Highlander: the series "Torn"

the first two segments are dreams :)

Chapter 9

…Applause burst throughout the music hall as every able person stood in excited cheer. With a mixture of delight and confusion, Emily joined the crowd in show of appreciation. She glanced overhead to see a giant, glittering chandelier lighted with faux candles upon what appeared to be five tiers. The ceiling and walls were covered in scarlet red velvet and laced with gold tinsel of meticulous Victorian designs. She was standing in a high viewing box, left of the room's large performance stage and she wasn't alone. She felt a gentle hand on her right elbow and warm lips whisper close to her ear, "I need you…"

Emily's body responded, without hesitation, to the deep seductive voice that seemed so familiar. She turned her body toward the powerfully masculine presence behind her. The viewer box in which they occupied was completely vacant and private. Emily felt a rush of warmth flow throughout her midsection and unable to control her own movements, she closed her eyes and burrowed her face within the soft folds of her date's Tuxedo jacket.

"No," she thought consciously. "This man is much more than just a date. He's my lifeline, my friend, my lover… my husband?" She felt as if she had known him all her life. His smell of light citrus, wild juniper, and white cardamom intoxicated and excited her. Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him as her knees weakened. One strong arm encircled her as the other reached past her and pulled the Viewer Box's velvety red privacy curtain closed. Even with her eyes closed, Emily knew her surroundings and was aware that no one would interrupt them as long as the door remained shut. She felt no fear, only profound love and security.

Warm soft lips trailed along her bare neck while firm gentle hands caressed her lower back. The thin silk fabric of her emerald gown created a warm friction against her small breasts, as she pressed closer to the extraordinarily muscular man…

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… Emily's vision blurred and became unsteady. She froze in her movements and listened intently. Her surroundings had changed as well. Burning torches lined cold; dark stonewalls on either side of her. Fear gripped her heart and began to squeeze. "Where am I?" was all she could think. The deep lusty voice she had been listening to had changed. She heard whistling and the sharp sound of metal chains hitting against thick stone.

"Heeere Kaaatie gurl," came a false beckoning from the direction in front of her. Fear took hold of her senses and the only thing she wanted to do was run. She turned quickly, looking for a means of escape. "You can't leave the town. There is nowhere for you to go. Come back, I promise that you won't have to do those things again. I will make you head girl and you make the rules."

"Liar," the word screamed in her head. "Why is he calling me Kate?" she wondered as she tried to run. Her legs were sluggish and she felt as if she were moving through thick mud to her knees. "Oh, God. Why can't I move?" Trying with all her might to reach the light coming from a doorway at the end of the alley, her head suddenly jerked backward painfully. Hot, rancid breath assaulted her nostrils as a large burly man pressed his mouth to her ear and her snarled, "I'll teach you good. You won't ever run from me again when I'm through with ya."

Emily fell to the stone alleyway with the weight of the dirty, smelly man on top of her. He pushed her frayed skirt up from behind and held her down with the weight of his own body. Emily could feel the back of his hand against her uncovered buttocks as he reached between them, unfastening his trousers. Emily struggled to the point of exhaustion.

"Keep movin' just like that gurl. That's how I like it," his laughter echoed down the alley and bounced back from the cold cobblestones. Tears flowed from her eyes as she felt his fat fingers curl around her long, scraggily hair pulling her head back so that she could see into his cruel black eyes. His wide grin showed yellowed crooked teeth. His grunts, as he pushed into her backside, nauseated her and she screamed as the cruel pain from the assault matched the pain in her scalp…

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Methos sat with his elbows on each armrest, head back against the seat, and stared up at the blinking sign, 'Fasten Seat Belt'. He and Emily had left JFK International four hours ago and they still had eight more hours on the plane. The magazines and books that Emily had purchased for them to read on the flight held no interest for Methos. He wished he could pass the time in the manner Emily did: asleep. She had not stirred in two hours and Methos was beginning to feel envious. He never truly enjoyed flying, even though he would not die in a crash. He wasn't comfortable cooped up in one place for so long and unable to move about freely.

He shifted slightly in his uncomfortable seat and watched as a tall red headed flight attendant slowly made her way through the isle with a drink cart. He glanced over at Emily; contemplating whether to wake her or allow her some much needed sleep. In amusement, he shook his head and mumbled, "You fought for the window seat and you haven't lifted the visor once." He continued to study her profile, as she slept, and noticed her right eye twitched slightly. He guessed that she must be in the midst of her REM cycle. "She'll probably wake within the next half hour," he thought to himself.

The attractive flight attendant smiled as she looked into Methos' mischievous hazel eyes and boyish face, "Sir, would you care for a beverage?"

Methos smiled innocently, "Two bottles of water, please." Methos read her name badge, positioned above her curvy left breast. "Thank you, Jeanne," he replied with a smile.

"You're very welcome, Mr. Pierson." The luxury of first class flying was the top quality service and the attendants knew each person's name. Jeanne's warm brown eyes lingered upon Methos long enough to acknowledge that she believed him to be unmarried to the young woman sleeping beside him. Her hungry look announced that she was interested in him and open to any suggestion of companionship.

Under any other circumstance, he would have been happy to oblige her advances. With his current situation as babysitter, he had no opportunity for fun and saw Jeanne turn toward the next passenger on her route. As he sat quietly sipping his water and pondering what the next few weeks could have in store for him, Emily jerked awake, gripping both armrests tightly. With interest, Methos studied her pale face; her sweat drenched brow and frightened eyes. He softly commented, "I'm guessing that was not a pleasure filled dream?" He held the second bottle of water close to her right hand.

Emily inhaled slowly and looked into Methos' eyes with an apologetic half-smile. She released the armrest and reached for the water gratefully. "Thank you," she hoarsely whispered.

Methos fully understood the sight, sound, and smell of a nightmarish dream. He'd lived through thousands of nightmares, many of which he wished he could forget. Unfortunately, his hand had caused hundreds of those nightmares. The violent life of an Immortal could provoke insanity to take over anyone with open arms.

Methos leaned closer to Emily and lowered his voice, "I imagine you must be reliving some of Kate's memories. It happens sometimes, especially if the soul is still awake." He looked deeply into Emily's horror filled eyes, but saw nothing. "If you want to talk about it or have any questions, I'm here." He sympathetically smiled and watched as tears began to fill Emily's pale green eyes. She turned away, lifted the window shade, and remained silent. All she saw was the outline of the plane's wing and blinking lights against the night's black sky. Her watery gaze shifted to her watch, they wouldn't arrive in London for another four and a half hours.

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Joe Dawson looked over the final paragraph of the report handed in only thirty minutes earlier. It was only one of the unpleasant few that he had received within the past six days. There seemed to be a renegade Immortal on the warpath. The report Joe held in his hand contained information on the "where", "why", "how", and "by whom" the Immortal had been beheaded. The material would be added to highly confidential computer files that Joe kept on his laptop. Joe sighed and placed the file inside his briefcase, swapping it for the file on Kate MacLeod, then snapped the briefcase closed. He sat down in his black leather desk chair and switched on the laptop.

The small office's florescent lights overhead buzzed softly and flickered slightly in an attempt to finally blow the filament and need replacements. As Joe typed his pass codes and gained access to the classified records, his T-Mobile began to ring. He pushed the speaker phone button and continued to type on the laptop.

"Dawson," he announced.

A nervous voice came over the line and caused Joe's fingers to cease motion, "Mr. Dawson, this is Karen Lopez. I'm assigned to Thomas Stewart. We've lost another one, Stewart is dead."

Joe disabled the speaker and held the phone to his ear, "Did you get a look at the other Immortal?" He listened to the short description and muttered, "Shit. Okay, come in and make your report."

Joe saved his file and closed down the information on Kate. After a moment's hesitation, Joe accessed the 'Missing In Action' log. He scrolled through picture after picture until he came upon the image of an Immortal that had managed to remain hidden for five and a half years.

Joe studied the photo of an amazingly strong Immortal who had hunted down and murdered Duncan's long time mystical friend, Cassandra.

"This is not good," he mumbled as he reached for his phone/pocket PC and began typing out a text message.