Chapter Twelve: "Put out the light, and then put out the light . . ."
- Othello, Act V, scene ii, line 7
The coffee was ready. Duncan filled a cup and set it on the coffee table in front of Methos, but the older man just sat there on the sofa, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands, staring off into space. Duncan doubted Methos' mind was even in the room. Was he regretting not going after Laura when she walked off the playground? Or did his thoughts center on the accident that resulted in Laura and Jonathan's flight from the loft and into Burke's hands? Duncan had seen the shattered glass and dried-up orange juice on the floor as soon as he stepped off the elevator. When he cleaned up the mess, Duncan was tempted to ask Methos how it got there, but he doubted he'd get an answer.
Duncan worried about Laura, too. The strange pall that had come over her after Burke's Quickening disturbed him deeply. Perhaps Methos was right to want to stop her from leaving. Why did she walk away? At first, Duncan thought that she might be looking for her brother. A fruitless search, he knew, though he couldn't bring himself to go inside the school and confirm what Burke had said about Jonathan. Too, Laura left her sword behind. Dawson had assured Duncan that no other Immortals save himself, Methos, and Richie were in the area, and had promised to have Richie keep an eye out for her. That assurance did nothing to assuage Duncan's fears about Laura. She was still at her most vulnerable now.
He poured himself some coffee and settled down in his high-backed leather chair. It would be another sleepless night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura didn't notice the odd looks she got from the passerby who crossed her path. Truth be told, even if she had, she didn't give a damn. She absently reached for the gaping hole her opponent left in her right jacket sleeve, her fingers numbly touching the dried blood that clung there, but strangely enough, there was no fresh blood, and she felt no pain from her injury. That brought her up short. Laura stopped in her tracks, and her hand immediately dropped from her arm. Something was not right, she realized with a start. Her sense of touch must be off. She might even be in shock. She ought to go to the hospital and have herself looked at. She didn't want to lose any more of her senses. No, she should just march right into the nearest emergency room and . . .
No, she shouldn't. What would the doctors say when they saw her? They'd know what she'd done, just like that. She knew they would, and she couldn't bear their knowing. She couldn't bear knowing it herself.
So, she continued to walk. She didn't pay attention to where she was going. She didn't care. What was the use? It was too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Joe returned home and threw his keys on the nearest flat surface. He hated nights like this, he really did. And this one was the worst he could think of. Not only did he and Burke's Watcher have to take care of Burke's remains, but there was also the discovery Burke's Watcher made when they checkd out the inside of the school. When he saw it, Joe was sorely tempted to toss the contents of his stomach the way he just tossed his keys. Burke's Watcher, a rookie in the field, actually did.
He caught sight of his waiting laptop computer and sighed heavily. He had a couple more things to do before he vainly attempted sleep. He booted up the computer, accessed the Watcher database, and opened Jonathan's file. Chloe Young had said she would create files for him and Laura. Joe dreaded adding this entry more than anything else he'd had to do.
"Final report on Jonathan Kessler. Jonathan met his end at approximately 7:15 P.M. Mountain Time, 26 October 1995. The victor was David Burke, who soon lost his own head to Jonathan's twin sister Laura."
He sat back for a moment or two. It was not enough, those two simple sentences. Something else needed to be said.
"David Burke's actions are something I'll never understand. What kind of sick bastard murders a child? Jonathan Kessler was an infant, and would have remained so as long as he was alive. More than that, he was the one true innocent among Immortals, the one who could never, ever kill. Burke inflicted enough suffering on him, his sister, and his mother when he took Jonathan's mortal life away from him. The result was a kind of Immortality that no one deserves, a life halted before he could develop to the point where he would be able to walk, talk, and use a weapon in his own defense. Burke saw to it that Jonathan Kessler would never live up to his potenial. At least the son of a bitch got what he deserved in the end. Laura Kessler made sure of that.
"But at what cost?"
Joe read the still-too-brief report over one more time before deciding it would have to suffice. He added it to Jonathan's file and closed out the network. He sat back in his chair for a moment before picking up his cell phone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vancouver
Chloe decided to give her Watcher e-mail one last check before heading off to bed. Her boss back east hadn't contacted her yet, though he said he would, and she was more than eager to leave Vancouver. Perhaps, she thought, she should go ahead and schedule her own return flight, rather than wait for the organization to do it for her. It's not like she had anything left to do here.
Nothing from her boss. Oh well. She punched a few keys, typing a quick message to him to let him know that she was available for a new assignment.
Her cell phone chirped just as she finished her post. "Hello?" she said into the receiver the second she had it to her mouth.
"Chloe Young? It's Joe Dawson again."
"Oh." She turned off her laptop and snapped the lid shut. "I was just about to head off for bed. What can I do for you?"
"I thought you should know. Burke's dead."
"What?" Chloe nearly dropped her phone. She sent up a prayer that Dawson wouldn't take too much note of her reaction to his news..
"Burke's dead," Dawson repeated. "Kessler took his head."
"You mean Laura Kessler, right?" Obviously, Chloe reminded herself before Dawson felt the need to. No baby could ever be strong enough to lift a sword, let alone cut off someone's head. "But I thought . . ."
"That she didn't know she was Immortal?" She heard Dawson sigh. "Burke brought it on himself, practically demanded that she take his head. So she did."
"What about the brother?"
A pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "Burke got to him first. I took care of the final report."
"I see. Thanks for letting me know."
After a perfunctory goodbye, she ended the call. Her mind was already on what she needed to do the next morning. The first thing on her list was to check the database for what Dawson had entered. The second was to add her own thoughts on the state of Burke's mind into his file. Not that she would ever have condoned what Burke did, or done it herself if she were in his shoes, but she understood well his reasons for doing it. He felt betrayed by the woman he loved. And Chloe could relate to that kind of betrayal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seacouver
Five-thirty in the morning. Dawn would be coming soon. Still, no sign of Laura. Duncan hoped she would come back. Part of him actually expected her to. Her things were still here, after all. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.
He had drained the coffee pot hours ago, washed it, and put it away. He also brought Laura's bags up from the dojo office, where he and Methos had secured them the day before, and returned her saber - Duncan had been the one to collect that from the playground - to its spot in her suitcase. Methos, on the other hand, still sat on the couch, his coffee untouched before him. Duncan didn't have the heart to take it away, even thought the beverage had long since cooled. How could he? It was the one object which Methos had finally acknowledged. Some time after two, he caught Methos gazing at it as if it were the center of his universe. Duncan acknowledged it would be a waste of time to try and shake Methos out of his stupor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the night wore on, the streets had begun to slowly empty until the few people who were still out and about in the wee hours of the morning had themselves drifted off, seeking the shelter of their own homes, and she was left alone. Not that Laura had noticed the gradual thinning of the streets, or how the starless sky was just starting to lose its darkness. She merely continued to walk, unseeing, up and down whatever hard surface found itself beneath her shoes.
Her eyes began to blur, and she blinked hard to ward the blurriness away. She came to a deserted street corner, where she leaned against a dilapidated brick warehouse. The bluriness chose that moment to come back, and she closed her eyes even harder against it. When she opened them again, they focused themselves on the signs posted on a nearby telephone pole. The top one was a notice put up by someone looking for a lost dog, the second an advertisement for the play Othello. The third one, a bright pink rectangle that jumped out from the steely gray of the impending dawn, seized Laura's attention with its simple, two-word message, hand written in bold, black letters:
Find God.
Laura blinked her eyes again - why wouldn't that blurring go away? - and raised them heavenward. All she saw were the clouds rolling over the ever-lightening sky.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duncan had dozed off in the leather chair. When he awoke, it was with the pain of a cramped neck. He sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and gave his head a vigorous shake to clear the rest of the sleepiness from his mind. With one hand, he tried to massage the cramp from his neck as his eyes registered the sight of Methos packing, stuffing everything he had into the black duffel bag he brought with him.
"I know what you're going to say," Methos stated, without bothering to turn around. "You're going to try to convince me that helping them out was not a big mistake."
Duncan let his hand fall to the arm of the chair. "It wasn't."
"For you, maybe. For me, let's just say that I should've left when I had the chance."
Duncan got to his feet and headed toward the window. A dismal gray haze was beginning to light up the skyline.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gray surrounded her. She felt the intense weight of it as it pressed down on her. Such would be her lot now, she supposed, to go through life with nothing but colorlessness. Colorlessness and emptiness. There was nothing left for her anymore.
It was a waste, all of it.
She found herself on some bridge. This must be the one the hotel clerk told her about, the one where they found that headless body three years ago. The monster who committed that murder, though, had yet to be brought to justice, according to the clerk. At the time, Laura believed the story a bizarre local legend, or, at the very least, some twisted tall tale the girl told anyone who looked gullible enough to fall for it. Yeah, right. Some legend.
She stopped about midpoint and leaned over the railing. How nice it might be, if she only leaned out a little farther. The water wouldn't be cold for very long . . .
A vision flashed before her eyes: instead of the water, she saw below her a rock-filled ravine. Laura squeezed her eyes tight, and when she opened them again, the illusion was gone. But the memory of it stayed with her. The ravine looked so familiar. Where did it come from?
Laura pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket and took out of it a wallet-sized photograph. It was of her, Jonathan, and her mother and father. Dad had insisted that a family portrait be taken every year. He even put the photos in a journal he kept, one which he never allowed anyone else to read. He gave the journal to Laura right before the accident. He said it would help her understand. Understand what, she never asked. The journal was still in her suitcase. The suitcase she left at MacLeod's loft.
She stared at the photo for some time, then flung it out on the water below.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duncan and Methos stood, uneasily silent, in the elevator. Duncan wanted to say something, anything, that would persuade Methos that the Kesslers were not a total loss, but no words came to him. The elevator stopped when it reached the dojo, and Duncan opened the door, allowing Methos, duffel bag in hand, to step off. He followed suit, and allowed the door to fall shut behind him.
"You don't need to leave," Duncan told him.
"I have to get out of town for a while," responded Methos. "What if she decides I'm to blame for what happened?"
"You had no control over that."
"Didn't I?" Methos countered derisively. "I could have trusted her, could have done something to stop Burke from . . ."
Methos' voice trailed off as his eye fell on something lying under a weight bench. He dropped his duffel bag, stooped over, and picked the object up. He remained squatting there, studying Jonathan's rattle as if it were the rarest artifact.
"It must have fallen out of the diaper bag yesterday," Duncan offered.
"Its been said that a baby can turn any sane man into a babbling idiot." Methos' eyes never left the rattle. "And look at what one who is . . . was . . . Immortal has done."
Duncan couldn't ignore the faraway, wistful tone of the older man's voice. "You'll learn to come to terms with Jonathan's death. We all will."
"I'm not thinking of that." Methos was clearly lying, even if only to save face. "It's just a colossal waste. Do you realize what we could have learned from him?"
"We still can. Through Laura."
Methos slowly stood up until his eyes met MacLeod's. "If you don't mind," he remarked flatly, "I'd rather not be around for the lesson."
"You can't run away, Methos. You'll have to face her sooner or later, whether she wants your head or not."
"MacLeod, I have enough demons to face without taking on another one."
"Too late," Duncan announced as they felt the approach of another Immortal. "You've got no choice now."
Methos hastily shoved the rattle into his coat pocket just as Laura appeared in the doorway, her jacket draped over her tightly crossed arms. Her ashen pallor and blank stare perfectly matched the overcast sky outside.
She stood in the doorway for a second or two, then started to cross the floor, each step slow and ponderous, as if she dreaded taking them. Her gaze took on a searching quality as she came nearer. About half the distance away, she stopped. Duncan saw her eyes flick from Methos to him and back again. She desperately wanted to ask how and why her life had suddenly been turned upside-down, but she didn't speak. She didn't even open her mouth to try and frame the words. She let her expression speak for her.
Laura and Methos stared at each other for a long moment. What is this, Duncan wondered, a bizarre sort of staring contest? If so, then Methos came away the loser. He let his eyes drop to the floor as he turned his head away.
Methos didn't see the stricken look that briefly flashed across Laura's face. "Come one, Laura," Duncan said, walking up to her and holding out his hand. "We have a lot to talk about."
- Othello, Act V, scene ii, line 7
The coffee was ready. Duncan filled a cup and set it on the coffee table in front of Methos, but the older man just sat there on the sofa, elbows propped on his knees, chin resting on his clasped hands, staring off into space. Duncan doubted Methos' mind was even in the room. Was he regretting not going after Laura when she walked off the playground? Or did his thoughts center on the accident that resulted in Laura and Jonathan's flight from the loft and into Burke's hands? Duncan had seen the shattered glass and dried-up orange juice on the floor as soon as he stepped off the elevator. When he cleaned up the mess, Duncan was tempted to ask Methos how it got there, but he doubted he'd get an answer.
Duncan worried about Laura, too. The strange pall that had come over her after Burke's Quickening disturbed him deeply. Perhaps Methos was right to want to stop her from leaving. Why did she walk away? At first, Duncan thought that she might be looking for her brother. A fruitless search, he knew, though he couldn't bring himself to go inside the school and confirm what Burke had said about Jonathan. Too, Laura left her sword behind. Dawson had assured Duncan that no other Immortals save himself, Methos, and Richie were in the area, and had promised to have Richie keep an eye out for her. That assurance did nothing to assuage Duncan's fears about Laura. She was still at her most vulnerable now.
He poured himself some coffee and settled down in his high-backed leather chair. It would be another sleepless night.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Laura didn't notice the odd looks she got from the passerby who crossed her path. Truth be told, even if she had, she didn't give a damn. She absently reached for the gaping hole her opponent left in her right jacket sleeve, her fingers numbly touching the dried blood that clung there, but strangely enough, there was no fresh blood, and she felt no pain from her injury. That brought her up short. Laura stopped in her tracks, and her hand immediately dropped from her arm. Something was not right, she realized with a start. Her sense of touch must be off. She might even be in shock. She ought to go to the hospital and have herself looked at. She didn't want to lose any more of her senses. No, she should just march right into the nearest emergency room and . . .
No, she shouldn't. What would the doctors say when they saw her? They'd know what she'd done, just like that. She knew they would, and she couldn't bear their knowing. She couldn't bear knowing it herself.
So, she continued to walk. She didn't pay attention to where she was going. She didn't care. What was the use? It was too late.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Joe returned home and threw his keys on the nearest flat surface. He hated nights like this, he really did. And this one was the worst he could think of. Not only did he and Burke's Watcher have to take care of Burke's remains, but there was also the discovery Burke's Watcher made when they checkd out the inside of the school. When he saw it, Joe was sorely tempted to toss the contents of his stomach the way he just tossed his keys. Burke's Watcher, a rookie in the field, actually did.
He caught sight of his waiting laptop computer and sighed heavily. He had a couple more things to do before he vainly attempted sleep. He booted up the computer, accessed the Watcher database, and opened Jonathan's file. Chloe Young had said she would create files for him and Laura. Joe dreaded adding this entry more than anything else he'd had to do.
"Final report on Jonathan Kessler. Jonathan met his end at approximately 7:15 P.M. Mountain Time, 26 October 1995. The victor was David Burke, who soon lost his own head to Jonathan's twin sister Laura."
He sat back for a moment or two. It was not enough, those two simple sentences. Something else needed to be said.
"David Burke's actions are something I'll never understand. What kind of sick bastard murders a child? Jonathan Kessler was an infant, and would have remained so as long as he was alive. More than that, he was the one true innocent among Immortals, the one who could never, ever kill. Burke inflicted enough suffering on him, his sister, and his mother when he took Jonathan's mortal life away from him. The result was a kind of Immortality that no one deserves, a life halted before he could develop to the point where he would be able to walk, talk, and use a weapon in his own defense. Burke saw to it that Jonathan Kessler would never live up to his potenial. At least the son of a bitch got what he deserved in the end. Laura Kessler made sure of that.
"But at what cost?"
Joe read the still-too-brief report over one more time before deciding it would have to suffice. He added it to Jonathan's file and closed out the network. He sat back in his chair for a moment before picking up his cell phone.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Vancouver
Chloe decided to give her Watcher e-mail one last check before heading off to bed. Her boss back east hadn't contacted her yet, though he said he would, and she was more than eager to leave Vancouver. Perhaps, she thought, she should go ahead and schedule her own return flight, rather than wait for the organization to do it for her. It's not like she had anything left to do here.
Nothing from her boss. Oh well. She punched a few keys, typing a quick message to him to let him know that she was available for a new assignment.
Her cell phone chirped just as she finished her post. "Hello?" she said into the receiver the second she had it to her mouth.
"Chloe Young? It's Joe Dawson again."
"Oh." She turned off her laptop and snapped the lid shut. "I was just about to head off for bed. What can I do for you?"
"I thought you should know. Burke's dead."
"What?" Chloe nearly dropped her phone. She sent up a prayer that Dawson wouldn't take too much note of her reaction to his news..
"Burke's dead," Dawson repeated. "Kessler took his head."
"You mean Laura Kessler, right?" Obviously, Chloe reminded herself before Dawson felt the need to. No baby could ever be strong enough to lift a sword, let alone cut off someone's head. "But I thought . . ."
"That she didn't know she was Immortal?" She heard Dawson sigh. "Burke brought it on himself, practically demanded that she take his head. So she did."
"What about the brother?"
A pregnant pause on the other end of the line. "Burke got to him first. I took care of the final report."
"I see. Thanks for letting me know."
After a perfunctory goodbye, she ended the call. Her mind was already on what she needed to do the next morning. The first thing on her list was to check the database for what Dawson had entered. The second was to add her own thoughts on the state of Burke's mind into his file. Not that she would ever have condoned what Burke did, or done it herself if she were in his shoes, but she understood well his reasons for doing it. He felt betrayed by the woman he loved. And Chloe could relate to that kind of betrayal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Seacouver
Five-thirty in the morning. Dawn would be coming soon. Still, no sign of Laura. Duncan hoped she would come back. Part of him actually expected her to. Her things were still here, after all. Besides, she had nowhere else to go.
He had drained the coffee pot hours ago, washed it, and put it away. He also brought Laura's bags up from the dojo office, where he and Methos had secured them the day before, and returned her saber - Duncan had been the one to collect that from the playground - to its spot in her suitcase. Methos, on the other hand, still sat on the couch, his coffee untouched before him. Duncan didn't have the heart to take it away, even thought the beverage had long since cooled. How could he? It was the one object which Methos had finally acknowledged. Some time after two, he caught Methos gazing at it as if it were the center of his universe. Duncan acknowledged it would be a waste of time to try and shake Methos out of his stupor.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
As the night wore on, the streets had begun to slowly empty until the few people who were still out and about in the wee hours of the morning had themselves drifted off, seeking the shelter of their own homes, and she was left alone. Not that Laura had noticed the gradual thinning of the streets, or how the starless sky was just starting to lose its darkness. She merely continued to walk, unseeing, up and down whatever hard surface found itself beneath her shoes.
Her eyes began to blur, and she blinked hard to ward the blurriness away. She came to a deserted street corner, where she leaned against a dilapidated brick warehouse. The bluriness chose that moment to come back, and she closed her eyes even harder against it. When she opened them again, they focused themselves on the signs posted on a nearby telephone pole. The top one was a notice put up by someone looking for a lost dog, the second an advertisement for the play Othello. The third one, a bright pink rectangle that jumped out from the steely gray of the impending dawn, seized Laura's attention with its simple, two-word message, hand written in bold, black letters:
Find God.
Laura blinked her eyes again - why wouldn't that blurring go away? - and raised them heavenward. All she saw were the clouds rolling over the ever-lightening sky.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duncan had dozed off in the leather chair. When he awoke, it was with the pain of a cramped neck. He sat up, rubbed the sleep out of his eyes, and gave his head a vigorous shake to clear the rest of the sleepiness from his mind. With one hand, he tried to massage the cramp from his neck as his eyes registered the sight of Methos packing, stuffing everything he had into the black duffel bag he brought with him.
"I know what you're going to say," Methos stated, without bothering to turn around. "You're going to try to convince me that helping them out was not a big mistake."
Duncan let his hand fall to the arm of the chair. "It wasn't."
"For you, maybe. For me, let's just say that I should've left when I had the chance."
Duncan got to his feet and headed toward the window. A dismal gray haze was beginning to light up the skyline.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
The gray surrounded her. She felt the intense weight of it as it pressed down on her. Such would be her lot now, she supposed, to go through life with nothing but colorlessness. Colorlessness and emptiness. There was nothing left for her anymore.
It was a waste, all of it.
She found herself on some bridge. This must be the one the hotel clerk told her about, the one where they found that headless body three years ago. The monster who committed that murder, though, had yet to be brought to justice, according to the clerk. At the time, Laura believed the story a bizarre local legend, or, at the very least, some twisted tall tale the girl told anyone who looked gullible enough to fall for it. Yeah, right. Some legend.
She stopped about midpoint and leaned over the railing. How nice it might be, if she only leaned out a little farther. The water wouldn't be cold for very long . . .
A vision flashed before her eyes: instead of the water, she saw below her a rock-filled ravine. Laura squeezed her eyes tight, and when she opened them again, the illusion was gone. But the memory of it stayed with her. The ravine looked so familiar. Where did it come from?
Laura pulled her wallet from her jacket pocket and took out of it a wallet-sized photograph. It was of her, Jonathan, and her mother and father. Dad had insisted that a family portrait be taken every year. He even put the photos in a journal he kept, one which he never allowed anyone else to read. He gave the journal to Laura right before the accident. He said it would help her understand. Understand what, she never asked. The journal was still in her suitcase. The suitcase she left at MacLeod's loft.
She stared at the photo for some time, then flung it out on the water below.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Duncan and Methos stood, uneasily silent, in the elevator. Duncan wanted to say something, anything, that would persuade Methos that the Kesslers were not a total loss, but no words came to him. The elevator stopped when it reached the dojo, and Duncan opened the door, allowing Methos, duffel bag in hand, to step off. He followed suit, and allowed the door to fall shut behind him.
"You don't need to leave," Duncan told him.
"I have to get out of town for a while," responded Methos. "What if she decides I'm to blame for what happened?"
"You had no control over that."
"Didn't I?" Methos countered derisively. "I could have trusted her, could have done something to stop Burke from . . ."
Methos' voice trailed off as his eye fell on something lying under a weight bench. He dropped his duffel bag, stooped over, and picked the object up. He remained squatting there, studying Jonathan's rattle as if it were the rarest artifact.
"It must have fallen out of the diaper bag yesterday," Duncan offered.
"Its been said that a baby can turn any sane man into a babbling idiot." Methos' eyes never left the rattle. "And look at what one who is . . . was . . . Immortal has done."
Duncan couldn't ignore the faraway, wistful tone of the older man's voice. "You'll learn to come to terms with Jonathan's death. We all will."
"I'm not thinking of that." Methos was clearly lying, even if only to save face. "It's just a colossal waste. Do you realize what we could have learned from him?"
"We still can. Through Laura."
Methos slowly stood up until his eyes met MacLeod's. "If you don't mind," he remarked flatly, "I'd rather not be around for the lesson."
"You can't run away, Methos. You'll have to face her sooner or later, whether she wants your head or not."
"MacLeod, I have enough demons to face without taking on another one."
"Too late," Duncan announced as they felt the approach of another Immortal. "You've got no choice now."
Methos hastily shoved the rattle into his coat pocket just as Laura appeared in the doorway, her jacket draped over her tightly crossed arms. Her ashen pallor and blank stare perfectly matched the overcast sky outside.
She stood in the doorway for a second or two, then started to cross the floor, each step slow and ponderous, as if she dreaded taking them. Her gaze took on a searching quality as she came nearer. About half the distance away, she stopped. Duncan saw her eyes flick from Methos to him and back again. She desperately wanted to ask how and why her life had suddenly been turned upside-down, but she didn't speak. She didn't even open her mouth to try and frame the words. She let her expression speak for her.
Laura and Methos stared at each other for a long moment. What is this, Duncan wondered, a bizarre sort of staring contest? If so, then Methos came away the loser. He let his eyes drop to the floor as he turned his head away.
Methos didn't see the stricken look that briefly flashed across Laura's face. "Come one, Laura," Duncan said, walking up to her and holding out his hand. "We have a lot to talk about."
