Chapter Twenty-nine
Methos, Cassandra and Duncan staggered away from the burning building. Although their wounds had healed, they looked a mess. Soot smudged their hands and faces, their clothes were tattered and burned in places, and Duncan looked as though he had just escaped a slaughterhouse, which wasn't that far from the truth. Cassandra's upraised hand halted the disorderly procession across the parking lot.
"What?" questioned Methos tiredly. "What else could possibly go wrong today?" In response, Cassandra pointed silently to a pale hand and arm lying on the pavement at the rear of the Horsemen's Hummer.
When the three compatriots rounded the vehicle, they found the body of Smith, Kronos' mortal associate, his throat slit. "Well," sighed Methos, "guess this explains where Kronos disappeared to." At Cassandra's questioning look, he continued. "When we all entered Laserocity, Kronos ducked out, then came right back. I thought he might be up to something. This," he gestured to the corpse, "must have been that something."
"He was following you." Cassandra's voice was low as she spoke the words.
"What?" Methos and Duncan chorused together.
"He was following you," Cassandra repeated, gesturing to Methos with her hand. "I recognized him when we entered Laserocity. I realized he was Kronos' ace-in-the-hole."
Methos clearly was putting two and two together and had no need to ask how she had come to know he was being followed.
"And you neglected to tell me this because …?" Although Methos' words were said calmly, the look in his eyes belied that calm. Cassandra fell back a step at the ferocity of his glare.
"Methos!" Duncan stepped between the others. "It was too late then, and it's too late now. Let it go."
Dragging breath into his lungs, Methos mentally chanted a mantra. One part of him observed that those mantras had been lost to him in his quest to defeat Kronos. That same part rejoiced silently at the returning calm they represented. "You're right, of course. We have other things to worry about now."
Methos moved to grab the corpse under the arms. "Come on, MacLeod, gimme a hand here," he called out. "We don't have much time before the fire department shows up. Grab his legs so we can put him in the building."
"Damn it Methos! You can't just throw the guy in there to burn. And shouldn't we do something about stopping the fire?" Duncan's sense of outrage and responsibility sounded in his voice, but were tinged with confusion.
"What would you like to do, MacLeod? Wait here for the authorities and try to explain four corpses, three of them beheaded, and yourself covered in blood? 'No, really officer, I had nothing to do with it.'" Methos' tone redefined droll. "And as for the fire, I'm sure they have insurance."
Fists clenching, Duncan ground his teeth together to still his impulse to yell at Methos. "Of course they have insurance. That's not the point. The point is –"
"Duncan, this is for the best," Cassandra interjected gently, "and you know that."
Shaking his head at his own objections, Duncan grabbed the other end of the body and helped Methos quickly place it in the rapidly burning building. Having been party to many a disposal after a Quickening, Duncan marvelled at his concerns. Perhaps they were the result of the feelings his savagery had raised.
Rejoining Cassandra, Methos once again took charge. "Right, we have to get this thing out of here." He gestured toward the Hummer. "Don't want to leave any clues. I'm sure Caspian's prints are on record somewhere." As most of his conversation seemed directed toward himself, neither Cassandra nor Duncan bothered to interrupt. "Now if I know Kronos, he probably left the keys … here they are." Holding the keys aloft triumphantly, Methos turned and tossed them to his companions.
"MacLeod," he directed, "you and Cassandra take the Hummer. Dispose of it somewhere then go back to the loft."
"Wait," Duncan said urgently. "Why don't you and I take the Jimmy and Cassandra can take the Hummer? I—"
"There's no way you're getting into my truck looking like that." Methos' tone spoke volumes, as his eyes travelled Duncan's blood encrusted form. It also covered the fact that he was doing his best to avoid any deep, meaningful discussions about the double Quickening and the other events of the day.
"Okay, she'll take the Hummer." Duncan lowered his voice as much as he could and still be heard over the fire. "I'd really like a chance to talk."
"Sure, MacLeod, later. But let's clean up after ourselves first." Methos turned away and hurried toward the Jimmy, ignoring Duncan's attempt to maintain eye contact.
Cassandra laid a hand on Duncan's arm to forestall his outburst. "We really don't have time for this. Duncan, let's go." The sound of sirens in the distance reinforced her point.
Duncan nodded silently, watching his … friend? … moved across the parking lot.
"I'll be in touch," Methos called as he sprinted the last few yards to the Jimmy, leaping in as if the Hounds of Hell were at his heels.
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Duncan and Cassandra climbed into the Hummer, pulling out mere moments before the first fire trucks arrived on the scene. They headed toward the docks where Duncan hoped to leave the Hummer to be stripped for parts. Neither seemed anxious to break the silence that filled the space between them.
Duncan shifted in the driver's seat, clearly uncomfortable in his clothes. Cassandra saw him touch his shirt as though to scratch himself, only to yank his hand away upon feeling the heavily caked blood. His expression revealed his residual feelings of guilt.
She was glad to see this, for two reasons: one, it meant that he was still Duncan enough to be ashamed of his descent into butchery with Silas; and two, she saw no trace of an overload of guilt in the expression. Whatever had happened to him between the killing of Silas and the end of the Quickening, Duncan had somehow emerged able to cope with his shame.
And somehow, she had emerged able to cope with the memory of watching his frenzied hatchet job. The bond of shared trauma could truly work miracles in some cases.
They passed a few more blocks in silence, while Cassandra tried to formulate what she wanted to tell him. "When this began," she finally began, startling Duncan slightly, "all I could think of as a satisfactory ending was to see Methos lying crumpled, bloody, and headless. No matter what else happened, that and nothing else would gratify me."
Silence filled the Hummer again, until Duncan took the bait. "And now?"
She paused again, trying to put into words the rather confusing feeling of peace she now had. "Now… my needs seem to have changed. Along with my perceptions."
Duncan's hands tensed on the wheel at that, and she realized that he was not sure whether she meant her perceptions of Methos or of him.
"None of us is as simple or as complex as we'd like to believe, Duncan."
He gave her a look laced with distracted irony. "Are you writing fortune cookie messages now?"
Ignoring that, she pressed on. "When we try to understand why we've done a violent thing, the simplest explanation is usually correct, even if it's unpleasant. It's tempting to try to build an elaborate chain of logic to explain it, but most of us act violently on instinct or in the heat of strong emotions, nothing more. We like to think we're above that, but no one is. Everyone loses control sometime."
He said nothing, not looking away from the road.
"None of us escaped this contest without surrendering something."
Despite his continuing tension, his face betrayed surprise. "Surrendering?" He seemed to think she'd misspoken, but she only nodded.
"We surrendered our own perceptions. Of each other, of our relationships to one another… of ourselves, our own boundaries. I was forced to look some things in the face today. I didn't like everything I saw, but… I also can't say I'm sorry it happened."
Cassandra surprised even herself by saying that. Until that moment, she hadn't noticed that she no longer felt resentment toward Methos for propelling them all into the maelstrom that the contest had become. She was, in fact, rather amazed to note a distinct sense of closure. A sense, almost, of having been… healed.
Suddenly, she no longer felt like talking. Duncan continued to glance at her periodically, clearly expecting more pearls of wisdom – or at least an explanation of her last statement – but Cassandra simply stared out her window, exploring her inner landscape as the exterior landscape passed silently, unseen.