Highlander: The Return of the Immortal by Martin Eisele; Hans Sommer

Author:Martin Eisele; Hans Sommer [Sommer, Martin Eisele; Hans]
Language: deu
Format: epub
Tags: Highlander
Published: 0101-01-01T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 8 The Laboratory

At first he felt only the pain - a sea of pains, the lashing waves of which penetrated him on all sides, streaming into every fiber of his body and filling him with such agony that the dawning of his consciousness was lost again in complete blackness. But the magical powers of his genetic code initiated self-healing processes, bathing the nerves in soothing balm and shielding the protesting, screaming pain center of his brain. The dawn of the new life groped forward again, hesitantly prepared first and for repeated shockwaves, but in the end unflustered and single-mindedly programmed to leave the night behind.

At first his eyelids trembled like leaves fluttered by a mild breath of air. Then they jumped up abruptly.

Blurred light patterns danced before his eyes, mere splashes of color as if painted in the air. He was unable to perceive anything concrete - the speckled, ragged points of light were everywhere, camouflaging everything that lay behind them.

He moved his lips, which seemed strangely heavy and swollen, as if shattered by the blows of a huge fist.

"Tessa . . . Tessa . . . Where . . . are you?"

He could not understand his own words. His voice was nothing more than a dull, inarticulate murmur.

There was no response.

"Tessa!"

Her name as he spoke it was still indistinct and strangely strangled, but clearly louder and also reasonably understandable. Yet again there was no answer - only grim, frightening silence all around, as in a sanctified place where the presence of a strict God makes even the smallest noise sacrilegious.

His barely awakened and infinitely lethargic consciousness shifted into acute alarm. His thought processes came up to speed, like the engine of a souped-up sports car whose gas pedal is floored. The limp muscles tensed and wanted to pull the body into action. But they met with resistance that he could not overcome with this sudden, but still much too weak, energy discharge. He felt something wrapped about his legs, his arms, and below his chest, holding him like the tentacles of a monstrous octopus, seemingly pliant and elastic, and equally relentless.

He was flat on his back and tied up, strapped down, immobile and helpless.

This realization struck his consciousness with the force of a bomb blast.

Quince! He has me . . . has Tessa . . .

MacLeod fought the savage panic and forced his thoughts into order. He had to act logically, recognize cause and effect . . .

He recognized his mistake. These were not the revived memories of the death phase. They could not be. He knew these feelings very well, knew that Quince and Tessa had not met again after that interlude in the loft. She was not in danger. Quince could never hurt her again . . .

The relief that came with this realization suddenly filled his heart with deeply felt calm. He was living in the now again, and in this now it was not about Tessa or anyone else he was responsible for, only about him.

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