Lost

Chapter 6

The leaden sky was perfect for Methos’ mood. It was as though the sky couldn’t decide whether to snow and bury the world in a blanket of white or drown it in a freezing rain. It didn’t matter. He was so cold inside he didn’t think anything would ever warm him again as he looked at the coffin being lowered into the ground near Tessa’s grave. In the background he could hear Amanda’s sobbing as she was held in Joe’s arms. Next to them stood Connor, his face set in a perpetual scowl. He seemed to be equally angry at the way Mac had supposedly died as much as saddened by his loss. The only other person present was Ryan. Standing on Joe’s other side he had never looked so young in Methos’ eyes. First Tessa and now Mac. He was again an orphan.

He, on the other hand, stood apart from the rest, watching from a distance that was as much mental as physical. Despite what he knew to be true, this scene had been one that had played itself over and over in his nightmares. He stared off into the distance and wondered yet again if he was finally going insane. Everyone else who had gathered here was laying Mac to rest and yet he believed that MacLeod was still alive. He looked back and realized that the others were tossing roses into the grave. He still held one in his hand. Without a word he placed it into his coat and again clasped his gloved hands in front of him. Duncan was out there somewhere, God Damn It, and he was going to find him.

“Adam, we’re going to the bar for a drink, you coming with us?” Joe saw the set look on his face and again worried about his friend. If ever there was a look of denial, this was it.

“I can’t, Joe, I’ve got some things to do.” Methos placed a hand on Joe’s shoulder in recognition of the mortal’s emotions despite the fallacy of the reason for them.

“Yeah, okay, Adam. But come by later, alright?”

Methos gave him a small smile, knowing Joe just wanted to keep an eye on him. He knew that Joe still thought of him as the young researcher and he saw no reason to remind him of the reality of who and what he was just now. It would be a rejection of the comfort offered and he couldn’t bring himself to do that to his mortal friend.

“Yes, Joe, I’ll be by later.” He patted the shoulder once more before Joe turned to join the rest. Methos watched them go for a moment, watched as Joe took each painfully slow step away from the grave of his friend before turning himself and leaving. He still had quite a bit of research to do.

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“Are you pleased with the results thus far Monsieur Lacasse?” At the words Andre looked from his pet, unconscious and strapped to the metal table, to the small man standing beside him. The keen intelligence in the bulbous eyes was the only saving grace in the toad-like appearance of the researcher and partially explained the good doctor’s interest in mind control research.

“We shall see. What is the status, Dieter?”

“We have successfully adjusted the subject’s sexual response to trigger when a specific stimulus is provided. Per your instructions, subject orgasm can only be achieved through penile stimulation of the subject’s prostate. The latest sessions were aimed at adjusting the subject’s self-image. In this case, we focused on his dominant male tendencies, what you would normally associate with alpha male behavior.” The researcher paused but continued at Andre’s lack of response. “In basic terms, we’ve enhanced the paradigm you initially established when you forced the subject to physically submit to you. He will want to submit to you, although he won’t understand why.”

“How long will this condition last after the latest course of injections?” A possessive lust gleamed in Andre’s eyes as he raked them over the still form before him.

“With continual reinforcement from you there is no reason why it should change, especially with the planned adjustments to his self-identity as a male. The implanted belief that he is female won’t last once the medications have left his system but you can expect to see reduced levels of aggression and competitiveness and the more submissive behavior I mentioned earlier. Continuing the estrogen therapy will also affect his self-image since it will not only affect his body but will affect emotional balance.”

“There were no problems with the hormone therapy?”

“No. Small amounts of these hormones are normally present in all men. We increased the levels to promote the physical changes but his body has not rejected them.” Andre nodded but remained silent.

Dr. Dieter Kroner studied his employer. The man was huge, ridiculously rich, handsome...what did he really want from the subject? Yes, the subject was undoubtedly beautiful...but all his work won’t provide the control Lacasse wants. “Monsieur Lacasse, if I may be so bold...” Dieter hesitated slightly. “What I’ve done thus far will make the subject more pliant to your wishes, but will not affect his choices...will not allow you to control him completely. If you wish, I do have another line of research that reduces self-will...”

Andre raised his hand stilling the doctor’s words. “You do what I tell you and no more. I have my own plans for control of the ‘subject’.” Steel blue eyes bore down on the small man who unconsciously stepped back a pace. “Keep me apprised of his status.” With a cold smile, Andre turned and left the basement room.

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Methos was tired...and he hurt. He parked his car outside of the barge and tried to gather the energy to get out and walk up the gangplank. Six weeks...six torturously long weeks of physically searching and reviewing everything Duncan had been involved in and he still came up empty. Empty. What a very descriptive word...and of its own volition his tired mind whirled uselessly among the many synonyms but there wasn’t anything that came close to describing the void left by Duncan’s disappearance. Even his friendship with Joe was hollow...if he would just believe that the body they found wasn’t the Highlander’s! Instead he thought that Methos, the ancient immortal, had finally lost whatever connection to reality he had. Maybe he’s right. The nightmares alone were enough to make him doubt his hold on his sanity.

He walked up the gangplank and opened the door. Wandering by the stack of old newspapers and other bits and pieces of his habitation he walked straight to the refrigerator. Never even removing his coat he grabbed a beer and drank half down immediately and then threw himself onto the bed. He landed with his sword pommel bruising him slightly in one side but didn’t have the energy to roll over, let alone take off his coat. Instead he rubbed the cold bottle against his forehead for a moment, savoring the chill against his skin. Without opening his eyes he downed the rest of the bottle and forced himself to sit up. At least his sword was no longer poking him. He pondered that small loss of discomfort, noting as the slight bruising sensation faded until only the memory of its touch was all that was left. He didn’t bother looking knowing there would be nothing to mar the skin. Just as there was no physical evidence of the pain he felt. Well, that’s not what Joe had said last night...

“Methos...you look like shit! You’ve got to get a grip on reality...Mac is gone. You can’t let the pain of this eat you up like it is!”

“No, Joe...I am not convinced. Do not worry about me...I’ve been taking care of myself for an extremely long time. I have lost a great many people who were very important to me...I’ve even been forced to kill a few of them myself...” Methos glared at Joe for a moment but then closed his eyes, painful memories evident in the lines across his face. Anguished but determined golden eyes looked deeply into Joe’s. “He is alive, Joe, I’d stake my life on it.”

Grief had also etched the lines even deeper into the mortal’s expressive face. Methos felt a pang of guilt. Joe missed Mac as much as he did. And now he was worried about Methos himself, afraid he was losing another friend. And Joe had taken on the load of tasks since Mac’s supposed death. Methos knew that Joe had been the one to relay the news to Richie, Connor and Amanda as well as arrange for the funeral. No...it hadn’t been easy for the older mortal.

“Joe, I promise I’ll eat more and try to get more sleep, okay?” He gave Joe the best Adam Pierson smile he could, hoping it would ease him a bit.

“So what are you working on now?” Joe didn’t buy the Adam Pierson smile for a minute, but he just didn’t have the energy to call Methos on it.

“I’m positive I’ve missed something in Mac’s recent history. I’m positive someone, somewhere made contact with him prior to his disappearance. Besides, I’ve been talking to drunks.” Methos smiled slightly and rubbed a hand over his eyes and looked down at the beer label he’d been peeling.

“Yeah, so I talk to drunks every day. You guys,” he pointed at Methos’ chest with his finger, “don’t give me any helpful insight to shit.”

“Ha, ha. I’ve been talking to the people hanging around the park. Joe, one of the regulars saw someone other than Mac getting into Mac’s car that morning. He couldn’t tell me anything else, but he described Mac very well. He’d seen him run before. He also remembered a van following Mac’s car. Why would Mac loan out his car?” He didn’t mention that the drunk had contradicted himself several times, but still Methos believed him. He didn’t want to think about his reasons for believing the old man. “But I can’t find any other information about the van or who was driving the car. I’ve also been all over what’s left of Mac’s car. There is no sign of his katana. The coroner didn’t have it so unless one of the emergency people took it I think it’s with Mac.” He ignored the pained look on the grizzled face. “So now I’m looking at the timeframe for a trip to the cemetery. I don’t know why he would be there.” Methos looked down, not wanting to go into his suppositions as to why Duncan might feel a need to talk to Tessa.

Joe’s thoughts unknowingly traveled the same path. Telling Tessa about Methos? Asking permission or something else? Joe looked at the ancient man before him and instead saw his young friend, Adam. He saw the insecurity flash briefly in his eyes as he talked. He looked down at the crumbled label and sighed. “Yeah, okay. But in the meantime, how about I cook you a burger or something, huh?” He could take on the ‘feed Methos’ role that Mac usually took care of, maybe put some more meat on that way-too-thin frame. Not much more he could do at this point, except maybe rock the guy to sleep himself. But a man has to draw the line somewhere, he figured.

“Yeah, that’d be great, Joe. Thanks.”

“You got it, buddy.” Joe said as he rapped the bar with his knuckles once and turned towards the kitchen.

Sometime later Methos got up enough energy to remove his clothes before he again crawled into the bed to sleep.