"Well, there you have it, Dawson. I haven't told Adam I found that old diary of mine. I trust you won't tell him either."
He shook his head, still in too much shock to say anything. The hell she must have gone through just to survive. The determination to get to someone she knew she could trust.
And now she had trusted him with one of her secrets.
What a remarkable woman she was.
"Why don't you want him knowing about this?" he asked softly.
She drew in a deep breath before answering. "If he knew I had written that much down, he'd want to know what else I'd recorded. He might start searching the Watchers' Archives." She shook her head sadly. "He'd arouse suspicion. He's normally so careful, but this . . ."
"You don't want him losing his head over this. I mean, diving headfirst into the deep end of obsession."
"Right. Especially over me. Shall I pour us another round?"
He cracked a smile. "Nah. I want to be clear-headed while I mull over what you've told me. Will you ever tell him you remember?"
"That's just it, Joe; I don't exactly remember. More like . . . it's in my head because I read the words, but the feel of - Have you ever watched a home movie of yourself, or seen a photograph of yourself, but you had no memory of when it was taken?"
"Yeah. A few times. Doesn't everybody?"
She pressed her lips together.
"So you know you were there, but you can't recall . . ?" Dawson asked after several moments of silence. "Lilith . . . Do you even want to remember?"
The haunted look she gave him sent shivers down his spine.
"I'm afraid to remember," she admitted. "But there are times I wish I could. What I've read so far of my . . . recovery . . . I still find it strange that I found anything of mine in that storage unit I bought."
"Yeah. What're the odds of finding something so valuable in an auction like that? Was there anything else interesting in there?"
"Oh, an old set of encyclopedias, a headboard I might restore and make use of, a desk that's seen better days . . . You're welcome to come take a look."
He perked up at that. "Yeah?"
"Of course. It's in the carriage house, whenever you want to make it out."
"Great! Thanks, I'll let you know . . . So what happened after that?"
She took a sip of her coffee, long since cold. "What I wrote after . . . It was about two weeks later. I had a rough time of it, apparently. Nightmares when I could manage to sleep more than a few minutes. Seeing rivers of flame sweeping people away, even when I was awake. The faces of the dead accusing me, blaming me for their fates, as if the gods were punishing them for their association with me." She wiped a stray tear away.
Joe nodded grimly. "Survivor guilt. I know the feeling."
Lilith drew a shaky breath. "It took a few months before I was back to myself, or so I gather from the dates of each entry. I don't know what I would've done without Methos to help me."
From her tone, he surmised that that wasn't the only time the old man had done so much for her.
Her lips quirked as she glanced at the clock behind the bar. "Well, I guess I should let you finish closing up."
"Nothing left to do but lock up. I'll walk you out."
"Okay. Here, I'll wash the glasses. Only be a minute."
"Leave it, it's - Fine. Thanks, kid."
She chuckled lightly at the moniker. Even though she was old enough to be his grandmother many times over, he had taken an almost paternal liking to her. "Right, then. Shall we?" she asked as she switched off the lights.