Redemption, Chapter Five
morga...@my-deja.com
by Beck McLaughlin
Methos, Duncan and Cassandra are the property of someone else, alas, and
no copyright infringement is intended. Everything else is mine.
Comments, criticisms and flames can be sent to bec...@umich.edu.
CHAPTER FIVE
October turned into November and there was still no sign of Methos. A
discreet call to his landlord revealed that the ancient was in imminent
danger of being evicted for nonpayment of his rent. MacLeod paid it and
worried.
Joe asked around, but no Watcher had filed a report of an unidentified
kill. MacLeod suspected he was worrying for nothing. Long life had
clearly taught Methos tricks no other Immortal possessed, and his
history was rife with unexplained disappearances. But in the last few
years, Methos had seemed increasingly content to be part of Duncan's
circle of friends. The Highlander had watched the prickly, sarcastic,
old man turn, however reluctantly, into someone almost likeable.
Finally, deciding to risk Methos' ire, he broke into his friend's
apartment, a reluctant Joe in tow.
The oldest Immortal lived in a modern building of glass and copper. His
door was at the end of a hushed, deeply carpeted corridor. There were
no security cameras MacLeod could see. The lock was mechanical; MacLeod
had no trouble with it. Inside, there were cathedral ceilings and tall
windows that let in the afternoon sunlight. The furniture was spare,
colors muted. Joe stopped in front of a metal sculpture, a collection
of rough-edged bars twisted into unusual shapes. Shaking his head, he
looked up. MacLeod grinned and picked up a newspaper lying open on the
couch. Underneath was a leather-bound book, open and face-down on the
cushion. The Highlander brandished the paper's front page at Joe.
"October third."
Methos' bed was a chaotic jumble of rumpled sheets and blankets.
Sweaters and a pair of black jeans lay across the bedspread, and the
closet doors were open. The bathroom was empty, a towel tossed over the
side of the tub. When MacLeod returned to the front room, Joe was
listening to the answering machine. There were two or three hang-up
calls, but other than Duncan's own messages, nothing. Not much of a
social life, it seemed.
"I don't like this, Dawson." MacLeod moved to the windows. Buildings
reared as far as the eye could see. "Everything's here. His journals
-- Methos would never leave his journals."
"If he's decided to take a vacation . . ."
"He'd take at least his current one." MacLeod bent down and picked the
book off the couch. "The last entry is the third."
Guiltily, MacLeod told himself circumstances warranted the intrusion,
and he read the entry. It was nothing but an observation of the weather
and some current events. No mention of anything unusual.
"It's possible he lost a fight."
Duncan set the book back down. " Joe, have you heard of an Immortal
called Vortig?"
"Neilin Vortig, industrialist, lives in Toronto, has a summer house in
the Catskills. That Vortig?"
MacLeod grinned. "What else do you know about him?"
"Nothing. He's not my Immortal. Why?"
"The week Methos vanished, there were two Immortals in town, Vortig and
Cassandra. Cassandra swore to me that she would not Challenge Methos,
but Vortig has no such restraints. And he's old, Joe, easily as old as
Cassandra - maybe older."
"Do you think Methos might be hiding from him?"
"Maybe. Could you get me a copy of Vortig's Watcher file?"
"Sure." Now Joe was worried, too. "What are you going to do?"
"Fly to Paris."
*****
Cassandra was awake to see the dawn, a gradual brightening behind the
thick drapes of the hotel room. Her body ached with weariness, but
memories crowded too thickly and insistently to allow sleep. She knew
from experience that there was nothing to do but let them come. So she
lay on the huge mattress, wrapped in luxury, and kept telling herself it
was over, had been over for centuries.
Methos standing above her, his shadow long and black on the dusty
ground. Methos picking her up and carrying her to the close darkness of
his tent. His hands pulling away her gown, heedless of her struggles
and protests. The sound of the ripping fabric and his breathing, harsh
and urgent. In the silence of her room, Cassandra closed her eyes
tightly.
He had laughed when it was over. "A virgin!" he crowed, and licked away
the blood from her thighs. Even now, the shame and terror of the moment
was enough to make Cassandra curl tightly in the silky sheets.
Goddess! She'd not had a moment's peace since finding him again. In a
gesture that was becoming habit, Cassandra fingered the gold chain
around her wrist -- the chain on which was hung the small, gold key to
Methos' collar.
The phone rang. Starting, she reached blindly for it.
"Mme. Raulin?"
It took a moment to remember Mme. Raulin was herself.
"This is your wake-up call. Is there anything else you need?"
"Coffee," she said. "Please."
Room service came promptly, coffee in a silver service with croissants
on a china saucer. They were still warm, buttery and fragile on her
tongue. For a while, Cassandra focused on the pleasure of a
well-prepared breakfast and the memories receded.
This was foolish. Lingering in Calais was merely prolonging the
torment. The past returned with greater frequency the longer she
avoided facing him. The business with Janet had reminded her of how
dangerous he was in other ways. Cassandra could not blame the foolish
child for succumbing. She had done the same and with far, far less
reason to do so.
And then, of course, there was Vortig.
Goddess, it didn't rain but it poured! She pushed back the covers.
Snatching up her robe, she padded across the rug and threw mullioned
windows wide. The morning chill banished the last of the cobwebs. It
would be a beautiful day, clear and crisp. She could smell the sea.
After several minutes, Cassandra closed the windows.
It was time to go home. If Vortig found her, she would have to fight
him or tell him what he wanted to know. If she fought him, she would
lose. And there was no question of revealing Elwyn's secret.
It was foolishness, putting off the inevitable. She had her duties, and
if, at times, they chafed - - well, she had taken them on with full
knowledge of what they entailed. Picking up the phone, she summoned
the concierge.
**
continued
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