AWAKENING
part 2
By Pat
With a sudden gasp of breath, his eyes flew
open. Grimacing with pain while he waited for
his body to finish its healing process, Duncan MacLeod gathered
his thoughts. Coming back from the dead tended
to be disorienting for a few moments. Then he
remembered what had happened – the two punks with the guns
had shot him and Luka. Oh my God – Luka! MacLeod
struggled to his feet – he had to see to his friend.
He ran towards the still figure crumpled on the dirty pavement in
the ally, gently turned him over on his back and saw the
glassy-eyed stare. He didn’t need to check for a
pulse. MacLeod had seen enough death to know that his
friend, Dr. Luka Kovac, was dead. “Oh
Luka, no,” he moaned softly, “No, not yet.”
Then he heard the faint sounds of sirens in the distance.
They couldn’t be found here. How could he
explain to the police the fact that he was covered in blood and
not a mark on him? And he couldn’t allow
Luka to lie here in the pool of his own blood in the dirt.
Quickly, he bent, lifted the lifeless body. Flinging it
over his shoulder, he carried him towards the car. Wrenching
open the passenger door, he dumped Luka in on the seat.
Getting behind the wheel, he quickly started the car and drove
off towards his apartment. He had to get Luka back
there and soon.
With grim determination and purpose, he
maneuvered the Thunderbird through the streets of Chicago,
occasionally glancing towards the lifeless figure slumped on the
seat next to him. Suddenly with a loud
gasp followed by some mumbled Croatian, Luka sat upright,
grabbing at his chest, looking around wildly. He
was in pain, and there was a strange sensation surrounding him, a
sensation he had never experienced before. MacLeod
reached for his friend’s shoulder to try to reassure the
other man. Luka was still babbling in Croatian,
but Duncan was able to catch the last sentence.
“Sto se desilo? Sto se deliso?”
Luka kept repeating. Duncan had hoped to avoid this;
he wanted to answer that question, what had happened, once he had
Luka safe in his apartment. But he was awake now and
needed to know.
“Luka. Sve je u redu.
Sada si siguran. Samo budi na miru.”
MacLeod replied, Croatian being one of many languages he spoke.
Its alright, you are safe now, stay calm, he tried to reassure
the young doctor.
Luka focused on the words and the face of
his friend. He needed something solid he could grasp
on to. Once again he queried MacLeod, “Sto se
desilo?”
“Samo polako i odmori se. Bit
cerno kod kuce za nekoliko minuta. Sve cu ti objasniti
tada.” Duncan had told Luka take it easy and
rest, they would be home in a few minutes, he would explain
everything then.
“Home?” Luka whispered.
“I’ve been shot, I need to get to the hospital, I need
help.” He clutched his chest area, looking
down at the now drying blood that covered the front of his shirt.
“Take me to County, Duncan!”
By now they had arrived at MacLeod’s
place, and after parking in the back, Duncan hurried around to
the passenger side. Once there he helped Luka out of
the car. Gripping his arm tightly, he steered the still
slightly dazed man through the door and inside. After
depositing Luka into a chair, MacLeod crossed the floor to his
liquor cabinet. Quickly he splashed some brandy into
a glass and returned to Luka’s side, pushing the glass into
his hand. “Here drink this.” He ordered.
“I don’t want a drink. I’ve
been shot. I need to get to the hospital!” Luka
protested.
Dropping down to a crouch so they were eye
to eye, MacLeod Forced Luka’s attention to him. “No
Luka. No hospital. Listen to me now, and listen
carefully. You were shot in that ally and you died
there. But you didn’t stay dead. You
are one of us now – an immortal.”
Luka’s mind heard the words, but
refused to accept them. “No MacLeod, you’re
wrong. I’ve been hurt, look at the blood.
But dead? No, no, no, that can’t be!”
He protested. Agitated, he rose from chair, pushing
past Duncan to pace the floor. MacLeod quickly
caught up with him, grabbing him by the shoulders and turning
Luka to face him.
“Luka listen to me. What I’ve
told you is true.” With one motion, Duncan tore
opened the bloodstained shirt, forcing Luka to look down. “Look
at your chest. Do you see a bullet wound?
Its been healed.”
Once again Luka heard the words, and once
again his mind rejected them. Wrenching free of
MacLeod’s grasp, he once again protested. “No.
No. That can’t be. Not me – I can’t
be like you. I can’t. It’s a
mistake. You are wrong. That bullet must have
hit me somewhere else then or missed, but to tell me I died, that’s
not funny, Duncan. Why are you doing this?”
He demanded. Stopping his pacing, he leaned heavily
against the kitchen counter top while he waited for MacLeod to
explain.
Knowing he had to make Luka understand and
accept the change in his life, and seeing that words were not
getting through to him, MacLeod joined his friend at the counter.
He hated causing Luka more pain, but he had to tear down this
wall of denial he was building around himself. So,
with one fluid motion he grasped a sharp kitchen knife, and
before he could move, grabbed Luka’s arm and sliced open a
large gash across his forearm.
“What in the hell did you do that for?”
Luka yelled, jumping back and grabbing his arm while the blood
flowed freely, dripping on the floor. “God damn it
MacLeod! That’s going to need stitches to fix!
You crazy son of a bitch!” Luka ranted.
But MacLeod was also determined. Coming around the
counter, he grabbed Luka’s arm, prying the fingers of his
other hand away from the wound he had inflicted.
“Look at your arm! Look at it
now!” He commanded harshly, forcing Luka’s
attention to focus on the gash. He heard the
indrawn breath, as Luka focused on his arm. The cut
had been deep, almost to the bone – but before his eyes he
saw the tendons, nerves and vessels coming together, the blood
had stopped flowing, then the muscles, fascia and subcutaneous
tissues joined, and he could only stare in wonder as the skin
came together and healed. In a matter of moments,
there was no sign there had ever been an injury there.
“Oh my God, its true.” Luka
moaned softly. He felt his knees start to buckle; he
didn’t think he could stand. Then MacLeod had
him by the arm, and was steering him towards a chair.
He dropped into it heavily, placing his head in his hands.
Duncan soon was back at his side, once again placing the brandy
in his hand. “Drink some of this. It will
help steady you.” He heard the quiet words and the
reassuring tone of his friend’s voice. Sipping
the brandy, he felt its warmth go through him and he tried to
pull himself together. Looking up at Duncan, he
questioned, “But how could this have happened? Why did
I suddenly turn into an immortal?”
“You always were an immortal.”
Duncan stated. “You just didn’t know it.
You don’t find out until you die the first time.”
“But you knew?” He saw
MacLeod nod. “How could you know? Why didn’t
you tell me?”
“Do you remember me telling you how
immortals can sense the presence of one another? That’s
how I could tell. You gave off the faint sensation of
a pre-immortal, so I knew from the moment I met you.
And I couldn’t tell you – I wanted you to have a normal
life as long as possible. It would have served no
purpose to tell you.” Duncan quietly explained
to Luka.
“What do I do now?” Luka
looked towards MacLeod for an answer, he still felt as if he were
in a dream, no a nightmare, and he prayed he would soon wake up.
“For tonight, you just get cleaned up
and then go to bed. Its late, you’ve had one
hell of a shock, and you need some sleep. Even
immortals need rest.” He smiled at Luka and was glad
to see a faint smile in response. “I will be here for
you.” MacLeod continued. “I will teach you
what you need to know to survive The Game. That’s
the way it has always been – older immortals teaching the
young ones. Just as Connor taught me.”
Luka had been watching Duncan’s face as he spoke, and for a
brief moment he saw the look of sadness pass like a shadow across
his friend’s face at the mention of Connor’s name.
He realized something was wrong, but right now he was too
exhausted to pursue it. He allowed Duncan to help him
to his feet and numbly followed him to the guestroom.
After making sure Luka had everything he
needed, MacLeod left him, proceeding to his own bedroom. He
closed the door, leaning back against it exhausted. “Connor,
Connor, I don’t think I can do this again.” He
softly whispered to his clansman. And in his mind he
could hear the reply, “Yes you can, Duncan, and you will.
You have to.” Wearily, he pushed away from the
door heading towards his shower, stripping off the bloodstained
clothes as he walked. Yes, he thought, tomorrow
he would begin training Luka for the life he would now have to
lead. He had hoped his friend would have had more
time before this day arrived, but it wasn’t to be.
Now he would have to learn the skills he would need if he were to
keep his head and survive, and it was up to Duncan to see that he
learned those skills well. He stepped into the shower
and let the hot water cascade over his tired body. Leaning
against the wall, he allowed his mind to drift off into memories.
Meanwhile, Luka also leaned against a shower
wall. Thoughts and emotions were racing through his
mind. Oh God, he thought, Daniela. Now he
would never see her again. The Bishop had helped him
come to terms with his grief, and he had found comfort in the
knowledge that some day he would be with her and the children
they had adopted and loved, once more. But now, if he
lived forever, he would never be reunited with them.
The grief was overwhelming and he allowed the tears to fall,
mingling with the stream of hot water that flooded over him.
Was this immortality a blessing or a curse? Luka knew
that was a question only he could answer. Did he want
to live or die? Could he make that choice?
**This author would like to acknowledge
the assistance, and express her gratitude to Tommy for his help
with the Croatian dialogue.
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