THE ELIZABETH SERIES
CHAPTER TWO
SURGERY
By JoLayne
EnyaJo@aol.com
RATING: PG
CHARACTERS: DM, M, A, J, Amy OCs Elizabeth, Kevin, Joshua Logan, Darrell Foley
SUMMARY: Continuation of series: Joe was shot by Logan and gets Methos to want revenge.
NEW YORK CITY
SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
Joe was pissed about many things as he laid helplessly on the sidewalk in front of his building. For starters, the guns had come out of nowhere. For another, he wasn't able to get out of the way quickly enough . Another, he was in massive pain. Lastly, there were hands all over him. He fought off Amy and Methos. "Just leave me alone!"
Methos opened Joe's shirt to inspect the damage. The bullet had gone into his shoulder making his right arm useless. "You're going to be alright, Dad," Amy said, catching Joe's attention, and suddenly making the pain and anger lessen. She held her hand over the wound to help stop the flow of blood, which only made it seep up between her fingers and down her hand. Methos took off his coat, then the button down shirt he wore over a T-shirt. He bunched up the shirt and laid it over Joe's shoulder to soak up the blood.
"Hey," Joe smiled at Amy. "Why couldn't you have called me that while I was still on my feet?"
"I haven't thought I'd lost you before. I'm not going to lose you too, am I?"
"No," Methos firmly pronounced, to calm them both. He opened Joe's shirt to check where the blood was coming from.
Kevin ran back, winded, and announced, "I got a license plate. AXD 776. It's a Jersey plate."
Duncan said, "Good work. Write it down," Amanda put her arm around his waist as he stood up after Elizabeth died.
Methos said, while tending Joe, "AleXanDer the Great. First Olympics were in 776 AD. It's etched in my brain."
Joe said, "Help me up. Who were those guys?"
"Why don't you tell us," Methos said as he and Amy held him flat on the ground.
"I have no idea. They came out of no where." Joe looked at Elizabeth then Duncan. "She saved my life." Methos glared at the dead immortal's body, finding that very hard to believe.
"What happened?" Amy took her coat off and put it under Joe's head for a pillow.
"We were talking and heard a car come speeding around the corner. I saw a door open," Joe sputtered. Then he looked back over at Elizabeth's corpse. "She pushed me. I might have gotten that plug square in the chest if she hadn't."
Elizabeth violently revived. She rolled and got to her knees while the healing lights formed all over the front of her body. Hating what the healing did and how it felt, she screamed as the bullet hole and the sword slashes sewed themselves up. Sometimes, during the healing process, which could be even more painful than the injury, she would think it might be better to just have it all end. She'd died too many times for her comfort and the thought of Logan still out there waiting for another shot at her didn't lighten her mood. Elizabeth felt a hand on her back and pushed it away, "Don't touch me!"
Duncan lifted his hands and stepped back and said, "Fine."
She felt her neck and wondered if she was in heaven. Judging by the pain she couldn't be, she had to be in the land of the living. Duncan didn't take her head, and that truly surprised her. She screamed out, "Joe?!"
"I'm right here," he said.
"Oh, thank God," she said as she crawled around Duncan's legs toward Joe. No longer concerned with the immortals who could have taken her while she was dead, she focused on Joe, "You're bleeding. Are you all right?"
"I've been better."
Methos seethed, "He's been shot, lady!"
"I didn't see him coming," she told Joe. She noticed the rest of them looking at her as if it was all her fault. "I didn't see him coming... I'm sorry."
Amy asked, "Was that the guy who's been after you?"
Elizabeth nodded then grimaced realizing that Amy had told them absolutely everything, but, Joe was her main focus. She inspected Joe's wound on his right shoulder. Methos thrust her hands away from his friend. "You've done enough!"
Elizabeth sat back on her ankles, wounded by the dismissal and let Adam Pierson take over the medical detail of Joe, a gunshot victim that she knew she could help. She'd patched up such wounds during the four wars she worked as a nurse, from the Civil War all the way through to the events in Vietnam that had never officially been declared a war. Adam looked like he knew what he was doing, but she still wanted to get in there and do it herself.
She caught a confused glance from Amy, who had just recently found out about her immortality. Now she could see the bloody remnants of what they did to Elizabeth all over her shirt.
The denim man was just around the corner, talking into his pocket tape recorder, excited because what he had been expecting for so long had finally happened. Her chronicle was full of reports of Logan attacks and he'd wondered if they were real or creative record keeping from watchers who were bored following her. She stayed away from other immortals, thus, there wasn't much to chronicle. "Elizabeth revived following Joshua Logan's attack. I think he would have taken her head if the other's hadn't shown up. One of them brandished a sword, so he's immortal, but I don't know who he is. I'll have to look it up later to add to the report." The rapidity of his voice didn't slow as he whispered the evening's events into the macro recorder. "Joe Dawson was shot. I've already anonymously called an ambulance for him, but... wait!"
He peered closely at the sidewalk where they laid. "The immortal and another man are lifting Joe up. They're carrying him inside."
Elizabeth held Joe's hand when Methos and Duncan lifted him to the door. Methos said to her, "You! Go!"
His voice boomed at her and she dropped Joe's hand. "I can't leave him."
"Get the hell out of here!"
She thought that if Adam had his hands free, he would have flicked his hand like he had so long ago in Wyoming. She thought it was him, but it wasn't until the moment when he yelled, that she sure of it. Elizabeth stood aside for Amanda to go into the building carrying Joe's broken cane and his left leg that had come loose. Amy grabbed her arm and Kevin pushed them both through the door.
When they got to Joe's apartment, a siren blared on the street. Kevin went to the window to look outside and commented, "There's an ambulance out there."
"Somebody saw what happened?" Amanda asked.
Duncan and Methos deposited Joe on the couch and then laid him down. "Get me some towels, a knife, warm water, and something to pull the bullet out with," he told Amanda. With the light shining on Joe's body, the mass of running blood seemed to radiate.
Elizabeth scrutinized Adam as he put pressure on the wound to stop the bleeding. She asked, "Are you a doctor?"
Methos cringed from the sound of her voice. Why didn't anyone listen to him? "What are you doing here?"
She didn't have time for his orders, Joe needed tending, not wishful thinking that the wound would go away, so she repeated, "Are you a doctor?"
"I was."
"How long ago?"
"I still know what I'm doing, if that's what you're insinuating," he replied, irritated that she was still there.
"Well, I've been a nurse and I've done this before. Recently. Let me do it." The first gunshot wound she patched up was on a Union soldier after the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg. Those wounds were horrid, gaping, mangled.
"Recently? For one's you've shot?"
"No!" Elizabeth tried to calm herself, the adrenaline rush from the night's events hadn't yet abated, but she couldn't get into a pissing match with Adam. He was too self-righteous to reason with, it was all her fault, and Joe was too close to losing too much blood to survive. There was no time for an argument over who was more qualified to lead in the extrication of the bullet.
Methos unbuttoned Joe's shirt to get a look at the wound on his right shoulder. "Have you had a lot of innocent bystanders that needed stitching in your life?"
Joe whined, "Don't fight over it, just get it out!"
"I will," Methos said.
Joe held his hand up to stop Methos from touching him. "Maybe she's more... delicate, if you know what I mean," Joe winced. "The last time, I think you cut more than you needed to."
Methos wondered when he would ever get credit for anything! Joe had been dying after Jacobi shot up the execution scene. But he had to admit that he was nervous working on him, "You're still alive."
"Barely!" Joe was using a lot of the little strength he had left.
Duncan said, "Somebody do it!"
Amanda came back with the supplies and Elizabeth said, "There's got to be better light."
Elizabeth went through the apartment looking for things she'd need, collecting things as she went along. One of the first things she took was the bottle of Scotch on the liquor table. Methos and Duncan lifted Joe again and he grunted from the pain as they brought him into the kitchen. Kevin pushed the mail and a coffee cup onto the floor and they laid Joe on the table. Amy flicked the switch and the flourescent over the table blinked, then glowed.
Amanda set the supplies down next to Joe and said, "What do you need to put him out?"
"Anesthesia would be nice," Elizabeth said, then went to search the bathroom.
"Maybe we should call up that nice, clean ambulance," Joe said.
"A gun shot wound would be reported," Duncan said.
His comment didn't mean anything to Kevin. "So? Whoever did this should pay for what they've done!"
"This is immortal business," Duncan said. "We don't let the police into what we do."
Joe grimaced from the pain. It was getting hard to breath and he was feeling weak from the loss of blood. Amanda pointed out that they couldn't perform surgery with him alert. "Just hit me over the damn head!" Joe yelled, then cringed from the exertion, it required effort just to breathe.
"Funny," Methos smiled.
"Then just do it. It hurts already..." Joe was fading.
Methos grabbed a towel and soaked it in the bowl of hot water, then started to clean off the area around the wound. Elizabeth appeared from the bathroom with a shaver,a glass of amber liquid, a bottle of peroxide, and a bottle of hand sanitizing gel that she set on the table by Joe's hip. She hunched over Joe, putting a glass to his lips, "Drink this."
Methos grabbed the glass, slipping some of the liquid on Joe's chest. "What is it?"
"I found some sleeping pills in the medicine cabinet. I crushed one into a shot of scotch."
"Sounds good to me," Joe said.
"Okay," Methos lifted Joe's head as he drank it.
Elizabeth looked at Methos next to her. "Excuse me," she said. "I'll need room."
"We'll both do it," he said as he looked at the slashes in her blouse. She wasn't concerned with the fact that her chest was exposed through the slits. Amy had seen it and came out of Joe's bedroom with a t-shirt.
"Thanks," Elizabeth said as she pulled it over her head. She asked, "Did the bullet go all the way through?"
"I don't think so," Joe muttered, sleepily.
She smiled at Joe, "You're still awake?"
"Barely," Joe shut his eyes.
Elizabeth and Methos gently turned him on his side. Methos got on the other side of the table and helped keep his right shoulder off the table for inspection. Elizabeth lifted his arm to pull it out of his sleeve, but Joe groaned. She picked up a scissor, cut away the sleeve and gathered the material under Joe's back. Blood had dribbled down his armpit and onto his back, but there wasn't an exit wound.
"Okay," she said, letting Methos hold Joe up. She took another towel, dipped it in the bowl of water and wiped at the blood to make sure. "You see anything?"
Methos looked, just skin. "Nope." He gently laid Joe back on the table. His eyes were closed, he still had a pulse, but it was weak.
Methos, checking his wrist for a pulse told Elizabeth, "Just to be sure that sleeping pill mixed with alcohol didn't kill him in his state." It was steady.
Elizabeth wiped the blood from the wound and told Amanda to sterilize the paring knife. Then she tied a kitchen towel over her face as a mask. Amanda asked, "With what?" She handed her the peroxide she got from the bathroom with one hand while she wiped Joe with the other. Methos pulled Joe's shirt out from under him and they both saw the scar left by Jacobi's gunshot. Methos cringed, this mortal had been through too much, checking the pulse on his neck again; it was still steady. Elizabeth rubbed sanitizing gel on her hands and scrubbed them together.
Elizabeth poked and pinched at Joe and he didn't move. She hoped he wasn't in a deep sleep that prevented movement but allowed him to feel every little thing. Just get it over with fast. With the razor, she shaved the area around the wound that Methos had cleaned off. Amanda handed the paring knife to Elizabeth and she made a tiny incision through the round entry wound. Methos watched every move she made on his friend intently, even moving to her side of the table to get a better angle. He looked at the bottle of foreign substance she had put on her hands. Sanitizing gel. He'd never heard of it, but he wasn't in need of the product himself. Methos used the gel on his hands, rubbing them together, making sure he got the liquid under his fingernails. He helped pull the skin apart after the incision was made.
Duncan watched their work from the end of the table, holding Joe's head. Amy and Kevin stood holding each other as they watched the surgery. Elizabeth spread the flesh away at the wound with her fingers, found broken bone. "Have you ever set a shoulder blade," she asked Methos. He shook his head but said, "We'll have to wing it," as he covered his face to prevent germs from being transferred to Joe.
He worried about the unsanitary conditions they were working under something he himself never had to think about it. She brushed at the bone gently with her fingernail and a small piece came off. The rest of the shoulder blade was solid and pure. She lifted the small piece out of Joe's shoulder and held it up. "He can live without that, can't he?"
"He's going to have to," Methos said, gently searching inside Joe for the bullet. "Ah, found it."
She put the bone chip in the bowl and looked at the silver that Methos found embedded in Joe's shoulder. He couldn't get a hold of it. "I have fingernails," she said. "Let me do it."
He moved his hand away and she squished her fingers toward the bullet, trying to grasp it between her nails. She almost had it, but it wouldn't loosen, it had been flattened by impact with the shoulder blade. Every attempt to get a hold of it tore more of Joe's shoulder. "I need tweezers or something."
Amanda got one out of her purse, poured peroxide over it and handed it to Elizabeth. She gave it back. "Something bigger. It's too small."
Kevin had found a pair of tongs from Joe's drawer and said, "Will this work?"
"No. That's too big," Methos said.
"Does he have a screwdriver or chopsticks, anything?" Elizabeth straightened up, working the kink out of her lower back. The blood on her was dried and itchy. Sweat poured down her forehead and neck. "I could use the knife, but I don't want to cut him anymore than I have to. What do you think?"
Methos wiped at the blood that collected in the hole, created by the surgery, on Joe's chest. "That knife has a pretty wide tip."
Amy got the tool box from his closet and set it between Joe's feet on the table. They rummaged through it and found dirty, rusty pliers. She held them up. Elizabeth grimaced. "There's not a chance in the world that could get sanitized."
Methos dabbed at the blood that filled the cavity, "Find something, quick!"
Elizabeth looked in the box and said, "That screwdriver will work."
"Sure," Amanda smiled. She pulled them all out and poured antiseptic on them .
Elizabeth stood back, not wanting to touch the unsanitary tool, saying, "Not the Phillips, the flat ones, the smaller the better."
She was so nervous she had never done this before, especially on a friend. Amanda slapped the small flat head screwdriver she had sterilized in her hand like she'd seen on ER and Elizabeth waited for Methos to clean the blood from the area so she could see the bullet. She stuck the screwdriver alongside and under the bullet, nudged it. Methos' head was right next to hers as he scrutinized her work. "Do you want to do it," she asked him.
"You're doing fine. Just, get under it."
As she took a deep breath and steadied her hands she realized that Methos had taken a deep breath also. She took another and held it, to make her hand as steady as possible. She positioned the screwdriver under the bullet and wedged it free, then pulled it out with her fingers and dropped it in the bowl. They all took a breath. "Needle and thread," she asked. Duncan handed her a needle, already sterilized and threaded. "Wonderful," she said, then sewed him up.
Duncan and Methos changed Joe's clothes and put him in his bed while Amy, Kevin, and Amanda went into the living room for a well deserved drink. Elizabeth took a shower to finally get the blood and sweat off her. The tension and fear didn't leave her no matter how hard she scrubbed.
When she got out, she looked at the condition of her clothes. Her shirt was shredded, her pants were all bloody, even her shoes. She wrapped a towel around herself and opened the door a crack, hoping to find Amy or even Amanda to help.
Adam walked by. "Hey," she said. He turned to her at the door. "Does Joe have any clothes I can borrow? My are kind of kaput."
"I'll see," he actually smiled and walked back into Joe's bedroom. She waited behind the closed door until he tapped on it and said, "This is all I could find." He nudged a black undershirt and a pair of khakis and a belt through the narrow opening of the door.
"Thank you," she said, then was surprised by the appearance of a pair of socks too.
Amy, seeing that Adam and Duncan had finished getting Joe comfortable in bed, went to him. He looked so frail, so vulnerable. Things she'd never seen that man exhibit before. He was always strong, reliable Joe. Amy sat on the bed and took his hand. Lifted it to her mouth and kissed it, praying that he would heal.
She was jealous that some of the immortality that his apartment was overrun with couldn't help him. After losing her mother, she could not lose her father. He was so pale. Did he need blood? He lost a lot on the table. Should they get him to a hospital for a transfusion?
When Elizabeth came out of the bathroom, she saw that the kitchen was cleaned up. She wanted nothing more than whiskey to calm her shaky hands. The pants and belt were way too big. She looked through Joe's drawers in the kitchen and found a ball of twine. She cut off a length and put it through the belt loops on the khakis and tied it so they wouldn't fall down before she got back to her apartment.
She walked into Joe's bedroom and found Amy sitting with him. When she neared the bed, Amy looked at her, the woman she'd known as a teacher and a friend. In the last 24 hours, she found out Elizabeth was immortal, had an immortal after her and she could patch up a gun shot wound. Amy's mind boggled to think of what else she would find out. Elizabeth misjudged Amy's reaction to her being there, and was going to make a quiet, but quick exit. Before she could leave, Amy grabbed her hand and said, "Thank you so much."
"He wouldn't have got shot if I stayed away from him."
"This isn't your fault."
Amy looked at Joe, caressed his face, kissed him on the cheek and stood. Looking at Elizabeth with the new found information, she said, "So, you're a surgeon too?"
"No. Nurse. I've unfortunately had a lot of practice taking out bullets. Wars can't seem to be waged without them."
Amy looked at her, learning so much about Elizabeth in so short a time was unreal. "A nurse? You're a trauma nurse too?"
"Only when need be. I really don't like that line of work."
"Well, you saved Dad's life. Thank you."
"I got him shot."
Amy walked to her and hugged her. "Enough of that. Who was he? That immortal?"
"My nightmare."
"Come on and tell us about it."
She led Elizabeth out of the bedroom and into the living room where the others had gathered for a well deserved drink after a long day. "That man almost took your head," Amy said as she sat by Kevin.
Elizabeth stood in the hallway entrance, waiting for retribution from the group; Joe's friends and his daughter and future son-in-law. "Did he?"
"Yes. It was only after he saw us that he took off."
"He never went that far before," she said and leaned against the door frame, thinking she wasn't welcome. That knowledge didn't help calm her. The one hope that she had held onto, to help her get through the last hour, was the idea that Logan was through for another 20 years. Maybe it wasn't over. He would come back for her head. Why did he want it now? Had she learned enough for him to finally want her quickening?
Methos asked, "Who is he?"
Amanda gestured to the last glass from the bunch they'd brought into the living room, "Help yourself."
Elizabeth examined the coffee table that doubled as a 'bar'. "Is anybody else drinking whiskey?" They all shook their heads. "No need for a glass then." Only after two big swallows did she say, "His name is Joshua Logan."
"Never heard of him," Duncan said.
"You haven't heard of the one-legged immortal who shoots first?"
Duncan shook his head. "How did you meet up with him?"
"He turned me."
"Why?"
"Revenge, I guess," She shrugged, it was the only explanation she had come up with after years of asking herself that same question. "A friend of mine cut off his leg."
"Some friend," Methos muttered.
"He only meant to do good," she told him, all of them. "Carlton was only trying to save his life."
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GETTYSBURG, PENNSYLVANIA
JULY 3, 1863 2 AM
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After the second day of the Battle of Gettysburg, the fatalities were almost overwhelming for the residents of that small town. Elizabeth and her dead husband owned a hotel-tavern in the 'diamond', which was the town square. Because of it's size, the Tiger's Eye Inn was used as a make shift hospital for both Union and Confederate casualties.
After the long day of bandaging, assisting and talking to the wounded, Elizabeth walked out onto the front porch and stretched, she had never worked as hard as she had that day. She worked out the kinks in her back from bending down to the floor, hunched over crying men, and breathed in the fresh but gun powder laden air. A shudder went up her back when she reflected on the magnitude of the carnage left on the men's bodies.
The town butcher, Carlton Spencer, walked out and stood by her. She noticed the hacksaw in his hands along with other tools of his trade he brought into the fray of the day. They nodded to each other.
They stood in silence, there was nothing to say. No words to express what they had done and seen. Just thankful it was finally quiet. Elizabeth had a bottle of whiskey in her hands, only a couple of inches left on the bottom, but it would make her feel better. After taking a sip, she handed it to Carlton. He took it and raised it in thanks, drank a bit, leaving some for her.
He lit a cigar and took a couple of puffs. He noticed Elizabeth spying the cigar. He handed it over. She was surprised. Women did not do such things, in the presence of men. "I won't mind," he said. "You look like you could use something to help you relax."
She took it holding it awkwardly, then inhaled from the end like she'd seen men do in the saloon. It was the worst thing she could have done. She thought she'd never stop coughing. He laughed and pounded her on the back.
"Yes, that was very relaxing," she choked.
"You have to start small and work your way up to a full inhale, Ma'am," he stated.
They heard a scuffle of feet in the alleyway. Elizabeth followed Carlton to the corner and peered around. There was a rebel and a yankee in hand to hand combat. Both men were like angry dogs shoving, punching and kicking each other. They fell together on the street and rolled as they choked, hit and scratched each other.
Carlton tried to pull them apart. "Stop it!" he shouted. "Haven't you done enough?"
The rebel looked up at them from atop the yankee, jumped up and reached into his coat. Before the other man could get to his feet, the reb took out his pistol and shot the yankee on the ground, making both Carlton and Elizabeth jump from the surprise and the sound. Carlton tried to stop the rebel but he ran off.
The union soldier rolled from side to side, howling in pain as he held his leg. Elizabeth reached him first. "Sir? Sir? It's all right," she said, like she'd been saying for two days to gunshot victims.
Carlton dropped to the ground and stopped the soldier, "Let me see the damage!"
The yankee ground his teeth and tried to stop the man from touching him. The pain was intense; he couldn't stop the shudder that vibrated from the wounded area, above the knee, on it's way through his body and up to his heart. Carlton didn't like the look of the wound at all. The bone was shattered and the skin had shredded from the rolling. Mud and blood mixed and flowed out from the gash at a heavy pace. He yelled at Elizabeth, "Get my tools! This man is going to bleed to death! Hurry!" He looked down; there wouldn't be anything to sew together. That leg had to come off.
She ran for the tools and whiskey bottle on the porch of the saloon and ran back to them. The yankee was saying in a foreign accent, "Don't touch it. It will heal!" A lot of the men who fought the Civil War were immigrants and some didn't even speak English, but that yankee's accent seemed cultured, wildly out of place.
"Sir! You're leg isn't a leg anymore," Carlton yelled, trying to settle the man down. "You need a solid foundation to be stitched up or you'll die! Let me help you. Liz! Where are you?"
"No! It will heal I'm telling you! Don't touch it!" The soldier screamed as his leg flopped away from him at an awkward angle.
Elizabeth came back and Carlton grabbed the hacksaw from her hand. "No!" She shouted, "Let me at least find some morphine or..."
Carlton grabbed the whiskey bottle from her hand and poured the few drops that were left onto the leg wound. The yankee howled from the fierce pain of alcohol poured over an open wound. Manically brushed at the wound, making it worse. "Don't touch me! I'm warning you! It will heal!"
"They're all so damn optimistic," Carlton said as he through away the bottle and grabbed the man's leg. Elizabeth tried to take in the accent the man was using. It seemed English, but harder. He suddenly seemed out of place. He wasn't American. She asked Carlton, "Are you sure? Let me find Doc." It seemed so barbaric to just hack off a leg without an examination from a qualified medical doctor... but Carlton had seen a lot of wounds that day. He'd seen a lot of deaths from blood letting, maybe he knew best.
The soldier was ready to pass out from the pain but was still fighting. Carlton fought to control his leg and yelled, "He's losing too much blood! Hold him down!" He pulled her to the ground and she landed over the man's chest. The soldier pushed her, but was weak. She held his shoulders steady as Carlton positioned the saw higher up on the leg than the wound.
"We don't even have thread to sew him up! Carlton, think! You're going to kill him!"
Elizabeth was surprised by the suddenness of Carlton's thrust with the saw. She thought she saw blue sparks form around the saw blade. Carlton flinched, "Ow! It shocked me!"
The yankee screamed from the pain of the saw embedded in his leg. "Get it out! It will heal! Just give it time! I have to relax and it will heal! Don't cut it off! I'm warning you!" He grabbed Elizabeth's face and looked at it, studied every line and curve so he could remember. "Don't let him do this! You're one of us! Get him away from me or you will all die! I'll see to it! You'll pay! You'll all pay!"
Carlton again clamped onto his leg and sawed. The man shrieked as his leg was separated just above the knee. Elizabeth thought she was going to faint from the splash of blood that spouted from the stump. She turned her head away and saw her young sister-in-law, Marcy.
Marcy, having heard the commotion, ran to them. "What in the world?"
Carlton stood and said, "We need a needle and thread. We have to close this man up."
He pushed Elizabeth to the saloon. "Now!" The yankee was whimpering, laying on his side, looking at his detached leg. Marcy, who had seen enough butchering to last a life-time and thought it was over, at least until the battle started up again, cried out, "Why? Why did you do that?"
"He was going to lose it anyway," Carlton stated, keeping his hands on the end of the stump. "The sooner the wound's closed, the better."
"But, Doc might have been able..."
"This man didn't have a leg left. It was torn apart. Shredded." Carlton pulled the skin tight to the end of the bone and tried to hold it tight to stop the bleeding. "Where is that woman? He's going to bleed to death!"
Marcy knelt down to the soldier, saw a look in his eyes that she would never forget. His face did not show the relief she'd seen on many of the men they helped, it reflected pure evil. Even so, she took his hand to calm him, it was what she was best at. Cutting up sheets and bandaging and talking to the men before the doctor or nurse could get to them, that's what she was best at.
The officer grabbed her, yanked her closer. "It would have been as good as new if you hadn't interfered! Damn you to hell!"
The look on his face and the strength of his grip scared her and Marcy wretched her hand back, stood up, backed away. Carlton was stunned. Blue sparks again appeared, this time at the ends of the skin he held, making him jerk his hands back. He stared as the skin folded on it's own and fused together. The stump finished healing and the end product looked like the head of a drum, tight, no seam at the stump. Before Carlton could utter a word of shock at what he witnessed, a knife slid into his back. The tip of the blade was visible when he looked down at his chest. Marcy screamed as the yankee pulled the knife out of Carlton and pulled himself up on his remaining good leg. Marcy was rooted to the spot, shocked at what she witnessed.
The soldier hopped to get his balance on one foot and stared at the woman. Marcy was hyperventilating from the shock and couldn't move. She could only whisper, "How?" as he moved toward her with the bloody knife in his hand. She screamed when he clamped his hand on her shoulder.
Elizabeth ran through the maze of covered bodies, trying to sleep on their make-shift beds in the saloon, with a needle searching for some thread. She found a roll in the corner and ran out the back door with it. Expecting to see the injured man with Carlton and Marcy, she was shocked to see two bodies on the street. It took her a moment to realize who they were.
When she did, she screamed, "Marcelene!" She ran and fell on the ground next to her. "No!" She reached out her shaking hand to Marcy's neck, felt the bone. "No! Oh, my God!"
NEW YORK CITY
JOE'S APARTMENT
Elizabeth finished her story for them all. "Logan kept hollering that it would heal, but... that's what all the wounded cried out. They didn't want you to touch them. Just leave them alone, as if some magical power would swoop down and take care of them." She blanched when telling the story to such a somber panel, knowing now that Logan did indeed have a magical power to take care of his wound.
"How were Carlton and I to know that he was speaking the truth?" After taking another gulp of whiskey, she said, "So, I found their bodies in the alley. The one legged man was no where to be found. Only one set of footprints led to the street. No one saw him. Everyone thought I was crazy when I told them how they died, or how they must have died."
Elizabeth took another swallow and realized they were watching her closely. "After the battle ended and the soldiers were gone, we buried them. I was almost convinced I was indeed crazy and the exhaustion and the massacre of the war in our backyard played tricks with me. Then, he came back."
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GETTYSBURG
JULY 10, 1863
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The whiskey bottle in her desk was the only liquor she didn't turn over to the union cause. She drank straight out of the bottle, finishing it up. She picked up the photo of her husband Teddy, who had lost his life in the Battle of Fredericksburg the December before, and wondered what he thought when the end came. She had been so sorry she was unable to see his body one last time; then grateful she hadn't, she'd seen enough death.
Alone, and sleepy, with Teddy's picture on her chest, she slumped down on the settee and closed her eyes. She didn't hear the door open downstairs, or the foot on the steps. Only when the yankee opened her door did she open her eyes. For a second, she had the thought that it was Marcy.
The whiskey had doused her brain and she was dizzy as she sat up. Then she screamed when her eyes focused on the figure of a one legged man who, using a cane, made his way across the room to her. Before she could stand, he fell on her. They scuffled, fell on the floor. He pulled a knife out of his coat and held it to her throat.
"I should just take your head now for what you did to me," he said, mouth inches from her face. "But I won't. It will be that much sweeter later, once you've developed." She pushed out at him, but his bulk kept her on the floor. He sneered, "You learn well, girlie. I'm going to look forward to your quickening!"
He moved the knife lower and she couldn't move a muscle. He told her, "My name is Joshua Logan and we will meet again!" Then he jammed the blade into her side, and twisted it. He enjoyed the sight of her bulging eyes, her open mouth gasping for air, her hands futilely groping for help. When she relaxed and died, he was happier than he felt in a long time. He leaned down and kissed her on the mouth, biting and pulling her bottom lip.
When he got to his feet, he saluted her. "We will meet again, dear lady," he smiled. "Then I'll take your head."
HOURS LATER
Elizabeth revived from the stabbing, dazed, wondering if she was in heaven. Initially there was pain, then blue healing lights appeared, she had no idea of where they came from or what purpose they served, then there was no pain from the stabbing she knew she had experienced. Her room looked the same. Maybe that's what God did, made a room just like what you're used to so you can acclimate to heaven. The blood on her dress and the floor gave her pause. Wouldn't God have washed away the blood?
It was early morning and she could clearly hear the children, who were again allowed to play outside once the battle was over, from her room. When Elizabeth stood, she saw her reflection in the mirror above the bureau. The soft wind rustled in her window. After sponging the blood off herself and changing clothes, she rolled up the blood stained rug, put it in the closet and went downstairs. Then outside to take a walk thinking it would clear her mind, still believing she was in heaven and would eventually meet up with her husband, Teddy. and her sister-in-law, Marcy.
What she saw on her long walk south of town was splintered trees and puddles of blood on the grass. A couple of the people from town were scrounging around the vacated battlefield, looking at the ground for mementos. The stench of gunpowder and death still hung in the air. "This can't be heaven," she intoned as she looked around the surroundings of the once peaceful farming landscape, where just a week before, not much ever happened. "This can't be heaven at all."
As she was making her way back to town, she saw something glitter in the tall wheat stalks. Was it a soldier who had not been found and buried? Was it an answer? Was it a sign from God? She walked towards it. The glint came from a long, bloody cavalry sword. Normally, the sight would have sicken her. Weapons of any sort scared her, the blood on it's blade should have reminded her too much of the misery she'd witnessed the last week. It should have been abhorrent to her, but she leaned over and picked it up, by the blade.
A bead of blood flowed down her finger. She dropped the sword. She put the cut to her mouth then pulled it out when she got the shock of her life. Blue sparks swirled around the cut and, as she watched fascinated, the blood stopped flowing and the skin reconnected itself. After brushing the finger off on her skirt, she inspected it. There was smeared blood, but there was no trace of an injury.
Lightheaded from the sight, she staggered. There wasn't any way she could explain that to anyone! She headed back toward the safety of town, but stopped and turned, looked at the sword on the ground. She felt that if she didn't take it, she would be leaving something behind. For some reason, she needed that sword. Was it a macabre souvenir of the massacre? Or something more? She had no idea what that more could be, but leaned down and picked it up again, by the hilt. Held it. Swished it around in front of her, got it tangled in the weeds, scraped it along the ground.
When she got back to her room, she wondered if it was all a dream. Caused by the grief of losing everyone in her life. There wasn't anyone to give her answers, or to talk to about her 'dream'. She was already the poor widow, also the brazen woman who owned the tavern and had rooms for rent, she didn't want to be the raving lunatic, too. They were still talking about how she actually thought a dying union soldier with a freshly hacked off leg killed two strong, young people. Their version of the incident was a reckless rebel who butchered all in his path.
NEW YORK CITY
JOE'S APARTMENT
They all had listened to her story, once in a while, Duncan, Methos or Amy getting up to check on Joe. Amanda asked her, "Logan just turned you and left you to figure it out yourself?"
"That's right. After the war was over, I traveled the country on horseback, trying to find an answer to Carlton and Marcy's deaths, my own, why I was still here. It was a confusing time to say the least and my only friend was my horse, Pilgrim."
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VIRGINIA 1867
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One night after setting up camp for herself and putting a can of beans over the fire, she heard a shuffling in the woods. Then she realized she felt dizzy and sick to her stomach. The sensation wasn't just the fright of the unknown out in the woods and she knew it. It was a ringing sensation, like a buzzing. She was surprised to see an Indian standing amongst the trees, just out of the campfire's light. She grabbed the rifle she purchased in Pittsburgh and aimed it at him, suddenly scared to death remembering all the stories she'd heard of savage Indians.
The Indian smiled and walked toward the campfire light. "There's no need for that, Anovaoo'o [young woman]," he said. He wore buckskin from head to foot. His long black hair was gathered in a pony tail and he had a non-threatening tone of voice. His face was solemn but not at all threatening. His eyes sparkled from the flames of her campfire as he edged near her, very slowly so she wouldn't feel the need to use the firearm.
If she had learned one thing in the four years since meeting up with the dagger, it was not to trust anybody. "Stop right there!" Her voice sounded much more in command than her nerves as she directed the rifle at his chest, it's long barrel swaying from fright. She looked him over to determine if he was carrying a knife.
He just held out his hands saying, "I am not here to hurt you. I felt you as I was walking back to my home. You are one like me. Don't you know that?"
Elizabeth didn't like hearing pretty much the same words used by Joshua Logan, the man who had killed her, 'that she was like him.' "What do you mean? I'm not an Indian."
"No, but you are an Immortal."
"A what?"
The Ojibwa, Hotohke, was shunned from his tribe after his first death 500 years before. When he revived after a poisoned arrow pierced his back and killed him, his tribe thought evil spirits had taken over his body and that he would bring nothing but wickedness to them all. He was asked to leave and Hotohke left without trying to convince them that he wasn't evil. Hotohke didn't even known if they were right or not. He was certainly alive when he shouldn't be. In his travels, he was found by another, who had been found by another, another link in the chain of immortality.
As he looked at the young woman standing by the fire with a rifle trained at his heart, he knew she was scared. She must be a new one. He softly stated, "You've had an unexplained trauma." The buzzing sensation had softened and his voice remained so tranquil. Elizabeth lowered the weapon wondering if this man would have the answers she had been searching for these past four years. Hesitant, she asked, "How do you know?"
"You've been killed."
"I'm dead? Really dead? This is heaven?"
"No. You are simply not what you thought you were all your life. Let me explain it to you." She still held the rifle in her hand. It wasn't trained on him now, but it could be in a moment. Hotohke motioned to it, "We have no use for modern weapons. We rely on the sword."
Her eyes darted to the cavalry sword she'd felt the need to have after her death. Its hilt was sticking out of a rolled cloth in her wagon. "Come with me," Hotohke suggested. "I'll tell you all you need to know."
The pull was great and she stepped closer to him. He shook his head. She stopped. "You have to leave that," he pointed at the rifle.
Instead of wondering what she had gotten into, or who the man was, or if she was in danger, she simply laid the rifle down on the ground and stepped closer to the great Indian. When he smiled and held out his hand to her, she gladly accepted it as the first offer of acceptance from another human being since she was turned four years earlier.
Hotohke brought Elizabeth back to his home, just a mile away from where she was camped, and provided her with all the answers she had been searching for. As he handed her another piece of bread that she hungrily accepted she said, "So the one legged man who healed... he's one like you."
"And like you. You cannot die unless you lose your head. All wounds will heal given a little time."
"I'm not crazy," Elizabeth smiled, relieved. "It actually happened."
She felt better than she'd felt in a long, long time. The air flowed into her lungs easier, there wasn't a sense of burden on her shoulders. She giggled, felt young. He stood and walked to the corner of the tent. When he sat down next to her again, he had a sword in his hands and held them out to her.
"This is the extension of your arm, your heart, your soul. You do not use a rifle. Take this. I will teach you to use it."
"I already have one of those."
"Do you know how to use it?"
"You hold on and swing?"
"It helps if you know how to hold it and most important, how you swing it. There is a technique, a... finesse. It's your survival. You must learn to use it."
DURING THE NEXT MONTH
Elizabeth was not a good student at the start of her training, but Hotohke was patient with her. He laughed at her a lot, but she didn't get angry or embarrassed. His laugh was light, but seemed to come from the base of his gut. During their training, he was patient. She asked how many immortals there were. He said he had no idea, but he had come across many, so there must be many more.
She stepped back from her teacher and took a little breather from the full morning's exercise, "You don't by chance know Joshua Logan?"
"No," he said, keeping his sword up. "We haven't crossed paths." He stood on guard, waiting for her to rejoin him.
"He's the one who killed me" she said angrily.
Hotohke sadly shook his head, "He'll have to deal with that when he journeys to the spirits."
"Joshua Logan," Elizabeth stewed, let her sword drop to her side. "I've said that name over and over again in my head. I want to find him. I want to kill him and now I know how."
He solemnly shook his head, in full teacher mode when he said, "You will have the spirits angry at you if you seek out immortals. You only fight when you have to. When there is no other way. When you are on the right side."
"I am on the right side," she argued. "He turned me and knew what he was doing. He killed me."
"But you still live," Hotohke argued. When would she accept it? "He didn't take anything from you. He made you immortal." He tapped his sword tip on hers and said, "You've stalled long enough. You have to train."
###############
JANUARY 1870
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During their years together, Hotohke finally convinced her that all thoughts of revenge were worthless to her mind and spirit. He taught her only to fight when she needed to and when there was no other option.
When she couldn't or wouldn't grasp that concept, he pulled on a leather strap that he wore around his neck. At it's end was a piece of black leather with a carving of what appeared to be two heads of a deer, connected at the neck. He told her, "This is a symbol that helps me remember my true self. It was made by my father and given to me on the eve of my adulthood. It is called a soul catcher, a remembrance to give you peace of mind," he said as he laid his finger on her forehead. "And in spirit." He put his finger on her heart.
His finger lifted her chin and he told her, "You must travel the correct path, Elizabeth, or I have failed. as your teacher."
Initially most of the moves he showed her were defensive. He continued to be patient with her, but berated her whenever her concentration left the fight, and she focused on the stone in her shoe, or the lack of food in her stomach. She had to learn to fight under all conditions, even when injured. He eventually started to teach her offensive maneuvers; thrusts, disarming and capture of her opponent's weapon, and how to lead up to the coup de gras swing. Then, it was practice, practice, practice. As well as the study of her spirituality. She had to know of the spirit of peace that resided within her and had to know how to call upon it when she needed to.
They told each other of their lives while they'd clean and sharpen their swords; cleaned his tent and the wagon that she lived in; exercised. Elizabeth was lucky indeed that she found Hotohke, or rather, that he found her. Her terror and the fear of the unknown had washed away and she became more secure in her immortality being with him. She watched Hotohke closely to learn how to act and how to fight.
During the time with Hotohke, he was everything to her, but there was never any intimate contact beyond the accidental brush of his hand against hers when he handed her food or oil for her sword. She wanted to get as close as she could to the man, but he seemed to be beyond earthly needs. He was too pure, knowing, God-like in her eyes. And, disappointingly, he never made the first move. She wondered if he was married, or in love with someone that he saw on the rare occasions he would take off and come back with no explanation as to where he was. The lack of intimate relations in her life didn't make a difference to her. She had gotten used to being alone since Teddy was killed and was too happy and satisfied as she grew stronger physically and emotionally to be concerned about it.
############
JULY 1870
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One a hot summer evening, Elizabeth took the covering off her wagon and slept under the stars in the back. She awoke to the strange buzz. She pulled her head up to look over the ledge of the wagon to see if Hotohke wanted anything. A shot rang out. Scared that a battle had once again come to her door, she cowered in the wagon. Being in the boondocks with Hotohke, she wasn't up to snuff on the events of the world. Had another war broken out?
She heard laughter and a voice call out, "Elizabeth... come here, girlie." That voice had been embedded in her head for the last 7 years. An Irish accent! That, she had figured out from an Irish drifter who came through the year before. Elizabeth reached for her sword, but a hand clamped on her foot and she was pulled from the wagon. She fell roughly onto the ground. Splinters slid into her hip and made her howl in pain. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw her teacher laying on the ground.
"Hotohke!" She screamed when she saw his life-less eyes stare at her. She was pulled up by her hair and saw the cause of the new buzz. Joshua Logan sprawled on a rock by the campfire. She turned to see the man, a mortal man, who had her hair in his hands. Before she could claw her way free, a kick connected with her cheek, she heard the bone shatter and the pain took over her whole being.
"What do you want?!" she garbled through her broken face, blood dripped from her eye.
Joshua, smiling as big as possible, stood up on two limbs and said, "I was wondering... how much you've learned about us."
Elizabeth saw the peg of his fake leg poking out between his shoe and pant leg. She struggled to get free from the man holding her so she could throttle that bastard, but the man was strong and resistance was a futile exercise. Then, she felt another man kick her in the ribs. She about passed out from the pain, and the air squeezed out of her body in an instant.
Joshua asked, "Has kimosabi told you about quickenings?" She was silent, could only stare up at him out of her one good eye. "Have you ever seen one," he asked. Hotohke finally revived from the gun blast to the chest.
Joshua made his way to him and grabbed her teacher's long silky hair in his grubby little fists. Elizabeth pulled free from the man and tried to yell for them to leave him alone, but she couldn't form words with her crushed mouth, could only grumble and scream.
The man pushed Elizabeth to the ground as Logan dropped the gun and brandished his sword. "No!" Elizabeth managed to scream as the sword was lifted high into the air.
"Revenge is a senseless exercise," Hotohke said, to both Elizabeth and Logan. Knowing he had no chance of getting to his feet, Hotohke closed his eyes and summoned the spirits to cleanse and cherish his soul.
The sword thrashed down, slicing his neck clean. Logan held Hotohke's head in his hand like a fisherman would a stringer of fish to get his picture taken and yelled, "Watch closely!"
Elizabeth couldn't see much, in his surprise the mortal man holding her blocked her view. Her face was shoved into the dirt. The earth mixed with the blood that still poured out of her eye. She heard crackles and sparks erupt. Suddenly, the mortal man yelled, "Sweet Jesus!" and loosened his grip on her. Turning her head, she saw a soft stream of light emit from her teacher's neck up into the air. The mortal men enthralled by the light show didn't pay attention to her.
Hotohke's soft light became stronger, fuller as it gathered itself above Logan, then slammed all it's might and energy into him. Logan leaned his head back and held his sword out, yelling as he collected the thoughts and strength of the man he had rendered unable to defend himself. White bolts of power streamed away from Logan and brushed against the legs of Elizabeth and the mortals. They crawled back from the fray. She followed them, wanting to get as far from this as possible; she had only ever heard of quickenings. Her heart cried out that the first one she witnessed would be that of her teacher, the source of strength in her life. The wind swirled so strong it was hard to breathe and the area was lighted as if the morning sun was out. The things in her wagon and in Hotohke's tent swirled in the air. The mortals and Elizabeth were thrown back to the ground, held flat by the wind and torrents of electricity.
Logan fell to his knee and whimpered when the quickening came to an end. The tent fell on top of him. He lifted himself up onto his foot and peg leg and happily stated, "That's what we're all about..."
Blue sparks skittered across her face reconnecting her cheekbone and then it started on her ribs making her a useless lump until the healing process ended. Logan stooped down to watch, smiled. The mortals had to hold Elizabeth back from tackling him when he got that close. "You're next," he said, raising a pistol and pointing it at her.
As Elizabeth struggled out of their grip, a shot rang out. Elizabeth thought she was hit and felt for the wound. The mortal who'd kicked her face fell on top of her, dead. Another shot sounded and the other mortal who had kicked her in the ribs, fell. She pushed them off and got to her feet, not knowing whether to search for her sword to fight, tackle Logan, or run like hell.
Another shot rang out and that one she felt, in her leg. She fell to the ground, holding her leg, biting back the pain. Joshua Logan was either ironic or had good aim. Her wound was in the exact same place the confederate had shot Logan.
She wasn't going to show that man anymore of her pain. He limped forward and stood above her. She had to ask, "Why?"
"They were liabilities. They saw too much. We can't be showing the mortals what we're all about, now can we?" Her hand slipped from her leg because of the flow of blood. He said, "Or are you talking about the Indian? Because I can. Or where you asking about you? Why am I going to kill you?" His mouth curled into a vicious smile. "Because I can. And, because I do enjoy it, so."
She got to her knees to crawl away, but her leg wouldn't support her and the pain had taken over her entire senses. Tears instinctively flew down her face, but she'd be damned if she let Joshua Logan see them. Her sword was too far away. Elizabeth collapsed on the ground, waiting for him to grab her head and take it off.
What he did do was turn her over with his cane. He held his sword tip to her face and said, "How does it feel? To know that your leg is going to heal, but it hurts so much. Now think of that bastard with a saw towering over you in your pain! You know... if I really wanted to do it, I could cut your leg off after I shoot you in the heart. Then you'll know exactly how I feel. It will never heal if it's not attached, much like your head. I'll take that when I'm damn good and ready. You practice more. I'll find you later." Having said that, he raised the gun and shot Elizabeth right in the heart.
When she revived, she fully expected to be one legged. Laying on her side, the first thing she saw was the head of her teacher, just inches from her own. It had been carefully placed there. She jumped to her feet backing away from it and cried out in anger. Then she realized she was standing on two feet. The blue healing lights were taking care of her other wounds. When the pain of the healing ended, she wondered when the healing of the heart would take place. When the healing would take over the bitter revenge that bubbled in her soul, even though Hotohke's last words spoke of the futility of revenge.
She sat down and tried to find the peace that Hotohke believed in. She tried to follow the instructions he had given her when showing her how to achieve peace; but there was no peace in her mind or her body. Hotohke's soul catcher on it's leather strap, that had been a fixture around his neck, was lying on the ground. She picked it up, it was the last link to her teacher. She wrapped Hotohke's body in his tribal blanket and slipped him into a shallow grave she dug amongst the trees, then she covered his body with the soil of the earth... she sat clenching his soul catcher, and prayed for the ever lasting peace to take care of her beloved teacher. Hoping that one day, she'd be able to find hers.
NEW YORK CITY
SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
Kevin came back into the living room and sat by Amy. They had all been listening to her story, Duncan shaking his head at the audacity and viciousness of Logan's actions. Elizabeth took another sip from the whiskey bottle, then set it on the coffee table. "How's Joe?"
"Sleeping," Kevin replied, looking at her, almost surprised such a foreign being could speak English. She was the same woman he knew for three years, but her immortality and her story went completely over his head.
Methos stared at the female immortal who almost got his best friend killed. Her story affected him for one reason. It was much like how his own teacher was taken from him. He looked over at Duncan and Amanda, smiled. They didn't know the first thing about him and Methos liked it that way. He'd always shut down any conversation about his beginnings, teacher, early life, because it was too personal. He believed that there should be something left for himself, that no one could share. Maybe losing a teacher in such a way and keeping a memento of that person wasn't actually as unique a thing as Methos thought it was. At that moment, Methos visualized the ring on a leather strap he wore for years after Hazimil's death, in a beat up, old leather pouch, that was now hermetically sealed in plastic, in the safe buried under the floor boards of his Paris apartment.
Duncan, not realizing Methos' mind had gone back so many millennia, renewed the conversation and asked Elizabeth, "Logan is still after you, all these years later?"
"He came back at me ten years later. Then the pattern started, every 20 years, in July. It's like our anniversary or something. He'd kill whoever I was with, always told me to practice, get better, learn more, he'd take my head next time. I thought since he didn't strike last summer, he was dead. He didn't say that this evening. Did he really try to take my head?"
"Yes, he did," Amanda said, studying Elizabeth as she took another swallow, killing the bottle. "Why in the world can't you outrun a one legged man?"
"He hires people to shoot first, mortals who I can't sense coming. Or immortals to sweet talk me first and make me think I'm safe." She looked at them, "Joe is the only one to walk away from one of Logan's ambushes. It's a good thing you all showed up to stop him. At least I hope Joe walks away. I didn't mean for him to get caught in it, Amy. I love Joe, you know that. I just wanted to talk to him."
"For what?" Methos sneered at her for almost killing his friend.
Elizabeth looked at him, wondering if he'd ever do anything besides stare daggers at her. "Information. Some information is better than nothing. Maybe Joe could tell me if Logan was dead and gone. If not, maybe he could find out where Logan was and I could ambush him before he found me. Maybe he could ask a watcher friend or... is it all on a computer somewhere about all of us?"
"No," Methos said. Remembering what hot water they got into when Don Salzer wanted to network.
"How do you know?"
"Each watcher has their own records," Amy said. "We can only find out who Logan's watcher is and go from there."
"How do you know that?"
Amy said, "I was a watcher."
Ignoring the fact that there was also a lot that Amy hadn't let her in on, Elizabeth sat up in her chair, interested in the turn of events, "Then you have friends to ask."
"And more bullets would fly," Methos said, taking a swig of beer.
Amy said, "If you hadn't run out like that, I may have made that suggestion."
Elizabeth felt cornered, "And Joe wouldn't be lying in that bed, right?"
"I didn't say that."
"But it's true," Methos said. "A very good friend of mine, her father," he pointed at Amy, "Wouldn't have almost died tonight because of you."
Duncan interjected, "Calm down. That's not going to do any good at all."
She knew that irritating man was right, and studied his face. She looked him up and down. The sight of him in long johns wasn't an easy vision to shake. "What did you do with your hair?" Methos was taken back. "I liked it longer."
They all looked at Methos. Methos squinted at her, "So we have met before."
"You don't remember? I woke you up." For the first time in a long while, she smiled and said, "With my blade."
Methos thought back. That hadn't happened often... there was a woman who surprised him. Back in... when was it?
Elizabeth, thinking he still didn't remember, said, "You were lost. In Wyoming..."
##################
WYOMING
DECEMBER 2, 1898
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Elizabeth roamed the United States of America, that her late husband, Theodore Tennison, had a hand in uniting during the Civil War, trying to find her niche after her teacher's killing. As each year passed without coming into contact with Joshua Logan, the anger started to fade. The beauty of the earth and the kindness of strangers sweetened her outlook on life. But, she hadn't yet found a place that she felt she belonged.
When she stopped in Casper for supplies, she heard the two men at the general store talk about a strange man who was staying in the woods just outside of town. That got Elizabeth's attention. After not even thinking about Logan for years, her fear took over and she lost her sense of perspective; she was convinced that the strange man in the woods was Joshua Logan, as if there could only be one of them. She asked, "Where?"
The man behind the counter pointed to the east. So she hightailed it out of town, to the west. She made sure she had her sword within easy reach strapped to her horse, this one was named Moses. Her soul wanted to go after Joshua Logan, but her head told her to try and kept in on her shoulders. Lord knew what that man would do next.
The man at the store had to be talking about Joshua Logan. She'd felt a buzz for days, following her, skirting in and out of sensing range, never making his presence known. Suddenly tired of being scared of the monster, she pulled on Moses' reins and her horse came to a dead stop.
As the kicked up dust swirled in the night air, she debated what to do. It was time. She rode back into Casper, then rode through and past it, to the east. Elizabeth would attack Logan before he had the hope of striking her first. He was a one-legged man for God's sake! She had two strong legs, a strong sword arm and constitution; and she needed to see him dead.
Miles east of town, through the mesquite trees, she saw the soft flickering of a campfire. She didn't feel a buzz, but how many people would be camping when there's a nice inexpensive hotel just a few miles away? She left Moses at a tree, laying his reins over a branch and unsheathed her sword. Preparing herself for battle, she gripped the hilt of the cavalry sword and took a deep cleansing breath.
She ran toward the light with her sword ready. As she came closer to the light, she sensed a buzz! It was Logan! She would surprise him for once! The lump, visible in a bedroll next to the fire, stirred as she neared. She hurried towards it and placed her sword at the throat of the man.
He reached out a hand and grabbed her ankle, throwing her off her feet, making her land on her butt. The man jumped out of the bedroll and onto his feet in one swift, graceful movement. Then he slashed out with his Ivanhoe. "Who are you?!" he snarled.
She protected herself from his swing and got to her feet on the second try, after stumbling on the first. When the man waited for her to stand and slashed out again, Elizabeth forced her sword against his. The blades rubbed against each other as they both got their feet planted. She realized it was a two legged man before her, wearing long johns. "Sorry," she said. "You aren't who I thought you were. I don't want to fight you."
Methos, pissed, shouted, "That's encouraging!" He was finally sound asleep after losing the trail of the other Hole in the Wall gang members. "Who were you expecting?"
She noticed his accent, not exactly Irish, but not of this country, and wondered if he was one of Logan's pals. Were they from the same place? She couldn't help also noticing his dark wavy hair, sideburns, scowl, long arms and legs, and the delicate hand that held the sword toward her own. "Joshua Logan. You wouldn't by chance know him?"
"If he's anything like you," he sneered. "I'm thankful to say, no."
"He isn't anything like me. He's a monster," she said and she actually turned her back on an immortal with a sword in his hand, and a pissy attitude. He wasn't Logan, so she didn't feel any threat.
Methos was livid. After waking him up at sword point, she was actually going to walk away like nothing happened! "Wait a minute!" he hollered. She turned. "Where are we? I'm lost."
"Just outside of Casper," she said.
"Damn it, I thought I was south of there." Methos flipped the edge of the blanket off his foot and told her, "Never trust information from thieves."
"I'll try to remember that."
Methos studied the immortal who suddenly didn't seem so startling. "Why are you looking for Joshua Logan?"
"To kill him."
"Oh, good," he said, making a flicking motion with his hand to move her along. "Just be on your way, then."
"Sure," she said, then looked down the man's body and smiled. "Your thing is hanging out."
He didn't move a muscle to cover himself, kept his Ivanhoe trained in her direction. "Thank you so much for waking me up."
When she was out of the light of his campfire and almost to Moses, she turned back to the immortal. He hadn't moved a muscle. His sword was still in the air in a defensive position. She got on her horse and rode past him and his ebbing camp fire, then north.
Only when she was out of sensing range and he was sure she wouldn't be disturbing his slumber again, did Methos put his sword back in the blanket with him. He adjusted his long johns before falling back into a light sleep, still ready for anything.
NEW YORK CITY
SEPTEMBER 4, 2000
"I flipped you on your back side," Methos beamed, finally figuring out who she was, and knowing he was faster than she could ever hope to be. "You haven't gotten any more charming."
"I've had a lot to deal with," she replied, then remembered him standing there with his sword at her face, with his dick hanging out not at all ashamed and not lifting a finger to cover it. "Did you ever find your way?"
"Yes, as a matter of fact. I met up with my mates in a couple of days, since you told me I was north of my destination."
"What was your destination?"
"The Hole in the Wall."
"Butch and Sundance?"
"And Harvey and Harry and Ben, Elzy," Methos smiled.
Amanda remembered his crack when they infiltrated Watcher headquarters and said, "I thought you were joking."
Duncan asked, "You told me you rode with them, but I didn't know if I should believe you."
"You can still wonder," Methos lifted the beer to his lips.
"You and Adam know each other, Liz?" Amy grinned.
"No," Methos said. "We just had that one run-in." He relaxed, knowing that the episode was where he knew her from and not something else that might have pissed her off and make her come back for revenge. Revenge was so time consuming for most. Running from another's revenge was tiring for Methos.
"Liz, why did you put a sword to his throat?" Amanda had to ask.
"I thought he was Logan. I found the wrong guy camping outside of town."
"How did you let a woman sneak up on you, Adam," Duncan enjoyed asking.
"I was asleep."
"A woman?" Elizabeth didn't catch on that it was a joke, she didn't know those people. "Only a man could sneak up on people? What kind of a sexist remark was that?"
"I didn't mean that," Duncan said. Everyone in that room, except Elizabeth, knew that wasn't what he meant.
"Hold on," Kevin said. "I'm still trying to digest everything you said. You said that Logan was a union officer... that there was a battle? Are you talking about the Civil War?"
"I lived in Gettysburg, yes."
"So, you're..." he did the math. "Like, 140 years old?"
"167 if you want to get technical."
He sat back, in wonder. The others looked at Kevin. Elizabeth was actually the baby of the group but her age blew Kevin's mind. Amanda smiled, what would he think if he knew she was over 1200... that Methos was... "How does that happen?" Kevin asked.
Amy looked at Kevin, "I told you about them."
"I didn't believe you," he said. Looked at Elizabeth. "You don't look any older than us. How old are all of you?"
"I was wondering that myself," Elizabeth said.
"We're old enough to know we don't answer such questions," Methos said as he got up for another beer.
CONTINUED in Chapter Three - New York