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What Happens to the Hero-Part 2
"Can you hear me, Adam? Methos, I'm lost in the darkness and the pain. Come to me, find me. Either Death will find me or death will find me. Please come... before there is no me left to find."
A voice in the darkness tearing at my soul… Then, the golden afternoon is back. Paris in the spring with flowers and lovers wandering hand in hand is all around me. Not my darkness.
My journal has fallen to the floor beside me. The pen held tightly in my hand, like a weapon. What am I doing battle with?
I know, without any doubt that it's MacLeod's voice I'm hearing. It's his despair, darkness I'm feeling.
Joe finally answers his phone and then wants to argue that he's protecting Mac's privacy. How can I get through to him that it's Mac's life I'm worried about? He finally tells me how to get to the island and I sit and twitch on the damn plane for far too long.
I doze, and I'm reaching out to grab his hand to keep the shining blade from slicing into his throat. My throat hurts from the soundless screaming of his name. I wake up, shivering with an inner cold that two brandies and several cups of coffee can't warm. "Duncan..."
I sip at the drink, trying to get a racing heartbeat under control. Was this just a dream brought on by my worry about my friend? The image in the mirror was so vivid, though, the darkness of scarlet blood against the golden skin.
That look, the unbearable sadness… I'd seen it before, in the darkness of the concrete and steel of the old racetrack with Richie's body laying half hidden in the shadows.
There was something… a brooding hint of thunder approaching.
I went back over the little information I had from Joe. The Club wasn't busy and Joe motioned me into the privacy of the office. "I still don't think this is a good idea. He went to ground on his Island."
Joe turned to laptop so I could read it. "Randi says she hasn't seen him for 5 or 6 days. She's watching the boathouse. The car hasn't been moved for a couple of weeks. She says he'd been busy renovating things. He hadn't been up there for a while so it needed some repairs. She hasn't seen him since he finished the work on the roof. No smoke from the fireplace, no cooking smells… "
I stretch to try to ease the tight muscles in my neck. There's too much pain there. I need to get to him and fast. "Can you drive me to the Airport?"
I'd tried to explain it to Joe. "When we put down Kronos and Silas, something happened in the Quickening. There's some sort of a connection."
I shrugged, "It sounds crazy, but sometimes I know what he's feeling, … and when he's tired, not trying to block me, it's as though I can see what he's seeing. Then… this afternoon…"
I closed my eyes again, against the vision of Mac's bloody throat.
Joe pulled into the airport parking lot and took my arm, willing to believe me, to try and understand, "I hope this is just an excuse. But, Randi was uneasy, too. Methos, I know you care about him, no matter how cynical you try to be."
"MacLeod's not come back to us, Joe. He's still caught between the damn racetrack and O'Rourke. I have to get to him, remind him that people care about him, that he is loved for himself."
Joe nodded, "I'll follow as fast as I can." He looked me straight in the eye, "Methos, you have done everything you can to keep him sane and alive. Please remember that."
I knew what he was trying to do. No matter what he said, if I was too late… No, don't think about that.
All through the long drive from the airport, I try to reach him but the way is blocked. A blackness that I can not breach keeps me away from him.
Only an occasional fish arching against the surface of the lake after a mayfly breaks the silence. The hi-power binoculars aren't a lot of help either. There's no sign of life anywhere.
The kayak I picked up on the way is easy to maneuver and I beach it next to Mac's canoe. The door to the cabin isn't locked. I go in, feeling like an invader.
Everything is clean. A fancy stereo set is loaded with CDs, but not running. The bed hasn't been slept in and there, in the bathroom…
The shower's been cleaned, but there is one small, dark smear against the pale tiles.
I can just barely sense Mac. From the back door, I can see a pathway leading up through the trees. My inner compass says that's where he is.
He's still alive and that has to be enough. I leave my bag and start up, hoping against hope that I'm not too late. There were wood shavings by a small tool shed. Nausea threatens to overwhelm me. I can feel Mac's hands on the wood, trying to set the best angle…
"No! Mac!" I shout, almost running along the narrow trail.
Tall trees surrounded the clearing. MacLeod is sitting there facing away from me, his back against an oak as old as he is. His voice is soft, just faintly slurred. "You're too early, Methos. Tomorrow would have been better."
I stop. MacLeod has fashioned a frame for the katana. One hand keeps smoothing the ivory hilt. The nearly empty bottle beside him is old, the green glass dusty.Slowly I approach, trying to find words to reach through to the quiet figure sitting there with his sword braced to put an end to his pain.
"Would Highland hospitality extend to giving a guy a drink?"
Mac looks at me for a moment as though he doesn't understand the question.
"The bottle, Mac. What are you drinking?"
Mac looks at the bottle. "Oh... the scotch… I bought this from Connor. He was a sea Captain, imported scotch, woolens. Wealthy man…" His voice trails off.
I try to walk a little closer and Mac moves closer to the sword, keeping it between us. "So how about a taste?"
"You, you drink beer, Methos."
"Yes, but I drink other things with friends as well."
The other man's eyes are bright with tears and sudden anguish, "I've been a poor excuse for a friend, Methos." He reaches for the sword, then changes his mind. "Go away, Methos. It's too late. No shelter from this storm. Nothing left for me."
A step nearer, careful not to push too hard… "Talk to me, Duncan. Tell me about the storm."
"There's nothing to tell. I vanquished the demon. The quest is over. I can't do this, I can't wait for the next hero…"
"Is that what Landry's book says?"
The sigh seems to come from deep within the soul of the dark-haired man. "His book doesn't say anything… There's nothing as useless as a champion after the battle's done."
I hunker down beside Duncan. "You've had a horrible time of it, these last few years, haven't you my friend?"
There are silent tears now, catching the late afternoon sun like cabochon crystals.
"Go 'way, Methos."
"I can't, Mac. I heard you call me, you know."
I carefully put my hand on Mac's shoulder, pulling gently. "Duncan, I heard you. I know how the storm feels."
I can barely hear him. "It's so dark, Methos. Even in the daylight, I can't find myself."
"Duncan, I found you. Let me get you back to the cabin. You need to eat something and I'll stay with you so you can sleep. We'll talk about the storm in the morning."
I reach across to take Duncan's hand from the sword.
"No, Methos. Please, jus' go on back." He turns away. "It hurts too much. I'm a danger to any one I care about. I don't want to kill you too."
"You won't kill me."
I stood, stretching muscles cramped from the long flight and drive to the Island. "This is a beautiful place, Mac. I understand why you come up here."
The other man is still. His face and body turned away from me. "Mac, I want you to stand up and walk back to the cabin with me. Now." The command is spoken with every bit of energy I can force into it.
Reluctantly, MacLeod responds to the tone and releases his grip on the katana. Slowly, unsteadily, he gets to his feet. I slip an arm around his waist, supporting him and keeping him moving toward the house.
I put coffee on and then help Duncan into the big sunken bath. It's filled it with hot water and lavender. A candle supplements the fading light. Duncan hasn't said a word. He allows me to arrange him in the tub and says nothing when I strip down and get in with him.
Mac's shampoo smells of sandalwood and spices. I lather his hair and take a loofa to work on his back and shoulders. Duncan's eyes are closed. His body could be a window dresser's dummy for all the response I get.
The aroma of the coffee fills the cabin and I finish rinsing Duncan, wrapping him in a heavy robe. I walk him over to the big bed and leave him sitting there for a minute while I fix the coffee and bring it back to the bed. I sip at mine and finally he drinks his. I refill the cups and we sit there, quiet as the room goes dark and I can see the stars through the window.
As I know it will, the phoenobarb in the coffee eases him into sleep. A small syringe a minimal dose of curare will keep him dead and without dreams for a few hours. I need time to hide the swords, mine as well as the katana and any other one that might be here.
He is silent. He's as safe as I can make him for the moment. There are still dark circles under his eyes. Not all of the lines have faded. All I really want to do is to stay there and hold him, to let him know… to let him know I love him.
Oh, Duncan. There are things I need to tell you. Will you want to hear them, though?
I shake myself loose and hurry up the trail to the place where I found him. Gingerly, I dismantle the little stand, almost a guillotine, he's built. He's too clever by half. Nasty little mechanism, and all too easy to use.
Back at the cabin, he's still, unchanged. In an old, elegant chest I find a basket hilted sword, the one Joe says is missing from his storage facility. I wrap both of them in heavy oiled canvas and plastic. I need to be able to give them back, undamaged when he's all right again. A nasty, snide voice in my head whispers, "Are you so sure then, that you can help him? He isn't you. He really believes in heroes." I snarl back, "So do I." I believe in him…
For now, my Ivanhoe will have to go with them. He is strong and I don't want to wrestle over sharp objects with him. The longer handled ax goes too. I'll leave the hatchet, not in the house, but close enough that I can chop more firewood.
It takes me over an hour to find a dead tree on the shore side suitable for my needs. The swords will be safe here and maybe it won't be too long…
He's breathing again when I get back and I hurry through a shower and change of clothes. He eases back into sleep, the stress and the last of the drugs combining to let him rest. I crawl into the other side of the bed and stay as still as I can.
The candle is burning lower, almost out, and somehow he's curled against my side as though he knows I'm here. Do you know, Duncan? Or do you think Tessa has returned to you… And it doesn't matter as I…sleep.