A Dark Quickening has changed the honorable and caring Duncan MacLeod into a totally evil Immortal, a powerful antithesis of everything he exemplified. If Joe Dawson had not intervened, MacLeod would have killed Richie, his beloved friend, and pupil. Only a small spark of his former self kept MacLeod from killing Dawson. Now, he has fled everyone and everything he cherished. He is now on a freighter that will carry him (and his explosive nature) to Le Havre, France. Jim Coltec told MacLeod in the previous episode, hating is “not your nature.” MacLeod does not know it yet, but he desperately wants to be healed. Moreover, good friends like Joe and Methos refuse to give up on him, even when it appears he has given up on himself. A side note: In the Euro version, the sudden appearance of the Clan MacLeod sword is explained by having Rachel MacLeod bringing it from Glenfinnan. They cut her out of the USA version. She appears in the next episode, “Promises.” New Characters: SEAN BURNS — a psychoanalyst, specialist in healing mental afflictions. Mac met him in a hospital during WWI. ROBERT DAVIS — The captain of the freighter on which MacLeod signed. We saw him briefly in the previous episode. DOMINIQUE DAVIS — His beautiful wife. Recap From “Something Wicked” There once was a time— When MacLeod was at peace. He lived with the Sioux, But soon, that would cease, When his family was slaughtered— The pain and the hate— Nearly drove him insane. That appeared his sure fate. But he met Jim Coltec— Who rescued his soul. Jim was Hayoka, Whose mission and goal— Was to take from the world— Its evil and hate, But Jim took too much, Now, for him...it’s too late. A Dark Quickening— Has turned Jim around. MacLeod tries to help, Brings him to Holy Ground. But there, Mac discovers— His friend’s truly lost. He has to be stopped, At a terrible cost. MacLeod takes his head, The Dark Quickening, as well, Overwhelmed by the evil, He’s found his own Hell. He tries to kill Rich— Luckily...Joe is there— To shoot MacLeod down, In this dreadful nightmare. Joe cannot take— The Highlander’s head, He counts on Mac’s goodness— To triumph, instead. He lets MacLeod go, Wondering...Is it right— To set such a monster— Loose, in the night? Mac boards a freighter— As one of the crew, He must get away— From all that he knew, He doesn’t ask where— The freighter is going, But throughout the voyage, His anger is growing. Present Day, Le Havre, France They’ve pulled into port, Mac wants to be paid, Says Davis, “You owe— For the mess that you made. The trouble and damage— You caused on this trip... Pick up your gear— And get off of my ship!” Mac goes berserk— As the rage courses through him, It takes the entire— Crew, to subdue him. “This isn’t over!” To Davis, his vow, He picks up his gear, Leaves the captain...for now. Through cobblestoned streets, MacLeod wends his way, A Watcher behind him— Updates will relay— To Joe, in the States, Dawson’s eager to know— Whom MacLeod sees, Where he will go. Something instinctive, Deep in his soul, Spurs MacLeod on— To a yet unknown goal, An inner voice tells him, “You can’t win alone.” He’ll reach out for help, First, he must find a phone. He stands in the booth, The voice in his ear— Is that of Sean Burns, His friend, old and dear. MacLeod pictures Sean, One occasion they met, An amazing occurrence, He’ll never forget. Flashback, France, 1917, Sean Burns’ Clinic Sometimes, it happens— When men go to war, Their minds brutalized— Are hard to restore Mac was a medic, Just brought a man in— When he heard a ruckus, He turned toward the din. A paranoid soldier, His hallucination... Everywhere—“German pigs!” Hostage situation. His knife, at the throat— Of a nurse, that he’d kill— If the sounds in his head, Refused to be still. Mac tried to soothe him— With little success, Then Sean Burns came in, His calm voice, a caress, He entered the mind— Of the tormented lad, Showing the soldier— His kind, loving dad. The anger was eased— At “papa’s” soft urging, All fears now allayed, And with gratitude surging— He put the knife down, Enfolded by peace, He clung to Sean Burns, Crying tears of release. Present Day, Phone Booth “Are you all right?” Sean’s voice stirs him so, His own voice is trembling— When he answers, “No.” Sean will make time, MacLeod can depend— That he’ll cancel all plans To help his old friend. “Tomorrow,” says Mac, “I’ll come to you. Right now, I must go, Got something to do.” He’s spotted his captain, Going home, unaware, Mac’s dark hatred swells— To a blinding hot flare. MacLeod charges out— From the booth, and attacks. He pummels the captain— With blows like an ax Davis lies senseless, But MacLeod spares his life, When he sees, in his wallet— His beautiful wife. He takes the man’s wallet, The photo, his pay, From the pavement, he rescues— A fragrant bouquet. For “wifey” no doubt, Well he’ll see she gets it, His appetite’s growing— And her picture just whets it. He continues to walk— Passes a butcher’s shop. Something he sees— Impels him to stop. A man with a cleaver— Hacks a carcass with ease, When he turns, with a grin— It’s his own face he sees. Does it disturb him? This depraved predilection? This glimpse of himself, In bloody reflection? He feels a discomfort, But goes on, unswerving Behind him, the Watcher— Continues observing. Home of Robert and Dominique Davis He knocks on her door, She’s radiant as dawn, A shy, smiling, gracious— Kind face, he puts on. He’s brought hubby’s gear— “He regrets his delay, Thought you might like these...” (Her husband’s bouquet.) His manner’s so like— The Duncan of old, She cannot resist— “Come out of the cold.” An offer of dinner, Of course he will stay, “Can I wash up?” She shows him the way. He leaves the door open, She admires his physique, He smiles...a shy wave, Watch out, Dominique! — He looks in the mirror, Leering back, is a beast— Licking his lips, For a licentious feast. Tasty food, fine red wine, Laughter and fun, Then Mac feigns regret, “Sorry, must run... Your husband’s a fool...” Then a bold lie he tells, “I saw him go off— With somebody else.” At first, Dominique— Rejects, can’t conceive it, But Mac’s so convincing— He makes her believe it. Wine dulls her sorrow, She’s easily led— And the evil MacLeod— Lures her to bed. Next Morning She awakes with a tear, From this foul interlude, Mac smirks, “Pretty good,” He is sordid and crude, While she makes coffee— He’s groping her rear, She retreats from his touch, Hoping he’ll disappear. “Dominique!” It is Robert! She jumps with a start! “Quick! The back stairs!” But MacLeod won’t depart, He pins Dominique— Onto her kitchen table, “Robert! Come in! Watch, if you’re able!” Davis attacks him, The tussle’s begun, She scalds MacLeod’s face— Then grabs hubby’s gun. Mac croons, “It’s not easy— To kill, Dominique... The dead haunt your dreams.” Of his own, does he speak? He’s knocked Davis out, (He sure takes a beating). He advances on her, But she’s not retreating. He leaves her no choice. She shoots! Shoots again! How naïve she is, He grins through the pain, Now Davis revives, Takes the gun from her hand, He fires point blank, Mac barely can stand, He staggers outside, Stumbles down to the street, Davis keeps firing, Revenge is so sweet! A car has pulled up, An Immortal’s arriving, Through fast closing eyes, Mac sees Methos driving, The old one’s appalled— At MacLeod’s situation, “Get in!” Do you want— An engraved invitation?” A Seaside Church, Holy Ground “Good morning!” says Methos Mac hates this intrusion, His voice thunders anger, Methos’ conclusion— “MacLeod, you need help... Immediately... Have you looked in a mirror?” “YES! I like what I see.” “This is not who you are!” Methos cries forcefully, “No?” taunts MacLeod, “But it’s who I should be!” He leaps on a handrail, “Whatever you see... That’s what you get.” Grinning menacingly. The church candelabra— Mac holds at arm’s length, Advancing on Methos, Confident of his strength. “MacLeod, you can fight this! I’ll help, if you choose... Because you are too— Important to lose!” “I’m not LOST!” Mac roars, The candles crash down, But nothing Mac does— Can effectively drown— The sounds in his head, Those urges, depraved... Methos says, “This may be— Your last chance to be saved.” MacLeod whirls around, Takes a second to gloat, He holds his katana— To Methos’ throat. “Don’t want to be saved.” Methos: “This you can’t do! We’re on Holy Ground!” Will his message get through? It does, for the moment, Mac hurls him away, Strides out of the church, Into the bright day. Parked by cliffs-edge— Is a bright red Mercedes, Inside are two lovers, As harmless as babies. Mac rousts them out, Takes their car, (souvenir), Aims it at Methos, But the old guy jumps clear. MacLeod speeds away, All he was, now obscured, Methos tells the couple— “I hope you’re insured.” Later, In Town Methos must learn— MacLeod’s destination. He locates Mac’s Watcher— To get information, “Joe Dawson sent me, There are special concerns, It’s a Dark Quickening.” “Well, he did phone Sean Burns.” Sean Burns’ Home Mac loudly honks— As he pulls in the drive, Sean Burns is there— To see him arrive. In the stolen Mercedes— Mac does not look well, Burns sums it up...”Duncan— You look like hell.” MacLeod feels a twinge— Of hesitancy... Why is he here? What use can this be? But this was a place— Where men’s minds were healed— After breaking in pieces— On war’s battlefield. Flashback, France, 1917, Sean Burns’ Clinic A peaceful conclusion— To the day’s grisly grind. “How did you get— Into that soldier’s mind?” Sean tells MacLeod, “Freud believes, so do I— A mind sorely damaged— Can be healed, if you try.” “Stay on here, Duncan, I see that you care,” “No,” Mac declines, “There’s a war still out there. But I will remember— This haven of peace, Something to cling to— When the battles increase.” Present Day, Same Place “Can it work for Immortals... This mind therapy?” Sean says, “We’re complex— But inside, basically— Our cores are the same.” “What difference...if any— Do Quickenings make... If you’ve had one too many?” “You mean...can the good— Be submerged by the bad?” Now Sean can see— The shock Mac has had. Mac: “Which one is real... The one that you are... Or the one you’ve become...?” Mac has fallen so far. Mac knows the answer, Sean sees it too. “Duncan, you’ve come— Hoping I would help you. I’ll lead you back, You’re good in your core— You are Duncan MacLeod!” Mac: “Not any more.” Methos drove up— Saw them together, Kept a good distance, Wondering whether— MacLeod will accept, The help that he needs, He prays to himself, That Sean Burns succeeds. But it will not happen. The bloodlust’s too vast. MacLeod takes Sean’s head— Evil triumphs, at last. Methos cries out— Through anger and tears, The worst loss he’s suffered— In five thousand years. “You were the best!” He cries to MacLeod, He holds the katana— Mac can’t be allowed— To continue this rampage, Inside, his heart’s chilled, Knowing the Highlander— Has to be killed. “I hope,” Mac warns Methos, “You like what you see. If you take my head, That’s who you will be. You will kill...just like me, Can you deal with that doom?” “Maybe I have— Inside me, more room.” “Then do it,” dares Mac, “Go on, take my head.” Mac’s weaponless, but— He advances, arms spread. He backs Methos up— To a low stony wall, Shoving him over, Mac laughs at his fall. “Fool!” MacLeod gloats Methos fell on his back, “I’m too old for this.” Again, he’s lost Mac. But this time MacLeod— Has a hidden ally, Inside him, Sean Burns— Won’t let his soul die. The Barge, Later This was his home, Here he knew joy, But nothing here moves him, In rage, he’ll destroy. The useless mementos— Now made meaningless, “NOTHING!” he cries, It is all emptiness. Parisian Streets He wanders through Paris, Staring at space, Seeing Sean Burns— In a street vagrant’s face. Now Sean’s part of him, His goodness inside, Sean knows what he needs, And he’ll be Mac’s guide.. During the war, Mac felt such despair, Sean made him see— He was brought up to care “It’s who you are, Since you first wore a kilt When you see men hurt, And you’re whole, you feel guilt.” Darius’ Church In the entrance he sees— A ghost from his past. “Darius?” he pleads, But the specter fades fast. Inside, his frustration— Comes to the fore— As he angrily hurls— Wooden chairs to the floor. In total submission, He sinks to his knees, “I cannot exist— Like this!” he decrees. He lies on his back, His eyes heavenward, “Help me...or stop me,” Will his plea be heard? His answer now comes— Walking through the church portal, Not quite an angel, But the oldest Immortal, Methos has found him. “Leave me alone!” Is there just a hint— Of hope in Mac’s tone? “See me as I am, Not as I was... Or you want me to be,” Mac’s voice, dolorous, “Methos, I’ll kill you.” (With a sigh of regret) He adds, “I don’t want to.” He is not conquered yet. “That’s your salvation, And you’re not alone, Feel Sean Burns’ strength, Joined with your own, Come now...with me...” (His shrewdness restored) “Uh...Maybe you’d better... Let me hold your sword.” Relief floods his face— When Duncan agrees, MacLeod’s trying hard— Since all that he sees— Is a future devoid— Of meaning and joy— Where all he holds dear— He will seek to destroy. Somewhere in the Woods Methos is upbeat— As he pulls up the car. He tells Mac the reason— He has driven so far. “A spring, holy water— Long lost to view, Some say it is magic, I’ll show it to you.” But the evil rekindles, MacLeod spins around, Smacks Methos hard, Mac’s head starts to pound, “I cannot do this!” He’s ready to quit, But Methos won’t let him, “You must battle it!” “Fight it with THIS! It belongs in your hands.” He holds out the claymore— Brought from the Highlands, Mac hears the voices— Of his father and mother, “Take the clan sword, For you, and no other.” From its home in Glenfinnan, Its journey’s been long, Mac holds it with awe, This cannot be wrong, All resistance now over, He descends on a rope, Down to a grotto— To the bright pool...and hope. When he touches the pool— The tip of the blade— Sets the water aglow, Gleaming colors arrayed, He steps in the water, Caressed by the balm— His mind, now unclouding He feels a great calm, But the fight for his soul, Now begins in his mind, The Duncan that’s evil, Facing one, good and kind. Hatred contends— With forgiveness and joy. One seeks to build, The other... destroy. Katana strikes claymore, Blades without fault, The good Duncan’s hurt— By the bad one’s assault, When the good Duncan falters, The bad will rejoice, Then, revealed in the water— A face and a voice. From the rippling depths— Of the magical spring. Sean Burns calls MacLeod— To his last reckoning. He inspires MacLeod, Reminds him that he— Is empowered by goodness— And nobility. Mac’s body stands quiet— In the pool’s phosphorescence, But his mind is at war— For control of his essence. “I know your thoughts!” Taunts his evil twin, “You’ll struggle in vain, No way you can win.” “If you know my thoughts. Then you know who I am.” “You’re NOTHING!” sneers evil, “Your life is a sham.” “I’m Duncan MacLeod, Of the clan MacLeod!” He strength surges up, As he states it aloud. A last burst of will, He takes evil’s head. The anger’s not gone— But conquered instead, From the spring, a pure flame— Flares affirmation— Then cooling sweet rain— Brings purification. Methos has followed— MacLeod to the grotto, But caution was always— His favorite motto. He waited to see— How the contest would end Now he holds out— His hand, to his friend. Later, Near the Barge Mac’s kidding Methos, With his old easiness, “I trashed it real good, The place is a mess. I haven’t been— Myself, for a while.” “Can’t say I’ve noticed,” Methos says, with a smile. Peace, Emit © 2002 Under the Kilt from Highlander: The Official Site: Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production "The extension of "Something Wicked." There was the whole thing of MacLeod fighting himself. In Post, we did play around with the essence of goodness that comes back to him. They shot in that cave and we had a water element to deal with and we played with that. The idea of tracer water, glowing stuff, happened and it worked okay." Ken Gord, Producer "And this we shot in Le Havre, we did an overnight for a change of scenery and there were some terrific locations there. Dennis Berry shot this one, too. Duncan fought himself, that was difficult, but worth it. Braun, as usual, did a great job with the choreography. I think everyone had a great time and it worked really well because everybody was at the top of their game." Home ~ Promises