[Silhouetted against the deep blue-black sky, a FIGURE balances tightrope-style along a rain-slicked rooftop. It's Lord Byron. The wind whips his hair around like an angry demented thing. He raises a whiskey bottle, tips his head back, drenches his face in alcohol.]

BYRON - The pause that refreshes.

[He turns, offers the bottle to JERRY clutching white-knuckled onto a chimney top behind him. Jerry's had a few and tries to focus.]

BYRON - Come and get it.

[Jerry gulps.]

JERRY - [beat] Okay.

[He pushes off, teeters slowly towards Byron. WHOOSH! A startled flock of pigeons swoop across the roof. Jerry slips, loses his balance, slides towards the edge. A HAND shoots out, grabs him by the arm. Byron pulls him back up to safety. Jerry's shaken, grateful, hanging on to Byron for dear life.]

JERRY - (CONT'D) You saved my life.

[They sit down oh the roof ledge, legs dangling over the edge. Jerry looks down into the abyss... five stories to the ground. Byron hands him the whiskey.]

BYRON - That's what it's about. Living close to the edge. [beat] Drink. [Jerry does as ordered.] Better?

JERRY - Sure. Great. Can we talk about the music?
 

 
BYRON (O.S.) - Grown aged in this world of woe. In deeds not in years piercing the depths of life so that no wonder waits him.
 

 
METHOS - No accounting for taste.

DAWSON - This is the first time he's been onstage. He was with us for two weeks hauling amps for a bus ticket before we even found out he played.

MACLEOD - He plays. [beat] Just look at him.

DAWSON - Never gets tight or nervous. Just lays it out.

MACLEOD - Nervous? He's already forgotten anybody else is here. [beat; to Methos] Remember what that's like?

METHOS - I never played guitar.

MACLEOD - That's not what I mean. [beat] To be so lost in what you're doing that there's no time, no space.

[Methos takes a drink of beer, plays it cool.]

METHOS - There's a greeting card in there somewhere. [off MacLeod's look] I don't remember, but I wish I did.

[MAURICE stops by MacLeod's table. He's the manager of the club.]

MACLEOD - What do you think, Maurice?

MAURICE - Your friend plays well.

MACLEOD - C'mon, Maurice, book him for a night or two as an opening act.

DAWSON - The kid's got chops.

[Maurice nods, listens to something in the music.]

MAURICE - He has more. He has passion. It's a gift. [knowing eyebrow] And a curse, n’est-ce pas?
 

 
MACLEOD - Charmed.

[But Dawson beams...]

DAWSON - My pleasure! Been a big fan of yours for a long time.

BYRON - In that case, let me buy you a drink. [to Maurice] Champagne. For everyone.

[Maurice moves off. Byron smiles a twisted smile.]
 

 
BYRON - Rather, Percy Shelley and that woman-child, Mary, he calls wife that you seem so interested in seducing.
 

 
BYRON - [dramatic reading] The bloated mass of flesh that was his body stumbled toward me. His shrill and piercing voice screaming my name. I ran in terror until my legs were leaden.

[Scattered about on various chaises, Lord Byron, Claire Clairmont, and Methos are joined by PERCY BYSSHE SHELLEY, small, delicate of frame, with a consumptive complexion, and beautiful MARY SHELLEY, listening intently, her intelligent eyes darting excitedly around, recording every detail.]

BYRON - (CONT'D) And I could run no more. I turned and looked into the lifeless eyes and the bloodless face that was my own. I screamed. I was already dead.
 

 
METHOS - Enough!

CLAIRE - I only meant... I only...

[Under Methos' glare, Byron relents and lowers the pistol. Claire breaks down, sobbing. Mary rushes to her side, holds her.]

CLAIRE - (CONT'D) I do not know what I meant.
 

[Lightning clashes. Wind howls. The old Villa looks like a castle against the stormy sky.]

BYRON - (O.S.) Every one, come! Come!

[A roaring fire casts the room in an eerie light. Byron stands by the fireplace, book in hand. Methos, entering, looks at Byron with amused suspicion. The others straggle in behind him.]

METHOS - What are you up to now?

BYRON - It is time for more stories.

[He dramatically throws the book into the fire.]
 

[Flash cut in EXISTING FOOTAGE (STOCK) of surreal beasts, talons and fangs, processed for DREAM EFFECT. Then CUT TO:]

[A barely conscious Mary tosses in her bed. Confused, blinking through her laudanum haze, she looks up at Methos, who stands over her.]

MARY - Am I dead?

METHOS - [smiles] If you are, then I must be an angel, and that's the one thing I'm not.

MARY -All this talk of death and ghosts. [She begins to get drowsy again.] I had a baby once. Clara. [beat] I dreamt she came back to life. [through labored breaths] With a beak for a mouth, snarling teeth and claws for hands.

METHOS - It was only a dream.
 

 
BYRON - Death! Life! Fear! Swirl it around in your mouth... and spit it out!

[Mike lives a moment of sweet ecstasy...]

BYRON - (CONT'D) Feel it.

[Then, Mike slips. Loses his footing, topples off the rail -- Byron catches him by his belt, pulls him back to safety. He spins Mike around, grips his face, locks on with those tractor beam eyes of his. A voice like dark thunder...]

BYRON - (CONT'D) You were there.

MIKE - [nods excitedly] What a rush! What's next?
 

 
[Mike sees it coming, starts to squirm.]

MIKE - Maybe it isn't. You should have heard me. I was never better.

DAWSON - Getting high doesn't help your playing. You just think it does.

MIKE - You accusing me of something?

DAWSON - Nothing I haven't done myself. And paid for. Words of wisdom... take 'em or leave 'em.
 

 
[He looks over at Methos, waiting. With a sigh, Methos stands up.]

METHOS - I'll go talk to Byron.

MACLEOD - I'll join you. [off Methos' reaction] Just to make sure he listens.

DAWSON - Thanks, guys.

[They exit. Dawson picks up his guitar, but his heart's not in it, he doesn't play. Maurice, wiping a nearby table, looks up at Dawson.]

MAURICE - You are worried.

DAWSON - Damn right. Kid's in a tough place.

MAURICE - To play the great music, one must embrace life, yes?

DAWSON - The good and the bad, hallelujah.

MAURICE - I was a young man, working in my Uncle's club, the first time I heard Charlie Parker. [beat] Sometimes the man is not as strong as the music.

[Maurice shrugs his world weary shoulders, moves off, leaving a troubled Dawson on stage.]
 

 
MARY - How many years have you walked this earth?

METHOS - Centuries. [beat] Too many centuries.
 

[MacLeod and Methos buy a couple of crepes from a street corner vendor, walk and talk.]

METHOS - Didn't think you two would hit it off. Matter and anti-matter. Put 'em in the same room... kaboom!
 

 
METHOS - C'mon... you can't deny the world needs its Jim Morrisons, its Kurt Cobains... and yes, its Lord Byrons. [beat] He's given the world great poetry. And he will again.

 
MACLEOD - Who the hell do you think you're talking to?

MIKE - Let go.

MACLEOD - Call a cop. [stares him down] All we're doing is looking out for you. [beat] And Joe could be the best friend you'll ever have.

MIKE - [sarcastic] Right. He's gonna make me a star.

 
DAWSON - [beat] The kid's got a whole life in front of him.

MACLEOD - Yeah. [beat]

 
DAWSON - Where are you going?

[MacLeod calls back over his shoulder.]

MACLEOD - Where do you think?

[Methos walks down the tunnel that leads from the dressing rooms to the stage. Byron's band can be heard as MUFFLED ROCK in b.g. Methos gets the BUZZ. He turns. MACLEOD strides purposefully forward.]

MACLEOD - Mike Paladino's dead. O.D.ed.

[Methos puts himself in his path, tries to slow him down.]

METHOS - I don't suppose a discussion about personal responsibility would interest you right now.

MACLEOD - Sure it would. I hold Byron personally responsible.

METHOS - He didn't force Mike to do anything.
 

 
BYRON - [stung] You.

[Byron lashes out. MacLeod meets the challenge. They duel down the corridor and out into --]

[They circle each other.]

BYRON - You think all this is about right and wrong. It's not nearly that significant. [beat] In the end, this-- [pointing his sword at MacLeod] Is all that matters.

[Byron lunges, MacLeod deflects the blow, knocks Byron a bit off balance. But years of compensating for his lame right foot have made Byron extremely dexterous. He twists in the air, comes back ready to attack. MacLeod puts his back into it, goes at him with a series of rapid swings. CLANG! Byron's SWORD is knocked out of his hands, goes flying through a car window. Glass SHATTERS. MacLeod swings, takes Byron's head. The QUICKENING begins. LIGHTNING dances overhead. FLOODLIGHTS Pop And EXPLODE in the electrical storm. B.g., the excited crowd CHEERS at the spectacular LIGHT SHOW high in the sky above the stadium. Back on the ground, MACLEOD convulses in a paroxysm of ecstasy as he receives the strange wild sacrament that was Byron's essence. All the brooding, flamboyant intensity of one of the world's great artists... and all the despair and melancholy inherent within.]

[FADE OUT.]

[END OF ACT FOUR]

 
MACLEOD - Byron's dead.

[Methos goes back to his beer. MacLeod glances toward Dawson. No reaction. Did he hear him? He takes a step toward the stage.]

DAWSON - I heard you.

[He looks at MacLeod with empty eyes. He shakes his head, goes back to his guitar. MacLeod moves over to Methos' table. An awkward BEAT -- MacLeod has nothing to apologize for, but after all... Byron was his friend. Methos speaks to the table.]

METHOS - I told you this was inevitable. [Close enough for MacLeod. He takes a seat. Methos looks up, shrugs.]

METHOS - (CONT'D) Matter and anti-matter. I think Byron knew it, too.

MACLEOD - It didn’t have to be that way. He could have stopped it. Before Mike got hurt.

METHOS - Byron? Back off? No way. [beat] Not after all the years that led up to this moment.