Date: Fri, 29 Sep 1995 09:30:25 EDT Reply-To: Russ McMillan Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Russ McMillan Subject: Dark Side, Part 12 of 13 Well, I underestimated how long the last story would be, and it looks like I overestimated for this one. There _should_ be only one installment after this. The Dark Side of the Mirror by Russet McMillan mcmillan@astro.psu.edu Duncan was drowning in a sea of memories. They filled every orifice, blinding his eyes, stifling his mouth. He could not breathe. He could not coordinate his flailing limbs to escape. He could not guess which way the surface lay. The alien thoughts invaded him, possessed him, consumed him until he had no identity of his own . . . he was merely a part of the sea. *Take control, Highlander.* -- tears streaming down my cheeks as I stared at the flames rising behind Troy's lofty walls -- -- shoveling the dirt onto my husband's grave, watching the blisters I had earned heal in moments, wishing the wounds within could disappear so easily -- -- bending low over my mount's neck as we swept over the finish line, the thrill of our speed -- -- the sun beating down on my shoulders, perfect harvest weather, as I watched the Duke's mercenaries burn our fields again -- -- swinging the lash through the air so it whistled, relishing the sound and feel of the leather striking the back of the slave before me -- *Take control. You have the strength.* -- pressing the healing energy out through my fingertips as I bent over a patient's pain-wracked body -- -- lying trapped beneath a man twice my size, struggling against him, his hand over my mouth smothering me, his weight oppressing me, his body violating me, his sweat staining me without, as his smirk stained me within -- -- my fingers dancing over the keys without conscious volition, the audience rapt, the conductor attentive, the orchestra responsive to each crescendo and rallentando -- -- watching the abolitionist jerk at the end of the rope, my hat in my hands, trying to keep the discomfort from my face -- -- pressing a silk handkerchief over my mouth as the ash of thousands of Jewish bodies pattered from the sky -- -- the endless, mesmerizing hum of the spinning wheel, the wool passing through my cold hands, the gentle scrape of someone carding fleece behind me -- -- staring in disbelief at Lenora in bed with another man, her lovely hair cascading over his shoulders -- -- supporting the babe's head as his mother made the final push -- -- my stepdad beating me, beating the evil out of me as I cowered and wept -- -- lying in the maintop as the ship swept over the waves, the delightful leisure of a clear day with a steady breeze -- -- standing on faggots of wood, choking with the smoke, screaming as my flesh blackened and crisped, screaming until my throat was as raw as my skin -- *Be yourself, Highlander. Do not give in.* -- grasping the glowing spear of the quickening within my breast, bending it to my will -- -- Cullen's sword leaping unerringly for my neck, knowing I couldn't stop it, the pain of -- -- Duncan Macleod's ruthless eyes as he swept his katana across my -- -- Kalas plunging his sword down into -- -- fighting -- -- singing -- -- making love -- -- weeping -- -- lying curled on the floor of a darkened warehouse. A woman, dark and mysterious, with eyes that seemed to pierce to the bottom of the soul . . . Joe waited, his jaw tight. At length Duncan let out a long sigh and relaxed from his unnatural tension. He pushed himself off the floor to his hands and knees, hanging his head and shaking it like a dog. He glanced at the katana in Joe's hand. "Planning to keep your promise?" Duncan asked. "If you ask me to," Joe replied, his voice dead of all emotion. But something leaped within him at the sound of Duncan's voice, normal and unstressed. At least he remembered their bargain. "Well, I won't ask it." Duncan's mouth curved into a smile as he got to his feet. Joe blew his breath out and smiled back. "Thank goodness for that." He held Duncan's sword out to him. "Feeling better now?" "Yes," said Duncan slowly, staring at the katana as it lay across his hands. "I feel just fine." "So, Amanda was right." Duncan's eyes narrowed. "She was right, but don't tell her I said so." "I'm just glad that you -- that I didn't have to --" "I know." Duncan rested a hand on his friend's shoulder. He cocked his head as if listening to something Joe couldn't hear. "It wouldn't have worked anyway, because Connor and Amanda are still in range." "What? They left a couple minutes ago!" "They're outside, arguing about something . . . someone." Suddenly Duncan's eyes widened. "LeBrun!" he gasped, and hurried for the door. Joe snapped his fingers as recognition clicked into place; the man who had tried to shoot Melander was a police inspector! But what had he been doing here? Amanda and Connor stood next to Joe's car, shouting at each other. LeBrun sat in the back seat, facing out of the door with his head propped weakly against the window strut. "How could you let this happen?" Amanda cried. "Me? It wasn't my fault! I thought he was a Watcher!" Connor yelled back. "Well, you should have checked!" She brandished LeBrun's police identification at him. "Anyway, what could I do? He'd already seen me revive by that time. If you hadn't killed me --" "If you had gotten him away before the end of the fight --" "Hold it!" Duncan bellowed as he reached them. They both turned. "Duncan, are you --" "How do you --" Duncan held his hands up. "I'm fine," he said. "What's going on here? LeBrun needs help, not a shouting contest." "You _know_ this man?" Connor exclaimed. "I've known him for years. He's not a bad fellow at all. What's the problem?" "The problem is, now he knows about us!" Amanda cried. "He saw the whole thing," Connor added. "The fight, the quickening . . . " "He saw Connor revive from the dead . . . " "And whose fault was that?" Connor snapped. "Wait -- Connor, you were dead?" Duncan interrupted. Connor looked at Amanda. Amanda shrugged. "I thought -- I thought maybe it would be better if you couldn't sense Connor when you arrived." Duncan frowned. "You may have been right about that." "That wasn't why she did it!" Connor objected. "It was Melander. She wanted his head for herself!" "Never mind that now," Duncan said pacifisticly. "Melander is dead. What are we going to do about LeBrun?" The Inspector raised his head wearily. "You're not going to persuade me to keep quiet about this, if that's what you're thinking." "Duncan, he'll tell everyone!" Amanda said. "We have to stop him." "He's only left us one option," Connor said grimly. "Stop right there," Duncan snapped. "Amanda, we've been through this before. I won't allow you to kill a mortal whose only crime is planning to tell the truth." Joe, who had just arrived on the scene, winced and looked away. "Duncan, you _know_ what this will do to us. Just when we thought we were safe . . . " "Amanda, when are we ever safe? And what difference will it make in the end? There can still be only one." "So you're just going to let him tell the police whatever he wants?" Connor demanded. "Well, I'm not going use threats to get him to see reason! You're going about this all wrong. Why not a carrot, instead of a stick?" LeBrun glared. "I won't take your bribes," he spat. Duncan squatted before him. "You're sure?" LeBrun twitched his right arm, tied up with a handkerchief and cradled in his lap. "I paid for your bloody secrets with my arm. Twice. Nothing you offer me can pay for that." "What if I offer you your arm back?" "What?" LeBrun gasped. "What if I can fix your arm for you?" "You can't do that! The best medical procedures --" "I can do better." Duncan's voice was strange, lighter and accented differently. Connor looked sharply at Duncan. "Cassandra?" he breathed. Duncan cast an otherwordly smile over his shoulder. "Only for the moment," he said in the same light voice. "I will return the body as soon as this is done." Amanda fell back a step, raising a hand to her mouth. "What are you talking about?" LeBrun demanded. "Can you really heal this?" He gestured at his arm. "I can," said the voice from Duncan's mouth. Dark eyes turned to Connor. "Help me out here. We need to get him away from the car." Duncan and Connor supported LeBrun back to the warehouse and laid him supine on one of the crates. "Now, get well back," Duncan piped, waving at Connor and Amanda. "I'm not sure how well this will work." Connor drew Amanda out of the warehouse. Joe, after a glance in their direction, moved closer to see what was going on. "This is crazy," LeBrun said, squirming. "This can't possibly work. You don't know what you're doing --" "Yes, I do." Duncan's hands pressed him flat. "Just lie still." He began to untie the handkerchief around LeBrun's forearm. His fingers traced the cut skin and shattered bone. He closed his eyes. Joe leaned forward as a blue glow gathered around Duncan's fingertips. It flowed into LeBrun's arm until the flesh seemed to glow from within. LeBrun hissed and tried to jerk his arm away, but it was held fast in Duncan's grip. Then the glowing skin began to move, knitting the torn flesh back together. Bones moved under the skin. LeBrun moaned. An electrical outlet that had survived Melander's quickening exploded behind them. Sparks flickered up Duncan's body. One of them leaped from his fingertips to LeBrun's arm, and the Inspector yelped. Duncan drew his hands back with a sigh. "That is the best I can do," said the light voice. "I could not heal all the old damage, but you should have more freedom of movement." LeBrun looked down incredulously at the new, hairless flesh along his forearm. He poked at the elbow, straightened and bent the arm, lifted it above his shoulder. "You healed it," he murmured. "You really healed it." Duncan's head nodded and he turned back to the door of the warehouse. LeBrun climbed down from the crate, still swinging his arm experimentally. He wiggled his fingers. "Did that really happen?" he asked Joe. Joe shrugged. "I saw it too," he said, and followed Duncan to the car. "Cassandra, wait --" Connor said suddenly as they stepped outside. Duncan's head tilted. "Yes?" said that eerie voice. "Why -- how could you let this happen? Why did you let Melander take your head?" "It was time. One grows weary after three thousand years. There can be only one, and I do not wish to be that one." "But . . . why Melander? Did you know what was going to happen?" Duncan's shoulders lifted and fell. "I foresaw some of it, but not all." Connor moved closer, gripping Duncan's arms, staring into the eyes that were not quite Duncan's. "You wanted me to kill him, didn't you? You wanted me to have your quickening." The dark eyes turned away. "I -- hoped for a to be joined with Ramirez once again. But it has turned out well. My power is in capable hands. I am content. We will all be joined together soon enough." Connor shivered and stepped back at the implications of that. Duncan's eyes glazed briefly, and he shook his head to clear it. Blinking at the others, he said in his own voice, "I don't think I'll make a habit of that." "Do you remember -- what you did?" Joe asked. "Oh, yes." Duncan looked at LeBrun. "Well? Are you going to keep quiet about this?" LeBrun flexed his arm. "Who would believe me?" he said. "Can I accuse the distinguished M. Lenoire of trying to cut off my arm, when I don't even have a mark to show for it? As for the rest -- that's entirely too wild. And I forgot to bring my videocamera. I think, if I want to hang on to my job, I'll have to keep quiet." "Good," said Duncan, patting him on the back. "You'll avoid a lot of trouble that way." He looked around at the rest of them. "I don't know about you folks, but I'm starving. Anyone for dinner?" =========================================================================