Fic: Sands of Time: Beginnings 1/?
Title: Sands of Time:Beginnings
Rating: PG:13
Spoilers: Highlander: 5.20 "Archangel"
Crossover, AU
Summary: Paris 1997. An ancient evil is stalking Duncan MacLeod, and he must reach out to a former friend for help. Can Bobby Singer help him before tragedy strikes? A rewrite of the Ahriman arc from Highlander seasons five and six. Prequel to "Die Another Day."
A/N: This is all SlvrCld's fault. Until they asked in a review of my other crossover story, "Die Another Day," if Bobby's demon knowledge helped with the Ahriman situation on Highlander I'd never even considered putting him into those episodes. But once that idea got planted it turned into a mutant killer plot bunny (picture the killer rabbit from Money Python and the Holy Grail) that would not let go until I wrote this.
This story also kicks off a series of fics I had been planning that will follow Bobby in his Immortal adventures through time. Some will be pre-series for SPN, some will be showing what he was doing off camera during an episode, and (apparently) some will insert him into an episode of Highlander.
My thanks to dnachemlia for the beta.
Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.
Sands of Time: Paris 1997
Part I: Beginnings
oooOOOoooSioux Falls, South Dakota May 17, 1997
Bobby Singer was tired. No, not tired, he was beyond tired. Beyond anything for which the human language had a word. He briefly wondered if it were possible for an Immortal to die from exhaustion. In the hundred and seventy-five years he'd been alive he'd had a lot of experiences that pushed his physical and mental limits: a cave-in while working the Comstock mines in the 1860's; the bombing of London during World War II; trying to stay one step ahead of a clan of Ondines aboard a Japanese freighter in his early days as a hunter. But staying awake for fifty-three...no, Bobby checked the clock, it was now fifty-four hours, while researching what kind of creature would leave corpses littered around playgrounds and preschools probably topped them all.
Damn that John Winchester! he thought. John had called him a couple of days ago about the hunt he was working knowing full well that Bobby wouldn't turn him down. Not with a case like this. So now Bobby was doing what he always did: acting as a human computer. Taking in data, accessing stored information then spitting out the answer.
Blinking back sleep he poured out a handful of caffeine pills and swallowed them with a mug of hot, dark liquid that could only loosely be called coffee. Good thing I can't OD. It was days like this he wished he still had a partner. Somebody to share the burden of research. Somebody to commiserate with. Somebody who could help him not feel all alone in the world. But that was a comfort he would never allow himself to have again. Not after his horrific mistake in Omaha. He was still amazed Rufus, though mortal, hadn't taken his head himself after what he'd done. And a small part of Bobby still believed he would have let him do it.
Reaching for another text he let out a string of curses as his elbow bumped a stack of careful prepared notes, scattering them to the floor. As he knelt down to gather the mass of papers his eye caught a glimmer of light peek out from beneath his desk. With reverent hands he reached in and retrieved the item from its hiding place. This was his only partner now. This was his constant companion for the past one hundred and fourteen years and, God willing, would be so for many more years to come. His sword. An eighteenth century boarding saber, with its wide, flat blade short enough to conceal within modern clothing; the brass bellguard now dented from the many blows it delivered in the heat of battle. This simple piece of steel and brass was only true friend he had left in the world.
"Take good care of it, make it part of you. It may be the only friend you have."
Bobby smiled sadly as the words spoken when he received the blade, now grasped in his hands, repeated in his mind. Duncan MacLeod had once been one of his closest friends. He was the second Immortal Bobby had ever met (the first being Duncan's older kinsman Connor), and had been the one who made the greatest impact on his new Immortal life. He'd been Bobby's friend, mentor and brother for nearly a century. Until that terrible day when life as he'd known it had shattered into a million pieces. The day Bobby's eyes had been opened to the reality of the horrors that stalked the world. The day he was forced to kill his demon possessed wife.
He'd tried to talk to Duncan about it afterward, to tell him what was really going on, but the older man refused to believe that anything supernatural happened. At first he insisted that something had simply caused Bobby's wife Karen to go insane: a brain tumor, toxin or some kind of chemical imbalance. Then later, as Bobby began talking more and more about demons and monsters, he began questioning Bobby's own mental stability. More than once Bobby thought he might challenge him, thinking his friend had lost his mind. Over and over they argued. They must have gone a hundred and ten rounds before they both gave up and parted company.
Bobby winced as he realized he was gripping the sword so tightly the blade was digging into his palm. He watched as tiny blue arcs danced across his skin, closing up the wound. Once upon a time he'd been fascinated by Immortal healing; he'd even intentionally cut himself just to watch the miniature lightning bolts play over his flesh. But now it only served to emphasize his aloneness. There was no-one he could talk to who'd really understand. Rufus had known about him, having witnessed him come back to life many times over the course of their friendship, but Rufus was out of his life now. He could call James, who was the only other Immortal hunter he knew, but the two of them had never really been close. They didn't share the same bond he'd had with Rufus. And James wasn't a brother to him the way MacLeod had been.
Stop wallowing and pull yourself together, he chastised himself. John'll be calling soon to ask what you've come up with. With a sigh he pushed himself off the floor and, after returning his saber to its place beneath his desk, turned his attention back to the job at hand. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had about half an hour until John would call again to pester him to hurry up. Like I need reminding. While any gruesome death would be enough to attract the attention of hunters, when children were involved everyone made an extra effort. It was just one of those unwritten codes hunters lived by: children were to be protected at all costs.
He'd just managed to find the relevant passage when the phone went off a full twenty minutes early. Letting out a roar of frustration he picked it up. "Damn it John, I told you I'd call you once I got this sussed out!"
There was a long pause, then the caller spoke in a British-sounding accent, "Ellsworth?"
Bobby blinked in surprise, trying to place the voice. Only a few people called him by the name he'd been known by in his first life, and even fewer of those were still talking to him. "MacLeod?" he asked at last. "That you?" Why in the world would he be calling now? he wondered. We haven't spoken in over a decade.
"Yeah." Duncan's voice brought Bobby out of his musings. "Listen Ellsworth, I'm sorry about the time, but you know I wouldn't call this early if it wasn't important."
"It's Bobby now, Mac," Bobby said. "And it's ok. I was up already anyway. Trying to figure out what's been leaving a bunch of corpses layin' around." He mentally cursed himself for mentioning the hunt.
A new voice suddenly came through the phone. "Whoa, whoa! Dude, what was that!"
"Who's that?" Bobby asked, alarmed that he'd spoken in front of someone without knowing it.
"That's Richie, he's a friend," MacLeod answered. "Sorry, I should have told you I had you on speaker."
"Uh...Hi. How's it going?" Richie said somewhat haltingly. Clearly an American, Bobby thought he sounded young, but then if he was one of their kind sounding young didn't really mean much.
"Nice to meet ya," Bobby replied, then realized he had to do some damage control. "Sorry if what I said startled you. Horror stories are kinda a hobby of mine." He hoped the kid would buy his bluff.
"Actually," Duncan hesitantly began. "Your 'hobby' is exactly what I wanted to talk about."
"Oh?" Bobby grimaced. Guess it's time for round one hundred eleven, he thought. "You called me at six AM just to bust my chops about hunting again?"
"Not exactly." There was a long pause, and Bobby began to wonder if the call had been cut off. Then finally Duncan's voice came through quietly. "I think I need your help."
Bobby straightened in his seat, frowning. "Help with what?" he asked, wondering where this conversation was going.
Duncan sighed heavily, then quickly blurted out. "I think a Zoroastrian demon is after me."
Bobby was silent for a long time, unsure if he heard the Highlander correctly. "Come again?" he finally said.
"I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true." Duncan sounded wearier, more distraught than Bobby had ever heard before.
"Well, crazy's part of my job description. Got a lot of experience with it," he joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit and put his old friend at ease. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what's going on."
"It all began about two days ago." Duncan spoke very softly, as though he were embarrassed to be saying this out loud. "When Richie and I were coming back from the opera there was an old man waiting for me at my barge on the Seine. He started babbling about the millennium and said that 'he' was coming and that I was the only one who could stop him."
"Sounds like the guy was just a nut job."
"I thought so too at first," Duncan agreed. "But then... I saw Horton..."
Bobby frowned, trying to remember the name. "Horton?"
"James Horton," Duncan explained. "He'd tried several times to kill me over the past few years. I finally managed to get rid of him in ninety-four."
"So you took his head?" If MacLeod was seeing a dead Immortal walking around that sounded more like a haunting than a demon problem.
"No, Horton was a mortal."
Bobby's frown deepened. "Wait. You said this guy was trying to kill you. If he was mortal...how could he..."
Duncan blew out a long breath. "It's a long story."
"I ain't going anywhere."
"Well, the 'Reader's Digest' version is ...there's a society of mortals who know about us called Watchers," Duncan said. "They're...historians I guess would be the right word. Most of them just want to know about the history of Immortals, our lives and what we do, but a few of them decided that all of us are evil and need to be destroyed. Horton was one of them."
"Let me get this straight." Bobby moved past confusion and into anger now. "You knew that a bunch of mortals were hunting our kind and didn't think to give me a heads up? Thanks buddy, glad to know you still care," he said sarcastically.
"Bobby...I'm sorry," MacLeod apologized. "You're right I...I should have told you, but we didn't part on the best of terms and I wasn't sure you'd take my call."
"Well, for future reference: no matter how pissed I am at you I'll always take a call that starts with 'I think someone is gonna try and kill you,'" Bobby said, trying to keep the venom out of his voice but failing.
Duncan went quiet again, then softly replied. "I'll understand if you don't want to help me."
Bobby rubbed his temples, barely believing the conversation he was having. "I didn't say I wouldn't help. I just...oh, forget it." He cleared his throat and switched topics. Now was not the time for an argument. "So, some old guy warned you that someone was coming for you and then you saw a man you'd killed."
"Right. I chased after Horton but he disappeared in the fog. When I got back to the barge I found the old man dead. He'd been strangled; I clearly saw the marks on his neck." Duncan was speaking faster now, his voice sounding more confident. "But when I went to the morgue the next day the coroner said it was a stroke. That there were no marks on him at all."
"Did you ask to see the body?" Bobby asked. "Sometimes doctors list an ordinary cause of death when they find something they can't explain." He wondered how many dog/bear/whatever-animal- they-could-think-of attacks he'd seen mentioned in official reports when the real cause turned out to be the monster du jour.
"I did, but it'd been claimed by the family and cremated by then. I asked for an address where I could pay my respects and while the coroner was getting it..." He broke off mid-sentence and was silent a moment before continuing. "I went to see his granddaughter later-"
"Hold on," Bobby interrupted, his hunter instincts telling him there was more to the story. "Back up a sec, did something else happen at the morgue?"
Duncan said nothing, and the line was quiet until Richie broke the silence. "Mac? Did something happen you didn't tell me?"
"It's crazy." he whispered.
"I thought we already established that crazy's acceptable in this conversation." Bobby knew that not getting the whole picture up front could dramatically alter the outcome. "I don't care if it's the weirdest thing you can imagine, if you want my help, you tell me everything and I'll believe you. If you say you saw a bunch of penguins tap dancing down the Champs-Elysees, I'll take your word for it." The sound of snickering coming from the phone told Bobby he'd made his point.
"While the coroner was... getting the address..." Duncan was once again hesitating, as if it were a struggle to say each word. "There was... a body on the table. I thought...I could have sworn..."
"Sworn what, Mac?" Bobby gently pressed.
"It turned its head," MacLeod said at last. "It looked right at me and its eyes...Bobby, I swear to you its eyes were glowing red."
Bobby stood abruptly and swore. He doubted MacLeod could have known about demonic signs like a change in eye color. "You sure they turned red, not black?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Why?"
"Never mind for now," Bobby said. "Go on with your story. And MacLeod? Don't leave nothing out this time."
"Right. The old man's name was Landry. Jason Landry. He was an archeologist and author-"
"Landry?" Bobby interrupted. "Wait, the author of 'Mythology of Heroes' and 'Secrets of the Idol'?"
"You've heard of him?" Duncan asked.
"Oh yeah, I've heard of him." Right up there with Joseph Campbell, Jason Landry was a world renowned mythologist and expert in ancient religions. But more than that, every hunter worth his salt knew that Landry was a believer. He knew the truth about what was going on in the 'good vs. evil' arena and did what he could to tip the scales in their favor, including consulting with hunters. If you had a problem relating to ancient Persia, Egypt or India, Landry's works were the first place you checked. If the old man was involved in this, it just got a whole lot bigger. "What happened next?"
"I went to see Landry's granddaughter Allison. She told me that he was obsessed with finding information about how to defeat some kind of evil that was coming. Finding a champion."
"And you think you're the one he was looking for?"
"Landry did. He said it to me at the barge just before he died and I saw it written in his journal. It said 'The next warrior-MacLeod.' And he wasn't the first." Duncan stopped speaking for a moment, and Bobby thought he heard him taking a drink. With all he's going through I certainly don't blame him, he thought.
"Two different people have said I would defeat a great evil." Duncan began again. "Cassandra, a woman, an Immortal I know said there was an ancient prophecy about me."
"You wouldn't happen to know exactly what the prophecy said?" Bobby asked, picking up a pen.
Duncan recited from memory. "'An evil one will come, to vanquish all before him. Only a Highland child, born on the Winter Solstice, who has seen both darkness and light can stop him.'"
"Ok, I guess that could be you," Bobby admitted, writing down the words to research later. "But it could apply to a lot of other people too. And what was that 'darkness and light' part about?"
Once again Duncan fell silent, and Bobby had a sickening feeling that whatever was said next, it wouldn't be good. "Mac took a Dark Quickening last year," Richie said at last. "He... he kinda got lost for a while. It made him do some really awful things," he added softly.
The sick feeling Bobby had before grew to such an extent that he had to clamp his hand over his mouth and take several deep breaths. The Dark Quickening was a legend, sort of the Immortal version of possession, where a good Immortal, having taken the head of an evil one of their kind, became overpowered by their personality and turned evil themselves. It was something Bobby had feared before, but even more so after what happened with Karen. To have control of his actions ripped away and to be forced to do horrible things was the worst thing he could imagine. Even worse than death.
"Mac?" Bobby said once he found his voice. "How'd you get free?" He needed to know. If the DQ was true he needed to know how to fight it, just like he needed to know how to fight every other supernatural evil he found.
"A holy spring." Duncan's voice was barely a whisper now. "A friend of ours knew where to find it. I had to...fight the evil part of myself there and defeat it."
All three of them were quiet, reliving the horrors of their past. For Duncan and Richie it was their memories of that terrible time last year. For Bobby, it was Karen's possession.
"Glad you came back to us," Bobby said at last. "Mac, whatever you did while under the influence, it wasn't really you doing it. You get that, right?" Having dealt with possession victims as a hunter, he understood the guilt and shame Mac would be feeling.
"I know. But it doesn't make it easier."
"No, it don't." Glancing over the notes he'd been taking Bobby knew he had to get them all back on track. "You said two people told you you'd be fighting evil. Who was the second?"
"An old hermit back in the Highlands. It was a few years after I became Immortal, before Connor found me. I met this old man in the woods, another Immortal. I thought he was mad, but he prophesized that I would have to face an evil beyond imagination that comes every thousand years."
"The millennium," Bobby whispered, remembering Landry's words.
"Yeah. He claimed that he'd been the one to defeat it years before, and that I would be the next. He..." Duncan stopped and took a breath before continuing. "He took his own head with my sword."
"He what!" Bobby exclaimed.
"He took his head with my sword," he repeated. "He gave me my first quickening. I don't know why, maybe to make me stronger? Whatever the reason, Bobby that's three people now who thought that I'm destined to fight ...some great evil."
Bobby sat in silence as the mulled over everything Duncan and Richie'd just told him. Great, you're still working on one tough hunt when something even bigger comes along, he thought. Story of my life. "That everything?" he asked. "Can you think of anything else that you haven't mentioned?"
"No, not that I can remember," Duncan replied, then quietly asked, "Am I going crazy?"
Bobby took a deep breath, wondering if his old mentor was ready for this. "No. You're not."
"Just like that?" he laughed. "You're not even questioning it, you just 'know' I'm not?"
"Duncan, everything you just told me makes sense." Bobby knew he had to get the man to accept not just what was happening to him now, but also the realities he faced in his own life. "Landry was a resource for hunters. He knew about what we do and helped us. If that were the only part of your story that sounded credible I'd believe you, but what you said about the corpse's eyes also fit."
"What do you mean?" Duncan asked.
"Yeah," Richie spoke up. "You questioned Mac about the color. Is there something important about that?"
"When a demon possesses someone their eyes will change color. Usually they turn solid black, but sometimes they turn red. But those are usually associated with a crossroads demon."
"Crossroads demon?" Duncan asked.
"Sort of a demonic broker. They handle Faustian pacts," he explained. "You know: money, fame, power. Whatever you want in exchange for your soul."
"Get outta here, those things can happen?" Richie asked.
"Kid, you'd be amazed at what's really real in the world," Bobby said to Richie. "Mac, There were several points in your story that matched things I've hunted, but I've never seen them all together like that before. Demons can possess dead bodies, so that could explain what happened to you in the morgue. It could have also been a revenant, but then that wouldn't explain the eyes. Then there's the ghost of that guy Horton you saw."
"And Kronos," Duncan said.
"Who's Kronos?" Bobby asked.
"Kronos!" Richie yelled. "You saw Kronos! When?" If Richie's reaction was anything to go by, Bobby decided, seeing whoever this Kronos was wasn't a good thing.
"In the barge, shortly before I went to see Allison. I saw him, but I didn't sense him, so I know he couldn't have been real. But…but he was real!"
"Ok, so two ghosts then. One mortal, one Immortal?" Bobby scratched his head trying to put the puzzle together. Computer, access data file: Ghosts, he joked to himself as he considered all the possibilities. "There are ways to summon spirits and certain necromantic rituals that could be performed to control them. There are ways to summon demons too, if this thing itself isn't a demon."
"I thought you said you believed me." Duncan sounded worried, and Bobby understood that he needed to reassure the older Immortal he wasn't doubting him.
"I believe something supernatural is happening to you, but it may or may not be a demon as I know it." Bobby paused and tried to find a way to explain his twenty years of experience. "It's a matter of cultural perspective: what one culture calls a demon another might call an evil spirit or even a God. And creating illusions of dead people walking, corpses reanimating, killing people in mysterious ways... that sounds more like a Pagan God to me, like a trickster maybe." He paused, then shuddered slightly at the other possibility. "Or it's an upper level demon. A seriously powerful one."
He rubbed his eyes and winced at the gritty feel beneath his eyelids. "Listen, I gotta finish up this research for another hunter, then I really need to sleep. Can I call you back sometime tomorrow and we'll see what we can come up with then?"
"Yeah, all right." Duncan sounded a little disappointed that he couldn't answer all his questions right away. "I really appreciate the help. Most of all I...I appreciate being able to talk to someone about this."
"Yeah, I know how you feel. We'll figure this out, Mac. I promise." Bobby felt for his friend. Facing the supernatural was never easy, but to go from complete skeptic to new believer in one step? Bobby'd been there twenty years ago and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. "Listen, you watch yourself, the both of you. Whatever this thing is, it's trouble."
"We will. And Bobby? Thanks."
"Thanks, man," Richie said moments before the line clicked off.
Bobby hung up the phone and laid his head down on the desk. Why can't things ever go easy? he wondered. He took a deep breath and sat up, knowing that John's case had to take precedence right now. So far what was happening in Paris had only claimed one life, while the bodies were piling up for John. Besides, he was nearly done with his research. Five minutes later when the phone rang again he was ready for it.
"John? You're hunting an Aswang..."
Chapter 2
Rating: PG:13
Spoilers: Highlander: 5.20 "Archangel"
Crossover, AU
Summary: Paris 1997. An ancient evil is stalking Duncan MacLeod, and he must reach out to a former friend for help. Can Bobby Singer help him before tragedy strikes? A rewrite of the Ahriman arc from Highlander seasons five and six. Prequel to "Die Another Day."
A/N: This is all SlvrCld's fault. Until they asked in a review of my other crossover story, "Die Another Day," if Bobby's demon knowledge helped with the Ahriman situation on Highlander I'd never even considered putting him into those episodes. But once that idea got planted it turned into a mutant killer plot bunny (picture the killer rabbit from Money Python and the Holy Grail) that would not let go until I wrote this.
This story also kicks off a series of fics I had been planning that will follow Bobby in his Immortal adventures through time. Some will be pre-series for SPN, some will be showing what he was doing off camera during an episode, and (apparently) some will insert him into an episode of Highlander.
My thanks to dnachemlia for the beta.
Disclaimer: I own nothing associated with Supernatural, Highlander or Deadwood. This story is offered up out of pure love for the shows and the phenomenal talent of Jim Beaver.
Sands of Time: Paris 1997
Part I: Beginnings
oooOOOoooSioux Falls, South Dakota May 17, 1997
Bobby Singer was tired. No, not tired, he was beyond tired. Beyond anything for which the human language had a word. He briefly wondered if it were possible for an Immortal to die from exhaustion. In the hundred and seventy-five years he'd been alive he'd had a lot of experiences that pushed his physical and mental limits: a cave-in while working the Comstock mines in the 1860's; the bombing of London during World War II; trying to stay one step ahead of a clan of Ondines aboard a Japanese freighter in his early days as a hunter. But staying awake for fifty-three...no, Bobby checked the clock, it was now fifty-four hours, while researching what kind of creature would leave corpses littered around playgrounds and preschools probably topped them all.
Damn that John Winchester! he thought. John had called him a couple of days ago about the hunt he was working knowing full well that Bobby wouldn't turn him down. Not with a case like this. So now Bobby was doing what he always did: acting as a human computer. Taking in data, accessing stored information then spitting out the answer.
Blinking back sleep he poured out a handful of caffeine pills and swallowed them with a mug of hot, dark liquid that could only loosely be called coffee. Good thing I can't OD. It was days like this he wished he still had a partner. Somebody to share the burden of research. Somebody to commiserate with. Somebody who could help him not feel all alone in the world. But that was a comfort he would never allow himself to have again. Not after his horrific mistake in Omaha. He was still amazed Rufus, though mortal, hadn't taken his head himself after what he'd done. And a small part of Bobby still believed he would have let him do it.
Reaching for another text he let out a string of curses as his elbow bumped a stack of careful prepared notes, scattering them to the floor. As he knelt down to gather the mass of papers his eye caught a glimmer of light peek out from beneath his desk. With reverent hands he reached in and retrieved the item from its hiding place. This was his only partner now. This was his constant companion for the past one hundred and fourteen years and, God willing, would be so for many more years to come. His sword. An eighteenth century boarding saber, with its wide, flat blade short enough to conceal within modern clothing; the brass bellguard now dented from the many blows it delivered in the heat of battle. This simple piece of steel and brass was only true friend he had left in the world.
"Take good care of it, make it part of you. It may be the only friend you have."
Bobby smiled sadly as the words spoken when he received the blade, now grasped in his hands, repeated in his mind. Duncan MacLeod had once been one of his closest friends. He was the second Immortal Bobby had ever met (the first being Duncan's older kinsman Connor), and had been the one who made the greatest impact on his new Immortal life. He'd been Bobby's friend, mentor and brother for nearly a century. Until that terrible day when life as he'd known it had shattered into a million pieces. The day Bobby's eyes had been opened to the reality of the horrors that stalked the world. The day he was forced to kill his demon possessed wife.
He'd tried to talk to Duncan about it afterward, to tell him what was really going on, but the older man refused to believe that anything supernatural happened. At first he insisted that something had simply caused Bobby's wife Karen to go insane: a brain tumor, toxin or some kind of chemical imbalance. Then later, as Bobby began talking more and more about demons and monsters, he began questioning Bobby's own mental stability. More than once Bobby thought he might challenge him, thinking his friend had lost his mind. Over and over they argued. They must have gone a hundred and ten rounds before they both gave up and parted company.
Bobby winced as he realized he was gripping the sword so tightly the blade was digging into his palm. He watched as tiny blue arcs danced across his skin, closing up the wound. Once upon a time he'd been fascinated by Immortal healing; he'd even intentionally cut himself just to watch the miniature lightning bolts play over his flesh. But now it only served to emphasize his aloneness. There was no-one he could talk to who'd really understand. Rufus had known about him, having witnessed him come back to life many times over the course of their friendship, but Rufus was out of his life now. He could call James, who was the only other Immortal hunter he knew, but the two of them had never really been close. They didn't share the same bond he'd had with Rufus. And James wasn't a brother to him the way MacLeod had been.
Stop wallowing and pull yourself together, he chastised himself. John'll be calling soon to ask what you've come up with. With a sigh he pushed himself off the floor and, after returning his saber to its place beneath his desk, turned his attention back to the job at hand. He glanced at the clock, noting that he had about half an hour until John would call again to pester him to hurry up. Like I need reminding. While any gruesome death would be enough to attract the attention of hunters, when children were involved everyone made an extra effort. It was just one of those unwritten codes hunters lived by: children were to be protected at all costs.
He'd just managed to find the relevant passage when the phone went off a full twenty minutes early. Letting out a roar of frustration he picked it up. "Damn it John, I told you I'd call you once I got this sussed out!"
There was a long pause, then the caller spoke in a British-sounding accent, "Ellsworth?"
Bobby blinked in surprise, trying to place the voice. Only a few people called him by the name he'd been known by in his first life, and even fewer of those were still talking to him. "MacLeod?" he asked at last. "That you?" Why in the world would he be calling now? he wondered. We haven't spoken in over a decade.
"Yeah." Duncan's voice brought Bobby out of his musings. "Listen Ellsworth, I'm sorry about the time, but you know I wouldn't call this early if it wasn't important."
"It's Bobby now, Mac," Bobby said. "And it's ok. I was up already anyway. Trying to figure out what's been leaving a bunch of corpses layin' around." He mentally cursed himself for mentioning the hunt.
A new voice suddenly came through the phone. "Whoa, whoa! Dude, what was that!"
"Who's that?" Bobby asked, alarmed that he'd spoken in front of someone without knowing it.
"That's Richie, he's a friend," MacLeod answered. "Sorry, I should have told you I had you on speaker."
"Uh...Hi. How's it going?" Richie said somewhat haltingly. Clearly an American, Bobby thought he sounded young, but then if he was one of their kind sounding young didn't really mean much.
"Nice to meet ya," Bobby replied, then realized he had to do some damage control. "Sorry if what I said startled you. Horror stories are kinda a hobby of mine." He hoped the kid would buy his bluff.
"Actually," Duncan hesitantly began. "Your 'hobby' is exactly what I wanted to talk about."
"Oh?" Bobby grimaced. Guess it's time for round one hundred eleven, he thought. "You called me at six AM just to bust my chops about hunting again?"
"Not exactly." There was a long pause, and Bobby began to wonder if the call had been cut off. Then finally Duncan's voice came through quietly. "I think I need your help."
Bobby straightened in his seat, frowning. "Help with what?" he asked, wondering where this conversation was going.
Duncan sighed heavily, then quickly blurted out. "I think a Zoroastrian demon is after me."
Bobby was silent for a long time, unsure if he heard the Highlander correctly. "Come again?" he finally said.
"I know it sounds crazy, but I swear it's true." Duncan sounded wearier, more distraught than Bobby had ever heard before.
"Well, crazy's part of my job description. Got a lot of experience with it," he joked, trying to lighten the mood a bit and put his old friend at ease. "Why don't you start at the beginning and tell me what's going on."
"It all began about two days ago." Duncan spoke very softly, as though he were embarrassed to be saying this out loud. "When Richie and I were coming back from the opera there was an old man waiting for me at my barge on the Seine. He started babbling about the millennium and said that 'he' was coming and that I was the only one who could stop him."
"Sounds like the guy was just a nut job."
"I thought so too at first," Duncan agreed. "But then... I saw Horton..."
Bobby frowned, trying to remember the name. "Horton?"
"James Horton," Duncan explained. "He'd tried several times to kill me over the past few years. I finally managed to get rid of him in ninety-four."
"So you took his head?" If MacLeod was seeing a dead Immortal walking around that sounded more like a haunting than a demon problem.
"No, Horton was a mortal."
Bobby's frown deepened. "Wait. You said this guy was trying to kill you. If he was mortal...how could he..."
Duncan blew out a long breath. "It's a long story."
"I ain't going anywhere."
"Well, the 'Reader's Digest' version is ...there's a society of mortals who know about us called Watchers," Duncan said. "They're...historians I guess would be the right word. Most of them just want to know about the history of Immortals, our lives and what we do, but a few of them decided that all of us are evil and need to be destroyed. Horton was one of them."
"Let me get this straight." Bobby moved past confusion and into anger now. "You knew that a bunch of mortals were hunting our kind and didn't think to give me a heads up? Thanks buddy, glad to know you still care," he said sarcastically.
"Bobby...I'm sorry," MacLeod apologized. "You're right I...I should have told you, but we didn't part on the best of terms and I wasn't sure you'd take my call."
"Well, for future reference: no matter how pissed I am at you I'll always take a call that starts with 'I think someone is gonna try and kill you,'" Bobby said, trying to keep the venom out of his voice but failing.
Duncan went quiet again, then softly replied. "I'll understand if you don't want to help me."
Bobby rubbed his temples, barely believing the conversation he was having. "I didn't say I wouldn't help. I just...oh, forget it." He cleared his throat and switched topics. Now was not the time for an argument. "So, some old guy warned you that someone was coming for you and then you saw a man you'd killed."
"Right. I chased after Horton but he disappeared in the fog. When I got back to the barge I found the old man dead. He'd been strangled; I clearly saw the marks on his neck." Duncan was speaking faster now, his voice sounding more confident. "But when I went to the morgue the next day the coroner said it was a stroke. That there were no marks on him at all."
"Did you ask to see the body?" Bobby asked. "Sometimes doctors list an ordinary cause of death when they find something they can't explain." He wondered how many dog/bear/whatever-animal- they-could-think-of attacks he'd seen mentioned in official reports when the real cause turned out to be the monster du jour.
"I did, but it'd been claimed by the family and cremated by then. I asked for an address where I could pay my respects and while the coroner was getting it..." He broke off mid-sentence and was silent a moment before continuing. "I went to see his granddaughter later-"
"Hold on," Bobby interrupted, his hunter instincts telling him there was more to the story. "Back up a sec, did something else happen at the morgue?"
Duncan said nothing, and the line was quiet until Richie broke the silence. "Mac? Did something happen you didn't tell me?"
"It's crazy." he whispered.
"I thought we already established that crazy's acceptable in this conversation." Bobby knew that not getting the whole picture up front could dramatically alter the outcome. "I don't care if it's the weirdest thing you can imagine, if you want my help, you tell me everything and I'll believe you. If you say you saw a bunch of penguins tap dancing down the Champs-Elysees, I'll take your word for it." The sound of snickering coming from the phone told Bobby he'd made his point.
"While the coroner was... getting the address..." Duncan was once again hesitating, as if it were a struggle to say each word. "There was... a body on the table. I thought...I could have sworn..."
"Sworn what, Mac?" Bobby gently pressed.
"It turned its head," MacLeod said at last. "It looked right at me and its eyes...Bobby, I swear to you its eyes were glowing red."
Bobby stood abruptly and swore. He doubted MacLeod could have known about demonic signs like a change in eye color. "You sure they turned red, not black?"
"Yes, I'm sure. Why?"
"Never mind for now," Bobby said. "Go on with your story. And MacLeod? Don't leave nothing out this time."
"Right. The old man's name was Landry. Jason Landry. He was an archeologist and author-"
"Landry?" Bobby interrupted. "Wait, the author of 'Mythology of Heroes' and 'Secrets of the Idol'?"
"You've heard of him?" Duncan asked.
"Oh yeah, I've heard of him." Right up there with Joseph Campbell, Jason Landry was a world renowned mythologist and expert in ancient religions. But more than that, every hunter worth his salt knew that Landry was a believer. He knew the truth about what was going on in the 'good vs. evil' arena and did what he could to tip the scales in their favor, including consulting with hunters. If you had a problem relating to ancient Persia, Egypt or India, Landry's works were the first place you checked. If the old man was involved in this, it just got a whole lot bigger. "What happened next?"
"I went to see Landry's granddaughter Allison. She told me that he was obsessed with finding information about how to defeat some kind of evil that was coming. Finding a champion."
"And you think you're the one he was looking for?"
"Landry did. He said it to me at the barge just before he died and I saw it written in his journal. It said 'The next warrior-MacLeod.' And he wasn't the first." Duncan stopped speaking for a moment, and Bobby thought he heard him taking a drink. With all he's going through I certainly don't blame him, he thought.
"Two different people have said I would defeat a great evil." Duncan began again. "Cassandra, a woman, an Immortal I know said there was an ancient prophecy about me."
"You wouldn't happen to know exactly what the prophecy said?" Bobby asked, picking up a pen.
Duncan recited from memory. "'An evil one will come, to vanquish all before him. Only a Highland child, born on the Winter Solstice, who has seen both darkness and light can stop him.'"
"Ok, I guess that could be you," Bobby admitted, writing down the words to research later. "But it could apply to a lot of other people too. And what was that 'darkness and light' part about?"
Once again Duncan fell silent, and Bobby had a sickening feeling that whatever was said next, it wouldn't be good. "Mac took a Dark Quickening last year," Richie said at last. "He... he kinda got lost for a while. It made him do some really awful things," he added softly.
The sick feeling Bobby had before grew to such an extent that he had to clamp his hand over his mouth and take several deep breaths. The Dark Quickening was a legend, sort of the Immortal version of possession, where a good Immortal, having taken the head of an evil one of their kind, became overpowered by their personality and turned evil themselves. It was something Bobby had feared before, but even more so after what happened with Karen. To have control of his actions ripped away and to be forced to do horrible things was the worst thing he could imagine. Even worse than death.
"Mac?" Bobby said once he found his voice. "How'd you get free?" He needed to know. If the DQ was true he needed to know how to fight it, just like he needed to know how to fight every other supernatural evil he found.
"A holy spring." Duncan's voice was barely a whisper now. "A friend of ours knew where to find it. I had to...fight the evil part of myself there and defeat it."
All three of them were quiet, reliving the horrors of their past. For Duncan and Richie it was their memories of that terrible time last year. For Bobby, it was Karen's possession.
"Glad you came back to us," Bobby said at last. "Mac, whatever you did while under the influence, it wasn't really you doing it. You get that, right?" Having dealt with possession victims as a hunter, he understood the guilt and shame Mac would be feeling.
"I know. But it doesn't make it easier."
"No, it don't." Glancing over the notes he'd been taking Bobby knew he had to get them all back on track. "You said two people told you you'd be fighting evil. Who was the second?"
"An old hermit back in the Highlands. It was a few years after I became Immortal, before Connor found me. I met this old man in the woods, another Immortal. I thought he was mad, but he prophesized that I would have to face an evil beyond imagination that comes every thousand years."
"The millennium," Bobby whispered, remembering Landry's words.
"Yeah. He claimed that he'd been the one to defeat it years before, and that I would be the next. He..." Duncan stopped and took a breath before continuing. "He took his own head with my sword."
"He what!" Bobby exclaimed.
"He took his head with my sword," he repeated. "He gave me my first quickening. I don't know why, maybe to make me stronger? Whatever the reason, Bobby that's three people now who thought that I'm destined to fight ...some great evil."
Bobby sat in silence as the mulled over everything Duncan and Richie'd just told him. Great, you're still working on one tough hunt when something even bigger comes along, he thought. Story of my life. "That everything?" he asked. "Can you think of anything else that you haven't mentioned?"
"No, not that I can remember," Duncan replied, then quietly asked, "Am I going crazy?"
Bobby took a deep breath, wondering if his old mentor was ready for this. "No. You're not."
"Just like that?" he laughed. "You're not even questioning it, you just 'know' I'm not?"
"Duncan, everything you just told me makes sense." Bobby knew he had to get the man to accept not just what was happening to him now, but also the realities he faced in his own life. "Landry was a resource for hunters. He knew about what we do and helped us. If that were the only part of your story that sounded credible I'd believe you, but what you said about the corpse's eyes also fit."
"What do you mean?" Duncan asked.
"Yeah," Richie spoke up. "You questioned Mac about the color. Is there something important about that?"
"When a demon possesses someone their eyes will change color. Usually they turn solid black, but sometimes they turn red. But those are usually associated with a crossroads demon."
"Crossroads demon?" Duncan asked.
"Sort of a demonic broker. They handle Faustian pacts," he explained. "You know: money, fame, power. Whatever you want in exchange for your soul."
"Get outta here, those things can happen?" Richie asked.
"Kid, you'd be amazed at what's really real in the world," Bobby said to Richie. "Mac, There were several points in your story that matched things I've hunted, but I've never seen them all together like that before. Demons can possess dead bodies, so that could explain what happened to you in the morgue. It could have also been a revenant, but then that wouldn't explain the eyes. Then there's the ghost of that guy Horton you saw."
"And Kronos," Duncan said.
"Who's Kronos?" Bobby asked.
"Kronos!" Richie yelled. "You saw Kronos! When?" If Richie's reaction was anything to go by, Bobby decided, seeing whoever this Kronos was wasn't a good thing.
"In the barge, shortly before I went to see Allison. I saw him, but I didn't sense him, so I know he couldn't have been real. But…but he was real!"
"Ok, so two ghosts then. One mortal, one Immortal?" Bobby scratched his head trying to put the puzzle together. Computer, access data file: Ghosts, he joked to himself as he considered all the possibilities. "There are ways to summon spirits and certain necromantic rituals that could be performed to control them. There are ways to summon demons too, if this thing itself isn't a demon."
"I thought you said you believed me." Duncan sounded worried, and Bobby understood that he needed to reassure the older Immortal he wasn't doubting him.
"I believe something supernatural is happening to you, but it may or may not be a demon as I know it." Bobby paused and tried to find a way to explain his twenty years of experience. "It's a matter of cultural perspective: what one culture calls a demon another might call an evil spirit or even a God. And creating illusions of dead people walking, corpses reanimating, killing people in mysterious ways... that sounds more like a Pagan God to me, like a trickster maybe." He paused, then shuddered slightly at the other possibility. "Or it's an upper level demon. A seriously powerful one."
He rubbed his eyes and winced at the gritty feel beneath his eyelids. "Listen, I gotta finish up this research for another hunter, then I really need to sleep. Can I call you back sometime tomorrow and we'll see what we can come up with then?"
"Yeah, all right." Duncan sounded a little disappointed that he couldn't answer all his questions right away. "I really appreciate the help. Most of all I...I appreciate being able to talk to someone about this."
"Yeah, I know how you feel. We'll figure this out, Mac. I promise." Bobby felt for his friend. Facing the supernatural was never easy, but to go from complete skeptic to new believer in one step? Bobby'd been there twenty years ago and he wouldn't wish that on anyone. "Listen, you watch yourself, the both of you. Whatever this thing is, it's trouble."
"We will. And Bobby? Thanks."
"Thanks, man," Richie said moments before the line clicked off.
Bobby hung up the phone and laid his head down on the desk. Why can't things ever go easy? he wondered. He took a deep breath and sat up, knowing that John's case had to take precedence right now. So far what was happening in Paris had only claimed one life, while the bodies were piling up for John. Besides, he was nearly done with his research. Five minutes later when the phone rang again he was ready for it.
"John? You're hunting an Aswang..."
Chapter 2