THE ELIZABETH SERIES
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
POST TRAUMATIC STRESS DISORDER
by JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com
RATING: PG-13
CHARACTERS: M DM J Dr. Zoll, Cassandra OFC Elizabeth, OC
Kevin, Quentin Fellowes
SUMMARY: Methos' turn to have a hard time reflecting on Pyrius
and the Horsemen because of Elizabeth's action that she thought
would help them both.
~~~~~
AUGUST 2001
CASA SEGURA
Methos hadn't yet darkened the door of the house, but needed to retrieve
his journals he had stored there. He was quick on his feet, alert to every
sound for fear Elizabeth was hiding in wait or hired someone to get close
enough to shot or kidnap him. Methos had been going through the
remnants of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder from being Pyrius hostage, but
when he'd feel he needed to turn to friends, their conversations would
always turn to what he did to Pyrius, and by extension Elizabeth. About
what he did 2500 years ago. He'd been on both ends of the spectrum and
at the moment, he needed comfort.
Everything horizontal surface was dusty and there wasn't a clue that
anyone had been there since he left it to find Elizabeth in New York City.
It seemed like years ago, in reality, it was only six months. The dust on the
floor was a dead giveaway that no feet had walked across the hard-wood
of the living room any time recently.
He thought it might be a good place to stay, a place of his own that he
could settle in and enjoy. He didn't want to darken the apartment in
Seacouver, too many memories and thought Elizabeth would still be close
to Duncan. He wondered how they were doing, but didn't want to call and
find out. He wasn't ready to once again put himself anywhere near her or
her sword. Methos didn't even know how Duncan felt about him any
longer. He might want to take his head himself after hearing from yet
another victim of his what he did without regret, at the time.
The reason he left the house in the first place to go find Elizabeth was
because he saw her in every room. It was even more painful after Greece.
He packed up his journals and put them in the rented station wagon. After
checking on his Bizzarrini, that it was in the locked garage, he went back
into the house for anything else he might need. The computer disks were
in Seacouver. The texts he set up as reference on Egypt were no longer
needed. Then he saw the safe. He rushed to it, how could he have
forgotten? Meletta's ring! When he saw that it wasn't in the safe, he
cursed himself for giving it to Elizabeth. Why did he do that?! Would she
have thrown it into the Pacific just to be spiteful? He'd carried it with him
for 4800 years and he gave it to another immortal! The rumbling in his
stomach turned sour. Methos was angry enough to wonder what it would
be like if he went after HER head? How would he feel? For either of them.
To put her in such an esteemed position in his mind to give her a prized
position, only to have her turn on him... well, he'd never do it again. He
just had to get that ring back.
At the post office, he was right about what sort of mail had piled up.
Catalogs, solicitations, no bills. In recent years, he'd made a practice of
paying the first bill, multiplied by 12 so he'd only have to deal with lights,
heat, utilities once a year. He would pay off all his credit cards every six
months. The credit card companies were happy to oblige. They knew
they'd get payment, but could collect some interest in the process. People
who paid off the balances every month were a credit card company's
nemesis. When he'd tell them that he travels a lot and it would be easier
this way, they were fine with it.
The mail for Elizabeth were immediately pitched in the garbage can
behind their box. He was also correct that there wouldn't be any notes
from Joe or Duncan. In the back of the box, folded down the middle, was a
manilla envelop. He knew he hadn't ordered anything, and it was
addressed to David Sommers. He got a chill when he saw who the sender
was.
Pyrius. The postmark was just July 30, 2001. The man was alive and well
in the head of her lover. It was her penmanship that scrawled out his
address. Pyrius was written in large block letters on the upper left hand
corner. He dumped it in the garbage and walked out. As he sat in the car,
letting the engine idle, Methos debated on leaving it or retrieving it from
the garbage. He thought the latter was the better choice as the name of his
enemy was right there on the package, but went back inside before anyone
else could see it, read it. What was she thinking? What if he hadn't gone to
Sintra? What if it had been dropped and the contents spilled out in front of
anyone who happened to be standing there?
After retrieving it and sitting once again in the idling car, he debated on
opening it, throwing it out the window in the middle of the countryside,
burning it, or waiting until he got to a hotel and cutting it to shreds. There
were a lot of pages inside.
~~~~~
Instead of going to the airport, he got himself a hotel room and a case of
beer from the liquor store across the street. He looked at the envelop that
he dumped onto the table as he swallowed a beer. It took that one, another
beer and a shot of tequila before the curiosity overcame him. He sliced
open the top of the envelop with his Ivanhoe, seethed that he didn't get the
chance to do that to Pyrius. But then, he might have in the past but didn't
remember it. Methos could only hope that he had, and savored that he
could have, wished he could remember.
Methos bided his time looking at the open top of the manilla sitting on the
table. He could see the vast number of sheets of white paper. He lifted the
top of the envelop with his finger and saw an upside down handwritten
note on ruled paper. 'Dear David,' it began in Elizabeth's handwriting.
When he slipped the note from the envelop, he saw the printed out, typed
words upside down. "It all began on a sunny day in Greece when I was
eight years old..." was the top line. The words made a shiver rise from the
small of his back to the base of his neck and linger there.
He scrunched the note in his hand and threw it across the room, trying to
make a bank shot off the wall into the garbage can. He was wide to the
right. He pushed the envelop off the table and took another bottle of beer
out of the ice bucket. How dare she!? He turned on the TV and sat at the
end of the bed flipping through the channels. He lingered on a soap opera.
Sex scene. Out of the corner of his eye, the crumpled note was lying on the
floor.
After taking off his shoes, he wondered if he should just light that match
and get all traces of it from his memory, or pack up and get to the airport.
Leave it all behind him. Start fresh. Sell the house. Vacate the apartment in
Seacouver, even though it was his building. Move to someplace he hadn't
frequented in centuries. Screw them all. Even though he'd opened the door
of communication with Joe and Duncan, they hadn't responded. They were
his friends, and they were more concerned about her. He finished his beer,
contemplating it. Then wondered, what could the note do to him? He
could read it and throw it away. No pain, no blood, wouldn't lose his head,
literally. It was the figuratively that worried him.
He certainly didn't want a maid to see the note, read it. Methos' name
could have been used. Methos bent over and picked up the lump of paper.
Tossed it up and down in his hand. That's all it was, a piece of paper. He
sat on the edge of the bed and uncreased the page on his leg. It was indeed
Elizabeth's handwriting. "Dear David," she started the note. That was a
good sign. It didn't start out, 'Dear Murderer, Rapist or Thief'. Not 'Dear
Shit, Soon to be Dead'.
Dear David,
I hope that if I meant anything to you in the past, you're reading this. Even
though you may not believe it, judging from my recent behavior, I do wish
you well. I decided to come through this episode of my life from a
different angle. By what I want, not what Pyrius wants.
After Duncan and Amanda thought I was able to be alone again, that I
wouldn't be a threat to you or anyone else, I've allowed Pyrius to tell me
everything he knows about you. Everything he feels. Everything he wants.
I wrote it all out for him. I let him rant. I coddled him. I let him have the
floor, so to speak. Only this time, in a productive way. Like an arbitrator, a
bystander. Today, he seems a little quieter as I write this note. Maybe I've
taken that final step of integrating him. I certainly hope so, because that's
my main focus.
I don't want to see you harmed. I'm dreadfully sorry for what I did to you
at the church. Obviously, I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm sorry for trying to
take your head in Greece. I'd like to say that wasn't me, but it could very
well have been. I found out too much about you. Not you, I guess, but a
part of you. I know you told me and I thought I understood and forgave
you. I thought I could live with it. I thought I'd never see that man as he
was so different from what you are.
But I know too much. I've seen too much and I wonder if you have an idea
of what Pyrius went through. I'm playing more the part of his mother now
trying to make him feel better, putting him to bed so to speak. I'm tired of
being his implement for destruction.
If you decide to never see me again, that's something I can live with. Not
happily. Not fully. But I can live. I'll make no other advances to see you.
This is it. But I do hope you read what Pyrius had to say. There's 203
pages there. He's a talkative little bugger when he got going and my
fingers flew over the keyboard. I didn't censor it, just typed what I heard. I
hope you read it. I would like you to know what I know. Not so you can
beat yourself up about it or to make you feel guilty, but so you know what
I was up against and maybe you can find it in your heart to understand my
reaction, which I'm very embarrassed about. And maybe, hopefully, one
day, you can forgive me.
I know you're so much more than your past. I know you have gifts to give
this world. I know you're a good man, a great man. I know I was lucky to
be with you and I threw it away. For that, I'm not only stupid, but I'm
sorry.
Love, Elizabeth
Most of what he had done over the years was neatly typed, printed,
probably spell checked, right there in that room. He didn't want to read it,
but it still piqued his interest. 203 pages, how long did it take to kill a
man? He had no idea what else Pyrius saw. Had he followed him without
his knowing all those years? He only remembered him killing his wife,
Naomi, then himself, confronting him in Florence. What else did that
psycho see? Or, what worried Methos, what else did Death do to him?
Methos told them in Greece that he didn't remember what he'd done,
specifically, to Pyrius. That he could only guess. He could only think
generically of his actions during his 'angry adolescence' and didn't know
if he wanted the specifics. It was so long ago. Too many good deeds ago.
Methos was proud of how he pulled himself up by the bootstraps and
made a difference in the world, in many ways.
After rereading Elizabeth's note, he felt that she didn't harbor any more ill
will toward him or she was a very good actress. But what could she have
typed? It was getting dark in the room and he flipped on the lamp on the
desk and picked the envelop up from the floor where he shoved it and
placed it in front of the chair. He stood behind it, away from it, stared at it,
his past. Well, it was all right there. All he had to do was pull out the
pages and read it. That's all he had to do...
He drank half the beer before he approached the table. He finished it and
started another one before he took the pages out of the envelop. "It all
began on a sunny day in Greece when I was eight years old..."
He set it back down on the desk. Paused, gathered strength. Then pulled
out the chair and sat down to read it. Elizabeth had asked him when he
told her about his past what was in his head to make him do the things he
confessed to doing. He didn't know then, and again, on that very early
morning, he still didn't. Could it have been the loss of his teacher? The
dark quickening of Bohdana, that miserably bitter woman, the first old
head he ever took? Then rejected that thought. It was over a thousand
years before he met up with Caspian and then Kronos. It had to have been
his own nature. The madness and maniacal instincts must have been in
him from the start.
He just told Elizabeth it was evil, plain and simple. What makes a person
evil? What makes them do evil things? Was it easy for him? Was it
something he strove for? Did he make a conscious effort to be a part of
them, was he a follower or did he round them up, started the whole damn
thing? He had blocked most of it out of his mind and the thought that it
was all Kronos' fault had comforted him over the years, just like Elizabeth
was comforting herself that her recent behavior was all Pyrius' fault.
Methos believed it was Kronos' fault for being such an emotionally
passionate leader that kept them in line and kept them ready for the next
raid. That's what comforted Methos all those years since. It was Kronos'
fault.
After staring into space and starting to remember those days, he knew he
was the one who found Caspian in the woods, told Kronos about him and
knew he would only make a favorable contribution to the group Kronos
wanted to form. Methos was the master mind of their attacks. He was
definitely with them and rode with them for almost a thousand years,
laying waste to everything in their path. Cassandra's village... Pyrius'
village... Thousands of villages. They meant nothing to him but a
momentary satisfaction of sex, killing, and above all else, control. He
alone decided who would live and who would die by his sword. He
decided who to rape. He decided when the raid was done. As he once told
Duncan MacLeod, if he deemed his brothers worthy to die for their deeds,
he had to judge himself the same way. Methos had judged them guilty.
Himself... Over the years, he had tuck it all back into the cobwebs of
memory so he could live.
Two hundred and three pages to tell how little eight year old Pyrius was
damaged? He leafed through the magnum opus and saw words he didn't
understand. Methos took a minute to realize that Elizabeth, or rather,
Pyrius, didn't know the names of his comrades. She used 'Swirled Man' in
reference to 'Kronos'. 'Mohawk Man' instead of 'Caspian'. 'Fat Man'
instead of 'Silas'. Methos did appreciate Silas for what he was, what he
was given in life. Methos liked him as much as he liked anyone. He was a
simple man just trying to please and keep up with the rest of them... but
did the same horrible things that Death did. When they were reunited,
Silas wanted more than anything to ride again as a team, had the taste for
power again. He hadn't changed, Silas just didn't have a leader. Methos
sadly remembered the gleam in Silas' eyes as he'd look up to him as one
of his reasons for living when they reunited. If the others could only have
changed like he had. Was it too much to hope for? Why did they throw
their lives away? With their passion, their ingenuity, they could have been
amazing. But they stayed with the simplistic view. Control and conquer,
never once thinking of being one of the world. Methos grabbed a pen and
scribbled out their descriptions and wrote their names.
Elizabeth started to use the name, 'Death' when describing him, because
he had told her what he was at the hotel in New York. He crossed every
reference of it and wrote 'Me' or 'I', depending on the correct grammatical
usage each sentence demanded. He'd have to accept what he did. He
didn't flinch at Elizabeth's clinical wording of the second village they
wiped out that Pyrius, at 22, witnessed. He decided to skip that part.
Didn't get to the part where Death turned Pyrius immortal. He leafed
through more of the pages. Where was the part where Pyrius slaughtered
Naomi? He really wanted to read that part, and read it now, and to finally
know why he did it.
He saw the word 'Beatles' as he was paging through and paused, read it.
He vividly remembered the day the Beatles stepped off that plane, arriving
in New York. He wrote 'February 7, 1964. Yeah, Yeah, Yeah' in the
margin. He knew Elizabeth was a Beatlemaniac. The Beatles walked by
him on their way to the waiting limo. He had snuck into the airport
employee entrance, stole a uniform of a baggage carrier and waited for the
plane to land.
He had seen them perform in Hamburg, right before they were fired
because George burned the apartment upstairs and they had to return to
England. The nightclub talent pool in town was boring after they left. He
could only have so much Rory Storm and the Hurricanes, although Ringo
was their drummer. That Pete Best... There was a character. After their set
one night, Methos and Pete went drinking. Pete told him he was the reason
for their success, and seemed to believe it. Well, Methos wasn't one to
suppress harmless fantasies in people, he just let it go. Methos chuckled
and wondered what Pete Best thought of the Beatles' success after Ringo
left Rory and joined them. He must have felt like having one number
wrong in a 100 million dollar lottery.
Having taken a long enough break thinking about a good time in his life,
he went back to reading the journal, to get it over with. Riding with the
Hole in the Wall Gang. Elizabeth's description of Butch was dead on. He
had sparkling eyes, crackled with energy, had a knowing grin. How did she
know that? How did she get such a vivid quickening? How did Pyrius
know that? Sundance was quiet, sullen, crack shot with a gun. They both
would have made excellent Immortals, were smart and humane. Methos
wondered if that was the Great Northern train robbery stash that they were
counting... they were always counting money and Methos was still living
on it and so much more.
Then he remembered that it was when he rode with them that he met
Elizabeth for the first time. She surprised him while he slept by a dying
campfire. Did Pyrius see that too? It wasn't anywhere in the paragraphs
describing Butch and Sundance. Didn't she even think to put that in there?
No. It was Pyrius' journal, not hers and Pyrius must not have seen that day
in Methos' life.
Elizabeth must have thought the women in his life was important enough
that she mentioned some of them, the blonde ones. He wondered why she
only wrote about the blondes. Were they the only ones Pyrius showed her,
or the only ones Pyrius was interested in... or she saw more, but didn't care
to write them down. The blond he was making love to in the car was
'Sylvia Lamont, while I was a fact researcher for Universal Studios. 1959'.
Sylvia Lamont... she was in her mid forties when they began their affair.
She was a light, exciting, famous, the queen of the lot. Then she went back
to her husband, because he was the major financier of 'Starlight', the film
she said she would die if she wasn't in it.
"Try to understand, Matthew," she explained when she dumped him. "I
don't get offers anymore. Men have it so much easier. They get older, their
leading ladies get younger. Women get older, they have to play psychos or
grandmothers. This may be my last chance." It was. 'Starlight' was her last
film, earned her an Oscar, back when the ceremonies weren't aired.
Methos was invited to the dinner by his work on other films for the studio,
even though they never took his advice, and he went, knowing she would
win and wanted desperately to see her accept it. As she stood at the
podium with her Oscar, Methos looked at her husband, the one she left
him for... he was busy lighting a cigar, listening more to Louie Mayer next
to him than his wife in all her glory, beaming with success. Sylvia ended
her acceptance speech with, "And last but not least, to dear Matthew.
You'll always be in my heart." Methos smiled at her, winked, then looked
back at her husband. He didn't even hear it.
Reading parts of that journal wasn't so bad. The only terrifying thought is
that Pyrius saw most of what he'd done in the past 2500 years and Methos
didn't know it. When Methos read toward the end of the journal, he sat
back stunned. It was jarring to see the words 'woman on the porch' typed
out. The description of her porch and yard could only be 'Alexa 1995' that
he wrote on the margin. Then he added, 'She died 28 April 1996. The day
after I married her. I loved her more than I've ever loved anyone.'
That day was etched in his memory forever. If only Alexa was immortal.
Alexa would never have understood what he was. He would never have let
her find out. If only she lived. Alexa wouldn't have taken Pyrius. She
wouldn't have thrown Pyrius back in his face. Alexa wouldn't have even
gone to Greece, he hoped. But then, Methos would probably be dead.
Duncan wasn't in any shape to defend him. It was Elizabeth's fault he was
taken by Pyrius in the first place. If she wasn't there, he would have ran
from the dojo and he wouldn't have had to go through any of the past five
months. He looked at the margin that he wrote about Alexa. He did love
her, very much. But, his love for Elizabeth put him in harm's way.
When he went back to reading, he realized he had forgot the names of
some of the other women in modern times Methos had bedded, not fully
described. One of them Elizabeth described on a bed with mosquito
netting around it... by the description of her, he thought that conquest
could have been Sara Corkendahl. How did Pyrius see all that and not be
sensed by him? Why would he waste his life looking at Methos' life
instead of making one of his own?
He wondered how easily Elizabeth wrote some of those passages. Wasn't
she in the least bit jealous? Some of those women meant a lot to him, still
did. Most were dead, even the immortal Sara, who he wasn't in love with,
but was important to him, at the time. Thinking about Sara again gave him
an erection. She was a bundle of raw sex, liked to talk during it all. Talked
too much, described every little thing she was feeling with each move of
his, like a documentary... too much information. At times, it got to be
distracting from the moment at hand.
On and on, he read, wrote and remembered. He finally got to the passage
of when Pyrius killed his first wife, whom Elizabeth had named Naomi.
Pyrius knew her name and he killed her anyway. That's that he wanted to
read, and see how it was described by her. Elizabeth's writing during that
passage wasn't clinical. I was dripping with sadness. Methos had to
wonder if the tone came from Pyrius or Elizabeth, or maybe both. During
his capture, Pyrius did ramble on about Methos making him kill, added
more torture as he'd scream and rant that the pain he was inflicting was all
his fault.
Methos wondered if that day WOULD be included in Pyrius' manifesto, if
he would admit it. That and the confrontation in Florence. Methos could
still hear the man's voice in his head, . Methos shuddered to think that Pyrius stalked him
throughout the years. He saw much more of him than Methos was aware
of. Methos thought he was much more illusive than that. Where there any
other victims out there, watching him?
There were also lines in those paragraphs of Naomi's murder, such as
"The killing of that Methos-whore thrilled me to pieces. Finally, I was able
to get a brief insight as to what Methos was thinking and feeling as he tore
his knife through my mother's flesh".
"Good Gods," Methos moaned. Either Pyrius, or Methos, was one sick
fellow. Maybe both. He had the thought to read the beginning to see what
he actually did, but he couldn't. He pushed himself back from the desk and
took a deep breath. He was shaky.
Elizabeth had seen most of his life AD through Pyrius' eyes, who made it
his mission in his life to follow Methos. Except for the last bit, most of
what he read in the journal were memories he wasn't ashamed of and
happily remembered. When he read again, he actually enjoyed revisiting
another day or moment from his life. But then, Elizabeth would throw in
something Pyrius forgot to mention before, some little detail about what
'Death's' boots looked like, or what 'Death's' dagger looked like... The
'dirty white sleeved man'... The 'blue faced man'... He crossed them all
out and wrote 'Me', or 'My, or 'I', or 'Mine'.
There were passages that lead up to Pyrius' beheading. Methos could
never remember being on the plane to Greece, he was drugged. It was all
in there. He didn't know he was wrapped in a blanket, what was done to
him as he was strapped to a bed, to the wall. There was a detailed
accounting of all the procedures Pyrius performed on him. He crossed
those paragraphs out and wrote, "Don't remember". It was very thorough,
the description of his torture. He wondered how easily Elizabeth relished
dictating those passages.
He reached the end of the journal where Elizabeth described how Pyrius
decided it was time to kill the monster. Those were her exact words. Did
she mean them? He read all about Pyrius' plans to take him. The reason he
was able to kidnap him, that he would be concerned for Elizabeth's head.
In a paragraph, she wrote from her own heart, "David," it began. He
wondered why she didn't call him Methos in the journal or the note, but
then it was probably in case it got into another's hands. She was protecting
him. "After hearing him during these last few passages, it seems to me that
I'm the reason you were able to be kidnaped. I'm sorry."
After reaching the end with Pyrius' ferocious anger at being taken before
killing Methos, he laid the pages back as they were. The only thing, he
reasoned, that he hadn't read was the attack of Pyrius' village and the
beginning of the lad's wrath. If it was anything like the few lines he read
about Naomi's killing, he would be able to live without knowing, be
totally unaware.
He paced the room, working off the kinks of sitting so long and the load
that the journal put on his shoulders. Methos wasn't one to be unaware of
anything, good or bad. He'd lived a long time without knowing what his
victim was up to. He had the opportunity to find out. All he had to do was
read it. It was just words. It was his past. He knew his past. He knew what
things he'd done. How bad could it actually be? Hazimil did tell him,
"What kind of man am I when I don't let the oppressed get their revenge?"
That's what got him in trouble with Pyrius at the dojo. But Pyrius was
dead. Dead and... probably buried. Methos hadn't lived that long without
curiosity. It made life worth living.
When Methos straightened the pages to start at the beginning, he did find
one answer to a burning question Methos had carried since Greece. How
did Pyrius slip through their radar? The horsemen usually killed everyone
in the village, except for the ones they took as slave labor. The answer?
Pyrius hid under a blanket his mother threw atop him.
The father's death wasn't seen by Pyrius, so it was almost matter of factly
written in the journal and was no skin off Methos' nose. He didn't even
know if he did the deed, and it didn't matter in the long run. Reading
further started to be uncomfortable. When 'dirty white sleeved man'
walked into Pyrius' view... Methos crossed it out and put 'I'. He grabbed
his mother, Prima... that's what Prima meant when Elizabeth said the word
in Greece.
The hair stood up on his arms as he read about his brothers taking care of
the village while he decimated Prima. Methos wanted to stop reading, but
couldn't. His whole being was focused on every word, if only to wonder
what kind of monster could do any of what he was reading. He could
understand Elizabeth's anger, confusion, sickness in the pit of her
stomach. She had described in quite some detail about what he had done
that day, but it was like reading about someone else. It was just another
day at the office for Death and Methos hadn't remembered being so cold
in his methods. The years had faded the memory. Then it clicked.
Something as horrible as what he inflicted on Pyrius' life was run of the
mill, routine, like any other day for him. To forget the specifics of that
carnage made Methos almost fall to the floor in vile disgust.
Methos hated that part of himself, didn't want to revisit it while he was in
the midst of that portion of the journal, but he couldn't stop reading it. He
knew he had to. By the time he read the part about taking Pyrius'
mortality, the anger, faithlessness, asocial behavior that he gave up years
ago crept back into him and he tried to excise the feelings out of him. But
they once again seemed to be at home. The evil was still inside him.
Asocial behavior was still a factor of his life. Anger was still easy. Instead
of killing, he ran, unless he couldn't, an innocent was involved or he was
pushed to the point where there was no alternative.
Frustrated by the detail, angry at the thought that Elizabeth pushed it all on
him, sad that all the old wounds were reopened, he threw the pages in the
air, walked to the window, watched the buildings' shadows disappear,
overtaken by the morning light of the sun. Methos had been reading all
night. It was a new day only he was thinking of old, old memories. He
wondered if Pyrius had ever experienced the dawning of a sunrise, or a
sunset, stopped to smell the roses. Poor little spiteful Pyrius probably
didn't get it up in his whole long, sorry life.
"Well, it might have changed your outlook, old man," Methos said aloud.
Then the words Elizabeth typed reverberated in his mind. Methos stole his
life from him. He killed his father. He raped his mother. He slashed her
neck... slashed her all over... Methos convulsed.
That particular village's suffering flooded back at him. Methos
remembered a group of young boys playing in the center of the village.
They stood like sticks when he and his mate rode into town, giving Methos
a sense of satisfaction before he'd even done anything. The mother...
Prima... had a mole on her cheek. Small, he only saw it when he was on
top of her, violating her, biting her, licking her, cutting her, slamming
himself in her. A truth was remembered. Prima had a small, delicate
beauty mark on her right cheek.
Methos fell to his knees and continued convulsing, sickened at the
recollection. He raped her! A mother! A woman who was nothing to him...
It was HIS memory, not Elizabeth's, not Pyrius'... his. The anguish that
permeated his soul almost made him pass out. Prima. She was a person,
lived a life, thought thoughts, raised a child and loved a husband. Prima.
Blond Prima. He raped her, left her to die.
Flipping onto his back, he deeply cried, remembered that was his pattern.
It all came back, how he was, what he thought... Methos wanted to be
remembered. Kronos had the idea after watching Caspian with the corpses
after they starting killing the residents, that the bodies should be violated,
so when they were found, the men who ravaged them would be feared,
dreaded, legendary. They accomplished it. All the women Methos
assaulted all died in the same horrible way, it was his modus operandi.
When he held his hand and howled at what he was, there was a pounding
on the door. Put in Portuguese. [Sir! Are you all right? What's going on in
there?]"
Methos rolled over, tried to quiet. Had to say something... he packed up,
made sure he had every single piece of paper, the story of his life that no
one else should see, dressed. When he walked out of the room, he was
greeted by a group that had gathered in the hallway to see what was the
matter. The manager had come with the master key to check on him.
"[The television was too loud...]," was all Methos said as he walked away.
The manager ran into the room to see if there was someone in there, who
was hurt. The moans and cries were too real to have been on TV.
Before long, Methos was miles from the city, on a blind drive, to get away
from his past that was on the seat next to him. Too close. The pages were
like a snake and he had to get rid of it. He slammed on the brakes, making
the car swerve on the gravel road he was on. It landed in the ditch, the
hood crinkled up, the windshield shattered. Since the airbag held him in
his seat, he didn't fly through the windshield. When he thought of what
could have happened, Elizabeth's voice was heard,
Hearing her voice in his head made Methos bitterly angry because of how
she so easily lied to him. She didn't give a damn, she only wanted to make
him comfortable around her so she could get him trapped for when Pyrius
came calling. She did it well. He could have ran from the dojo when she
was shot. He didn't! Because he loved her. Well, no more. He saw through
her plan. If he ever came across Elizabeth Bennett again, she would most
certainly lose her head. With that thought, he was pleased. He had
something to live for. He moved to get out of the car, but his leg throbbed.
It was broken. He moved the seat back and straightened it out, waited until
it healed.
As he waited, he saw some of the pages that were still on the seat, most
had flown around the car during the crash. He had to get rid of them so no
one would ever lay eyes on them again. Then, he had an change of
thought. He'd made some editorial changes on them. Maybe Miss Perfect
Elizabeth would care to see them. He made sure he had every single page
and got out of the totaled rental and walked along the dark road.
~~~~~
SUNDAY SEPTEMBER 9, 2001
ONTARIO
Methos in his car driving along the 401 in Ontario, having to keep his eyes
on the road and both hands on the wheel as the traffic was nuts. He heard a
newscaster say the date and he wondered why it seemed to mean
something. **Go through anything that might have happened on the ninth
of September at any time in his life.** Finally, he realized it was Amy and
Kevin's anniversary, that Joe had mentioned it while things were still
normal in Seacouver. When they were just hanging out in Joe's old bar
with MacLeod, and at the loft. Before Pyrius reentered his life. 9
September, 2000. The night that he and Elizabeth spent their first night
together. He was even more angry that she meant enough that he would
remember such a date when all he wanted to do was forget her.
~~~~~
NEW YORK
Elizabeth sat uncomfortably in the leather chair across from the dean of
NYU in his study and listened to him, "Elizabeth, you've been a valued
member our the faculty for years, but..."
Elizabeth didn't like buts and didn't need to hear the reasons why he was
turning her down. But, she politely listened as he continued, "Because of
how you promptly quit on us... Then when you could have been able to get
on last summer, you dumped us... we had to hire someone else."
"And thank you for all the opportunities. Would you keep me in mind if
you need anyone, for anything. Subbing, math..."
He looked at her with mixed feelings and said, "We can't trust you
anymore, Elizabeth. We don't need to use the three strikes, you're out.
Two is enough. Good luck, but we have to pass on your skills, even
though they're impressive."
"Well, thank you for seeing me in your home, on your private time. That
means a lot to me."
"I'm sorry we can't help you. Of course, we'll give you a glowing
reference."
Elizabeth had known the meeting would go along those lines and when she
walked out of his house, she realized just how her life was changed by a
certain man. Now that she was trying to get some semblance of a normal
life back, she was disappointed that the hasty way she allowed a man into
her life and turned it over to him made a new life impossible. She went to
see Amy bearing gifts. Mostly for their anniversary and congratulations on
the baby, but also to try to make it up to them for how she behaved. She
was freshly back in town after her sequestration with Pyrius. After mailing
that journal to the one place she knew Methos would one day und up at, it
was liberating. She was starting to even have days when Pyrius was
certainly on her mind, but he didn't call out to her.
When Kevin opened the door, he had to fight the urge to shut it again.
Elizabeth knew and said, "I'm sorry about the last couple of months,
Kevin. Can you remember the last couple of years instead?"
He let her in but was leery. "I don't appreciate that you so effectively
upstaged my son at his baptism."
"I don't either. Is Joey here?"
"No, Amy took him to the park."
"Do you have any plans tonight?"
"Amy and I have tickets for the theater."
"That sounds nice. I guess you haven't had a lot of time alone since he was
born."
"Yes, and it's not a bad thing."
Elizabeth gave him the gifts. Paper was the tradition for the first year of
marriage and she had boughten them an original leather bound volume of
Emily Dickinson, and a mobile for Joey's crib. "When will they be back?"
"In an hour or so."
"Would it make you feel better if I wasn't here?"
"No. I don't mean to be rude, Liz, I just can't get your behavior out of my
mind and even though Amy tried to explain it after coming back from
Montana, I don't think I'll ever be able to understand it."
"Why don't you tell Amy I was here and I'll get in touch later?"
"Sure."
"I'm sorry, Kevin. I really am."
"I'm sure you are. It's just not how normal people behave. But you aren't a
normal person, are you?"
"All the years you've known me just went right out the window, huh?"
"I don't know you anymore."
"And I'm not welcome."
"I didn't say that."
"But you feel better if I'm not around."
"Probably."
"I heard you. Happy Anniversary, Kevin."
He immediately shut the door as soon as she stepped into the hall. On her
way out of the building, she wondered if she should go back to ask what
park Amy was, but didn't want to bother Kevin any longer, and, he may
not want to tell her. Amy may not want to see her either. Elizabeth had
seemed to have effectively burned every bridge she had. Her job. Her
friends. As she walked by the St. Regis Hotel, she knew she would never
see Methos again. She had tried not to think about that, but when she saw
the front door, she had to stop and actually sat on the sidewalk for fear
she'd fall down anyway.
~~~~~
TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 18, 2001
PARIS
For the last three weeks, Joe made it a practice of sitting in Watcher library
archives 24-7 reading absolutely everything in Methos' chronicle. Since he
lost track of Methos and no one had heard from him, Joe had the nagging
thought that he may have actually lost his head. He hadn't appeared at any
of his usual haunts and the world was too big to find him blindly. As he
read another volume, Joe knew exactly what Methos had changed while he
was a watcher, and read those entries with special interest, as it might
reveal a clue as to where the old guy was. Most days he was tired and took
cat naps at the table. Some days he forgot to eat. Caroline would call on
the cell phone to ask what he was doing, when he'd think about coming
home, but he couldn't give her a definite answer. He hoped she'd give him
the benefit of the doubt to stick it out in New York alone even though they
were still newlyweds. This was too important and consumed his whole
being.
Dr. Amy Zoll heard that Joe Dawson had taken up residence in that room.
When she walked in, the musty smell of old books and wood and
mothballs was overpowering and wondered how Joe could take it. He
must be doing something extremely important, she just wondered what
that was.
It was only after she sat down next to him that Joe even knew of her
presence, and froze. Zoll smiled in a way that tried to be warm and
friendly, but didn't come off as such because she didn't have a heck of a
lot of practice, "Hello, Mr. Dawson."
"Ah, the good Dr. Zoll."
"That's what I've always admired about you, Joe," she let the fake smile
melt away. "I can't tell when you're sarcastic or truthful."
Joe shut the volume he was intent on dealing with Methos' time in India,
the sound of it vibrated through the room. "Usually, I'm both. What can I
do for you?"
"I was wondering what you were up to."
"Work."
She pulled an open volume by her arm closer to be able to read it. "Methos
1650-1700. What does this time of his life matter to you now?"
"I should know my assignment, shouldn't I?"
"You should be watching him, not reading about him."
"Hey, I've been a watcher longer than you have, Amy."
"That's precisely why I have to wonder why you're still accepting regular
field assignments. You even came out of retirement to watch your old
friend?"
"Someone has to do it, because of your letting the cat out of the bag. Why
not me?"
"Because of me," she softly laughed. "I was just doing my job."
"Your job is to horn in on other watcher's chronicles?"
"I'll ignore that. I had my reservations about you taking over Methos."
"But you don't control me or what I do."
"That's true. That's why I couldn't stop you."
Joe sat back and regarded her, and thought he actually made her nervous.
Syrup dripped from his voice when he sweetly asked, "Now, why would
you want to stop me, Dr. Zoll?"
"I am concerned about truthful records, Mr. Dawson. Adam Pierson
already screwed with the facts, I don't want that to happen anymore."
Joe acted shocked.
"Oh, come on! We know he changed the chronicles and that's why it was
my duty to correct them when the information crossed my desk. You'd
known him for 15 years and you didn't lift a finger to right the wrong."
"Don't you think a man's head is more important than what his current
address is?"
"I was wondering if you would bring that up. I've taken the liberty to read
through what you've catalogued thus far on our little friend."
Joe tried to cover his seething stare at the intolerable woman, but she knew
him longer than Joe'd known Methos and almost enjoyed asking, "You
aren't angry about that?"
Joe looked at his hand, wondering if it would stay still and not punch the
meddler, "Why should I? You have access to such records. How do you
like my writing style? I haven't lost my touch."
"No, Mr. Dawson, you haven't. You still fool with the facts, just like you
did with Duncan MacLeod's Chronicle."
"Hey! I watched and recorded and how *dare* you suggest otherwise."
Zoll was silent. They stared at each other and neither let the other have the
upper hand. She finally said, "Why wasn't it in MacLeod's chronicle that
he had turned into one of the best friends of the world's oldest man?"
"They never challenged each other, what did it matter?"
"That's not all together true, either, is it, Mr. Dawson? You know for a
fact that Cassandra's watcher wasn't the first one to make noise that Adam
Pierson may be an immortal. He just confirmed Adam was Methos. A
couple of years earlier, Kalas' watcher followed the mysterious Adam and
he and MacLeod exchanged sword blows under the bridge right here in
Paris. You didn't chronicle that. Were you too busy with your music
career, or were you covering Methos' butt even back then?"
"Lady, you have a problem with me, you come right out and say it."
"I only worry about untrue chronicles."
"Then you have nothing to worry about. I didn't put that altercation in
MacLeod's chronicle because it didn't go anywhere."
"Kalas' watcher also saw you very chummy with Adam and an immortal
named Amanda during the final confrontation between MacLeod and
Kalas. He even thought you were worried."
"So sue me for thinking of immortals as people. Can you imagine what the
world would be like if Kalas won that fight? Have you? Kalas killed
watchers. Kalas would have killed Methos. Kalas would have let out the
secret of immortality. The watchers should have taken him out ourselves,
but that would be interfering."
"You didn't answer my question."
"I didn't hear one."
"You make yourself friendly with your assignments."
"And I've had access to information being friendly with them that standing
across the street and watching wouldn't have gotten me. I put explanations
and historical references to every single fight and win MacLeod ever had,
and I got those because of our friendship. I never once interfered," Joe
said, glossing over the fact that he had. "I never once stopped a fight. I
only shared a beer with the boys."
"You can be quite convincing."
"What do you want?"
"To make sure there aren't any fairy tales in Methos' Chronicle. We've
already gone through it with a fine tooth comb after Pierson screwed it up.
I don't want that to happen again."
"I want the same thing, lady," Joe tried to get the heat under his collar
cooled before continuing. The only thing that was making Joe glad during
this whole conversation is that Zoll had no idea that Methos had changed
his identity to David Sommers. "Methos is the most important head. His
history must be concise and thorough. That's why I took it over. If I can
make sure he's still incognito at the same time from other immortals or
God forbid, hunters, then I've done my job."
"Bravo, Mr. Dawson. I almost believe you. Why do you have to read our
work?"
Joe thought fast, "So I can get a handle on a challenge he had in China last
spring."
"Was that Methos' last quickening?"
"Methos didn't take the head, I wondered why."
"Why don't you just ask him?"
"Oh, so now you want me to be friendly with him. Make up your mind,
Dr. Zoll," Joe smiled, loved getting one over on her. "Methos could have
taken Milako, but he didn't. I admire him. Yes, I want him to thrive and
survive, maybe... be the one. But above all, I want to do my job. So, if you
will excuse me, I'd like to get back to it."
She looked over at the legal pad full of notes in front of Joe and said, "You
do realize that I can go to Milako's watcher and ask if he had an
altercation with Methos last spring."
"You go right ahead and do that. Or, maybe I'll get John on my phone
right now so you don't break a nail dialing."
"No, that's okay, Mr. Dawson. How about after I leave the room... you dial
John and you tell him to cover your butt with Milako's chronicle because I
will check it before 8 o'clock this evening."
Joe handed her his cell and said, "Leave it at the front desk. I'll pick it up
at 9."
Zoll smiled and stood, "Touche, Mr. Dawson." She took the phone and
looked at it. "You do have memory-dial, don't you?"
"It's a basic watcher scrambled cell phone. You do have the authority to
go through it."
"You don't mind if I do, do you?"
"You don't know my password."
"I've always liked you, Joe, because you're good. You're not nice, but
you're good." She pocketed his phone and opened the door, turned and
said, "I'll be watching you."
"I'll make sure my hair is always well groomed."
After she left, he got back into the volume for a clue as to where Methos
could have disappeared to. Some place he spoke with eloquence. Some
place he frequented. Some place he loved or at least felt some attachment
to. Some place...
Since he had no idea where Methos was born or grew up, Joe figured he
might have returned to Sintra, and had traveled to Portugal before arriving
in Paris. He'd seen the newspaper report of a missing person, that David
Sommers hadn't been seen since his rental car was found and he'd
obviously been injured in the crash with the amount of blood left at the
scene. That it was a mystery of where his body was if he hadn't gotten
medical attention, and if he did get to a doctor, who it was and where he
was now..
The only thing that concerned Joe was the fact that David Sommers' name
was in the newspaper, knowing how Methos would hate that. Joe hurriedly
made a search in the Watcher database on David Sommers to see if anyone
had spilled the beans that it was Methos' new fake name. Nothing came
up, not even that David Sommers was immortal. There wasn't an entry. He
trusted Diane Wentworth not to tell anyone, but a watcher can never be too
careful and can't help but keep tabs on what information is out there.
~~~~~
Hours later, Joe shut the last volume and realized he hadn't gleaned any
more current knowledge of Methos than he knew before. He'd found out a
lot about the man in the past, but not in the present.
After hanging around the building until nine so he could get his phone and
see if it was hacked by Zoll, he couldn't tell. She either didn't try to get
into his phone book or was really good. The watcher in him couldn't help
but think Zoll might have installed some sort of trace to the unscrambled
cell, so he put it in his briefcase and would never use it again. He'd get a
new one at a store in the states as soon as he would get home.
After going by Methos' current apartment that he purchased last year, he
didn't see any sign of him and went back to his hotel room and called
Duncan, exhausted. After telling Duncan of his concern of Methos'
whereabouts, he lightly kidded, "What kind of watcher are you?"
Joe exploded from the slur, "He's walking a dangerous path, Mac!"
"He's on his own path, Joe. He'll show up when he's ready."
"No, he would have been here," Joe slumped on the chair. "I'm worried
about how's he handling the whole Pyrius episode."
"I haven't heard from him since he left Greece. Did he say he'd meet with
you?"
"Yes. He would keep his word."
"He's had a lot of his mind lately."
"He promised he'd be here and he isn't."
"Why, Joe? What's so important?"
"Ah, dammit, MacLeod," Joe didn't want to admit it. "It... I turned 55.
Okay? David told me years ago that before the speed limits went up that
when I reached the speed limit, he'd get me a really great gift. I was
looking forward to that. He reiterated that promise last year and called me
from Sintra especially to tell me that."
"Joe," Duncan smiled. "I didn't know it was your 55th birthday. I thought
you were only 49."
"So I lied. Sue me."
"I may," Duncan chuckled. "You're still a kid."
"Don't rub it in. Just let me know if you hear from him and put out some
feelers. Okay?"
"You, too."
~~~~~
WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 19, 2001
NEW YORK CITY
Elizabeth was in a hotel with the last of the money she found of Pyrius'
and woke up to a nightmare that she hadn't had since the cabin in
Montana. Never feeling as lonely as she did right then, she wanted to call
Duncan, but didn't have his number and he wasn't listed. She stood and
looked out at the city she loved and watched as it came to life. The lights
dimming and the people emerging to start another day.
As she watched them, she didn't think she belonged there anymore. She
didn't have anywhere to go. But, she figured she had one link to her life in
New York, but wondered if she really wanted to explore that. The long hot
bath helped her melt away the remnants of the dream and the feeling of
being lost. She checked out of the hotel and walked the streets with her
lone bag, sword under her coat, and wondered where she would be off to
next.
During her thinking and not really paying attention to where she was
going, she ended up at the end of the block where Cassandra's shop was.
Elizabeth felt Cassandra before reaching the front window and realized
that her range was larger since taking Pyrius. Before, she would almost
have to be at the door before feeling Cassandra inside. Elizabeth stood at
the window of the shop and saw Cassandra at the counter with a customer,
who was staring out the window, wondering who's buzz it belonged to,
then her concern turned to a smile.
As Elizabeth watched her, there was conflicting feelings. Cassandra was
her boss and almost a friend, if she would have stayed around longer they
might have gotten closer. But Cassandra lied, she was a LOT older than
what she let on and Elizabeth found out through Pyrius' quickening that
she almost killed Methos.
Cassandra walked her customer to the door and told her to call if she had
any questions on the cremes she purchased. "Hey stranger," she said to
Elizabeth, still standing on the sidewalk. "How've you been?"
Elizabeth didn't quite know how to answer that, so she said the usual,
"Oh, fine."
"Come in, let's talk."
Elizabeth was actually welcomed somewhere. That felt good. She
followed Cassandra to the back little break room that was outfitted with a
little fridge, microwave and table and chairs, "I've got a tuna sandwich,
you want half?"
"No," Elizabeth said, sat on one of the chairs. "It's so hot today, I'll have
some juice if you don't mind."
"Why would I mind? Help yourself. Are you still living in New York? I
thought you took off for Europe with a David."
"No, didn't make it that far." If only they hadn't stayed in Seacouver.
Things would be so different.
"I'm sorry, Liz. Want to talk about it?"
"No."
"Did you come by to get your old job back? I can always use you."
"Thanks but, no. I would like to talk to you about something, though."
Cassandra sat at the table and daintily ate her sandwich, "What?"
Elizabeth took a deep breath and said, "Methos."
Cassandra's eyes grew wider than they naturally were. "Methos? Why?
Did you come up against him?"
"Kind of."
"Oh, Liz. He's bad news, stay away from him."
"Why?"
"You haven't the stories?"
"What stories?"
"He's a monster."
"Really? In what way," Elizabeth goaded her. This was a good idea after
all.
Cassandra realized she was too personal in her reaction and tried to calm
down. "He's killed many. Raped more."
No, it wasn't a good idea. Elizabeth didn't want to hear it. She almost
made it to the door before Cassandra continued, "I'm convinced he's only
lived so long because he killed anything that got in his way. He doesn't
have a conscience."
"Stop!" Elizabeth waited for the internal voice to kick in and make her do
something she didn't want to. But it didn't come. Cassandra wondered
how such a reaction came out of meek little Elizabeth's mouth. "How do
you know him?"
Cassandra paused, then said, "I only know of him."
"Cut it out, Cassandra. I thought we were going to be friends."
"We are."
"Don't lie. Please. I guess I came here for answers and I know that you had
a history with him and this out of the blue, but I don't want you to lie to
me." Even though she had lied to Cassandra not letting her in on the fact
that David, her knight in shining armor, was Methos.
"How do you know I'm lying?" Cassandra then stared at her, lifted her
hand just a little, she was putting a spell on her.
Elizabeth turned away. "Please, no tricks. I really want to know. I know
you know him personally and I want to know about it."
"Why? How do you know Methos?"
"I met him and then I heard the stories and... um... they didn't seem to fit
with the guy I met."
"He seduced you? He's very good at that, too." He even almost made
Cassandra think she was in love with him but she was a slave that wanted
freedom. "What did he want from you? Methos only takes, he doesn't
give. Where did you meet him? He's not here in New York, is he?"
"I don't know," Elizabeth sadly, truthfully, replied. "You're older than you
let on before."
"Yes, I am. I'm not covering that. I'm proud of it, actually. I'm a woman
who's survived a very long time."
"How old are you?"
"I was turned in Bronze Age. From one of Methos' 'brothers'."
Elizabeth remembered the Swirled Man, Fat Man who she found out was
named Silas, and the Mohawk Man. The fact that she didn't say she was
turned by Methos was something that made her feel a little better. "Which
one?"
"Kronos," Cassandra spit out.
"What did he look like?"
"Why? He's dead, it doesn't matter."
"It does to me. I don't why, it just does."
Cassandra could see that it did, for some reason. "Kronos... was... he had a
scar over his eye, his left eye. Did you come across him too?"
"Not really, I just got descriptions. Did Kronos wear a mohawk?"
"No, that was Caspian."
"So, Kronos was the one with the swirled pattern on his face and chicken
feet painted on his chin."
Cassandra laughed, "Yeah, it did look like chicken feet. You wouldn't
want Kronos to ever hear you say that. But, they're all dead. What does it
matter? To you?"
"I... ah... met a friend who told me about them. His name was Pyrius. Did
you ever meet him?"
"No. He knew of the horsemen?"
"Yes. He saw you."
"He was a slave, too?"
"Slave?"
"Yes," Cassandra looked down. "I'm not comfortable talking about this."
"Please, just a couple of more questions. Please? What kind of slave were
you?"
"Doesn't the word slave say it all? I was property. They used me however
they wanted and passed me around. You have to tell me why you're asking
me."
"Pyrius showed me a lot of things."
"Why?"
"I saw things in a quickening."
"Pyrius' quickening?" When Elizabeth nodded, Cassandra said, "I thought
he was a friend."
"Wrong choice of word. He screwed up my life. I had to take him. In the
quickening, I recognized you. I need to get things straight."
"Well, Liz, I've tried to put it all behind me. I'm married, I'm a business
woman, I'm moving on. I'm really not comfortable talking about 2500
years ago."
"How about five years ago, or so, I'm not sure when it happened."
"This Pyrius showed you a lot. What about it? If I was in Pyrius' thoughts,
what was I doing there? I've never met a person named Pyrius, unless he
changed his name. Is it Methos you're talking about? Did you take
Methos' head?"
"No. Pyrius was a bystander. He didn't meet people, he only watched
them."
"Why?"
"That's... not important." Why Pyrius turned out like he did was certainly
Methos' fault and she didn't want to dwell on that. Elizabeth only wanted
to get better. "Why didn't you take Methos' head when you had the
chance?"
Cassandra flinched. "Pyrius saw that? He saw me hold Silas' axe?"
Elizabeth nodded. "Did he see me get kidnaped? Get held in a cage for a
week? Be used once again by those... men! Did he see that? Who the hell
is Pyrius?!"
"They kidnaped you?"
"They used me to get to Duncan MacLeod."
"Why?"
"To kill him. He was going to stop their plans to ride again. Their plans to
kill us all."
"Maybe I don't want to hear this."
"Why? Pyrius didn't tell you that the horsemen reunited and were going to
take over the world?"
"I don't want to know that part. I just want to know why you didn't kill
Methos."
"You want to know why I chose not to kill? Do you think I enjoy killing?"
"You must have felt something for him, not to kill him."
"I don't enjoy snakes either, but I wouldn't pick one out and kill it just
because I can."
"Were there reasons other than ethics that you didn't take his head? Did
you care about him? Did you forgive him? Did you see that he had
changed?" Elizabeth hopefully asked those questions.
Cassandra knew she was looking for something nice to be said about
Methos but didn't know why and didn't think Elizabeth would ever
explain it. "I didn't take his head because Duncan asked me not to."
"Is that the only reason?"
"Yes. If Duncan wasn't there, I would have taken his head for what he did
to me and my village and the thousands of innocent people they
slaughtered."
"They. It was they. It wasn't all Methos."
"He did his share."
"I agree... So, you haven't forgiven him."
"I've learned to live with the knowledge that he's alive somewhere in the
world. And that he'd made friends with Duncan. And that Duncan believes
that he's changed. I hope so. I couldn't bring myself to end his life if that
was a possibility. And... to be truthfully honest, I didn't want his
quickening. I don't think I could live with myself having Methos a part of
me. I could never get clean."
"I didn't want Pyrius'."
"Did he hurt you? Methos?"
"No. Quite the opposite. He's never done anything to hurt me." A tear slid
down her cheek. "Why didn't I remember that in Greece?"
Cassandra still didn't know anything about what Elizabeth was going
through, but couldn't help but walk to her and hold her.
Elizabeth held her back and felt better, needed a hug, "Thank you,
Cassandra. I know this wasn't easy for you."
"Why were you asking?"
"I'll tell you about it sometime. It's too fresh still."
"It's David, isn't it? David is Methos?"
"No," Elizabeth wasn't convincing, but Cassandra didn't need to follow it
through. She'd been under the power of Methos and knew what she was
dealing with.
"You're rid of him now, aren't you?"
Elizabeth cried out with the acknowledgment that she was.
"Liam and I are here for you. Come back to work for me. Paula, bless her
heart, can't keep the books straight like you did."
"I can't."
"Because of how I feel about Methos?"
"He's not Methos. That Methos."
Cassandra needed to joke, clear the heavy air, smiled, "Oh, God, there's
more than one of them?" Elizabeth didn't take that well. "Sorry. There's a
whole world out there that doesn't include Methos. You're better off
without him."
"I wish that were true."
~~~~~
TORONTO
Methos was angry as hell! He had been minding his own business. Why
didn't immortals just leave well enough alone? He felt a buzz while he
was taking in a ball game at Skydome. While he was trying to remind
himself of his friendships, he remembered Joe trying to explain the game
to him. Joe was such a fan, maybe seeing one would bring him out of his
depression. Methos had let himself go and he knew it. He didn't need the
preppies sitting next to him to regard him as if he had the plague. His hair
was longer than it had been in centuries, the beard that overtook his face
was annoying, but he didn't have the gumption to shave it off. When he
looked at himself in the mirror of the hotel that morning, he didn't
recognize himself. That was fine. If he didn't, no one else would either.
He had just caught the bag of peanuts the vendor threw from the aisle and
opened it when he felt the presence of the immortal. When he looked back
at top of the stands, there was a very unpleasant looking man staring at
him. There wasn't a hint of recognition. He couldn't be after Methos.
Ordinarily, Methos would have kept an eye on him, take off as soon as he
was out of the way of the exit. That was the Methos BP, before Pyrius.
The Methos sitting there that afternoon didn't play by his usual rules. That
immortal had invaded his space and he would pay. Methos turned back to
the game when the crowd roared from a home run. He looked back at the
immortal who seemed to want to play the immortal game.
Methos stood and made his way past the Blue Jays fans to the aisle and
sauntered up the stairs. He stood toe to toe with the immortal and said,
"Trust me, you don't want to mess with me," and walked out to his rental.
Methos was angry as hell! The immortal had followed him out of the
parking lot and down many city streets, his buzz fading in and out while
his piece of shit Continental kept a distance behind him. Methos cut in
front of a bus, took the next corner, sped away. Then heard the screech of
wheels and honking horns behind. He grinned, then his grin turned to a
frustrated scowl when he saw the black, dented Lincoln roar after him.
Methos looked at the immortal's eyes through the rear view mirror, "You
want to die? Fine!"
He led the immortal out of the city and braked at the side of the road. He
grabbed the broadsword he bought in Greece after ditching them in Pyrius'
palace, having lost his Ivanhoe someplace and got out the car. "I warned
you!" Methos yelled before the immortal got the car into park. Methos
kicked the car and screamed, "What is your problem!?"
The immortal motioned for him to step back from the car, which Methos
did. When the man stood, his katana in hand, Methos laughed. The
immortal really seemed to think his little sword could be a foe for him,
carrying a broadsword and a bad attitude. Methos lifted the sword back
and yelled as he lunged at him. The immortal expertly defended the attack
and said, "I've been waiting a long time for this, Monty."
Methos wondered if he heard right. He'd been many names, but Monty?
He would remember that one. "Pardon me?"
"Oh, don't pretend you don't remember! I had you! Your head was mine!
Then you stabbed me with that dagger. You got away. That won't happen
this time!"
The immortal lunged, Methos defended and spun, flipped his sword under
the immortal's and his katana flew in the air. When it hit the ground,
Methos stepped on it. "Who do you think I am?" He was sure he hadn't
seen that man before in his life.
"You do like to kid," the Immortal grinned, pulled out a very long knife
from his coat.
"Who the hell are you?!"
"Okay, I'll play. Quentin Fellowes."
Methos stared, tried to place him, shook his head. "You have me confused
with someone else."
The Immortal considered Methos and what he said. He was a little taller
than he remembered Monty to be, but the hair, the beard was exactly the
same. "Maybe," he said. "I'm sorry. I take back the challenge."
They stood and looked at each other. Quentin wanted his katana back, but
Methos still stood atop it. Methos smiled and slammed his foot down,
breaking it at the hilt. "Hey," Quentin said. "That sword was a gift from a
friend!"
Methos looked down at it at his feet. "Oops, seems to be broken. Come
and get it."
Quentin muttered under his breath, "Bastard!" When he stooped down to
pick up the two pieces, Methos slashed his side with a dagger. Quentin
jerked back, holding his side. Methos, with a gleam in his eye, moved
forward as Quentin kept stepping back. "I took back the challenge!"
"What kind of immortal are you? You can't take back a challenge!"
Methos took out his formidable broadsword and swished it in the air.
Quentin, having no weapon, ran for his antique car. Methos threw the
dagger at him, hitting Fellowes square in the back. Quentin fell against his
Lincoln and slid to the ground. Methos walked up to him, pulled his head
back by the hair and dragged him far away from his rental. No need to
trash a good SUV.
Methos looked at the immortal, now dead. There was nothing to stop him,
that was easy. If you come to play, you have to expect to play. Methos let
his head drop and Quentin laid on his stomach on the road. As he had his
sword above his head to take the killing blow, the old feelings of control
and bloodlust swept through his body once again. Pyrius would be shaking
in his boots! Methos laughed as he started to swing, then stopped. The
man was dead. There was no thrill taking a dead man's head.
So Methos waited. When he wasn't reviving, Methos took the dagger out
of his back, then waited some more. It was taking the immortal a while to
revive. He must be young. Methos smiled, shook his head. He shouldn't
have pissed him off. Quentin Fellowes should have picked an easier mark.
Whoever that Monty was, he should give a prayer of thanks that Fellowes
wouldn't be after him anymore.
The immortal slowly revived, took in a deep breath of clean air into his
lungs and coughed. Got to his hands and knees as the healing took over his
back and side. He didn't even see the flash of the sword as Methos brought
it back up above his head. To get his attention, Methos kicked him in the
side.
Quentin got a look of the bearded, long haired mystery man for only a
second before the sword came down. Methos stepped back and watched
the essence pour out of Fellowes' neck and into the air. "Come on!"
Methos commanded, "Come on, you jack ass!" He collected the short
quickening, which was over almost before it started. Methos couldn't have
been more disappointed. For him to take a quickening, he should at least
be able to savor it. Methos kicked the body again. Then again. "Stupid
little shit! You didn't even know who you had in front of you, did you!"
The reawakened horsemen feelings and the disappointment of the non-
quickening made Methos seethe. There had to be more out there he could
take to satisfy him. He'd just have to find them. One by one, he would find
them all.
CONTINUED in Chapter 15 - Payback
(
geocities.com/enyajo)