Lost

Chapter 15

He looked down at the woman pinning the material. He stood on a small step while his wedding dress was fitted. He was Sarah now, not female although that was his role and he felt it deep within him thanks to the Others. He felt a slight churning in his stomach and briefly wondered if he was going to vomit. I can still fight this...I can get away. But those thoughts made him tremble slightly. Why does he want me? I look ridiculous...I’m not a woman, he told himself defiantly...nor are you a man, whispered a distant voice. Everything he thought he was, even down to the most basic self-identity as a man had been undermined, although physically he was still basically male despite some changes. I am male, but I’m not a man. No emotion showed on his face as he slipped out of the dress and stepped down. Peripherally, he caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror at the corner of the room and shivered. He stood in a half slip and bra, stockinged feet buried in the thick carpeting. Wrapping his arms around himself, he was grateful no one he knew would see what he’d become. Grateful that they all thought he was dead.

Morning sunlight streamed through the window and glinted off the ring gracing his left ring finger. Duncan closed his eyes, shutting away the vision of himself. Once he had stood with the other men of his village. Son of the Clan Chieftain and battle-hardened warrior, he’d fought as fiercely as he loved, as ready to pit his strength alongside his brothers in war as against them in fun. He’d been as loyal, honest and true as his father had taught him...but for what? He had renounced everything he was and had submitted...he had begged and pleaded...not only for leniency from the tank but for the pleasure of Andre’s cock in his ass. I am his whore and his possession and now to be his wife. His stomach roiled again and he raced through the dressing room into the bathroom in time to vomit his disgust and hatred into the toilet.

“Oh, dear, sweetheart...it’s alright...just wedding jitters!” crooned Louisa as she held back Duncan’s hair and dabbed a damp towel across his face. Rinsing his mouth, Duncan walked back into the dressing room and sat at the built-in vanity while Louisa fussed and powdered and freshened. He stood and let Louisa help him to dress...a slim black skirt with a slit at the back and soft fuchsia blouse cut to hide the breadth of his shoulders. Onyx and gold jewelry, a wide belt and low-heeled black pumps finished his outfit. His hair was pulled back at the temples and secured with a black bow, soft wisps left to curl around his forehead and temple. The rest of his hair fell into curls passed his shoulders. He stepped back to the vanity to run a brush through his hair while the seamstress gathered her things. He remained lost in thought. I have to get away. Could he go back? No. He would have to start over somewhere new until he could resurrect himself as his own descendent...male descendent, not a...a bad cross-dresser. He-she? She-male? Words Richie had used jokingly flitted through his head but Duncan had no words for what he was now.

Duncan looked into the mirror but couldn’t see that he did indeed look beautiful. The hair framing his face emphasized lovely cheekbones. His brows were lighter and arched slightly over sorrowful eyes that were lightened by perfect makeup. But it was his mouth that highlighted his feminine beauty. Slightly pouty lips so lush and begging to be kissed, they drew the eye even without the added color. But despite the reality all he saw was his memory of the rather ridiculous sight he made as he played the feminine roles on stage with Walter Graham centuries before. He reached up and fingered the fat curl lying across his shoulder and remembered Conall, Robert’s cousin.

“Robert, let the lad come along. He’ll noh bother us!” Duncan had joined Robert and several other boys on their way into the woods to hunt for rabbit. Robert’s young cousin, Conall, wanted to come, too, but as usual, none of the other boys wanted the small effeminate boy around.

But Duncan took pity on the younger boy. He wasn’t sure what it was, his upbringing or his own natural inclination to protect, but either way, he wasn’t going to let Robert treat the boy badly. Eventually they agreed and headed towards some nearby meadows. As young boys are wont to do, without discussion or reason they all began to run, whooping and hollering as they raced to a copse of trees near the meadows edge. Conall tried to keep up, charging along gamely. But just as Robert always said, he was too slow and he ran like the little lasses in the village and he soon fell far behind. So much so that none of the boys were aware when he tripped and fell, his cry going unheard.

Winded and laughing, Duncan and Robert tied as they got to the huge tree that had suddenly become their goal. All the other boys fell around them moments later. It was Duncan, of course, who noticed the smaller boy wasn’t with them. He looked around, demanding to know where Conall was for even as a young lad himself, Duncan already knew his responsibilities as a future Clan leader. He began to backtrack, hoping to find the younger boy. Robert, through his own sense of family loyalty, stayed at Duncan’s side.

It didn’t take long to find the sobbing boy lying in the tall grass, his hands wrapped around an ankle swollen to twice its normal size. Since he couldn’t walk, they opted to carry him back to the village. As the largest of the boys, Duncan bent to pick Conall up. It felt a little strange when the lad wrapped his arms around Duncan’s neck and buried his face, but Duncan headed out, ignoring the scowls Robert and the others sent his way. And because of the disgust on his friends’ faces, Duncan wasn’t surprised that Conall refused to have anyone but Duncan carry him.

That day seemed to set the precedent for Conall as he became a small shadow to the larger boy, his hero worship never wavering throughout the following years despite the rumor and innuendo that began to follow him. His small frame, long auburn curls and effeminate ways brought scorn and ridicule although never to his face. He never knew that his looks would have been highly prized in many a royal court, never learned that his natural inclinations could have brought him some measure of happiness and companionship. Instead, all he knew was the hatred and disgust that characterized the mores of the time. And as they grew older, Duncan grew embarrassed at the obvious love that burned in the young man’s eyes. He steadfastly refused to acknowledge Conall, fearing his kinsmen would think he was of the same ilk. He became adept at ignoring any overtures of friendship from the younger man and avoided him to follow other interests, namely the color of Deborah’s eyes and the curve of her smile.

Jealousy and loneliness coursed through young Conall’s heart as he watched Duncan pursue the lovely Deborah. It was undoubtedly loneliness that sent him finally into the arms of a peddler, anger and resentment making him defiant when they were found early one morning. The peddler was beaten and sent on his way. Conall, poor unfortunate lad, was brought to the center of the village and renounced as the perversion they believed him to be. His beautiful curls were shorn from his head and he was whipped by Ian MacLeod himself with the priest alongside urging him on, shouts of ‘catamite’ and ‘sodomite’ ringing throughout the village.

Duncan stood transfixed at the sight, horrified at his father’s actions and his own inaction. He knew he’d never forget the bleeding, tear-ravaged face as Conall turned to look once more upon him, the man Conall had loved from afar, his protector who hadn’t raised a hand to help as he was beaten and banished from the only life he’d ever known.

Duncan had never heard anything more about Conall. Once he’d left the village, he was dead to all. He could still hear the cries of the villagers as they’d chased Conall out. He looked at his reflection in the mirror, his eyes drawn again to the fat curl lying across his shoulder.

Suddenly it was lying in his palm, the manicuring scissors frozen in his other hand. He looked up, brown eyes dazed at Louisa screaming at his side. Footsteps...and then large hands grabbed onto his wrists and pried his fingers away from the small scissors before he could do any more damage. He never took his eyes from Louisa whose own brown eyes were wide with shock. A large calloused hand grabbed his chin and turned his face finally away from Louisa and he focused on the steel blue eyes of his soon-to-be husband. The crinkles around those angry eyes made a knot of fear curl in his stomach as awareness of what he did sank in.

“Shut up and leave us, Louis.” the quiet voice said to the ramblings of the slender man/woman next to him, immediately stopping the litany of woe over a ruined wedding hairstyle. “The rest of you, leave us now.” Andre looked from the dazed eyes before him to the silken curl in his hand. His lips thinned. “Why?”

“I don’t know...I...I don’t remember...” Duncan stammered as he watched Andre drop the curl into the wastebasket. He looked up in time to see the open hand descending in a familiar move. The stinging blow landed across the left side of his face and was quickly followed by another to the right side. He raised his hands in an effort to block the slaps but knew it was futile. This was only the beginning of whatever his punishment would be and that familiar hand repeated the litany of blows as it had so many times before. The sound of ripping cloth as his clothes were shredded was also familiar. Nude, he covered his head with his arms as sobs clawed their way out of his clenched jaw. The slaps continued for what seemed an eternity amidst cries of “I’m sorry, Daddy...I’m sorry.” Despite the beating, Duncan was more terrified at the thought of someone close to him paying for his momentary lapse. He had to make Andre understand that it hadn’t been intentional, he hadn’t meant to displease!

“Daddy, please, I didn’t mean to do it! Take me to the tank...punish me...I don’t care...please, please don’t hurt anyone else.” He looked up at the man towering over him, his tear-streaked face open and unguarded, his hands out in supplication.

Andre was breathing heavily but remained quiet as he grabbed Duncan’s arms and pulled him across his lap. The first slap of the paddle came as no surprise to Duncan. Andre kept it close to hand for just this purpose. It was made of solid oak and had holes drilled into the flat portion. The handle was wrapped with leather. Andre was well practiced with it and soon Duncan’s throat was rough from screaming at the burning pain across his ass and thighs as the blows continued to rain down. Fine drops of blood flew as skin, stretched tight over swollen flesh, split under the blows. Andre’s sweat rolled off his forehead and dripped onto Duncan’s back, mixing with Duncan’s own in puddles on the bruised flesh. Andre continued until all movement ceased.

Andre was gasping as he carried Sarah’s unconscious body to the bed. Leaving her laying face down, he stripped and walked back to the shower. Cleaning up quickly and dressing, he returned with a wet cloth and washed Sarah’s face and body, removing all traces of makeup and blood. Sarah’s eyes were red and swollen as were her lips which showed half-healed traces where she’d bitten through in her agony. Placing her under the covers, his fingers lightly flicked the short ends of the one section she’d cut in her momentary defiance before turning and leaving the room.

Madame Broussard, the housekeeper, wrung out a cloth in the lemon-scented water. A slight movement and low moan brought her eyes back to the figure in the bed. “Oh, it’s best not to move, little one,” she whispered quietly as she brought the cloth back to Sarah’s forehead. She felt pity for this young man and his plight. Her plight, she corrected herself. She may not understand the reasoning behind her employer’s actions, but he had her and her family’s complete loyalty so she would never question why this young man must be treated as a woman. She also knew of the upcoming wedding plans, although they made her uneasy. But it wasn’t her place to question that, either. She had picked up the torn clothing. She had cleaned all the splattered drops of blood without knowing whose they were. The young miss didn’t have any cuts, just swollen and tender flesh from where she’d been severely disciplined and Monsieur Lacasse appeared well. Madame Broussard knew much more about this young one than she let on...she’d been cleaning up for some time and knew the young one rarely showed any sign of her relationship with Monsieur Lacasse, even though it appeared to be rather extreme at times. Ah, but best to push away any personal thoughts about this.

“There, there, no need to cry,” she spoke softly as she gently wiped the tears leaking from the beautiful brown eyes. “You’ll be just fine very soon. Why don’t I bring you something to eat, hmmm?” She was extremely well paid to keep everything running smoothly and so she shall. Oh, and she had to thank Monsieur Lacasse for the graduation gift for her niece...that private school is supposed to be wonderful and now it was all paid for. Yes, working for Monsieur Lacasse was definitely a challenge, but richly rewarding. And this young one will be fine if she’d only stop being difficult. Madame Broussard turned to look at the sad figure in the bed. “You rest now. Tomorrow is your big day! I’ll be back in just a bit, dear,” she said quietly as she closed the door.

Duncan watched as the housekeeper left and another girl came in and sat in the corner, shame twisting his stomach at their knowledge of what had transpired. But they’ll never speak of it, nor raise a finger to help me. Duncan hated the pathetic tone of his own thoughts. He shifted slightly and winced at the pain in his backside. Touching one buttock lightly he wasn’t surprised at the heat and swelling and wished his immortal healing would finish. He tried not to think about Andre because he knew his punishment was not yet complete and he trembled at the thought of what Andre would do, who he would hurt...or kill. Slowing turning onto his side to ease the pressure off his bottom, Duncan settled down to wait, hating himself for his inability to die permanently and end all this. And now he was out of options, someone would pay and it was his fault. In despair, he turned his face into the pillow while hot tears coursed down his face.

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The last thing Methos placed in his file was his copy of the photo. He’d been up all night reviewing the information he had and making plans about the rescue. He’d found drawings of the estate as well as the house itself. Yes, he was positive that’s where Duncan was. But it would take more than one person to get Duncan out of there. From what he knew of Duncan’s kinsman, he along with Amanda were the best choices to go in with him. But he first had to make them believe Duncan was alive...and for that he needed proof. What he had was still slim, but there wasn’t any other way of convincing them that Duncan was alive short of trying to convince them of the mental bond he knew Mac and he shared. Looking at the photo, he ran a finger down the image of Duncan’s face. I’m coming for you, Duncan. I swear it. Gathering his coat and checking his sword, he left his flat.

Methos parked his SUV outside of Joe’s, noting the motorcycle parked off to one side. Well, Ryan is here at any rate. He thought about Richie’s reaction to his admission about him and Mac being lovers. Duncan probably would have preferred telling the young man the news himself, but considering the situation, all bets were off. He wondered if Richie would have given the same reaction if Mac had imparted the news. He knew how much Richie meant to Mac...and he’d never willingly come between the two men. He just hoped there’d never be a time when Mac would have to make a choice between him and his clan...he’d probably be on the losing side. Sighing deeply, he knew it was time to go in. As he walked up to the door he again swore to himself that he’d find Duncan...and keep hoping that the relationship they’d started could be continued.

Methos sauntered into the bar as though it was a normal morning visit. Ignoring the intense looks from both Joe and Richie who were sitting at one of the tables having coffee, Methos swung behind the bar and grabbed a beer. Popping the lid with a practiced twist of his wrist, he gave both men a bright cheery smile and wished them a good morning as he sat himself at their table.

“Bit early for that, isn’t it Adam?” Joe looked as though he hadn’t slept at all and Richie didn’t look much better. Methos just gave them another cheery smile. Maybe five thousand years just gave you the ability to deal with sleep deprivation better. Either way, his cheeriness certainly seemed to get on their nerves which was always fun.

“It’s never early if you never stopped.” He grinned again at Richie’s blank look and nearly laughed out loud as comprehension widened the blue eyes. Further conversation was stopped by the Presence that had both immortals looking towards the door. Joe turned also, accustomed to the automatic reaction.

Connor looked exactly like he had the day before, no indication as to the amount of sleep he might have experienced. He looked at the three men sitting down and looked at their drinks.

“Coffee?” asked Joe at the pointed look.

The hooded eyes just turned towards the bearded man and a slight smile played across his lips. “May I?”

“Help yourself.” Joe watched at the trench-coated figure walked behind the bar and found a bottle of scotch and a glass. It was what he expected. Connor returned and sat down, pouring himself a glass.

“What is it with you old guys...are you all alcoholics?” Richie rubbed a tired hand over his eyes and took another sip of coffee as both Methos and Connor responded with a smirk.

Joe was actually surprised that Connor had shown up. He had half believed that Connor would slip away to look into the situation on his own. He was startled slightly from his still sleepy musing when Adam briskly pulled a file from his satchel.

Adam pulled out the file he’d brought, but didn’t open it. “I thought you should all know what I’ve found so far.” Adam was suddenly all business. Without wasting time on pleasantries, he began by outlining the timeline that Mac would have had to follow if he had traveled to the cemetery.

“So even if Mac had decided to skip the run and go straight to the cemetery, with traffic and all he’d still have been gone for four hours, roughly.” Joe ran a hand through his beard and considered the timeline. “But you forget, Adam...Mac knows how long you can sleep. Hell, I know how long you can sleep. Maybe he decided he’d have plenty of time?”

“I think that we all know Mac well enough that he wouldn’t have made such a decision. But, for now let’s say you’re right and he did go straight to the cemetery.” Adam pulled another paper out of the file. “This is the background information on the truck driver...the one hauling the pipes. He works for a subsidiary of this company,” Adam pointed to a spot on the paper. “Lacasse Industries.”

Joe sat back, his eyes partially closed as he thought. Adam continued. “I looked into their work roster...the driver, Paolo Sorelli, was carrying a load of pipe on a Saturday during a time when he wasn’t scheduled to work in an area where there wasn’t a job.” He looked into Joe’s eyes. “He shouldn’t have been there.”

“How did you find that out? Never mind, I know, you hacked into their computers.” Adam merely smiled in confirmation. “What about the driver that rear-ended Mac?”

“Samuel Beranz. Not currently employed but his last job was for Industrie Jacquard, after some digging I found that it, too, was another Lacasse subsidiary. Something else, though,” Adam again reached into his file. “I was curious about the delay in notification about the death. You said that you had Watchers looking for any sign of a John Doe, and yet it still took four days. It seems the coroner had a family emergency…his father-in-law apparently had a heart attack and the back-up became suddenly ill. And although somewhat removed subsidiary-wise, the father-in-law also works for…

“Don’t tell me…Lacasse Industries…?” Joe rubbed a hand over his tired eyes. Methos just gave him a smirking grin and continued.

“No notifications were sent until the autopsy was completed when the primary coroner returned two days later. And then there was a paperwork foul-up.” Adam looked at all the faces. “Now I realize we are talking about the French bureaucracy, but this is still a bit extreme.” Slight smiles met him as he returned to his file.

“Now, I believe that Mac did go for his run. He usually ran either along the Seine or he’d drive out to the park. The only people that I found around that morning that remember him were several of the local denizens...”

“Read ‘drunks’...” inserted Joe.

“Yes, Joe...drunks, okay? Anyway, I found one that remembered Mac, or at least had seen him on previous runs. On the day I spoke with him he was demanding a car. It seems he thought Mac was giving them away because he had given his car to someone else...someone who drove it away that morning.”

“Oh, man...so you believe a drunk? You’re basing this on a bunch of coincidences and a drunk?” Richie hadn’t said a word up to this point, but his emotions were obviously running high. Joe put a calming hand on his arm.

“No, Ryan...I am not basing this on a ‘drunk’. I’m basing it on much more than you can possibly understand, but I’m trying to give you information that perhaps you will understand. Here.” He reached into the file and pulled out the photo.

“Who is that man?” These were the first words spoken by Connor. He looked at the photo and saw a large man next to his kinsman...standing too closely in his mind. But it was the look that sent a shiver down his spine exactly as it had down Adam’s...the look was possessive, the smile cold.

“That is Andre Lacasse.”

“Of Lacasse Industries, no doubt.”

Adam nodded as Joe took a look at the photo. “This isn’t the same picture that came out in the paper...you got this from the photographer?” Again Adam nodded. “Did you speak with him?” Joe tapped the photo to indicate he was referring to Lacasse.

“Yes. I was able to get an interview with him. He claims that he had just met Mac the night of the charity auction. I didn’t believe him. I let it slip during the interview that we were lovers.” He watched with amusement as a blush crept up Ryan’s face. “The information seemed to anger him, although he hid it very well. However, it was too strong a reaction to have regarding someone he had supposedly just met that night. Immediately after our conversation, he left his office and drove back out to his estate...more than an hour out of Paris. I’ve been checking into him...he’s been commuting between his estate and his office in the city every day for the last six months despite having a flat here, so there’s something very interesting to him back there.”

“Just an interview? You can’t get closer? What’s out at the estate?” Again from Connor.

“He has guards 24 hours a day around him and throughout the property. Enough for a small army. I was able to set up some surveillance of my own.”

“Are they on specific posts or patrolling? Are they armed? Did you see anyone besides guards?” Connor obviously had some military training, thought Adam. That could come in very handy.

“Both posted and patrolling and yes, they’re armed. All I saw were two women walking through one of the gardens.”

“Is Lacasse married?”

“Not according to his history. I’ve no idea who they were, but they were definitely under guard themselves.” He continued at their questioning looks. “The entire time they strolled through the garden they had at least two guards following them. Now unless there is some threat to them within their own compound, I’d say the guards were there to prevent one or both from trying to leave.” Nothing more was said for a few moments. “I was planning a trip into the estate when I met up with those two guys following me...and again, Connor, they weren’t Watchers. I think I started getting a little too close. At any rate, they’ve backed off since I had a little talk with one of them.” Adam sat back. He wasn’t going to go into his supposition that the men had just pulled back into long distance surveillance...they’d think that smacked too much of complete paranoia. So this was it...either they believed him or they didn’t.

Connor broke the silence first. “So, Pierson, is this your gut telling you Lacasse is involved or do you have something more?” The hooded eyes were piercing, the expression one that no doubt had chilled other men with its intensity.

However, Methos was not like other men. He returned the look with one of his own and saw the dark eyes widen slightly. “You can call it my ‘gut feeling’ if you like, but there are far too many coincidences.” He glanced briefly at Ryan. “I know Lacasse is involved...and I will find Duncan.”

Connor was quiet for a moment. There was more to Pierson than obviously met the eye. “There’s more than what you’re saying, Pierson. Just what is between you and my kinsman besides fucking each other?”

Methos smiled slightly, impressed at Connor’s perception. There was no way he was going to go into detail, but the man did deserve to know the truth...or at least as much as he was willing to share. “I can feel Mac’s quickening...I know he’s alive.” He raised his hand at the comments coming from Joe and Ryan, Connor remaining curiously silent. “How or why isn’t the point here,” he gave a pointed look in Joe’s direction. “It just is. So either you help me or not.”

Connor nodded, his decision made. “Aye...and when I get my hands on Lacasse, he’ll wish he’d never heard of Duncan MacLeod.”

Adam smiled slightly, but it was a smile more chilling than anything Connor had ever seen. “You can have what’s left over.”

And even Joe and Richie felt their stomachs tighten in fear as Adam gathered up his things. Connor stood up. “I’ve got some things to take care of. Let’s meet back here in two hours, alright?”

Methos just smiled and nodded, already planning his next move. He left and drove back to the barge only to find a surprise waiting for him. He hated it when mortals with guns and long sharp blades got involved. It was no surprise when the needle was stuck in his neck and darkness closed in.