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Darkness Meets Darkness (Highlander: The Series, Forever Knight)
Summary: Horton wakes up in a warehouse and discovers he has some rather unwelcome company. Set after the events of "Counterfeit".
Darkness Meets Darkness
by Estirose
copyright 1994
He was dying. He had been dying for a long time.
James Horton lay on the floor under the sheet in the warehouse, listening to the silence around him and willing himself to live. MacLeod had missed his heart, but the knife wound still bled. He would be dead by morning, unless he could find help.
Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was. Paris, certainly, and probably one of the Watchers' warehouses. The Immortals and the Watchers had something in common in that both groups found warehouses useful.
Pressing the wound with his left hand, he carefully drew the sheet down. A warehouse, as he expected. He seemed to be in an office. Of course, a corpse in a warehouse like this one, which seemed to be in use, would be a little hard to explain. Here, no one would notice until it was time to bury him.
He looked around the office for a phone. That would save his life. And then he'd complete his revenge, on MacLeod, and Dawson.
There was no phone, so he grabbed a shelf and used it to stand. Clutching his hand over the wound, he stood unsteadily, trying to ease himself over to the door. He managed to open it, but the swing inwards made him lose balance again. He collapsed on the floor again. He lay quietly, hoping to gain the strength to get up again.
Horton would not have heard the sound had he it not been so quiet. He swore that he heard something quietly being opened. He pushed himself up on his elbows and strained to see if someone was there. He wondered if he was just hearing something loose swinging around, or if someone was there and didn't want anyone to know that fact.
A shape swept down on him, unnoticed until he was grabbed, his neck exposed. A low laughter sounded in his ears. He shivered. "Who are you?" he asked weakly. The laugh became even more pronounced, but there was no answer.
"I've got friends coming."
A male voice answered him. "I suppose that's why they left you bleeding to death in a warehouse."
He tried to shift away, but he was weak and the being that held him was so strong. "My friends will find me."
"Your friends will find you dead."
"That was someone's plan, anyway."
"Your brother-in-law's."
Horton's eyes opened wide. "How did you -"
"Know?" the being said, laughing. "I see him in your thoughts. You don't like each other much, do you?"
"No," Horton said coldly.
"It's sad when family relations break down," the being said. "I've got problems like that of my own."
Horton didn't answer. Whatever the being was, it certainly didn't deserve living.
The being released him, and came around so that Horton could see him. It was certainly a him. Horton gazed upon the being, noted the very pale hair, the startling eyes. And the teeth. "You're a vampire," he said, trying to calm himself. Certainly the being was no worse than the immortals.
The being smiled coldly and nodded. "Very good."
"What do you want of me?"
"What usual use do vampires have of mortals?"
Horton shivered briefly, but held firm. After all, he was dying. He had barely enough blood to live himself, much less feed a vampire. "Who are you?" he asked.
"You may call me LaCroix."
Horton looked up at LaCroix. "Well, finish me off, then, if you're going to. I haven't much longer to live."
"But you have something to live for. Your revenge."
"Yes, but I'm not likely to get it, am I?"
"I may be able to help you there."
Horton glared at LaCroix. "If you're thinking of turning me into a vampire, then forget it. I refuse to become a monstrosity."
"Like the ones you hunt?"
Horton had been looking at the ground to avoid looking at LaCroix. He swung up. "You're just as bad."
"_I_ already rule the night. And I don't have to kill my kind to do so."
"You know of them?" Horton blinked briefly in surprise. Then he remembered what he was talking to.
"Of course," LaCroix said smoothly. "I'm older than most of them."
Horton didn't like the way the conversation was going. "Fine, then," he said, hating the weakness of his voice. "You go on, they go on. I won't be there to trouble you."
"I think you'll be here a little bit longer," LaCroix said, rising. "Think about it, I'll come back later if you want to accept my offer. I think someone of your drive and ingenuity would want to stay in this world a bit longer."
He took off, and Horton yelled as loud as he could, "I won't accept it!"
Then he was left in the warehouse alone, still bleeding and still dying.
-end
Darkness Meets Darkness
by Estirose
copyright 1994
He was dying. He had been dying for a long time.
James Horton lay on the floor under the sheet in the warehouse, listening to the silence around him and willing himself to live. MacLeod had missed his heart, but the knife wound still bled. He would be dead by morning, unless he could find help.
Unfortunately, he had no idea where he was. Paris, certainly, and probably one of the Watchers' warehouses. The Immortals and the Watchers had something in common in that both groups found warehouses useful.
Pressing the wound with his left hand, he carefully drew the sheet down. A warehouse, as he expected. He seemed to be in an office. Of course, a corpse in a warehouse like this one, which seemed to be in use, would be a little hard to explain. Here, no one would notice until it was time to bury him.
He looked around the office for a phone. That would save his life. And then he'd complete his revenge, on MacLeod, and Dawson.
There was no phone, so he grabbed a shelf and used it to stand. Clutching his hand over the wound, he stood unsteadily, trying to ease himself over to the door. He managed to open it, but the swing inwards made him lose balance again. He collapsed on the floor again. He lay quietly, hoping to gain the strength to get up again.
Horton would not have heard the sound had he it not been so quiet. He swore that he heard something quietly being opened. He pushed himself up on his elbows and strained to see if someone was there. He wondered if he was just hearing something loose swinging around, or if someone was there and didn't want anyone to know that fact.
A shape swept down on him, unnoticed until he was grabbed, his neck exposed. A low laughter sounded in his ears. He shivered. "Who are you?" he asked weakly. The laugh became even more pronounced, but there was no answer.
"I've got friends coming."
A male voice answered him. "I suppose that's why they left you bleeding to death in a warehouse."
He tried to shift away, but he was weak and the being that held him was so strong. "My friends will find me."
"Your friends will find you dead."
"That was someone's plan, anyway."
"Your brother-in-law's."
Horton's eyes opened wide. "How did you -"
"Know?" the being said, laughing. "I see him in your thoughts. You don't like each other much, do you?"
"No," Horton said coldly.
"It's sad when family relations break down," the being said. "I've got problems like that of my own."
Horton didn't answer. Whatever the being was, it certainly didn't deserve living.
The being released him, and came around so that Horton could see him. It was certainly a him. Horton gazed upon the being, noted the very pale hair, the startling eyes. And the teeth. "You're a vampire," he said, trying to calm himself. Certainly the being was no worse than the immortals.
The being smiled coldly and nodded. "Very good."
"What do you want of me?"
"What usual use do vampires have of mortals?"
Horton shivered briefly, but held firm. After all, he was dying. He had barely enough blood to live himself, much less feed a vampire. "Who are you?" he asked.
"You may call me LaCroix."
Horton looked up at LaCroix. "Well, finish me off, then, if you're going to. I haven't much longer to live."
"But you have something to live for. Your revenge."
"Yes, but I'm not likely to get it, am I?"
"I may be able to help you there."
Horton glared at LaCroix. "If you're thinking of turning me into a vampire, then forget it. I refuse to become a monstrosity."
"Like the ones you hunt?"
Horton had been looking at the ground to avoid looking at LaCroix. He swung up. "You're just as bad."
"_I_ already rule the night. And I don't have to kill my kind to do so."
"You know of them?" Horton blinked briefly in surprise. Then he remembered what he was talking to.
"Of course," LaCroix said smoothly. "I'm older than most of them."
Horton didn't like the way the conversation was going. "Fine, then," he said, hating the weakness of his voice. "You go on, they go on. I won't be there to trouble you."
"I think you'll be here a little bit longer," LaCroix said, rising. "Think about it, I'll come back later if you want to accept my offer. I think someone of your drive and ingenuity would want to stay in this world a bit longer."
He took off, and Horton yelled as loud as he could, "I won't accept it!"
Then he was left in the warehouse alone, still bleeding and still dying.
-end