Date: Fri, 3 Mar 1995 23:44:21 -0700 Reply-To: Greg Palmer Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Greg Palmer Subject: "Life's Blood" Part 4 *** Part 4 of "Life's Blood" Thanks to the people who pointed out the Church of England was not begun until the 14th century, making it impossible for Michael Barnes to have lived in an orphanage run by them in the 7th century. My history is lousy. Anyway, sorry for the confusion (yet again), I'll try to be better about research from now on :). Thank you Aphrael for the cool poem. I love it! *** "...give me silence and fury with nothingness. when you come back to mock me with your words and tears screaming you 'need' me yelling hey friend i'll let you fley my soul with my own kindnesses. worse. i'll still love you and listen." --Aphrael, Untitled "Life's Blood" Part 4 by Greg Palmer, Copyright (c) 1995 (I wrote another version of this part, which contains more a more explicit sex scene. Otherwise, the plot isn't affected at all. I'm posting both versions, so you can just read whichever you want.) WEST WASHINGTON STATE, March 1995 As he gasped in waking surprise, the hand suddenly stopped caressing Greg's silk-clad leg. After a brief respite, it began again; this time he felt the sensation of lightly scratching fingernails on the inside of his thigh. The unexpected pleasure caused him to inhale sharply. "No!" he cried. In one fluid movement he slapped away the exploring hand, and flicked on the bedside lamp with his other hand. What he saw made him blink in shock... ...For the woman kneeling next to the bed easily could have been Yvette's twin sister. The features were not exactly the same, but very close. Her long, flowing blond hair was styled exactly the way Yvette had done hers. Enormous warm brown eyes. Small, pert nose. High, aristocratic cheekbones. And, she had Yvette's lush, red lips. Suddenly, he had an almost overpowering urge to take that face in his hands and kiss those lips. This surprised him; how long had it been since he'd even considered making love to another woman? Even one who so resembled his dead love. Instead, what he did was stare neutrally at the girl. "Get out," he forced himself to murmur. Seeming to sense his ambivalence, she ignored his words, and rested her warm hand on his knee. When he did nothing, she began to trace a path with her fingernail up the length of his leg. This *isn't* Yvette, his mind whispered. Never removing her hand, the girl stood, for the first time allowing Greg to see her nude body. She even had Yvette's lithe figure and smooth fair skin, he was unsurprised to notice. He started to tell her to get out, again, but his vocal cords seemed paralyzed. "Please don't," he managed to choke out. "Stop." Unable to say anything else, only his eyes could plead with her further. Ignoring him again, she got onto the bed, straddling his hips with hers. Stop, please!, he thought at her. His eyes, partially glazed with lust and partially clouded by something less definable, couldn't even plead with her anymore. His flesh was now in complete dominance over his mind. Unable to do anything about it, he lay passive, letting the girl do what she would with him. The rapture he felt was enhanced by its incredible guilt. Then she was still. She lifted herself off him and bent down, as if to kiss him. He turned his head away, refusing to meet her eyes. With a small shrug, she got off the bed. Grabbing a robe off a hook on the door, she was gone a second later. Greg just lay there, staring at the ceiling; barely noticing her departure. My God, he thought. Unbelieving what had transpired, and also at what *he had allowed* to happen. He got out of bed, standing on shaky feet. He went into the bathroom, and showered quickly. Covering himself with a robe, he re-entered the bedroom. He walked over to a mirrored shelf in a stained wood cabinet; sitting on it were bottles of all kinds of liquor. Grabbing a glass and the first bottle his hand touched, he poured himself a stiff drink, and tossed it down. He coughed a bit as the vodka burned a course down his throat. Taking the bottle back to a chair with him, he proceeded to consume more vodka directly from the bottle, barely stopping for breath. He didn't stop until the bottle was almost empty. The bottle dropped to the floor. He sat there in the chair, waiting for the intoxication to come over him. Shortly later, he was blissfully, gloriously drunk. For now, the pain, guilt, and remorse were blocked out by the haze of alcohol. He managed to tip himself onto the bed, passing out more than falling asleep. *********** He was standing there, in the center of an old church. Candles flickered, illuminating the bare stone walls and floor, and the empty wooden pews. Torches were mounted on either side of the rude wooden altar, and a dark figure knelt before it. "Excuse me," he heard himself say. Rising slowly from prayer, the figure turned to face him. He could tell now it was a woman. She wore a monk's rough robe, the rosary beads dangling from a rope around her waist. A deep cowl covered her features. Slowly, the eerie figure reached up and drew the cowl back. It was Yvette. As she looked that night in Paris, when he'd discovered her murdered. Her blond hair was streaked with blood. Her cut throat grinned at him, but her soulless eyes regarded him blankly. She spoke, a raspy, rough sound. "Why did you leave me, my Gregoire?" He wanted to run away, but he was powerless to move. Another figure appeared, this one a man. Dressed similarly to Yvette, the man reached up and drew back his cowl. It was Duncan MacLeod. "Why did you leave us? Why did you leave?" A chorus of voices, all saying the same thing, filled the cathedral, echoing off the thick stone walls. Greg screamed. ************ A hand shaking him. "Wake up, sir," the dry British voice said. Greg rolled over, the sunlight from the open window causing him to squint in pain. His head felt like evil little men were beating on it with hammers. "What do you want?" he groaned. "Mr. Barnes requests your presence for breakfast in the front dining room, sir," Geoffrey said disapprovingly. Greg's head throbbed with every word. He couldn't imagine how he looked. The butler put a stack of clothes on the bed and left. Getting out of bed, Greg saw that they were the same clothes he'd worn the night before; only washed and pressed. He threw his robe into a chair and started to get dressed. While he was buttoning the faded denim shirt, he suddenly remembered what he'd been doing last night, and the awful nightmare he'd had. His knees gave out and he found himself sitting on the bed. The memories of the girl who'd been in his room last night cut through the hangover induced fog in his mind. His hands started to shake, too much for him to finish buttoning his shirt. He tried to picture the image of Yvette's face, the memory that carried him through painful experiences. He'd always gained comfort from the memory of her face. The only image he could call up was the dream-Yvette's face, throat slashed, covered in blood, yet still possesing some kind of horrible vitality. *********** Duncan and Anne sat in Anne's apartment. An uncomfortable moment of silence hung over their conversation. "You haven't heard from him? He hasn't called?" Anne asked, emotion coloring her voice. "No," Duncan said. "And I don't think I will. Damn! So much depended on these first few months! I've seen it a dozen times; he's going to go *wrong*..." His mouth shut as he realized who he was talking to. "What do you mean, `so much depended'--" She was interrupted by a knock on the door. Anne started to get up to answer it, but Duncan stopped her with a cautioning glance. He went to the door and opened it. There was no one there. About to close it, he looked down and saw a large white envelope. He could see his name on the otherwise blank surface. Duncan picked up the envelope, and rolled it over in his hands. It was otherwise blank besides the name on the front. He opened it and a single sheet of paper fell out: +-------------------------------------------------------------+ { MacLeod, } { } { Greg is with Michael Barnes. Get rid of this note. } { } +-------------------------------------------------------------+ There was a phone number at the end of the note. "Thanks, Joe," Duncan whispered. He shut the door, a small smile transforming his stern features. "Who was that?" asked Anne from her seat in the living room. "Some guy with a sword," Duncan replied, completely deadpan. "Wrong apartment." Anne looked at him strangely for a moment and then burst into laughter. "No, really!" "Nobody. Someone left a note for me, and it's urgent. Got to run." Anne was used to this kind of thing. She walked over to Duncan, and put her hands on his waist. "Sure you can't stay? I don't have to be at work for hours yet..." She let the words trail off. "Hmm, tempting. But I've really got to go," Duncan said with a smile. He kissed her thoroughly. "I'll be back," he said. "I'll be waiting," she replied. Duncan left and drove his black Thunderbird to a nearby convience store. Plunking a quarter into a payphone, he dialed the number on the note. ************* Greg and Michael sat at either end of the elegant table, regarding each other silently. Michael spoke. "My intentions were nothing but good," he said. "A lesson Ramirez taught me is that Immortals *should not* fall in love with mortals. You already know why. It just happened sooner rather than later, for you." Barnes stopped for a moment, thought, and continued. "What do you think it's like to watch the woman you love grow old and die, while you don't age a day? You already know the despair; the hollow emptiness! Remember what I said about the despair? How it has caused many an Immortal to lose his head? I've seen it before, and I see it happening to you!" Greg glared at his Teacher. "What if I don't want to forget. Maybe I can't forget." "You *must* forget her, Greg!" Barnes exclaimed, standing up at the table. "She's dead and gone, but *you* are still alive!" "Phone for you, sir," the butler said. Barnes sat back down, composing himself. The butler's entrance into the room had gone unnoticed by the two Immortals. He put a cordless phone on the table next to Greg's hand, and quickly scuttled out of the tomb-like silence of the dining room. Barnes started to speak, but then thought better of it. Regarding the phone with puzzlement, Greg picked it up and said, "Hello?" "Greg. It's Duncan." MacLeod's voice sounded strained. "I didn't expect you to be able to find me here. Did Dawson give you the number?" "Look, that's not important. We need to talk, in person." Duncan said. "What, so you can avenge Anne's friend?" Greg said contemptously. "I'm not after your head." "Then you'll meet me on holy ground?" Duncan was silent for a long moment. The sound of traffic came over the phone. "So it's come down to this?" "I guess it has." "Then meet me at the Catholic church near the dojo in three hours." "I'll be there." Greg pressed a button on the phone and hung up. He looked back to his Teacher. "I have to," he explained simply. "I understand," Barnes said. "I wish you wouldn't go; I was hoping to start your training today." He looked at his Student. "MacLeod's an honest man, if a little rigid in his honesty. If he said he's not after your head; he's not. At least for now." Greg stood. "I'll be back soon. We still have much to discuss." "We do." ************ The streets were slick with rain. A light drizzle misted the air; the sky was a featureless gray. Greg parked his red 500SL behind MacLeod's black Thunderbird, and entered the church. Rows of lit candles flickered in the draft from the open door. Greg stood in the doorway for a moment, trying to adjust to the strange feeling of Duncan's Quickening interacting with his own. MacLeod stood in the center aisle, between the twin rows of hard wooden benches. The image of Christ on the cross was on the wall, directly behind him and above him. Greg couldn't decide whose face reflected more sorrow. Only a few other people were in the church: lost, misguided souls seeking absolution from their sins, real and imagined, by prayer. Greg walked to MacLeod. "I was beginning to wonder if you'd come," Duncan said. "I'm here, Duncan. The question I'd like answered is why." Greg looked past Duncan at the image of Christ being crucified. "I want you to come back," Duncan said, simply. "Why did you leave?" Greg heard the dream-Duncan echo those words in an baneful cacophony. He looked back at Duncan, half expecting to see MacLeod dressed in a cassock. His voice caught in his throat for a moment. "I don't know," he said. "One moment, everything was good, and the next it had all turned to...shit. I remember such...rage coming out of me, from nowhere. I was willing to kill for that anger, MacLeod." He shuddered. "And where does Michael Barnes fit into all of this?" "He found me, in a bar not far from the hospital. Offered to Teach me, shelter me. I wasn't sure where I stood with you; if you wanted my head for what I'd done to Martin. You know, I'm still not sure." He glanced pointedly at Duncan. "Anyway, I went with him; I didn't see any other options. He's Teaching me, now." "I told you I wasn't after your head. Besides, you didn't kill the man." "Look, it's never going to be the same, and you know it. Everything's different now! Just leave it alone, Duncan." He turned his back to the older Immortal. MacLeod put his hand on Greg's shoulder; the other Immortal jerked away. "I've seen so many young ones go bad. I just don't want to see it happen to you. You're in risk of going that route; Barnes doesn't understand that, he never did." "Maybe you're right," Greg said, remembering the events Michael set into motion the night before, and their conversation that morning. "He *doesn't* understand." He was still facing away from Duncan. "Then come with me," MacLeod replied. Greg turned to face Duncan. "I can't," he said. "I need some time to think things through." Turning back away from his former Teacher, he started to walk for the door. MacLeod was silent. Leaving Duncan in the church, Greg got in his car and headed back to the estate. [End part 4] (Sorry this one took so long... with busy week I've had, I haven't had much time for writing. Hopefully things will slow down and I'll have more time. As always, send me your comments!) +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ The Vampire Chronicles Home Page -- fanfics, gifs+sounds, Anne Rice stuff ***http://www.xroads.com/pages/gpalmer/gpalmer.html*** +-------------------------------------------------------------------------+ =========================================================================