Teaser

There was almost silence in the grief filled building. The only sound that filled Methos' ears was Joe's quiet outlet for his sorrow. To see a Watcher cry for an Immortal was a humbling thing, and the oldest remaining member of that peculiar race, stared at his mortal friend in empty shock. A moment ago he had been angry, he had wanted to blame Duncan for his actions, but things were happening here that could not be calmed with such rationality. All his rage had left him and he moved his gaze to what remained of Richie Ryan. The Highlander himself was disappearing into the fog, and Methos could barely even feel his presence anymore.

He thought maybe he would let his grief out: not the grief for another dead Immortal, but the grief over what it must be doing to his friend. MacLeod was important, and Richie had been an important part of the man's life. This death may have ended more than one existence.

Slowly the ancient man bent down and picked up the discarded katana, and looked towards his friend's retreating back. He wouldn't leave Joe, but he was worried about the grief-filled wreck that Duncan had so quickly become. He'd seen what had happened to his friend after he had killed Sean Burns - this was in an entirely different league.

Joe's tears had dried quickly, his sorrow taking him beyond them. Methos chilled as his companion stood away, and he met the eyes of a Watcher.

"I'll make arrangements," was all the silver haired man said, and then he began to walk away.

The figure stood immobile, concealed by the heavy fog, separated and helpless. He caught snatches of the events which unfolded through the intangible, but torturous mist. He wanted, needed to scream, to make contact, to show them the lie, but Richard Ryan could not move.

He'd touched a creature from nightmares and now it controlled him, held him prisoner and used his image on another to destroy his friends. It whispered in his mind, taunting, commenting on the anguish it orchestrated just out of his reach, describing the pain it caused. There was laughter in his mind, amusement at his ensnared rage, as it entertained him with the deception which played out through the ethereal barrier.

He'd watched the Quickening, seen snatches of the grief in the Highlander, and he'd fought the monster that pumped the life blood through his veins. Yet he'd still been a silent, secret observer as his two other comrades had arrived. The young man had seen the tears begin and felt a similar anguish, one directed at the needlessness of it all. Then he'd grabbed on to his anger, his emotions burning in the face of the gloating control, defiant on at least that level.

Ryan's external demeanour was deceptively calm, the thing inside him was even controlling his breathing with its sickening influence. One brush of a body had brought him to this, a moment's collision with a misleadingly ordinary mortal. How could something do this to him? This wasn't possible, yet still he stood statuesque as he heard MacLeod's heavy footsteps die away. It held him so close to the others, Methos and Joe were but a call from him. That was the attraction for this being - it enjoyed his reaction, revelling in the frustrated, angry puppet it held by invisible strings. It manipulated lives, channelling it's own hatred through them. This demon was intent on the destruction of Duncan MacLeod and everything he held dear.