Highlander: TS is often about the past coming back to haunt you. Sometimes, as in the case of Carl Robinson, you carry the past with you, using it as an excuse for actions in the present. We met Carl as a former slave; later victim of Southern racism, in Season Two’s “Run For Your Life.” He carried his anti-white prejudices and victim’s mindset with him to the present, which were fed by his encounter with Carter, one of Horton’s renegade Watchers. Carter was a racist hunting different prey—Immortals. MacLeod has helped him through it all, and he remembers. Now Carl has tried to put the past behind him, off to a fresh start as a major league baseball star—his stepping stone to political ambitions...until a guy with a sword gets in his way. Then his past comes back with a vengeance. New characters: TREY FRANKS — washed up as a baseball player, but now a good trainer and coach. He sees Carl as his personal project, enjoying Carl’s greatness vicariously. MATTHEW McCORMICK — Immortal, was the son-in-law of Carl’s owner, back in 1854. He befriended and taught Carl, now he is a Special Agent with an old grudge to settle. SETH HOBART — cruel and vicious slave owner, owned Carl. CLAYTON HOBART — Seth’s son. CORMAN — Immortal, playing the game but in PUBLIC! (Unwritten Immie rule—only secluded spots, preferably abandoned buildings are suitable for combat purposes). GLENDA — annoying snob—some Highlander females are like that—only seen in Euro version. Baseball Stadium (Bailey?) Present Day Carl Robinson’s living— His most cherished dream, An ace starting pitcher— For a major league team, He once was a slave, Now a bright star, How vast is his future? He cannot see that far. For now, signing autographs— Keeps him content, But he plans to be— The first black president, He’s learned to endure— Trey Franks’ critique, “You’re lookin’ good, But your change-up is weak.” Carl shrugs him off, Not because he is rude— But he senses a Buzz— There’s an Immortal dude— High up on the roof, Carl climbs through the stands, “What is it you want?” The pitcher demands. “Your autograph, star-man, I saw on TV— You’re weak against southpaws, And that includes ME!” “I don’t want trouble,” Says Carl, pitching ace... To the bad guy, “You’ve picked— The wrong time and wrong place.” But Corman’s determined, So, Carl takes him on, They fight on the rooftop, Very soon Carl has won, But Carl has committed— The ultimate goof, Corman, now headless, Topples from the roof. Carl’s worshipful fans, Happy kids down below, Drooling over his car, Not prepared for this show. But a show’s what they see, It’s an Immie’s worst day, A public beheading— With the lightning display. Down on the field, The spectators bridle, Looking up, disbelieving— Their favorite idol— Is a cold-blooded killer, Carl screams his despair, “You don’t understand!!!!” Trey’s and Carl’s dreams— Are now scattered like sand. The Dojo, Next Day Mac’s looking GQ— In a nice three-piece suit, Briefcase, newspaper, Not a soul would dispute— He’s a stranger to violence, Yet, the newspaper’s saying, “Star Pitcher Hunted— In Gruesome Slaying.” A kid has been waiting, To hand him a note, “Laker Warehouse,”signed “Carl.” That’s all that he wrote. The kid’s racing off, Got his own agenda, Mac tries to grab him, And runs into Glenda. “Is this place open? I could fix up this dump, The owner must be— A pretty sad chump, And where do I find— This Neanderthal?” “You’re looking at him— We’re closed.” “Ouch!” That’s all. Laker Warehouse The neighborhood’s seedy, The warehouse is dusty, Even the air— Smells rancid and musty. “Nice suit,” offers Carl Mac: “Nice neighborhood,” “Got tired of the penthouse,” “Well, your coverage is good.” “TV, talk shows— Notoriety looks bad, “You did everything— But take out an ad!” “He gave me no choice!” “Doesn’t matter much now,” But Mac knows that he must— Help Carl out somehow. Carl laments, “Just last week— I was sitting at dinner— With the mayor and the governor, They called me a winner, I might have a future— In politics, they said, Now...all that’s finished, Over and dead.” Mac reminds him, “Your timing— Was never the greatest, It’s time to start over.” Carl says, “Here’s the latest, My assets are frozen, My charge accounts, too, If I can’t get cash, What can I do?” “Meanwhile, come stay— At my place for a while, It beats this ‘hotel,’” Mac gives a wry smile, Carl protests, “I don’t want— You dragged in this mess,” “I’m already in,” His handshake says “yes.” Baseball Field The crime scene’s secured, When McCormick comes by, He’s known to the cops— As the “serial killer guy,” He’s earned a good rep— For solving tough cases, Putting the local— Police through their paces. He speaks with a drawl, Clipped and intense, Discovers and bags... A scrap—evidence. “This case is high profile— For time, we are strapped, We must wrap this up, Making sure it stays wrapped,” “My guess, a sharp object— Was used in this deed, Of the weapon, or Carl— Do you have a lead? No? Thought not,”... Then he— Puts the evidence aboard— His car...in the trunk— Right under his sword. The T-Bird, On the Road Mac barrels along— With the T-Bird’s top down, Brings a fugitive killer— Right into town, Just in case he’s not noticed— Carl wears his team jacket, ROBINSON in big letters— On the back. Can you hack it? Carl keeps on whining, How life is unfair, He dreamed of becoming— Martin and Malcolm’s heir, “I swore I’d change things— If given the chance, That kid put my life— In the crapper,” he rants. In vain, MacLeod argues— “Your attitude’s wrong, You still have your life.” “But I’ve waited so long!” As they near the dojo, Mac suddenly stops, The entire vicinity’s— Crawling with cops. McCormick is there, Spotting Carl in a second, This will be easier— Than he had reckoned, MacLeod wheels around, Speeds away from the place, McCormick just watches— With a smile on his face. Roadside Lookout Point Mac wants the whole truth, “What’s McCormick to you?” “We go back a ways,” Carl’s anguish bleeds through, “Matthew once owned me,” Bitter memories still hurt, He once was a slave, And considered as dirt. Flashback, Louisiana, 1854 Hobart’s Plantation “It was rough in the fields, We never stopped working, You felt the whip’s sting— If they thought you were shirking, My master, Seth Hobart— Sadistic and cruel, Showed more respect— To his horse and mule.” “His spoiled youngest daughter— Was knocked up, you see, She had to name someone, The ‘someone’ was me, Hobart started in— To give me a beating, All the time I’m denying, Her lies, he’s repeating. I fled for my life— In the blazing hot sun, Hobart close behind me, And he had a gun. Shot me in the back, Left me for dead, But I couldn’t die, Hi-tailed it, instead.” “I was loose for a while, But I still was a slave, Caught and brought back, My status was grave, In shackles, they pulled me, Then at once I felt queer, That headache we get— When our kind is near.” “It was Matthew McCormick, My knees turned to water, He often saw Hobart, Married his eldest daughter, He bought me outright, Paying double the price, I was sure he’d return me, So the water became ice.” “I begged and I cried— Yet he said not one word, Just whipped out his sword, Then everything blurred, I raised up my wrists— To ward off his cutter But his blade sliced right through— My shackles like butter. He offered his friendship, Without a word spoken, I was flustered, confused, But my shackles were broken, He gave me a smile, That said I was free Looked at me as an equal, New experience for me. Joe’s Bar “...And now what he wants— Is to kill me,” Carl stews, Joe sits on the stage, Immersed in his blues, It’s obvious to Carl— That Dawson’s no cad, “If he plays blues like that— He can’t be all bad.” Joe praises Carl too, “You must be okay. Striking Ken Griffey, Jr.— Out twice in one day” They shake, Carl will stay— With Joe for a while, Mac leaves to find Matthew, Giving them a quick smile. The Dojo With his feet on Mac’s desk, His butt in Mac’s chair, Slinky in hand, Matthew’s smug, debonair, “The thing about Slinkys... If you have enough stairs— They go on forever,” “Till they’re stopped,” Mac declares. “Just like Immortals.” On that, they agree, Matthew tells Mac— “I’m not your enemy.” Mac swats Matthew’s feet— Off his desk, with a swipe, “Carl Robinson’s not— The murdering type.” “Latest killing he did— I’m not interested in, Carl’s a murdering bastard, And he always has been, McCormick remembers— How Carl once repaid him, After sharing his friendship, Carl cruelly betrayed him. Flashback, Louisiana In the afternoon haze, Southern hot, sultry weather, Carl and Matthew are sharing— Last moments, together, “You’d best go up North, The war’s almost here, In the South, a black man— Will have much to fear.” Carl thanks ‘Mr. Matthew’... Who taught him the art— Of survival and pride, He speaks from his heart, “You were more than a teacher— Of good swordsmanship, I’ve learned every white man— Doesn’t carry a whip.” “You’ve been a good friend, I am grateful to you, But before I move on— There are things I must do,” McCormick feels tense, “This better not be— About harming Seth Hobart, Or you’ll answer to me.” “The man is pure evil!” “But Carl, I have taught— That the power of forgiveness— Breaks chains that are wrought— By bitterness, selfishness... Let Hobart be, I’m married to his daughter, He’s family to me.” “If you go after Hobart— You have my word, Carl... I will hunt you down! So they part with a quarrel, Carl stomps away... Burning inside, He must confront Hobart— Who stripped him of pride. Hobart’s Plantation, Later Carl’s straw hat’s pulled down— Low, over his eyes, Hobart doesn’t sense— This artless disguise, Then comes recognition! When Carl lifts his head, “Impossible!” gasps Hobart, “I shot you, you’re dead!” All of Carl’s fury— At past degradation— Boils up now within him— To a hot conflagration, He beats on Seth Hobart— With the man’s riding crop, Seth goes for his gun, But Carl will not stop. Hobart’s shot dead— Carl’s hand on the trigger, Clayton comes running, He’ll murder this “nigger,” “Stay back!” But he won’t, Carl again fires the gun, Now the ex-slave has killed— Both father and son. Joe’s Bar, Next Day “Did you kill those men, Carl?” Mac fears the response, “Damn right I did! I was sick of their taunts.” Mac: “You were Immortal— Your slave days were done,” Carl: “I didn’t intend it, But regrets I have none.” Empty Ball Park Like that trash in the wind, To Trey Franks, it seems, Each piece blows away— Like his now useless dreams, He sits alone brooding, Taking comfort in booze, His great hope was Carl, Now both of them lose. Alley Carl cannot abandon— His team jacket yet, So he’s easily spotted— Then police, close their net, He “runs for his life,” (Like his last episode), But he’s trapped in the rubbish, And to jail, he’ll be towed. Police Station Mac appeals to McCormick, But he needn’t bother, “It’s not about Corman, Carl killed my wife’s father!” “Is this justice?” Mac asks, “Or revenge, at all cost? Things can go awry.... Evidence can be lost...” An indignant McCormick— Gets in MacLeod’s face, “You’re not asking me— To mishandle this case?” Mac argues, “If Carl— Is imprisoned, they’ll find— Just what he is, And go after our kind.” “Don’t worry,” says Mathew, With an enigmatic smile, “Carl isn’t likely— To make it to trial.” Then a cop interrupts, Matthew bends close to hear, He straightens, nonplussed— At the news in his ear. As Duncan approaches— To restate his request, “Save your breath,” says McCormick, “Someone has confessed, And it wasn’t Carl,” Mac sees them propel An abject Trey Franks— Toward a lonely jail cell. The Dojo, Later Carl bubbles over, Ecstatic with glee, “I’ve got my life back! I can be ME!!!!!” Then the Boy Scout replies, “Do you think it is right... That an innocent man... Takes the blame for your plight?” Carl seethes with resentment, Tired of feeling low-class, “Every time I get somewhere, I’m knocked on my ass... Now this gift happens, I have my life back... I can make a difference!!” “And Trey can’t?” queries Mac. “Trey’s a nobody, nothing!” “Just like Carl, the slave?” Mac has hit home, But Carl still won’t cave, “You don’t wanna go there...” But MacLeod won’t desist, “Why...‘cause you’ve suffered?” Mac’s getting Carl pissed! “How much have you got— In the bank?” asks Mac keenly, “Five or six million, “And that n-i-ice Lamborghini?” “And your point?” Carl demands, “Stop acting hard-pressed, Your slavery’s long gone, Give the torture crap a rest.” Carl desperately wants— Mac to see things his way, “It may be the best— Thing that’s happened to Trey, His time in the sun, That’s why he confessed.” “Not good enough,” says Mac With his hand on Carl’s chest. “Take your hands off me, now!” Mac warns, “I’m not done!” Carl throws a hard right, Then they fight one on one, Carl’s thrown to the floor, He pretends he’s been taken, Mac gives him his hand, But Carl is just fakin’. He hurls Mac right through— A rack, to the floor, They’re battling with sticks, Feet, fists, and much more... The glass in the front— Of the office is smashed, As Carl’s bulk is lifted, And through it, is dashed. Mac will not fall— For Carl’s fakery twice, When Carl wants his hand, Mac responds, cold as ice, He twists Carl’s right arm, Causing pain with no letup, Only when Carl agrees— To confess, will he get up. While Carl’s out of view, Glenda comes calling, Talking steam room, boutique????? Yeah, right! Mac is stalling, Mac’s foot’s on Carl’s neck, Who is silently choking, Glenda surveys the mess, Unobserved, Carl is croaking. The Police Station, Later Mac and Carl side by side, Waiting on Trey’s behalf, Mac groans as a cop— Asks for Carl’s autograph, Insult upon insult, Mac groans again, When a grinning Carl Robinson— Inquires, “Got a pen?” They finally manage— To see Trey alone, He’s made up a story— That Corman had shown— He would welsh on a debt, So, of course it’s conceivable... Trey would cut off his head... With a sword? Unbelievable! Trey believes that his life— Is not worth a damn, “White trash, a nobody... A zero’s what I am. Once I had dreams, Thought I could play ball, But that was a joke, I’m no good at all.” “Guys like you, Carl... I grew up to hate, Rich, black and smarter, Everything on their plate, You had it all, But to me, you were kind, You were so decent— That I changed my mind.” “You must have had reason— To do what you did, You have great potential, Me? I just skid, The world loses you, It’s in a worse way, It loses Trey Franks...? There’s no point to Trey.” “Please, let me do this,” Carl, Trey and the Scot— Are holding back tears, “It’s all that I got,” Carl gives MacLeod— A ‘what now?’ kind of look, MacLeod turns away, Answer’s clear in his book. Empty Ball Park, Later Carl’s clobbering balls— With a ferocious zeal, Mac says, “It won’t change— The way that you feel.” Carl: “If I tell the truth, My dreams will be lost, There are few options left— That I can exhaust.” In the Stands “None.” A spectator— At their little ball game. Matthew McCormick— Is staking his claim, Carl affirms, “I can’t change— What happened that day,” McCormick agrees, “But now you can pay.” Mac appeals to his reason, “Things were different then, Carl was reacting— To the evil in men, Now things have changed, Carl has changed, too. Now your vanity and pride... Not honor, drives you.” Carl says, “Matthew...Do— What you must do, Like I did...I won’t— Hold it against you, But promise me this, If you win over me, That you will make sure— Trey Franks goes free.” “He thinks he is garbage, But nobody is, His life has a point, Please promise me this.” McCormick agrees, Then MacLeod yells out...”WAIT!” “Listen...is this— The man you still hate?” “You can FORGIVE him!” Mac shouts from his heart, Mac says it again, Tearing Matthew apart, His lesson to Carl, Does he still abide by it? Is his thirst for revenge— Too demanding to try it? Police Station, Later The blood from Carl’s sword— Has been tested. No doubt— This was the weapon— That took Corman out, “Where is he, MacLeod?” Matthew threatens, “You’re setting— Yourself up for charges, Of aiding, abetting.” Laker Warehouse (Carl’s Hiding Place) Their cars all aligned, Cops aiming their guns, They’re ready to fire— If Robinson runs, Mac asks McCormick, “For three minutes, tops, Maybe Carl will surrender— When he sees all these cops.” Mac’s allowed to go in, Carl awaits, nervously, Shotgun in hand, He accepts what must be, Carl cocks the big gun— To show he is ready, Mac exits the warehouse, His pace slow and steady. Mac says good and loud— “He refused to come out, He won’t die in jail!” Mathew raises a shout, “People, this one— Is going down hard!” They level their guns, Every man on his guard. Carl walks like a zombie, Out to the daylight, Down the iron stairs, “Drop the gun! Do this right!” He raises his weapon, Despite Matthew’s pleas, He fires! So do they, Drilling him like Swiss cheese. Carl lies in the dirt, To the world, he is dead, But his dream does not die, It is postponed, instead, He is blessed with the chance— No mortal’s accorded, He can die and return, Till his effort’s rewarded. The Morgue Now it is time— For Carl’s getaway, Matthew and Mac— Check the hall—It’s okay, Carl’s complaints? He was cold, And those holes in his flesh! “Sorry about that, At least you’re still fresh!” “Who picked out these clothes... Your mother?” Carl grumbles, Mac turns to Matthew, “Should’ve killed him,” he mumbles, To Carl, “Stop complaining, You still have your head,” The two share a look, Nothing more need be said. Empty Ball Park Trey’s packing up gear, Not happy to see— MacLeod walking toward him, “Carl would still be— Alive, if you hadn’t— Forced his arrest, They had me, dammit! I had confessed!” “But you didn’t kill— Anybody,” says Mac, “Didn’t save anybody...” “You’re wrong,” Carl is back! “Trey, you won’t understand, Just accept it that I’m— Alive, but must leave— For a very long time.” Not able to absorb this, Trey repeats what he knows, Warns Carl about southpaws, Pull the string, when he throws, Stop being so arrogant, Carl smiles with affection, “I’ll work on it Trey,” He’ll miss Trey’s direction. “You did a good thing... Trey, I won’t forget— And don’t you,” smiles Carl, Then he leaves, with regret. Trey goes to the mound, Picks up a ball, Somewhere folks are cheering, As Trey Franks stands tall. Peace, Emit © 2002 Under the Kilt from Highlander: The Official Site: David Abramowitz, Creative Consultant “Eric McCormack is now the star of ‘Will and Grace’.” Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production “We played around with the color timing in the flashbacks. In the big shoot-out at the end, that was a sound issue, building a good soundtrack for the shoot-out. And, of course, Eric McCormack is now a big television star.” Ken Gord, Producer “Eric McCormack is now on ‘Will and Grace’.” Home ~ Glory Days