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The River

Part Eleven: Illusion

Curled up in Duncan�s bed, Ash appeared to be asleep. The appearance was misleading. She had shut down, too many emotions, too much physical sensation, her mind could not take it all in and had gone away, far down into itself, where there was only the darkness, the silence. Catatonia was an old friend, one who asked no questions, killed all pain, but it was a treacherous place to go, she could get lost here, so lost it could take years to find the way out, back to the world. It had happened before. But this time something was nagging at her; something was preventing the silent darkness from taking her completely. What was it? What is that sound? She crawled back up into the light; made contact with the world, aware of how close she had been to that dangerous oblivion. She couldn�t allow that, she had to be here, she had made promises, people needed her. Methos needed her.

The sound that had pulled her back was Methos, crying. He was lying naked on the sleeping bags, next to Duncan. He�d taken off the sheet and lay close, holding Duncan�s body even though he was shivering from the cold, the shaking intensifying his sobbing. Ash went to him and lay next to him, gently making him let go of Duncan, pulling him close to her. She warmed Methos with her body; held him, let him cry it out, until he finally slowed, then stopped from exhaustion. She got him up off of the floor, back into the bed, and lay down holding him, his head on her shoulder. Despite the exhaustion he was tense, unable to relax, holding in so much pain, still.

�Talk to me, �Thos, tell me what is hurting you, it will make it better.� Her voice was velvet and smoke, and irresistible.

�I should never have left him, he needed me, it didn�t matter how much he hurt me, he was hurting more.� It was like a dam breaking from relentless pressure, he was unable to stop, it was an inescapable torrent, the need to let it out. �He would drink day and night, I don�t know how many times I put him to bed when he passed out, how many times I found him laying wherever he fell. It hurt so much, watching him drink like that, hurting himself, not being able to help him, and then he started hitting me, and�� here his voice gave out, replaced by a ragged sob, he was unable to speak, his throat closed by anguish. Ash did not push, knowing it would have to come out when Methos was ready, to force it would hurt him worse. Ash held his trembling body closer.

�Do you want to sleep?�

Methos knew what she was asking him, �Do you want me to make you sleep,� and he whispered, �Yes, please.� He wanted peace, and sleep was as close as he could come and still go on breathing.

�Then sleep, �Thos, sleep as long as you want, as deep as you can, you will only wake if there is danger. It will get better, it will hurt less, sleep and rest, sleep and rest.� Her voice was soft, soothing, so close to his ear, a velvet purr, he stopped trembling, relaxed, and slipped down, unresisting, into a deep sleep. Ash held him for a while, making sure the suggestion had taken, then she eased Methos� head from her shoulder, got up and covered him, tucking the blanket around him gently. She showered quickly, then got dressed, first the sheathed falcatas, then the nondescript dark pants and sweater, dark running shoes, and baggy suede jacket, grabbed her pack, and went up on deck to wait for Joe.

Ash sat cross-legged on a hatch cover and stared into the dark water, the emotions raging in her invisible from the outside, she was sitting so still. She was trying to meditate. She had tried so hard to banish the emotion, telling herself, �There is no love, no desire, no need for others, all is maya, illusion, and attachment to illusion brings pain.� It had worked, up until that night, with Duncan dying in her arms. Duncan opened her heart, so long closed to feeling, and the love was still there, then Methos opened her body, so long dead in all but fact, and the love was still there, too. Attachment to illusion brings pain, yes, with the love came the pain of living, again. If she could have cried, she would have, but she had no tears.

Joe pulled up next to the barge, and Ash picked up her pack and walked down the ramp to the quay and opened the door, dropped the pack on the floor, and reached under the seat and retrieved Methos� sword. She went back inside the barge and left the Ivanhoe next to the bed, in easy reach, just in case. �You must really be upset to have forgotten your blade, old man,� she thought. Ash observed him for a moment. Methos was deeply asleep, his face relaxed and so young. Ash whispered, �Sleep, �Thos, it�s all right.� Ash walked out, back to Joe�s Jeep and got in. She gave Joe an address in an area of the riverfront, a warehouse district. Joe noticed that the glass wall Methos spoke of was down, Ash was distant, and Joe wondered what had happened. She was silent until they got close to their destination. Ash picked up her pack, reached in and pulled out a nine millimeter automatic. �There�s a round in the chamber, and the clip holds fourteen. If there is any trouble, get the hell out of there and don�t worry about me, I heal better than you do.� She handed the gun to Joe, low, out of sight of the windows. Joe tucked it into his coat pocket.

�Are you expecting trouble?�

�No, but it�s always good to be ready.� Ash�s voice was like an arctic wind blowing through the car, and Joe almost shivered.

They pulled up to an abandoned-looking, featureless warehouse, all steel doors and no name. Ash got out and pressed the button on an intercom next to the last door on the left. She spoke briefly, in rapid French, and the far left door rolled up. Ash motioned to Joe to drive in, and followed on foot. The door slowly rolled closed behind her. A short, slender man stepped out of the shadows. He had curly, dark hair, and the most intense black eyes Joe had ever seen. He walked over to Ash.

�Sunny, you�re looking good, as usual.� Carlo had an accent Joe couldn�t quite place, almost Italian, almost French, but neither.

�Carlo, you�re a liar, as usual,� Smiling, Ash had changed personas. This woman was Sunny, a relaxed, assured, accomplished criminal, a dealer in the black market.

Carlo checked out the Jeep, and Joe. �New driver?�

�It�s okay, he�s an old friend, I wouldn�t blow your location.� Ash reached into the car for her pack, Carlo didn�t tense, and Joe knew instantly that Carlo trusted �Sunny�. She dug into the pack, and pulled out a large bundle of American hundred-dollar bills.

Carlo smiled and said, �That reminds me, those ladies from Calcutta contacted me, are you still paying their bills?�

�Well, I didn�t come prepared to pay that much in cash, you�ll have to let me make a withdrawal from my bank.�

�No problem. The order hasn�t shipped yet, there�s time.� He spread his hands out and shrugged his shoulders. �So, what can I do for you?�

�You know what I need, Carlo, let�s walk.� She turned back and said to Joe, �Stay in the car and don�t get curious, it can be bad for your health.�

Joe silently agreed with her. Just from where he was sitting he could see crates labeled in Russian, and on others he recognized a familiar U.S. Army designation, C4. If they had plastic explosive, what else could be here?

Ash and Carlo vanished down a row of crates, their voices echoing in the warehouse. They came back riding a small forklift, piled with boxes. They loaded the boxes into the back of the Jeep. They were talking together, a dialect so fast Joe couldn�t quite follow it, not even enough to identify it. They finished loading, Ash closed the door, then Joe saw something that surprised him. Carlo hugged Ash, a hard affectionate hug, and said, �Don�t be such a stranger, Sunny, you know you are one of us.�

�Yes, Carlo, I know, it�s just been busy, too much to do, not enough time.�

He hugged her again, then she got in the Jeep. �I�ll send the cash over by courier, I can�t make it back myself.�

�It�s okay, send it to the usual place.�

Ash nodded, and Carlo walked over and pressed the button to raise the steel door. It rolled up, and Joe drove out, into the gray street.

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