The "On the Street Where You Live" Lyric Wheel "Torchlight and Memories" As always, Amand-r posted a challenge... Write about your own city. I love the Seattle/Renton area and the Seafair gang is a 53+ year tradition up here. I don't own Duncan or any of the rest. This is in the same universe as "Of Books and Swords"and thanks to Mark Jones who supplied the lyrics from Oingo Boingo. (This is a real group???). The song is "When the Lights Go Out" He really wasn’t sure why he’d taken the commission. He’d been living quietly in the suburbs, between Sooke and Victoria on Vancouver Island, rehabbing a small house and occasionally locating antique pieces for some of Connor’s old customers. It had been five years since the deaths of Connor and Jacob Kell. He’d stayed with Methos for almost two years, healing and discovering the new relationship between the two of them. But Duncan’s restlessness couldn’t be ignored. Methos simply smiled and told him not to forget where London was, where home was.
He really hadn’t meant to stop here. He’d been sure the antique shop and their apartment were long gone, but the lights were on and the sign in the window read “Fine Oriental Antiques” and he could see several people talking. Somehow, he needed to go in, needed to see it one last time. The door still stuck a little. Tessa had been after him to fix it… Almost, he could hear her voice. The ache was still there. He’d not had all that many people in his life, that loved him, in spite of knowing what he was. She’d known and understood his loneliness.. In so many ways, the store looked the same. The glass brick, the staircase… The contents of the cases were different, fine hand painted porcelain had replaced the pre-Colombian pieces and there were elegant silk oriental rugs hanging on the walls. His glance took in several lacquered pieces with phoenix and dragon patterns graceful on the doors. On the shelves near the windows, several jade figures caught the last of the light. Near the register, a couple made arrangements for a handsomely carved chair to be delivered and the woman suddenly decided to buy the Quan Yen painting that hung on the wall behind it. The proprietor smiled over at him, “Please look around, sir. I’ll be with you in a moment.” He nodded and moved over to the glass case to look at a display of very old carved ivory pieces that had replaced the 16th Century swords. . The picture was duly wrapped and the couple was bowed out with all due ceremony. The man quietly tagged the heavy chair, “sold” and came over to MacLeod. “And how, may I assist you, sir?” “I was just passing the shop… I… knew the people who used to own it.” “Ah, the sculptor, Ms. Noel. A beautiful lady. She was to be married. Very sad. My nephew purchased it from her family.” Duncan looked away, not wanting to let a stranger see the pain in his face… “Sorry, “ he looked at his watch. “I’m keeping you from closing.” He placed his hands together, bowing slightly and turned, leaving before the owner could respond. It was foolish, he told himself. Nothing of Tessa remained here.
Nothing of Richie either. Returning to Seattle had been foolish.
Was he just poking at the scars to see if they really had healed? He started driving, no real destination in mind, only to find himself being waved over to a side street out of the way, as the Seafair Torchlight Parade made its way down 4th from the Seattle Center park. For a moment, he could see Tessa’s smile as he told her about the SeaFair Pirates and the boats with their Roostertails… He could almost hear the jets as the Blue Angels swooped overhead. They’d taken a picnic basket that day and she’d worn a huge straw hat, teasing him about hiding from the Pirates under it. The torches brought back older memories too; memories of walking the hills with his father and cousins to light the bonfires… the fires of the villages burning after Culloden. His eyes burned with the smoke and he heard the screams again. He tried to shake off the fey mood and concentrate on the floats and the antics of the marchers. Things were quieting down. The torches had passed and even the die-hards were walking past him, toward their parked cars. It was late now and the idea of trying to drive back to Vancouver was daunting. He felt drained and getting a room and an early start in the morning felt like a good idea. By some miracle, the Four Seasons had a cancellation. It was a suite, but the privacy was more important then the cost. Coming here had been stupid. Coming here during SeaFair had been doubly so. What had he been thinking? He’d developed a routine working in Vancouver. There hadn’t been another Immortal hunting him for almost a year. Methos was coming in to visit him in a few days… In fact, he was more truly settled than he’d been in a long while. Yet, he was sitting here, watching the parade going by in more ways then one. He got another of the small bottles of scotch and poured into the glass. It was 1 o’clock in the morning and he was too tired to sleep. His head ached from all the noise. Something wasn’t right. He unclipped the phone and tapped Methos' number. It rang… rang again and then clicked over to voice mail, “Joseph Pierson, here. Leave a number. I’ll get back to you.” “Joseph, Give me a call, OK?” He hung up and then paced over to the window again. There was a wet smell to the air when he opened the window. Rain. First a heavy mist, then a rare thunderstorm, lightning like a strange kind of quickening, showing the outlines of the buildings against the silver rain. The shape of the buildings seemed to shift and change… old brick replaced sleek concrete and cobblestones… cobblestones that were covered with broken glass, shouted curses echoed and screams… There were people there, scrambling to hide as he heard a Connor’s faint voice muttering about brownshirted goons that turn into mobs that get so crazy and prowl the streets like cats out for the hunt… they’re breaking all the windows just because it's fun… burning books and beating up the people trying so hard to hide, to get away… The voice softly says “Rachel… my beloved, Rachel” And in the window, a reflection a slightly shorter, lighter haired figure…and beside him an elegant woman, her arm in his. To Duncan, it looked as though she blew him a kiss and then they were gone. The rain was quieter now. The streets were quiet, only an occasional car, loud in the darkness, passed beneath his window. His phone rang. “Mac… Richardson.” “What’s wrong, Ryan?” “When are you coming in?” “I’m in. Took an earlier flight. What happened, Mac?” “Nothing, really. I just… “ “Humm You called me at one in the morning about nothing?” Methos waited, but Duncan couldn’t get a word past the sudden lump in his throat. “Well, hurry back and you can regale me with the stories of your fascinating hunt for the Gregorian candlesticks.” A sudden laugh broke through Duncan’s mood. “I guess I was just checking to see if there was anything special you wanted me to pick up…” “And that’s why you called?” Duncan ignored the comment, “I’ll head back early in the morning, “You could grab a bottle of the Whidbey Island liquor. I bought ice-cream.” Duncan smiled at the phone. “You’re on. I’ll pick it up before I leave. The liquor stores don’t open till 8.” “Uncivilized bunch of barbarians. That’s probably why you get on with them so well.” The tightness in his chest eased. The scotch hit and suddenly he knew he could sleep, could let the ghosts go. “I’ll see you for lunch, Methos. Thank you.” He hung up, turned out the light and stretched out on the big bed. Through the window he could see the last of the clouds blow away and the stars shining in the rainwashed sky. Tomorrow…
*************************** When the lights go out Monsters & Madmen CHORUS No one can be trusted, when the lights go out Gonna run outside CHORUS Just common folks like you and me |
Maybe
that was the reason for coming here. Seattle had been home for more
than 12 years, his home, and Tessa’s. Perhaps, even more than
Paris, it had been tied to her. This was where he’d talked her
into accepting Richie and they really had become a family of sorts.
His ties and memories of Connor’s visits to the Island were
strong, too.
Methos
certainly thought so. He wasn’t even sure why he’d called
him. “Joseph Pierson” had settled comfortably in London
and planned to stay there for a while longer. Was he right about
Duncan’s reasons?