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[At Maurice's jazz club. Byron enters.]
Methos: Well, well, look who's here!
Joe: Bryon?
Duncan: Lord Byron?
Byron: Hey, Doc.
Methos: Hey.
Byron: It's been a long time.
Methos: You've become kind of famous again.
Bryon: Yeah, yeah. Just can't seem to shake it.
Methos: [chuckles and makes introductions] Duncan MacLeod.
Joe Dawson.
Bryon: Any friend of Doc's... [shake hands] That kid's not
bad, is he?
Methos: Oh, that's Mike. He's from London.
[Mike finishes playing and joins them.]
Duncan: You were great, Mike.
Mike: It's a rush.
Joe: Beautiful!
Mike: Thanks, Joe.
Byron: Great chops, kid.
Mike: I'm sorry. Hold on a minute. You're who I think you
are, aren't you?
Byron: Yeah
Mike: I've got every CD, imports, everything. Man, I've
been a fan of yours forever.
Joe: [to Methos] You mean to tell me you knew him all this
time and you never told me?
Duncan: Yeah — Doc.
[Flashback: 1816, Switzerland. Methos, Byron and Claire are in
a carriage. Methos yawns loudly.]
Byron: I think the good doctor grows weary of our entertainment.
Methos: As spectator, surely. As participant, never!
Claire: Doctor Adams, your effrontery shocks me.
Byron: You're not shocked are you? You would be if you saw
him in his labors — cutting up corpses, up to his elbows in
rotting flesh and maggoty entrails.
Claire: Actually...
Methos: There are some questions about life that only the
dead can answer.
Byron: Only the dead and poets.
Methos: Well, I shall have my answers when the Shelleys
arrive.
Byron: Or rather Percy Shelley and that woman Mary he calls
wife that he seems so interested in seducing.
[Two women walking along the road see the carriage.]
Women: Byron!
Methos: What do we have here?
[Byron takes a scarf from his pocket and holds one of the women's
hands as she runs alongside the carriage.]
Byron: [quoting poetry] "This band which bound thy yellow
hair / Is thine, sweet girl, thy pledge of love." [Tosses scarf.]
Woman: [Oh my!]
Byron: "It claims my warmest, dearest care / Like relics
left of saints above."
[Women scream and sigh as the carriage leaves them behind. Another
carriage approaches and a buzz is felt.]
Methos: [pulling the horses' reins] Whoa! You know him?
Byron: Hans Kershner. He thinks I slept with is wife.
Claire: Did you?
Byron: Of course.
Methos: Hold on.
[The carriage takes off again with Kershner in hot pursuit.]
Kershner: Hold it there, you scoundrel!
[Methos, Bryon and Claire laugh as Kershner chases them. The chase
ends when Kershner's wheel hits a rock and his carriage turns over.]
Methos: [to Kershner] Next time send your wife!
[Methos and company arrive at Byron's Villa Diodati.]
Byron: Am I as dangerous as my reputation, Doctor?
Methos: You're mad, sir! Are you trying to get us killed?
Byron: You speak of death, yet note how quickly your heart
beats. You seem more alive than ever, sir!
[Flashback continued: Villa Diodati. Methos, Byron, Claire, Mary
and Percy Shelley are sprawled on sofas and cushions.]
Byron: Is there no relief to this eternal boredom? We need
better diversions.
Methos: What exactly did you have in mind?
Byron: New stories. I say we call forth the armies of the night
and do them battle, soul to soul, till they or we cry, "Hold! Enough!"
and give over the field.
Claire: Sounds thrilling.
Methos: Sounds morbid.
Percy: Stories of horror, to bring forth our own ghosts
from deep within us. Those dead humors rattling around the midnight
of our souls.
Byron: Yes, but who shall be first to amuse and frighten
us tonight? The quiet Mrs. Shelley, perhaps?
Mary: You mock me, sir. Yet I have felt death. I've held
it in my arms. I hope never to feel the like again.
Byron: Yes, but feel it you did. In tasting grief, in tasting
fear, is that not the time we truly live? And so, fair muse, what
ghosts have you to share tonight?
Mary: I'm — I'm afraid my imagination fails me at present.
Byron: Ah, but look, dear lady. [Motions to Claire.] Your
neighbor greedily gulps the nectar of creativity itself.
Percy: [to Mary] Drink the laudanum, my love. Drink. To
stimulate your imagination, my dear.
[Mary drinks and starts to choke. Methos grabs her and spins her
around until he realizes her choking is real. He lays her down.]
Byron: What melodrama is this?
Methos: Your wife has had enough, sir!
Percy: Take care of her, good doctor. Into your hands, I
commend her spirit.
[Flashback continued: A bedroom in the Villa Diodati. Mary wakes
from a nightmare. Methos sits at Mary's bedside holding her hand.]
Mary: My baby Clara, I dreamt she came back to life. She
had a beak for a mouth. And I was in the forest. There was a man,
a monster, a beast — I couldn't tell what it was. Sometimes
— sometimes I wonder who's the more unhappy, those who die
or — or those who live? [Starts to fall asleep again.]
Methos: Perhaps, dear Mary, death is not truly journey's
end but just another turn in the road. If we believe that, we can
live without fear.
Byron: Bravo. Bravo.
Methos: [to Byron] Be still!
Byron: [watching Mary] Still. So still. Almost like —
death. [Climbs on the other side of the bed.] Yet look, she stirs.
Is she not beautiful?
[Byron rests his hand on Mary's thigh. Methos holds his wrist to
stop him.]
Methos:That she is. Now let her rest.
Byron: Ah, but does she want to rest? I say we take her
and push the bounds of our passion to heaven itself.
Methos: And I say we leave
before we push the bounds of decency.
[Byron puts his hand to Methos' cheek.]
Byron: Decency means nothing. All that matters is this moment,
the three of us here in this room. [Puts Methos' hand against Mary's
chest.] Look at her. Feel her hunger.
[Methos closes his eyes.]
Byron: What is the point of living if we don't taste what
life has to offer us?
[Mary starts sighing as Byron touches her through her clothes.
Methos looks indecisive for a moment then...]
Methos: Enough.
[Byron kisses Mary. Methos pulls him away.]
Methos: I said, enough.
Byron: How dare you? This is my home, my life. I will do
with it as I choose. [Draws sword and puts the point against Methos'
chest.] Unless, of course, you choose to stop me.
Methos: Put it away and let her be. I would rather have
your poetry than your head.
Byron: Very well. As a favor to you.
[They bow to each other.]
[On the street outside Maurice's jazz club.]
Duncan: He's [Byron] an arrogant son of a bitch.
Methos: A lot of geniuses are. He's connected. He could
make that kid's career with one phone call.
Joe: Yeah. He's in the big time now.
[In Maurice's jazz club.]
Duncan: I'm gonna talk to Byron.
Methos: Wait! I'll go with you. [to Joe] Worried about the
kid, huh?
Joe: Yeah, he's in a tough spot.
Methos: To make great music,
you have to experience life.
Joe: The good and the bad, huh? Hallelujah.
Methos: [quietly] Sometimes the man is not as strong as
the music.
[Byron's apartment.]
Byron: [to servant] Life, my friend, is in the details.
I like almonds — not cashews — almonds. Shelled, roasted,
unsalted. [Waves servant away.] And fetch me my women — tall,
beautiful women with long black hair. I know you want to make me
happy.
[Servant leaves. Methos and Duncan enter.]
Byron: Afternoon, boys.
Methos: Still lacerating the
help, I see.
Byron: It's good being a star.
Duncan: You and Mike had quite a session last night.
[Byron takes a small box of drugs out of a drawer.]
Byron: Yeah. Kid's got a good shot.
Duncan: That's why we're here.
[Byron offers drugs to Duncan and Methos but they decline.]
Byron: [?] the engine or you're just idling. I don't understand
how you guys can live without it. [Sniffs drug.]
Duncan: Just fine, thanks. So did Mike until last night.
Byron: Oh, that's better. Immortality gets pretty damn dull
after the first couple of centuries, doesn't it? What's the secret,
Doc? What do you do when there's nothing left but the dark, cold
emptiness that stretches out for centuries behind you? And when
you look in the mirror, all that you see is the abomination that
you are.
[Flashback: 1816, Switzerland. Villa Diodati. Mary stands at the
door to the sitting room.]
Methos: Shall we?
Mary: I confess, I'm afraid to go in.
Methos: It's just his way of being entertaining. They're
only ghost stories.
Mary: Told by master wordsmiths. Lord Byron's words will
live forever. What have I to offer in such company?
Methos: Your heart. Your dreams. Your nightmares. Come.
Let us show Byron and Shelley that they do not have the only creative
minds of the day.
[They enter.]
Byron: Hah! We'd almost despaired of your company. [Puts
an arm around Methos.] Hark, Percy. The good doctor is in love with
your Mary. What do you say to that?
Percy: I say run. And fleet be thy feet. Fly from love,
that horned beast that impales all men.
[Percy grabs Mary and starts kissing her. Methos and Byron feel
a buzz.]
Byron: [to Methos] It seems my destiny awaits. [to the others]
With your permission, my friends, I take my leave.
[Methos and Byron enter the hall outside the sitting room.]
Methos: Jealous husband?
Byron: Ah hah.
[Flashback continued: Outside the Villa Diodati.]
Methos: [to Kershner] Think, man, who you would kill! Would
you be Lord Byron's murderer?
Kershner: [dismissively] Bah!
Byron: [Draws sword.] He shall be Lord Byron's first conquest.
Kershner: [laughs] Try me, boy.
[Byron and Kershner sword fight. Mary runs up and watches with
Methos. Kershner stabs Byron. Bryon draws a second sword from his
cane, stabs Kershner then beheads him with his first sword. Methos
catches Byron as he falls then pulls Mary back from Byron as Byron's
quickening begins. Mary looks on shocked as Byron's body levitates
as lightning engulfs it.]
[Flashback continued: Outside the Villa Diodati. Mary kneels by
Byron's still-twitching body.]
Mary: How? [Rejoins Methos.] He lives yet — yet I saw—
Methos: It was a trick of the storm.
Mary: I'm not Claire. Do not speak to me like a fool. I've
seen him die and live again, while my daughter Clara lies buried
in her grave. How can he live while my flesh and blood turns to
dust? Explain.
Methos: There is no explanation. He is not governed by the
rules of mortal flesh. He is of a different kind.
Mary: How do you know this? How can you know it?
Methos: Because I am like
him — immortal. I beseech you, tell no one of this. We
must live in secret.
Mary: Or you would be hunted.
Methos: For the perversion of nature that we are.
Mary: Poor tormented creature. The sad hero of a never-ending
story. Resurrected by lightning to eternal life. [Touches Methos'
face.] To eternal lonliness.
[Byron wakes up and staggers to his feet.]
Byron: An interesting bit of entertainment this was, I'll
wager. Come. There's a fire inside, and stories to tell, [to Mary]
if you have one.
Mary: I do. Mine will be about the anguish of immortality.
Methos: What will you call your story, Mary Shelley?
Mary: Frankenstein: The Modern Prometheus. A man
born of fire.
[Byron's apartment.]
Byron: [reading] "Light, feeling, and sense will pass away.
And in this condition must I find my happiness." Frankenstein, gentleman.
Mary Shelley's greatest work. The point is that we are all Frankenstein's
monster, doomed to walk the frozen tundra for eternity. Or the streets
of Paris, as the case may be. [Holds up drugs.] But at least this
gives us the illusion of life.
Duncan: If you think that's what life is all about then
you're already dead.
Byron: [laughs] So speaks the hero.
Duncan: You listen to me. This is no illusion, no poetic
fantasy. This is real and it's a warning: Leave the kid alone.
[Duncan leaves. Methos follows.]
[On the street outside Byron's apartment.]
Duncan: Your friend's a mess.
Methos: He's a genius.
Duncan: He's pathetic.
Methos: Very easy to think that way. You ever starve to
death, MacLeod? Byron feels hunger like that every day. Twenty thousand
people screaming his name — it's not enough to fill the hole
inside of him. He always wants more; he always needs more. You know,
Charlie Parker, Van Gogh, Mozart — messed-up guys.
Duncan: Yeah. Da Vinci, Bach — normal guys, and still
great artists.
Methos: And Byron is also a great artist. He's given the
world great poetry.
Duncan: But at what price?
[Byron's dressing room. Methos enters.]
Byron: Hey, Doc. It's gonna be a killer show tonight.
Methos: I'm not here for the show.
Byron: Well, the party doesn't start till later but hey,
make yourself at home.
Methos: Leave town.
Byron: Say what?
Methos: MacLeod's going to be coming here. I'm telling you
as an old friend that it would be a good time to go on tour. In
another country.
Byron: And disappoint my fans? I told you, I've got a show
to do.
Methos: Used to be more than a show. There was a time when
you were reaching for the heavens.
Byron: There is no heaven. It's just an illusion for fools
and innocents. I have no hope, no dreams, no poetry left. All I
feel is this raging hunger. And all I hear is my own voice screaming
my failure. You know what I've become.
Methos: Yes, I know.
Byron: But do you know who you are, Doc? [Picture this.]
You're the guy in the audience, and I'm the guy on the flying trapeze.
Who do you think is having more fun?
Methos: Who do you think is going to live the longest?
Byron: Who cares?
Methos: I do.
Byron: Do you want a tombstone that says, "He lived for
centuries"? Or do you want one that says, "For centuries he was
alive"?
Methos: You're not listening to me. I
don't want a tombstone.
[The music starts on stage.]
Byron: You hear that? [smiles] They're playing my song.
[Leaves.]
[Backstage. Duncan sees Methos leaving Byron's dressing room.]
Methos: Paladini's dead, I know. Byron didn't force him
to do anything.
Duncan: That's a load of crap. Mike's dead because of Byron.
Methos: No. Mike is dead because of Mike.
Roadie: Coming through!
[Duncan and Methos step aside to let the roadies pass.]
Duncan: The kid idolized him. Maybe he didn't pull the trigger
but he sure as hell put the gun in his hand. "To live like me you
have to be like me"? Come on, Methos. Mike couldn't do that. He
wasn't Immortal.
Methos: Which is not Byron's fault.
[Duncan walks off. Methos goes after him.]
Methos: Mac! Mac, wait! Think. Think about the poetry. Think
about the music that he's made. Think about the music that he will
still make. You're going to kill all that as well?
Duncan: And what about Mike? What music could he have made?
[Methos is speechless. He steps aside to let Duncan pass.]
[Maurice's jazz club. Methos sits at a table drinking. Duncan enters
and joins him.]
Methos: Matter and antimatter. Byron knew that too. His
life had become one long tragedy.
Duncan: We all know how those end.
Byron voiceover: "My task is done, my song has ceased, my
theme has died into an echo. It is fit."
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