The Other Confession (1/1), by William D. Johnson
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(Disclaimer: Guess what? Just like everyone else here, I don't own Highlander either! I don't own Land Rover{TM}. Neither do I own an 8-track tape player or a record player.
Comments are always hugely appreciated. Baskets of virtual nachos are highly prized.)
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Pinned against the driver's door of the Land Rover by the Scot's powerful forearm, Methos had never seen such anger in MacLeod's eyes.
"I'm outta here," Methos announced as he moved to free himself.
The effort was futile. Duncan was unmovable, his stance giving the impression that he would remain in that spot for eternity if necessary.
"No you're not," Duncan replied in a steely voice. "You're not outta here. Is what she said true?"
"Hu---," Methos paused, and took a deep breath. "T--" he sighed, trying once more to find the words. "The times were different, MacLeod. I was different. The whole bloody world was different. Okay?"
"Did you cut all those....?" MacLeod trailed off, unable to finish the horrible sentence.
"Yes," replied Methos in a no-nonsense voice. "Is that what you want to hear? It was all I knew. Is that what you want to hear?"
MacLeod relaxed his grip on Methos. "It's enough," he replied as he turned to leave.
Methos swiftly grabbed MacLeod and spun them both, swiftly pinning the Scot up against the Land Rover.
"No," said Methos. "It's not enough. I made records. I did shows."
An evil gleam entered his eyes as he continued.
"But I didn't just sell fifty thousand. And I didn't sell a million. I sold TEN MILLION," he said, roaring the final number.
"And I was good at it. And it wasn't for girls. And it wasn't for beer. It was because," Methos giggled, "I liked it."
He paused for a moment, savoring the look on MacLeod's face. He'd kept this buried inside himself for far too long.
"Marie was nothing," he continued. "The rest of them were nothing," he spat.
MacLeod stood transfixed, too shocked to even attempt to free himself from Methos' grip.
"Do you know who I was?" asked Methos. "I was Donny."
Methos burst into maniacal laughter as he saw the truly horrified look on MacLeod's face.
"Donny. Donny of the Osmonds," he said. "When mothers told their children they were getting a record or an 8-track tape for Christmas, it was of me! I was wholesome! I was the nightmare that kept them awake at night."
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?" Methos roared. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
"The answer is yes," said the world's oldest Immortal. "Oh, yes......"
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(Disclaimer: Guess what? Just like everyone else here, I don't own Highlander either! I don't own Land Rover{TM}. Neither do I own an 8-track tape player or a record player.
Comments are always hugely appreciated. Baskets of virtual nachos are highly prized.)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pinned against the driver's door of the Land Rover by the Scot's powerful forearm, Methos had never seen such anger in MacLeod's eyes.
"I'm outta here," Methos announced as he moved to free himself.
The effort was futile. Duncan was unmovable, his stance giving the impression that he would remain in that spot for eternity if necessary.
"No you're not," Duncan replied in a steely voice. "You're not outta here. Is what she said true?"
"Hu---," Methos paused, and took a deep breath. "T--" he sighed, trying once more to find the words. "The times were different, MacLeod. I was different. The whole bloody world was different. Okay?"
"Did you cut all those....?" MacLeod trailed off, unable to finish the horrible sentence.
"Yes," replied Methos in a no-nonsense voice. "Is that what you want to hear? It was all I knew. Is that what you want to hear?"
MacLeod relaxed his grip on Methos. "It's enough," he replied as he turned to leave.
Methos swiftly grabbed MacLeod and spun them both, swiftly pinning the Scot up against the Land Rover.
"No," said Methos. "It's not enough. I made records. I did shows."
An evil gleam entered his eyes as he continued.
"But I didn't just sell fifty thousand. And I didn't sell a million. I sold TEN MILLION," he said, roaring the final number.
"And I was good at it. And it wasn't for girls. And it wasn't for beer. It was because," Methos giggled, "I liked it."
He paused for a moment, savoring the look on MacLeod's face. He'd kept this buried inside himself for far too long.
"Marie was nothing," he continued. "The rest of them were nothing," he spat.
MacLeod stood transfixed, too shocked to even attempt to free himself from Methos' grip.
"Do you know who I was?" asked Methos. "I was Donny."
Methos burst into maniacal laughter as he saw the truly horrified look on MacLeod's face.
"Donny. Donny of the Osmonds," he said. "When mothers told their children they were getting a record or an 8-track tape for Christmas, it was of me! I was wholesome! I was the nightmare that kept them awake at night."
"IS THAT WHAT YOU WANT TO HEAR?" Methos roared. He paused for a moment and took a deep breath.
"The answer is yes," said the world's oldest Immortal. "Oh, yes......"