July 30th, 11:00 PM, Rome: Italy
The man in the chair struggled fiercely, but the ropes that bound him were far too tight. His captor had known what she was doing when she acquired them. He wasn't sure why she had taken him, but he had heard rumours recently through the immortal network that gave him some clue.
A girl…stronger than was natural for any living human had been on the warpath, kidnapping and torturing immortals for information. She never took their heads, always killing them and leaving them to awaken on some random street.
Still, James Randall had been tortured before within his three hundred and fifty year lifespan and he did not relish the prospect of having it happen again, even if it was true that the girl would not go for the kill.
She was entering the room now, and he was surprised to see that she was incredibly young. Twenty-one at the most and yet, there was a hardened determination in her eyes that told him she meant business. Whatever she was after, she would not stop until she got it.
"James Randall," she said with a slight nod of her head. She was holding his sword in her hand, twirling it and gazing at the blade in what looked to be a mixture of admiration and contempt.
"I am," he replied, not bothering to hide his struggles against the rope. "You'll forgive me for not offering to shake your hand, but I'm a bit tied up at the moment."
"Humour will not save you Mr. Randall." She said calmly. "Only the right answers will."
"Well before we begin my 'exam', will you do me the simple courtesy of telling me your name?"
"You're in no position to make demands," she answered simply. There was no trace of anger or hate on her face. In fact, she was extraordinarily calm and detached…methodical even which made him nervous. She was beautiful as well, which was also unnerving. It was odd, but he always expected the ugliness of the soul to extend to the body as well. Beautiful women never did strike him as killers. Those were always particularly difficult challenges for him.
"You're right." He answered her, realizing that co-operating was his best bet. She was either insane, or very determined for reasons unknown to him. Both were dangerous, especially from his point of view. "Can't really do much. You've got me dead to rights. But I'm hardly asking much, am I?"
"Isabel De Luca," she said flatly. "But that's all you get from me, understand? Now we do this my way."
She was speaking English, he suspected for his benefit. He was on vacation in Rome, his home and heritage being in London England. Her English was impeccable, so he knew that she had been taught likely in a private setting. He was very curious and wanted to ask more, but knew that would not go over well. She had given him all the information she had intended to.
He watched as she picked up his sword and sat down in front of him, puzzling it seemed as to where to begin.
"Do we really have to do this?" He asked finally. "I doubt that whatever you want to know is within the realm of extreme secrecy."
"We have to do this because I have not had any luck by being polite." She replied matter-of-factly. "Now, tell me what you know about the immortal Methos."
"Methos?" He couldn't have sounded more surprised if he had tried. He gave a small laugh and would have spread his hands and shrugged were it not for the ropes that bound him. "Methos is a myth my dear. A legend. He doesn't exist."
She sighed heavily and before he could react, lashed out with the butt of his sword and hit him square in the face, harder than he had ever been hit by a human being before. His head snapped back and he felt the crack that signaled the breaking of his jaw. Pain shot through him and he gave a small grunt of surprise.
"I was hoping you would be more co-operative than the others." She said calmly as she wiped the spot of blood of the hilt of his sword. He couldn't respond right away due to his jaw, but thanks to his immortality it had healed moment's later.
"Believe me, after that right hook, I can assure you that I am not being un co-operative." He replied wryly. "But I don't know what I could possibly tell you about a man that doesn't exist."
"Oh but he does," she hissed. "And I wish your kind would stop protecting him. Surely somebody has got to know where to find him."
"I don't know what you've been told about us child, but protecting one another is not something immortals tend to do." He said with an ironic smile. "I can assure you if I knew of his whereabouts, I would tell you. I have no desire for this little…game to continue."
"We'll see about that." She said quietly. "Now, let me ask you again and believe me when I say that I am only getting warmed up. Where is Methos?"
He groaned aloud as his failure to respond a second time to the question caused her to lash out once more resulting in a painful blow to the eye. He couldn't answer a question he didn't have the answer to, and he feared that that simple failing would make it a very, very long night.
Isabel didn't want to torture this man. She hadn't wanted to torture any of them. It was simple necessity that drove her this far.
She had tried questioning them politely, but all of the immortals she had approached had been unresponsive-some downright hostile. They had all claimed that Methos the world's oldest immortal didn't exist, that he was a myth, but she knew that to be false. He existed and he had killed the only two people that had ever meant a damn to her. For that he would pay and if she had to torture a hundred immortals to find him, she would.
She didn't enjoy it. Far from it. And there was a very real chance that this man, James Randall did not know where to find Methos. If that were true, then she felt genuinely regretful for having to hurt him this way. However, there was also a very real chance that he was a liar. So many of them were.
They dealt in death on a regular basis and even if he didn't know where to locate Methos, there was a good chance that this man had killed…maybe innocent people. There was no such thing as a bloodless immortal and she used that justification to do what she had to do in the name of her quest. She would avenge her parents for their deaths.
The torture of James Randall itself lasted a good twelve hours. Afterwards, she was forced to accept that he did not indeed know the location of Methos. No man would be that willing to keep the secret of another immortal's whereabouts for that long and through that much pain. She would have to let him go. She couldn't take his head though. For one thing, she was not a killer. Not yet. That event was reserved for Methos and no one else. For another, she could not take the quickening. She had strength beyond what was explainable, but she was still human. Humans could not handle the power of the quickening. Her parents had taught her that, among other things.
She accepted that when she took Methos' quickening she would likely die. It was an event she did not anticipate, but one she was not afraid of. She would be with her parents when she did so, and their souls would be at rest. That was the most important thing. Her life was secondary.
Looking down to the immortal in front of her, she put those thoughts out of her mind for the moment and concentrated on the matter at hand.
She would have to do what she did with the others.
Kneeling down in front of the man, she brushed a lock of sweat soaked hair away from his blood stained face. The wounds had healed already, but the blood remained as evidence of her power and her fury.
"I'm going to run your sword through your chest, and after you die I am going to let you go a few miles west of hear."
"Why tell me this?" He asked, his voice a rasp.
"Because I wish to deliver this warning. Do not attempt to find this place, or to get revenge on me for what has happened here. I am far stronger and far more skilled than you are. You have seen only a small taste of what I can do to you here. I will not hesitate to do more." She was bluffing, but had gotten so good at it that he believed her. He believed she would kill him if she had to. Good.
"What would you have me do?" He asked carefully.
"Leave here." She instructed. "Leave Rome and go back to England. I am assuming by your accent that that is where you are from. If I see you again in this city I will not hesitate to take your head, do you understand me?"
"What are you?" He was unable to keep himself from asking the question. She was far too intriguing and it over-rode his fear for the time being. It also resulted in a harsh blow to the face and a blaze of fury that washed over her normally cool face.
"Never ask me that, do you hear me?" Her voice was an angry hiss, but her body vibrated with emotion. "I am a human being, not a monster like you. Leave here and you won't have to find out what I could do to you if I chose."
"I'll go." He told her calmly. "But what of my sword?"
"It will be on your person when I deliver you out of here." She replied, allowing the anger to deflate. "I would not leave anybody defenseless to die. Not even an immortal."
And with that, she slid his sword into his chest with hardly any ceremony or expression and proceeded to untie him, preparing to dump his body in the same place that she had dumped all the others. Another immortal, another dead end. It didn't matter. She would find Methos. She had to.