Lost

Chapter 4

The first thing Duncan noticed was the gummy, bitter taste in his mouth. Trying to provide spit enough to swallow proved futile not to mention painful as each movement of his jaw seemed to send shards of pain shooting up to his temples. God, this is the mother of all hangovers, he thought. Blearily he hoped the party was worth this penance. If you want to play, you have to pay...who said that? Was it Richie? Thinking seemed too painful a task to continue, so he opted to try opening his eyes instead. The first ray of light quickly made him realize that a spinning room and suddenly heaving stomach weren’t things he really needed to know about just yet. Unfortunately, though, he had started his road to consciousness now and he was just going to have to ride it out. Keeping completely still until his stomach settled gave him the time his immortality needed to finish pumping out whatever was in his system. But completely opening his eyes didn’t make him feel any better. The fact that he found himself strapped nude to a metal chair mounted on the side of a large water-filled tank was a real good indicator that he wasn’t in Kansas anymore, as Methos would say. Thoughts of the ancient made him feel slightly better. He knew Methos would look for him when he didn’t return from his run, and was probably already looking. He examined his restraints. There was a wide metal band around each wrist and another around each forearm. With another strap around his chest and more at his thighs and ankles, he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Oh, this is not good. Hurry, Methos!

A door he couldn’t see behind him suddenly opened. “Ah, my pretty princess is awake,” drawled a deep voice. Pretty princess? I don’t think so! Duncan waited. He knew the man that sauntered into view. Forcing his muddled thoughts to focus he tried to remember where he’d seen him. The auction...Andre Lacasse. Andre moved to stand just in front of Duncan and looked him over. The silent appraisal set Duncan’s teeth on edge as a deep flush spread across his face. This man was looking at him as though he were a prize horse.

“What do you want?” demanded the furious Scot.

“What I have...and more,” was the confusing answer. “I want everything.”

“What do you mean? What do you want from me?” Duncan demanded yet again only to be answered by Lacasse pushing a button on the wall behind him. Slowly the chair in which Duncan sat began to tip backwards. He was being dropped into the tub of water. “What do you want? Why are you doing this?” his yells were lost as he slid beneath the water, eyes bulging at the knowledge that he would soon drown. Choking as the water slid into his nose and down his throat, Duncan screamed his defiance one more time, thrashing and fighting with the air left in his lungs. Lacasse’s face was the only thing he saw as water filled his lungs, his heartbeat pounding out its final beats through his head. The smile was the last thing he saw before he died.

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Methos awoke to a bright silence. He did a mental review of his location and knew he was on the barge. Slowly opening his eyes he looked around and saw that everything was pretty much where it had been the night before, except the clothes had been picked up, his own folded neatly and left on the trunk by the wall, and no Duncan at his side. Slight resentment that the Highlander would rather go running than wake up in Methos’ arms quickly faded away under the realization that he could hardly expect the Scot to wait quietly during the many hours Methos was capable of sleeping. And looking at the clock, it had been many hours...it was now early afternoon. So where was Duncan?

Methos got up and walked to the bathroom to relieve a very full bladder. Upon his return he again eyed the barge. Glasses from last night had been emptied but not washed...just set near the sink. Duncan’s katana and keys were gone. A quick look through the porthole showed his car was gone as well. Maybe he’d gone to the market for food? Deciding to be a good guest...lover, he smiled to himself, he showered and dressed, finding in his pocket the hair tie he’d pulled from the silken mass the night before. He rubbed the knotted pattern in between his forefinger and thumb. He desperately missed the Highlander, wondering again where he was but deciding to get busy to pass the time. He put the hair tie away and then made coffee and set about straightening up the barge. Fresh sheets on the bed, washed dishes, wandered around a bit, listened to music and worried a whole lot. Late afternoon. Joe should be at the bar. He picked up the phone and dialed.

“Le Blues Bar, Joe.” Was the curt answer, all business.

“Joe, its Adam.” Just as curtly.

“Hey, buddy.” Friendly voice now. “How’s it going? Coming in tonight?”

“Have you seen Mac today?” Still curt, still business.

“No, not since last night...what’s the matter...you guys piss each other off already?” Exasperated concern.

“He went for a run...didn’t come back. Can you look into it for me? I’ll be there in a bit.” Annoyed concern...and something else?

“Yeah, okay. See you in a bit.” Dismay. What have these guys gotten into now?

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Duncan choked and coughed the remnants of water from his lungs. Drowning was a horrible way to die, he groaned to himself as he opened his eyes, I wonder if this is why Methos hates water. It took only a moment to realize he was still strapped to the chair and that Lacasse was still in front of him.

“That was much quicker than I had anticipated,” he smiled as he looked at his watch. “Let’s see how you do this time,” he smiled as he again pushed the button behind him, ignoring Duncan’s screams of why?

“Do you submit?” The words hung in the air and eventually made sense to the choking immortal. “Go to hell! I’m noh yer slave and I’ll noh submit to yew or any man!” Duncan spat the words at the hated figure only to feel the chair tip backwards yet again. “You bastard! Fight me, damn you! FIGHT ME...!”

Andre looked on as the enraged man struggled against his bonds, eventually succumbing to his watery death. He just needed to be patient. MacLeod would eventually break. He looked down at the still face. His stomach slowly released the knot of tension it held as he pushed the button yet again. He knew Duncan would revive...he knew this, but the act itself...actually killing another being was the worst thing he’d ever done in his life although he’d sent many men to their deaths. He contemplated the still figure before him. He couldn’t imagine personally taking the life of another mortal, the finality of taking the ultimate possession, but this man was immortal. Short of taking his head he’d heal and revive. That knowledge made it easier to continue killing him in this way. He watched the fan of hair slide across the slack features. Soon, he knew, the eyes would open and widen as his new pet realized he was still under water. The eyes would narrow in shock and agony, both flashing momentarily just before the dark eyes again widened helplessly in blind panic as water again found its way into the great lungs.

Andre watched, completely fascinated by each individual reaction each time his pet drowned, again watching for the telltale signs of revival that would start the process over again. He had to remember to bring the chair up every so often to remind Duncan of the sweetness of taking in a lungful of air. That made the loss infinitely more terrifying. Yes, as fascinating as this aspect was, it was time to let him take a breath. He pushed the button and watched as the chair tirelessly lifted the dead weight upright. Andre stepped closer and looked at the beautiful body that now belonged to him. Water dripped down the gleaming torso, streaming from the long dark hair. He was fascinated by the small rivulets running through the dark hairs leaving small arrowed trails in their trek down the well-muscled chest. He ran a finger through the light fur. A shame that it had to go...Duncan was so incredibly attractive in his current package, but that didn’t suit his plans. His Highland doll needed to be dressed up to suit his new role in life, but that would come much later. There was still so much training that had yet to be accomplished.

It seemed to go on forever...a sweet breath of air quickly contaminated with a rush of water. God, it hurt. He could feel the tears burning his eyes. The sharp, choking burning pain radiated out from his lungs, his heart beating its final (its first?) beats that seemed to rip his chest apart. He vomited again...was he drowning in his own tears and vomit? This must be what’s it like to drown in the ocean, he thought murkily, caught beneath the waves forever waking and dying in an endless cycle. He barely had time to take a breath before he was again dropped beneath the water. The feeling of the water closing over his face began the tendrils of panic clenching his chest. The light overhead was the only thing in his field of vision, shimmering as water covered his eyes. Methos, God, someone please help me… was his final thought as the water closed over him again.

Duncan never knew how often he’d died and revived only to be dropped back into the water. He never knew why and had finally stopped asking. That question kept turning around in Duncan’s brain...Do you submit? This made no sense. Submit? To what? In time he had started begging for an answer but received none.

Lacasse looked at the dead man strapped into the chair. It was taking him longer and longer to revive. And he was incredibly stubborn...this exercise was taking much longer with the Scot than he had anticipated. But he knew his Highlander. And he was patient. He needed him to say the words. He’ll learn soon enough why. He would learn who his Master was.