While hearing Lothoro's problem, I was struck by how similar is sounded to Duncan MacLeod's when he was being haunted by the Demon Ahriman. Duncan was tortured by images of the dead to the point where he accidentally killed his student, Richie Ryan.

Ahriman was able to convince Duncan and several others that their dead loved ones, and even their enemies had come back to life. At one point he even gave Joe Dawson, another Watcher, the fantastic dream that his legs had been regrown. All Ahriman wanted in exchange was Dawson's worship and his betrayal of MacLeod.

But Ahriman isn't the only creature capable of this type of deception. There is also the First Evil. The First was defeated in Sunnydale by Buffy Summers, Rupert Giles and the other Slayers. I realize that an entity like the First can't really be killed, but would It be involved in this at all? What purpose would there be in it? I would more expect It to be playing with Miyoko or myself than Lothoro. I confess I would be more curious if I was not focused on the removal of Vincent's heart. The slayers must help me rid the earth of that vile vampire. I just hope that I'm not making the wrong decision about where their focus should be.

- Adam Pierson, Los Angeles, CA 2007

((If the First could reply to this with what information I can share about you, after giving Lothoro the Ahriman Red Herring, I would appreciate it.))

Character Name: Methos aka Adam Pierson
Origin: Highlander the Series w/Buffy Crossover
Word Count: 761
Character’s LJ: adam_watches
Rating: NC-13

Drip, drip, drip, it never stopped. The ping of the water running down the slick wall to pool at my feet a staccato counterpoint to my heartbeat. I hated the sound, it echoed in my dreams. The dreams that I couldn’t separate from my nightmares now; there was no difference between being awake and being asleep. No difference between life and death. It was all I knew.

In the beginning I would try to count the days I languished in my prison, but I’d long since run out of pebbles to mark the passage of time. My clothing, once the finest velvet and silk were nothing by rags now. The shreds of the tattered garments had long ago stopped warming my body. I was naked now, naked and pale as a cave fish. If not for the slight glimmer of sunlight that came through the hole in the ceiling that fed the trickle of water, I’d have thought that I’d finally gone blind.

I knew that I’d long ago gone mad.

My hair hung in limp dirty cords around my shoulders, the muscle from eons of sword practice wasted away like everything else. If my sword were here, I doubted that I’d have the strength to even lift it. At least I didn’t care how bad I smelled anymore.

Sadly neither did my captor.

He was coming now. I could hear his entourage of guardians, the scrape of their weapons on the stone walls of the tunnel that lead to my cell. No bars blocked my way, no locks for me to ferret out. No my way was blocked by a huge boulder that his men shoved out of the way to let him inside.

In the beginning, I’d couched there, and I’d try to fight them to get free. But they weren’t human. Their fangs and claws as well as their monstrous strength sent me crashing across the small chamber like I was nothing more than a kitten. Unfortunately I never learned to land as well as a kitten, I’d lost track of the broken bones just like I did the pebbles.

I gritted my teeth and fought a whimper as I heard the stone being moved. Terror made me piss on the hard packed ground. It had happened too many times for me to feel any shame for it now. And if I thought my disgusting appearance would thwart him, I was sorely wrong. Vincent didn’t care as long as I was breathing. That’s all that mattered to him.

The light of their single torch seared my eyes, I nearly screamed from the pain as I curled into a tight ball in the recess of the cell I called home. My tormentor was dressed in long dark robes, heavy and warm although he couldn’t feel the cold like I could. His breath didn’t show in the damp cold cell, not like mine did. He had no need to breathe, and was as cold as the dead.

“And how are you my pet?” he asked, his voice dark and smooth as silk. “Come, I’ve brought something for you.”

I didn’t want to go to him. I hated him. Hated myself for wanting his approval. Didn’t he know who I was? What I had been? What I was destined to be? No, to Vincent I was just his pet, his never ending buffet. I dashed forward to snatch the loaf of bread that he held out to me, tearing into the bread with teeth and fingers. His men laughed at me, their fangs flashing in the torch light.

Vincent smiled at me like I was his favorite dog, which I was. “Now, something for me,” he purred reaching out and grabbing me by the hair. I knew better than to fight him. All that would mean was dying more than once. He pulled me against the barrel of his chest, his arms like steel bands holding me tight. He was perfumed and powdered, but I could still smell the hint of stale blood on his breath. His smile broadened as his face changed, his yellow eyes shaded by his wrinkled brow as he buried his teeth in my throat.

I struggled. I couldn’t help it. He drank from me, deeper and deeper. My heart beating slower and slower as he drank me to my death once again.

I woke with a start, the cold air of the cell burning my slumbering lungs. I sat up gasping as life returned to me again. My tears beat in counterpoint to the dripping water.

I didn't make theses. I just borrowed them.