Happy Holidays, elistaire!
Title: Left My Known Life to Chance
Author: Pumpkin-eater
Written for: elistaire
Characters: Joe Dawson, Methos, Duncan MacLeod
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, violence
Wordcount: 3,800
Summary: Well, I'm a pumpkin-eater and therefore not predisposed to supply you with a summary. But I will say that elistaire requested an episodic story that is a bit spooky or mysterious and that "Left My Known Life to Chance" is more on the Halloween/Day of the Day side than on the Christmas side of the story coin.
Take this piece of my soul with you
least you should forget your way
back to the pumpkin patch.
At the midnight hour, marigolds and sugar skulls adorned the tables at Joe's Bar, while several of the staff sported cadaverous face makeup. Currently, Methos' attention was divided between a bowl of leftover Halloween candy and Joe Dawson's side of a telephone conversation. The conversation had quickly descended into a round of brisk questions punctuated by oaths.
"How so? Gone or?...Slow down, you didn't see it?...What did you find?...Damn. Stay put. I'm on my way."
Joe stuffed his phone into his pocket, grabbed his cane, and called out to Sheila, his assistant, "Business I'm afraid, close up will you?" She nodded in reply.
"Can I assist?" Methos called out to Joe in his sudden flurry of action.
"No thanks, Adam. I need to do a little research." Joe rushed off to the back door exit, snagging his coat from a hook, and leaving faster than Methos, in his current sugar torpor, could form a pithy retort.
Sheila gave him the, don't just sit there, follow him. look.
Outside in the brisk November-in-Seacouver breeze Methos hurried to catch up with Joe. "Damn it, Joe, hold up."
Over his shoulder, "Well, hustle it, buster, I haven't got forever like some people." Suddenly Joe stopped, pivoted with his cane, and then gave Methos a wolfish smile. "Occurs to me, I just might be in need of one of your skills."
Abruptly halted, Methos studied Joe's face as illuminated by the dim streetlamp in the alley. "Something tells me it's not a scholarly skill you'll be needing."
"You ever study archaeology?"
Methos brightened, "Why yes I have!"
"Good. Still got your shovel?"
Methos sighed, but followed Joe's lead.
Shortly after daybreak, Methos located Duncan MacLeod on the small Puget Sound island where he'd left him several days previously. Duncan was still splitting the wood of a huge lightning-struck oak that had fallen near his log cabin. Methos would have gladly stayed to help, the previous week, if he'd been allowed to use a chainsaw, but Duncan insisted on using an ax, and so a job that could have taken an afternoon was still on going. The once regal oak now lay hacked and scattered on the wet November ground. Methos grabbed up sticks of wood and began stacking them into a neat rick.
"So finally come back to help?"
"Nope. Joe sent me to collect you."
Duncan tried to read his face, but Methos kept his head down. "Please tell me this hasn't anything to do with the Watchers."
"But lying to you makes you so cranky. Now don't sigh like that, Mac, you don't want to hyperventilate."
"Cut the crap."
Methos placed the last stick he carried and stopped. "OK. So Joe's message is, 'Abraham needs you to collect pumpkins'."
"Is Abe OK?"
"If we are talking about the immortal James Simon aka Abraham Wilberforce, possibly not. His Watcher called Joe last night in a panic. Joe would like our help checking a patch of freshly turned earth that she discovered on his farm. He said you have a low profile means of visiting Abraham?"
"Aye." With one last great thunk Duncan lodged the ax in oak stump.
Joe finished his research and left Seacouver soon after dawn, driving several hours north to Mill Creek, a town of a few thousand in a lumber and farming area. He now waited for his junior Watcher Tracy Hendrickson to serve her noon time customers. Browsing the shelves of her bookstore, he picked up a Pacific Northwest mushroom guide to peruse. Bookstores, junk shops, bars, all were good covers for a Watcher; he'd used them all over the years, and was impressed to see how well Tracy had blended into this community.
When the last of the lunch-break crowd scurried off back to their nine-to-fives, Tracy invited Joe to sit at a table in a back corner.
"Coffee or tea, Joe?"
"Coffee would be great."
Tracy was tall and thin with an intelligent mien, though her eyes were red-rimmed today. She brought over two cups and sat down opposite Joe.
"Don't you dare apologize again," Joe preempted. "You can't watch them twenty-four seven."
"I know. And I know I'm not supposed to get attached, but they were nice people, regular sorts with pluses and minuses, true, but Abraham wasn't a hunter. And I'm worried about Jan."
"Yeah, that's a concern. Still no word?"
"No. I suppose she and Abraham may have had a plan for her. I can't believe the student would challenge him. Paul Forthe visited at least once a year. Jan seemed happy to have him visit--but she would have been a witness." Tracy's voice had gone flat. She brushed away a tear, which Joe studiously did not see.
"Joe, I know we need to retrieve his body to protect immortals, but Jan--well, I'd like to be there at least."
"Sorry, Tracy, you need to stay seen in public. Don't worry, I've taken care of it, the cleaners are on the way. Did you touch anything?"
"No. I knocked on the door, but didn't go in. Jan and Abraham planned on attending my Halloween party here. They loved seeing the kids in their costumes. Abraham gave me all these pumpkins," Tracy waved at the row of jack-o-lanterns lined up along the storefront windows. "Jan and I carved them together. When they didn't come to the party I drove to their farm that night. It was so quiet. When I walked around the house and found the turned dirt, I knew. But I don't understand why would Paul bury them so close to the house? He'll be the first suspect."
"I can think of a couple reasons," Joe replied.
"I always have loved this drive," Duncan said as he wheeled the old Kenworth farm truck north on Highway 9. "It's so much more interesting than the Interstate."
"True, they only let you see the trees along I-5, but it would have been a much smoother drive in the T-bird."
"Yes, but we couldn't get nearly as many pumpkins in the T-bird."
Methos laughed, shook his head. "You didn't say, back at the dairy farm, how you got the job of long haul pumpkin rustler."
"Well it was such a glamorous job offer--actually Abe asked me a couple years ago. Clancy had been driving up every autumn for years to buy Abe's surplus crop for his cows, and Abe was getting worried about him."
"Clancy did look to be getting up there in years."
"And it gives Abe and I a chance to visit. I met him, oh, 1864."
"Civil War."
"Yes. He'd always been a farmer. Never owned anyone. Never interested in politics. You'll like--oh," Duncan caught his words, and sighed.
"Sorry, Mac."
"What reasons, Joe?" Tracy demanded.
Joe took a deep breath, exhaled, then dove into the story, "My guess is that Paul was aware of Watchers and knew that we would clean up after him, so he buried them where you couldn't help but find them."
"I never told them!"
"But my immortal knows, and MacLeod is a long time friend of Abraham's. My guess is that Abraham passed that along to Paul."
"Oh." A myriad of expressions flickered over her face. "Did you tell MacLeod about us, Joe?"
Joe nodded stiffly. "Tracy, has anyone told you about the Watcher/immortal killings in the 1990's?"
"Well, yes. It was mostly in Europe, I understand that it was only a small group of rogue Watchers and immortals."
"Seemed like a huge group to me. I was smack dab in the middle of that mess. MacLeod helped end it."
"I want to hear all of it, Joe, when we have time."
"We'll make the time."
"Do you think MacLeod will go after Paul?"
"If he killed Jan."
"Good."
"I--we need to talk."
It was dusk by the time Duncan pulled the truck behind Abraham's house, parking it near the suspicious patch of turned dirt. They quickly climbed down from the rig, disturbing a murder of crows from the backyard area between the farmhouse and the nearest barn. The birds flew but a short distance and settled back down to watch the intruders. Sharp eyes, judging.
Duncan scouted around the area searching for other signs of life. A mute witness on the back porch watched, a craggy jack-o-lantern with candle wax flowing between bad teeth.
Meanwhile Methos grabbed two shovels from the Kenworth's toolbox, then handed one over to Duncan, as he explained Joe's plan, "The Watchers will bury him with his original name, and I can find out where if you want."
"Aye, I know how they do it. But what about Jan?"
"It depends. Sometimes they leave a mortal spouse's body to be found, and the immortal will just be gone, as if they fled the scene."
"So Abe will get the blame."
"Yes. It's not justice, but it hides evidence of the game. That way no one is looking for the mortal, and they'll never find the immortal."
Every line in Duncan's face hardened in disapproval. "Let's get this over." He started turning back the soil with controlled fury, making sure it landed in a row that could quickly be folded back. Methos did his best to dig and remain out of Duncan's shovel zone. A barn owl hooted as they dug, and a dog began to bark intermittently.
After a few minutes of digging Methos called a halt, "Wait, Mac! Somethings...." He tossed aside his shovel and knelt down to brush away dirt from a plaid shirt. "Oh, there you are." Duncan joined him and together they brushed dirt off of the still body of Abraham.
Without hesitation Duncan swept the dirt covering his friend's neck, and found it whole. "Yes!"
"Here." Methos indicated a broken blade impaling Abraham's chest that he'd uncovered. "This isn't going to be fun to remove."
"Well, Doc Adams, let's get him inside for you to operate. No one likes to revive in a grave."
"Ah, but it's better than in a well."
As Duncan and Methos stood back up the crows flew again with a cacophony of disapproval.
Together they lifted the limp body from the shallow grave and laid him to the side so that they could check the ground under where he had been interned. They brushed at the soil to find it undisturbed below.
"Good. Methos, stay with him, it will just take me a few minutes. I'm going to break in the house, if necessary, take a look around."
Methos stood up, shaking his head. "Abraham won't know the difference, I'll help you search." Then sotto voce, "You haven't watched enough dead teenager movies."
"True enough."
The back-door proved to be unlocked so they rubbed their dirty boots across the brush-mat, then entered the farmhouse kitchen and started the search for any signs of life. There were dishes in the sink, Abraham's work clothes were strewn in the laundry as if he habitually removed his soiled clothes there. In the living room, books and magazines covered the low table in front of the overstuffed couch. Upstairs, the bedrooms were tidy, beds made, clothes put away. Methos studied the master bedroom closet, reading its story.
The search found no sign of anyone else, so they returned to the front room. Duncan spread a blanket on the couch, and together they packed Abraham's body inside and arranged him so that Methos could remove the blade from his chest. From a shelf in the laundry room, Methos selected needle-nosed pliers as stand-in forceps.
"Really. OK, thanks." Joe tucked his phone away and looked at Tracy. "The cleaners recovered Abraham from the grave that you found. He's alive. He'd been staked, but will revive soon."
"Wow, what's going on? What about Jan?"
"Jan isn't there."
"Oh, dear."
"I realize she was your friend, but the cleaners think she may have left voluntarily. Her clothes weren't in their bedroom closet. Kidnappers don't usually pack for their victims. I'm going to contact Paul's Watcher and ask if he's traveling with a woman now. Do you have a picture of her?"
"Yes of course--but Abe loves her--I can't believe--why would she leave that behind?"
"Why do people fall out of love? Or in love for that matter?" Joe sighed, and shook his head. "I couldn't answer that in a million years."
"Well, me neither," she agreed.
"We'll leave that one to the poets." Their eyes locked for a met for a moment, then both glanced away. "Now when you talk to Abraham again you ask him how Jan is and when he answers...act as surprised as you are now."
"I hate this part."
"Yes well, he may know you're his Watcher or not. Do you usually keep your tattoo covered?"
"Not in the summer."
"Well it's best for both of you if you maintain a mutual ignorance or pretense thereof. I realize that Jan was your contact point, but do your best. If he decides to move away we'll reassign, but if he stays here he'll need someone spreading the story of Jan leaving with Paul, so her disappearance isn't considered suspicious.
"Oh joy, I'm the town gossip now!"
"Hey, who knew it was such a glamorous job, right?" Tracy did not laugh with Joe.
Methos assumed his best non-threatening demeanor when Abraham began to revive before Duncan had returned to the house. The first gasp was followed directly by a groan of pain and Abraham clutched his chest. Methos helped him sit up and handed him a glass of water.
"Who are you--wait--Doc Adams! I'm alive!" Followed by coughing.
"In my best medical opinion, yes you are. And sorry to say I don't remember "“ oh! James Simon! I should have made the connection. But what have you done to your lovely red hair?"
Abraham coughed again and drank a bit more water, then answered, "Well Doc, they have these boxes of dye you can buy in drug stores nowadays."
"You haven't lost that droll humor. I go by Adam Pierson these days."
"What are you doing here, Adam?" He glanced at the broken blade and pliers lying on the short table next to the couch. "Oh."
"Duncan MacLeod and I drove Clancy's farm truck here to procure pumpkins."
"Duncan's here?"
"Yes. He went to find the barking dog. And hopefully nothing else."
The kitchen door creaked, paw steps clattered, and the dog in question ran to Abraham ahead of an immortal frisson. "Bobby!" The border collie launched herself in Abraham's lap and started licking his dirty face. "Easy girl, I hurt all over. But I'm tremendously glad to see you too." His voice quavered. "At least Jan left me you."
"I found her tied up in the barn," Duncan explained, then sidled up to Methos, asked quietly, "So you told him about Jan being gone?"
"No, we haven't gotten past the pleasantries. Abraham and I actually met back in the 1840's, I think it was."
"Back when I was still James Simon."
"What were you up to back then?" Duncan asked as he poured Abraham a sip of his own whiskey. "For the pain," as he handed the glass over.
"The pain's gone, and you damn well know I was a farmer. Always. Awk--sorry Duncan. Feeling a mite irritable." He slugged down the drink.
"You're allowed."
"Paul! Running me through! And Jan! Why did she think I'd try to stop her leaving? I'm not that kinda man. I don't own her." Abraham shook his head. "She doesn't know me. A decade together and she didn't really know me."
Methos allowed, "Not that unusual. Most people don't even know themselves, so how could they know someone else?"
"Still a damned philosopher, Doc. Sorry. I gotta take a shower." He staggered to the stairs with Bobby bounding alongside him.
Duncan watched sadly as his friend ascended the steps.
After closing hours at her bookstore they had reconvened to Tracy's home a few blocks away, where she listened to Joe's half of a conversation with his cleaner.
"Adam! How goes it?...I thought you might have. Any sign of Jan?...His Watcher lost track of him. Sooner or later we will locate them."
Joe laughed at something said before tucking his phone away, then turned to Tracy. "Well, Abraham has revived. Turns out he wasn't surprised that Jan left him."
"Well I am! She never told me she wasn't happy. Occasionally she'd grumble about farm work. I don't know, maybe she felt isolated." And with a sigh, "This doesn't make me feel very observant."
"Stop beating yourself up, Tracy."
"But I want to understand! And why did Paul kill and bury him, why? They could have just sneaked off."
"My guess is that Paul was showing Abraham that he could have killed him, but didn't. Counting coup."
"That's fucked. Sorry, Joe."
"That's alright. I think you've got the idea."
Joe had set up his laptop computer on her kitchen table and contacted his network. Tracy watched over his shoulder as he again played the video recording of Jan and Paul going through security at SEA-TAC.
"I've never seen Jan smile like that. She looks happy." Tracy shook her head. "Really happy. Well I'm glad I can't tell Abraham about this."
"What would you normally do next?"
"Check on them I guess. Sometimes this time of year I bake pumpkin pies and take one to them with coals-to-Newcastle jokes."
Joe nodded. "You're making me hungry. How about I take you to the best place Mill Creek has to offer."
"Thanks, Joe. I'd love to get out. And you can have my spare room for the night. No need to drive back in the dark."
"Thank you kindly. Now let's go start some rumors."
During their meal at Tracy's choice, the local brew pub, an acquaintance stopped by their table and asked her if she'd heard that Jan Wilberforce had been seen with that 'friend of theirs' at a gas station, and Jan's car fully packed? Tracy had fumbled for words, her face not shocked, but sad. "Sometimes things happened," she managed.
When the acquaintance mercifully left the table, Joe patted Tracy's hand and suggested it was time for another beer.
Early the next morning, the three immortals, followed by Bobby the border collie, crisscrossed the pumpkin field collecting the unchosen pumpkins destined for Clancy's cows.
"I would have liked to seen it when families were here picking their pumpkins to carve," Duncan said to Methos as he lifted another pumpkin. They walked on either side of the utility trailer pulled behind an ancient Massey Ferguson tractor which Abraham drove slowly between rows that only he could divine.
"I was thinking about how tasty cows are that have been fed pumpkins. Too bad Clancy's is a dairy farm."
Ignoring Methos"™ revelation, Duncan continued, "He does hayrides too, fills the trailer with hay bales for the kids to sit on. Don't know why kids love that so much."
"The solidarity of doing something silly together," Methos theorized.
When they arrived at a large clutch of unclaimed pumpkins, Abraham stopped the tractor to get down and help load them into the trailer. Some of the sorrow had left his face during the simple task. The quiet without the tractor chugging was lovely, though the silence made the remaindered pumpkins that much more forlorn. Scattered orange heads still littered the field.
Methos smiled of a memory, "Did you know that back in the day it was warned not to leave your pumpkins too long in the field or they'd turn into vampires?"
Duncan frowned, but Abraham nodded his familiarity with the tale and recited:
At a time long forgot
I traversed the sea
for a good lot of earth sought
carried my pumpkins with me
to this far wild shore
left my known life to chance
be I rich, or be I poor
where my pumpkins might dance
"And do they?" Methos asked.
"Not a step."
"Just as well," Duncan allowed.
Once they'd filled the utility trailer they transferred the pumpkins to the Kenworth's trailer and repeated the process twice more. Finally they were prepared to travel back south with their load.
"Say hello to Clancy for me."
"We will. And consider visiting Seacouver, we'll lift a few pints."
"Sure, sure. Thanks for everything, Duncan, and keep Doc outta trouble."
"I'm afraid that's usually the other way round," Duncan admitted.
"Well, as long as you have a system that works for both of you." Abraham waved as they departed, Bobby at attention beside him. The old farm truck lurched through a gear and was off.
Several miles of silence followed as Duncan and Methos headed south on Highway 9 with a load of pumpkins destined for Clancy's Holsteins.
"He'll be alright," Duncan finally said, nodding as if to convince himself. Methos grunted as he concentrated on driving the unfamiliar vehicle that he had nettled Duncan into letting him drive. Duncan continued, "Two hundred sheep, several dozen chickens, and a border collie for company."
Methos mumbled, "Yep, fine."
"In the spring there will be lambs, and fields to plant."
"Duncan, he'll be fine. You can't measure other people's love."
"What does that mean?" Duncan demanded.
"Which word didn't you understand?"
Duncan glared, but answered, "Love."
"What would you measure love with?"
"Nothing. You can't."
"Wallah!"
"Fuck you."
"No. You're much too grumpy."
Duncan sighed long and loud.
"Listen Mac, Abraham does not want or need to be coddled at this time. He's a self-contained man."
"Like you?"
"Hardly. I've been known to go off the rails occasionally. But Abraham is a more constant man. Let be."
"I hate when you're right."
"You'll get used to it eventually."
MacLeod smiled, but shook his head. "No, I won't."
I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly; but I don't see any chance of it just at present. Oscar Wilde
finis
Author: Pumpkin-eater
Written for: elistaire
Characters: Joe Dawson, Methos, Duncan MacLeod
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Swearing, violence
Wordcount: 3,800
Summary: Well, I'm a pumpkin-eater and therefore not predisposed to supply you with a summary. But I will say that elistaire requested an episodic story that is a bit spooky or mysterious and that "Left My Known Life to Chance" is more on the Halloween/Day of the Day side than on the Christmas side of the story coin.
Take this piece of my soul with you
least you should forget your way
back to the pumpkin patch.
At the midnight hour, marigolds and sugar skulls adorned the tables at Joe's Bar, while several of the staff sported cadaverous face makeup. Currently, Methos' attention was divided between a bowl of leftover Halloween candy and Joe Dawson's side of a telephone conversation. The conversation had quickly descended into a round of brisk questions punctuated by oaths.
"How so? Gone or?...Slow down, you didn't see it?...What did you find?...Damn. Stay put. I'm on my way."
Joe stuffed his phone into his pocket, grabbed his cane, and called out to Sheila, his assistant, "Business I'm afraid, close up will you?" She nodded in reply.
"Can I assist?" Methos called out to Joe in his sudden flurry of action.
"No thanks, Adam. I need to do a little research." Joe rushed off to the back door exit, snagging his coat from a hook, and leaving faster than Methos, in his current sugar torpor, could form a pithy retort.
Sheila gave him the, don't just sit there, follow him. look.
Outside in the brisk November-in-Seacouver breeze Methos hurried to catch up with Joe. "Damn it, Joe, hold up."
Over his shoulder, "Well, hustle it, buster, I haven't got forever like some people." Suddenly Joe stopped, pivoted with his cane, and then gave Methos a wolfish smile. "Occurs to me, I just might be in need of one of your skills."
Abruptly halted, Methos studied Joe's face as illuminated by the dim streetlamp in the alley. "Something tells me it's not a scholarly skill you'll be needing."
"You ever study archaeology?"
Methos brightened, "Why yes I have!"
"Good. Still got your shovel?"
Methos sighed, but followed Joe's lead.
Shortly after daybreak, Methos located Duncan MacLeod on the small Puget Sound island where he'd left him several days previously. Duncan was still splitting the wood of a huge lightning-struck oak that had fallen near his log cabin. Methos would have gladly stayed to help, the previous week, if he'd been allowed to use a chainsaw, but Duncan insisted on using an ax, and so a job that could have taken an afternoon was still on going. The once regal oak now lay hacked and scattered on the wet November ground. Methos grabbed up sticks of wood and began stacking them into a neat rick.
"So finally come back to help?"
"Nope. Joe sent me to collect you."
Duncan tried to read his face, but Methos kept his head down. "Please tell me this hasn't anything to do with the Watchers."
"But lying to you makes you so cranky. Now don't sigh like that, Mac, you don't want to hyperventilate."
"Cut the crap."
Methos placed the last stick he carried and stopped. "OK. So Joe's message is, 'Abraham needs you to collect pumpkins'."
"Is Abe OK?"
"If we are talking about the immortal James Simon aka Abraham Wilberforce, possibly not. His Watcher called Joe last night in a panic. Joe would like our help checking a patch of freshly turned earth that she discovered on his farm. He said you have a low profile means of visiting Abraham?"
"Aye." With one last great thunk Duncan lodged the ax in oak stump.
Joe finished his research and left Seacouver soon after dawn, driving several hours north to Mill Creek, a town of a few thousand in a lumber and farming area. He now waited for his junior Watcher Tracy Hendrickson to serve her noon time customers. Browsing the shelves of her bookstore, he picked up a Pacific Northwest mushroom guide to peruse. Bookstores, junk shops, bars, all were good covers for a Watcher; he'd used them all over the years, and was impressed to see how well Tracy had blended into this community.
When the last of the lunch-break crowd scurried off back to their nine-to-fives, Tracy invited Joe to sit at a table in a back corner.
"Coffee or tea, Joe?"
"Coffee would be great."
Tracy was tall and thin with an intelligent mien, though her eyes were red-rimmed today. She brought over two cups and sat down opposite Joe.
"Don't you dare apologize again," Joe preempted. "You can't watch them twenty-four seven."
"I know. And I know I'm not supposed to get attached, but they were nice people, regular sorts with pluses and minuses, true, but Abraham wasn't a hunter. And I'm worried about Jan."
"Yeah, that's a concern. Still no word?"
"No. I suppose she and Abraham may have had a plan for her. I can't believe the student would challenge him. Paul Forthe visited at least once a year. Jan seemed happy to have him visit--but she would have been a witness." Tracy's voice had gone flat. She brushed away a tear, which Joe studiously did not see.
"Joe, I know we need to retrieve his body to protect immortals, but Jan--well, I'd like to be there at least."
"Sorry, Tracy, you need to stay seen in public. Don't worry, I've taken care of it, the cleaners are on the way. Did you touch anything?"
"No. I knocked on the door, but didn't go in. Jan and Abraham planned on attending my Halloween party here. They loved seeing the kids in their costumes. Abraham gave me all these pumpkins," Tracy waved at the row of jack-o-lanterns lined up along the storefront windows. "Jan and I carved them together. When they didn't come to the party I drove to their farm that night. It was so quiet. When I walked around the house and found the turned dirt, I knew. But I don't understand why would Paul bury them so close to the house? He'll be the first suspect."
"I can think of a couple reasons," Joe replied.
"I always have loved this drive," Duncan said as he wheeled the old Kenworth farm truck north on Highway 9. "It's so much more interesting than the Interstate."
"True, they only let you see the trees along I-5, but it would have been a much smoother drive in the T-bird."
"Yes, but we couldn't get nearly as many pumpkins in the T-bird."
Methos laughed, shook his head. "You didn't say, back at the dairy farm, how you got the job of long haul pumpkin rustler."
"Well it was such a glamorous job offer--actually Abe asked me a couple years ago. Clancy had been driving up every autumn for years to buy Abe's surplus crop for his cows, and Abe was getting worried about him."
"Clancy did look to be getting up there in years."
"And it gives Abe and I a chance to visit. I met him, oh, 1864."
"Civil War."
"Yes. He'd always been a farmer. Never owned anyone. Never interested in politics. You'll like--oh," Duncan caught his words, and sighed.
"Sorry, Mac."
"What reasons, Joe?" Tracy demanded.
Joe took a deep breath, exhaled, then dove into the story, "My guess is that Paul was aware of Watchers and knew that we would clean up after him, so he buried them where you couldn't help but find them."
"I never told them!"
"But my immortal knows, and MacLeod is a long time friend of Abraham's. My guess is that Abraham passed that along to Paul."
"Oh." A myriad of expressions flickered over her face. "Did you tell MacLeod about us, Joe?"
Joe nodded stiffly. "Tracy, has anyone told you about the Watcher/immortal killings in the 1990's?"
"Well, yes. It was mostly in Europe, I understand that it was only a small group of rogue Watchers and immortals."
"Seemed like a huge group to me. I was smack dab in the middle of that mess. MacLeod helped end it."
"I want to hear all of it, Joe, when we have time."
"We'll make the time."
"Do you think MacLeod will go after Paul?"
"If he killed Jan."
"Good."
"I--we need to talk."
It was dusk by the time Duncan pulled the truck behind Abraham's house, parking it near the suspicious patch of turned dirt. They quickly climbed down from the rig, disturbing a murder of crows from the backyard area between the farmhouse and the nearest barn. The birds flew but a short distance and settled back down to watch the intruders. Sharp eyes, judging.
Duncan scouted around the area searching for other signs of life. A mute witness on the back porch watched, a craggy jack-o-lantern with candle wax flowing between bad teeth.
Meanwhile Methos grabbed two shovels from the Kenworth's toolbox, then handed one over to Duncan, as he explained Joe's plan, "The Watchers will bury him with his original name, and I can find out where if you want."
"Aye, I know how they do it. But what about Jan?"
"It depends. Sometimes they leave a mortal spouse's body to be found, and the immortal will just be gone, as if they fled the scene."
"So Abe will get the blame."
"Yes. It's not justice, but it hides evidence of the game. That way no one is looking for the mortal, and they'll never find the immortal."
Every line in Duncan's face hardened in disapproval. "Let's get this over." He started turning back the soil with controlled fury, making sure it landed in a row that could quickly be folded back. Methos did his best to dig and remain out of Duncan's shovel zone. A barn owl hooted as they dug, and a dog began to bark intermittently.
After a few minutes of digging Methos called a halt, "Wait, Mac! Somethings...." He tossed aside his shovel and knelt down to brush away dirt from a plaid shirt. "Oh, there you are." Duncan joined him and together they brushed dirt off of the still body of Abraham.
Without hesitation Duncan swept the dirt covering his friend's neck, and found it whole. "Yes!"
"Here." Methos indicated a broken blade impaling Abraham's chest that he'd uncovered. "This isn't going to be fun to remove."
"Well, Doc Adams, let's get him inside for you to operate. No one likes to revive in a grave."
"Ah, but it's better than in a well."
As Duncan and Methos stood back up the crows flew again with a cacophony of disapproval.
Together they lifted the limp body from the shallow grave and laid him to the side so that they could check the ground under where he had been interned. They brushed at the soil to find it undisturbed below.
"Good. Methos, stay with him, it will just take me a few minutes. I'm going to break in the house, if necessary, take a look around."
Methos stood up, shaking his head. "Abraham won't know the difference, I'll help you search." Then sotto voce, "You haven't watched enough dead teenager movies."
"True enough."
The back-door proved to be unlocked so they rubbed their dirty boots across the brush-mat, then entered the farmhouse kitchen and started the search for any signs of life. There were dishes in the sink, Abraham's work clothes were strewn in the laundry as if he habitually removed his soiled clothes there. In the living room, books and magazines covered the low table in front of the overstuffed couch. Upstairs, the bedrooms were tidy, beds made, clothes put away. Methos studied the master bedroom closet, reading its story.
The search found no sign of anyone else, so they returned to the front room. Duncan spread a blanket on the couch, and together they packed Abraham's body inside and arranged him so that Methos could remove the blade from his chest. From a shelf in the laundry room, Methos selected needle-nosed pliers as stand-in forceps.
"Really. OK, thanks." Joe tucked his phone away and looked at Tracy. "The cleaners recovered Abraham from the grave that you found. He's alive. He'd been staked, but will revive soon."
"Wow, what's going on? What about Jan?"
"Jan isn't there."
"Oh, dear."
"I realize she was your friend, but the cleaners think she may have left voluntarily. Her clothes weren't in their bedroom closet. Kidnappers don't usually pack for their victims. I'm going to contact Paul's Watcher and ask if he's traveling with a woman now. Do you have a picture of her?"
"Yes of course--but Abe loves her--I can't believe--why would she leave that behind?"
"Why do people fall out of love? Or in love for that matter?" Joe sighed, and shook his head. "I couldn't answer that in a million years."
"Well, me neither," she agreed.
"We'll leave that one to the poets." Their eyes locked for a met for a moment, then both glanced away. "Now when you talk to Abraham again you ask him how Jan is and when he answers...act as surprised as you are now."
"I hate this part."
"Yes well, he may know you're his Watcher or not. Do you usually keep your tattoo covered?"
"Not in the summer."
"Well it's best for both of you if you maintain a mutual ignorance or pretense thereof. I realize that Jan was your contact point, but do your best. If he decides to move away we'll reassign, but if he stays here he'll need someone spreading the story of Jan leaving with Paul, so her disappearance isn't considered suspicious.
"Oh joy, I'm the town gossip now!"
"Hey, who knew it was such a glamorous job, right?" Tracy did not laugh with Joe.
Methos assumed his best non-threatening demeanor when Abraham began to revive before Duncan had returned to the house. The first gasp was followed directly by a groan of pain and Abraham clutched his chest. Methos helped him sit up and handed him a glass of water.
"Who are you--wait--Doc Adams! I'm alive!" Followed by coughing.
"In my best medical opinion, yes you are. And sorry to say I don't remember "“ oh! James Simon! I should have made the connection. But what have you done to your lovely red hair?"
Abraham coughed again and drank a bit more water, then answered, "Well Doc, they have these boxes of dye you can buy in drug stores nowadays."
"You haven't lost that droll humor. I go by Adam Pierson these days."
"What are you doing here, Adam?" He glanced at the broken blade and pliers lying on the short table next to the couch. "Oh."
"Duncan MacLeod and I drove Clancy's farm truck here to procure pumpkins."
"Duncan's here?"
"Yes. He went to find the barking dog. And hopefully nothing else."
The kitchen door creaked, paw steps clattered, and the dog in question ran to Abraham ahead of an immortal frisson. "Bobby!" The border collie launched herself in Abraham's lap and started licking his dirty face. "Easy girl, I hurt all over. But I'm tremendously glad to see you too." His voice quavered. "At least Jan left me you."
"I found her tied up in the barn," Duncan explained, then sidled up to Methos, asked quietly, "So you told him about Jan being gone?"
"No, we haven't gotten past the pleasantries. Abraham and I actually met back in the 1840's, I think it was."
"Back when I was still James Simon."
"What were you up to back then?" Duncan asked as he poured Abraham a sip of his own whiskey. "For the pain," as he handed the glass over.
"The pain's gone, and you damn well know I was a farmer. Always. Awk--sorry Duncan. Feeling a mite irritable." He slugged down the drink.
"You're allowed."
"Paul! Running me through! And Jan! Why did she think I'd try to stop her leaving? I'm not that kinda man. I don't own her." Abraham shook his head. "She doesn't know me. A decade together and she didn't really know me."
Methos allowed, "Not that unusual. Most people don't even know themselves, so how could they know someone else?"
"Still a damned philosopher, Doc. Sorry. I gotta take a shower." He staggered to the stairs with Bobby bounding alongside him.
Duncan watched sadly as his friend ascended the steps.
After closing hours at her bookstore they had reconvened to Tracy's home a few blocks away, where she listened to Joe's half of a conversation with his cleaner.
"Adam! How goes it?...I thought you might have. Any sign of Jan?...His Watcher lost track of him. Sooner or later we will locate them."
Joe laughed at something said before tucking his phone away, then turned to Tracy. "Well, Abraham has revived. Turns out he wasn't surprised that Jan left him."
"Well I am! She never told me she wasn't happy. Occasionally she'd grumble about farm work. I don't know, maybe she felt isolated." And with a sigh, "This doesn't make me feel very observant."
"Stop beating yourself up, Tracy."
"But I want to understand! And why did Paul kill and bury him, why? They could have just sneaked off."
"My guess is that Paul was showing Abraham that he could have killed him, but didn't. Counting coup."
"That's fucked. Sorry, Joe."
"That's alright. I think you've got the idea."
Joe had set up his laptop computer on her kitchen table and contacted his network. Tracy watched over his shoulder as he again played the video recording of Jan and Paul going through security at SEA-TAC.
"I've never seen Jan smile like that. She looks happy." Tracy shook her head. "Really happy. Well I'm glad I can't tell Abraham about this."
"What would you normally do next?"
"Check on them I guess. Sometimes this time of year I bake pumpkin pies and take one to them with coals-to-Newcastle jokes."
Joe nodded. "You're making me hungry. How about I take you to the best place Mill Creek has to offer."
"Thanks, Joe. I'd love to get out. And you can have my spare room for the night. No need to drive back in the dark."
"Thank you kindly. Now let's go start some rumors."
During their meal at Tracy's choice, the local brew pub, an acquaintance stopped by their table and asked her if she'd heard that Jan Wilberforce had been seen with that 'friend of theirs' at a gas station, and Jan's car fully packed? Tracy had fumbled for words, her face not shocked, but sad. "Sometimes things happened," she managed.
When the acquaintance mercifully left the table, Joe patted Tracy's hand and suggested it was time for another beer.
Early the next morning, the three immortals, followed by Bobby the border collie, crisscrossed the pumpkin field collecting the unchosen pumpkins destined for Clancy's cows.
"I would have liked to seen it when families were here picking their pumpkins to carve," Duncan said to Methos as he lifted another pumpkin. They walked on either side of the utility trailer pulled behind an ancient Massey Ferguson tractor which Abraham drove slowly between rows that only he could divine.
"I was thinking about how tasty cows are that have been fed pumpkins. Too bad Clancy's is a dairy farm."
Ignoring Methos"™ revelation, Duncan continued, "He does hayrides too, fills the trailer with hay bales for the kids to sit on. Don't know why kids love that so much."
"The solidarity of doing something silly together," Methos theorized.
When they arrived at a large clutch of unclaimed pumpkins, Abraham stopped the tractor to get down and help load them into the trailer. Some of the sorrow had left his face during the simple task. The quiet without the tractor chugging was lovely, though the silence made the remaindered pumpkins that much more forlorn. Scattered orange heads still littered the field.
Methos smiled of a memory, "Did you know that back in the day it was warned not to leave your pumpkins too long in the field or they'd turn into vampires?"
Duncan frowned, but Abraham nodded his familiarity with the tale and recited:
At a time long forgot
I traversed the sea
for a good lot of earth sought
carried my pumpkins with me
to this far wild shore
left my known life to chance
be I rich, or be I poor
where my pumpkins might dance
"And do they?" Methos asked.
"Not a step."
"Just as well," Duncan allowed.
Once they'd filled the utility trailer they transferred the pumpkins to the Kenworth's trailer and repeated the process twice more. Finally they were prepared to travel back south with their load.
"Say hello to Clancy for me."
"We will. And consider visiting Seacouver, we'll lift a few pints."
"Sure, sure. Thanks for everything, Duncan, and keep Doc outta trouble."
"I'm afraid that's usually the other way round," Duncan admitted.
"Well, as long as you have a system that works for both of you." Abraham waved as they departed, Bobby at attention beside him. The old farm truck lurched through a gear and was off.
Several miles of silence followed as Duncan and Methos headed south on Highway 9 with a load of pumpkins destined for Clancy's Holsteins.
"He'll be alright," Duncan finally said, nodding as if to convince himself. Methos grunted as he concentrated on driving the unfamiliar vehicle that he had nettled Duncan into letting him drive. Duncan continued, "Two hundred sheep, several dozen chickens, and a border collie for company."
Methos mumbled, "Yep, fine."
"In the spring there will be lambs, and fields to plant."
"Duncan, he'll be fine. You can't measure other people's love."
"What does that mean?" Duncan demanded.
"Which word didn't you understand?"
Duncan glared, but answered, "Love."
"What would you measure love with?"
"Nothing. You can't."
"Wallah!"
"Fuck you."
"No. You're much too grumpy."
Duncan sighed long and loud.
"Listen Mac, Abraham does not want or need to be coddled at this time. He's a self-contained man."
"Like you?"
"Hardly. I've been known to go off the rails occasionally. But Abraham is a more constant man. Let be."
"I hate when you're right."
"You'll get used to it eventually."
MacLeod smiled, but shook his head. "No, I won't."
I am the only person in the world I should like to know thoroughly; but I don't see any chance of it just at present. Oscar Wilde
finis