THE ELIZABETH SERIES
CHAPTER TWELVE
RETRIBUTION
by JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com

RATING: Definitely ADULT. Violence, rape, awful stuff ahead. If you're
too young, hit the back button right now.
CHARACTERS: M DM J Warren Kronos, Silas, Caspian OFC Elizabeth
OC Pyrius
SUMMARY: Pyrius has Methos and Duncan, Warren and Elizabeth need
to get him back.

~~~~~

SUNDAY, MARCH 11, 2001
SEACOUVER
DOJO

Pyrius wondered if he should just take Methos' head then and there and
get it over with. Methos was dead on the floor. Elizabeth was still dead.
There was no one to stop him. He lifted his sword in his hands, shook,
eyes flared... Just do it before he revives...

Pyrius reached down and took a fistful of Methos' short hair in his hand
and lifted his head, drew back his sword, recited, "Just do it before he
revives!"

For the first time in almost 2500 years, Pyrius touched him, the monster.
Pyrius surprised himself when his reaction was to throw up, all over
Methos and the floor by his still body. Pyrius fell on top of Methos,
cleared out his stomach. Laid down his sword. When he rolled over onto
the floor and looked over to see Methos' closed eyes, his peaceful face,
Pyrius knew he wouldn't take him then and there. He needed Methos to
scream in pain, not die peacefully in his slumber. After taking a syringe
out of his bag, Pyrius stabbed it into Methos' arm. As he pushed down on
the plunger, he wished that all life's hardships, pains, and hopelessness
that Pyrius felt would transfer with the knock out juice that was rushing
into Methos' system.

~~~~~

EARLIER

When Pyrius had arrived at the dojo, Duncan and Warren took it for
granted that the buzz was Methos and Elizabeth. Duncan was shot
downstairs as he came out of the office. Pyrius dragged his body into the
elevator. When they reached the top, Warren was ready to attack him with
his sword, but Pyrius shot him through the grating before the elevator
made it to the top. He tied them up using almost a whole roll of duct tape
back to back at the neck, hands, waist and feet while they were dead.

He studied them, looked around the dojo, opened a bureau drawer and
took out a pair of MacLeod's socks and two of Duncan's nice, expensive,
silk ties. He stuffed one sock into each mouth and made sure the silk was
tied tightly around their heads. Pyrius studied them again. They weren't
going anywhere and they wouldn't be able to make a sound. The only
hitch in his entire plan was if a stray member of the dojo happened along
and heard them. He couldn't think of it. This all had to work out. If not,
there was always another day and time to get Methos.

After Duncan and Warren revived, they couldn't get freed hour. Try as
they might, they couldn't get the damn duct tape to loosen. Warren and
Duncan both collapsed with exhaustion as there was no way to get loose
until someone came up to the loft, and they just hoped it wouldn't be the
mysterious immortal to finish them off then they couldn't defend
themselves. He came to Seacouver to reclaim his friendship with Duncan
MacLeod, wanted them both to feel a closeness again, a brotherhood. This
was over the top. This was too close. He was starting to lose feeling in his
fingers. 

Duncan didn't see either of their swords in the vicinity. Then he had an
idea and tried to move across the floor, but Warren was a lump and he
couldn't verbalize his plan. Duncan hiked himself up and rolled over
Warren, pulling him over on top of him and then to the floor, then rolled
himself over him again. Warren put the apprehension of what Duncan was
trying to pull away when he finally got the idea that their destination was
the kitchen cabinets. They continued to roll until Duncan's knees crashed
into it. They stopped. Laid still. Wondered if the immortal that they felt the
buzz of as soon as they revived and heard him pace and talk to himself
downstairs, could hear them.

When it seemed that he didn't as he hadn't made an appearance, they tried
to get to their knees. They couldn't, it tape was too tight at their feet and
couldn't be broken. With socks in their mouths and their hands taped
tightly together, all they could do was look up at the many implements that
they knew were on the counter that could help but could just as well be in
Cleveland. Frustrated, Warren started slamming his shoulder against the
counter, hoping it would topple the knives, make them spill out, hopefully
on the floor. Duncan stopped him. It was his house after all. They felt the
immortal downstairs. Then they heard a silencer gun shot. Shouting.
Screams, pain. Duncan was mortified at what was going on down there
and he couldn't do a thing about it. All he could do is listen to Methos
shout, and hope. Hope that he would take care of whatever it was that held
them captive. There was another gunshot. Then quiet. Then no buzz.
Quiet. Then a buzz.

~~~~~

DOJO

Elizabeth revived in a puddle of blood. She didn't know what happened,
was just weak and confused and in a lot of pain from multiple deaths in a
row. She tried to get up, but had to lay back on the floor to allow herself to
heal. She didn't know if she was alone or not. What the hell happened?
She yelled for David, not knowing quite where she was or if she was
alone.

After healing, she comprehended that she laid in a mass of blood, her
blood. Thoughts that Logan was miraculously alive filled her thoughts,
scaring her, especially when she sensed an immortal buzz. Methos' coat
was lumped on the floor. There was another puddle of blood by the office
door, that left a long macabre smudge on the floor from it to the elevator.
Another puddle near her own, mixed with a lot of vomit. She almost threw
up herself, the smell of the room was excruciating. 

Did she make another ambush happen and Methos was taken? She
screamed in horror, where was David?! Were they upstairs? She saw
Methos' Ivanhoe wedged in the elevator wall? She yanked it out and went
up, leaning against the wall for support. 

Methos' hilt... she'd seen it many times, but it was the first time she
actually held it. It was longer than the swords she was used to, and heavier.
Why in the hell was it in the elevator wall? He would never treat his sword
in such a manner. How did she get to the dojo? Downstairs alone? With
blood all over her? It was all a blur, but the thought of Methos without his
sword chilled her to the bone.

Elizabeth stumbled off the elevator, Ivanhoe ready for whatever would
develop. What she found was Duncan and another man wound together
with duct tape, their questioning eyes focused on her. She was covered in
blood from neck to knees. Duncan, then Warren would roll themselves so
they could see Elizabeth. She ignored them and looked around the
furniture for Methos or his body. He wasn't in the bathroom, either.

They yelled for her to free them and she cut at the tape with the Ivanhoe. 
As soon as Warren got his hands free, he tore tie off his head, pulled out
the sock, spit out lint and gaped up at Elizabeth. She was full of blood and
there were three holes in her sweater. Duncan took Methos' sword and cut
tape around their feet.

Since there was a stranger in the room, Elizabeth finally said, "Where's
David?" 

"We haven't seen him," Duncan said, pulling off the tape. They filled her
in on what had happened to them. 

When they asked about the events of downstairs, she remembered, "There
was an Immortal." Duncan asked who he was, got up off the floor.
Elizabeth tried to think back and said, "I don't know. Give me a minute."
She fell on the couch, stared at the chess board, tried to collect her
thoughts. She looked at herself and the slashes on her sweater. Logan's
attacks came back to her. Wrapping the coat around her tightly, she said,
"Could David have been beheaded? Is that possible?"

Duncan sat next to her and pulled her head to his shoulder, "There wasn't
a quickening."

"Who's to say it happened here," she argued. "That guy could have taken
him 10 miles down the road, flipped him into a ditch and cut his head off."

Warren couldn't look at or think of anything else but the blood all over her
and the slashes on her clothes, "Just how many times were you killed
down there?"

She mumbled, "I don't know."

"Bastard!" he yelled, startling them. "Look at all the cuts."

Duncan softly asked, "Who was he?"

"Who are you?" she couldn't take her eyes off Warren, suspecting he had
something to do with Methos' disappearance. 

Duncan saw her hesitation, "Elizabeth, this is a very good friend of mine.
His name is Warren Cochrane."

Warren's eyes were soft, worried, making her relax. He handed her a robe
of Duncan's and suggested she take a shower. "It will make you feel better
and clear your head."

"I can't just take a goddamn shower! We have to go find him!"

"Where," Duncan asked. "Where do we even start? Who was the
immortal?"

"I don't know! I never saw anything. It was dark when I was shot. Logan's
dead, isn't he?"

"Who's Logan?"

Duncan ignored Warren's question, "Of course, Logan's dead. You took
his head yourself. Take a shower, relax, and it could all come back to
you."

While Elizabeth showered, Duncan and Warren went down to the dojo to
see what happened. The state of the floor stunned them. It looked like a
war zone. For the lack of anything better to do, they mopped up. The
customers couldn't see any of this when they would start to arrive in a few
hours. 

"There was quite the commotion down here," Warren said, pushing a mop.
"Just who is David Sommers and that woman. Are they friends?"

"Very good friends," Duncan's mind was on where Methos could be. Who
could have done this? The phone rang in the office and Duncan ran for it.
It was an angry man, wanting to talk to Elizabeth. Duncan said, "She's
unavailable, talk to me." The man persisted. Duncan said, "Tell me, I'll
give her a message."

Pyrius sat in a cushy seat on the private jet, looking at the unconscious
Methos wrapped and tied in a rolled up rug on the floor. A strap from the
wall was buckled around him. He said, "This must be Duncan MacLeod."

"And you are?"

"If you want to see your friend Methos again," he said, "You put Elizabeth
on the phone right now!"

The man sounded maniacal, making Duncan say, "She's upstairs, I'll go
get her, hold on."

"I'll call back," Pyrius said, without a trace of the violence of his last
outburst, or from the mess he caused that Warren was still cleaning up.
Duncan knew they would have to be very careful on how to handle him.
The immortal continued, "Make sure she's near the phone when I do." 

He hung up before he could hear Elizabeth on the extension upstairs yell,
"Hello?"

Duncan went upstairs and asked, "Is that immortal after you?"

"I don't know. Was that him? I've only had Logan after me. Joshua
Logan's dead, right?" She needed confirmation on that, even though it was
silly.

"Why would he only want to talk to you?"

"A ransom?" Then an awful thought chilled her, did this all have to do
with the damn coins?! Did someone want that 1,620,000? She almost fell
on the floor to now know that Methos' disappearance really might have
had something to do with her. 

"Well," Warren made his way upstairs to hear their conversation and
commented, "That's good news, David is still alive. He has to be or why
would he call?" It did little to calm Elizabeth. Duncan used the Star 69
function, but it didn't work. He called Joe to find out if there was an
Immortal who was after David. 

Even though he was woken up, Joe thought the question vague, and funny,
"Who doesn't want David?"

"This is serious," Duncan persisted. "He's gone--."

"I know, with Liz."

"He's been taken, Joe," Duncan clearly pronounced. "Kidnaped. By an
Immortal out for blood. Can you look up anything in the database?" Joe
paused. Duncan couldn't figure out why Joe would have to be talked into
helping. "Joe, right now you're not his watcher, you're his friend. You
have to help--."

"Of course, Mac," Joe said. "I was just wondering where to start. Do you
know anything about the guy?"

"I never got the name, but I saw him. So did Warren. Liz can't remember
much about it. The sick bastard kept killing her. He looks like a baby, has
dark hair, tall." Duncan couldn't think of anything else that was specific
about his description.

"That narrows it down," Joe groused. "Did he have an accent of any
kind?"

"Joe, he shot me before he said anything."

Joe said, "I'll see what I can find." Great, an Immortal out for Methos'
blood who didn't play by the rules of the game. The field wasn't narrowed,
and Joe had a long night and day ahead of him, he just knew it.

~~~~~

MONDAY, MARCH 12, 2001
SEACOUVER
LOFT

Elizabeth was able to catch a few hours of light sleep, but awoke and
bolted upright, "Where is he?"

Duncan and Warren both stirred from their positions on the couch and
chair. "We still don't know," Duncan said as he went to call Joe for an
update. There was no answer. He worried that Joe might have been
kidnaped, too. Being with Elizabeth, who imagined all sorts of horror all
night, overtook his logic. 

The elevator went down and they all jumped. There was no buzz. They
were all relieved to see it was Joe. He had his laptop with him. He set it on
the counter and turned it on. When they gathered around Joe, he asked
them to go through the pictures of the Immortals he narrowed the field to.
They all stood beside him as he turned on the laptop. Joe said, "A young
guy, huh?"

"A young looking guy," Duncan said.

Warren looked at the laptop, the watcher logon the screen when Joe woke
the computer out of it's sleep. "What's all this?" Duncan had briefly
explained watchers before, but Warren couldn't believe it until he actually
saw it on the computer. 

Warren introduced himself to Joe, who was focused on the laptop, nodded
and said, "Yeah, I know."

"How do you know who I am?"

Duncan said, "He's a very good watcher."

Joe hoped that the one immortal he had found in a preliminary search
wasn't the Immortal that had his friend. Joe hurriedly clicked through the
pictures of the saved search to his page. "Pyrius," Joe said as his picture
appeared on screen. 

Duncan looked at it, nodded, "That's him."

Warren looked at the picture and also nodded. That's the man they saw.
Elizabeth didn't know him from a hole in the ground as she only
remembered seeing a silhouette against the harsh lighting as he loomed
above her. The information the Watchers had on him was vague at best. 

Name: Pyrius. 
Place of Birth: Greece. 
Date of Birth: Unknown. 
First Death: Unknown. 
Current Watcher: Jacques Trouffet. 

Joe turned to the others. "Jacques is a friend of mine. A while back, he
told me about this guy. Wacko, a real piece of work. I'm really surprised
he's still in the game." Joe put his hand on the counter and shifted his legs
under him, "Get this. He's committed suicide 10 times under Jacques'
watch. Only he commits suicide by gun shot, stabbing, pills, hanging. He
never tries to take his head."

Warren's stomach fell. He had committed suicide once after Duncan
walked away without taking his head. He jumped in front of the Metro. It
was pure madness and hopelessness that made him do it. Not the best
emotions for a kidnapper to have.

Duncan asked, "Why?"

Warren kept quiet. Joe shrugged, "He doesn't accept his Immortality,
doesn't believe it? Wants to talk to God?"

Those weren't any of the reasons Warren took his life, only to get it back
again. But then Warren was no Pyrius. And thoughts of ending it all hadn't
been in his mind for years. 

Joe continued, "Pyrius has been in every imaginable religious following on
the planet. Christianity, Judaism, Muslim, Hindu, Confucius, Buddhism...
You name it he's tried it. In his history, he would disappear for years.
Then he'd show up under another watcher assigned to him. Try to commit
suicide... Jacques been on him for almost 25 years. I talked to him early
this morning when I did a search of all immortals who were in the
Seacouver area. Pyrius has been right here for over two months, just came
back from Japan, where he committed Hari Kari. Jacques told me where
he's been staying. Are you interested?" They weren't in the playing mood,
just tell them! "Across the street from here. And across the street from the
brownstone."

"He's been watching us all that time?" Elizabeth was pissed, paced,
another immortal had been following them! "How the hell didn't we know
it? Why don't you goddamned watchers tell us?! Methos would be here
right now, safe, if we were just warned!" 

Duncan put his hand out and said, "Settle down."

Warren caught the Methos name. He was going to mention it, but Joe
loudly defended himself and his friend, "Jacques doesn't know what
Pyrius was after. He didn't know you and David were living there. How
was he to know?!"

Duncan got between them, "Everyone calm down."

The phone rang and Elizabeth ran to it. "Hello!"

She heard Pyrius' laughter. Then he said, "I see you're answering the
phone now. Good. You can follow orders. I like that." She held the phone
out so Duncan could hear when he joined her. 

Pyrius continued, "Listen to me very carefully." Duncan grabbed a pen and
wrote the directions to a house kilometers north of Athens. He would
expect them.

Elizabeth spoke, "I need to know David is still alive."

"David?" Pyrius laughed. It was a spooky, clownish laugh. A gleeful laugh
that hadn't been put to use much before he was able to capture his prize. 
"Methos... is just barely alive. If I'd called a few minutes earlier, you could
have heard that high pitched scream I'm having so much fun listening to.
It's like a choir of angels."

Elizabeth's hair stood on end. She demanded, "Let me talk to him."
Duncan didn't want the man riled. She yelled, "Now!" They heard Pyrius'
laugh. 

Duncan didn't like the tone and tried to pull the phone from Elizabeth's
grip, but she held onto it for dear life. She screamed, "Laugh it up,
asshole! I don't talk to him, I don't go anywhere."

"Then I'll take his head."

She scolded him, "No, you won't. If you were going to, you would have
already. Or have you, and you're lying?" Duncan didn't know if playing
hardball was the best way to handle a psycho. He pulled the phone back
and listened with her. 

It was silence and Duncan glared at Elizabeth, now you've done it. Then
they heard heavy, painful breathing on the phone. "Methos?" Elizabeth
cried into the phone. 

Just above a whisper, they heard Methos say, "Stay the hell away..." His
voice was soft, tired, worn out, spasming with pain. "Don't come..."

Pyrius got back on the line and said, "You know where he is, come and get
him. Bring the Highlander, but no one else or I'll enjoy Methos'
quickening before you even walk through the gate."

Elizabeth was so pissed about the whole situation, she just barreled on,
"Why do you want me there?"

"Don't you want to say goodbye?" The line went dead. 

Elizabeth threw the phone on the floor and punched the cupboard. She
screamed, "Son of a bitch!" 

Duncan grabbed her and hugged her as it seemed she would explode. He
said, "We'll all go. The three of us, and we'll take him home."

Elizabeth said, "No, I was told to go. He called me, he didn't call you."

Warren had been silent long enough since that bit of information came out
and couldn't stay quiet, "Methos? Is that what you said?"

Elizabeth looked at him with fear that she blew Methos' cover. Warren
grinned, "David Sommers is Methos? I didn't think he actually existed.
He's so young looking." He popped Duncan on the arm, "Why didn't you
tell me? Methos is real, your friend, and you didn't tell me?"

Duncan only asked, "Will you come with us?"

"Of course!"

Elizabeth said, "The 'Highlander' was the only other one he'd allow."

Warren said, "We're both Highlanders."

Duncan said, "That's true."

Joe said, "I'll call the watchers."

Duncan said, "You can't do that. This is Methos we're taking about. They
can't know."

Joe said, "If Methos dies, he really will be a legend!" After that outburst,
Joe stopped and tried to calm down. He didn't realize how much the old
guy could get his heart pumping with worry or anger. They'd developed a
good, solid friendship. Methos was head strong, difficult, but funny,
knowing, a true friend when in need even though he had to be prodded,
who needed their help badly. "The watchers will want to protect his head!"

Elizabeth said, "No, Pyrius holds all the cards. We have to play by his
rules. You didn't hear his voice. Methos is in pain."

Warren couldn't help laughing, "Methos?" The 'fable' he was told so long
ago, the immortal fairy tale, was real. And was friends with those in that
room. He had met him. Shook his hand. He couldn't get over it. Then he
sobered when he looked at the room staring daggers at him. He just
couldn't get over it. Then, he remembered the man. He wasn't anything
like he thought Methos would be. He was told and always envisioned a big
man, tough, larger than life, or older, wiser, gray hair, long beard. David
Sommers was a mild man, a beer drinker, unassuming. By the looks on
their faces, it was true. 

Duncan told Elizabeth, "We will both go with you. Don't worry. I'll take
care of you."

Elizabeth said, "Take care of Methos. I'll take care of me. Then we'll both
take care of that bastard." She pleasantly imagined all sorts of scenarios of
her taking Pyrius' head.

Duncan looked at the directions he dictated and smiled. Elizabeth
demanded, "What can possibly be so funny?"

"Delphi," Duncan said, showing her the note. "Northwest of Athens. This
is the Delphi region that we're supposed to go to. Holy ground. Methos is
being held on holy ground. He'll be okay."

~~~~~

TUESDAY, MARCH 13, 2001
GREECE

Duncan, Warren and Elizabeth left right away on a flight to New York, to
Athens. They rented a car and drove the directions given to them by
Pyrius. Elizabeth said, "I wonder why Pyrius would take him so far just to
kill him."

Duncan drove and finally said, "He was born here. Maybe he's reliving his
death."

"How old did Joe say Pyrius was again?"

"Date of birth unknown, but his chronicle was started 1500 years ago."

Elizabeth fell silent, thinking. "When was Methos a horseman?"

Warren's ears perked up from the back seat. "A what?"

Duncan was surprised. "He told you about that?"

She nodded. "That had to have been... what happened, right? He did
something to Pyrius? Something..." she didn't want to think of what. Like
a child, she wished Duncan would answer right when she asked, "Methos
has changed, right?"

Duncan was silent reliving the kick in the head when he found out from
Cassandra about his friend. He told her, "That Methos is dead. Along with
the rest of them. They're history. So is Methos' part in it."

"What horsemen? What does that mean?" Warren asked in the back seat.
They ignored it and stared straight ahead. Wondered what was ahead of
them.

Elizabeth saw yet another distant spire with a cross atop it in the distance.
"If we're going to Delphi..." Duncan asked her to continue. "The
horsemen took to raiding holy ground?"

Duncan certainly didn't want to think about his old friend's past, but told
her, "This has only been holy ground since the birth of Christ."

Elizabeth gaped at Duncan in the driver's seat, maneuvering the car
around the tricky turn around the side of the mountain. It was so mind-
boggling to think that before Christ was born, Methos had already lived
half his life. She saw that Duncan must have been thinking the same thing.

Duncan followed the roads and turns Pyrius gave over the phone and they
soon arrived at a white three story mansion in the country, miles from any
town, farms, people. It looked so out of place to be so magnificent in the
middle of no where, but also looked like it had been well taken care of and
lived in. The trees, bushes and flowers were lush. The house and fencing
was freshly painted. "Where are we?" Elizabeth asked.

"I have no idea," Duncan said, surveying the house and it's perimeter from
the driveway in front of the closed gate.

"Are we still on holy ground?"

"I'm not sure to tell you the truth."

Warren fidgeted with his sword under his coat, head resting on his arm
over the back of the front seat as he too looked over everything. Duncan
mused if they should just walk to the front gate, or what? It seemed as if
there was no one around. No Immortals nearby. The place was so damn
cheery, clean, kept up, he wondered if it was the right address.

Elizabeth said as they still sat in the car, looking at the place, "We still
don't have a plan."

"We have our swords," Warren said. "Just take anyone who isn't Methos."

"What if we are on holy ground?" 

"Then," Warren said. "They wouldn't hurt us."

"But if we aren't on holy ground?"

"Take 'em all," Warren said. 

Duncan was surprised by the plan of his friend. "The mortals, too?"

"It's war, Duncan. Yes. Kill them all."

"I've never killed a mortal," Elizabeth shook.

"All the people in that house are willing to kill you if they get the first
chance," Warren said. "Remember that."

Duncan cast a glance at the man in the back seat. Where did that strength
come from? It was good to have him back, and glad to have him on his
side. He smiled as he opened his door and stepped out of the car, ready for
anything. 

As soon as they got out of the car, machine gun fire sprayed them from the
loft of the barn, killing them instantly.

~~~~~

LATER

Elizabeth awoke to the sound of screaming. It was low, male, tired. She sat
up on a divan, wearing khakis and a white cotton blouse. Not hers, but the
fit was perfect. The blouse wasn't wrinkled. Someone took the time to iron
it before putting it on her? Someone put it on her? No blood from the
bullets at the gate were in evidence on her body. Someone bathed her?
Was she dead the whole time? Standing up, she was dizzy. Had she been
drugged also?

The large, sunny room was elegant. A formal room with antique velvet
furniture, mirrors, candelabra, gold switch plates, the shelves were empty,
the walls were bare. There were outlines from where huge paintings had
once hung. Her toes dug into the thick carpeting as she walked. Whoever
changed her didn't put shoes on her. The thing that worried her the most
was that her sword was not near. 

A continuous, earthshattering wail drifted through the house. She
shuttered, moved to the door, it wasn't locked. When she opened the door,
the scream in all it's glory invaded her senses. Was that Methos or Duncan
or Warren? Someone else? She couldn't tell. She wondered if they were
alone in the house and if they weren't, how many of them were there?

The hallway was wide, long. The scream had stopped, but she could still
make out a whimpering. She walked down the stairway and down another
hall. When she reached the kitchen, the buzz of immortals was strong.
Another short hall. A door at the end of it was solid oak and closed.  

She tried the knob of the door and it opened. She pushed the door open
and but waited in the hallway, not really sure she wanted to enter. The
smell of blood and sweat and excrement were intense. The male cry was in
stereo from the concrete slabbed room making a shiver run down her back.
All she saw was the wall at the hinged side of the door extending the
room, a corner. The far wall contained a wood work table. A reverberated
thud of heavy metal on concrete sounded making her jump, instinctively
grab for her sword, that she didn't have. She thought she should go back to
the kitchen and get a weapon.

Pyrius appeared in the doorway of the room. She jumped back, reflectively
grabbed at her chest. He smiled, happy by seeing fear in her eyes. He had
gotten used to it, and loved control. The scared face belonged to the same
forceful woman that screamed at him on the phone. He walked toward her
in the cramped hallway. She couldn't move, only felt stabbing and bullets
in her body. He pointed back in the room. "He's in there," he said as he
walked past her. 

When Pyrius disappeared into the kitchen, she debated on following him,
but the gasps from the concrete room called to her. Elizabeth slowly
walked in, wondering if there would be armed men. There wasn't, only
paraphernalia. Knives of all shapes and sizes were laid out on the work
bench. They were all covered with blood, had been used. There was also a
huge machine of some sort on rollers that she had no idea of its purpose. A
sledgehammer that was the source of the reverberation sound was lying on
the floor, at the foot of Methos. 

His arms were chained up and over him on the far wall. His legs bent,
didn't carry any of his weight. He was shirtless and full of caked-on and
flowing blood from slashes and stab wounds that still decorated his torso.
The black jeans he wore in Seacouver were matted with goo and slashed.
His left leg was broken by the sledge in three places. His head hung
forward, silent. She wondered if he was dead or too exhausted to move.

Elizabeth was too horrified to move herself. Blood still spread on his
smashed leg and dripped from his head onto this chest. He wasn't dead,
she felt his buzz, but it was weak. She finally made it across the room and
knelt down to him. She cautiously lifted his head. 

Methos winced. His face was a massive red bruise. There were cuts of all
lengths and depth on his face. His breath was in short bursts and he
flinched from her touch, expecting more torture. When he saw it was
Elizabeth, he whimpered, "No..."

When his head slid out of her hands from all the slippery blood, it fell like
a sack of potatoes to his chest. She didn't know if she should touch him,
each touch caused him pain. He wasn't healing. Her hand hovered over his
head, then touched the only part of him not violated, his left shoulder. His
head bobbed and said something. She lifted his head and kissed the one
place not caked with blood or bruised, his right ear. 

An open cut on his left cheek was pouring blood. She tried to stop the flow
with her hand and cried. He grimaced and mumbled something. She said,
"What?"

"Get away. Run." The words wrecked havoc on his strength.

"Why the hell aren't you healing?"

"I have this coming." She tried to hug him, kiss him, but he was in too
much pain. He moved his head down and ordered her, "Just go..."

Placing herself so she made sure he could see her, she said, "Never. I'll
never leave you. I'm going to get you out of here or I'm going to die
trying." He just shook his head in pain and gasped on liquid in his lungs.
Died from blood loss. "Methos!" The loss of his buzz scared her.

She felt another Immortal and watched Pyrius walked in. "What do you
think of him now?" He was almost delirious at her reaction to seeing his
handiwork on the monster. He was very glad she came. He didn't like that
she and Duncan brought another immortal with them. While the other one
was drugged and Pyrius bathed him, he almost took his head. But he
didn't. He wasn't a murderer, he wasn't Methos. Pyrius just gave him an
ejection fit for an elephant so he'd be out of the way until it was all over.

Pyrius was smiling at the thought of taking Methos' head, enjoying it. She
placed Methos' head gently to his chest and glared at Pyrius, "Have you
got your jollies yet? Why didn't you take him already? Why invite us to the
party? Where's Duncan MacLeod? Warren Cochrane?"

"Oh, is that who that is? I told you to bring only the one."

"Where are they?!"

"They're being tortured."

She was horrified and angry he was so unaffected by his words. "Why?"

"They're friends of his," he pointed to Methos.

"What about me?"

Pyrius looked at her, surprised. "Haven't you had enough? I can kill you a
couple more times if that's what you want."

She shuttered and shook her head. "When can we leave?" She pointed at
Methos behind her. "With him?" 

"Oh, never with him." He laughed as he said, "Unless you want his head
for a souvenir... but I don't think I have a jar that large." The joke didn't
go over. She just stared at him, open mouthed. How could he be so evil?
And enjoy it so. "I thought you would have wanted to say goodbye. I can't
figure out why, but you love this filth. He loves you. He murmurs your
name when the pain eases." Pyrius shook his head, then happily stated,
"So I inflict more."

She stepped toward him. "You fucking... sick..."

He just studied her hatred. Was that how his eyes looked under the
influence of the monster? "I'm not an evil man. I'm a just man. I'm only
giving him what he deserves."

"I hope you burn in hell." 

"I have been in hell, lady," he said, nodding his head. "Now I'm going to
be saved. God is going to take me in and I'm going to have everlasting life
and peace."

Methos moaned as he revived. Pyrius took a wire from the machine and
with a flick of a switch, turned it on. Elizabeth asked, "What--."

Pyrius touched the electrode to Methos' head and it snapped up and he
screamed. Elizabeth pushed Pyrius back and picked up the sledgehammer
from the floor. She slammed it against the chain holding Methos' right
arm, breaking the links. His left shoulder dislocated as his body flopped
down. 

She was going to break the other chain, but Pyrius grabbed the sledge from
behind her and whacked her across the face. She flew against the wall and
fell. Pyrius screamed. "Don't make me do that! I killed you four times,
don't make me do that again! I am NOT a killer!"

She watched him curse both her and himself. He raged around the room,
swinging the sledgehammer. She wondered if he'd break something else
on Methos. Why wasn't Methos healing? He only came back to life. The
leg was still broken, the bruises were still vivid, he was still bleeding. Was
there too much damage? Did Methos will himself to not heal? Was he
accepting of the abuse Pyrius inflicted on him? How could he do that? No
one deserved what Methos was going through. Nobody. She didn't care
what he had done.

Pyrius screamed the anger out of his system, then left with the
sledgehammer, locking the door behind him. Elizabeth touched Methos,
but caused him nothing but pain. She looked around for something to
break the other chain. She went to the workbench to find something. They
heard a powerful scream from nearby. She whispered, "Duncan..." 

Hurrying, she fumbled through the steel implements and she found a
surgical knife that she thought she could pick the lock of the cuff on
Methos' wrist, which was like chewed meat. It had been years since she'd
seen such malice inflicted on a body. Joe's open gunshot wound was a
piece of cake compared to Methos' current condition. Although she felt
like vomiting, she tried to wedge the bloody knife into the lock. Methos
grunted. The knife was too big, she tried to jam it in but Methos pulled his
wrist away from her. "Stop it! Get the hell out of here!" He collapsed.

"I don't mean to hurt you."

He pushed her away with his free hand. Calmly stated through stiff
breaths, "I don't want you to see this." He hated he said that and his voice
grew strength and lowered an octave when he seethed, "This doesn't have
anything to do with you! Don't you understand?!" When he looked at
Elizabeth in that dank cellar room, he saw his dream coming true. Methos
had never felt such pain in his life. His whole body was crying out for
relief that he couldn't get. Every time he moved a muscle, searing pain
took hold of his heart and brain.

There was quiet and she wondered if she should leave Methos to try to
find the source of the scream, which she knew was Duncan or Warren. She
didn't want to leave for fear that Pyrius would come back and Methos
would be unprotected. There could be others, mortals, who would kill her,
make sure she couldn't protect him. She looked again on the bench for
something else to work the lock. 

Just when she found an already bloody icepick, Elizabeth sensed
immortals on the other side of the locked door. There was a shuffling then
a grunt. The door opened and Pyrius threw Duncan MacLeod in the room.
His legs were crushed and he landed dead with Pyrius' sword through his
back. Duncan's katana clattered on the floor where Pyrius threw it. He
pulled his own sword out of Duncan and walked to Methos. 

Elizabeth put herself between Pyrius and his target. He pointed the sword
at her and said, "Get out of the way. It's time."

"No," Elizabeth demanded. She held the icepick up in a threatening
manner. Methos felt more than saw Elizabeth in front of him and he tried
to push her away, but she pushed herself back, trapping him between her
and the wall. She stepped on his bum leg. 

Methos screamed, "Liz, get the fuck out of here!" His dream flowed
through the pain in his head. It was coming true. He wanted her to get
away. This was his fight. His doing. His destiny.

While her attention was on Methos, Pyrius took the ice pick from her hand
and threw it, held the sword to her chest and yelled, "move!"

"No!" She grabbed his blade, trying to yank it out of his grip. He sliced her
hand and grabbed her neck. 

"You're only here to watch." He plunged the sword into her side and threw
her behind him. He didn't want to kill her. She needed to see. Methos had
to know she and MacLeod were there so his torture would be complete.
She landed at Duncan's feet and saw Duncan revive, moan. Pyrius said,
"Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod is right on schedule." 

"Come on, damn it!" Elizabeth hollered at Duncan as she tried to lift him,
make him help her stop Pyrius, but he was still dead weight and her side
was on fire. Pyrius was saying something to Methos, but Elizabeth
couldn't make it out. Methos slowly lifted his head with his last gasp of
dignity, slapping it against the concrete wall then leaned it against his
raised left arm for support. He opened his eyes and looked at his foe. 

Elizabeth stood and softly walked to them. She heard Pyrius say to
Methos, "I won't harm them if you don't fight me. You know you
deserved everything single thing I've done to you. Don't you?" 

Methos shut his eyes and agreed. "That's a good boy," Pyrius smiled and
muttered to his prisoner, enjoying every second of this having dreamt of it
for so many centuries. Pyrius finally had Methos right where he wanted
him and his emotional pain would end with the severing of his head from
his body. 

Duncan hiked himself up and tried to format what was going on. Elizabeth
looked back at him. "Get up," she commanded. When he couldn't, she
picked up Duncan's sword from the floor with her bleeding right hand.

Duncan watched Pyrius stand back from Methos and lift his sword.
Methos had his head back against the wall, ready to lose his head, glad the
pain would end. It would all be over. Pyrius recited a chant as he raised his
sword. All Methos could mumble to himself was, Get it over with, just get
it over with.  He was ready. Methos wondered if Hazimil was happy that
his student let that oppressed man seek his revenge. 

Duncan realized Elizabeth was moving toward Pyrius with his back
turned. She gripped Duncan's katana with both hands, was ready to take
the death swing. Duncan said, "Liz..." She walked to Pyrius' back. "Just
stab him!" Methos should be the one to take his head. It would only be
right. She may be too young in immortality to handle the quickening if she
did take Pyrius' head. It was going to quick. They should think this
through. They just needed time to catch their breaths. Pyrius' history and
his malice of Methos could only be safely taken by Methos. "Just stab
him!" Duncan got to one knee, but buckled as the healing was still taking
care of both his legs.

With the sound of Duncan's voice, Methos opened his eyes, looked around
Pyrius to see Elizabeth come up behind him, sword at ready for the coupe
de grace. He screamed at her, "NOOOOO!"

Duncan screamed, "Just stab him!" He jumped up to get to her, stop her,
but fell to his knees and searing pain ran up his legs and spinal cord. 

Pyrius turned to her, lowered his sword. His head screamed, "After!" as it
flew into Methos' lap. 

Methos pushed it off as if it was battery acid. It rolled on the floor to
Elizabeth's feet. Pyrius' body fell in front of Methos. He kicked at it and
screamed, "NOOOOOO!!" Then he whimpered, "Not her..." 

The room fell silent, the only sound was the crack in Elizabeth's voice as
she said, "There. It's done." Elizabeth staggered back, not knowing what
to make of Methos' reaction. She thought he'd be happy, grateful... all he
did was kick at the headless body and sob. Her arm fell and the tip of
Duncan's katana scraped against the concrete floor. "It's over. We can go
home now." 

Methos couldn't look at her, only pounded his free fist into the concrete
wall that his dream was truly coming true. It wasn't a metaphor, Elizabeth
would be overtaken by the shadow of Pyrius' madness and rage and
Methos couldn't do a thing about it. 

Elizabeth really did not understand why he was acting like she made a
mistake. She'd taken heads before. Pyrius was taken care of, they can go
home, get on with their lives, what was the big deal? 

"Duncan," Elizabeth said as she turned to him, who was still trying to get
up on the other side of the room. The tip of his katana scraped against the
concrete floor with her every movement. "It's all right, now... right?"

The lights of Pyrius' quickening rose from his body. In her relief that
Methos was safe and Pyrius was taken, she had forgotten about the by-
product of a beheading. The monster was gone, that was all she craved, not
his essence. As she watched as it drift up and around the room, she didn't
want it. But when the essence swirled through the room and gathered over
her head, her immortal instincts kicked in and flung her head back to
watch it, then welcomed it. 

At the sight, Methos cringed. His dream was indeed happening just as he
dreamt it. She even repeated what she told Duncan. Word for word. Still
being connected to the wall by his wrist, there wasn't anything to do but sit
back and watch.

When the power of all that was Pyrius burst into Elizabeth, her hair flew
out in all directions, she straightened her arms, eyes still focused on the
ceiling, but she couldn't see it. She inhaled and stood like a stone sculpture
as Pyrius flowed into her. No longer fighting or welcoming, she just
convulsed to the waves of electricity that pounded into her. 

Duncan and Methos had to turn away at the lights, wind and sound of the
2500 year old force swirled throughout the small room and plunged into
the not yet 200 year old Elizabeth. The knives and picks on the work
bench flew in all directions, bounced off the walls. One of which planted
itself square into Methos' back. Duncan and Methos fell to the floor,
trying to make themselves as small as possible with the flying cutlery.
Methos almost tore his arm from his shoulder socket as his left wrist was
still chained to the wall. The ice pick wedged into Elizabeth's leg, but she
didn't react to it.

When the quickening was over, the silence was deafening. Elizabeth stood
in her stance, unfocused eyes trained at the ceiling, arms straight out
holding Duncan's katana. She wavered. Then fell like a totem pole that
toppled over, Elizabeth was dead.

Duncan grabbed his sword out of her hand. He hobbled past Elizabeth's
body to Methos. He pulled the knife out of Methos' back and broke the
chain holding his left arm to the wall with one stroke of his bloody katana.
Methos fell to the floor in agony, pounding his fist on the floor. He
screamed at Duncan, "Why didn't you do it?!"

Duncan screamed back, "I couldn't get to him!" 

Methos looked at MacLeod's legs and understood, although it didn't make
him feel better. Methos' leg was still useless, as was most of his body. He
had wondered himself why he hadn't healed, but was now past pain.
Methos held his left elbow and shoved his shoulder joint back into place.
That hurt. At least he was still alive. If you can't feel pain, you can't feel
nothing.

"You were going to give him your head," Duncan said
uncomprehensively.

"We wanted me," Methos whispered. "Not you... not her."

"What'd you do to him?"

Methos turned his bloody face to him and uttered, "Everyone's past comes
back to haunt them. You didn't think I'd get away scot free, now did you,
Highlander?"

"This all stems from the horsemen?" Getting no answer, just an
embarrassed bowed head, Duncan was sickened. The remembrance of his
friend's horsemen days came back in full force. He had already buried it,
didn't want the anger resurrected.

Methos croaked, "I don't remember any of it. I just knew there was an
immortal who wanted my blood for some reason. I even forgot about him.
I'd go centuries without thinking about him." Methos topped to spit out
blood from the back of his throat, wiped his mouth against his arm. "He
didn't take the time here to tell me the exact nature of his problem."

Duncan was going to ask for details, but then didn't want to know if he
could ever stay friends if he knew. "His problem?" Duncan was glad
Methos didn't offer anymore of an answer and he didn't ask for one. What
he didn't know, he could live with.

Methos tired of the conversation and didn't want to rehash it all with him.
He crawled to Elizabeth and pulled the ice pick out of her leg and threw it
across the room. He laid on the floor next to her dead body and started to
sob, lying an arm over back. "It killed her. His quickening killed her. Was
he too old for her? She's only a 170 years old. Is that why? Was he too
evil?" He remember how his head was fuzzy and how confused he was
after receiving Bohdana's quickening. He went through a lot with that
quickening, but it didn't kill him. "Was Pyrius," Methos spewed out the
name. "Too confused? Held too much hatred... for me? Why isn't she
reviving? How long has it been?" He had a thought. "If she died, maybe
she didn't get the whole quickening. Maybe she's going to be okay. What
do you think?"

Duncan wasn't envious of what she had to go through when she revived.
She was so young, vibrant. Pyrius was so old, tortured and hated her lover
with a passion he had carried since the Bronze Age. The silence was
intense until Duncan shuffled his foot and muttered, "I don't know what to
think."

Methos stopped his shaking and sniffing, knowing he wouldn't be able to
heal if he was still wound up and changed his breathing pattern to get it
into an easy rhythm.

Duncan pushed all the bloody implements that flew around the cellar
during the quickening to the walls, out of the way. "I'm going to see if we
have anymore company and find out where Warren is." 

"Warren? Cochrane? Who else is here?"

"Just us."

"He doesn't know about Methos, does he?"

"He does now. Pyrius did this all alone?"

"It's amazing what years of planning and a truckload of tranquilizers can
do," Methos said. Blue sparks encircled Methos' face and body. He rolled
onto his back and let it happen. The bones in his leg crunched and tried to
get itself realigned, but his leg wasn't lying straight. Duncan knelt
straightened it for him.

Elizabeth revived and jumped up on her knees. She blankly stared at the
concrete walls, but saw far more. Her head felt like it was going to
explode. Flashes of Pyrius blasted into her. In rapid fire speed, she saw
snatches of cutting Methos as he was unconscious, wrapped in a blanket,
strapped down on a bed, chained against the concrete wall. She was sitting
on a private jet, on the phone, laughing. 

Methos yelled inches from her face for her to answer him. She didn't react,
heard only a faint echo of his voice. She stared straight ahead, past
Methos, past the wall, past the present. She moaned and a lead weight bore
down on her chest as she watched a history that was not hers.  Pyrius' past
became her own.

The plan filled her head. Pyrius' plan. The woman would watch. Methos
would be able to see his love as he lost his head. Duncan MacLeod of the
clan MacLeod, the misguided but honest man that happened to be a friend
to the beast, would then put Pyrius out of his misery after the quickening,
only after the scum was dead and he could savor his essence. The years of
Pyrius' torturous revenge filled her as she recited, "First the monster, then
the sacrifice. First the monster, then the sacrifice. First the monster...
then... peace." 

Methos heard what she said, but didn't have a clue. He shook her to be
coherent, look at him, tell him what she saw and thought.

Elizabeth had no clue about what was happening to her mind. She'd taken
heads, but they never spoke to her. They never showed her things. Pyrius
had complete control over her mind, body and soul and she couldn't do a
blessed thing but stay still and watch the rapid visions that bounced back
and forth through the years of his life.

She saw herself straddling Methos in the leather chair at the brownstone.
From a distance. From across the street. That disoriented her. It was like
an out of body experience that she'd read about. The invasion of privacy
didn't phase her, it wasn't her she was watching with Methos. It was a
terribly out of touch woman.

She sat in a chair in an apartment across from the dojo. 

She watched through a window at herself and Amanda at the caf‚.

A dark street corner... watching Methos walk into his apartment building,
the Eiffel Tower could be seen in the distance, then she ducked behind the
corner building, not wanting to be seen. 

She held a golden cross that she wanted to give her comfort, but it didn't.
Alienation and grief filled her soul as she cried out, gripping the cross to
her chest, screaming, "Please!!" 

Methos and MacLeod walked along a canal by a black barge. They walked
up the plank and went inside.

She ate a ham sandwich in an windowless room. There was no mayo on it.
It tasted like leather, chewy, unsalted, bland. 

Duncan and Methos sat in a club, nursing drinks, listening to the band with
Joe standing behind the bar.

Methos was sitting across the large room in the library across from her.
The people's heads in the distance between them would move into view so
she had to move, stand to see him with his nose in a massive volume.

With binoculars trained through an open window of a bedroom, she
watched Methos make love to a blond woman. 

It's completely dark. The smell of fresh vomit stained the air.

Methos stood with Duncan MacLeod in front of a dark marble tombstone. 

ALEXA BOND
BELOVED

She's on fire! Can't breathe... the smoke cleared and she was sitting with a
crowd of people. They were all in rapt attention to David Koresh as he
lectured to them that he was the true Christ. 

Methos walked through Piccadilly Circus and she had to rush to keep up
with him, but stay back far enough that he didn't feel her buzz or know he
was being followed. 

The star of David filled her line of vision. Her eyes traced the lines of the
star but it's meaning didn't register. She was going about it all wrong. The
symbol meant nothing to her as she didn't know the religion. It wasn't
giving her comfort.

Methos on a horse in a forest with another man. She screamed at the sight
of them together. She didn't know why or who that other man was that
talked ad nauseam, but his presence with Methos tore at her as if her heart
was being ripped out. 

~~~~~

Elizabeth moaned and clutched her chest. She realized she was being
carried. By Duncan MacLeod. Struggling out of his grip, she fell to the
grass. They wanted to take her outside for fresh air. Methos appeared in
front of her, yelled at her to hear him. The moans and seizures of her pain
tore at him. She violently shook her head and moaned, "No..." then
screamed, "Don't do it!" The sudden intensity of her voice made Methos
fly back away from her. What was she seeing? Was she hollering at him?

~~~~~

The sea pounded at the base of a cliff she stood inches from. Her large foot
covered with a man's boot hovered over the edge. It vibrated with fear, she
didn't want to step down. She didn't want to die, it would hurt, but it was
the only way to curve the murderous impulse she didn't want to feel. She
heard herself scream, Don't step down! The words sounded hollow as they
came from her hoarse throat. She didn't take her own advice, she stepped
with nothing to catch her foot. Looking at the white cliff as she rushed
downward alongside them, it seemed like an eternity watching the fast
forward rocks of the white cliff as they flew past her sight.

Through her vantage point through a window, she saw Methos, Duncan,
Joe and a younger, well-built, attractive man with short curly hair sitting in
yet another bar. 

Through the rain, she saw Methos standing on a porch with a woman, she
couldn't tell if the woman was blond or not, it was too dark. She felt ill as
Methos reached out his hand and touched the woman's cheek. She had
long hair, like her own. It really bothered her that she didn't know if the
woman was blond or not. She didn't know why that mattered, but it did.
Hiding behind a tree across the street so they wouldn't see her and Methos
couldn't sense her, all went dark.

A small car, parked in the woods. A dagger was in her hand, but she
couldn't feel it. She tried to put it down, drop it. It stayed in her grip. She
didn't know the dagger or the old car, that was brand new at the time. Her
hand that gripped the dagger was large, not her own, a man's hand. She
tried to loosen her grip on it but instead, her fingers tightened on the
handle and she plunged it into her chest.

~~~~~

Elizabeth reacted as if she was stabbed and coughed, gasped, flipped over
on the ground, she tried to control the pain, waited to die. Duncan loomed
over her, but she didn't see him. She heard the song of angels. She was
dead, wasn't she? Heavenly, soothing music was overwhelmed by the
howl of devils. 

~~~~~

Screaming, lots of voices screaming, girls screaming. An airport. The
screaming... loud, high pitched, unyielding. She stood in the midst of a
group of teenagers. A plane came to a stop. The screaming rose in volume.
She had to put her hands to her ears, the decibels were almost unbearable,
drowned out the sound of the plane's engine. Squeezing through the
bodies, she got to the edge of the cordoned off section and saw the doors
open on the plane. John, Paul, George and Ringo smiled and made their
way down the stairway. She looked at the ground crew of the airport.
Methos was watching from his vantage point with other airport crew. 

A congregation knelt on the benches, praying at mass in an immense
cathedral. It all seemed so artificial, gave her no comfort.

Her horse made it's way down a crevice in a canyon. She hid behind
bushes, watching a group of cowboys sitting around a campfire counting
their day's pay from robbery. Methos laughed the loudest of all at the
enormous sum they didn't expect to get during the robbery, but would
spend with glee. She heard one cowboy say something, but couldn't make
it out. Another cowboy laughed and said, "You just keep thinking, Butch...
that's what you're good at."

She clenched a wooden cross in her man hands, knelt before a bed saying
the Apostle's Creed like a mantra, over and over, like Rainman reciting
'Who's on First', quickly without realizing the words. She didn't get
comfort from them.

The noise of swords clashing made her run through the small Mexican
village. Like she was in the middle of a spaghetti western. The night was
black and it seemed to be deserted. High midnight, the moon was full.
Before she could get the senses from the battling immortals, she saw the
sparks that flew from their swords as Methos and another were in combat
to the death. She took her place by a boulder when she heard Methos
scream to the heavens, "Never again!" Methos took the violent quickening
that he seemed to want to run from. Howled as he collected it, then
collapsed to the ground, inches from the body who she thought had been
his friend, if that was ever possible. Methos wept next to the body of the
headless man as she walked away from them, happy Methos was in such
misery.

Methos is standing on a platform with Alexander the Great. Alexander
proclaimed him savior of his crusade and was exalted as Alexander's right
hand man. Methos was pompously proud as he received a grateful
gathering's applause. Only she noticed the exchange of the knowing
glances the two men shared.

The silence was overwhelming. Bald men in brown robes filled the
immense hall. All bent in silent prayer. A shoe squeaked on the floor. The
others looked at her, the culprit.

Elizabeth's body convulsed as the flashes came at her as vividly as if she
was there. The pain, frustration, remorse, anger, glee, fear, rage, guilt,
hopelessness, embarrassment, determination of another entity overtook her
mind. 

Then she fell silent on her back, focused up, then rolled over to see Warren
Cochrane walking out of the house. Duncan was over her, patting her face.
"Talk to me. What are you seeing? Liz! You have to talk to us. Let us help
you. Methos just went to clean up. He'll be right back. Do you want me to
get him?" She heard him clearly, but she couldn't answer him. Couldn't
form words. Her mind raced. Shook. Rang.

Elizabeth felt the sun on her face, had clearly heard Duncan and was
comforted by his words, his voice, his hand on her shoulder. Her head fell
to the right and saw the white house, an open door from the cellar of
Methos' torture. She rolled over on all fours, wanted to get up. Pyrius
wouldn't let her, screamed at her to lay down, he wasn't done with her.
Her head felt like it weighed a ton, so she did. Her whole focus was on a
brown stone lying in the grass. She closed her eyes and allowed Pyrius to
show her the source of his hatred.

~~~~~

499 BC

The soul problem in Pyrius' world that bright morning was the fact that his
playmates made sure he didn't get the pebble. Five of them ducked and
rolled out of his way as he tried to push and pry at them to get the present
owner to drop it. He was determined not to lose. He never lost. He was the
best athlete of his clan of friends and they all knew it. He was faster,
stronger, smarter than the rest of them. The 'king' of the crowd! The
pebble was tossed into the hands of Jasep. Pyrius whooped! He knew he
could get it from him, his best friend, the densest kid in the world. He
hovered over Jasep, who made a show of actually being able to keep it. 

Pyrius tickled Jasep and they fell to the ground, laughing and scrambling
for the pebble. Jasep had a tight grip on it. Pyrius tickled him again but his
grip wouldn't loosen. They rolled on the ground laughing and pulling at
the rock, tickling each other, until the ground started to vibrate underneath
him. The people of the village came out of tents, stopped their discussions,
dropped their bundles as all eyes went to the horizon.

Four men on horseback, riding knee to knee thundered over the plain,
directly to the village. They wore masks, stark, black and silver masks that
made them look like other worldly machines. Even the horses wore metal
face plates as they rode their way closer to the village.

Men hollered for the women to get inside, children screamed and were
grabbed by their parents, and few ran out of the village, away from the
coming doom. Pyrius and Jasep stood and stared at them, in awe of the
sight. 

Pyrius was grabbed from behind and carried into his family hovel. His
father tossed him inside and ordered him to stay quiet and never move
from that spot! He selected an ax from the corner and went outside. His
mother ran into the house and grabbed her son into a terrified hug. He
could hardly breath as her grip was tight with terror of the unknown events
that would soon pervade their village. Her long blond hair covered his
head like a safety net as she clung to him, her head over his.

Outside, they heard people scream, dogs bark and howl, horses neigh and
livestock whine. His mother pushed Pyrius' face into the dirt of the floor
without knowing. When she realized she may be crushing her foundling
son, she lifted herself, but was still terrified at the nightmare that was right
outside their door. The expression on his mother's face was etched into his
brain. It was of dread, fear, hopelessness, emotions that would soon be the
major part of his life. His long life. When his mother threw a blanket over
him, Pyrius lifted it with his finger and was able to see through a slit
between the blanket and ground. The thundering horses stopped right
outside their door. There were shouts and screams. He heard bodies thud
to the ground.

His mother moved to the other side of their home, as far as she could be
from the one thing she wanted to stay safe, him. If she could have crawled
into the wall, she would. She looked at the blanket and told him not to
move a muscle. 

His father's boot appeared in his line of vision and relief washed over his
mother's face. She moved toward his father, but stopped. A great weight
fell on top of Pyrius, his father's lifeless eye filled the slit's view. Pyrius
jumped, let out a fearful whimper, but couldn't move from the weight of
his father. He heard his mother plead. He moved his hand under the
blanket and lengthened the slit view. He saw a dusty brown boot walk
past. 

Pyrius tried to move the load on top of him but his father's arm was too
heavy to move without giving away the fact that he was there. He lifted the
blanket up more and saw a man wearing metal on the upper part of his
body with dirty white sleeves and legs walk determinedly toward his
mother. She was cowering, shaking her head no. She was crying. She
pleaded with the man, who put his hand over her face and pushed her
down on his parents' bed. 

The long haired man drew a dagger out of his belt loop and flopped on top
of his mother before she could get away. Her skirt was hiked up over her
head. The man pulled his pants down. His mother screamed in high
pitched alarm and pain. Pyrius got a look at the man, the left side of his
face. 

~~~~~

2001

On that exact same spot that Pyrius' family tent stood 2500 years before,
Elizabeth screamed bloody murder. When Duncan tried to hold her, she
fought him off and crawled, even though she couldn't see anything but
Methos on top of her mother. Duncan got his hand to her back and she
recoiled at the touch.

~~~~~

499 BC

Pyrius couldn't stand the sight and the sound. He covered his ears,
slammed his eyes shut and tried not to make a sound. The screaming and
pleading of his mother was drowned out by the grunting and howling of
the intruder. 

~~~~~

2001

Elizabeth cringed at the familiar sound of Methos' howling. She'd heard it
many times before, but this wasn't pleasure and didn't fill her with
anything but bile and disgust. Everything in her stomach flew up her
esophagus, past her throat and out of her mouth with a gale force. Duncan
had to move quickly to get out of it's way.

~~~~~

499 BC

Men and animals and their attackers outside valiantly fought and the wails
of the losers blasted into Pyrius' brain. Then, all was silent in his house.
He was scared to move. He heard a terrible gasping and the shuffle of dirt
across the floor, near him and out the door. 

Pyrius waited what seemed an eternity before he even breathed. He heard
the horses and men who rode them outside, taking stock of what they'd
accomplished. Pleased with themselves. Pyrius lifted the blanket and got a
flash of his mother's leg hanging off the bed, then slowly lift onto the bed. 

He got out from under his father's arm and pushed him and the blanket
aside. Pyrius stood and looked at his mother. She was rolling back and
forth on the bed, exposed, naked from the waist down. Bleeding from her
legs, crotch, stomach and neck. 

Pyrius' father had rolled into the doorway. He waited to see if the invaders
would notice and come back for him. Pyrius was scared, but his mother's
grunts made him rush to her. He lowered her skirt and she put the bloody
hand that was at her neck to his face. She gasped and stared at her
beautiful son she and her husband found, like a gift to them, and had filled
them with such joy for eight years.

Movement at the door drew Pyrius' attention. He looked out to the bright,
sunny day to a man standing just steps from their doorway, talking to
someone who Pyrius couldn't see. The man either didn't see his father's
body or hear his mother's moans... or didn't care. Pyrius looked at him and
memorized the black barbed wire effect with a swirl under his eye painted
on his face. He had the same long hair, only black, not brown, as the
demon that killed his father and attacked his mother had. Pyrius
memorized the sword he held in his hand. It had claws at the hilt. 

The swirled man got on his horse and shouted, "Brothers, good raid! Silas,
don't drop the stash this time!!" The others laughed as they rode off with
cattle and horses that belonged to his village. When the demon that
ravaged his mother rode past revealing the right side of his face, it was an
unearthly blue.

Pyrius looked at his mother, who still hung on. He memorized her face.
Strained muscles, that he didn't even know a face contained, rippled as she
gasped, silently pleaded for her little boy to help her. She could no longer
make a sound, Pyrius realized, because of the long, shallow slash across
her neck. Her hair she was so proud of and brushed every day was matted
with thick blood. He held her hand and watched her take her final breath in
this world. She died with her bulging eyes concentrated on him.

~~~~~

2001

Elizabeth fell silent. She rolled over and got on her knees, but didn't have
the strength to stand. She shook her head to erase the visions that invaded
her consciousness. Her breaths were fast and unsteady. 

She was in a room. Bare walls, thick carpeting. The first one she saw was
Warren sitting in a chair. Duncan knelt by her and tried to get her to look
at them, lift her head, do anything to show she had some sort of control
over any part of her body. An ungodly moan escaped her. Methos was by
then sitting cross legged on the floor on other side of the room, worried
about what she had seen.

She slowly raised her head and felt immortals. The buzzes made her sick
again, but with a foreign strength that came from deep in her soul was able
to control the bile that churned in her stomach. She sat back on her ankles
and looked at Duncan MacLeod. He put his hand on her face, wiped off
the sweat from her forehead. "Liz? Are you all right?"

"What's wrong with her," Warren asked.

She heard the voices, but didn't register they were talking to her. She
scanned the room. It was dusk, the sunset was framed by a large window.
Her eyes fell from the window to Methos, sitting under it, couldn't look at
her. He had washed the blood from his face, his leg had healed. He had
even put on fresh clothes. What a shit... he changed clothes while she was
finding out the truth about him. Elizabeth had no idea that it had been
hours since she had taken Pyrius' head and they all at one time or another
had cleaned up.

She spoke directly Methos, "Her name was Prima... if you were in the
slightest bit interested," making her throat rattle with hoarseness.

Elizabeth's straight, no nonsense stare gave Methos chills. Prima? Who
the hell was that? She was going to stand, challenge him, but jerked back
as another flash hit. Her head spun, she fell to the floor.

~~~~~

499 BC

Pyrius cried and laid his head on his mother's chest. She was gone. His
father was gone. He smelled wood burning and cooked meat. He stumbled
out of his hovel and looked at the remains of his village. The ground was
covered with bodies. Men, women, children, babies, dogs, sheep, a cow.
He walked through the bodies around the village looking for others that
might have survived the attack. Someone to have to go on living with the
carnage in their brain like he would have to.

Huts were on fire. Bodies were on fire. The smell was sickening. He
arrived at the place where he not so long ago played with his friends, had
not a care or trouble in the world. The almighty pebble that was so
important before the attack was lying on the ground, inches from the hand
of Jasep, who laid with his eyes staring lifeless up at the sky. A small cut
was on his clothes. Pyrius fell to his knees by his friend, opened Jasep's
shirt. There was a deep stab wound that had snuffed out his young life.

Pyrius whimpered when he realized he was alone in the world. He didn't
find it lucky that he was alive. Just sorry he wasn't taken along with the
rest of his people. He prayed to the Gods for an answer. Why did he
survive? Why didn't anyone else live who was more deserving of life?
What was he supposed to do? Where was he supposed to go?

~~~~~

2001

Warren and Duncan wondered what Elizabeth was experiencing with all
the moans and grunts that emitted from her. "Dark quickening, huh?"
Warren asked. "By the looks of it, I'd say you're right." Andrew
Donnelly's quickening made Warren lose his memory. To observe
Elizabeth dealing with Pyrius', he decided he got off easy.

Methos had the use of his leg again but didn't move. He waffled between
wanting to take Elizabeth's grief for her and wanting to get the hell out of
there at the same time. He stood and leaned against the window, watching
Duncan try to comfort Elizabeth. Methos loved that woman, but the
sounds she made... how she looked at him with the name of a stranger,
Prima... it made him want to get far away as quickly as possible.

Duncan asked him, "What the hell did you do to that guy?"

Barely above a whisper, Methos said, "I don't know."

"Methos! How could you not know?"

"I don't know!"

"Aren't you curious? She's is reliving it!"

He nodded, knew that, was pissed MacLeod wouldn't think he did! "Why
didn't you stop her?! Why didn't you take that bastard's head instead?
Then you'd know in technicolor what I did!" He took a deep breath,
calmed down. "Then you can tell me."

"How could you not know what you did?" Warren asked him. 

Methos snidely said, "I've lived 10 times longer than you have. Things get
cloudy over time."

"Or, maybe what you did to that man was just an everyday thing, you
didn't even realize what it was!"

Methos slowly, sarcastically clapped at Duncan's assumption, that was
correct. Warren still had a hard time believing that he was the mythical
Methos, sat in wonderment. Elizabeth's sharp, high pitched cries turned to
soft, dreadful moans. 

~~~~~

485 BC NIGHT

Pyrius dismounted his horse and let him drink from the creek. He
stretched. It was a long, meandering journey he was on, trying to find his
place in the world, in his skin. For the fourteen years since his parents'
deaths, he spent his time traveling from village to village, never
connecting with anyone. His only mate in the world was his black horse. 

He saw a village in the distance... 'Another village,' he thought. It didn't
give him joy. He was more at home with himself, not people. He didn't
even remember the last time he spoke. He smelled cooked meat, heard the
sounds of laughter that he knew he wouldn't be welcomed to join in on if
he was willing to try. Pyrius had decided to shun people before they got a
chance to reject him.

He bent down to the creek and took a handful of water to his mouth. He
felt a rumble. The water shook from his hand and down the front of his
shirt and pants. He heard whoops and hollers. Four masked man rode their
horses toward the village, almost knee to knee. As they rode past, not
seeing him or not caring, he ran after them on foot. "No.... no..." he cried
out. He didn't want to see it all again. He didn't want the monsters to kill
more in front of him. As much as he wanted to run as far away from the
forthcoming disaster as he could, he couldn't stop running to the village.
He heard the familiar screams that he had tried to erase from his memory.
He fell to the ground, terror and dread filled his soul, knowing what was to
come to the village's population.

He made it back on his feet and trotted into the village, in the killing wake
of the masked men on horses. He stood at the edge of the village and
watched the four men slash at anyone in their path, garroted people who
stood terrified in their way or still sat by the fire. The remnants of the party
embers were extinguished by a horseman with a mohawk and black
covering half his face.

Mohawk Man grabbed a woman and threw her to the ground in front of
the smoking fire. She fruitlessly screamed as he tore her dress off and
grunted like a pig as he slammed his member into her. He sneered at the
woman like she was dirt as he held his upper body off her and locked her
arms to the ground. 

The bastard was smiling, had the time of his life. Until... the man with the
swirl kicked the rapist in the butt. Mohawk man got up and off the woman.
Swirled man grabbed the woman as she tried to crawl away and plunged
himself into her. After he was satisfied, he plunged a dagger into her chest.
When Swirled Man walked away from the poor woman's corpse, pulling
up his pants, the Mohawk Man returned to her, slashed her arm, hacked off
fingers so he could have her ring. Ate her pinky.

Pyrius was sickened, couldn't move and didn't care if he was seen. He
wanted to take the dagger that was still in his belt loop and attack them all.
That's what a courageous man would do. But he just stood and stared. He
didn't know what harm he could inflict with the implement anyway.

The man with dirty white sleeves walked out of a tent with a pouch in his
hand. That was the man! Pyrius stared at him, unable to move. He saw his
face. Blue paint covered half of it. Why did he have blue on his face while
the others had black?

Pyrius was trying to make sense of it when he realized the Mohawk Man
had noticed him, was pointing at him. Now frightened, along with being
sickened, Pyrius couldn't move, even as the Blue Man and the Fat Man of
the group strode toward him. Pyrius prayed that he could move, but his
feet didn't budge. His breath increased and his body shook, but his feet
wouldn't move.

The Blue Man with dirty white sleeves said something to the other as they
approached Pyrius. The Fat Man grabbed Pyrius' hands and held them
behind his back. The Blue Man slipped the dagger out of Pyrius' belt loop
and glared at him. Pyrius stuttered, "Who are you? Why do you do this?"

The Blue Man smiled. He sniffed at him like a dog deciding whether to eat
it or leave it. Methos sensed his pre-immortal hum. Pyrius memorized the
face behind the blue paint, inches from him as he sniffed and glared at
him. The laughing eyes that stared was etched in his memory. They
gleamed as he smiled and boasted, "I am Methos. You are dead."

He stuck the dagger into Pyrius' gut and pulled it up to his neck, ripping
him open. The Blue Man, Methos, stepped back before the blood rushed
down Pyrius' body to the ground and spread. The Fat Man let him fall, but
Pyrius made sure he turned onto his back. His eyes never left the Blue
Man. 

Methos said, "Thanks, Silas. You know how I hate to fuss with them
alone. And the blood... they're all so full of blood..." He laughed as he
walked past. 

Silas mentioned, "The lad's one of us."

"That's not my problem," Methos said. Pyrius' eyes followed him until he
was above his line of vision. His eyes were stuck staring straight back as
far as they could reach when Blue Man walked out of his line of vision and
he died.

~~~~~

EARLY MORNING
WEDNESDAY, MARCH 14, 2001

Elizabeth pulled her face up from the floor and saw Methos' feet. She felt
for her stomach, fully expecting the guts to be hanging out. It was all too
real. She lifted her head and upper body up. "You didn't... stay... teach
me?" She asked in a child's confused whine, "You didn't explain what I
was?"

Methos didn't know if she was talking as herself or Pyrius. He killed a lot
of people in his time. He knew Pyrius only as an Immortal. Methos
honestly didn't know what he did to him years before Pyrius got his first
revenge on him and killed all that mattered to him. When was she going to
see that!? Pyrius wasn't a boy scout.

Duncan said, trying to help, "Who? Pyrius?" While she was in great pain
at watching the pictures, he tried all he could to comfort her, but she
pushed him away, didn't know who he was, didn't even know who she
was. At first, Duncan wished he could have taken the quickening for her.
But by gauging Elizabeth's reaction and shock at what she was seeing, he
wondered if he could control himself and not kill the man that was his
friend. 

Duncan had accepted what Methos was at one time, a man he despised,
did not understand, but he wasn't that man anymore. He had to protect
Methos' head and put the past behind him. Methos had saved his life many
times. 'His head needs to be protected' was repeated over and over in
Duncan's head as he watched Elizabeth deal with the cards that were dealt
to her.

Duncan tried to help Elizabeth to her feet, but she was dead weight, her
stare was on Methos. She smiled. Pyrius had days with him, inflicted pain
on him. For that, she was pleased. His face was healed, but maybe there
was a way to inflict more damage. The tools from the workbench that
Pyrius set out and used on Methos were in that house somewhere. The
boys were busy while she was under tidying up the place, moving her
around. They hadn't thought to put her in a nice comfortable bed, didn't
change her bloody clothes... They all looked spiffy. Did they take
luxurious baths, call out for pizza?  

She wondered if there was a way to get Methos to the kitchen and it's
cutlery without getting suspicious. Elizabeth got on her feet by herself,
inspecting Methos, who didn't like the once over. She said in an almost
disappointed tone of voice, "You're looking better."

He looked at her as if she was a ghost. Duncan stood next to Elizabeth and
supported her arm. She looked at his hands on her arm and around her
shoulder, then at his face. "I don't need your help." 

He backed off from her. "Glad to hear it. Are you sure you don't want to
sit down?"

Elizabeth laughed. "Why would I want to do that?" She saw her sword on
the floor and calculated how fast MacLeod was. She knew he was from
that sparring session at the dojo. She'd never be able to reach her sword
and take care of business with Duncan in the room. Wait... that wasn't her
sword, that was Pyrius'. Well, what was his was hers. 

She softened and pointed at Methos. She said, "I think he needs rest more
than I do." She regarded the little man quaking in his boots, if he was
wearing any, "You've been through the ringer, haven't you?"

Duncan looked at Methos, who was leaning against the wall for emotional
support rather than lounging. Elizabeth's pain seemed to be over and he
relaxed his guard on her.

Elizabeth picked up Pyrius' sword that she claimed as her own. Methos
saw her and yelled, "MacLeod!" Duncan turned in time to see the swing
and ducked. Methos slid himself down the wall when the next swing went
for him. Pyrius' sword jammed into the wall. Dust and plaster filtered
down on Methos' head. Warren sprung out of the chair and grabbed
Elizabeth and the sword in her grip as she swung again, lower. Methos
pushed himself to the floor but couldn't get out of the way of a slash to his
stomach. The guttural sound of pain that escaped Methos made Elizabeth
whoop with glee.

Duncan and Elizabeth tousled for the sword as Warren held her body.
Elizabeth cursed and howled, "I didn't get to kill him! That bitch took me
before I got to take him! You stupid idiot! You were supposed to take me
after that shit was dead!" She kicked at Methos. "Then I could have
justice and rest in peace! Take us both! Now!"

Warren yelled, "What the hell is going on?!"

Duncan grabbed Elizabeth and slammed her into the wall. She fell like a
brick. Warren couldn't believe his friend just did that. Methos screamed,
"MacLeod!"

Duncan backed up. "What?"

"What are you doing? That's Liz!"

"She was going to kill you! Pyrius didn't get to kill you. He's not at rest!"

"I heard that! But, what'd you have to do that for?" He pointed at
Elizabeth.

"Excuse me? I'm in the process of saving your life. At this point, I'm not
sure why..." Methos watched Warren try to wrench Pyrius' sword out of
Elizabeth's grip. "You don't want that anymore? To live? She was going
to kill you."

"Pyrius was going to kill me, not Lizzie."

"He's in her body! What the hell is wrong with you? You were going to
give your head to Pyrius? What the hell did you do?"

"You really want me to explain, give you the details? Is that what you
want?!" He saw Warren and didn't want to get into it, even though he
didn't remember himself. He softened, scared, he said, "Well, I'm sorry. I
don't have them."

Duncan shouted, "You're lying!" 

How could Duncan think he'd lie about it? Well, his track record. Nothing
would please him more than to know what she was seeing as she seemed
to start to have control over herself, he could talk to her. But if MacLeod
kept bashing her face in, he never would. 

When Elizabeth revived, Warren yanked the sword out of her hand when
her grip loosened. He stood at ready for anything she did or said that
would be a danger to them. Methos yelled, "Leave her alone, MacLeod.
You too."

"Even if she goes after you?" Warren was confused. "Are we just
supposed to stand by and watch? How do you think she's going to handle
both of you in her head?"

She heard. It registered. She cried. They were surprised. She pleaded,
"Methos... I'm so scared..." He took a minute to appraise her sudden
change in personality. She brushed blood off her temple from hitting the
wall and her hand shook as she stared at it. Methos hoped it was really her
and took the chance by crawling to her and gathering her into his arms. 

The others didn't like it, not one bit. There was too much of a
juxtaposition for comfort. Duncan took the sword from Warren and circled
them ready for any indication of Pyrius. Elizabeth opened her eyes and
saw Duncan scrutinizing her expression. She matched his gaze, making
sure she had the appropriate apologetic look on her face. He softened. She
kissed Methos and caressed his back, to rub the blood off her hand. When
she pulled away, Methos stared lovingly into her eyes. Elizabeth smiled,
heard Pyrius tell her, He is such a fool... how did he live so long? She said,
"Let's get out of here."

She stood and held a hand out for Methos, who gladly took it and she
lifted him up. Methos saw the remnant of blood on her hand and wiped it
off on his sweater. She stared at Methos and wondered when he changed
clothes. While he was killing her father? Raping her mother? Turning her?
She finally said, "Thank you." 

Duncan put a hand on her shoulder, making her jump. She spun around,
making both of the men jump back. She screamed, "Don't touch me! You
fucking bastard! You were supposed to take my head after I took his!" She
pushed at Methos. "Fucking women! She screwed it up! She was just
supposed to watch!" 

Warren, behind her, grabbed her head and was going to slam it on
something like Duncan had so skillfully did, but stopped. Just held on for
dear life. "Don't touch me!" she screamed, clawing behind her, her legs
collapsed. She tried to get him away, but his grip was too tight. She was on
her knees, bent over with Warren's mass atop her. She scratched behind
her, hoping to make contact with something on him that would cause pain,
make him lessen his grip. 

She caught skin and noticed flesh under her fingernails. Warren winced
and quickly wrapped his arms around her, clenching her arms to her body
and he held on, putting all his weight down on her. She screamed and tried
to buck him off. He wondered if this was all a dream. Elizabeth was
petrified for Methos just hours ago, frantic for his safety and getting him
back. After the quickening, she was like a caged animal, fighting for
freedom to kill that very same man. Methos paced back again, not
recognizing the monster he himself had a hand in creating. Duncan knelt
down to try to talk to her again, calm her down, let her see reason, the
present, remember herself. She got a hand free and scratched him on the
cheek.

Duncan fell back, "Dammit!" while Warren got her free hand and pulled it
under her body, keeping his on top of her until she'd stop struggling.
Where did she get the strength?

Exhaustion finally overtook her and she whimpered, "I don't want to see
anymore. Make it stop, Duncan. Please... make it stop... I don't want--.
No... I've seen enough. Please... please..."

~~~~~

240 AD

Pyrius strode with purpose into a village of huts. He had watched long
enough. The rage he felt would never leave him as long as Methos lived.
Years of charity, prayer and self mutilation, even seeing the Christ child
himself did nothing to ease the call of revenge that cursed through his
veins. That would be the day Methos would know what he went through
all those centuries ago. How dare he make a life for himself? 

He knew which hut was his and his new wife's. Just who did Methos think
he was to get married, when his own life was garbage? Pyrius marched to
it, sword at ready. All who crossed his path was garroted, slashed, stabbed,
kicked, all the things he had seen the four men do every night in his
dreams, and learned from. He had done much to increase his speed with
his sword and dagger over the years since his 'death', but his only teachers
were the four horsemen who went through their killing motions every
night that Pyrius tried to sleep. 

On his killing rampage to Methos' abode, Pyrius didn't feel any of the
sorrow and sadness that usually made him stop and gather his thoughts,
run for solace in the comfort of a faith that never smiled on him. If a man
worked up enough courage to try to stop him, they met with the sharp end
of his blade or dagger. Pyrius was a two fisted killing machine. He'd see
the flash of an ax, a knife. He'd swing his sword first, killing whoever
tried to take him out. He was faster and stronger than any of them. Not
seeing half of his victims, he trudged his way to the hut. He ripped the
door off it's rope hinge and threw it to the ground. The rope loop went
with the door and grass and dirt from the hovel's walls fell into the
doorway. 

He charged into their home. A blond woman ran from him, cowered near
the bed. He dropped the dagger and threw the bed back and away. He
grabbed her by the neck. The dream of what would happen went like
clockwork. Methos' wife was certainly accommodating. She sufficiently
begged and pleaded like his mother and the other victims of the four
monsters. He was happy to be on the receiving end of their fear, to wield
such power. No wonder Methos enjoyed it so much. 

He wanted Methos to be there, to be a witness to her sacrifice, but he had
such rage, Pyrius couldn't control himself. He pushed her to the wall by
the door and plunged his sword into her stomach as he studied every
flicker in her terrified eyes. The sword came out the other side of the wall.
He kept her head up so he could watch her face as she tried to fight the
inevitable, then die. He left his sword in her and stepped back. Her feet
were half a foot from the wall and she stayed upright lifelessly staring at
him. 

Pyrius was disappointed that she died in a shorter amount of time than his
mother did. He wanted her to suffer, like his mother did. Maybe he should
have slashed her first, had fun with her like his 'teacher'. As he slowly
turned his ear to his shoulder, watched her, he had to release himself from
his tight pants. Damn, that's why they killed. It was a rush of power that he
had never felt. When he touched his cock, it throbbed. He rubbed it,
wondered if he should insert it into Methos' wife. But hadn't ever done
that before. In a short time, the pilot light was out. He tightened the
drawstring on his pants and walked back outside.

All who saw him, ran away making Pyrius laugh. He had the power of four
men. He was a force to be reckoned with. He understood the ecstasy the
four felt after a job well done. But he hadn't gotten the prize yet. He didn't
care about coins, goods, animals... he wanted Methos. He wondered
through the village looking for him. The people who stayed out of his way
lived, the others, died. 

He saw a boy peek out of a doorway then was pulled back into the
residence. Pyrius opened the door and looked inside, taking a moment to
adjust to the dark as he heard whimpering. The boy was held by his
mother, both crying. He said to them, "I am Pyrius. Tell that to Methos."

He shut the door and walked away. He wondered if he would take Methos'
head. He had always decided not to, not then, not right away. He wanted
Methos to know the torment of being left behind. To find the one you love
dead by a madman. 

He felt a sickness in his stomach, a dizziness in his head. Disappointed,
Pyrius didn't want shame, guilt or regret for his actions spoil his good
feeling. Then realized that the malady wasn't because of his inner self. It
seemed to come from Methos, standing at the edge of the village. Pyrius
stared down the man in peasant clothes, his longer hair gathered in a pony
tail, with a load of wood in his arms. Funny... without his comrades, he
didn't look as formidable. 

Methos looked in horror at the remnants of his settlement that he himself
had inflicted on countless villages in his past. Pyrius slowly walked to
Methos, who dropped the wood, frightened eyes trained on his hut and the
bloody tip of a sword peeking out of the home he had built with his own
hands. Methos forgot about the immortal buzz and ran to his wife,
knowing what was in store. He walked through the door and turned to see
his dead wife. He howled in grief. It was the sweetest sound Pyrius had
ever heard. 

Methos pulled the sword out and his wife fell into his arms. He picked her
up and laid her gently on the bed. He caressed her beautiful face and bent
over her, wracked with sobs. 

Pyrius strolled into the hut to see up close and personal Methos' reacion to
what he did. Although Methos knew he was there, he never turned his
head. Pyrius grabbed him and flipped him over, onto his wife. Without a
fight from Methos, Pyrius hooked his hand around his neck and squeezed.
Even though Methos didn't physically try to stop the inevitable, Pyrius
quickly stabbed his dagger into Methos' chest and pulled it down his body,
slitting him open from heart to crotch, reenacting how Methos turned him.
Pyrius was disappointed that his ultimate victim didn't make a sound, just
stared up at him with terror, tears, grief until he died, not knowing why it
happened at all.

~~~~~

2001

Elizabeth cried out, "Where is he?" Warren lifted his weight from her as
she just laid there, sobbing. Duncan placed himself so she would know
where she was, and that she was with friends. "Where's Methos," she
softly asked him. "Oh, my God... Pyrius killed him. Where's Methos?"
She lifted her head and he wasn't in the room. "Is he okay?" Her whole
demeanor had changed. She was no longer asking where he was to kill
him, she was asking to comfort him. Duncan didn't know if he trusted her.
"Please, Duncan. What I almost did... my God, I could have killed him."

Warren got off of her and she quickly she got back to her knees, rubbed
her hands and arms to get the feeling back. As Duncan helped lift her off
the floor, grateful that it seemed the worst was over, she heard a whisper in
her mind. She tried to make out what it said, then knew. She wasn't sure if
that voice would let her move any more than Duncan MacLeod and his
friend would. She had to be crafty with all three of them, the two before
her and the one in her head. 

"Methos is safe." Duncan said. "He hasn't left, I'm sure of it. He's worried
about what you were seeing, what you're going through."

The voice asked her, Then why wasn't he there? The coward. She smiled
and calmly told Duncan, "He has nothing to worry about." She stood.
There was no command from the voice, the men didn't restrain her, so she
slowly walked to the door. Silence in her head. She was doing the right
thing. He was letting her. All of them were letting her. 

They walked down the hall, Duncan at her heels, and up the stairs. She felt
Methos' buzz, but where was he? She should have brought her sword.
Duncan would get suspicious if she went back for it. She'd have to think
fast, but first things first. She had to find the vermin.

The house was too big. He could be anywhere. She was surprised Methos
hadn't taken off, all those years of watching him take off just by the sense
of a buzz made her wonder just what kind of a weakling he turned into.

She walked past the doorway to the drawing room she woke up in an
eternity ago. She went down the hall and took another stairway up. She
smiled when she realized that her sensing range was larger since taking
Pyrius. She felt the little man, but couldn't find him. Methos could be
anywhere. She knew he was in one of the rooms that emptied onto the
hallway at the top of the stairs. She walked past a door, then stopped,
backed up. The buzz was strongest behind that door. 

Elizabeth opened the door to a bedroom, where Methos was lying down,
fetal position on a large four poster bed. He felt them. He knew she was
hunting when the buzz made a beeline for him. He steadied himself for
whatever she would do. He would let her. The time with Pyrius and the
sounds she made as she saw... he deserved whatever she felt she needed to
do. He would let her be judge, jury, and if need be, executioner. She had
accepted the concept of the horsemen at one time, but didn't deem him
worthy to live after seeing what he did. He wished he knew what how he
ruined Pyrius, but then again, wanted to remain oblivious.

The truth of what he was... it was devastating. The thought that there
would be more out there who wanted his blood was tiring. He'd have to
run from so many more before he would be finally taken. He wouldn't win
the game. That thought always gnawed at him. He always knew that. He
was a survivor, but the winner would have to be someone who knew what
to do with the power. Someone who wanted the power and had the energy
to do right with it. Some days Methos felt it could be him. Other days, for
instance when he was lying on that four poster bed, he didn't.

Elizabeth opened the door, Duncan behind her. She was unarmed, but
Methos knew that could be rectified in moments if she decided that's what
she needed to do. When he looked at her, he tried to determine who was
looking back at him. His lover or his nemesis. 

Duncan watched Elizabeth smile and walk to Methos' bedside. He
watched her sit next to Methos on the bed. She stared at him, at the slash
of blood on his healed stomach. 

She could see Duncan in her field of vision, but focused on Methos, "Are
you okay..." Without waiting for a reaction from him, she pulled Methos
up to a sitting position and clung to him. 

Methos cried out with relief as put his arms around her. He wanted it to all
be over. She wasn't with a sword. He ecstatically kissed her. She kissed
him back. As soon as she knew Duncan had left the room, she opened her
eyes, put her hand under his chin and pushed Methos' head back. 

Duncan paused by Warren in the hall, tired. It was a long couple of days.
There was a crash. They ran back to the room to see Elizabeth standing
over a smashed full length mirror on the floor. She picked up a big piece
and lunged for Methos' neck on the bed, who instinctively jumped out of
the way of the shard. Duncan jumped across the room and tackled her,
rolling them both off the bed. She fell on her back, with the load of
Duncan on top of her. 

She stabbed Duncan in the back with the shard of glass, screaming a word
with each stab, "I'm... getting... awfully... tired of you!" She stabbed
again. Duncan's dead weight held her down. 

She raised the shard to slit Duncan's throat, but Warren grabbed it, slicing
her hand, almost taking off her fingers. Elizabeth didn't feel it, pointed at
Methos with her blood-dripping fingers as she screamed, "You turned me
into you! Damn you to hell!" She jerked up hard, half of Duncan's dead
body fell to her side. She was almost free, but Warren held her down with
his foot.

Methos fell on top of Duncan, grabbed Elizabeth's head and screamed
over her growls, "I deserve it. Everything you saw is true!" 

"Don't touch me!" She scratched at him, kicked at him with a free leg,
anything to get him away. His touch made her want to tear him apart with
her bare hands. The blood from her hand smeared on the right side of his
face. Even though it wasn't blue, the sight made her scream more.

He wouldn't loosen his grip on her face to look at him, hear him, as he
said, "Everything you're feeling, it's real. I need you to tell me... calmly...
what I did. You need to find the real. You need to remember your own
memories."

She slapped him, "You bastard!" She collapsed and cried. "You bast..."

"Remember us... I love you!"

"You don't know how..."

Duncan revived. He was sandwiched between Methos and Elizabeth. He
stayed silent and listened.

Methos held her face to look at him and he whispered, "Don't let the
darkness take over your soul. I've lived too long with fear. Don't let it take
you over." She convulsed with sobs with what little air space she had in
her lungs with two men on top of her. "We're here to help you. We're
going to help you through the visions, the words, things you saw me do...
but only if you let us. I'm not going to leave. Calm down. You have to tell
me what I did. Just calm down."

Pyrius talked her into stop crying. , Pyrius whispered to her.
 

Elizabeth softened, Methos continued, "No one's going to take my head so
deal with it! Think, Liz! Do you really want to do that?"

She calmly regarded him, looked in Methos' eyes and said completely
truthful in a low, slow voice, "More than I want to breathe. Is that calm
enough for you?"

Duncan lifted himself and Methos rolled off, Elizabeth stayed put on her
back. "That's enough," Duncan said. He picked Elizabeth up and pulled
her out of the room. 

After Warren left to help Duncan with the maniac and Methos was alone,
he collapsed on the floor, tried to remember the man who knew too much
about him. Pyrius. He was just a name. A face. A behavior. Methos
couldn't remember a blessed thing about him except when he had his
throat and slit him while he was lying atop his dead wife. He would lose
his head if he was to stay one more minute in Elizabeth's proximity.
Methos stood, put on a different sweater, smoothed it out down over his
jeans. Then decided to do what he just promised her he wouldn't. Methos
left.

CONTINUED in Chapter Thirteen - Psychosis

    Source: geocities.com/enyajo/elizabeth

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