A shot rang out. Scared
that a battle had once again come to her door, she cowered in the
wagon. Being in the boondocks with Hotohke, she wasn't up to
snuff on the events of the world. Had another war broken out?
She heard laughter and a voice call out, "Elizabeth... come here,
girlie."
That voice had been embedded in her head for the last 7 years. An
Irish accent! That, she had figured out from an Irish drifter who
came through the year before. Elizabeth reached for her sword, but
a hand clamped on her foot and she was pulled from the wagon.
She fell roughly onto the ground. Splinters slid into her hip and
made her howl in pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her
teacher laying on the ground.
"Hotohke!" She screamed when she saw his life-less eyes stare at
her. She was pulled up by her hair and saw the cause of the new
buzz. Joshua Logan sprawled on a rock by the campfire. She
turned to see the man, a mortal man, who had her hair in his
hands. Before she could claw her way free, a kick connected with
her cheek, she heard the bone shatter and the pain took over her
whole being.
"What do you want?!" she garbled through her broken face, blood
dripped from her eye.
Joshua, smiling as big as possible, stood up on two limbs and said,
"I was wondering... how much you've learned about us."
Elizabeth saw the peg of his fake leg poking out between his shoe
and pant leg. She struggled to get free from the man holding her so
she could throttle that bastard, but the man was strong and
resistance was a futile exercise. Then, she felt another man kick
her in the ribs. She about passed out from the pain, and the air
squeezed out of her body in an instant.
Joshua asked, "Has kimosabi told you about quickenings?" She
was silent, could only stare up at him out of her one good eye.
"Have you ever seen one," he asked. Hotohke finally revived from
the gun blast to the chest.
Joshua made his way to him and grabbed her teacher's long silky
hair in his grubby little fists. Elizabeth pulled free from the man and
tried to yell for them to leave him alone, but she couldn't form
words with her crushed mouth, could only grumble and scream.
The man pushed Elizabeth to the ground as Logan dropped the
gun and brandished his sword. "No!" Elizabeth managed to scream
as the sword was lifted high into the air.
"Revenge is a senseless exercise," Hotohke said, to both Elizabeth
and Logan. Knowing he had no chance of getting to his feet,
Hotohke closed his eyes and summoned the spirits to cleanse and
cherish his soul.
The sword thrashed down, slicing his neck clean. Logan held
Hotohke's head in his hand like a fisherman would a stringer of fish
to get his picture taken and yelled, "Watch closely!"
Elizabeth couldn't see much, in his surprise the mortal man holding
her blocked her view. Her face was shoved into the dirt. The earth
mixed with the blood that still poured out of her eye. She heard
crackles and sparks erupt. Suddenly, the mortal man yelled,
"Sweet Jesus!" and loosened his grip on her. Turning her head,
she saw a soft stream of light emit from her teacher's neck up into
the air. The mortal men enthralled by the light show didn't pay
attention to her.
Hotohke's soft light became stronger, fuller as it gathered itself
above Logan, then slammed all it's might and energy into him.
Logan leaned his head back and held his sword out, yelling as he
collected the thoughts and strength of the man he had rendered
unable to defend himself. White bolts of power streamed away
from Logan and brushed against the legs of Elizabeth and the
mortals. They crawled back from the fray. She followed them,
wanting to get as far from this as possible; she had only ever heard
of quickenings. Her heart cried out that the first one she witnessed
would be that of her teacher, the source of strength in her life. The
wind swirled so strong it was hard to breathe and the area was
lighted as if the morning sun was out. The things in her wagon and
in Hotohke's tent swirled in the air. The mortals and Elizabeth were
thrown back to the ground, held flat by the wind and torrents of
electricity.
Logan fell to his knee and whimpered when the quickening came to
an end. The tent fell on top of him. He lifted himself up onto his foot
and peg leg and happily stated, "That's what we're all about..."
Blue sparks skittered across her face reconnecting her cheekbone
and then it started on her ribs making her a useless lump until the
healing process ended. Logan stooped down to watch, smiled. The
mortals had to hold Elizabeth back from tackling him when he got
that close. "You're next," he said, raising a pistol and pointing it at
her.
As Elizabeth struggled out of their grip, a shot rang out. Elizabeth
thought she was hit and felt for the wound. The mortal who'd kicked
her face fell on top of her, dead. Another shot sounded and the
other mortal who had kicked her in the ribs, fell. She pushed them
off and got to her feet, not knowing whether to search for her sword
to fight, tackle Logan, or run like hell.
Another shot rang out and that one she felt, in her leg. She fell to
the ground, holding her leg, biting back the pain. Joshua Logan
was either ironic or had good aim. Her wound was in the exact
same place the confederate had shot Logan.
She wasn't going to show that man anymore of her pain. He limped
forward and stood above her. She had to ask, "Why?"
"They were liabilities. They saw too much. We can't be showing the
mortals what we're all about, now can we?" Her hand slipped from
her leg because of the flow of blood. He said, "Or are you talking
about the Indian?
Because I can. Or where you asking about you? Why am I going to
kill you?"
His mouth curled into a vicious smile. "Because I can. And,
because I do enjoy it, so."
She got to her knees to crawl away, but her leg wouldn't support
her and the pain had taken over her entire senses. Tears
instinctively flew down her face, but she'd be damned if she let
Joshua Logan see them. Her sword was too far away. Elizabeth
collapsed on the ground, waiting for him to grab her head and take
it off.
What he did do was turn her over with his cane. He held his sword
tip to her face and said, "How does it feel? To know that your leg is
going to heal, but it hurts so much. Now think of that bastard with a
saw towering over you in your pain! You know... if I really wanted to
do it, I could cut your leg off after I shoot you in the heart. Then
you'll know exactly how I feel. It will never heal if it's not attached,
much like your head. I'll take that when I'm damn good and ready.
You practice more. I'll find you later." Having said that, he raised
the gun and shot Elizabeth right in the heart.
When she revived, she fully expected to be one legged. Laying on
her side, the first thing she saw was the head of her teacher, just
inches from her own. It had been carefully placed there. She
jumped to her feet backing away from it and cried out in anger.
Then she realized she was standing on two feet. The blue healing
lights were taking care of her other wounds. When the pain of the
healing ended, she wondered when the healing of the heart would
take place. When the healing would take over the bitter revenge
that bubbled in her soul, even though Hotohke's last words spoke
of the futility of revenge.
She sat down and tried to find the peace that Hotohke believed in.
She tried to follow the instructions he had given her when showing
her how to achieve peace; but there was no peace in her mind or
her body. Hotohke's soul catcher on it's leather strap, that had
been a fixture around his neck, was lying on the ground. She
picked it up, it was the last link to her teacher. She wrapped
Hotohke's body in his tribal blanket and slipped him into a shallow
grave she dug amongst the trees, then she covered his body with
the soil of the earth... she sat clenching his soul catcher, and
prayed for the ever lasting peace to take care of her beloved
teacher. Hoping that one day, she'd be able to find hers.
~~~~~
NEW YORK CITY - SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
Kevin came back into the living room and sat by Amy. They had all
been listening to her story, Duncan shaking his head at the
audacity and viciousness of Logan's actions. Elizabeth took
another sip from the whiskey bottle, then set it on the coffee table.
"How's Joe?"
"Sleeping," Kevin replied, looking at her, almost surprised such a
foreign being could speak English. She was the same woman he
knew for three years, but her immortality and her story went
completely over his head.
Methos stared at the female immortal who almost got his best
friend killed. Her story affected him for one reason. It was much like
how his own teacher was taken from him. He looked over at
Duncan and Amanda, smiled. They didn't know the first thing about
him and Methos liked it that way. He'd always shut down any
conversation about his beginnings, teacher, early life, because it
was too personal. He believed that there should be something left
for himself, that no one could share. Maybe losing a teacher in
such a way and keeping a memento of that person wasn't actually
as unique a thing as Methos thought it was. At that moment,
Methos visualized the ring on a leather strap he wore for years after
Hazimil's death, in a beat up, old leather pouch, that was now
hermetically sealed in plastic, in the safe buried under the floor
boards of his Paris apartment.
Duncan, not realizing Methos' mind had gone back so many
millennia, renewed the conversation and asked Elizabeth, "Logan
is still after you, all these years later?"
"He came back at me ten years later. Then the pattern started,
every 20 years, in July. It's like our anniversary or something. He'd
kill whoever I was with, always told me to practice, get better, learn
more, he'd take my head next time. I thought since he didn't strike
last summer, he was dead. He didn't say that this evening. Did he
really try to take my head?"
"Yes, he did," Amanda said, studying Elizabeth as she took another
swallow, killing the bottle. "Why in the world can't you outrun a one
legged man?"
"He hires people to shoot first, mortals who I can't sense coming.
Or immortals to sweet talk me first and make me think I'm safe."
She looked at them, "Joe is the only one to walk away from one of
Logan's ambushes. It's a good thing you all showed up to stop him.
At least I hope Joe walks away. I didn't mean for him to get caught
in it, Amy. I love Joe, you know that. I just wanted to talk to him."
"For what?" Methos sneered at her for almost killing his friend.
Elizabeth looked at him, wondering if he'd ever do anything besides
stare daggers at her. "Information. Some information is better than
nothing. Maybe Joe could tell me if Logan was dead and gone. If
not, maybe he could find out where Logan was and I could ambush
him before he found me. Maybe he could ask a watcher friend or...
is it all on a computer somewhere about all of us?"
"No," Methos said. Remembering what hot water they got into
when Don Salzer wanted to network.
"How do you know?"
"Each watcher has their own records," Amy said. "We can only find
out who Logan's watcher is and go from there."
"How do you know that?"
Amy said, "I was a watcher."
Ignoring the fact that there was also a lot that Amy hadn't let her in
on,
Elizabeth sat up in her chair, interested in the turn of events, "Then
you have friends to ask."
"And more bullets would fly," Methos said, taking a swig of beer.
Amy said, "If you hadn't run out like that, I may have made that
suggestion."
Elizabeth felt cornered, "And Joe wouldn't be lying in that bed,
right?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's true," Methos said. "A very good friend of mine, her father,"
he pointed at Amy, "Wouldn't have almost died tonight because of
you."
Duncan interjected, "Calm down. That's not going to do any good
at all."
She knew that irritating man was right, and studied his face. She
looked him up and down. The sight of him in long johns wasn't an
easy vision to shake. "What did you do with your hair?" Methos was
taken back. "I liked it longer."
They all looked at Methos. Methos squinted at her, "So we have
met before."
"You don't remember? I woke you up." For the first time in a long
while, she smiled and said, "With my blade."
Methos thought back. That hadn't happened often... there was a
woman who surprised him. Back in... when was it?
Elizabeth, thinking he still didn't remember, said, "You were lost. In
Wyoming..."
###
WYOMING - DECEMBER 2, 1898
###
Elizabeth had roamed the United States of America, that her late
husband, Theodore Tennison, had a hand in uniting during the Civil
War, trying to find her niche after her teacher's killing. As each year
passed without coming into contact with Joshua Logan, the anger
started to fade. The beauty of the earth and the kindness of
strangers sweetened her outlook on life. But, she hadn't yet found
a place that she felt she belonged.
When she stopped in Casper for supplies, she heard the two men
at the general store talk about a strange man who was staying in
the woods just outside of town. That got Elizabeth's attention. After
not even thinking about Logan for years, her fear took over and she
lost her sense of perspective; she was convinced that the strange
man in the woods was Joshua Logan, as if there could only be one
of them. She asked, "Where?"
The man behind the counter pointed to the east. So she hightailed
it out of town, to the west. She made sure she had her sword within
easy reach strapped to her horse, this one was named Moses. Her
soul wanted to go after Joshua Logan, but her head told her to try
and kept in on her shoulders. Lord knew what that man would do
next. The man at the store had to be talking about Joshua Logan.
She'd felt a buzz for days, following her, skirting in and out of
sensing range, never making his presence known. Suddenly tired
of being scared of the monster, she pulled on Moses' reins and her
horse came to a dead stop.
As the kicked up dust swirled in the night air, she debated what to
do. It was time. She rode back into Casper, then rode through and
past it, to the east. Elizabeth would attack Logan before he had the
hope of striking her first. He was a one-legged man for God's sake!
She had two strong legs, a strong sword arm and constitution; and
she needed to see him dead.
Miles east of town, through the mesquite trees, she saw the soft
flickering of a campfire. She didn't feel a buzz, but how many
people would be camping when there's a nice inexpensive hotel
just a few miles away? She left Moses at a tree, laying his reins
over a branch and unsheathed her sword. Preparing herself for
battle, she gripped the hilt of the cavalry sword and took a deep
cleansing breath.
She ran toward the light with her sword ready. As she came closer
to the light, she sensed a buzz! It was Logan! She would surprise
him for once! The lump, visible in a bedroll next to the fire, stirred
as she neared. She hurried towards it and placed her sword at the
throat of the man.
He reached out a hand and grabbed her ankle, throwing her off her
feet, making her land on her butt. The man jumped out of the
bedroll and onto his feet in one swift, graceful movement. Then he
slashed out with his Ivanhoe. "Who are you?!" he snarled.
She protected herself from his swing and got to her feet on the
second try, after stumbling on the first. When the man waited for
her to stand and slashed out again, Elizabeth forced her sword
against his. The blades rubbed against each other as they both got
their feet planted. She realized it was a two legged man before her,
wearing long johns. "Sorry," she said. "You aren't who I thought you
were. I don't want to fight you."
Methos, pissed, shouted, "That's encouraging!" He was finally
sound asleep after losing the trail of the other Hole in the Wall gang
members. "Who were you expecting?"
She noticed his accent, not exactly Irish, but not of this country,
and wondered if he was one of Logan's pals. Were they from the
same place? She couldn't help also noticing his dark wavy hair,
sideburns, scowl, long arms and legs, and the delicate hand that
held the sword toward her own.
"Joshua Logan. You wouldn't by chance know him?"
"If he's anything like you," he sneered. "I'm thankful to say, no."
"He isn't anything like me. He's a monster," she said and she
actually turned her back on an immortal with a sword in his hand,
and a pissy attitude. He wasn't Logan, so she didn't feel any threat.
Methos was livid. After waking him up at sword point, she was
actually going to walk away like nothing happened! "Wait a minute!"
he hollered.
She turned. "Where are we? I'm lost."
"Just outside of Casper," she said.
"Damn it, I thought I was south of there." Methos flipped the edge
of the blanket off his foot and told her, "Never trust information from
thieves."
"I'll try to remember that."
Methos studied the immortal who suddenly didn't seem so startling.
"Why are you looking for Joshua Logan?"
"To kill him."
"Oh, good," he said, making a flicking motion with his hand to move
her along. "Just be on your way, then."
"Sure," she said, then looked down the man's body and smiled.
"Your thing is hanging out."
He didn't move a muscle to cover himself, kept his Ivanhoe trained
in her direction. "Thank you so much for waking me up."
When she was out of the light of his campfire and almost to Moses,
she turned back to the immortal. He hadn't moved a muscle. His
sword was still in the air in a defensive position. She got on her
horse and rode past him and his ebbing camp fire, then north.
Only when she was out of sensing range and he was sure she
wouldn't be disturbing his slumber again, did Methos put his sword
back in the blanket with him. He adjusted his long johns before
falling back into a light sleep, still ready for anything.
~~~~~
NEW YORK CITY - SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
"I flipped you on your back side," Methos beamed, finally figuring
out who she was, and knowing he was faster than she could ever
hope to be. "You haven't gotten any more charming."
"I've had a lot to deal with," she replied, then remembered him
standing there with his sword at her face, with his dick hanging out
not at all ashamed and not lifting a finger to cover it. "Did you ever
find your way?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I met up with my mates in a couple of
days, since you told me I was north of my destination."
"What was your destination?"
"The Hole in the Wall."
"Butch and Sundance?"
"And Harvey and Harry and Ben, Elzy," Methos smiled.
Amanda remembered his crack when they infiltrated Watcher
headquarters and said, "I thought you were joking."
Duncan asked, "You told me you rode with them, but I didn't know
if I should believe you."
"You can still wonder," Methos lifted the beer to his lips.
"You and Adam know each other, Liz?" Amy grinned.
"No," Methos said. "We just had that one run-in." He relaxed,
knowing that the episode was where he knew her from and not
something else that might have pissed her off and make her come
back for revenge. Revenge was so time consuming for most.
Running from another's revenge was tiring for Methos.
"Liz, why did you put a sword to his throat?" Amanda had to ask.
"I thought he was Logan. I found the wrong guy camping outside of
town."
"How did you let a woman sneak up on you, Adam," Duncan
enjoyed asking.
"I was asleep."
"A woman?" Elizabeth didn't catch on that it was a joke, she didn't
know those people. "Only a man could sneak up on people? What
kind of a sexist remark was that?"
"I didn't mean that," Duncan said. Everyone in that room, except
Elizabeth, knew that wasn't what he meant.
"Hold on," Kevin said. "I'm still trying to digest everything you said.
You said that Logan was a union officer... that there was a battle?
Are you talking about the Civil War?"
"I lived in Gettysburg, yes."
"So, you're..." he did the math. "Like, 140 years old?"
"167 if you want to get technical."
He sat back, in wonder. The others looked at Kevin. Elizabeth was
actually the baby of the group but her age blew Kevin's mind.
Amanda smiled, what would he think if he knew she was over
1200... that Methos was... "How does that happen?" Kevin asked.
Amy looked at Kevin, "I told you about them."
"I didn't believe you," he said. Looked at Elizabeth. "You don't look
any older than us. How old are all of you?"
"I was wondering that myself," Elizabeth said.
"We're old enough to know we don't answer such questions,"
Methos said as he got up for another beer.
CONTINUED in Chapter Three - New York
(
geocities.com/enyajo)