Disclaimer: I have zero rights to any of the characters created for Highlander: The Series. They are wholly owned by Davis-Panzer and are borrowed through their good will. Amy Allan and her brothers are mine. Or, I'm theirs, whichever that works out to be. No money is being made by me whatsoever in posting these stories of mine.

Story Note: italics - the direct thoughts of the character
[bracket italics] - remembered conversations that come from all previous stories and/or chapters

The Horseman and the Elf - Reality Bites

An open-handed slap on her face snapped Amy's head sideways and made her eyes rattle. Tasting blood, she glared through the tears, squinting in the noon sun, but could see nothing but the hand coming to slap her again. Sand burned her hands and legs when she fell, then someone picked her up by her dress and played a knife blade down her jaw until it disappeared and sharp fire exploded in her side.

In the dim bathroom, Amy stood wide-eyed in the shower, leaning against the wall, legs trembling, and breath coming in short pants. The bloody hell? There was no blood. This was reality. This, with warm water running down her back, through her hair, into her gasping mouth. What was the other?

A hand lifted her by the neck, squeezing until her vision dimmed, and everything but the eyes in front of her vanished.

The floor vibrated gently against her feet - the elevator was coming up. Through the noise of the water voices faintly floated to her ears; Mac and Methos returning from the t.v. studios. Amy shook her head, trying to dislodge the ghosts of the strange vision in her head. She pushed it aside; she could ask Peter his thoughts later.

She was on her back in the sand, rough hands pushing her legs apart, fear freezing her into immobility. She was standing under the water, holding onto the wall, using it as an anchor. She was in a tent, falling to the ground after being punched, then he was on her, driving a knife into her gut. A scream of pain ripped from her throat and she died as he raped her again. In rapid succession it repeated - beaten, raped, killed - a process meant to destroy her will, her self. The pain became too much to bear, wave upon wave and no recovery time in between. Burning sun, scorching sand, blood. A confused mass of sight, sound, the overwhelming pain, and so much more. Impossible that it was real, too real to be a dream.

A crash, and she was in the shower, on her knees with water pouring over her back, dripping around her eyes and mouth as she panted, heart pounding, stomach clenching, and no idea what had just happened or how long she had been gone.

"Amy!" Mac ripped the curtain out of the way. He had kicked his own bathroom door down and bent to haul her out of the tub.

"I'm fine! I'm fine! I'll be out in a minute." She waved him off furiously with one hand, covering herself with the other, and desperately wishing she possessed the gift of invisibility.

"But you've been screaming…"

"Get out!" Satisfied he'd left, she finished rinsing, dressed before she dried, and escaped the bathroom with all possible speed. The tall woman next to Mac, with her perfect dark hair and immaculate makeup, was a stranger and an irrational swell of hate rolled through Amy. Another wave of psychic assault beat against her hastily reinforced mental barriers - shadows trying to overtake the real world - and Amy realized this stranger was the source and hated her more for it. She had to get out of there before it came crashing through again.

"Amy, this is Cassandra —" Mac began.

"You," Amy snarled. "Can you not be polite enough to shut your head off when you're around other people?" She threw the strap of her duffel over her head, snagged her water bottle off the desk where she had left it, and headed for the door.

"Amy, wait!"

"No, Mac. It's bad enough with you tromping through my head occasionally, and I am not staying around and letting her scream her crap through me. You let me know when she's gone, and I'll see you again." The noise from the door slamming behind her, combined with her feet pounding down the stairs was much more satisfying to Amy than the elevator's sedate decent.