Date: Thu, 16 Nov 1995 21:51:31 EST Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Adam, Part 11/11 (End) Adam, Part 11 by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Duncan sat in the motel room, poring over the map. There were just too many good places to hide a body near a small town surrounded by woods. He had tried to mark the most likely spots, starting with those nearest to the old mill, but it was beginning to look as if there were more possibilities than he could search in a century. Duncan's head snapped up as he felt a buzz. He peered cautiously out the window and saw a familiar Volvo in the parking lot. With a sigh, he stood and started to fold his map. "Any luck, Methos?" he asked when he heard the key turn in the lock. There was no answer. Duncan turned toward the door and grinned broadly with relief and surprise. "Richie! Methos found you! Where is he?" Richie stood perfectly still, his shoulders hunched and his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket. He was covered in grime and old blood, and there were some very ugly rents in his shirt and pants. He looked grave, not his usual cocky self. It wasn't even his Mac-I'm-in-trouble-and-I-know-you're-going-to-yell-at-me expression, but something more serious. "You look like hell," Duncan said. "What happened to you?" He stepped closer, amused but beginning to worry. Richie shook his head. "I'm sorry, Macleod," he said in a strange voice. "I tried to talk to him, but . . . Richie was after my head. I couldn't stop him." He spoke with a distinct English accent. "What --" "Richie's gone, Macleod. He took my head, but he was too much younger than me. He won the battle. I won the war." A chill came over Duncan. "Methos?" He swallowed and ducked his head, his face -- Richie's face -- drawn in unaccustomed lines of sorrow. "Richie . . . " "I'm sorry, Macleod," Adam Pierson's voice repeated from inside Richie Ryan's body. Duncan sat weakly on the bed. Methos stood by the door for a minute, as if looking for something to say, then disappeared into the bathroom. When he came out wrapped in towels, Duncan was still sitting in the same position, staring at the floor. "Macleod, is there anything --" "No," Duncan said hoarsely. "Just leave." Methos pulled on some clothes, rolling up the pants cuffs that were too long for Richie's legs. Unable to watch any longer, Duncan began to throw his own belongings into his duffel. When he looked briefly around the room to see if he had forgotten anything, he stopped at the sight of a sword leaning by the door. Slowly, painfully, Duncan walked to the door and picked up the rapier he had given to Richie. Methos waved one hand at the reddened blade in a way that was somehow completely unlike Richie. "My blood," he said, and swallowed. "Adam Pierson's blood." He ducked his head and returned to packing. Joe finally found the white Volvo in front of the Hadleyville motel. He parked his own car behind it and climbed out, frowning. Why had Richie come here? Why had he taken Adam Pierson's car, instead of riding with Joe? A moment later, every muscle in Joe's body tensed as he recognized another car in the lot: Macleod's black Thunderbird. What was it doing here? Had Richie known, somehow? Then the door to the motel office opened, and Duncan Macleod stepped out, whole and well, with a duffel over one shoulder. He paused at the edge of the parking lot, looking around vaguely as if he couldn't recall where his car was. His eyes fell on Joe. Joe felt an incredulous grin beginning to spread across his face as he limped toward Duncan. Before he reached him, though, the pleasure had begun to fade into puzzlement and hurt. "Mac, you're alive. Why didn't you tell me?" Joe demanded. "You wanted me to go on thinking you were dead?" "I thought it would be better this way," Duncan said dully. "I thought you would be safer." "How could you do that to me, Macleod? I thought we were friends!" Duncan just stared at the ground. "I thought Adam Pierson had taken your head!" "No. He saved my life. We were wrong, Joe, he never lied to us at all. He really was Methos." Joe took a sharp breath, appalled. "No. No, that can't be. I told Richie he killed you. Mac, Richie took his head. You let me think you were dead, and I got Adam -- Methos? -- killed." "Mortals shouldn't get involved in the Game." Duncan spoke the words as if he were reading a street sign. "Dammit, it wasn't because I was _involved_, it was because you lied to me! Oh, God," Joe groaned. "Adam's dead, and it's my fault." "You got it backwards, Joe," Duncan said. "Methos is fine. It's Richie that's gone." Joe stared in bewilderment, looking from Duncan in front of him to Richie, who stood on the steps of the motel office. Bowing his head in an uncharacteristic fashion, Richie stepped toward him. Duncan just walked away and left them there. ====================================== Well. Now you know why I took so long with this installment. I'm sure this has made a lot of people unhappy, so feel free to flame me. If anyone guessed how I was going to end this, please let me know -- I'd like to know if I struck the right balance between surprise and foreshadowing. My dire prediction of no stories for a while is _not_ correct; I should have another one ready soon, and I have a collaboration in the works as well. But I won't be continuing this particular storyline. If anyone wants to write a sequel (or alternate ending) to "Adam" or either of the previous stories ("Hold Fast" and "The Dark Side of the Mirror"), you have my blessing. =========================================================================