Duncan MacLeod has always been an enigma. All life is precious to him, yet he must kill merely to survive. Raised to be a warrior, he takes no pleasure in bloodshed. In his past, the warrior’s life filled him with reason and purpose, but no longer...not since he met Darius at Waterloo. Before Darius, the Highlander picked “causes he felt were just.” Now, after 400 years of being Duncan MacLeod of the Clan MacLeod, he is tired of it all, disillusioned, and questioning. No matter what he does, how hard he tries, evil seems to find him and those he cares for. Why does he exist at all if not to protect those he loves? In this episode, he is almost ready to give up. No more fighting. No more killing. No one can die because of him if he ceases to exist. Then, at his lowest point, his leprechaun guardian angel (Fitz) takes him on a tour of an alternate universe that never knew, or will know a Duncan MacLeod. Just as George Bailey did in “It’s a Wonderful Life,” MacLeod sees himself through the eyes of others, finally realizing that Amanda was right when she said, “You make people better.” New Characters: LIAM O’ROURKE — An Immortal Irish terrorist. He blames MacLeod for his incarceration alongside his mortal lover Tara, after they blew up a pub, killing dozens of innocents. TARA — His mortal lover and co-conspirator. She died in jail. He vowed to avenge her death. ALLAN — In this alternate MacLeod-less universe, he is Amanda’s mortal husband...one of many she has killed off. TOM, BRIAN — thugs working for O’Rourke. TERRY RAFFERTY — a young Watcher, in an alternate universe, who begs Joe Dawson for help against the renegade Watchers. Evening, The Barge The barge seems to float— Calm, peaceful, serene... But within, there’s a more— Tumultuous scene. Vibrations are shaking— Its hull, stem to stern! Is a poltergeist present? None we can discern. Crashing and thudding! Loud rhythmic thumping! Rumbling and knocking! Furniture bumping! A volcanic eruption? A Martian attack? Just Amanda in town, ‘Reuniting’ with Mac. Breathless and sweaty— They surface for air. Amanda is pleased— Duncan’s parts are all there. After 400 years... He can still pass the test. Mac smiles, knowingly, “You bring out my best.” No mention of Richie— Or vile Ahriman. It is hard to believe— After such a time span— That all that they want— Is a roll in the sack, But a year is a week— To Amanda and Mac. “So,” purrs Amanda, “Anyone new... In your life?” “No,” he says, “How about you?” “It’s hard to find someone— Attractive, and decent... Adventurous, kind— Nobody recent.” When Mac mentions travel— She spins like a gyro, “Must get to the airport, The red-eye to Cairo... Just stopped for a drink, I cannot stay over.” “New meaning,” notes Mac— “For the old term, ‘lay-over.’” She begs him, “Don’t pout.” But he does, anyway. He’s used to her whims, Not a word he can say. It’s part of her charm, So flighty and fickle, More often than not— Winding up, in a pickle. She walks from the barge— Out into the night. When she feels a Buzz— She turns...not from fright, She’s sure it’s MacLeod, At first, she’s annoyed, But it’s Liam and friends, Now her evening’s destroyed! “I’m about to redo— Your itinerary.” Brian, Liam’s cohort— Keeps her stationary. As they drag her away... “MACLEOD!” she calls out, He dashes outside— But, there’s no one about. Except...that’s her sword! And attached to its hilt— A round plastic coaster— Meant to cause guilt, From the Highlander’s past— He remembers of course— That unfortunate pub— Its name— “The Light Horse.” Le Blues Bar Joe’s picking the brain— Of Methos, the wise. Reviewing the Chronicles— Through Methos’s eyes. In 74 BC... How did Rome look? Methos was there! He’s a history book! Methos enlightens— An incredulous Joe... How a Watcher ‘embellished’— His report, long ago. Too ashamed, when his Immie— Got whacked, to admit... That his guy was done in— By a sniveling twit. The name of the killer— Wasn’t all he distorted, He doctored the records— When he reported— The site of the whacking. As a final memoriam, Wouldn’t say his guy died— In the vomitorium! “Vomitorium?” asks Joe, Calmly Methos explains. “Seventeen hefty courses, Honeyed ants, peacock brains. We ate, drank and vomited, That’s how we made room— In our stomachs, so we— Even more, could consume.” The discussion concludes— Before Joe gets nauseous. Methos feels the Buzz... And turns, ever cautious, Sees that it’s Mac— Looking worried and drear. He came to show Joe— His latest souvenir. Joe looks at the coaster. He knows right away, Who it was, paid a call— And screwed up Mac’s day. “Liam O’Rourke,” Joe declares with a chill, He knows that O’Rourke— Bears Duncan ill will. Flashback, London, 1946 The Light Horse Pub Tara and Liam— Won’t let MacLeod be. While sipping their ale— They’re insisting that he— Abandon allegiance— To Britain, and fight— For the Free Irish cause, Because it is right. Mac argues they should— Be on the same side. Fighting the Nazis— British, Irish...both died. Tara’s sure Hitler would have— Left Ireland alone. She lectures MacLeod— In a judgmental tone. With contempt she declares— “And you, as a Scot— Have forgotten Culloden!” He’s irate, “No, I’ve NOT! I was there! Killing only— Will cause more heartaches, It’s time we learned something— From our old mistakes.” MacLeod will not join them, He’ll stand his ground. Liam sends Tara off— “Get us one more round.” “She’s lovely, MacLeod, Some one to rely on. She’s the face of an angel— And the heart of a lion.” The Brits, Mac reminds him— Were heroes in war, “Not that one,” says Liam. “Killing us by the score.” There, by the bar— “That British Commander— Killed Irish, not Nazis”— Liam tells the Highlander. Liam now does not want— To drink any more. “There’s a train I must catch.” He heads for the door. Tara, MacLeod— Go along to the street. Unnoticed, Tara’s purse— Left behind, on a seat. Rounding the corner, Still walking in haste, Mac’s saying again— That he’s lost his taste— For innocent blood... When they’re rocked by a blast! The old Light Horse Pub— Now a thing of the past! “You killed all those people?” Screams a horrified Mac. He wants to give aid— But, they both hold him back. “Either with us, or against us!” Liam’s menacing shout. Mac’s fists do his talking— As he punches Liam out. They pummel each other, Both fall to the ground, Amidst the confusion— They’re rolling around. Liam fights to escape— But Mac will subvert him, “Tara, GO!” Liam howls, But, she will not desert him. Le Blues Bar, Present Day Mac continues, “They both— Were arrested and tried, Sentenced to life. In her cell, Tara died. O’Rourke stayed with her— Till her very last breath, Then he escaped, Blaming me for her death.” “So he’s taken Amanda, An eye for an eye, I must get her out!” Now the Very Old Guy... Perhaps feeling guilty— For abandoning Mac— To Ahriman’s clutches, Now wants to give back. “Of that little vixen— I’ve always been fond.” Methos steps forward, His coat, fully donned, Offering his help, “Okay?” with contrition, Mac nods. Any help— Is a welcome addition. After they leave— Joe makes a call— To one of his Watchers, Joe wants to know all— That’s known about Liam. Perhaps, where to find him, Joe discovers...too late— O’Rourke’s right behind him. A quick-acting drug— In a hypo, inserted— Into Joe’s back— By this slimy, perverted— Irish fanatic... Who has savagely vowed— Tara’s death will be paid for— By Duncan MacLeod. The Barge Mac and Methos return— To a nasty surprise. A bone-chilling message— Left for Mac’s eyes. The coaster from Joe’s— Makes Duncan heartsick. Words written in red— With Amanda’s lipstick. “Bercy Train Depot. 4:00 AM, alone.” “Don’t do it!” warns Methos, (To caution, he’s prone) Mac insists upon following— O’Rourke’s directions, In spite of the Old Guy’s— Vehement objections. “This is Joe and Amanda— Whose lives are at stake. O’Rourke’s game... his rules.” Is the Highlander’s take. “Do you think,” Methos scoffs— That he’ll play by some rule?” But MacLeod’s honor code— Can withstand ridicule. “Don’t go, MacLeod!” Mac walks to the door. “It’s a trap!” Methos calls. But, Mac knows the score. “Your pants are on fire!” Methos volunteers... “But what would I know— After five thousand years.” “People die all the time,” Methos mocks earnestly. Mac softly says...“But— Not because of me... Not any more.” Somehow, he’ll contrive— To make sure Amanda— And Joe, stay alive. The Train Depot 4:00 AM Mac summons the skills— He needs for survival. He knows that O’Rourke— Can sense his arrival... So, he creeps overhead, Drops on Liam like a stone, Now O’Rourke’s at his mercy, But he’s not there alone! Liam summons his stooges, They emerge from the murk— Like a couple of roaches— That, in the dark, lurk. Tom has Amanda, Brian has Joe. “Kill me, MacLeod... And they’re next to go.” “They have no part, In this,” says MacLeod, “As much as did Tara?” O’Rourke won’t be cowed. “You gave her that bomb, The hell Tara went to, You sent her there!” This, O’Rourke won’t assent to. Mac keeps his blade— At the Irishman’s throat. “Shoot! Then behead her!” Liam pauses to gloat. Brian pulls the trigger, She folds like a sack, “You’ll die!” yells MacLeod... To this sick maniac. “Shoot the old man!” “WAIT!” MacLeod pleads. But O’Rourke is obsessed, Only vengeance, he needs. Now, from Mac’s lips— Comes a shock to our ears, Words he’s never spoken— In four hundred years. “You can have me.” Mac offers his head! He can’t bear the thought— Of two more friends dead. Mac gives up to Liam, Trusting that he— After taking Mac’s head, Will let them go free. “Blood for blood,” is the offer. For Tara, he’ll die. Asking only the privilege— Of saying goodbye. “Tell Amanda I love her.” “What’s the plan?” queries Joe. Dumfounded he watches— Mac shake his head, ‘No.’ Joe’s seen Mac escape— From many a trap, “MacLeod, you can’t do this! The whole damn thing’s crap!” “I’ll see ya around,” Mac smiles with affection, Then turns, walking back— In O’Rourke’s direction. Mac moistens his lips, Perhaps for a last— Taste of life...does he see— Those he loved, from his past? Debra and Darius, Fitzcairn, Rich and Tess... They gifted his years— With such happiness. He kneels with submission, Joe lowers his eyes. Liam raises his sword— But before Mac’s demise— Methos leaps out! He shoots down O’Rourke! Up from his knees, Mac pops like a cork! Mac knocks out Brian, Making sure Joe is safe, Then O’Rourke’s automatic— Commences to strafe... Mac’s peppered with bullets, In agony, slain, Falling over a railing— On the top of a train. The train starts to glow... Slowly moves down the track Events from his past— Flood an unconscious Mac. Tessa, Coltec, Sean Burns, The Black Hut where he dies, Darius, Quickenings, Ahriman’s red eyes. “I’m so tired of killing,” He hears himself say, Does it never end? The cruel Game they play. Fitz beheaded by Kalas, “MacLeod!” his name called, He awakes on the tracks, Looking up, where he’s sprawled. It’s Fitz! In the flesh! “The folks way up high— Were concerned, it appeared— You’ve decided to die.” Mac jumps to his feet, “You’re dead...am I dead?” “Metabolically challenged,” Fitz offers, instead. Fitz compares it to golf! An apt metaphor. MacLeod is more baffled— Than he was before, “You are the ball, Down the fairway you’re going, Not yet on the green.” Mac’s confusion is growing. “Are you an angel?” “Well, why can’t I be?” “You-Know-Who was worried, And He’s chosen me.” Mac explains he’d no choice, Either him or his friends. Fitz notes Mac’s escaped— Countless other dead-ends. “Why was this different?” MacLeod stands in silence Fitz senses his friend’s— Sick and weary of violence. “Fitz, you and Richie... And Tessa would be— All alive now— If it wasn’t for me.” “Come with me, MacLeod” Fitz spreads his arms wide, Inviting the Scot— For himself, to decide. FLASH! They’ve arrived— In an opulent setting, Observing a couple— Lasciviously petting. She’s lithesome in black, “Nice couple, so what?” “Look closer, my boy.” Fitz urges the Scot, “Amanda? Can’t be! Amanda’s back there... With O’Rourke.” Hesitating... Mac motions in air. “Not this Amanda, In this world you see— You do not exist, Never did, nor will be.” “I cannot sense her.” “You do not enjoy— Immortality here, You’ll adjust, my dear boy.” “Don’t worry,” says Fitz— They cannot see you, Unless...” he amends... “...if I want them to.” “At least she’s found someone— To love,” says the Scot. Fitz sighs, “It’s too bad— Her husband, he’s not.” “There is her husband.” FLASH! They’ve transported... To a bank, where a wimp— Has just now assorted— Some bearer bonds, From the bank, Allan’s ridding— Mac stares at this milquetoast, “You’ve got to be kidding!” “What’s he doing?” “He’s stealing... Three million, accruing.” Mac asks, “Does Amanda— Know what he’s doing?” “Is the Pope Catholic?” Fitz smiles a scintilla, They trail nerdy Allan— Back home, to his villa. She ditches her lover— When she hears Allan’s voice, Greets him with champagne— They’ve cause to rejoice. “Every thing went as planned,” Mac hears Allan claim, MacLeod tells Fitzcairn, “Amanda’s the same.” “Not quite,” says Fitzcairn. Staring at the veranda, Mac watches as this— Black-attired Amanda— In an act that bespeaks— Some bizarre sabotage, She extracts a white pill— From her décolletage. Mac watches her plunk it— Into hubby’s drink. Fitz tells him, “It’s poison.” What’s Mac to think? “She’ll kill her own husband?” Mac cries out aghast. “Three million’s much more, Than she got from her last.” “I know Amanda, She steals, doesn’t kill.” “Without you to stop her, She slipped, went downhill.” Mac recalls how she said— “You make people better, People like me....” He’s compelled to offset her. Fitz says, “Try the door.” Mac arrives just in time— To knock the flute over— Averting the crime. “A spider...Black Widow. Female kills her mate.” “Then eats him,” she glares— Staring daggers of hate. “No harm done,” clucks Allan, Not sensing his doom. He leaves the two standing, While he fetches a broom. “Amanda, did you— Forget all you knew? Everything...” Mac implores, “...that Rebecca taught you?” “What do you know— Of Rebecca? (Hesitating), Mac looks in her eyes, Very earnestly stating... “I know she believed— Very deeply in you, And, just as she did, I believe in you, too.” “Never heard of her,” But— A tear starts to run. Before it gets far, She pulls out her gun, Aims it at Mac, She’s thought it all through. “You broke in, killed Allan, Then I had to shoot you!” Now Allan comes back— To sweep up the glass. “Amanda! You’ve got— A GUN,” squeals this ass. “And you have a broom! I win!” Jeers Amanda, She shoots hubby dead, On his own veranda. Now all hell breaks loose! Four Watchers emerge— From their hiding places, On a crusade to purge— The world of Immortals, That they have so dreaded, Mac fights, but he’s shot— And Amanda’s... beheaded! FLASH! Mac is thrown— Very hard at a wall. In a poor part of Paris— Away from that brawl. Fitz beside him, informs... “This Amanda is dead.” “And you knew all along— They would cut off her head?” “Blame the Watchers,” says Fitz. “Where’s Dawson?” asks Mac. “He’ll stop them and put— Them all back on track.” Fitz points to a sign, “Le Blues Bar,” it reads. Under it, in a wheel chair, A derelict pleads. “Throw a coin in the hat, I’ll sing you a song.” Mac gapes at the sight. How could things go so wrong? From his bottle Joe takes— A swig when he can, Just another pathetic— Dirty, sad, hopeless man. Mac asks for a song, Drops some coins in the hat, (Ironically, Fitz— Has to help him with that). “Your call.” Dawson growls, “Stand by Me,” is Mac’s choice. “Don’t remember that one,” Growls that gravelly voice. “It meant a great deal— To an old friend of mine.” “No one stands by anybody— Any more,” Dawson’s whine. “This friend did,” says Mac, Almost wanting to cry... Seeing Dawson this way, “Give it a try.” Joe strums his guitar— Without further remark. “When the night has come... And the land is dark... And the moon is the only...” He sings... “Light we see... MacLeod, with moist eyes... “Sounds great to me.” “I won’t be afraid, No, I won’t be afraid... Just as long as you...” Joe— Starts to let the verse fade. “Stand by me,” Mac whispers, Joe replies, “It’s all crap! Whole damn thing, “ he reviles, With a look like a slap. Watching Joe wheel away, Mac knows Joe back there— In the world that he left— Wouldn’t cave to despair. Fitz explains that the Watchers, Altered their role— From watching to killing. And were out of control. FLASH! They have moved— To a different street. There’s Joe wheeling by, Head down, in defeat. “Joe would have stopped it.” Mac’s convinced of that fact. Fitz says Dawson tried— But made no impact. “He did what most do— When outnumbered, outgunned. He gave up,” states Fitz. MacLeod rears back, stunned. “Joe Dawson would never— Give up!” he persists. But Joe, as Mac knew him— No longer exists. “Joe Dawson! Joe Dawson!” Terry Rafferty cries. “You’ve got to stop them!” Joe lowers his eyes. “You’ve got the wrong guy.” “Joe, help me please... You’re the reason I joined.” Joe squirms with unease. As they watch, Fitz asks Mac— “How can I get through— That thick Highland skull— And prove it to you? For twenty years, you— Were Dawson’s vocation, But, much more than that, You were his inspiration.” A black van pulls up, Two Watchers are gunning— For Terry. They are— The reason, he’s running. Joe takes out his pistol, He’ll hold them at bay. But a shot from behind— Blows Terry away! “James Horton! He’s alive?” Yes, to Mac’s dismay. Killing Immies and mortals, Anyone in his way. He takes Dawson’s gun, With a glance of disdain, Discarding the clip, Hands it to Joe again. With eyes brimming tears, “Why?” whispers Joe. “Because he, like you— Did not want to know— The truth...That Immortals— Are perverse aberrations, Before G-d I say— They are abominations!” “The reason I spared you,” Horton drones on, “Is because you are nothing! Nobody! No one! He holds out a bill, “Buy yourself a drink!” Joe snatches it up, How low can he sink? MacLeod’s seen enough! Toward Horton he goes. He’ll wipe off that smirk, He’ll break the rat’s nose. Mac delivers a punch— That would smash any face, But MacLeod has no substance, Here, in this place. FLASH! Mac is zapped— To Joe Dawson’s flat. “Who sent you? Horton?” Joe’s like a wildcat. Mac tries his best— To persuade Joe that he— Must stop Horton’s Watchers— From their killing spree. “That boy Horton killed.” Mac maintains, “He believed— In you, Joe...as I do.” Joe won’t be deceived. “What’s in it for you?” He’s snapping at Mac, “I just want to help— Bring good Watchers back.” “I’m nobody! Nothing!” “Joe, that’s not true, After Vietnam, the Watchers— Gave your life back to you.” “Well, buy me a bottle— To help my morale, The Watchers are gone, And so am I...pal.” MacLeod’s final question— As Joe turns away. He’s afraid of what Joe— Is likely to say. “An Immortal, very young, His name, Richie Ryan... What happened to him?” “Go to Hell!!” Joe is cryin’. Later, The Steps of Sacré-Coeur Fitz observes that MacLeod— Looks tired and drained. Mac’s witnessed so much— His credulity’s strained. “Have you seen a ghost?” “No, I’ve just seen a friend— Trying hard to be dead.” “What message does that send?” “Can’t you see, you are needed? That a difference, you’ve made? If you don’t see that— Then, I’m sorely afraid— That I’m out of a job.” Mac’s gloom worries Fitz To persuade the Highlander— Will take all his wits. They stroll to the edge— Of a stone balcony, Down below, on the steps— Someone climbs, leisurely. A woman of beauty, No doubt who she is. “Tessa.” Mac breathes. Will this vision be his? To be continued...... Peace, Emit © 2003 Under the Kilt from Highlander: The Official Site: David Abramowitz, Creative Consultant “Sad, because these two were the ending, although they weren't shot last. And I like Stan a lot, but I have to say, I brought back Richie and I killed him again.” Don Paonessa, Creative Consultant, Post Production “These were the end.” Ken Gord, Producer “Richard Martin directed... It was a neat concept that mostly worked and it was not a bad way to go out, at least it was fun. I think we tried our hardest to go out with a bit of dignity. Highlander is still a big part of my life. I spent five years on it, 10% of my life, and I wouldn't have stayed so long if I hadn't really, really loved it. I love the show. I love the people.” Home ~ Not To Be