ELIZABETH SERIES
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
RECOVERY
by JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS: M, J, DM, A, OCs Claire, the Benicios
SUMMARY: Methos and Joe search for Duncan, and bringing Claire to
places in his past.
DISCLAIMERS: Still apply from Chapter One
~~~~~
YOUGHAL, IRELAND
The quiet little fishing village in southern Ireland was bustling with
intruders. Satellite dishes and reporters had staked out the shoreline, two
miles away from the off-shore crash site. Helicopters flew overhead
filming the recovery of the wreckage and victims, using long range
photography and cameras to capture the tragedy. Their reports went out
over the news channels and were front page headlines in the newspapers
for all the world to see.
Everywhere you turned, you saw one reporter talking to another trying to
pool their information, and to gather more. Officials from the airline, some
relatives who had made the devastating trek to visit the place where their
loved ones had perished and officials from the FTB in the United States,
had taken over the community. The fishermen and their families were
completely overwhelmed as the little town bulged with the excess of
people and technical communications machinery. The villagers had never
experienced anything like this before.
Methos arrived to see that the recovery efforts were well underway and
that there was no way to get anywhere near the site. He pretended to be a
reporter from the Oxford Press and tried to glean as much information on
the passengers as he could. After spending most of the day wandering
among and looking at and listening to those around him, he slipped into a
pub to have another talk with the bartender, a font of information, who
was willing to spill all he knew. They gabbed over a beer, but there wasn't
anything he had to say that Methos hadn't already gathered on his own.
Two network reporters entered and sat down at the end of the bar. Methos
smiled and nodded to them being friendly, but they huddled together in
conversation ignoring him. He was only able to catch a few words like
'tragic' and 'exciting' in one sentence.
He ordered another draft and wondered when the hoopla would die down,
when they would find Duncan alive and well, and if not, when they would
all go away so he could look for Mac himself. He sipped on the room
temperature beer and felt a hand on his shoulder. Joe leaned on him as he
took a seat on the stool next to him.
Surprising Joe, Methos immediately hugged him, happy to see someone
who felt the same way he did about the possible loss of their friend. "I'm
glad you came, Joe."
"I had to be here." He bitterly shook his head, "For Mac to be taken out
like this..."
Methos wouldn't hear it, "He wasn't."
Joe nodded, they had to think positively. Methos asked, "What do you
know?"
"He was on that plane," Joe solemnly said. "There's no word of survivors,
and the operation out there is now being termed, 'Search and recover'
instead of 'search and rescue'. By the sound of it, there's not much in the
way of intact fuselage."
"Well," Methos shrugged, "That doesn't mean anything. He'd revive."
Joe huddled close to Methos so no one else could hear, "They've taken up
body parts. The people were torn apart on impact! Have you seen them
laying on tables in an old cleaning house? It's awful, just awful..."
Methos shook his head, not for a moment accepting Duncan's death. There
was no way that he would give up on the Highlander until he saw his body
in front of him. "How did you get in there?"
"I spent twenty years as a field watcher," Joe reminded him. "I'm used to
getting into tight places."
"I am too, but you seem to do it better than me," Methos gave him his due.
"Let me buy you a beer."
"No," Joe said. "I saw you come in here and just needed to be with
someone I know."
"I know the feeling," Methos half smiled.
Later, while Methos called London to check up on Claire and Amanda, Joe
was still worried that Duncan could be one of the body parts that the
recovery team had respectfully set in the cleaning house that had been
turned into a morgue. So Joe forced himself to look at them. As each new
hand, ear, everything they had found floating in the water was brought in,
Joe looked over them all, thinking that he would recognize a portion of
Duncan if he saw it, then decided it was useless. He couldn't remember
any distinguishing marks or features that would point out that it was him,
except to see his face. Duncan's detached head was something he didn't
want to see. Ever.
Methos was allowed into the room with the other reporters who were told
not to take pictures. They were being given the opportunity to get a sense
of how tragic the crash was. Real people instantly killed, families torn
apart. This was not meant to be an opportunity for a good tabloid picture.
The cleaning house was a large one story stone building with freezer
compartments on one side and long tables for the actually cleaning and
fileting of the fish the villagers hauled in on the other. The reporters were
let in three at a time and allowed to view the remains of the passengers in
the freezers, making Methos just want to get out. He stepped past the other
two reporters frantically scribbling their impressions on their notepads, as
they'd be reporting it to the world in a matter of minutes. He moved into
the other half of the building where, on the long tables, the personal effects
of the victims were being stored.
Meeting up with Joe, they quietly walked down the aisles between tables,
looking at the suitcases, purses, shoes everything that was laid out. Methos
paused as he saw a doll very much like the one that Claire played with,
slept with. It's hair was matted, it's dress was filthy, it's stuffed body was
still damp. While Methos reflected on it, Joe kept on walking. He heard
one of the men who were bringing stuff in from the boats that had carried
the victims personal effects to shore. He was talking with another worker,
"Look at this," he said with surprise.
The other worker scrutinized the torn wrapping around a sword. "There
must have been an antique dealer on board," he said, rubbing his hand
along the blade, surprised that it was sharp and drew blood on his finger.
Joe trudged up to them and asked, "May I see it, please," in a hoarse,
emotional voice. Joe saw the delicate curve of its blade and knew it
instantly. The blade had cut open the packaging that Duncan had wrapped
around it for travel. Joe ripped open the rest and saw the telltale white hilt
of the katana in the shape of a dragon. "David!" he hollered to Methos,
who came running.
They both gawked at it, silently cried because it was proof that Duncan
had been on board, he didn't at the last minute, change his mind and not
get on the plane, and could be laying in parts in the freezer in the other
room. Their grief was observed by the men bringing in the goods, who
asked, "Do you recognize it?"
The both nodded that they most certainly did. One man bowed his head
and said, "I'm sorry, sirs," and then quietly went back to work bringing in
more personal effects.
They called Amanda with the news that there wasn't any doubt that
Duncan had been on board the flight, they could no longer hang onto a
glimmer of hope that he wasn't. After seeing that doll on the table, Methos
also needed to speak to Claire over the phone.
After hanging up, he told Joe that he was going to go and 'get some
supplies' and that he would be back as soon as he could. Joe didn't even
have time to ask him what he needed, or offer to go with him. Methos was
gone.
~~~~~
TWO DAYS LATER
Methos came back to the village by sea, in a speed boat he'd rented and
outfitted with everything he could think of, and what the marina suggested
one would need to find something underwater. They thought he was an
ordinary scavenger, interested in one of the thousands of shipwrecks that
had littered the coast line for centuries. By the time he returned, the
recovery operation had dwindled to almost nothing. There was no longer a
round the clock search, the reporters were off on other assignments, and
the mourners had returned to their homes.
Joe had kept abreast of the things that were brought in and still had trouble
believing that Duncan was among the other victims. There would have
been a quickening if he'd lost his head that the many eyewitnesses to the
crash would have seen, even though it would have been lost if there wasn't
another immortal on board. The thought that there might have been a fight
on an airplane between two immortals was far-fetched, so Joe knew that if
Duncan's quickening was a reality, it would most certainly have been lost,
but it still would have been seen. The fishermen on their boats didn't report
that there had been a lightening storm, only that the plane seemed to be
flying lower than other planes in the flight path, and suddenly went into a
spiral and plowed right into the ocean, disintegrating on impact with the
water.
Methos and Joe waited until after dark when there wouldn't be any
spectators to see what they needed to do. Methos had reason to be glad that
the overbearing press, in recent years, needed to compete for ratings and
readership. They had reported every single nugget of information that
came across their paths over the span of four days that the plane crash was
front page news. With Joe pouring over every single item of information
while Methos was gone, they knew the exact coordinates of the plane's
impact.
Even though they were armed with the information, Joe had to ask, "How
in the sam hell do you think you can find him when the divers working 24
hours a day couldn't?"
"They weren't looking for a person, they were looking for wreckage." He
went back to the map. "I would assume that the plane broke apart and the
field of debris on the ocean floor could be up to a mile or two long, or
wide. They could have missed him. If they did, we're going him. Come
on," he told Joe and walked out the door of the motel room.
The boat was fully outfitted with a GPS system, megawatt flashlights, a
metal detector, scuba gear. It also had accommodations for Joe while he
waited on deck, a fridge, microwave, and a well stocked bar. As they
motored to the crash site under the cover of night, the waters were calm,
and for that, Joe was glad. He never was good on boats and didn't want to
get seasick.
Methos would go underwater while Joe would scan the sonar system for
pings of debris as he trolled over the site, marking each reading on the
GPS system for Methos to investigate up close. As Methos sat on the edge
of the boat, spitting into his face mask, Joe told him, "He may not be down
there."
"But he might be," Methos said. "Use the flashlight as little as possible so
no one will notice us out here." Joe gave him an encouraging pat on the
shoulder and a thumbs up, just before Methos fell backwards into the
water. He drifted down 300 feet and saw pieces of fuselage, mostly small,
the large chunks had already been recovered and shipped to America
where it would be pieced back together like a giant jigsaw puzzle to
determine the cause of the crash. He swam along the bottom with the GPS
remote strapped to his left wrist, the metal detector strapped to his right,
pointing the flashlight in front and below him.
Methos knew he was outside the range of the coordinates he had set and
was ready to turn back, when he saw a flash of metal in the flashlight
beam. Swimming towards it, the sight of people trapped under heavy
objects came into view. Working carefully, he would lift a seat, make sure
the person wasn't Duncan, then release the body, letting it float to the
surface.
Sometimes, he would simply lift a chunk of fuselage, and more people
would float up, some missing body parts. Suitcases, the food cart,
everything he saw, he lifted to see if anything was underneath and if there
were and he was sure it wasn't his friend, he let it rise.
Joe slowly trolled the boat as he sipped a hot brandy. It was a crisp, eerie
night that sent chills up his spine. He heard a splash in the water away
from the boat. Since the sound came from out of range of Methos' mapped
out area, he thought it was a flying fish or something, but trained the
flashlight beam in the general direction. He saw that it was a piece of the
tail of the plane, it's colorful logo immediately recognizable. He shut off
the boat's motor and turned it around, drifting towards the debris. That's
when he saw the gruesome sight of bloated bodies floating face down on
the surface. There was a man with his leg gone. A child with long blonde
braids. Another man. A teenager, with short hair, so he couldn't tell if it
was a male or female. He took a deep breath of fresh air and sat back
down, turned off the flashlight and tearfully said a prayer in the darkness
for their souls.
In the black water, Methos' metal detector was going crazy. So much so
that he had to turn it off. He got a beep from Joe that there was a strong
signal on the sonar and Joe's entries on the GPS guided him to the spot.
While swimming towards it, he saw a flash of metal to his left. He found
an airplane seat, missing it's cushions, empty, laying on it's back, attached
to another, and another. He saw a body and shone his flashlight on it to see
that it wasn't Duncan. He unfastened the seatbelt and the body lifted. There
was an older woman in the next seat, and Methos did the same for her. A
khaki covered leg and a leather boot on a person caught his attention. He
remembered Duncan wearing that when he visited his flat.
Methos grabbed the edge of the empty seat and pulled himself closer.
Duncan's bloated face illuminated in the beam of his flashlight. He was
still strapped to the seat. His eyes were open and cold as death. Methos
quickly checked his body over, and made sure his head was still attached
at the neck, a great swirl of bubbles flooded out of his mouth as he laughed
with glee. He unbuckled Duncan and together, they rose to the surface.
Joe took another mug of brandy out of the little microwave on the boat and
took a long sip to warm his throat and esophagus. It didn't help, his chills
were from the inside out, after seeing the loss of humanity around him in
the water. He heard another splash, this time to the right, but didn't want to
see more corpses. He hadn't seen such a sight since he was in Nam and
didn't need to see more.
Then he heard Methos' voice calling, "Joe!"
Joe turned on the flashlight and aimed it in that direction and saw two
heads bobbing on the surface. Methos waved his hand out of the water,
"Over here!" Joe immediately revved the engine and slowly made his way
around the bodies in the water towards Methos' voice as he swam towards
the boat with Duncan in tow.
"Oh, thank Christ," Joe exclaimed when he saw Duncan's intact body.
Methos held him as Joe grabbed Duncan's shoulders and together they
pulled him into the boat. As soon as he was on board , Methos climbed
aboard and ran to the console to get them out of there. Maneuvering
around the wreckage and bodies he had freed, he drove them far from the
beaches around Youghal, to a remote area, then slowed the boat, shut off
the motor and let them drift.
Joe was sitting on the deck next to Duncan's body, holding his hand.
Methos took off his scuba gear and they both smiled and whooped as he
peeled off the top of his wet suit. When they shown the flashlight on
Duncan, they saw his body was bloated from being immersed in salt water
for so long. His cold, clammy skin was a deathly blue color, almost
transparent, with red stringy ribbons on it's surface that had to be his veins.
Joe was about ready to barf. But, the most shocking sight of all was
illuminated by the lights of the boat after Methos flipped them on.
Duncan had received a stab wound to his chest. Joe gasped, "What the
hell?"
Methos flipped Duncan's body over and pushed the water out of his lungs.
When he was sure his lungs were clear, he flipped him over again and they
waited. Methos lifted Duncan's shirt and saw a deep, but narrow slash in
his chest. It took a while for him to revive. Joe had another brandy along
with Methos as they waited, speculating about what the hell happened on
that plane. "He could have just been hit by flying debris in the cabin,"
Methos said, as his finger traced Duncan's stab wound, but he didn't feel
any sharp objects still embedded in his body.
Joe verbalized the audacious thought that had been nagging at him, "Could
he have had a fight on the plane with someone? Another immortal?"
"He didn't have his sword," Methos shook his head. "And planes,
airports... that's not the place for a fight, we all know that."
"Why not?"
"The plane could crash, swords need to be checked along with luggage,"
Methos said. "Not to mention that there could be a whole shitload of
innocent bystanders, witnesses." He shook his head again, dismissing it
completely, "It's unofficial holy ground for us."
They were silent as they drank and waited for Duncan to revive. Methos
lifted him onto the back row of seats on the boat and Joe laid a blanket
over him. By the time the sun cracked the horizon, Duncan finally revived.
His skin slowly turned back to normal as he coughed out the remnants of
the salt water he had sucked into his lungs. Joe pounded on his back to
help dislodge the phlem, but Duncan had to grab his hand to stop him. "I'm
okay," he croaked, coughing, hunched over.
Methos sat back and smiled with relief. Joe got himself back onto a seat
and they let Duncan heal and gather his thoughts. He told them that he
needed something to drink, and Joe handed him a bottle of brandy. He told
him, "I was thinking along the lines of water. Clear, clean water."
Duncan gulped down the bottle of Evian that Methos got from the fridge.
He was grateful that he wouldn't have to be stuck down there forever. He
told them in a voice filled with emotion, "Thanks, guys."
They finally asked him what happened, and Duncan needed to clear his
head before he remembered.
#####
BEFORE THE CRASH OF FLIGHT 957
#####
The DC-10 was full and Duncan was late getting there; he was one of the
last allowed on board. He looked at his ticket and walked toward the back
of the plane. His seat was the aisle of the two seats on the right side of the
plane. He found a young man sitting in his seat talking with the young
woman by the window. After checking that he was right, Duncan tapped
the man on the shoulder. "Sorry, but... this is my seat," he said and showed
him his boarding pass.
"Oh, yeah," the man said pointing to himself and the woman next to him.
"We're together, we're engaged and they put us on opposite sides of the
plane. Do you mind if we switch seats? My seat is over there," he pointed
up a few rows. "It's on the aisle, too, so..."
"No problem," Duncan smiled and walked back up the aisle to the only
empty seat on the plane, on the aisle of the five middle seats, just a few
rows in front of his original seat. For that, he was glad. He didn't want to
have to sit in the middle of the five seats. He didn't know how anyone
could, there was no leg room. Ordinarily, he rode first class, or at least
business, but his flight was a spur of the moment flight when he had
received information from his detective Sydney Mansfield, that James was
spotted in New York and he took what he could get.
As soon as he got his seatbelt fastened, the plane taxied away from the
terminal. It was then Duncan realized he'd forgotten to buy a book. In the
rush from Methos' flat and the terrible traffic, he'd had no time. It was
going to be a long flight with nothing to read, and the older woman sitting
next to him was already leaning against a pillow on her husband's shoulder
on the other side of her. Her husband was engrossed in the newspaper.
Duncan stared at the seat in front of him, then smiled at the young girl
across the aisle from him, who promptly showed him her new teddy bear.
Before Duncan could relate every single minute of his flight, Methos
interrupted his monologue, "Get to the point, please."
Duncan fast forwarded through the events to when he noticed a man in a
trench coat come out of the bathroom just ahead of him. It was stuffy on
the plane and everyone had taken off their coats. Duncan told Joe and
Methos, "He struck me as odd. When I saw that coat, I immediately
thought, immortal. But there wasn't a buzz."
Duncan looked at him out of the corner of his eye as he made his way
down the aisle, bumping people with his large backpack, then he returned
his attention to the magazine he'd gotten from a flight attendant. A few
minutes later, another man in a trench coat, carrying a backpack like the
other guy, walked up the aisle. The first class curtain was left open a little,
and Duncan leaned into the aisle to see him walk all the way forward to
the cockpit door.
There was a startled gasp behind him. Duncan turned around to see the guy
from the bathroom holding a sharp plastic implement, a foot long dagger
at the throat of the guy sitting in Duncan's seat. "My name is not
MacLeod," the man argued, trying to force the knife away from his neck
while his fiance‚ started screaming. "I'm John Dunn! Look at my wallet!"
The passengers immediately became upset, scared, the flight attendants
were trying to calm everyone down. Duncan stood up to see the guy with
the plastic dagger slit the man's throat and actually try to saw his head off,
but the plastic knife was too dull. A man in the seat behind Duncan was
writing on a legal pad, with headphones on, and didn't have a clue about
what was happening around him. Duncan took hold of the pen, and said,
"Can I borrow this?"
The head of the man in Duncan's seat fell forward and the guy with the
knife whacked his fianc‚ across the face to knock her out. He lifted the
knife in the air and, before he could drop it down on the man's neck to try
to behead him again, Duncan stabbed him in the side with the pen. He fell
and they both rolled back towards the other set of bathrooms. By this time,
the whole third class had erupted with terrorized screams. A woman came
out of the bathroom slapping the door against Duncan's head, stunning
him. She screamed when she saw the bloody dagger on the floor and the
blood from the man still buckled in his seat, hanging over the armrest into
the aisle.
Two other men, also wearing trench coats and buckling their packs on
their backs, ran back down the aisle. One waved a plastic gun that he had
just put together in the bathroom and announced to everyone, "Keep
quiet!" He pointed the gun in the faces of the people in front of him, and
slowly, the volume in the plane ebbed to only frightened squeals.
Duncan was still struggling with the guy on the floor. He reached for the
dagger, but just as he was about to get a grip on the handle, a man lifted
him up by the hair and grabbed the dagger, and buried it in Duncan's chest.
As Duncan died, he felt himself being carried back to his seat and being
buckled in.
~~~~~
IRELAND
"That's all I know," Duncan said. "I suppose the backpacks were
parachutes, because I remember one of them opening the emergency door
just before I died." He was ready for something stronger than water when
he remembered the man's throat bleeding all over his and his fianc‚'s laps.
Someone had known which seat was his, and wanted to take his head.
He motioned for Joe to hand over his glass of brandy and gulped it down.
"It had to be James. Who else could it have been? Maybe Sydney got too
close to the truth." He looked at Methos and said, "That's what I tried to
tell you before you told me to shut up about Liz. My detective, Sydney
Mansfield, said he spotted James in New York. James must be watching
me, he must have known I was on that plane and sent someone to kill me.
Immortals know airplanes and airports are like holy ground, we gotta
travel. No immortal would have his sword with him, and certainly
wouldn't want to collect a quickening at 30,000 feet. Those guys weren't
immortal, but they sure knew how to kill one."
Joe angrily shook his head, "James didn't have any qualms about killing
everyone on board to take you out? What a sick son of a bitch."
"He didn't know the plane was going to crash," Duncan said, then
thought... "Or did he? My quickening would certain fool with the
navigational systems if anything else. He was ready to sacrifice his men,
who I'm sure, didn't know that they wouldn't survive it."
"But," Methos interrupted. "You said they had backpacks, parachutes."
Duncan paused, nodded, then weakly smiled. "Yeah. They knew it would
crash. One of the men went into the cockpit... they could have shot the
pilot, the co-pilot, and jumped free before it went down to cover all traces
of the murder."
Joe sputtered, "That man can't live any longer. We have to take out
James."
"That's my plan, Joe," Duncan said. "That's why he tried to take me out."
Methos went to the front and started the engines. He revved the boat so he
couldn't hear what Joe and Duncan were planning to get the Watchers
involved, notify Interpol, and on and on. Now that Duncan was again in
the land of the living, Methos only wanted one thing. To resume his quiet
life with his daughter.
Joe bonked him on the shoulder, "Well? What do you think?"
"Sounds good. Go after him with everything you've got." Methos said, not
looking at either of them. "Just leave me out of it."
They brought the boat back, went to get their things from the motel in
Youghal, and Duncan's katana, and chocked back their trepidation of
getting on yet another plane, to fly from Dublin to London.
~~~~~
LONDON
Amanda and Claire were sitting on the living room floor with a kid's video
on the TV, putting different clothes on Claire's new set of Barbie dolls that
Amanda had bought for her. Claire couldn't get any of the clothes on the
dolls, so instead, tried to eat a shoe. Amanda told her that it was an
accessory, not a snack, and showed her how to put the shoe on Barbie's
foot. Then she had to agree that it was difficult to keep them on.
Amanda, only used to Claire's premmie hum, almost lifted off the floor
when she felt an immortal buzz. Before she could move, the door was
unlocked with a key and Methos walked in. Claire immediately lifted her
arms and screamed, "Papa!"
Amanda stood and asked, "You're back? Why? Is he? Dead?"
"No," Methos grabbed Claire and lifted her above his head, rubbing his
head against her belly making her giggle. "Mac's paying for the cab."
"What?!" Amanda whooped. "He's here?!" She ran to the door and ran into
Duncan himself. She cried out and jumped into his arms. "I love you, Mac!
I love you so much!"
He laughed, kissed her neck as he spun her around. "You're a sight for sore
eyes. That was a close one," he set her down and kissed her tenderly, his
hands cupping her cheeks.
"Tell me what happened," she demanded.
"We have all the time in the world for me to tell you," Duncan said,
looking at Methos with gratefulness.
Methos holding Claire was in a meditative mood. They both knew that he
had to be thinking of Elizabeth. He told them, "Go. Go catch up with each
other at that hotel."
"You don't mind if we leave?" Amanda quickly took her coat.
"No, go."
They left, almost skipping down the stairs. Methos carried Claire to the
window and saw them get into Amanda's rental and speed off. His eyes
lifted as he scanned the neighborhood. It suddenly didn't seem so much
like home.
The next morning, Duncan and Amanda arrived back at Methos' apartment
and rang the bell. It was Amanda who realized that the door was unlocked
when she rapped on it, telling him to let them in. They'd brought breakfast
and were in an extremely good mood, but were let down to see the
apartment held no personal effects whatsoever. Everything that was
Methos' and Claire's had been cleared out. They walked through the
apartment and only then saw a note on the kitchen table. It read, "He may
know where we are so we have to make tracks. See ya sometime, David."
~~~~~
DECEMBER 2, 2003
MADRID
"Damn her!" Methos couldn't think of anything else on that day except the
fact that it was his and Elizabeth's wedding anniversary. Methos never had
liked having dates to remember, Elizabeth's birthday, their anniversary, his
birthday; they only made him remember things he'd rather forget.
Skipping out of London ahead of James' trail, he and Claire had gone to
the airport, then reconsidered getting on an airplane because of Duncan's
close call. They took the train to the southern coast, then the Chunnel to
France, then trains through Europe. He kept buying them tickets to go
south.
Claire was a great traveler and never tired of looking out the window at the
changing landscape, making Methos proud. On the long train rides, he
would take videos of the passing scenery, remembering the many times
he'd ridden over the plains, or of Claire while she was entertaining other
passengers, who didn't seem to mind, or when she was sleeping like an
angel.
At nighttime, he would softly tell her a story as she fell asleep, so no one
else could hear them. He'd test the strength of her legs, they would practice
making consonant sounds and Claire would try to string the new sounds
together into words. He figured it would be easier for her to learn any and
every language while she was young and started to teach her French,
Chinese, Spanish, but she would only get confused. "Oeuf?" She asked
while looking at her scrambled egg. "Egg," she corrected him. He smiled
and realized it was best to stick with one language for the time being, and
English, her mother's native tongue, would be it. There would be plenty of
time to get her up to speed on the world's languages.
They'd stop at the next city, look around, stay a couple of nights, then he
would feel the need to move on. After spending a couple of nights in
Madrid, Methos had to stop himself from buying a train ticket to Lisbon;
his head told him not to go back to Sintra, but his heart was crying out for
home.
Methos and Claire walked through the city and when she seemed too slow,
he picked her up and said, "Are you tired, little girl?"
She only giggled, shook her head no, and pointed out something colorful
that had her attention. Her stamina amazed him as he hugged her tight. She
guided him into a clothing store, and she didn't want to leave until she
could feel the fabric of the bright yellow vest in the store window. She
grabbed the bottom edge of it and Methos quickly said, "Remember what I
told you? Just look. You can look all you want, but don't touch unless you
clear it with me."
A saleslady came over, "Puedo ayudarle, senor? {May I help you, senor}"
Methos shook his head, "Somos el mirar justo. Sus dedos están limpios...
{We're just looking. Her fingers are clean...}"
She smiled at Claire, "Usted es una pequeña muchacha muy bonita. Usted
puede tocar la ropa. {You're a very pretty little girl. You may touch the
garment.}"
Methos saw a rack of chains and pendants on the display case by the
register and looked them over. He saw one oval locket that caught his eye
and looked at Claire. He tried the locket on her, and laughed. It went down
to her knees. He asked the clerk if she could shorten the chain, to which
she replied they had shorter ones to put on the locket for children.
He pulled out his wallet and asked if they could downsize a photo to put
inside it. That was also no problem, so he took out one of the two pictures
he had of Elizabeth and gave it to her.
While the clerk was handling that, Methos saw that Claire was trying on
purses, slinging the long straps over her shoulder. He smiled, and knelt
down to her, replacing the purse straps on the hook, and said, "Look, don't
touch unless Papa is with you, remember?"
He stiffened when he felt a buzz permeate the air. Looking through the
window, he saw a woman wearing western clothes standing across the
square, staring at him. It only took seconds for him to remember her
standing at the end of the hall in the hotel when he and Elizabeth were in
Puget Sound. He would have taken care of her, but he had Claire with him,
so he didn't even want to talk to her. After paying for the locket and
slipping it into his pocket, he bolted out the back door of the shop telling
himself that it was a coincidence. He wasn't the only traveling immortal in
the world. Still, Madrid had lost his luster, and they went right to a car
rental agency and left as quickly as possible.
~~~~~
DECEMBER 31, 2003
BARCELONA
At a street fair celebrating the end of another year, Methos knelt down
with Claire standing between his legs. She was smiling, arms lifted in the
air, waving at a clown that was walking by, part of the parade. Methos
looked at his daughter through the viewfinder of the digital camcorder he
always made sure he had with him. He wasn't translating his journal
anymore, but would chronicle her life for prosperity. The clown noticed
Claire, and performed for her. She squealed with glee as he bent down,
made funny faces. But when he motioned for her to come closer, out into
the street, Claire immediately turned shy, clutching onto Methos' leg. He
laughed and told her, "Go on."
Claire waddled out into the street, a few paces from Methos and he filmed
them. She kept looking back at her father to see that it was all right. The
crowd enjoyed how the clown did magic tricks for her and she was happy
being the center of attention, and getting the flower the clown pulled from
behind her ear.
The crowd loved Claire and told Methos, as the clown moved on with the
rest of the parade, that she was adorable the perfect straight man for the
clown magician. Claire was having trouble unwrapping a piece of candy
that she retrieved from the handfuls that were tossed from passing floats in
the parade. Methos opened it for her and pulled off a minuscule piece and
held it in front of her mouth. She bit it and watched him pop the rest of the
caramel into his own mouth. She got mad and pouted, she wanted it all.
~~~~~
JANUARY 2004
ITALY
Not having set foot in the city of Florence since the day Pyrius had
approached him there , Methos decided that since he was dead, there
wasn't anything stopping them from revisiting the place he had spent
centuries in. Finally realizing that he never again had to worry about
Pyrius, he and Claire walked and stood on the exact spot where it had
happened, as best Methos could remember. The area had changed, but the
building was still there. After pausing to reflect on Pyrius and his rage
against him, holding Claire's hand, he asked her, "That wasn't so scary,
was it?"
"Cary?" She asked.
"You will never know what scary is, Claire," he leaned down to promise
her. "Not as long as I'm alive."
Methos saw a familiar man standing a ways away from them, and stared at
him, without letting the man know he was staring at him. He pretended to
fix Claire's ponytail when it hit Methos that the man was Brett Maxwell,
Elizabeth's former watcher. The sight of a known watcher always gave
Methos pause, except for Joe, but to see Elizabeth's watcher made him
think only one thing, What in the hell is he doing here?
Methos grabbed Claire and their backpack and stood and twirled as he
scanned the area. He couldn't see Joe, and truth to be told, hadn't thought
about Joe since they rescued Duncan. He wondered if Maxwell could have
been reassigned to the Methos Chronicle, or if there was another immortal
in the area, Maxwell's new assignment. Or if the watchers knew about
Claire, a pre-immortal and they were assigning watchers to premmies. Or,
Brett could just be there on vacation and it was another instance of
coincidence that life was known to throw at people. He didn't stop long
enough to find out.
Methos had had enough of Florence, he had conquered his demons and
left. Brett waved to him, wanted to stop him, but at that moment he was hit
on the back of his head by the sword hilt of a female immortal wearing
western clothes. The only reason he was still alive was because Brett used
his watcher survival training in instances of attack by an immortal. As he
limped to his car, holding the wound on the back of his head, he knew she
was an immortal; mortals didn't usually carry and use swords as weapons.
~~~~~
NEXT DAY
PISA
Methos planned on driving from Florence to Genoa to check on properties
that he held there. As he drove, he thought of the one thing he appreciated
about the United States, their interstates that made cross country travel
easier. Italy had them, but they were few and far between. Methos had
always loved cars, and in recent years, after leaving his Adam Pierson
persona behind, he favored the sporty ones. He checked on Claire in the
rear view mirror, she seemed at home in her car seat fastened in the back
of the Ferrari he rented.
When he saw a road sign, he slowed to decide if he'd make the trip to Pisa,
the turnoff was just ahead. He had only been in Pisa one time in his life,
and since it had turned into a fiasco, he tended to steer clear of the place.
He had faced the Pyrius demon in Florence. It wouldn't be that much
harder to face his one foray into the world of building construction on a
more elaborate scale than keeping a roof over his head. There had been
times in his life when he thought he could do it all. The one glaring
mistake he made had become world famous. It started out as a contest
between himself and another architectural apprentice to design a bell tower
for a cathedral.
The design Methos came up with was chosen by the priest, and it was
built. On it's completion, it was magnificent, a beacon tolling its holy bell
to the world, a wonderful compliment to the cathedral. Then it started
leaning, and there wasn't anything they could do about it.
Methos carried Claire from the public parking lot to the tourist Mecca of
the city, the Leaning Tower of Pisa. Methos groaned when he saw it had
sunk so far, but was a little proud of the fact that it hadn't toppled over all
together yet. That had to say something...
"Look at that," he whispered into his daughter's ear, pointing at the tower
with modern braces to hold it up. "That's your father's only excursion into
the field of public architecture and look at it."
Claire looked in the direction he pointed and leaned her head to see it
upright. It was a nice design, Methos told himself. It was still standing...
Claire wanted down and he set her on the pavement. He saw her really
stare at the tower, bending at the waist so see it correctly, and laugh when
a flock of birds took flight all at once from it's railings.
Methos heard a tour guide telling her American audience as they made
their way to where he and Claire were standing, "All the buildings in his
square have extensive paperwork on the architects and their building
process, except one, the designer of the bell tower. I guess we don't have to
wonder why he didn't sign off on it." She waited until the chuckles died
down and said sing-song, "Foundation, foundation, foundation."
When she went into the minute details of all they'd had to do over the
centuries to make sure the tower wasn't destroyed by falling over, Methos
grabbed Claire and took off. He didn't need to be reminded! He muttered
on the way to the car, "Just bull doze the damn thing and get over it!"
Methos drove to the vineyard he was part owner of, a silent partner. The
Benicio family who ran it didn't know that the visitor, who showed up
every couple of years to buy a case of wine was in fact, their major
financial backer. Since he always bought the very best vintage, they always
treated him like a king. He saw that the patriarch, Giuseppe, had gotten a
little older, a little slower, than the last time he visited. His wife had
passed away the year before of a heart attack, and Methos was saddened to
hear it. He patted the old man's shoulder to give him his sympathy,
knowing exactly what kind of grief he was feeling. The Benicio 'boys' had
grown to men in the years since Methos had last visited, and their wives
had joined the family business. Methos was always impressed by their
operation, and they produced the best wine he had ever tasted.
The old man pleasantly asked him, "Che cosa la volontà esso è questo
volta, Martin? {What will it be this time, Martin}"
Methos noticed Claire walking around the courtyard, smelling the flowers,
careful not to touch them as her father had told her many times, and just
beginning to sink in with her, but not always. Two dogs loped up to her
and promptly licked her face, making her convulse in giggles. Methos
protectively pulled them back from her, and Giuseppe laughed, "Sono
inoffensivi e grandi con i bambini. Non ci è preoccupazione. {They are
harmless and great with children. There is no worry.}"
He saw that Claire was having a ball with the dogs, so he let them keep
playing and told Giuseppe, "Sarebbe possibile trasmettere una bottiglia di
Primo 1983 ad un indirizzo a New York City? { Would it be possible to
send a bottle of Primo 1983 to an address in New York City?}"
Giuseppe dropped the pencil that he had ready to make a list and spoke in
English, "1983? We've priced that bottle at 11 million lira!"
"I know," Methos said, figuring that it was around $5,000. "Sarà un regalo
per un buono amico. {It will be a gift for a good friend of mine.}" He
picked up the pencil and wrote Joe and Caroline's address on the slip of
paper, a little upset with himself that he hadn't talked to Joe in such a long
time.
Giuseppe told him that they would take the greatest care in mailing the
bottle and invited 'Martin' and his daughter to stay for dinner. Knowing
that his wife was an excellent cook, Methos accepted without thinking
about who would actually make the meal now that she was gone.
Last minute worries aside, dinner turned out fine. The food was rich and
filling, the company of generations of family was robust and Claire played
with the Benicio grandson. Methos was worried at first when she knelt
down to the baby lying on his back on the floor of the living room, she'd
never played with a real baby before. He didn't want her to lift him up and
drop him or hit him, she could get pretty rough when playing with her doll.
He was proud of how gentle she was with the baby, trying to play patty
cake and kissing him on the cheek.
They were invited to stay overnight, and Methos accepted. A nice cozy
bed, not the cold, hard beds in a hotel would be a luxury, and the thought
of how delicious a home cooked breakfast would be sealed the deal. The
Benicios retired early, and Methos and Claire were almost bored staying in
their room after everyone else went to bed. There was no TV or radio in
the bedroom they gave him to sleep in, no books either. It was too soon to
sleep, so while Claire was playing with her blocks, hoping she would
construct something more stable than the Tower of Pisa, he walked
downstairs to check out their library.
He found the day's newspaper on a table in the study. It was either that or
books upon books on grapes. He went back upstairs before Claire could
miss him and sprawled out on the bed with the paper laid out in front of
him.
Methos saw it immediately. The headline grabbed his attention, but
reading the article almost made his heart stop when the words sunk in.
There was an international serial killer on the loose, decapitating people.
The paper listed the history of the case, it had been going on for a while,
but was news to Methos. He didn't have access to world news, and hadn't
particularly cared in recent months. Since the first murder happened in
England, a single woman by the name of Cecile Chapel, Interpol was
involved and they were stumped.
Methos gasped and wondered if that Cecile Chapel could have been the
woman he went home with, he never got her last name. The method of the
killing and her name made him pause, then read the rest of the article.
Cecile was a single woman, who was found in her flat the morning after
the murder. He did a mental accounting of time in his head and realized
the date she was found was the morning after he left her place.
The next known victim was a bartender in a small fishing village in
Ireland, the scene of the chaos from a recent plane crash. Methos thought
back and remembered having a quiet talk with a bartender one night before
Joe arrived in the village.
The next victim was a Spanish woman in Madrid who worked in a
clothing store. Methos remembered the woman who had made the locket
for Claire. The next victim was found New Year's Day in Barcelona, a
young college student, who was making a living as a clown at the street
fair, was found decapitated in an alleyway. The latest victim, the reason
for the long descriptive article in the newspaper, was from their own
community. She was a tour guide in Pisa.
The paper said that Interpol was stumped, there seemed to be absolutely no
connection between the victims, were strangers to each other. The method
of killing, decapitation, and the calling card left by the killer, a small
square of tartan left on their chests, was the only connection between the
murders.
Methos couldn't breathe. He heard Claire knock down her blocks, the
sound making him jump off the bed. The police or the newspaper didn't
find a connection between all the crimes, but Methos did. Someone was
following him, killing those in his wake, but didn't choose people that
Methos knew, or even cared about. His heart sank when he realized he was
staying in the home of a wonderful family who could be next on the list, if
Methos was found there. He had to make tracks, and fast. He threw all
their things into their bags and left a note on the kitchen table that they had
to leave, thanking them for their hospitality and leaving the money for the
wine and postage.
As he drove away, he kept looking back at the villa, and around the area
for any prying eyes. Methos hoped that the killer wouldn't strike them, he
was lead to believe from the newspaper that the victims were all single
people, easy to get to. The Benicios did nothing alone, he hoped that
would keep them safe and silently wished them well.
~~~~~
APRIL 13, 2004
NORTON PLACE COMPLEX
Methos didn't know where to turn, or what to do with Claire if he did get
the inclination to figure out who was committing the murders and setting a
trap for him. In the last three months, he and Claire hadn't stayed more
than two nights in any one place. After that length of time, and no
murders, Methos started to think they were safe or the killer was caught or
killed himself. Then, after leaving Cairo with Claire, he saw the headlines
blare with the news of another victim by the hand of who the international
press had dubbed, "The Decapitating Stranger".
He was stunned. He hadn't seen anyone follow him, he paid close attention
to everyone in their vicinity. It had been months since the last murder, but
the papers detailed the store owner who sold him more digital cards for his
camcorder because he hadn't had access to a computer to download the
videos he had taken of mostly Claire. The one person he thought of was
Duncan MacLeod of the clan MacLeod. Hopefully, whoever was doing it
wouldn't find him and Claire, and if he did, Duncan would take care of it.
Methos hated immortals killing mortals, but couldn't find it in his soul to
do anything about it. Not while he had to take care of his daughter.
Methos walked into the apartment that Elizabeth had found and furnished
and he was taken aback. It was exactly as he left it, when he said goodbye
to it after Elizabeth was taken from him and Claire. Methos' daughter on
the other hand, who would be two in one month, happily entered the living
room without a second thought. He wondered if she remembered it, or
Elizabeth. She began to run to the TV, but fell just before she reached it.
She always fell when she was excited. Her father watched her pick herself
up and try again, then turn on the TV. He wondered if he should try to
wean her from it because as soon as she was near one, it couldn't be in the
off position.
Looking around the apartment, he wondered why he came back to that
particular place while he felt Duncan out about the strange case and filed
his American taxes. Methos set the dufflebag down and shut the door.
Dust. There was nothing but dust everywhere. Claire was clutching the
couch, trying to set her teddy bear on it without it falling over. At least
Amanda or Duncan or someone had put sheets over the furniture. He
pulled the sheet off the couch and Claire let out a giant sneeze, then set her
bear on the couch, all the while still focused on the TV. It had taken an
eternity for Elizabeth to figure out where their new couch would be placed.
Even longer to pick out the couch at the store.
At the door of Claire's room, he remembered finding the cufflink in his
crying daughter's crib right after her mother was taken away from them.
The dining room. Scene of the crime. He couldn't walk in. The blood had
been washed off the wall. MacLeod? Amanda? They were the only ones
with keys.
Her laptop was still on the dining table, right where he left it. It was like
the condo had been in a time capsule for all the memories that flooded
back to him everywhere he looked.
The final words they said to each other came back as if they were on a tape
recorder and he pushed the play button. He had teased her, "Amanda, now
she's thin." To which Elizabeth testily replied, "I hope your both very
happy together." Those were the last words they ever said to each other.
"Pa...!" his daughter called.
He wiped the nostalgic tears off his face and went back to the living room
where Claire was babbling "Papa... papa... papa... Come here, papa!" as
she pounded her fists on the couch. A delicate sense of rhythm, Methos
thought. When she saw him, her face lit up. He sat in the sky blue
armchair that perfectly matched the delicate flowers in the couch's pattern
and smiled. She held her arm out to him.
"Do it yourself, Claire," he told her. "I'm not your butler. Come here."
She whined, held her arm out. "You come here, I'm not carrying you when
there's no need."
She gave him a look that he thought he recognized from a certain mother
of hers and walked to his open arms. When he lifted her into his lap, she
said, "No fun, papa. Why here?"
"This is home," he told her.
"This not home," she grimaced.
"Yes," he told her. "You have a home, Claire. This is it. One of them
anyway."
She got off his lap when there was a commercial on and walked back to
the TV. Commercials fascinated her for some reason that Methos couldn't
understand. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a framed photograph on the shelf
and pointed at it, "Who that?"
That question cut him to the quick, Claire didn't know her own mother. He
picked up the picture and let his gaze linger on it. Elizabeth was holding
Claire in her arms as she sat on the couch. Methos remembered taking the
picture, and bought a frame for it the moment he saw it after it was
developed. Elizabeth looked carefree, happy, with Claire in her arms. He
knelt down so Claire could see her younger self and her mother so happy,
but Claire didn't know her from a hole in the ground.
He sat on the floor with her and the picture, then took the locket out of his
pocket and opened it to show Claire that the woman was the same one in
both pictures. "That's Mama," he told her. "Remember? Her name is
Elizabeth."
"Lizbet?" She asked with too much foreignness for Methos' taste. He was
sorry that he didn't tell her more about Elizabeth, who loved her and took
such wonderful care of her the first year of her life.
"Mama," he corrected her.
He was going to start in telling her about Elizabeth, and reached for the
remote to turn off the TV to get her undivided attention, but she said,
"Hunger, Papa."
He looked at his watch and realized it was about that time. He smiled at
her, leaned his face close to her, and said, "Kiss me."
"No," she giggled, leaning back, and rolling out of his lap.
"I'm not feeding you until you kiss Papa."
She puckered up, but didn't move her head closer to him, so he leaned
forward and kissed her, as she liked that game. He tickled her and she
collapsed into his lap in a fit of giggles. "Hey," he told her. "Do you know
what day it is?"
She only tried to tickle him back, should have knowing that he wasn't at all
ticklish, but pretended to be anyone. "Today," he started again. "Is my
birthday."
"What that?"
"Remember the day I give you gifts and with no reason?"
She nodded, then shook her head, confused, as she tried to, but couldn't.
"Today is my lucky day," he said and smiled remembering Elizabeth's term
for her own birthday, and their drive from New York to Seacouver. Claire
saw his wistful expression and didn't know how to react to it. He told her,
"One day you'll know. And I'll be expecting gifts."
She only stared at him. He smiled at her, knowing she was a joyful gift
that he had, and only wanted a hug from her, which she obliged him with.
He got on his hands and knees and told her to get on. After she did, he
hooked his hands on hers and stood up, making Claire squeal with delight,
loving when she was that high up.
He asked her as he gave her a piggyback ride through the condo, "What do
you want to eat? You have the world of take-out at your disposal."
He looked at the year old beer in the fridge. If the power hadn't gone out,
what could be wrong with it? When he took a drink, he needed company.
He poured it into the sink and grabbed his kid and the backpack.
~~~~~
DOJO
The gym was hopping with activity when Methos and Claire walked in
with the fast food that Claire hadn't yet finished. Duncan was holding the
punching bag for a young kid who was pounding the hell out of it. Methos
really wanted to push the kid aside and take over. There were too many
pangs of grief and anger, with a little bit of fear mixed in because of the
murders that he had to get rid of in some way. Soon. Duncan had felt his
buzz, but relaxed his tense shoulders when he saw it was Methos who
walked in. He turned his attention back to the kid. All machinery and all
floor space was taken over by people exercising, boxing or fencing.
Claire clapped her hands and smiled at the people and all the activity. She
really wanted to get into the mix. All the time that she spent with just him
and strangers made Methos feel sorry for her. Claire was a people person,
maybe he wasn't enough for her. He hadn't ever second-guessed himself
like he had since raising Claire.
Duncan told the kid to take sharper punches, be more focused on where he
was landing them. Claire squealed when the fencers came to a draw in
front of her. "Papa got one those," she squealed at the shiny sticks and
clapped with delight. Duncan heard and saw her, smiled, gave more
instructions to the kid, then wove his way through the people and
equipment toward them.
Claire held her hands out to him. When he took her from Methos, she
laughed and hugged him right away. Duncan smiled, "She remembers me."
Methos shrugged, "She's starving for attention."
"Let's go upstairs. Reacquaint ourselves."
As Duncan carried Claire over to the elevator for the loft, they made faces
at each other and Claire patted his cheeks. Methos asked, "Have you
gotten on any planes lately?"
"Sure," Duncan said. "To get back here. You gotta get back on the bicycle
after you fall off."
"Yeah but, you fell like a mile down."
"But I have good friends who came to find me," he smiled at Methos.
"I had to," Methos said as he walked into the loft, and saw that it hadn't
changed one bit since his last visit. Duncan was touched, as it was one of
the nicest things Methos had ever said to him. Methos told him, "Thanks
for taking care of things at the condo. I'm going to move out of there. Go
back to my old place, so you don't have to worry about it anymore."
"It's no problem." Claire wiggled out of Duncan's arms, he set her on the
floor and watched her take off to explore. Duncan smiled. "I can't believe
how much she's grown." He sat by Methos on the couch. "How are you
doing?"
"I'm existing, MacLeod. I'm raising a daughter. Me." He laughed. "Can
you imagine?"
"How are you, yourself?"
"I'm raising Claire, that's what I'm doing, that's about it." He heard a crash
and bolted off the couch to see Claire standing over a vase still rocking on
the floor, but not broken .
Claire was holding her hands up and said over and over, "Not me fault.
Not me fault."
"Things are important," Methos told her as he picked up the vase and set it
back on the shelf. "This was old and valuable. And it is not yours. You
know the rules, don't touch. Just look, only touch, unless I'm around."
"Not me fault, papa."
"Yes, it is," Methos said forcefully. "Say 'I'm sorry' to Mac."
"Sorry, Mac," she said with a pout that conveyed sorrow.
Methos sat back on the couch and out of the corner of his eye, saw Claire
put her finger on the vase again. "Don't... touch..."
She pulled her hand back, absolutely believing her father had eyes in the
back of his head. He told Duncan, "It's really not her fault, you know.
Yellow's her favorite color and you shouldn't have pretty yellow vases
around."
"I'll remember that. Maybe it can be her's one day."
"Thinking of going anywhere?"
"Sometimes it can't be helped."
They both knew that a by-product of being able to live forever was that
someone would take you out, or planes you were on could crash. The light
mood was lost. Duncan twirled the glass in his hand, "How was Europe?"
"Same old, same old," he said, not knowing how to approach the subject of
the serial killer without it affecting him. "At least I didn't see her
everywhere I looked. Only when I closed my eyes. Elizabeth was my
Tessa, Mac."
Duncan nodded, "I know that."
"I..." Methos started to say then stopped. He fiddled with the wedding ring
on his finger that he just hadn't been able to take off. "Maybe it's because I
have Claire that I haven't gotten past it, her death."
"I know she was important to you. And, don't tell anyone, especially
Amanda, but... there are times I still miss Tessa with all my heart and soul.
I'd wonder how she'd look, if she would have gotten wrinkles by now or if
we'd still be together. If we would have gotten married."
Methos put his hand on Duncan's shoulder and commiserated with him.
"You were with her for a long time, even in immortal years."
Duncan nodded, "She was the longest relationship I ever had."
"I wish I could have met her," Methos said. Then saw Duncan's inquiring
look. "She seemed like a wonderful person, by how you and... Richie
said."
Duncan nodded his head more prominently and wondered how they had
gotten to the topic of lost loved ones. It was odd to hear Methos bring up
Richie. He never had. Duncan didn't even know if Methos had liked
Richie at all. He asked, "You talked to Richie about Tessa?"
Methos shrugged, "We talked about a lot of things. After that fake Methos
incident and he found out that I was the gloriously profound old man..."
They both laughed. "Richie never took pains to tell me I was full of it, but
that was his way. He was young."
They both sobered up by that, and that he never had to chance to grow and
learn all of life's lessons. The silence was deafening, until Claire turned on
the TV. Methos looked over at her and shook his head, then asked Duncan,
"Do you mind?"
"No." He wondered how to approach another subject, and decided to just
come right out with it, "I can't find James. Sydney has hit nothing but dead
ends, so I let him go. James hasn't shown up in LA, London, or any of his
other haunts Amanda or I could think of."
Methos didn't want to think of James, but couldn't ignore the other matter
that tickled his brain. "There's a maniac out there, Mac."
"We'll find him."
"It could be James, or someone else," Methos gravely said. "Well, there
are probably thousands of maniacs out there, but one in particular has
given me pause lately. Have you heard about the "Decapitating Stranger"
case?"
"Yeah," Duncan was surprised he brought it up. "Amanda and I were
talking about it just this morning. There was another victim, in Cairo?
What about it?"
"I knew the victims," Methos said in a whisper so Claire wouldn't be
disturbed. "All the victims mentioned in the paper." Duncan scrutinized
his friend over that remark. Methos asserted, "It wasn't me. I didn't know
them, but I met them. Each one of them, in the order in which they were
killed."
"Who's the Stranger? James?"
"That's what I'd like to know," Methos seethed, he had come to the same
conclusion. "Killing Lizzie wasn't enough to torment me, he's got to make
sure I'm good and pissed at him so I'll go after him, and lose my head?"
"I never thought about it that way."
"Why would he do that? I can't figure anything out anymore," Methos
stood and made tracks to the fridge as he knew there would be a cold beer
in there. "It's like a gauze curtain has been covering my damn head."
Methos grabbed a beer, twisted off the cap and threw it in the sink. "I
wonder if Cameron James knows about Methos..."
"I'm sure he's heard of him."
"Amanda wouldn't have told him she was friends with the mythical
Methos, would she?"
"No," Duncan adamantly said.
"How can you be so sure?"
"Amanda is careful, she knows."
After a long pause, in which Duncan thought they would have yet another
discussion about his having Amanda in his life, Methos surprised him by
asking, "What happened with Elizabeth here, while I was gone?"
"What?"
"When she came here," he said. "After she took Pyrius? Ring a bell? She
told me you two spent some time together. I can't stop thinking about it.
Did anything happen between you and Liz?"
"We got to be friends."
Since walking into the loft, he couldn't get the flash from his first dream of
Elizabeth and Duncan together, kissing, out of his head. All his dreams
had come true. That had to have happened, also. He just stared at Duncan,
not liking that he could have taken advantage of his property. Elizabeth
was his and Duncan MacLeod had no right. Methos liked feeling anger
and betrayal rather than grief for the moment.
"She told me how much she loved you," Duncan slowly said. Methos just
stared at him. "I won't lie to you. I wanted her. I kissed her. She pulled
away. She wanted only you."
Methos took an abnormal interest in the ceiling as he moaned, "Eight
months, MacLeod. We could have had eight more months together. Why
did I do that? I knew you brought her to the cabin. I should have gone to
her. I should have helped her through my violence in her head. I should
have..."
He stopped when he saw Claire standing alongside Duncan's bed eating
her chicken fingers and eyes glued to the TV. "I've been doing a mental
accounting of all the wasted time we could have spent together. The
months after she left Sintra just because I didn't tell her my name... If I
hadn't left Greece, she may not have been put on James' hit list."
He saw Claire looking at him, and stopped talking. He drank the beer and
sat heavily back on the couch, "Don't do it, Mac. Don't let Amanda go
again."
Duncan latched an arm around his old friend as Methos teared up. "We'll
find him. We'll take James. He'll pay for what he did. Both times."
"To think that man has the arrogance to think he can take away my life and
I won't do anything about it. Who does he think he is?" Methos violently
asked. He looked back at Claire and smiled at her as she ate. Then said
softly, "But... killing him isn't going to bring her back. I just need to learn
how to live again. I lost wives before... I've lost a lot of things, and I have
moved on. But, I changed my life too much for Liz, especially when I look
at Claire everyday. I can't help but see Elizabeth."
"Leave it to me," Duncan told him. "I could take James with my bare
hands. I don't need you to ask me. I loved her, too." Methos looked at him.
Duncan added, "As a friend. A good friend."
Methos remembered Elizabeth's wish that he end up with her quickening,
somehow. If Duncan took James, he'd have to take Duncan to satisfy her
ghost lurking in his head. Would he be able to put her to rest if he never
fulfilled that obligation? Methos nodded and looked at his hands. At his
wedding ring that had stayed on his finger since he got Claire back to their
flat in London. He'd felt the metal of the chain that held Elizabeth's gold
band on his chest every day since he was with Cecile, the first known
victim of the Decapitating Stranger.
Duncan put his arms out for Claire as she walked by, and she made the
detour to his lap. He held her and said, "This little girl is actually a young
lady."
Methos watched her on his friend's lap, then sobered. "I was going to give
her up. I left her with Sofia and Antonio to take care of, to raise. But I
couldn't leave her. Claire's all I have left." With the sound of her name, she
smiled and looked at her father.
He smiled back and repositioned her in his lap after she jumped into it
from Duncan's, "I know I'm doing it right, even thought it's one thing I've
never done before, on my own, in the modern world. My own kid," he
smiled and kissed the top of her head. "I'd be at a park and talk to other
mothers. They talk about pre-schools, day cares, piano lessons, their kids
can't even sit up yet and they're already talking about piano lessons, can
you imagine? No one can teach this girl as much as I can, but... should she
be normal? Go to school? Have friends? She doesn't have any. She only
has me."
"You're her father, Methos. You'll know. There isn't anyone as smart as
you."
Methos cocked his head, thinking he would never hear such words come
from the Highlander's mouth. Duncan smiled, muttered, "As much as I
hate to admit it. I just don't think you should teach her to be scared.
Children already have enough fear ingrained in them. Don't teach her that."
"Is she supposed to be a trusting soul?"
"There's nothing wrong with that," Duncan quickly said.
"Unless someone wants your head," Methos muttered.
"Head?" Claire asked, making them talk about other things.
~~~~~
BROWNSTONE
When Methos got back to his old apartment, he didn't know how he could
have thought these walls would be any kinder to him than the condo's. The
first thing he saw was his leather desk chair, the last place he made love to
Elizabeth before Pyrius hit their lives. He'd seen that chair many times
since that day, but it hadn't clicked. As he looked at it now, he had the urge
to throw it through the window. He debated on getting a new place all
together, or moving to Siberia or someplace he hadn't frequented in
centuries. But traveling through Europe and South America didn't help,
and he came back to Seacouver with a purpose. He was spooked by the
murders and wanted him and Claire to be protected by Duncan.
Claire, who was sleeping on his arm, slid down. He hiked her up and
carried her to the bedroom and laid her on his bed. She rolled over, but
didn't lose the rhythm of her soft snore. He remembered his and Elizabeth
talk about having to find a new place so she wouldn't be sleeping with
them. After taking off his shirt, he sat on the end of the bed and watched
his daughter sleep. Even though she was only 23 months old, her hair was
full, down to her waist, like Elizabeth's. He hadn't cut it and she had been
born with a full head of hair that kept on growing, almost like Samson.
Elizabeth... Methos cringed, since coming back to Seacouver he had
thought of nothing else. If only he'd had a fair fight with Pyrius, she would
never have known what he did. But, after months apart, and two attacks on
his part, Elizabeth forgave him. She was a treasure that he wouldn't ever
find again. He could tell her anything. He could scar her, and she was still
his. If only he could have deciphered his dream enough to know that it was
James that would take her, they could have been prepared. They could
have gone after James together, talked to Amanda and asked what she'd
done that time to tick him off.
Then he was sorry he thought that. Amanda had to be as devastated as he
was. He had relied on her to take care of Claire while he went to Ireland
and Claire wasn't the worse for wear. And, most importantly, Duncan
loved her. Methos wouldn't deny that to anyone.
Claire rolled over, her hand slapped Methos' knee. That snapped him out
of his melancholy. It was after midnight. He laid down on the bed and
tried to sleep, but knew he was never going to fall asleep on his own. He
hadn't in a very long time. He got the bottle of sleeping pills from his bag,
took two without water and settled back in bed. As he was drifting off, he
wondered if he should be taking them. He always figured that by the time
his immortality would erase the effects of them, he'd be asleep. It wasn't
easy for Immortals to get hooked on something, right? He'd learn to sleep
on his own again sometime, right? He remembered that there was a
maniac out there and he had to be clear headed at all times. He was asleep
before he was able to think about it anymore.
When he woke up by himself, Claire still snoring, he got up instead of
turning over and going back to sleep. The reminder that there was
someone out there made it easy to get out of bed. He made coffee and sat
in front of the TV in the living room so he wouldn't wake up Claire. It was
early, not even light outside yet. Then he remembered that Claire was
sleeping in a strange place for her, if she woke up and didn't see him,
thinking she was alone, she might be scared.
Methos watched Claire sleep from the doorway, she was wiggling her butt
in her sleep. He checked her pull up and it was dry. She must not be used
to the bed. He'd have to get her a bed, and a two bedroom apartment.
When Methos picked her up and walked with her to the living room, so he
could at least watch the flickering images for something to do, he noticed
that she was taller. He had to carry her lower on his waist for her head to
fit properly on his shoulder. Her arms were dead, flapping against his as he
walked. He put her on the couch next to him. That way when she woke up,
she'd see him.
The only thing on TV that held any interest for him was a Cinemax movie,
he watched what felt like a foreign concept to him, sex between two
people. There had to have been at least four major surgeries on the blond
woman alone, and probably a couple on the guy's face as well. When their
groaning and screaming reached a crescendo, Methos noticed that he
hadn't reacted to any of it. Weren't those movies meant to turn you on? He
fell like he just got out of the waterfall with Elizabeth laughing at his
shrinkage. That made him smile. He turned the channels. After he had
gone around the dial and got back to Cinemax, the sex was over. The
movie tried to move along it's 'plot' but he wasn't interested.
Then he noticed it. An envelop on the floor by the door. It hadn't been
there the night before. He picked it up. 'Adam', it read. He opened the
envelop. It contained a plain piece of ruled notebook paper which read,
'Meet me at the Carlyle bar. 4-14. 5 PM. BM'. Adam? He hadn't been
Adam for almost three years. Tomorrow, or rather, that afternoon? Why
the note? Who was BM? Why didn't he or she just ring the doorbell? Was
it James?
CONTINUED in Chapter Twenty-three Angel (
geocities.com/enyajo)