Lost

Chapter 14

Duncan never knew how long it took to return to himself after one of his sojourns in the basement. All he knew was that he had to get through each day because each day helped him cope a little bit better with the numbing fear each session left him with. But this last trip had been, if possible, more horrendous than ever....and the fear...absolute crippling, unbearable fear completely incapacitated him. And now he feared absolutely everything, even being alone racked him with fear so intense that he felt paralyzed. Jesus, he was so tired of being afraid.

The thought of reverting to the mindless confusion terrified him...confusion on who he was and what he was...his memories were of being a man...but sometimes...sometimes he was positive he was a woman. How could he possibly have these feelings? Oh, God, what has Andre done to me?

But mostly, he feared becoming Pet, Andre’s willing fuck toy. Those times when he was a willing participant in his own degradation sickened him as much as it horrified him. And deep inside he was ashamed...ashamed because it was then that he most fantasized it being Methos doing those things to him, making him want it so badly that he acted like a wanton slut whenever Andre was around. And because he thought of Methos he feared that part of him was real and not part of the conditioning. But why shouldn’t he submit to Methos? Wasn’t it natural for him to want the man he loved?

Thoughts of what he used to believe about himself... the leader, the strong one, the protector, seemed so distant. He knew that he never considered himself submissive but yet, the thought of submitting to Methos sent a quiet thrill through him that left him confused and aching with need. So he pushed it away and concentrated instead on getting through another day and wondered if that’s how Methos had survived. Untold years of Kronos’ conditioning had resulted in Methos’ submission, in his transformation into Death. Duncan had reviled him for that submission, had judged him for his weakness or worse, thinking that what he’d done was still who he was. God, he was such an ass.

Through Kronos’ memories, Duncan knew how long it had taken before the emergence of Death. It hadn’t taken nearly that long for his own transformation. He could only imagine what it must have cost his friend to overcome the thing he’d been, the strength it would have taken over decades, centuries, to be the man he was today. That should give him some hope, but thoughts of what it would take for him to be the man he used to be made him doubt he could do it. He didn’t have Methos’ strength…and he suspected there was more of Sarah…or Pet…in him than he’d like to admit.

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He has won and I belong to him. His body had already learned the lesson. Andre had long planned the campaign to own Duncan MacLeod...and he had succeeded beautifully. Duncan’s body had submitted and he could feel it every time Andre came near him...a slight tension as though preparing for a blow, gentle quivers in his belly from the tendrils of fear that snaked through him and finally, the apprehension in his eyes. His wary, sorrowful eyes were like those of a dog that had been beaten more than it had been petted...ever hopeful that the approaching hand would bring pleasure rather than pain.

And now his mind knew it, too. All thought of fighting his own fears and going against Andre were crushed to the ground by that digital recording. Although the recording itself had so far shown nothing evil, its mere existence verified that all those Duncan loved were in danger if he resisted any part of Andre’s desires. Innocent little Mary playing in the protective gaze of her mother never knew of the shadow with the camera lurking in the distance, Anne never realizing how close to death both she and her daughter were. Duncan’s stomach clenched as little Mary chased a lost ball only to have it retrieved by a large man. He’d handed it to her and gently patted her on the head. As Mary ran back to her mother, the man had turned to look directly into the camera and given a slight nod. Duncan thought he was going to be sick.

Lovely Amanda out doing what pleased her most...shopping and enjoying lunch with a handsome older man, the camera moved to another seemingly oblivious restaurant patron but then zoomed in to highlight a tattooed wrist, her Watcher diligently performing his task. Duncan knew that Amanda was aware of him, her eyes occasionally darting over to keep him in sight, and knew also that she allowed him to do his job when it amused her to do so, but she was obviously unaware of the second set of eyes. Andre promised that those eyes would watch as she was shot down, lying headless in a puddle of her own blood as her quickening was lost to the air around her.

Richie discovered the tiny leak of brake fluid just prior to his latest race never knowing it was not another case of bad luck or that the mechanic nearby was watching him for other reasons. Even the very long distance shot of Methos proved that he, too, was not unknown to Andre’s minions, but did perhaps give a bit of hope that he was that much more difficult to get close to. Even then, however, Duncan could picture a long distance sniper shot and a second group of mortals with a blade. Shivering slightly, Duncan closed his eyes at the feel of the hand sliding across his neck. Tears threatened behind his closed lids and he tried to chase away the prickling sensation by scrunching his eyes tightly. Andre reached out and paused the digital recording he’d received on his computer from the various parts of the world where Sarah’s loved ones were.

“Connor is back in Scotland with his family. They’ll be there for the next two months. Robert and Gina de Valincourt are back on their private island...perhaps a bit more difficult to arrange, but not impossible.” He looked at Sarah and saw the terror gathering in the dark eyes as she sat in the library, watching the recording Andre’s men had sent.

“I truly don’t want to take you back to the mindless state you were in...I prefer you to know who you are. But your attempt at escaping me must be punished.” Eyes opened wide and Andre could see thoughts of the water tank reflected there. “No, not the tank any more. I used that for your initial resistance to your new life, as well as acceptance of your new identity. We’re passed that now, my sweet, and I know that your own personal discomfort won’t curb your willful nature. Now you must understand that your acts of defiance will result in payment from your friends.” Andre stroked a dusky cheek with one finger. “Joe Dawson has paid for your earlier misjudgment,” Andre approved of the loss of color in that silky cheek. He turned to start the recording again. It showed three masked men standing around a figure on the floor. The figure’s arm was wrapped protectively around his head, the other groping desperately for a cane that lay just out of reach. All three men leaned down...two to hold the figure as the third took a knife and cut open the pants leg of the man on the ground. It only took a few jerky movements before the masked man stood with the prosthetic leg grasped in his hand. Momentarily holding it up for the camera, he turned and began to hit the prone figure with it, swinging it high over his head and down on the man below. Then the screen went blank and the threatening tears spilled.

“Noh, noh, Andre...please,” Duncan turned wet pleading eyes towards the huge man towering over him. “He’s not dead, you couldn’t have killed him over this...please, Andre, I’m begging you...tell me he’s not dead...” Duncan reached out with his hands and grabbed the fine woolen edges of Andre’s suit jacket.

“No, little one, he’s not dead...but he could very easily have been. He’s in the hospital... contusions, minor concussion. It was a robbery, you see. The police are investigating, but of course they won’t find anything. Your friend Adam is with him and will accompany him home tomorrow.” He lifted a hand to stroke the dark head bowed before him, the other to hold onto the quaking shoulders. “There, there, Sarah darling. He’ll be fine and will never know the true reason behind his brutal treatment. But you do. Let that be your guide should you ever have another thought that might displease me.” Andre moved his hands to the wet face and lifted the chin until the horrified eyes met his. “You are so beautiful in your distress...so vulnerable,” he crooned as he took his handkerchief from his pocket to gently wipe away the tears. “You’re never to displease me like that again. Promise me, baby, swear it to me...”

“I swear it,” deadened chocolate eyes looked up into the face of his owner. “You win.”

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Methos sat quietly nursing a beer and stared off into space lost in his own thoughts. It had been six months...six bloody long and horrible months. Methos had seen Joe home after the reading but they found themselves in the bar sharing a few drinks some time after that. Now it was late, the bar had closed and still the four men sat drinking quietly, needing the presence of others but lost in their own thoughts.

Duncan’s will was to be read six months after his death if no one came forth with the proper documentation to claim his property. One of the many ways immortals ensured their goods passed on to their “heirs”, either the immortal in a new guise or real beneficiaries if the death was true.

Rich, who’d flown in from Seacouver the day before sat quietly nursing his beer, his tears long dried but the redness in his eyes remained. Methos eyed him sourly. On a hunch he’d watched the airport when Richie had come in being careful to stay out of sensing range. He had a suspicion that Joe wasn’t the only one who was being watched. He wasn’t disappointed. Somehow that had made him deeply angry at the young immortal, as though it was Richie’s fault that he felt his hands were being tied. It was senseless, really. Duncan let so many into his heart and Lacasse seemed to know exactly who to target. He should keep his anger focused on Lacasse but Richie was an easy target as he sat there sniffing slightly.

Joe sat next to him, occasionally patting his arm as he carefully sipped his own drink. He was barely healing from the injuries he’d just received from the robbery. Duncan had left Richie several business interests including the dojo and had ensured the bluesman was set for the rest of his life. Anne and Mary didn’t make it, but Duncan had ensured that Anne and little Mary were well taken care of, their bequest leaving them wealthy for the rest of their lives. Yes, Duncan had taken care of everyone. Amanda had refused to come to the reading. It didn’t matter. Even though Duncan had left her a substantial amount, Methos knew it wouldn’t last.

Connor, who’d also arrived the day before, sat in the corner quietly sipping his favorite scotch. Although Methos hadn’t gone to the airport, he suspected the elder Highlander had also been followed. It wasn’t surprising that Duncan had been generous in his gift to Connor. Duncan had left him several of his warehouses. Probably mostly antiques. But what had left Methos highly shocked was that Duncan had also left him several warehouses as well as the barge. That was a joke. It was something he didn’t expect, but it really didn’t matter. Methos would give it all right back when he again found the Highlander.

“So, Adam,” despite his grief, Richie remembered that Connor didn’t know about Methos being Adam Pierson, “you think you’re going to hang around for awhile?”

Methos looked at the young man whose voice sounded overly loud in the quiet bar and wondered where this was going.

“I mean, well, I know your staying at the barge and I still have some stuff there. I’d like to go get it because I think I’m going to take off for awhile...” His voice wavered and fell silent as he looked down at his hands, misery evident even at that angle.

“Sure, kid. Anytime you want.” Methos also fell silent but was surprised as Richie continued.

“Mac said you never liked the water. I was surprised to find out you were living on the barge. You think you’ll sell it?”

It was obvious Richie needed to talk about Mac. Methos wondered if he should share his beliefs. He didn’t say anything , choosing instead to walk over to the jukebox and throw in some coins. He started some rather loud blues.

“What the hell are you doing, Adam?” Joe yelled as the music blared in the quiet room. Receiving no answer he just dropped his head into his hands. Richie just watched, dumbfounded.

Methos just smiled. Joe was going to kill him. That brought a slightly broader smile to the mobile lips. “Richard, I’m just going to hold on to the barge until I can give it back to Mac...”

Joe growled a warning, “Adam...”

“What do you mean, Watcher? And shut off that damned music!” The heavily accented voice came in from the corner.

“Are you speaking to Joe or to me?” Methos asked innocently, knowing he was raising tempers in both corners of the room.

“You, you imbecile!” Connor stood up and stalked over to Adam, glowering down at the twit Duncan had called friend.

Oh, boy, here we go... Joe rubbed a tired hand over his face and wondered who would win in a full-out battle between the two. Connor was a well-known swordsman, but he had nothing on five thousand years of experience...and Joe also had his own thoughts on just what Methos’ capabilities were.

In for a penny... The thought hovered briefly in mind before Methos decided to go for broke, although he decided to start slowly. “I believe there are listening devices in place because I know that Mac is not dead.”

“What!” Chorused two different voices as Joe raised his head.

Anyone other than Methos would probably have been afraid when Connor spoke in a quiet and deadly growl. But, Methos was nothing if not a good reader of other people. “You should know that Duncan and I were very close...” He let that thought sink in and watched Richie’s eyes widen just as Connor’s narrowed.

“What! No way, man! You and Mac?” Richie was angry and appalled. He felt Joe place his hand on his shoulder but Joe remained silent.

“So you warmed his bed. You expect me to believe that your wishful thinking contradicts everything we’ve been told?” Connor’s face was closed, his eyes glittering in the dark bar.

“Look, I’m still investigating this, but I believe that Mac is still alive. And I believe I know where he is.” Methos voice was quiet, his conviction obvious.

“What do you know?” Connor held himself still. He was ready to kill the skinny bastard if all he had were guesses. Richie stayed quiet.

“I know that Mac was going running. He mentioned getting breakfast. He did take his wallet, katana and keys. He did go to the park. I talked to someone who remembers a different man getting in his car and driving away.” Methos paused and looked at Connor in the eye. “Would you take a potentially lengthy journey, still wearing clothes you’d gone running in, to talk to a previous lover when you have another waiting at home for you? After you’d promised breakfast?” Connor smirked at the intentional self-deprecation. Methos met the smirk with no expression. “Would you do that? To anyone?”

Connor’s smirk slipped away. Duncan wouldn’t have done that, left a lover waiting at home. He knew the depth of consideration with which his kinsman treated his friends and lovers.
Connor remained quiet but still the skepticism showed on his face. After an eternity he gave a heavy sigh. “Aye. That part doesn’t make sense, so it does make it hard to believe. What else?”

“I also believe that Joe was beaten because of something I did…or that Mac did. Joe and I have been under surveillance.” That brought sharp look from Connor.

“Watchers?” Connor spit.

“No, someone else. Richie was followed from the airport.”

Richie seemed startled. “I saw my Watcher. You saying there was someone else, too?”

Methos nodded. “I had a little talk with one of them.” He turned and looked at Joe. “He did not have a tattoo. But what he did have was orders to kill me, but he didn’t say anything about taking my head, so perhaps he knows nothing of my true nature.” Methos’ eyes became feral for a moment. “I showed him just a bit of my nature while we talked.”

Joe felt a shudder run through him. “Did you kill him, Adam?”

“No, but I gave him a message. I told him to tell his superiors that I wanted Mac.”

“So have you heard anything?”

“No, unless you count Joe’s recent experience as their answer. Joe was hurt two days after I gave them that message, the day after my meeting with Lacasse.”

“Who the hell is Lacasse? Does he have Duncan?” Connor’s eyes shot daggers at Methos and although he never moved a muscle, a new determination seemed to suffuse him.

“I believe he does and everything I’ve found so far points to Mac’s abduction rather than his death.” Methos looked at the tired lines marking Joe’s face and at Richie’s red-rimmed eyes. “We’ll meet here in the morning. I’ll bring what I have.” He raised his hand when Connor looked as though he would protest the delay. “It’s late. I don’t want to arouse more suspicion among our unknown spies by coming back to the bar tonight.”

Connor gave one short nod. “I want to see everything you have, Englishman, here. Then I will leave no stone unturned until my kinsman is found. Understand?” The two men said nothing more. Connor turned and walked out of the bar.

Methos turned to look at Richie. Joe had again dropped his face into his hands, but Methos could see the tears rolling down his wrists. Methos expected relief, probably anger, but he hadn’t wanted to hurt. “Joe,” he started.

“No, Methos,” Joe looked up and wiped his face. “Don’t you fucking say you’re sorry because I know you’re not! But you listen to me. I don’t know what the hell’s going on, but if you’re wrong about this I’m gonna kill you myself for putting all of us through this. You got that?” Methos nodded slowly, surprised at what he saw on his friend’s face. “You convinced Connor that there’s a chance. Well, okay. I’ll go with it. You come back tomorrow and we’ll go over what you got one more time. We’re going to get an answer to this like the man said, one way or the other.” Slowly, as though he’d aged twenty years in the last few minutes, Joe stood and turned and walked out of the bar, calling over his shoulder that he’d wait for Richie outside and for Methos to lock up when he was ready.

“You and Mac?” Richie shook his head. “If that’s a fact than I suppose your bullshit is a possibility, too. But I’m going to need a lot more than Connor buying your story. I’ll be here tomorrow.” With that, Richie too strode out the door to join Joe. He was going to stay with him for awhile.

Methos sat quietly as he drank the last of his beer. Standing up he turned and walked out the door, locking it up as he went along. It was time to shit or get off the pot. Now he was going to follow a hunch...he was going to review everything he had to see if anyone had mentioned anything about Lacasse. He was positive Lacasse had Duncan but he needed proof to convince the others, not just his gut feeling. If he couldn’t get it, he’d have to do this completely on his own with the knowledge that he’d just made a mortal enemy of Connor.