[Sanguine]

Hello, there... I finished up this fic earlier this week and I thought I'd go ahead and start posting it. All this fall weather got me thinking ahead to October and all the great scary movies, so how about a very horror-themed MacGyver fic? I've been listening to Fozzy's Sin And Bones album a lot lately, and there are several songs that just seemed ripped from the horror genre, and one in particular jumped out at me as an idea for a story. So here you go.

MacGyver is sure that Murdoc is finally gone forever, but in the months following the assassin's death, strange things start happening. Before long, things spiral out of control, and MacGyver has no way to stop his greatest rival from taking revenge. After all, sometimes a man's greatest enemy...is himself.

Slapping an R rating on this one just in case, for a little violence, a little blood, and quite a bit of death. (Nothing too graphic, though.) Keep in mind that it's very AU and it's supposed to be like a scary movie, so it doesn't have a happy ending.

I'll post the first section now and add the rest later tonight when I have more time. Enjoy!




Dark Passenger

"Whoever fights monsters should see to it that in the process he does not become a monster. And when you look long into an abyss, the abyss also looks into you."
------Nietzsche

*********************

“You can’t win this, MacGyver! Not this time!” Murdoc snarled, vicious glee ripping his lips into a twisted grin as he lunged once more with the knife. He could already imagine the way it would feel to have his enemy’s blood rolling across his fingertips, could already see the flash of the camera as he immortalized MacGyver’s chilling and lifeless body in one last photograph.

MacGyver rolled out of the way in just the nick of time, the knife scraping against the concrete floor with a metallic spark. His legs swept out to trip Murdoc, but the assassin was too quick and the next thing he knew, Murdoc was on top of him and preparing to plunge the knife into his throat.

He only had a second to react; he grabbed a canister of cleaning fluid that had fallen to the floor in the scuffle and sprayed Murdoc in the face.
The assassin yelped in pain, scrubbing furiously at his eyes with his black jacket sleeve. MacGyver wriggled away and punched Murdoc as hard as he could, shaking his aching hand afterwards. His heart was pounding.

He’d have to be quick. He had a matter of seconds at maximum before the assassin recovered and attacked him again.

MacGyver glanced around the mortuary basement in despair. He had a few cleaning supplies, an old vacuum, some dusty file cabinets, and the crematory. Not much to work with, but---if he could just manage to get some of the butane from the big furnace, he might be able to---

Murdoc slammed against him from behind, shoulder plowing into MacGyver’s back and pushing the troubleshooter down. MacGyver’s face struck the corner of the old crematory and his cheek split open. Blood streamed in a thick rivulet down his jaw as he struggled to get away. If only he could find a way to get to the butane… He could maybe use it to get the door open. Or to knock Murdoc out long enough to get the key from him and run. But he had to do something.

Murdoc fisted a handful of MacGyver’s hair and yanked him backwards. The knife, aloft, glinted in the harsh lighting. “I’ve waited a long time for this, MacGyver,” he hissed. “You're not getting away from me this time.” No matter how much Mac struggled, the knife kept forcing its way closer to his throat. “I’m through playing around with you. This time---this time, you’re finally going to die.”

MacGyver only saw one thing left to do. Only one way out.
He desperately tried to think of another option, anything to avoid taking that one last course of action, but there was no other choice. That knife angled closer and closer to his neck, and he couldn’t fight it off for much longer.

Mac’s elbow jolted into Murdoc’s side. The assassin grunted in pain, but didn’t budge. Regardless, MacGyver got what he wanted: Murdoc’s grip on the hilt of the knife slackened just enough for MacGyver to headbutt the weapon out of his enemy’s hand. Ignoring the shallow gash across his forehead, MacGyver took advantage of the distraction and shoved Murdoc hard, pushing him up against the crematory.

The furnace was old and made of whitewashed steel, with a simple control panel off to one side. The steel door in the front opened and shut manually, with a sliding bar to lock it.

Murdoc immediately knew what MacGyver was up to and fought tooth and nail---literally---against being shoved inside, but this time, MacGyver had the greater leverage and Murdoc was at a disadvantage without his knife.

In his haste to slam the door shut, Mac almost smashed Murdoc’s fingers between the steel edges; if Murdoc hadn’t moved at the last moment, the bones of his hand would have been crushed. When the locking bar jolted into place with a satisfying click, MacGyver slid to the floor, heaving a sigh. His eyes drifted shut as he basked in his moment of peace and safety.

Then the banging started.
“You can’t keep me in here forever, MacGyver!” Murdoc howled in rage.
Every hair on MacGyver’s body stood on end.

Murdoc was right. Eventually, he’d escape, probably before the authorities got there to bail Mac out. Even if MacGyver survived this encounter with Murdoc, he knew that there would be another, and another, and another…until one or both of them was dead.

Somewhere, somehow, this had to end.

Slowly, MacGyver’s head turned. Slowly, he sat up. He looked at the control panel with a shudder. No…

No, he couldn’t do it. He couldn’t do that. Not even to Murdoc. No one deserved such a horrific and torturous ending.

No…

The door. He had to unlock the door. He had to escape.

The key was inside the incinerator with Murdoc, and since his knife had been taken before they’d even gotten inside the mortuary, he didn’t have a tool to pick the lock. MacGyver would have to find another way out. The butane---maybe he could use that, if only he could find a way to get it out of the furnace.

The banging was growing louder, and so were Murdoc’s threats. MacGyver turned his gaze away from the basement door for just a moment, glancing back at the crematory. His eyes widened in horror.

The sliding bolt...it’s starting to move. Murdoc’s banging must be jolting it out of place, he thought.

“When I get out of here, I’m going to make you pay!” Murdoc shouted through the steel. “Do you hear me, MacGyver? I’m going to kill you and I’m going to kill Peter Thornton and I’m going to laugh over your graves!”

Quickly, MacGyver shoved the locking bolt back in place, but his heart began to pound.

No matter what happened, Murdoc always managed to escape. He always managed to survive and come back, killing more innocent people and tormenting MacGyver in every way imaginable. And not just MacGyver himself, but all of his friends, too. Everyone was in danger with Murdoc alive. And what if the assassin ever made good on his threat to kill Pete? What if Mac couldn’t stop him?

MacGyver would never forgive himself.

He stared at the control panel of the crematory, breath coming in shallow gasps.

“I’m sorry,” he said as his hand smacked down on the green button.

*********************

When the police finally managed to break through the basement door, MacGyver was curled up on the floor in a corner with his hands over his ears and his eyes shut. He refused to speak at all until Pete Thornton arrived a few minutes later, and even then, he said little about what had happened.

The eternal question of “Where’s Murdoc?” was solved later on, after dental records proved conclusively that the ashes in the crematory belonged to the elusive assassin. MacGyver still refused to speak about how that turn of events came about.

Even though things slowly returned to normal for MacGyver, he still heard Murdoc’s screams in his nightmares for months on end.

*********************

He was in the midst of one of those recurring nightmares when it first happened. He didn’t even really notice at first; his mind was too occupied by the vivid recall of watching with intense horror as the incinerator had kicked on with a low growl and the hiss of gaseous fuel, the panic in Murdoc’s terrified gasping, the frenzied banging on the steel walls pounding to a crescendo.

“MacGyver, no!” The assassin had screeched. “MacGyver, please! No!” He was pleading, begging. “MacGyver!”

And then he had screamed.

Raw terror, raw agony. The scream of someone being set on fire and left to burn in a metal box with no hope of rescue, no hope of escape. Inevitable suffering and death.

The screams hadn’t lasted very long, but Murdoc burned for hours, cremated alive until there was nothing but ash.

And the knowledge of exactly what had happened to the assassin---the slow vaporization of his body’s water content, the breakdown of the hydrocarbons beneath his skin, the bubbling up of the soft yellow subcutaneous fat as it roasted to add more fuel to the fire, the chemical reactions of blood and bone and soft tissue when exposed to extremely high temperatures---haunted MacGyver almost as much as Murdoc’s last tortured, howling scream.

MacGyver had been forced to kill people before, in various methods and in a variety of situations. It was never something that he’d wanted to do, and it was something he avoided at all costs. In those occasions when he’d been forced to kill, he’d understood that the circumstances had left him with no other option and no other way out, and that sometimes things just had to be done for the greater good.

But those situations hadn’t been the same as what had happened to Murdoc. No one else had died in such a horrific, agonizing way as being cremated alive. And MacGyver didn’t know if he could live with the guilt.

Over time, he’d gotten to the point where he was capable of pretending that everything was fine, but he still relived every moment on a weekly, sometimes nightly, basis.

And on that particular night, while he was reliving the way he had sagged against the wall in shock as Murdoc had shrieked his last, MacGyver heard something new in his dreams: a whisper, so quiet that his subconscious only barely registered it.

MacGyver…

*********************

[Jediferret]

Nice job! I'm interested to see how this is gonna turn out.

[Barry Rowland]

Me too....keep up the great work Sanguine!!

[uniquelyjas]

Oooh, this is good!!!

[Sanguine]

Thank you all so much for the encouragement! I'll have the rest of it posted later tonight, as soon as I can get back to my computer.

[Sanguine]

The change was slow at first. Gradual. He thought that he heard someone calling his name, but when he looked over his shoulder, there was no one there.
He chalked it up to his imagination.

One afternoon, he found a note on his desk. A half-sheet of crisp white paper, one word written on it: his name, in thick black strokes. Unfamiliar handwriting. He couldn’t figure out who would have left it, but for some reason, looking at the elegant ink-stained scrawl made him nervous, so he took the note and promptly shredded it.

One morning, when he woke up, he thought he saw somebody else’s shadow in the mirror. Heart skipping a beat, he whirled around to look. Nothing. He turned back to face the mirror. The only face reflected there was his own.

The following night, he had the worst nightmare of his life: he dreamed that he was the one being incinerated, not Murdoc, and the gas-burning flames rushed at his face in a crackling orange inferno…

He bolted awake, panting and drenched in a rapidly cooling sweat, the perspiration dripping from his body, rolling down his face and sides, soaking his bed. The sheets were in a tangle on the floor, tossed away. MacGyver struggled to get to his feet, running a hand through damp blond hair.

Tremoring, he made his way to the bathroom, switching on the dim light and splashing cold water onto his face. When he looked at himself in the mirror, he muttered, “I look like a train wreck.” He shook his head. It shouldn’t be like this; not after all he’s been through. Explosions, gunfire, deadly viruses and poisons, plane crashes, nuclear meltdowns… He should be hardened by now, shouldn’t he? Desensitized. He shouldn’t be affected so deeply by this, not when Murdoc had tried so hard to end his life in so many painful and terrifying ways. Not when Murdoc had tried to kill so many of his friends, too. He should be able to let this go.

But he couldn’t let it go. He may have killed Murdoc for the right reasons, but that didn’t make his actions right. He should be better than Murdoc. He should have found another way.

He pressed his forehead against the mirror for a second, letting the feeling of the cold glass against his flushed skin calm him down.

MacGyver…

The phantom whisper in his head had echoed so much in recent weeks that he didn’t even register it anymore.

MacGyver sighed. “I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
He pulled himself together and peeled away his wet shirt, tossing it on the floor. Next, he reached for a towel and began to dry himself, starting with his hair and moving to his bare shoulders.

You’ll be sorrier than that when I’m finished with you, MacGyver!

Mac jumped, the towel flying from his hands as he whirled in all directions, searching for the voice. That one wasn’t in his head; that was out loud. His heart went from normal to overdrive in less than two seconds. “Murdoc!” he shouted. “Where are you?”

Why, I’m right here, MacGyver. Don’t you know? I’ve been here for a while. Haven’t you noticed me?

“Don’t play games with me, Murdoc! I thought you were dead!” MacGyver said as he glanced around the room in search of some kind of tape recorder or camera or something---anything to explain Murdoc’s voice coming out of nowhere.

You know, death is a funny thing, MacGyver. You can kill a man’s body, but…you can’t destroy a demon’s soul.

“I don’t think demons have souls. Where are you? Enough of this!”

Take a look in the mirror.

Taking a deep breath, MacGyver spun to face the mirror, but he saw only his reflection. “I don’t understand. What do you want me to look at, Murdoc?”

I always tell you to keep looking over your shoulder, don’t I? Perhaps you should start there.

MacGyver frowned and glanced behind him, but there was no one there. Yet when he turned back and looked harder…
“The shadow,” he breathed. “It’s back.”

Hello, MacGyver, Murdoc's voice chuckled. Long time, no see. It took quite a bit of energy for me to finally make my presence known to you. But it’s been worth it. Oh, has it been worth it.

“What do you want, Murdoc? You don’t really expect me to believe that you’re some kinda spirit or something, do you? There’s no such thing as ghosts. I don’t want any more of your tricks! Now just tell me what you want!”

Obviously, I want revenge, Murdoc hissed. You killed me, MacGyver. For real this time. You let me die a torturous, agonizing death, and I want you to pay for it! I want you to pay for my suffering!

The shadow in the mirror seemed to grow darker before MacGyver’s eyes. He shuddered; the room felt colder, somehow, and the sweat left unevaporated on his skin coated him with a chill. Something about the whole thing just felt…malevolent.
“This is impossible. This can’t be happening.”

But it is. Murdoc’s insane laughter seemed to echo through the entire house, bouncing from each wall and closing in. Just keep looking over your shoulder, MacGyver. I’m getting stronger and stronger every day. I’ll be back. You’ll see.

Murdoc laughed again, and abruptly, the shadow was gone. The room seemed to warm up again, the glass of the mirror fogging over. MacGyver shuddered and wiped the mirror off. He knew that he’d never be able to get back to sleep after this; he needed to get some fresh air and clear his head. After tugging on some clean clothes and his brown leather jacket, he slipped outside to walk along the pier. He watched the sun coming up from a bench on the sidewalk, focusing on breathing in the clean morning air.

Whatever had happened to him, it couldn’t have been supernatural. Either MacGyver had been gripped by some kind of night terror, or… Or Murdoc was somehow still alive. Another of the assassin’s miraculous escapes shouldn’t have surprised MacGyver, but this time, it would truly have been impossible for Murdoc to have gotten out of that crematory alive. MacGyver knew because he had sat, locked in that mortuary basement, and watched. There was only one way in and out of the furnace---and Murdoc never made it out. He was dead.

And if Murdoc was dead…

A night terror. That’s all it was. It had to be.

*********************

“Pete, can I talk to you alone?” MacGyver said quietly when he got into work that day.
“Yeah, sure, Mac,” Pete said, leading the way to his office and closing the door behind them. After a moment, he dropped the report he was reading on his desk and smiled at his friend. “All right, you’ve got my full attention!”
MacGyver dropped into the nearest chair and swallowed hard. “Do you believe in, um…evil spirits?”
“Evil spirits?” Pete echoed as he settled into his own chair. “You mean like demons or something?”
“Something like that.”

Pete thought for a moment and then shrugged. “I don’t know. I suppose so. I mean, I don’t put much stock in the supernatural, but there are always a few things out there that can’t be explained. What about you?”
“I’ve always said that I don’t believe in ghosts or spirits, but…something weird’s going on with me, and I can’t figure it out.”
Pete frowned, leaning forward. “What do you mean?”
MacGyver sighed and shook his head. “Never mind, Pete, I’m sure it’s nothing. Forget I ever asked.”
“But, Mac---”
“It’s probably just those nightmares. They put me on edge,” MacGyver said as he got to his feet. “Don’t worry about it. I’m just going to go to bed early tonight, or---something. I’m fine.”

Pete watched his friend with concern. “Are you sure? You know you can talk to me about anything.”
“I know, Pete, but I’m fine. Really,” Mac replied with a slight smile. “Thanks for listening.”

MacGyver walked out of Pete’s office and decided to get back to work, feeling silly about the whole thing. The light of day gave him clarity. As he passed a window in the hallway, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. The shadow was still there, but---no. He shook his head firmly. All of it was an illusion, a product of his guilty mind and sleep-deprived conscience. That’s all. Murdoc was dead, and no part of him would ever be coming back. “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” MacGyver muttered to himself. “No such thing.”

*********************

By the time MacGyver clocked out and headed home, he wasn’t feeling well at all. Dizzy, no appetite, exhausted… He just wanted to drink something warm and go to bed. He put some water on to boil for tea as he remembered the strange night terror from before. Perhaps going to bed was the last thing he needed. He grabbed a carrot from the refrigerator and attempted to eat, but he only managed a couple of half-hearted nibbles before he felt sick and returned his attention to the stove, watching the steam rising up and pooling in a cloud towards the ceiling. He breathed some of the warm vapor in as he took the water off the heat and turned off the burner, exhaling slowly.

A night terror. That’s all it was.

You’re so convinced of your own superiority, aren’t you, MacGyver? So convinced that you’re still perfectly safe.

MacGyver’s eyes lifted up slowly. He looked left first, then right, checking the room. He knew that Murdoc wouldn’t be there. But this wasn’t a recorded voice and he hadn’t been jolted out of sleep this time. Perhaps Murdoc was hiding outside somewhere, maybe on the pier---but then how could his voice be so close? “There’s no such thing as ghosts,” MacGyver murmured to himself. “It’s all in my head. There’s no such thing as ghosts.”

Murdoc’s voice came as a whisper next, soft and dangerous: I want you to burn with me.

The slip happened before MacGyver had a chance to blink. For no reason that he could see---and without his conscious thought---MacGyver’s hand smacked down hard on the stove, straight onto the burner that was still glowing red-hot.
He cried out in pain, ripping his hand away, head reeling as he staggered backwards. Gasping and hissing, he stared down at the burn marks starting to form across his fingers, impending scars in concentric rings. He took a deep, shuddering breath to calm himself down and reached for the aloe plant growing serenely on the counter in the corner. Not so serene anymore, he thought as he snapped off one of the leaves and salved his blistered skin. “Now why did I do that?” he said to himself. “Must have gotten clumsy.”

I don’t know why you’re deluding yourself, MacGyver. You know the truth. I’m. Still. Here.

“No,” MacGyver said firmly. “No. It’s not possible.”

When you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.

“Who do you think you are? Professor Moriarty?” MacGyver retorted. “Besides, the flaw in your logic is obvious: it’s impossible for you to be speaking to me from beyond the grave, so I’m eliminating that as a possibility!”

It’s not impossible. Just very, very difficult, Murdoc replied with a sniff. Besides, I was quoting Mr. Spock.

“I don’t care if you were quoting Shakespeare or the Bible! It’s impossible for you to not be dead and it’s also impossible for you to be a dead man talking!”

Perhaps you’re just going insane, MacGyver, did you ever think of that?

That thought gave MacGyver pause. “No,” he admitted.

Then maybe you should give it some consideration. In the meantime, why don’t we have a little fun? Just the two of us, hm? For old times’ sake.

MacGyver could picture the smirk that would have been on Murdoc’s face if he were there, and that mental image pained him worse than his burnt hand. “Somehow I think that your idea of fun is probably not a quiet night at home drinking tea and reading a book.”

Actually, there was a time in my life when I wouldn’t have rejected that notion. Not by any means. Unfortunately, my life is over, and soon, yours will be too.

“I don’t think so, Murdoc. Whatever you’ve got planned in that twisted head of yours, it won’t work!”

Ah, but this time I’m not planning it in my twisted head. I’m planning it in yours! Now you should get some rest, MacGyver. We’re both going to need a lot of energy for what I have in mind.

“No, Murdoc, I’m not doing anything you…say…” All of a sudden, MacGyver’s limbs felt heavy, dragging, like he was moving underwater. His mind seemed to be enveloped in a fog and he couldn’t stop a yawn from escaping his lips. He stumbled to his couch and collapsed. Murdoc’s quiet, echoing laughter was the last thing he heard before slipping involuntarily into a dark and dreamless void of sleep.

*********************

When MacGyver awoke, he felt drowsy and slow to move. He pushed himself up to a sitting position, realizing too late that he’d used his burned hand to do so. Wincing, he glanced down at it to see that it had started to heal. He shook his head, hoping to dispel the fog that had settled over him. Nothing seemed any clearer than it had before. For a brief moment, he tried to chalk up Murdoc’s insistent whisperings to his guilt and fatigue, as always, but it was getting harder and harder for him to deny that something strange was happening.

More than strange; something sinister.

He got to his feet and dug up the first aid kit that he kept in his bathroom, smearing burn gel on his hand and wrapping it up with a bit of soft gauze. Yawning, he glanced in the mirror. He didn’t see the shadow. He smiled a bit to himself. “Maybe it was just my imagination.” After a long two and a half minutes of waiting for Murdoc to pop up and prove him wrong, MacGyver sighed in relief. No shadow, no voices, no Murdoc… Maybe everything was going to be okay.

MacGyver was able to go through his daily morning routine as usual---eating breakfast, checking the calendar, drinking some fresh carrot juice… Until he stepped out the front door and realized that, rather than seeing the sunrise, the dim and purple-filtered light that had been shining through his windows was actually the sunset.
“What the…?”

Terribly sorry that you slept away your Saturday, MacGyver, but as I said, we both need quite a bit of energy for tonight. I do hope you’re excited for our first little escapade together. I know I am.

MacGyver’s jaw dropped. “Murdoc? What did you do? Did you knock me out?” Eyes narrowed, he scanned the dimming horizon, looking for any place that Murdoc---alive against all odds---could be hiding: a window, a dark corner, a park bench… Could he be in disguise again?

I don’t know why you’re bothering to search for me when I’m right here. Stop searching for other explanations and accept the unlikely truth: you killed me, and now you’re stuck with me.

“I can’t accept that you’re some kind of vengeful spirit, Murdoc. I won’t accept it. There’s always an explanation, and I’m going to figure out this sick game of yours.”

Perhaps you’ll believe me now.

MacGyver was about to ask Murdoc what he was talking about when he took a single step forward. A step that he definitely did not tell his legs to take. “Murdoc!”
He kept walking down the sidewalk, but he didn’t want to. No matter how much MacGyver tried to force himself to stop, he found that he couldn’t get a single part of his body to respond to his commands. It was as if he’d become a passenger in his own body, a passenger locked inside himself.

Oh, my God, MacGyver thought. Murdoc has control.

“Yes, that’s right, MacGyver,” Murdoc’s voice oozed through lips that did not belong to him. “I’m the one in charge here.” He chuckled darkly, the sound unnatural in MacGyver’s throat. “And I’m sure that God has very little to do with our activities here tonight.”

Stop it, Murdoc! MacGyver tried to scream, but he couldn’t make a single sound. What are you doing?!

“Why, I’m putting things right, MacGyver. You know, I’m going to make you regret killing me. Perhaps I’ll even make you wish that you’d never been born.”

I already regret killing you, Murdoc! I’m sorry! I would take it back if I could. Just, please---whatever you’re planning, don’t do it!

“I don’t think I believe you, MacGyver. I think you enjoyed killing me. Hearing me scream---didn’t that send a nice little shiver down your spine? Didn’t it feel good to know that after all these years, all these games, you finally won? I think you liked it. I know I would.”

I’m not like you, Murdoc. I don’t enjoy killing---not even you.

Murdoc twisted MacGyver’s wide, chapped lips into a cruel smirk. “You will by the time I’m done with you.”

If MacGyver had been the one controlling his body at the moment, his breath would’ve stopped and his eyes would’ve widened in panic. What does that mean? Murdoc. Murdoc! What does that mean?!

The dark chuckle tore through MacGyver’s throat once more. “I think you know what it means, MacGyver.”

*********************

[Sanguine]

MacGyver awoke slowly, stirring as his senses returned to him one by one. He was laying on the cold bathroom floor, back at home, and he seemed to be in control of his faculties once again. A coppery taste lingered in the back of his throat and the epicenter of a splitting headache throbbed within his forehead. Taking a deep breath, he sat up and glanced around.

At once his mind reeled. A wave of dizziness and sickness overtook him as he struggled, in disbelief, to comprehend the drying smears of blood streaking his floor, his shirt, his hands…and his face. MacGyver’s chest heaved, his hands curled into fists. The next thing he knew, he was throwing up and sobbing. The memories were coming back now, the memories of what had happened just hours before. Memories of what Murdoc had made him do. Literally forcing his hand… Plunging the knife into innocent flesh over and over again as duct tape muffled anguished screams for mercy.

Who was that girl? Was she just a random stranger that Murdoc had chosen out of convenience, a crime of opportunity? Or had Murdoc ironically used MacGyver as a tool to fulfill one of his contracts? Did she have family? Would she be missed? Whose sister, mother, daughter, lover was she?

MacGyver forced himself to take a deep breath, hugging his knees to his chest. He felt frail, exposed. He felt like he’d been violated. And he had. Murdoc had used MacGyver’s own hands to commit a deadly crime. Something unforgivable.

And MacGyver had no idea what to do about it.

First, the blood. He couldn’t stand to look at it for a second longer, couldn’t stand to inhale the reek of iron and death, couldn’t stand the ungodly shade of brown-tinged crimson staining his hands and floor. Shaky legs dumped him unceremoniously into the bathtub, fully clothed, and shakier hands twisted both knobs on the faucet full-blast. He knew that he’d never be clean.

Well now, MacGyver. Look at what a mess you’ve made.

“You did this, Murdoc,” MacGyver hissed with hatred, a sheer rage that he’d never before experienced in his life. Never before had he wanted to direct such vitriol towards another human being---especially not a dead one. “You did this! Not me!”

Did I? From a witness’ standpoint, our little dalliance last night was all you.

“No!” MacGyver shouted. “You killed someone in cold blood! I had nothing to do with it! If I could’ve done anything to stop you, I would have. I tried to make you stop. This is your fault!”

Are you quite sure, MacGyver? After all, I’m not the one talking to myself, am I?

“Stop it, Murdoc. It’s too late for games now. You wanted me to believe you, and I do. You wanted me to regret letting you die, and you wanted me to suffer, and I’m suffering more than I ever have in my life.” MacGyver had to stop talking for a moment to choke past the bile rising in his throat. “You made me kill someone. I can’t believe it.” MacGyver’s breath shuddered in his lungs. “Murdoc, how can you possibly live with the guilt? I--- I didn’t even do this, and it’s killing me. How do you live like this?”

I don’t, remember? You made sure of that.

MacGyver ignored Murdoc’s comment, choosing instead to shut off the water before the bathtub overflowed. He sat in the cold water, scrubbing at himself until his skin was raw, aching to remove the stain of an innocent woman’s blood.

Murdoc’s quiet and insane laughter rang once more inside MacGyver’s mind. Don’t worry, MacGyver. My first kill wasn’t so graceful either. The first time is always the messiest. But you can rest assured that I’ll take good care of you. The next time will be much, much cleaner.

MacGyver froze. “Next time?” His jaw dropped in horror. “No. No, no! There’s not going to be a next time. There can’t be a next time.”

There’s always a next time, MacGyver, no matter what your intentions are. Killing people is almost like eating potato crisps. You can’t stop with just one. Trust me, I know.

MacGyver shook his head furiously, splattering water droplets in all directions. “I can’t believe you, Murdoc. You really are insane.”

From inside his mind, MacGyver heard Murdoc make a quiet sigh. You do have a point this time, MacGyver. Even I can’t believe I just said that. I’m disappointed in myself, really. I’ve been trapped inside you for far too long. Allow me to try again: a murder is like a work of art. You wouldn’t expect Michelangelo to paint just one angel in the Sistine Chapel, would you? Well, I work with death the way Michelangelo worked with paints. And now, you’re my new brush. You should consider yourself lucky, MacGyver. Before you destroyed me utterly, it was a privilege and an honor to work alongside someone of my caliber.

“No. No, no, no, Murdoc. No.” MacGyver pulled himself up out of the water, gripping the wall for purchase so that he didn’t slip, and made his way to the telephone without caring that he was dripping water all over the floor… Until he noticed that the water splashes were mixed and commingled with blood, but the telephone was still the more pressing matter. He dialed the number that he knew by heart and chanted to himself, “Please pick up. Please pick up. Please pick up.”

No luck---a pre-recorded answering machine message and an electronic beep. MacGyver wet his lips and frantically said, “Hey, Pete, it’s me. Please, please call me back as soon as you can. It’s an emergency.” He dropped the phone into its cradle faster than Murdoc would have dropped a coral snake and sank to his knees.

He needed help. And fast.

He’d sunk so far into an abyss of despair that the telephone ringing nearly gave him a heart attack. It rang three times before he found the mindpower to move, and he sprang up and grabbed the receiver. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mac, it’s me,” Pete’s familiar voice crackled through from the other end of the line. “I’m sorry I missed you a second ago. I just got home and I heard the last ring right as I was walking through the front door! What’s going on?”
“Pete, I need you to come over here fast,” MacGyver said, but then he thought better of it and corrected himself. “No, no, on second thought---don’t come anywhere near me, Pete, it’s too dangerous.”
“Dangerous? What is? What’s happening?”
“Pete, I--- Are you alone?”
“Yes. Why? MacGyver, what’s this about?”
“Pete, I--I think I may have killed someone. Not me---Murdoc, but---”
“Murdoc?! He’s alive?!”
“No, that’s just the thing. He isn’t.”
“Mac, you’re not making any sense.”

MacGyver swallowed hard, feeling like he had sand in his throat. For a moment, he thought he might get sick again, but he coughed and managed to speak. “Pete, you remember when I asked you about evil spirits?”
“Yeah,” Pete said cautiously.
“I know that it sounds crazy. But Murdoc is back. He’s back because I killed him, and he wants revenge.” Mac ran a hand over his face and shuddered. “And he’s getting it.”
“That’s it. I’m coming over there right now. Don’t go anywhere, MacGyver, don’t move. Do you hear me? I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
Drained of strength, MacGyver couldn’t protest. Numbly, he muttered, “Okay, Pete.” The telephone slipped from his hand and he laid flat on his back on the floor. There was only one thing he could do, and he was going to ask Pete to help him.

He was going to turn himself in.

I don’t know what you expect Peter Thornton to do, MacGyver. It’s not as if he can help you. Not unless he has the power to turn back time and revive me from death.

“Shut up, Murdoc.” MacGyver rubbed his eyes. “Just shut up.”

You should at least put on something presentable to wear, shouldn’t you? You’ve got company coming over. You’re not a barbarian, after all.

MacGyver sat up and dragged himself to his feet. “You’re right. I’m not. You are.” He emptied his closet of towels and cleaned up the water splashes, but even though he knew that he’d need bleach to cleanse away the blood, he couldn’t seem to make himself go and get it.

You still need to get out of those wet clothes, you fool. You’ll catch your death of cold, and that’s such a boring way to die.

“Would you stop it? I’m not getting naked in front of you.”

I’ve already seen you naked. I’ve been living in your head ever since you brutally slaughtered me, so there’s no point in being shy now.

MacGyver shuddered. “Could this get any worse?”

Do you want the truth, or was that a rhetorical question?

A loud rattling interrupted the conversation as Pete Thornton banged on the door. “MacGyver!”
“It’s open,” MacGyver called, “but be careful, Pete!”
When Pete walked in, MacGyver immediately backed away, leaving a cushion of space in between them---enough space, he hoped, to allow his friend to get away if Murdoc should suddenly snap.

“All right, MacGyver, what’s going on?” Pete asked. His eyes widened when he took in MacGyver’s appearance. “You look like you’ve been through a hurricane! Why are you all wet? Where’s Murdoc?”
“Listen, you need to stay far back,” Mac said quietly. “Something’s gone really wrong, and I don’t know how to explain it, so let me start from the beginning.” He heaved a sigh. “You know that I’ve had nightmares ever since---ever since Murdoc died.”

Ever since you killed me, you mean.

MacGyver flinched and bit his lip to keep from retorting to the voice in his mind. “After a little while, those nightmares…they became more than dreams. I--I started to hear Murdoc’s voice in my head.”
“Are you serious?” Pete asked, visibly concerned.
MacGyver nodded. “Believe me, I know how insane and unbelievable it sounds, but this is real. He can talk to me, and he can make things happen. He made me burn my hand, and he---” MacGyver swallowed hard. “He made me kill someone, Pete.” His eyes burned and he looked away from his friend in shame.

Pete was silent for a long moment, trying to absorb the information. “Are you sure that this isn’t another one of Murdoc’s traps? I mean, I wanted to believe as much as anyone that Murdoc is dead, but…”
MacGyver shook his head. “This is real, Pete. I--I remember all of it happening. I was conscious for all of it. Everything that I---that he---did.” His voice became strangled as he whispered, “Look in my bathroom, Pete.”

Mac took several steps backwards to allow Pete plenty of space to investigate.
His friend didn’t need to go far to see the state of things…all the blood left behind.

“Where’s the body?” Pete asked in disbelief. “Who was the victim?”
“Murdoc dumped her in the water at a beach somewhere. It wasn’t somewhere that I’d ever been before, but I could find it again. I don’t know who she was. I don’t even know her name.” MacGyver squeezed his eyes shut. “Pete, you’ve got to get me locked up. Somewhere, anywhere. You’ve got to turn me in and lock me up before Murdoc kills again. Please, Pete. You’ve got to promise me.”
Turning away from the grisly sight of the bathroom, Pete looked at his friend in horror. “But, Mac, I can’t do that to you!”
Cold fear trickled through MacGyver’s veins. “As your friend, I am begging you. Lock me away, in a jail or in a psych ward…and call an exorcist.”
“Oh, my God. You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Of course I mean it, Pete! Look, you know me. You’ve known me for a long time. You’ve always been a good friend to me and we’ve stood by each other when no one else would. I need you to believe me. I need you to do this for me. You’ve got to help me stop Murdoc, and turning myself in is the only way.”

I wouldn’t quite say it’s the only way, MacGyver.

MacGyver froze for a second, jaw clenched.
Pete’s eyes went wide when he saw the distant and troubled expression on his friend’s face. “Mac… Are you hearing Murdoc right now?”
Mutely, MacGyver nodded.

And then…something changed. With horror, Pete watched as his friend’s face underwent a sort of metamorphosis. Warm brown eyes turned cold and empty. A friendly mouth twisted its lips, baring hijacked incisors in a cruel mockery of a smile.

“Hello, Peter.” The timbre was off and the tone was distorted as a distinctly British voice slipped through MacGyver’s lips. MacGyver’s vocal cords may have been producing the sounds, but the hardness behind them could never have come from Pete’s old friend.

“Murdoc?”

“That’s right, Peter. It’s me.” A laugh wound its way out of his mouth, an almost demonic sound that erased all doubt from Pete’s mind.
“This isn’t possible.”
“That’s what MacGyver said, too. But it is possible, and it’s happening right now, in front of your very eyes. I suppose that MacGyver and I have been waging war on each other for so long that the one can’t exist without the other. Very interesting, isn't it?”
“You need to let him go!”
“My dear Peter Thornton. I couldn’t do that even if I wanted to. And why should I want to? I’m having too much fun.”
“By killing innocent people? Do you have any idea what that will do to MacGyver?”

Murdoc’s---or rather, MacGyver’s---brown eyes grew dark. “I know exactly what it will do. I’m going to burn in Hell, and MacGyver’s going to burn right along with me.”

Don’t hurt Pete, Murdoc! Leave him alone! He’s got nothing to do with you.

“Oh, I’m not going to kill him, MacGyver. Not yet, anyway.”

MacGyver struggled against Murdoc, forcing his way to the surface like a drowning man treading water. He couldn’t seem to break through; his screaming produced no sounds. Pete! Get out of here! Please, get out of here and get some help!

Murdoc smirked. “MacGyver’s right, Peter. You should get out now, while you still can.”

Helpless, Pete held out his hands wide, almost in a gesture of prayer or supplication. “I can’t just leave you, Mac! You need help. Some serious help.”

At that moment, MacGyver managed to break through---or perhaps Murdoc simply relinquished control. Mac shook his head and backed away until he was against the wall. “Pete, please. You have to go. I need help, but there’s nothing you can do. Find someone who can put me away---who can put us away---for good. Please, Pete. You’re my friend. You’re the only one who can help me stop him.” His warm brown eyes watered as he pleaded, “Do this for me. Please.”

Slowly, Pete nodded. “All right. I will.”

Heart quickening, Pete went out the door as a distorted voice called after him: “Goodbye, Peter! Until next time!”

*********************

Pete’s hands shook as he held the telephone to his ear. “Dalton?” he blurted as soon as he heard someone pick up.
“Pete?” Jack’s voice answered. “Is that you? What’s going on?”
“I need to talk to you in person. It’s an emergency.”
“What kind of emergency?”
“It’s about MacGyver. Something’s---something’s gone wrong. He’s---not well. I’m afraid that he might hurt himself, if he hasn’t already. I need you to meet me at my place as soon as you can.”
“Your place? Why don’t we just meet at the Phoenix Foundation? Hey, is Mac in trouble or something?” Jack’s usually lighthearted voice was serious when he heard the urgency in Pete’s voice.
Pete sighed. “Yeah, he’s in trouble. Big trouble. It’s not something I want to tell you over the phone. You’ve got to hear this in person and in private. Can I count on you?”
“Of course,” Jack replied. “For Mac, I’d do anything. He’s my very best friend. I’ll meet you in twenty minutes, okay?”
“Okay,” Pete said and hung up. His hands clenched into fists. He’d never had much use for Jack Dalton, and the man was nothing but trouble, but Pete could never once say that he doubted Jack’s loyalty to MacGyver… And Mac was going to need all the help he could get.

*********************

[Sanguine]

I’m disappointed in you, MacGyver. You’re trying to ruin my fun much too early.

“Fun?” MacGyver hissed. “You call this fun? What good is any of this doing you, Murdoc? Huh? Ruining my life, scaring my friends, taking innocent lives---you’re not doing yourself any favors! You’re still dead, and even if you take control of my body again, pretty soon, I’m gonna be locked up and so are you.”

That’s why I’ve got to escalate things more quickly than I had wanted to. Don’t worry, though. I knew that you’d try to contact Thornton, so I made a contingency plan.

“How much more insane can you get?” MacGyver kneaded his forehead with his hands, aching inside and out.

The question, MacGyver, is how much more insane can you get?

“Make it stop, Murdoc. End this now. No more! End this now---or I will. I’m not letting you use me as your puppet anymore.” Quickly, he reached into one of his kitchen drawers and grabbed a big knife. “Swear to me that you won't force me to kill again, or I’ll---”

Or you’ll what, MacGyver? You’ll kill yourself? How cute.

“I mean it, Murdoc!”

Murdoc chuckled. So do I. But just to humor you, MacGyver---sure. I’ll swear. I give you my word that I won’t force you to kill again. Does that sound fair?

MacGyver nodded and dropped the knife onto the counter. He honestly hadn’t expected that to be so easy…which meant that Murdoc was probably planning a trap. He’d have to keep his eyes open… But right as that thought crossed his mind, his body had to stifle a huge yawn.

Get some sleep, MacGyver. Murder tends to take a lot out of you---and so does possession. Besides, I’m sure Peter will be here soon with a team of men in white coats, ready to drag us off into a comfy room with padded walls somewhere. Aren’t we lucky?

“Shut up, Murdoc.” Since he was in the kitchen anyway, he reached into the cabinet where he kept the cleaning supplies and grabbed the jug of bleach. Still half-full… More than enough to clean the bathroom. He stared at the container in his hand, contemplating. He could wash the stain off of the tiles, but he could never get it off of his own hands. And yet… He needed the room to be clean. He needed to wash it away in any small measure that he could.

By the time MacGyver had finished scrubbing, his hands were raw and he was too exhausted to dream.

*********************

Pete couldn’t have been more relieved when Jack Dalton arrived at his door… But he also couldn’t have been more anxious regarding what to say. How could he possibly describe what had happened to MacGyver when he didn’t understand it himself?

“All right, I’m here, so what’s going on?” Jack asked him.
Pete swallowed hard. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… Well, MacGyver’s been acting kind of strange lately. He’s been complaining of nightmares, and he’s been looking over his shoulder a lot. I’ve noticed that if he passes a mirror or something, he stops to look at it for a second before he goes on.”
Jack shrugged. “So? He’s been through a lot, and everyone gets nightmares. Besides, I check myself in the mirror every chance I get, too.”
“Come on, I’m serious! And I haven’t even gotten to the strangest part.”

Jack squinted at Pete for a second, sizing him up before saying, “Okay, I’m listening.”
“A day or so ago, he came to my office asking me if I believed in evil spirits and the like. He brushed it off as nothing, but then, earlier today---I got the most bizarre telephone call in my life. He told me that Murdoc was still alive and that he’d been forced to kill someone!”
Jack’s eyes widened. “You mean that psycho is still out there?!”
“That’s where everything goes downhill,” Pete said grimly. “When I got to MacGyver’s place to check on him… He started talking in Murdoc’s voice.”

Jack stared at Pete, uncomprehending. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that MacGyver was acting like a man with a split personality. First he told me to stay away and get him locked up, and then he started acting like Murdoc.”
Jack blinked rapidly. “Acting like Murdoc? Acting like Murdoc? What do you mean, he was acting like Murdoc?”
“Aren’t you listening to me, Dalton? I meant what I said! His voice, his face, his posture---everything changed! MacGyver was pretending to be Murdoc. And he was doing a scary good job of it, too.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Pete shook his head. “I’m not. And to make matters worse---from time to time, he would pause and get a faraway look, like he was listening to something. And then he’d act like someone---Murdoc or MacGyver or whoever else was in there---had been talking to him.”
“So you’re saying that he’s hearing voices?”
“That’s exactly what I’m saying!”
Jack shook his head. “No, I don’t believe it. Not Mac. He’s not crazy. Something else has got to be going on.”
“I’m telling you the truth! You’ve got to help me do something about this. He wants me to have him either jailed or committed. I hate to do that to him, because it would ruin him, but---maybe that’s what he needs.”

Jack shook his head again. “No way. Not Mac. Something else is happening, and if Mac needs help, then Jack Dalton is the one to answer the call. I’m going over there and I’ll found out what’s really going on. You’ll see!” Tugging at the brim of his aviator hat, Jack spun on his heels and marched out of Pete’s front door.
“Wait!” Pete called, trying to warn him. “There was blood all over his---” But he was too late; Jack was already out of hearing range. Pete sighed and ran a hand over his face.

Maybe Jack was right, and he’d be able make some sense of what was happening with MacGyver. …Or maybe seeing was believing, and in a little while Jack would be returning to Pete with some idea of what to do next.

In the meantime, Pete decided to start searching for good psychiatric hospitals, doctors who would give MacGyver the quality help that he needed. But first, the Sunday paper. He usually read the news bright and early in the morning, but today he’d been thrown off his schedule. He needed a moment to pretend that everything was normal, just to clear his head and calm himself down enough to think. Sighing, he flipped the paper open to the front page.

His jaw dropped. “Oh, no…”

A body had been found washed up on a beach. Just as MacGyver had said there would be. Which meant that the traces of blood that he’d seen in MacGyver’s house…

“He was telling the truth. Oh, no…”

*********************

MacGyver tossed and turned, as fitful in sleep as he was in waking. One thought ran through his dreams, one common thread woven deep into his subconscious: Guilty.
He felt the guilt resonating inside him like ball bearings inside a kettle drum and there was nothing he could do to stop the echoes from rumbling through his life.

Murdoc’s gruesome demise. An innocent girl’s senseless murder. So much pain… and MacGyver was guilty of it all.

“No,” he moaned. “It wasn’t me. It’s not my fault. You did this… You did it, Murdoc, not me!”

MacGyver’s dreams paid no heed to his pleas for mercy. He saw himself shutting the bolt on Murdoc and his hands slamming down on the green button, saw those same hands driving a knife into a helpless young woman’s soft and pliant skin…

And then, in a haze, he heard Murdoc’s voice again. “MacGyver!”
The front door rattled, sending a jolt rippling through MacGyver’s body. Was someone at his door?

Lost somewhere in the space between dreams and waking, MacGyver rolled off his couch and knelt on the cold floor. Someone was at the door. Who could it be?

“Pete?” he called groggily.
“MacGyver!” came the voice again. “MacGyver, it’s me! Are you in there?”

MacGyver narrowed his eyes. Definitely Murdoc’s voice; it had to be. Was it real, or was he imagining it? Was this all part of his dream? His eyes drifted closed as he slumped with his back against the side of the couch. Why was it so hard to tell? How could he be losing his grip on reality like this? He was questioning his every decision, and he hated it. Where did the lines blur? Where did he end and Murdoc begin? Would Murdoc ever set him free, or would he be cursed to live with this monster inside of him forever?

“MacGyver!” A shout, waking him up again, shaking him back to the space between awake and dreaming. A hand gripped his shoulder, tightly, painfully, and his eyes flew open.

“Murdoc!” In a panic, MacGyver shoved the figure backwards with all his might; he was disoriented, and it was too dark to see. The figure flew backwards with a cry of surprise, banging into the coffee table on the way down.

His heart pounded. He sprang up, switching on the light, looking down at the figure on the floor. Horrified, he sucked in a breath. “Oh my God. Jack!”

Jack Dalton, his best friend, lying prone on the floor, having obviously hit his head on the corner of the table when MacGyver had pushed him over in a panic. Without another second of hesitation, Mac knelt and began to check on his friend. Jack was still alive, but he had a large split in the back of his head and his pulse fluttered beneath MacGyver’s fingers.

“I’ve got to call an ambulance,” MacGyver whispered to himself as he reached for the phone.

I don’t think so, MacGyver, Murdoc said, freezing MacGyver’s fingers in their tracks.

“Murdoc, no! You’ve got to let me do this! Jack will die if I don’t get him help!”

Of course he’ll die, MacGyver. You killed him. That’s what happens when you kill someone. They die. Or didn’t you know that already?

“I didn’t kill him! He’s still alive! Now let me call an ambulance! Please, I’m begging you!”

All right, fine. Go ahead. I don’t mind.

“Thank you,” MacGyver breathed, picking up the receiver and holding it to his ear.

Just kidding! Murdoc laughed and paralyzed MacGyver again before he had a chance to dial 911. You didn't really think I would let you go so easily, did you? After all, you never gave me a second chance at survival. You never gave me any help or medical assistance. No, you just left me for dead each and every time, until finally, you sat there and watched me die! Well, now, you get to watch your friend die, too. And do you want to know the truly beautiful thing about all of this, MacGyver?

“No.” MacGyver forced the word out through gritted teeth. He could speak, but that was all he was able to do. And the frustration, the helplessness---it was killing him.

The wonderful thing about all of this is that I haven’t even broken my promise. I didn’t even have to force you to kill again. No… You did that all on your own, didn’t you?

“I didn’t kill him! I didn’t kill Jack!”

Oh, yes, you did. If not for you, he’d still be alive and well and talkative right now, wouldn’t he? But you pushed him. You killed him. Even an accidental death will still get you convicted of manslaughter, you know.

MacGyver swallowed hard. This time, Murdoc’s claims were hard, if not impossible, to deny.

Murdoc’s dark-hearted chuckle, followed by a whisper too silken to ever be innocent, coiled around MacGyver’s mind: You and I aren’t so different, MacGyver. We never were. You’ve had this in you all along. And you know that now, don’t you? You see the darkness inside just like I do. You’re evil, too. You’re just like me. The only difference was that you were better at hiding it. But you can't hide any more, MacGyver. The chilled words dropped one by one into MacGyver’s heart like stones sinking to the bottom of an inky pond. How does it feel to be a monster like me? How does it feel to be in my shoes---when everything you ever loved is stripped away from you? Soon you’ll have nothing, and soon, you’ll be nothing… Just like me.

*********************

By the time Pete Thornton reached MacGyver’s home, Mac was long gone…and for Jack Dalton, he was too late.

*********************

“It’s time to end this,” MacGyver muttered to himself as he waited patiently in the rain and wind. “I have to do this myself, before anyone else gets hurt. There’s no other way.” He stared ahead into the storm. “There’s no other way.”

The light approached rapidly, growing brighter, but he felt it long before he saw or even heard anything, felt the vibrations beneath his shoes starting out subtle and crescendoing to an earthshaking rumble. The high-pitched whine of metal on metal, the chug of enormous pistons and the throaty growl of a massive, powerful diesel engine. The rhythmic sound of steady wheels churning towards him grew too loud to bear as the train pounded down the tracks, the single burning electric eye seeming to dare MacGyver to move first.

He didn’t intend to.

The train was huge, filling up MacGyver’s view and blocking out the foggy sky. He knew how big a diesel freight engine could be, but somehow they always seemed so much smaller from a distance. Now, staring down the barrel of unthinkable amounts of steel and horsepower, MacGyver was certain that Murdoc wouldn’t be coming back from this one.

He spread his arms wide and welcomed the train, closing his eyes to beg for death.

The next thing he knew, he was sprawled face-first on wet grass, the sharp green fronds prickling his nose and moisture seeping through his jeans and thin shirt.

“No!” he shouted. “No, no, no! Murdoc!”

My, what a temper we have today! Is that really the thanks I get for saving your life? Really, MacGyver, I always expected better manners from you.

“This wasn’t supposed to happen. This has to end!”

Yes, you’re right, MacGyver. All good things must come to an end. So let’s end this together… Shall we?

MacGyver squeezed his eyes shut and whispered, “What do you mean?”

Listen to me, MacGyver, and I’ll make all of this go away…

*********************

Pete had no choice. He had to involve the police. Finding Jack Dalton, the happiest and most energetic man he knew, lying lifeless and pale… He still couldn’t believe it. Jack had still been alive when Pete had found him, but he’d had only a fragile hold on life. By the time the ambulance arrived, the paramedics were too late to save him. Pete felt absolutely shattered, as if someone had pushed his heart into a car crash and started using the strings of his nerves as a tightrope. How could any of this be happening?

But he had no choice now. The evidence was piling up. He had to involve the police.
He didn’t tell them everything; no, he was too loyal to his friend, still believed in MacGyver too much. There was still a chance that this could be a misunderstanding, and regardless, Pete knew that Jack’s death must have been an accident. No matter how far gone MacGyver might have been, Pete was certain that he would never, ever harm a friend. Especially not Jack Dalton.

So Pete disclosed only the very basic details: MacGyver was missing, and Murdoc may have been involved. That was all he knew for sure. Throughout the day and well into the night, he searched for MacGyver, scouring every place he could think to look, checking all of his best friend’s usual haunts and then some.

Nothing.

Exhausted and strained both physically and mentally, Pete dragged himself home, dropping his keys in the bowl on the counter as he walked through the front door and running his hands down his tired face. “Oh, MacGyver,” Pete sighed as he took off his coat, shaking off droplets left behind by the light rain. “Where are you?”

“Pete?” came a timid whisper from somewhere in the darkness of the room.
“MacGyver?” Pete said, startled. “Is that you?” As he switched on the light, he saw his friend emerge from the shadows of the corner farthest from him, coming only close enough to stand in the fringes of the light.
“Stay back, Pete,” MacGyver said calmly. “Murdoc’s still here.” He swallowed hard and closed his eyes. “Pete, I have to know---is Jack okay?”
“No. No, he isn’t,” Pete whispered, looking away for a moment before forcing himself to meet MacGyver’s liquid gaze. “MacGyver… Jack is dead.”

Guilt, regret, and pain wracked MacGyver all at once like a shockwave, hunching his tall frame and contorting his face into an expression of sheer grief. “No… Not Jack.”
Pete shook his head sadly. “I’m so sorry, MacGyver. But---but what happened? You’ve got to tell me what happened to him!”
“It was---it was an accident, Pete, you’ve got to believe me! I was asleep---he startled me, and it was so dark. I thought---” MacGyver scoffed bitterly. “I thought he might have been Murdoc. I panicked and I shoved him as hard as I could, and when I turned on the lights---I saw Jack.” His throat closed off in a sob. “I didn’t mean for it to happen, Pete, not any of it. What have I done?”
“I knew that it had to have been an accident. I just knew it. But why didn’t you call for an ambulance? Why didn’t you get help?”
MacGyver’s voice hushed. “He wouldn’t let me, Pete. I know you must think I’m completely insane, and maybe I am, but---Murdoc took control. He made me run. He wouldn’t let me call. When I got control back, I--I tried to stop him, but it didn’t work. He just took control again and stopped me. So I came here. You’re the only person I know who can help.”

“It’s okay, MacGyver,” Pete said. “I’ve already looked into some psychiatric facilities, and I have the Phoenix Foundation’s lawyers on speed dial. We can get you the help you need. You can trust me.”
“I know I can trust you, Pete. But I’ve realized now that locking me up isn’t enough. I need to stop him for good. Murdoc will never, ever quit. He’ll never stop killing---not until I’m dead.”
Pete’s eyes went wide. “MacGyver, what are you saying?”

“I can’t believe I’m saying this,” MacGyver said slowly. “I never thought I would. And I hate this, I hate it so much. But, Pete…” He took a deep breath, steeling himself for his next words. “I need you to give me a gun.”

“What?” Pete cried. “MacGyver, no!”

“I have to kill myself, Pete. It’s the only way,” MacGyver replied solemnly.
Pete’s eyes narrowed. “Wait a second. MacGyver would never ask me for a gun, even as a last resort. How do I know this isn’t Murdoc talking to me?”

Slowly, MacGyver’s face twisted into a smile as a warped British voice slipped from his lips: “So you do recognize me. Very good, Peter. You’re better than I gave you credit for, seeing through my little performance like that. You’re right, of course. MacGyver would never ask you for a gun. But unfortunately for you---I don’t need one.”

Laughing like the madman that he was, Murdoc lunged for Pete, who scrambled backwards only to find his back against the door. His hands fumbled for the knob, only to find that he wasn’t fast enough as MacGyver’s strong hands grabbed him by the lapels and shoved him out into the open, in the center of the room. Struggling to get his balance, Pete staggered backwards. This time, MacGyver’s hands clenched around his throat.

Pete kicked and struggled with little avail, but Murdoc wasn’t going in for the kill just yet; no, Pete could still force a trickle of air down his crushed throat, meaning that the killer wanted a chance to gloat over his victory before ending his victim’s life.

“Mac...Gyver… I kn-know you’re still---still in there somewhere. …Fight, M-MacGyver! Fight… Fight him!”

“Don’t you get it, Peter?” Murdoc hissed. “MacGyver’s already given up. He’s dead! MacGyver is gone, and now I’m the only one left. I’m the last one left alive! I win! Now it’s just you…and me.” A cold and cruel smile wound its way across his stolen lips. “Funny. I never imagined myself as a blond.”

A sudden wave of adrenaline pumped its way through Pete’s arteries. He could feel his heart speeding up from a pulsating throb to a fast-paced drumbeat and his vision seemed to blur as he summoned just enough strength to push Murdoc away---and, with only a little regret, he landed a punch square on MacGyver’s strong jaw. “Leave my friend alone!”

Dark eyes glinting like burnished steel, Murdoc twisted to Pete’s left and darted in that direction. Pete’s throat went dry as he gave chase. He knew what was going through the killer’s mind: to the left was the kitchen, where there were lots and lots of potential weapons.

Pete chased the killer, but his sudden strength was waning and his hands were beginning to shake. MacGyver’s hands wrapped around the ebony-colored plastic handle of the biggest knife in Pete’s possession.
Murdoc smiled like an animal baring its fangs. “Just give it up, Peter.” He chuckled as he advanced on his victim. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
“Please, MacGyver!” Pete shouted as he backed away. “You’ve got to still be there somewhere, locked away inside! You’re still my best friend. We’ve been through so much together. I still believe in you! We’ve saved each other’s lives more times than I can count. Come back to me, MacGyver! Fight him off! You can do it! Come back!”
“You’re wasting your last breaths, Peter!” Murdoc snarled, and he prepared to thrust the knife deep into Pete Thornton’s heart.

Pete squeezed his eyes shut, bracing himself for the killing blow.

But it never came.

After a fleeting second, his eyes flew open to see that the knife was suspended in place, MacGyver’s hand frozen in midair. The muscles in MacGyver’s jaw twitched.

“MacGyver!” Pete whispered.

MacGyver’s teeth gritted.

“No,” hissed Murdoc’s voice. “No!”

“Yes!” MacGyver snapped, and abruptly, the knife moved.

By MacGyver’s own volition, his hand stabbed the knife deep into the victim’s chest, just missing the heart.

But the victim was not Pete.

Pete stared with a slackened jaw as blood slowly stained the front of MacGyver’s tattered, damp shirt. “MacGyver, no!” His arms reached out to grab his friend as MacGyver stumbled forward, wincing and gasping in pain.

“Pete… Pete, it’s okay,” MacGyver said. “It was the only way. It’s the only way…to set myself free.”
Pete clutched MacGyver tightly, mind reeling. “Don’t worry, MacGyver, I’ll call an ambulance. You’re---you’re going to be just fine.”
“No!” MacGyver shook his head. “No ambulances!” Gritting his teeth, he pulled the knife from his body.
“No! You’ll bleed out!” Pete protested, immediately moving to put pressure on the wound.

“Stop it, Pete! Unless we both die…he wins. Unless I die…he’ll kill again. I can’t live with that, Pete.” MacGyver’s brown eyes, once so warm and full of life, were bottomless and pleading. “Let me go.”
So preoccupied with his best friend’s sorrowful stare, Pete didn’t realize that MacGyver’s hands were moving until he felt his best friend press the hilt of the knife into his hand. “MacGyver…”

“I need you to finish this, because I’m not sure that I can. And---and I know what I’m asking, and I’m sorry.” MacGyver’s voice choked and he had to stop to breathe before he could continue. “I’m so sorry, Pete, I’m sorry for all of it, I--- This is all my fault.”
“No. No, don’t talk that way. Please, don’t do this. You can still pull through. We can--- We can---”
“Let me go, Pete. It’s okay,” MacGyver repeated, quietly but firmly, as he guided Pete’s hand---and the knife---to his throat, laying the point flush with his skin. “This is the---end.” By this point, MacGyver was struggling to breathe; the first wound had likely punctured a lung. He didn’t have long to live.

“I can’t,” Pete whispered.
MacGyver forced his head to tilt back in a slow nod. “It’s… It’s okay.”

All it took was one quick push from MacGyver’s weakened hand. The blade flashed so quickly that Pete didn’t understand what had happened until after MacGyver was already dead, the blood of his carotid artery flowing freely onto the white tile floor. Pete cradled his best friend’s cooling body in his arms.

“No… No, this can’t be happening… MacGyver, I’m so so sorry… Oh, no…”

*********************

Murdoc was to blame for all of it.

That was the truth, and so that was how Pete explained everything away.

Murdoc had managed yet another miraculous escape, and he was behind the trail of bodies. His last act before escaping again was finally putting an end to MacGyver…
MacGyver, the man who died in Pete Thornton’s arms.

Not entirely a lie.

Given Murdoc’s reputation, no one questioned a thing, and MacGyver was given a hero’s burial. The burial he still deserved, in Pete’s opinion.

As Pete stared down at MacGyver’s shiny granite tombstone, stared down at the words carved there, he knew that his life would never be the same. So many years working alongside the most dedicated friend he’d ever known... So many memories, good and bad and everything in between… What could he possibly do now?

He shook his head and began to walk away. He’d be back again tomorrow, and the day after that, and the next day again. Every day until he could make sense of things.

He would probably never stop coming here.

As he began to walk away, something shiny caught his eye. Something that wasn’t there the day before. He paused, picked it up to look at it. He couldn’t quite be sure what it was; it looked like a little hunk of melted metal. Silver, or something of the same color. Funny, it almost looked familiar to him, but he had no idea what it could be. He placed it back on the tombstone beside his gift of fresh flowers and began the long walk back to his car.

Halfway across the cemetery green, he realized something. Heart pounding, he ran back to MacGyver’s burial site, nearly tripping over the mound of fresh earth in his haste.

He knew what the shiny object was.

And if Murdoc and MacGyver were both dead…

Then who had placed there the remains of the death’s-head ring that Murdoc had worn on his right hand?

FIN

[Barry Rowland]

Outstanding work!!

[Sanguine]

Thanks a million, Barry! That makes me so happy.