ADAM PIERSON IS DEAD
----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- by Sannah
first in my "May God have mercy on your soul"-Series It is my first attempt and yes, it all doesn't work without a bit gay- stuff. so enjoy! I'm not a native speaker, so excuse me for mistakes. At least two persons belong to me. Highlander figures are Panzer/Davis', egyptian figures are W. Smith'
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The waves closed over her like silken covers - so soft and comfortable... The coolness of the fluid changed into the warmth of her own blood. It was her - she was it. Perfect symbiosis. It felt so good, so overwhelming - irresistible. One last time she took in this earthbound air, hold it, then let it go. She sank deep into the waters that should become her grave. Tenderly the wetness searched its way into her body, fulfilled her perfectly. Chiara had not wanted anything else than that during the past few weeks, this feeling of joy, of recognizing that it was her will to end it. Oh, she hoped so badly this would truly end everything, all the pain that flooded her in these visions she couldn't understand, but she felt that somehow all she had seen had happened. Again the pictures came - pictures of tortured bodies, hardly to be recognized as human beings. Pictures of children, forced to see the people die they loved the most. But worse were the feelings. She felt everything as they did - confusion at first, changing into fear to be at last replaced by this urge to die, to end it...But also like the one who did this to them. His pure joy of killing, that now turned into the need to do it to herself...Now it was her turn. She didn't fight the intruder off her lungs, but welcomed it. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes forever was the sun, that vanished behind shades of blue and green silk. And finally it was over...
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"Shit, shit, shit!!!" She couldn't help but cry it out as loud as possible. 'How could it be?' Why was she still alive? Confusion overwhelmed her rapidly. And there lay this her body at the beach, still wet from the flood that took her back. Her whole body shook with cold and resignation. "You okay?" Chiara hardly heard the voice of the tall, black haired man, that knelt down in front of her, placing a hand caring on her shoulder. But this bare little touch was enough to face her with the truth of her surviving and she reacted in the only way she thought was pleasant to her. "Sure, I'm shit-fucking-okay, as you can see. And now, piss off!" She didn't look at him, 'cause all she longed for at the moment was to be left alone in all her self-pity. How could this bastard dare to disturb this oh so private moment. But for this reason she could not see that he stood up and slowly went away without looking back. She only felt that his presence was taken away. And after a few seconds she realized how rude she had been, fast regretting it. After all it was not his fault she couldn't find the peace she needed. So she looked up and started to apologize when she suddenly felt she knew him. His outline remembered her so terribly on a man she had never met in person, but knew better than herself. "Pierson?!" She cried loudly into the cool wind that nearly left her breathless. "Adam..." She didn't manage to bring out more than a whisper this time. The man hid his hands deep into the pockets of his gray, long coat. Without turning around he stopped and said in an aggressive but also regretting voice: "Adam Pierson is dead, darling. Adam Pierson is dead..." Then he went further through the sand and finally got out of sight.
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'Pierson'... A name he hadn't used for more than three years, since he had left Paris and the Watchers behind - as well as the only people he had called friends in a long time... And now he heard it again. Today of all days at a beach near to Galway, a city at the west coast of Ireland, from a girl that looked not familiar at all - and he in fact had a good memory of faces. No, she couldn't know him. Well, fortunately she hadn't called him by his real name, Methos. `Cause that would have been a problem, but not his a.k.a. ... Adam Pierson had officially been a professor for ancient history and languages - nothing dangerous. Probably she had joined one of his classes somewhere. Actually it was something else, he was worried about concerning this girl. It wasn't exactly the right time of year to go swimming in the ocean, and she had obviously been in the water. And finally she hadn't looked like she had enjoyed it very much. `Okay, old man, stop it right now!' He told himself. He really didn't need again someone to look after, especially no mortal. He should simply leave her alone like she had wished him to do earlier. 'As you like it...'
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Chiara didn't remember getting home and felt now exhausted lying on her bed. It was getting dark and all the colors turned into one engulfing gray. But she didn't switch on the lights, but lay instead motionless on the white sheets that covered her bed. Her thoughts went back to the beach. Who was that man there? How could he look like Adam and say in the same breath that he was dead? And why had she been so damn sure that it was truly HIM? Adam... Did he really exist or was he just another thing she fantasized. She didn't know, 'cause she had only seen him in her visions - clearly. She had watched him at work, alone in his rooms studying old books written in languages she didn't know at all, and she had watched him drinking beer while laughing and talking with his friends. But she also had watched him helplessly when the girl he loved had died. And once in a while she had seen those things that made her believe she was mad, she could not understand. She had seen him fighting, holding a sword, beheading another man...No - that all could not be true! But somehow deep inside she knew different. Slowly her thoughts led into the deep sleep her body was longing for. But she found no rest, 'cause still the visions came and filled her brain cruelly...
...The knowing cries of death and begging were all around her. She felt all the pain and fear of the dying people in front of her, one still pinned on the sword she knew she was holding in her hands. She wanted it to end but she couldn't help it. Instead she felt fantastic with all this power. No not she...It was definitely a male body her mind was in, 'cause she felt the sudden tightness in the pants that came along with the sexual arousal the killing brought. "Are you enjoying yourself, brother?" A deep sarcastic voice made her turn left where she discovered a grinning man with a large scar over the right half of his face. "Sure I am, brother." She heard herself answer in a low, but satisfied voice. But she knew this body wanted much more enjoying and in the same second she felt how the sword was drawn back letting the almost dead woman fall to the ground. The man her senses joined let himself fall on his knees and ripped the woman's dress off of her bleeding body. One more move and his hands stripped off his own pants exposing his swollen cock. With one thrust he shove brutally into her body - again and again. Chiara experienced his lust as if it was her own, but at the same time her body was the one of the raped woman in front of her. She wasn't dead already and cried out with each penetration. And again the growing pressure of blood in the man's cock that needed to be released - mixed with the pain and shame of the woman who at last only had one thought left: 'Oh Gods, let me die!!!'...
"Let me die!" Chiara screamed the words out loud into the darkness that surrounded her. "Let me die..." This one more a plea than anything. And she was suddenly sure she had to finish it now. She couldn't handle anything more like that. So she silently headed for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, then searched for the sleeping pills in one of the drawers. When she finally found them she took all of the pills that were left in the pack and dissolved them in the fluid. With a bitter grin she recognized that it was exactly 23. That would probably do. Otherwise she wanted to be sure it would work this time, so she reached again for a drawer and took out the knife she knew was sharp enough to part a hair lengthwise. Lying on her bed again her mind was full of strange pictures and emotions she knew were not her own. But she didn't care. All that counted at the moment was that they forced her to kill herself, to witness her own execution. And she had to do it now! Staring nowhere out in the dark she nipped on the glass at first then poured in all at one gulp. Almost immediately numbness but also lightening fulfilled her body and brain. But there was enough strength left to grab the knife and slowly she sank the cold metal deep into the warm flesh of her left wrist. It burned like hell but not long and the pain faded away and she watched amazed how first a deep-red line appeared. Then one drop followed another. Soon her arm and hand were covered with blood as was the former white linen. Chiara felt the sudden urge to taste the fluid running from the veins in her arm and led her tongue to the blade touching it lightly. Still warm it tasted metallic but also sweet - something she could get used to. Well, deep inside she knew she already was. At least the man of her visions was. She could hear him groan with the longing for more. Realizing the same sound escaped from her own mouth she replaced the knife to her left hand reaching for the other wrist and made again a cut - this time less powerful, so it was only for doing it instead of producing another serious wound. Then Chiara placed her face right over the newly opened flesh, sucking on it until her mouth was full of blood and she nearly choked. Deep satisfaction sent shivers through her entire body and finally she sank backinto the pillows and closed her eyes in a badly need for rest...
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The loud penetrating ring of her phone woke her up. "No! Not again..." Tears were coming from Chiara`s eyes when she realized that she was still alive and the sun was greeting a new day. 'Why can't it be over?' She thought again and again while stroking with her hand over her face, still ignoring the telephone. Dried blood was left behind and reopened the wound on her wrist. She hardly noticed it. Instead she had the very need to vomit. Her stomach spasmed painfully and she hurried getting into the bathroom. With her head bowed over the toilet she released her sickness, still not paying attention to her wrists. Soon the loss of blood led her into another death. And her body slowly sank to the floor into pools of blood and vomits, And the phone kept ringing...
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This time the reviving no longer surprised her, although nevertheless she could not understand it at all and it gave her the creeps. She found herself on the floor of the bathroom and she knew she smelt terrible, but somehow she didn't care. It was nearly six in the evening and everything seemed to be normal. The old Lady from No 16 went for her daily walk before going to sleep, Mitchell from across the street got home and any other day Chiara would have waved him hello. But not today. 'Today was damned different!' "Maybe enough alcohol could make it better..." She spoke her thoughts out loud with a sigh and headed for the fridge, but discovered nothing that came at least close to a drug. So she decided to try it somewhere else. Well, first she had to take care of herself. They would immediately call the police would she be seen like this. Nevertheless she didn't felt like cleaning thoroughly. Therefor she just changed clothing, dressed her wounds and washed the blood off of her hands and face. 'That should do...' With a last look in the mirror - that showed only a person she herself would fear - she left her flat and went down the street to get as quickly as possible to the next bar.
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The pub was crowded with people, fortunately none Chiara recognized. She didn't long for talking. All she wished was to get drunk. And as soon as she reached the bar she ordered whiskey, Tullamore Dew, her favorite, hoping it wouldn't last long until there was enough alcohol in her blood to let her forget the visions and her inability to die. Glass after glass was set in front of her, the contents vanished inside her body and a new one was brought. After half an hour and six double whiskey, the next was poured at the moment, she grabbed the barkeeper's arm: "Leave the bottle alone!" He looked questioning down at her, deciding this girl, obviously drunk already, needed to talk instead of more whiskey. "You wanna tell me what's up?" "Nope." She stared at the bottle. "Shis one's as good a comp'ny as anie." The barkeeper only shrugged his shoulders once, then went to pour a beer for someone else. "Not as good as mine." A low voice made Chiara turn around to face the man she knew as Adam Pierson, the man she met at the beach one day before. It seemed years ago... "Shit. You again..."
"Could you please stop greeting me like that." Methos gave her a hurt look, that he knew would make her feel guilty - at least for a second. But his face changed quickly into a bright smile: "Anyway, nice to see you, too." And he meant what he said, although he didn't exactly know why. It had been pure chance that he decided to go out this night and who knows which God had sent him to this pub at all things. Well, it had happened and as soon as he got inside he had seen her at the bar arguing with the barkeeper. And something had drawn him to her again...
Chiara fled the hazel eyes and concentrated again on her whiskey. "Never mind. But don't you think it's enough for today?" He asked when she emptied her glass another time. "Don' shink so, Mr...who-whoever you aaare." She hardly managed to get out the words correctly while trying to pour herself a new one. But he stopped her with a hard grab that forced her hand down: "Leonnard O'Coerky. And I tell you it's enough." Without letting go off her hand he turned her around and looked at her seriously, although his mouth curled into a light smile. "Let's go. I'll take you home." Chiara didn't have the strength to resist his resolute touch. She didn't even speak.
Methos - or how he called himself at the moment - O'Coerky took out a 50 punt bill, much more than necessary, and placed it on the bar, then led her gently out of the pub and to his car, where he helped her to take the front- passenger seat. Finally he asked: "Where to?"
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The apartment was located on the second floor, not very big and therefor it was furnished spartanic but functional, Methos recognized at first sight. Very much alike to his own...But a closer inspection had to wait, 'cause the girl needed his attention. He had led her to the couch, actually he had carried her all the way upstairs and into her flat when she 'somehow' lost her ability to walk herself. Now she lay there, almost asleep and looked so vulnerable. And once again he wondered what the hell he was doing. He still didn't know her at all. But he would find out soon, he promised himself. 'Soon...' "Ouch!" The soft groan made him concentrate on the couch again. He couldn't help but smile of what he saw. Her hands had moved to her head slowly massaging the temples. She looked so suffering. 'But that's what you get with no control over your alcohol consumption. ' He thought while moving towards her. "Good, so you're finally awake." "Guess I am." She mumbled. "Bed. Want to continue." She tried to sit up, hardly managing it. Gently he placed an arm helping around her. "No. You need to shower first. Where's your bathroom?" Methos rather hadn't asked, 'cause what he discovered there sent shivers through his body. The floor was a mess of blood and vomits, he could smell. Well, he had to take care about it later. First he started the water - cold - and began undressing her, stopping when the bandages appeared under the much too big sweater she was wearing. 'Hmm, that all leaves a lot of questions to be answered...' When she finally stood naked in front of him he helped her stepping in under the really cold water. He didn't care. That was exactly what she needed at the moment after all. Suddenly fully awake she hurried to warm the water up, what produced another smile on Methos' lips. But good manners forced him to turn around then and he started to clean the floor. After finishing he went to have a closer look on the other rooms, but not without checking she hadn't fallen asleep again. What he saw when he entered the bedroom didn't please him at all. The bed itself and the floor in front of it were covered with blood. 'What the hell had happened here?' It didn't take him long to figure it out, remembering the bandages on her wrists. 'She had tried to kill herself -' that was for sure. What he didn't understand, even with - or especially because of - his medical knowledge, was why she was still alive according to the amount of blood she seemed to have lost. It must have been two or more liter. 'She should have been dead!' And he didn't feel the familiar buzz of her as another Immortal. What ruled out this opportunity...'And another unsolved mystery of the world's history.' Sarcasm again, that always appeared when he was confused, what didn't happen very often. And now he was indeed confused. As if taking his mind off the worries he searched for new sheets and changed them, but leaving the spot in front of the bed untouched. 'Something to remind her...'
Chiara didn't feel much better after the shower, although she was able to think almost clearly again. But how did she get home? Ah, right, Pierson - no, O'Coerky as he had introduced himself. Was he still here? 'Let's see...' She grabbed a large towel and went to the living room.
"No beer in this fridge." He greeted her. "Miserable lifestyle."
"Sorry, didn't expect guests." But nevertheless he seemed to have made himself at home already. He lay sprawled at the couch, where only twenty minutes ago she herself had lain. "Never mind." He gave her to understand to sit down beside him and took her hands into his own. "Let me have a look at this." "No, that's not necessary." Chiara tried to break free, but he hold on to her. She really didn't want him to see her injuries, he wouldn't understand. "I'm serious!" "I've been a doctor for a long time, and I'm serious with attending to it!" His eyes turned into a light green and were full of worry, but were also unyielding. Finally it was her giving in. She let him undo the bandages that were all wet from the shower, and it hurt like hell when he exposed the cuttings. She could see his face change into some kind of grimace for a short moment, but she didn't know what this meant exactly. Maybe he hadn't expected to find out what kind of wounds these actually were. But if he was, he didn't let her know. Instead he looked first concerned at her left wrist, than less intensive at her right. "Have you got a first-aid kit? At best containing something to stitch... That really doesn't look good!" And really, as soon as he said it, the wound started to bleed again terribly. She pointed at the kitchen: "On the left side, the second ..." She couldn't continue speaking, 'cause suddenly the pain and the new loss of blood made her feel dizzy and she had to concentrate on her breathing. "I'll be right back, don't move!" It was half-heartedly meant as a joke, and somehow it worked at least a bit. Chiara tried to smile, but it was interrupted by a stifled groan.
Methos hurried finding the kit and got back as quickly as possible. The girl looked horrible. As did her wrists. His earlier guess was right - she had indeed attempted suicide. But now he had to stitch it soon, if he didn't want her to bleed to death. Fortunately medicine hadn't changed that much in the last century, at least not that simple things. "This will hurt. You want something to bite on?" "No. Let's get it over quickly." She was brave, he had to confess. It nearly impressed him, 'cause she looked not this hard she pretended to be. But she was, although the first stitch made her hold her breath. But soon she relaxed and he finished his doings without any other reaction from her. "You should sleep now, sweetie." The girl looked in fact really exhausted, and he could well understand it. She only nodded and headed for the bedroom, but needed his help to get there. She immediately closed her eyes when she finally lay covered in her bed and Methos hardly dared to disturb her: "You want me to leave?" "You don't have to." She mumbled without looking at him. "Actually I like you around." That caused a smile. Soon he heard the even slow sound of her breathing and he quietly went to make himself comfortable on the couch. He had just fallen asleep when a low voice awakened him again. First he couldn't identify it or where it came from, but when it became louder and more intensive he recognized it was the girl in the room next to him, that now nearly screamed. The sound seemed to reach his innermost places and he knew he had heard it once, long time ago - escaping from him himself...
TO BE CONTINUED...
----------------------------------- ----------------------------------- by Sannah
first in my "May God have mercy on your soul"-Series It is my first attempt and yes, it all doesn't work without a bit gay- stuff. so enjoy! I'm not a native speaker, so excuse me for mistakes. At least two persons belong to me. Highlander figures are Panzer/Davis', egyptian figures are W. Smith'
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The waves closed over her like silken covers - so soft and comfortable... The coolness of the fluid changed into the warmth of her own blood. It was her - she was it. Perfect symbiosis. It felt so good, so overwhelming - irresistible. One last time she took in this earthbound air, hold it, then let it go. She sank deep into the waters that should become her grave. Tenderly the wetness searched its way into her body, fulfilled her perfectly. Chiara had not wanted anything else than that during the past few weeks, this feeling of joy, of recognizing that it was her will to end it. Oh, she hoped so badly this would truly end everything, all the pain that flooded her in these visions she couldn't understand, but she felt that somehow all she had seen had happened. Again the pictures came - pictures of tortured bodies, hardly to be recognized as human beings. Pictures of children, forced to see the people die they loved the most. But worse were the feelings. She felt everything as they did - confusion at first, changing into fear to be at last replaced by this urge to die, to end it...But also like the one who did this to them. His pure joy of killing, that now turned into the need to do it to herself...Now it was her turn. She didn't fight the intruder off her lungs, but welcomed it. The last thing she saw before closing her eyes forever was the sun, that vanished behind shades of blue and green silk. And finally it was over...
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"Shit, shit, shit!!!" She couldn't help but cry it out as loud as possible. 'How could it be?' Why was she still alive? Confusion overwhelmed her rapidly. And there lay this her body at the beach, still wet from the flood that took her back. Her whole body shook with cold and resignation. "You okay?" Chiara hardly heard the voice of the tall, black haired man, that knelt down in front of her, placing a hand caring on her shoulder. But this bare little touch was enough to face her with the truth of her surviving and she reacted in the only way she thought was pleasant to her. "Sure, I'm shit-fucking-okay, as you can see. And now, piss off!" She didn't look at him, 'cause all she longed for at the moment was to be left alone in all her self-pity. How could this bastard dare to disturb this oh so private moment. But for this reason she could not see that he stood up and slowly went away without looking back. She only felt that his presence was taken away. And after a few seconds she realized how rude she had been, fast regretting it. After all it was not his fault she couldn't find the peace she needed. So she looked up and started to apologize when she suddenly felt she knew him. His outline remembered her so terribly on a man she had never met in person, but knew better than herself. "Pierson?!" She cried loudly into the cool wind that nearly left her breathless. "Adam..." She didn't manage to bring out more than a whisper this time. The man hid his hands deep into the pockets of his gray, long coat. Without turning around he stopped and said in an aggressive but also regretting voice: "Adam Pierson is dead, darling. Adam Pierson is dead..." Then he went further through the sand and finally got out of sight.
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'Pierson'... A name he hadn't used for more than three years, since he had left Paris and the Watchers behind - as well as the only people he had called friends in a long time... And now he heard it again. Today of all days at a beach near to Galway, a city at the west coast of Ireland, from a girl that looked not familiar at all - and he in fact had a good memory of faces. No, she couldn't know him. Well, fortunately she hadn't called him by his real name, Methos. `Cause that would have been a problem, but not his a.k.a. ... Adam Pierson had officially been a professor for ancient history and languages - nothing dangerous. Probably she had joined one of his classes somewhere. Actually it was something else, he was worried about concerning this girl. It wasn't exactly the right time of year to go swimming in the ocean, and she had obviously been in the water. And finally she hadn't looked like she had enjoyed it very much. `Okay, old man, stop it right now!' He told himself. He really didn't need again someone to look after, especially no mortal. He should simply leave her alone like she had wished him to do earlier. 'As you like it...'
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Chiara didn't remember getting home and felt now exhausted lying on her bed. It was getting dark and all the colors turned into one engulfing gray. But she didn't switch on the lights, but lay instead motionless on the white sheets that covered her bed. Her thoughts went back to the beach. Who was that man there? How could he look like Adam and say in the same breath that he was dead? And why had she been so damn sure that it was truly HIM? Adam... Did he really exist or was he just another thing she fantasized. She didn't know, 'cause she had only seen him in her visions - clearly. She had watched him at work, alone in his rooms studying old books written in languages she didn't know at all, and she had watched him drinking beer while laughing and talking with his friends. But she also had watched him helplessly when the girl he loved had died. And once in a while she had seen those things that made her believe she was mad, she could not understand. She had seen him fighting, holding a sword, beheading another man...No - that all could not be true! But somehow deep inside she knew different. Slowly her thoughts led into the deep sleep her body was longing for. But she found no rest, 'cause still the visions came and filled her brain cruelly...
...The knowing cries of death and begging were all around her. She felt all the pain and fear of the dying people in front of her, one still pinned on the sword she knew she was holding in her hands. She wanted it to end but she couldn't help it. Instead she felt fantastic with all this power. No not she...It was definitely a male body her mind was in, 'cause she felt the sudden tightness in the pants that came along with the sexual arousal the killing brought. "Are you enjoying yourself, brother?" A deep sarcastic voice made her turn left where she discovered a grinning man with a large scar over the right half of his face. "Sure I am, brother." She heard herself answer in a low, but satisfied voice. But she knew this body wanted much more enjoying and in the same second she felt how the sword was drawn back letting the almost dead woman fall to the ground. The man her senses joined let himself fall on his knees and ripped the woman's dress off of her bleeding body. One more move and his hands stripped off his own pants exposing his swollen cock. With one thrust he shove brutally into her body - again and again. Chiara experienced his lust as if it was her own, but at the same time her body was the one of the raped woman in front of her. She wasn't dead already and cried out with each penetration. And again the growing pressure of blood in the man's cock that needed to be released - mixed with the pain and shame of the woman who at last only had one thought left: 'Oh Gods, let me die!!!'...
"Let me die!" Chiara screamed the words out loud into the darkness that surrounded her. "Let me die..." This one more a plea than anything. And she was suddenly sure she had to finish it now. She couldn't handle anything more like that. So she silently headed for the kitchen to pour herself a glass of water, then searched for the sleeping pills in one of the drawers. When she finally found them she took all of the pills that were left in the pack and dissolved them in the fluid. With a bitter grin she recognized that it was exactly 23. That would probably do. Otherwise she wanted to be sure it would work this time, so she reached again for a drawer and took out the knife she knew was sharp enough to part a hair lengthwise. Lying on her bed again her mind was full of strange pictures and emotions she knew were not her own. But she didn't care. All that counted at the moment was that they forced her to kill herself, to witness her own execution. And she had to do it now! Staring nowhere out in the dark she nipped on the glass at first then poured in all at one gulp. Almost immediately numbness but also lightening fulfilled her body and brain. But there was enough strength left to grab the knife and slowly she sank the cold metal deep into the warm flesh of her left wrist. It burned like hell but not long and the pain faded away and she watched amazed how first a deep-red line appeared. Then one drop followed another. Soon her arm and hand were covered with blood as was the former white linen. Chiara felt the sudden urge to taste the fluid running from the veins in her arm and led her tongue to the blade touching it lightly. Still warm it tasted metallic but also sweet - something she could get used to. Well, deep inside she knew she already was. At least the man of her visions was. She could hear him groan with the longing for more. Realizing the same sound escaped from her own mouth she replaced the knife to her left hand reaching for the other wrist and made again a cut - this time less powerful, so it was only for doing it instead of producing another serious wound. Then Chiara placed her face right over the newly opened flesh, sucking on it until her mouth was full of blood and she nearly choked. Deep satisfaction sent shivers through her entire body and finally she sank backinto the pillows and closed her eyes in a badly need for rest...
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The loud penetrating ring of her phone woke her up. "No! Not again..." Tears were coming from Chiara`s eyes when she realized that she was still alive and the sun was greeting a new day. 'Why can't it be over?' She thought again and again while stroking with her hand over her face, still ignoring the telephone. Dried blood was left behind and reopened the wound on her wrist. She hardly noticed it. Instead she had the very need to vomit. Her stomach spasmed painfully and she hurried getting into the bathroom. With her head bowed over the toilet she released her sickness, still not paying attention to her wrists. Soon the loss of blood led her into another death. And her body slowly sank to the floor into pools of blood and vomits, And the phone kept ringing...
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This time the reviving no longer surprised her, although nevertheless she could not understand it at all and it gave her the creeps. She found herself on the floor of the bathroom and she knew she smelt terrible, but somehow she didn't care. It was nearly six in the evening and everything seemed to be normal. The old Lady from No 16 went for her daily walk before going to sleep, Mitchell from across the street got home and any other day Chiara would have waved him hello. But not today. 'Today was damned different!' "Maybe enough alcohol could make it better..." She spoke her thoughts out loud with a sigh and headed for the fridge, but discovered nothing that came at least close to a drug. So she decided to try it somewhere else. Well, first she had to take care of herself. They would immediately call the police would she be seen like this. Nevertheless she didn't felt like cleaning thoroughly. Therefor she just changed clothing, dressed her wounds and washed the blood off of her hands and face. 'That should do...' With a last look in the mirror - that showed only a person she herself would fear - she left her flat and went down the street to get as quickly as possible to the next bar.
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The pub was crowded with people, fortunately none Chiara recognized. She didn't long for talking. All she wished was to get drunk. And as soon as she reached the bar she ordered whiskey, Tullamore Dew, her favorite, hoping it wouldn't last long until there was enough alcohol in her blood to let her forget the visions and her inability to die. Glass after glass was set in front of her, the contents vanished inside her body and a new one was brought. After half an hour and six double whiskey, the next was poured at the moment, she grabbed the barkeeper's arm: "Leave the bottle alone!" He looked questioning down at her, deciding this girl, obviously drunk already, needed to talk instead of more whiskey. "You wanna tell me what's up?" "Nope." She stared at the bottle. "Shis one's as good a comp'ny as anie." The barkeeper only shrugged his shoulders once, then went to pour a beer for someone else. "Not as good as mine." A low voice made Chiara turn around to face the man she knew as Adam Pierson, the man she met at the beach one day before. It seemed years ago... "Shit. You again..."
"Could you please stop greeting me like that." Methos gave her a hurt look, that he knew would make her feel guilty - at least for a second. But his face changed quickly into a bright smile: "Anyway, nice to see you, too." And he meant what he said, although he didn't exactly know why. It had been pure chance that he decided to go out this night and who knows which God had sent him to this pub at all things. Well, it had happened and as soon as he got inside he had seen her at the bar arguing with the barkeeper. And something had drawn him to her again...
Chiara fled the hazel eyes and concentrated again on her whiskey. "Never mind. But don't you think it's enough for today?" He asked when she emptied her glass another time. "Don' shink so, Mr...who-whoever you aaare." She hardly managed to get out the words correctly while trying to pour herself a new one. But he stopped her with a hard grab that forced her hand down: "Leonnard O'Coerky. And I tell you it's enough." Without letting go off her hand he turned her around and looked at her seriously, although his mouth curled into a light smile. "Let's go. I'll take you home." Chiara didn't have the strength to resist his resolute touch. She didn't even speak.
Methos - or how he called himself at the moment - O'Coerky took out a 50 punt bill, much more than necessary, and placed it on the bar, then led her gently out of the pub and to his car, where he helped her to take the front- passenger seat. Finally he asked: "Where to?"
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The apartment was located on the second floor, not very big and therefor it was furnished spartanic but functional, Methos recognized at first sight. Very much alike to his own...But a closer inspection had to wait, 'cause the girl needed his attention. He had led her to the couch, actually he had carried her all the way upstairs and into her flat when she 'somehow' lost her ability to walk herself. Now she lay there, almost asleep and looked so vulnerable. And once again he wondered what the hell he was doing. He still didn't know her at all. But he would find out soon, he promised himself. 'Soon...' "Ouch!" The soft groan made him concentrate on the couch again. He couldn't help but smile of what he saw. Her hands had moved to her head slowly massaging the temples. She looked so suffering. 'But that's what you get with no control over your alcohol consumption. ' He thought while moving towards her. "Good, so you're finally awake." "Guess I am." She mumbled. "Bed. Want to continue." She tried to sit up, hardly managing it. Gently he placed an arm helping around her. "No. You need to shower first. Where's your bathroom?" Methos rather hadn't asked, 'cause what he discovered there sent shivers through his body. The floor was a mess of blood and vomits, he could smell. Well, he had to take care about it later. First he started the water - cold - and began undressing her, stopping when the bandages appeared under the much too big sweater she was wearing. 'Hmm, that all leaves a lot of questions to be answered...' When she finally stood naked in front of him he helped her stepping in under the really cold water. He didn't care. That was exactly what she needed at the moment after all. Suddenly fully awake she hurried to warm the water up, what produced another smile on Methos' lips. But good manners forced him to turn around then and he started to clean the floor. After finishing he went to have a closer look on the other rooms, but not without checking she hadn't fallen asleep again. What he saw when he entered the bedroom didn't please him at all. The bed itself and the floor in front of it were covered with blood. 'What the hell had happened here?' It didn't take him long to figure it out, remembering the bandages on her wrists. 'She had tried to kill herself -' that was for sure. What he didn't understand, even with - or especially because of - his medical knowledge, was why she was still alive according to the amount of blood she seemed to have lost. It must have been two or more liter. 'She should have been dead!' And he didn't feel the familiar buzz of her as another Immortal. What ruled out this opportunity...'And another unsolved mystery of the world's history.' Sarcasm again, that always appeared when he was confused, what didn't happen very often. And now he was indeed confused. As if taking his mind off the worries he searched for new sheets and changed them, but leaving the spot in front of the bed untouched. 'Something to remind her...'
Chiara didn't feel much better after the shower, although she was able to think almost clearly again. But how did she get home? Ah, right, Pierson - no, O'Coerky as he had introduced himself. Was he still here? 'Let's see...' She grabbed a large towel and went to the living room.
"No beer in this fridge." He greeted her. "Miserable lifestyle."
"Sorry, didn't expect guests." But nevertheless he seemed to have made himself at home already. He lay sprawled at the couch, where only twenty minutes ago she herself had lain. "Never mind." He gave her to understand to sit down beside him and took her hands into his own. "Let me have a look at this." "No, that's not necessary." Chiara tried to break free, but he hold on to her. She really didn't want him to see her injuries, he wouldn't understand. "I'm serious!" "I've been a doctor for a long time, and I'm serious with attending to it!" His eyes turned into a light green and were full of worry, but were also unyielding. Finally it was her giving in. She let him undo the bandages that were all wet from the shower, and it hurt like hell when he exposed the cuttings. She could see his face change into some kind of grimace for a short moment, but she didn't know what this meant exactly. Maybe he hadn't expected to find out what kind of wounds these actually were. But if he was, he didn't let her know. Instead he looked first concerned at her left wrist, than less intensive at her right. "Have you got a first-aid kit? At best containing something to stitch... That really doesn't look good!" And really, as soon as he said it, the wound started to bleed again terribly. She pointed at the kitchen: "On the left side, the second ..." She couldn't continue speaking, 'cause suddenly the pain and the new loss of blood made her feel dizzy and she had to concentrate on her breathing. "I'll be right back, don't move!" It was half-heartedly meant as a joke, and somehow it worked at least a bit. Chiara tried to smile, but it was interrupted by a stifled groan.
Methos hurried finding the kit and got back as quickly as possible. The girl looked horrible. As did her wrists. His earlier guess was right - she had indeed attempted suicide. But now he had to stitch it soon, if he didn't want her to bleed to death. Fortunately medicine hadn't changed that much in the last century, at least not that simple things. "This will hurt. You want something to bite on?" "No. Let's get it over quickly." She was brave, he had to confess. It nearly impressed him, 'cause she looked not this hard she pretended to be. But she was, although the first stitch made her hold her breath. But soon she relaxed and he finished his doings without any other reaction from her. "You should sleep now, sweetie." The girl looked in fact really exhausted, and he could well understand it. She only nodded and headed for the bedroom, but needed his help to get there. She immediately closed her eyes when she finally lay covered in her bed and Methos hardly dared to disturb her: "You want me to leave?" "You don't have to." She mumbled without looking at him. "Actually I like you around." That caused a smile. Soon he heard the even slow sound of her breathing and he quietly went to make himself comfortable on the couch. He had just fallen asleep when a low voice awakened him again. First he couldn't identify it or where it came from, but when it became louder and more intensive he recognized it was the girl in the room next to him, that now nearly screamed. The sound seemed to reach his innermost places and he knew he had heard it once, long time ago - escaping from him himself...
TO BE CONTINUED...