Return-Path: Phoenix348@aol.com From: Phoenix348 Date: Wed, 24 Dec 1997 00:36:29 EST To: FKarchiver@fkfanfic.com Subject: Corrections to "And To All A Good Knight" Organization: AOL (http://www.aol.com) Mel, Well, here it is. I hope that it comes out well in the transfer! (Providing that AOL behaves itself :-) Thanks again for your help and patience! It must take a great deal of time to keep up with all of this stuff. Have a great Christmas! Stephen Subj: And To All A Good Knight (Part 1/?) Date: 97-07-30 15:11:15 EDT From: Phoenix348@AOL.COM (Stephen Lansing) Sender: FKFIC-L@psuvm.psu.edu (Forever Knight TV show stories) Reply-to: Phoenix348@AOL.COM To: FKFIC-L@psuvm.psu.edu This is the first FK story that I have written. I hope that you enjoy it. All comments and/or criticisms are welcome. Please send such to Phoenix348@aol.com. This is a Christmas story...born of an idea that I had back in the winter time and have not gotten around to writing until just now. So, that's the reason for the Christmas story in July. It is finished, by the way, I don't know how many parts it will take to complete it because I am retyping it to a strictly text format. A world of thanks to my beta readers: Cindy Brewer (who first introduced me to the Forkni-L and FKFIC lists, convincing me that, yes, there actually are other people out there who like that late-night show; and who has given many generous compliments and encouragement); also Jayne Leitch (who has given much life-saving grammatical advice). Also, I would like to thank Marg Yamanaka (who has patiently answered questions about Toronto and the vicinity...I hope that I didn't screw the geography up too badly)! Also, I would like to thank my wife, Betty, for giving her husband up to the computer on more than one night! She was very patient and supportive! Disclaimer: This story is based on the second season cast of Forever Knight characters created by James Parriott and owned by Sony. No infringement is intended. All other characters belong to me. Please ask permission before archiving or using this story for any other reason. Timeline: This story takes place after the episode "Close Call," and before "Be My Valentine." And To All A Good Knight (Part 1/?) By: Stephen Lansing "Ah, gentle listeners, the holiday season is once again upon us. The cold winter's air is filled with the sounds of merriment...of 'peace on Earth, good will toward men.' There are sleigh bells ringing and visions of sugar plumbs to dance in the heads of myriads of children, all starry-eyed at the prospect of finding Santa's rewards for their good behavior beneath the Christmas tree in the morning. "But I am the Nightcrawler, and I know that not all who hear the sound of my voice have drunk of the milk of human kindness this festive season. Some have tasted of a most bitter vintage. They have drunk from the grapes of wrath..." It would be at any moment now. Peter's knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip on the steering wheel of the Dodge van; anticipation mounting as his pulse quickened from the driving force of his pounding heart. The bitter cold of December's wintry siege easily pierced the thin sides of the old van, but Peter had begun to sweat. "I know your anger, my friends," the radio voice continued. "I hear your cries. As families gather together in grand celebrations, you are virtually alone. Virtually...for fear, rejection and hate will most certainly find their way to your door again this holiday season. Oh, but they are nothing if not faithful companions." There was already some activity at the back dock. Peter adjusted his "Press" badge that he wore on his left lapel. That badge, and some recently procured false I.D., had easily gotten him past the checkpoint at the main gate. Then again, it probably had more to do with the guard wanting to get back inside the warmth of his booth and out of the winter cold. He had merely glanced at the I.D. before waiving Peter through. Once inside, Peter had deviated from the designated parking area and it would most likely not take long for someone to arrive and question his unauthorized presence. Nor would it take very long for those press boys at the cafe to notice that they no longer had a van parked outside. It had been the finishing touch on Peter's act. But grand theft auto and impersonation were only minor considerations when compared with his true objective. Peter took several deep breaths in an attempt to calm his shaking nerves. He would do what he had come to do. "The cold outside cannot compare to the cold that you feel within, can it? Indeed, it is the very joy around you that eventually warms the cold and kindles the fires of resentment within. You suffer, and society celebrates!" Despite his attempts to hold them steady, Peter's hands trembled as he peeled away the duct tape that had secured the .45 to the underside of the driver's seat. He had hidden it there in case the guards decided to search the van before letting him pass. Thankfully, a bitter wind chill factor had taken care of that. Peter held the weapon in his shaking hands. The cold steel was indifferent to his emotional state. It was merely a tool to be used by whomever might have a use for it. Peter certainly had a use for it. Peter tucked the gun into his jeans and buttoned up his heavy coat. It was time. Reaching into his right coat pocket, Peter removed a single wallet-sized photograph. The face in the picture bore a smile that once brought nothing but joy to the heart of Peter Gardner. Now there was only pain in that beautiful smile. The pain of loss. In all the long months since his daughter's murder, the pain of loss had never been far from her father. Gerald Raimer had stolen the one thing in Peter Gardner's life that could never be replaced. Now Peter would steal the very life of Gerald Raimer. "You can tell me your pain, dear friend. Confide in the Nightcrawler. Or, if you dare, avenge yourself upon those who are the cause of your pain. What will it be? 'Good will toward men,' or 'Justice for all?'" The back doors opened. Peter lovingly laid the picture of his daughter on the dash of the van and switched the vehicle's engine off. Taking a final deep breath, he picked up a small camera that had been included in the press van's store of equipment and stepped out into the cold. He began to make his way to the dock. The prisoner was not brought out immediately. Two officers waited at the dock doors with shotguns in hand. Peter caught a glimpse of Raimer through the barred, frost-covered windows behind the guards. Another officer proceeded to unlock the rear doors of the waiting prisoner transport van. Raimer had indeed been convicted of the murder of Jessica Gardner, as well as the murders of three other teenage girls, and had been sentenced to life in prison. He was a suspect in many other cases involving missing teenage girls but prosecutors had been forced to drop the additional cases as they had only sparse, circumstantial evidence. Society in general had been repulsed by Gerald Raimer and Peter could barely keep the revulsion from his face as he approached the dock. They had doubled the guard for Raimer. Peter managed a slight wave at the two guards who stood at the dock doors. He pointed to his press badge. "I thought that there weren't supposed to be any press here when we moved Raimer," one of the security guards growled to the other. "Why else am I out here on Christmas Eve instead of being home with my family!" The other guard nodded. "Yeah, I thought that it was supposed to be hush-hush too, but you know those press guys...they always find out somehow." The guards' conversation was interrupted as two additional guards pushed Gerald Raimer through the open dock doors and toward the waiting van. From the corner of his eye, Peter noticed that a camera crew had arrived and was setting up only a few feet away. One of the camera men nudged Peter and said, "Just in time for the show, eh?" Peter did not turn but raised his camera and snapped a picture as the guards began to escort Raimer across the dock. Only a few more feet. Out on the dock, the guards were trying to shield their eyes from the driving wind. Peter reached into his coat and gripped the .45. His acute nervousness of only moments ago had been replaced by a numbness that embraced his entire body. His mind reeled. <"What will it be? 'Good will toward men,' or 'Justice for all?'"> Peter thought. He felt no remorse. Raimer moved ever closer. Peter could see his face clearly now; the cruel twisted face that had been the last face that Jessica Gardner had ever seen. Rage welled up inside of Peter. With his left hand, he removed his hat and made eye contact with Raimer. he nearly spat at Raimer. The two had met in the courtroom. Raimer indeed recognized Gardner. The prisoner's mouth dropped open as Peter pulled the .45 from his coat and leveled it at Raimer's chest. Raimer jerked wildly to tear himself away from the guards as they struggled to hold onto their prisoner and bring their weapons to bear on the gunman. The nearest guard brought his shotgun to bear first, both he and Gardner firing simultaneously. Raimer dove behind a guard to his right, Peter's slug only an instant too late as it slammed into the chest of the burly guard that had been escorting Raimer from the right rear. Only the two guards assigned to transport Raimer in the van wore flack jackets. As the remaining three guards opened fire on Peter, Raimer threw himself backward and onto the fallen fourth guard, pulling another down with him in the progress. He seized the fallen guard's sidearm. Subsequent shotgun blasts proved unnecessary as the first guard's aim had been true. Peter Gardner was lifted off of the ground and hurled backwards by the force of the shot that struck him directly in the head; the .45 falling harmlessly to the snow-covered pavement. He would feel nothing else. Raimer rolled, bringing his handcuffs up and over the guard that had fallen with him. He pulled upward with all of his strength, catching the guard in the throat and forcing him to drop his weapon. Raimer managed to hold onto the stolen sidearm with both hands as he choked the guard. A blast from the sidearm caught the guard that had shot Peter Gardner, the bullet going through his neck. He fell, clawing at the wound. The fourth guard hesitated as Raimer had a human shield in the other remaining officer. Raimer cocked his new weapon. "Throw the gun down and get on the ground," he shouted at the guard. Raimer fired over the guard's head at a group of officers that had burst from the dock doors at the sound of shots, sending the entire group diving for cover. The remaining officer from the fallen quartet threw his shotgun off of the dock and slowly eased himself down onto his knees. The officer that had unlocked the transport van doors had also hesitated when the shooting had broken out. He had only a sidearm and there had always been someone in the way before Raimer had shot one of his comrades. Raimer now turned toward him and shouted, "Get out of there, now! On the ground beside him! Throw away your gun!" At a slight hint of struggle from his captive, Raimer jerked viciously on the cuffs, gagging the man into submission. Raimer ordered the two kneeling officers onto their faces and shouted at the van. "Driver! Get out here!" When no response came, Raimer added: "You get out here or I'll do these two right now!" The hidden officer emerged, his hands raised above his head. He was ordered to assume a position next to the others. Raimer nudged his captive toward the van. The officers assembled just inside of the dock doors kept their weapons trained on Raimer, but none felt that they had a clear enough shot. Raimer backed up into the driver's seat of the transport van, careful to keep his human shield in place. The prison escape siren blared. "We're gonna ease out of here now," Raimer yelled toward the dock. "Don't try to stop us and your man won't get hurt!" He backed into the driver's seat, pulling the guard along and forcing him down into the seat. Quickly, Raimer jerked back on the cuffs to choke the guard again, and then, as the man grasped for his throat, Raimer slid the handcuffs off of the guard's head. He pointed his captured weapon at the man. "Let's go!" Still choking, but happily free of his noose, the officer put the van in gear. Slowly, he pulled away from the dock. Raimer slid in close to the guard. "I think that you know where I was thinking of going," he hissed. "Don't do anything stupid and you just might live through this." They accelerated rapidly toward the main gates. ***Disclaimers found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 2/?) By: Stephen Lansing Metro Homicide Detective Nicholas Knight arrived for work early at the ninety-sixth precinct to find the beginnings of the department Christmas party well under way. Due to the holidays, the precinct was undermanned, but those who remained managed to generate enough noise and sheer celebration to more than make up for their absent comrades. Having no family, or at least in the conventional sense of the word, Nick had the dubious honor of remaining on duty through the holidays while others vacationed. At least he had Natalie, who was at that very moment occupied with turning her friend's "high-tech dungeon of doom" into a merry winter wonderland. Natalie had arrived at the loft approximately half an hour before Nick had left for the precinct, and she had spent that half hour bringing a seemingly endless stream of cardboard boxes up from her car. Each one was filled with a variety of blinking, chiming, sparkling, colorful decorations and Nick had begun to wonder if he had enough spare footage to accommodate them all. "I really get into this Christmas thing," Natalie had told him as she opened the first box. Nick had left to the sounds of Perry Como playing on the hi-fi and the sight of Natalie waving from the floor where she sat sorting out a veritable sea of tinsel and garland. Nick sighed as he looked around at all of the precinct's decorations. There was a good chance that he would not recognize his home when he returned. Over all though, Nick had to admit that he deeply enjoyed all of the festivities and good spirits that came with the holiday season. And, although he certainly never would have confessed the thought to anyone, the loft could use a...temporary...new look. "Merry Christmas, Nick!" Parker boomed as Nick entered the squad room. "Same to you, Frank." Nick returned the big man's smile but turned down the offer of egg-nog with a, "No, thanks. Maybe later." Making his way through the crowd of holiday well-wishers, Nick finally arrived at his desk. Schanke was there, in Nick's chair, on the phone, stopping his animated conversation only long enough to grab a glittering Christmas cookie from his nearly empty party plate. Knowing that Schanke was not the type to indulge in self-depravation, especially where sweets were concerned, Nick guessed that the virtual emptiness of Schanke's plate indicated that a great many other cookies had already met with the same fate. Nick folded his arms and waited to be noticed. "Myra, Honey, I told you that I'll meet you at the airport. Just have everything ready," Schanke blurted out between chews. Nick raised an eyebrow at the sight of crumbs scattered across his desktop. Schanke turned, finally noticing his partner. He nearly choked on the last swallow of cookie. "Nick!" Schanke hurriedly began brushing crumbs from his partner's desk. "Sorry to take over your desk, man, but I spilled egg-nog all over my chair and I had to use the phone to call Myra..." Nick nodded patiently. "It's all right, Schank." "You sure?" "I'm sure. Take your time." "What a pal." Schanke gulped down the remaining egg-nog. "Yeah, Myra, I'm still here." He cocked his head to one side and looked up at Nick, making rapid mouth-like motions with his left hand. "I'll be there as soon as I can, okay? I'll take a cab." He shot Nick an exasperated look. "Yesssss, we will make the plane on time, but not if you don't let me go!" Nick laughed at the typical domestic scene. "Yeah, okay...bye." Schanke clapped the handset back into place. "Women!" Nick laughed again. "Oh, you know you love her, Schank." "You're right, you know." Schanke snapped up the last of his cookies and leaned back in the chair, chewing thoughtfully. Nick cleared his throat. "You say something?" Schanke looked up from his repose questioningly. Nick waved at the chair. "Oh!" Schanke bolted from the chair, cookie plate in hand. Nick conducted a thorough search for spilled egg-nog before he sat down. He then began brushing away stray cookie crumbs. Nick's desktop was not normally worthy of even "honorable mention" in the neatness contest, starkly contrasting to his almost antiseptically clean home, but he had recently managed to clear away most of the clutter. He could see his desk calendar again for the first time in weeks and Schanke's crumbs were spoiling the view. "Check it out, man!" Schanke grinned as he pulled a legal-sized plain white envelope from the left inside pocket of his sport coat. "Christmas bonuses," Nick observed. He quickly scanned his desktop. "Where's mine?" "Vacation spending money, Baby!" Schanke planted a quick kiss on the envelope before returning it to his pocket. "That's great, Schank." Nick waived at his desk. "Where's mine?" Nick's partner gave him a quizzical look. It quickly changed to wide-eyed realization. "Oh! Sorry." Schanke reached into his right inside coat pocket and pulled out another envelope, this one was inscribed: N. Knight--Homicide. He handed the envelope to Nick. "I took it off of your desk to keep from getting egg-nog on it." Nick smiled as he tore open the envelope. "Thoughtful," he said as he took out the check. He frowned. Despite their department's unusually high success rate with solving a variety of cases, no one seemed to be able to solve the mystery of the shrinking bonus checks. Janette would most likely shake her head and laugh at him if she could see the situation. "How quaint, Nichola," she would no doubt say. "A little something extra for the dedicated public servant, hmmm? It's not like you need it." Still, it couldn't hurt. As for Janette, Nick briefly wondered what might be going on at the Raven. he thought. Schanke had gone off in search of paper towels. He returned, out of breath, a few moments later with a handful of Brawny ultra-absorbents and began frantically wiping up spilled egg-nog from his chair. "I gotta get outta here soon," he huffed with a quick glance at Nick. Nick had taken out his file on the recent Murphy case and was flipping through the various documents in order to determine what still needed to be included in his report to Cohen. He looked up at the frantically cleaning Don Schanke. "Schank," he said teasingly, "how many times have you been docked for damaging officer furniture with spilled drinks?" "One time too many, I'll tell you that," Schanke mumbled, still busily cleaning. Finally, he stood up, collecting paper towels, and waived at his chair with a flourish. "Voila! Good as new!" He dropped the towels into an already overflowing trash can and checked his watch. Thrusting the Timex into the thin air between Nick's nose and the Murphy report, Schanke tapped the quartz and exclaimed, "Time to go!" Nick extended his hand. "Merry Christmas, Schank. Enjoy the vacation." Schanke seized the outstretched hand and pumped it vigorously. "And a 'Merry Christmas' to you too, partner!" He suddenly dropped in close and grabbed Nick by the shoulders. Nick closed his eyes tightly, forcing himself not to grimace at his friend's egg-nog breath. he thought. "Try to get along without me for a few days," Schanke whispered before whacking Nick on the back. Nick managed a small smile as Schanke moved away and the air began to clear. "I promise, I'll try." "Good man! Later, Nick!" Schanke hurriedly turned to exit the squad room. He did not quite make it. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 3/?) By: Stephen Lansing "Detective Schanke!" Precinct Captain Amanda Cohen's authoritative tone stopped the fleeing Schanke in mid-stride. "I need to see you and Knight in my office right now." Schanke turned to face his captain, a look of utter incredulity quickly replacing his former jubilation. "Captain, I gotta get outta here! I'll miss my plane!" "Right now, Schanke!" Cohen retreated into her office after issuing the command. Nick stood. "I think we'd better go, Schank," he said with a nod at Cohen's door. "She looks pretty serious." Schanke rolled his eyes Heavenward. "This had better be good," he growled, moving to follow Nick. The two men entered Cohen's office to find the captain pacing thoughtfully behind her large desk. She turned as Nick and Schanke entered, preparing to speak before being interrupted by the irate Schanke. "Captain, what's this all about? I've got a plane to catch, a vacation to start," Schanke wailed, bobbing up and down on his heels with impatience. Cohen waived him into silence and moved to stand directly in front of the two homicide detectives. "I'm sorry, Schanke, but I can't let you go just yet." Nick tensed at the announcement, waiting for the storm to break. His partner delivered promptly. "What do you mean you *can't* let me go just yet!" He produced his Timex once more, and one dabbed one finger furiously at the digital display. "It's 7:25 already! My ticket outta here is leaving from gate five at precisely 8:22 PM..." Cohen took a deep breath as the tirade continued. "...and I ain't gonna make it unless I leave now, pronto!" Cohen retrieved a black and white composite from her in-tray and held it out in front of Schanke, dabbing a finger at the depiction in imitation of Schanke's irate gesture. "Two words, Detective, 'Gerald Raimer.'" Schanke snatched the composite. "One word, Captain..." he said sarcastically. "'...incarcerated.'" He shook the composite in both hands. "Now I'll have this thing framed for you if you want, but *please* let me go!" Nick laid a hand on Schanke's shoulder in an effort to calm his partner. "We put Raimer away months ago, Captain. He's already been tried and convicted. What's going on?" Cohen turned to answer Knight, casting a wary glance at Don Schanke. Schanke often tested the outer limits of his captain's temper, but Cohen meant to go easy on him this particular night. The detective had been looking very much forward to his vacation time and Cohen was genuinely sorry at the turn that recent events had taken...a turn that would not allow for Schanke's planned escape from Toronto. "Raimer was scheduled to be moved to Millhaven tonight to keep things out of the media eye," she explained to Nick. Schanke threw his hands up. "Yeah, well, 'Good Riddance' is what I say! What's that got to do with us?" "The father of one of Raimer's victims, a Mr. Peter Gardner," Cohen continued, double-checking her fax, "decided that life imprisonment wasn't good enough for his daughter's killer. He got onto the prison grounds and tried to shoot Raimer while he was being prepared for transfer, only about twenty minutes ago." "You said that he *tried* to shoot Raimer," Nick pointed out. The captain nodded. "Exactly. He tried to hit Raimer, but he hit a guard instead. Raimer managed to grab that guard's sidearm and used another guard as a human shield against the other officers on the scene. He escaped in the prison transport van while still holding a guard as a captive." Cohen sat back on the corner of her desk, arms folded. "There's a city-wide manhunt starting right now." Schanke sighed impatiently. "So, let the uniforms handle it, Captain. I still don't see what this has to do with us, *me* in particular!" Cohen paused to collect her thoughts before answering. "Raimer is high profile. You both know that. He's the sickest to come on the scene since Jeffrey Dahlmer and he chose Ontario, Toronto in particular, to torture and murder at least four teenage girls. Two cops went down in that firefight at the prison tonight. The Mayor is very upset about this breakout and rightfully so. He wants every available officer out looking for Raimer as soon as possible, and..." she cut Schanke off with a look, "he wants the two of you out there in particular." She paused. Schanke charged in. "Us," he stammered. "Why us? We did our part. We're the ones that nailed Raimer to start with!" "And," Nick began with a glance at Cohen, "that fact makes us the ones on the force who know Raimer the best and therefore, the logical choice to go after him again." "They can't do this to me!" Schanke threw his hands outward. "Captain, it's Christmas! I belong with my family...far away from here!" Cohen nodded sympathetically. "I understand, Schanke, I really do, but there's nothing that I can do about it." "Captain," Nick said, with a gesture toward the frost-covered windows of Cohen's office. "With the whole force out there looking for Raimer, is it really necessary for both of us to be there too? I could cover for..." Cohen was shaking her head. "The Mayor was very specific. He wants both of you on the street." Schanke was pacing like a caged tiger. "That's just great," he roared. "What am I supposed to do now!" "I can arrange to have you reimbursed for the cost of delaying your flight, Schanke," Cohen said calmly. "It would also be a very simple matter to rearrange your vacation days." Schanke laughed, a short mocking sound. "Can you arrange to have Christmas delayed too, Captain?" Those who worked the graveyard shift like Knight and Schanke regularly faced the problem of conflicting duty and family responsibilities. Schanke often came in to work late simply because he tried to spend a little extra time with his wife and daughter. Cohen well knew this and took every effort to bear it in mind as she stood again and approached the angry detective. Her look was one of sympathy and yet one of resolve. "We all have our orders, Detective. I don't like it any more than you do, but let's just do our jobs and not make things any worse than they already are." Schanke ran one hand quickly over his receding hairline and murmured, "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." He was staring at the floor. Cohen sighed at the futility of trying to make the situation any more acceptable to Schanke. She turned to Nick instead. "That's all for now. I've got to get everyone else going on this thing." That said, the captain glanced one last time at the brooding Schanke before heading toward the squad room to reign in the party. Schanke glared after her. "That's it? 'Sorry, Schanke, but you gotta miss the holiday of holidays that you could've spent with your family? Again!'" Nick stood still for a moment, hands deep in his coat pockets as he thought the situation through. After a moment, an idea occurred to him. "Schank, why don't you try sending Myra and Jenny on to Orlando and just plan on joining up with them in a day or two? You guys have family there anyway, right? And Cohen did mention reimbursement." Schanke had resumed his rapid pacing, but he stopped and pondered Nick's suggestion. "I guess that I don't have much choice, do I," Schanke mumbled, throwing up his hands again. "I really can't believe this," he shouted. "It would only happen to me, Knight!" You know that!" Nick nodded and then voiced another thought that had suddenly come to him. "It probably won't help any," he began, "but think about those two cops that died tonight, Schank." Don Schanke raised his eyes to meet his partner's. Nick was usually either very matter of fact or very detached regarding the circumstances around him. Tonight though, his eyes were unusually soft. "There'll be no homecomings at all for them," Nick concluded. Schanke's shoulders slumped as he reluctantly nodded assent. "I guess you're right about that," he said. Nick visibly brightened. He placed a firm hand on Schanke's shoulder before leaving the office for the squad room. "Come on, Schank. Let's go get this guy before he hurts someone else." "Yeah," Schanke said, shuffling along behind Knight. "But I'll tell you something, Nick. There's gonna be at least one more dead cop in Toronto tonight when Myra finds out about this!" ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 4/?) By: Stephen Lansing The right cuff clicked securely into place around it's captive's wrist. Raimer moved back into the passenger's seat of the prison transport van, satisfied that his unwilling chauffeur was securely fastened to the vehicle's steering column and could not impede his escape. Scratching thoughtfully at the red stubble on his chin, Raimer surveyed the darkened alley in which they were parked. It would not offer him protection for much longer. He had successfully evaded pursuit for the moment by firing directly into the windshield of a station wagon as the prison van had sped through a busy intersection against the light. The wagon had spun out of control and collided with several others that were desperately attempting to miss the prison van. The resulting havoc had blocked the intersection off in their wake, and for the moment, delayed the pursuing squad cars. There would soon be others though, attempting to seal off the entire area for blocks around in the hope of cutting off the fugitive's possible escape routes. Raimer turned back to his captive, a cold smile on his ruddy face. The officer was clearly afraid of Raimer and was desperately trying to not display that fear. He had watched Raimer gun down two police officers and then turn his wrath on an innocent who had been merely driving through an intersection at the wrong moment. He returned Raimer's smile with a look of indifference; and he hoped that Raimer was buying the act. Still, he nearly flinched when Raimer suddenly darted toward him, hands going for his back pocket. Raimer laughed; a low, threatening sound, as he found the man's wallet. "Sorry for the intrusion, old man," he said, opening up the wallet and thumbing through the bills that he found. "We haven't even been properly introduced yet." Raimer reached out with one hand and lifted the officer's name tag to reflect the dim light that filtered in from the alley entrance. "Sergeant Perkins, is it?" Raimer chuckled. "Glad to know you, Perkins. I don't think that I need an introduction, do I?" Perkins said nothing, staring straight ahead. Raimer counted the money from Perkins' wallet and quickly stuffed the bills into his shoe. "Thanks for the loan, Perkins!" Raimer ran one hand through his unruly thatch of curly red hair. Again, Perkins refused to acknowledge him. Raimer hefted his captured .38 revolver, pressed the barrel against the sergeant's chin and used it to rotate the man's head to face him. The officer's blue eyes met the cold, criminal gray. "I like for people to look at me when I talk to them, " Raimer said menacingly. Perkins met Raimer's gaze with defiance, but inside, his stomach had knotted. A small smirk tugged at the corners of Raimer's thin lips. He began to say something and was cut short by the sound of an approaching siren. Quickly moving to his window, Raimer waited until the sound had passed. He turned back to Perkins. "Where are you going to go," the sergeant questioned, breaking his silence. "They're going to shut down this whole city to find you. You're not just going to walk out." Raimer smiled. "Thanks for the encouragement, Perkins." He opened the officer's black leather wallet once more, this time examining the pictures within and then holding them up for Perkins to see. "Wife and kids, eh?" Raimer motioned toward the pictures with his revolver. Perkins nodded slowly. he thought. Raimer imitated the sergeant's slow nod. "I'll bet they miss you while you're away," he said, his voice nearly a whisper. He tossed Perkins' wallet onto the vehicle's dash with a sharp flick of his wrist. Raimer then raised the .38, bringing the barrel to within mere inches of Officer Perkins' face. Perkins shrank back at the mechanical sound of the weapon's hammer slowly clicking back. Raimer's eyes narrowed. "Let's hope they're used to it by now." ************ "You can graduate from Med School," Natalie Lambert huffed. "You can handle a full-time job *and* play nursemaid to an 800 year old vampire all at the same time, but...you can't decorate a Christmas tree to save your life!" Her third attempt to place the blinking star atop her uncooperative tree had ended in like manner as the previous attempts; a loss of balance and near nose-dive into the blue spruce. "This is what I get for buying too big a tree." Natalie placed her hands on her hips and reconsidered her method of attack. The chair that she had appropriated from Nick's kitchen table to use as a platform was not at all inadequate for the height required, it was simply that the tree was too wide and Natalie was unable to get in close enough. Or her arms were not long enough. Instead, she was forced to lean way out to grasp the top of the tree with one hand and then try to place the star onto it with the other hand, all the while trying to remain on a friendly basis with gravity. An idea suddenly occurred to her. Natalie stepped down from the chair and, taking hold of some tree limbs, she began to slowly back up, lowering the tree to waist level. Fortunately, it was not all that heavy. A moment later, the tree was upright again, the star glowing brightly from its high perch. Natalie brushed pine needles from her sweater, wiping the sappy feel off on the legs of her jeans, and looked up admiringly at her handiwork. "Conquered at last!" she announced. And it had only taken about forty-five minutes. Natalie took a slow look around the loft and then at her various decorations lying about on the floor. She clapped her hands together. "Well, now, let's see what other damage we can cause while Nick is away." The phone rang. Natalie was unwrapping strands of garland when Nick's answering machine clicked on. "Nat, it's Nick, are you there?" Nick had that certain sound in his voice that Natalie had come to recognize as a sure sign of trouble. She was not far away and got to the phone quickly. Nick filled her in on the new developments. "Raimer." Natalie grimaced as though the name had left a bad taste in her mouth. "Of all the times for that...creep to be out on the loose." She shook her head with disbelief as the news sank in. "I thought that we were rid of him." "We all thought so, Nat," Nick said into his cell phone. "Anyway, every cop in Toronto is going to be out looking for him within the next hour or so. Maybe we'll be in time to stop Raimer before he can leave the city." "Somebody had better stop him." Natalie struggled to keep the images of those dead girls from returning to her mind. It had taken her long enough to drive them from her dreams. Nick nodded understandingly at the tone of his friend's voice. More than even the detectives that had tracked him, Natalie Lambert had experienced the effects of Gerald Raimer's derangement. Each of his victims that had been found, that had been brought to the morgue, told the tale of a madman that found the utmost pleasure in human suffering. Even Nick's experience with nearly every form of human decadence over the past eight centuries had not prepared him for the monstrous combination of cunning and perversity manifested in Gerald Raimer's urban siege. Natalie had steadfastly refused to have any part other than was absolutely necessary in the court proceedings against Raimer. She merely asked to be informed as to the outcome. She had not felt such hatred for another human being since Gault had brutally murdered her goddaughter. A moment of uneasy silence followed as Nick and Nat dealt with their memories of Raimer's carnage. Nick took a stab at breaking it. "We'll be on the hunt ourselves in a few minutes." Nick had pulled his Caddy around to the precinct entrance to wait for his partner. There was no sign of him as of yet. "Providing that Schanke shows up sometime soon, that is." Natalie was puzzled. "Schanke? Isn't he on vacation," she asked. Nick explained the happenings in Cohen's office. Natalie laughed out loud. Nick smiled at the sound. "He can't win! And on Christmas Eve of all times, can you believe that?" "Actually, I can," Nick chuckled. "He's breaking the news to Myra right now." Natalie put a hand to her mouth to stifle her laughter, instantly feeling bad that she should find the poor detective's newest predicament so amusing...so very typical! "She is going to be so ticked with him!" Nick nodded. "That's just about guaranteed, but I suggested that he send Myra and Jenny on to Florida while we track down Raimer," Nick explained, "that way the holiday isn't entirely spoiled for everyone...maybe soften the blow a bit." "But what about poor Schank," Natalie asked. "He'll end up alone on Christmas Day!" Nick had to admit that he hadn't thought of it that way. He'd been too preoccupied with what Myra would do. Silence. "Well," Natalie asked impatiently. Nick shrugged at the phone. "Yes, uh...well. Well what, Nat?" Natalie clapped one exasperated hand on her left leg. "Well...why not invite him to spend Christmas Day with us," she paused. "If you don't mind, that is." Nick's response was slow in coming. He and Nat had never declared anything official between the two of them, but he had been hoping to have the time alone with her. So much had happened as of late that Nick had actually considered approaching Nat on the matter, perhaps suggesting that something more be at least considered. The courage to do so had been a long time in building. Now, it appeared as though his plans might be foiled by yet another outside intrusion. Still, Nick knew that no one should have to spend the holidays alone if possible. And Schanke was his friend, after all. Nick smiled slightly., "No, I don't mind." he told Natalie. She was not quite convinced by his tone. "You're really sure that it's all right? I mean, I don't just want to go inviting people over to your place." "Yes, I'm sure," he added. "It'll be fun." Nick looked back at the precinct entrance. Still no sign of Schanke. "I'll mention it to him once he tells me what's going on." "You see," Nat teased, "from somewhere beneath that cold, dark exterior, I can actually hear the beating of a genuine human heart." Nick laughed. "You really think so?" He turned his head in time to see Schanke burst from the precinct, spot the caddy, and come jogging down the steps, clearly already shivering and muttering furiously to himself. "Here he comes now." "Great," Natalie grinned. "Now I can get back to wrecking your place." ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 5/?) By: Stephen Lansing Raimer viciously kicked the gun from the fallen security guard's hand. He watched as it skittered harmlessly across the linoleum floor and struck the opposite wall with a thud. He smiled and took a deep, filling breath, allowing himself to savor his most recent victory. It felt good to be in action again, pitting himself against the skills and reflexes of the unsuspecting persons that he drew into his deadly games. The security guard had been old and slow and, although Raimer had taken him by surprise and could have effortlessly put him down, he had instead actually allowed the man to pull his sidearm before firing. Raimer thought. He did enjoy his little games. They made him feel powerful and there was certainly no greater power than that held by those who exercised control over life and death. The hatred that he felt from society in general and the wild cat-and-mouse chases that he engaged in with local authorities served only to make Gerald Raimer's already inflated views of his own personal power grow all the larger. In Raimer's mind, society was forced to acknowledge him...indeed, it hated him, but only because it saw him as one far more powerful than itself. Powerful and unafraid to demonstrate that power against any who dared to challenge his strength. All met the same fate eventually. Raimer knelt down and relieved the fallen guard of his ammunition belt and wallet, gratified to discover plentiful rounds for his gun as well as a healthy sum of cash. He pocketed the shells and added the money to the bills that had so recently belonged to the late Sergeant Perkins. He quickly made his way out of the stockroom and headed toward the main floor of the store. Raimer could not have cared less about the holiday itself, but Christmas did have one redeeming characteristic...the stores always closed early on Christmas Eve. Most of them were easy targets. This one just happened to be a rather fashionable clothing store. Raimer had found the back door surprisingly easy to force open and had done so with only the slightest of sounds. Once inside, Raimer had spotted the security guard's light and had hidden in the shadows until the man entered the room and turned on the overhead light. The security guard's nonchalant manner of checking on the noise had indicated that he had probably thought that the sound had been made by a falling box or some such item. The stunned look on the guard's face revealed that he knew that he was faced with more than the common place thief. Raimer was sure that the man had recognized him. Most people in Toronto would have recognized him though. Raimer smiled again at that thought. He liked to be recognized. It was another way that others showed their recognition of his importance. Running through the aisles of clothes, as he was uncertain as to whether the store had types of security other than a simple guard, Raimer located suitable clothing. Stripping off his prison garb, Raimer began to put on his new acquisitions; heavy jeans, a dark blue pullover shirt and a gray turtleneck sweater. As he changed, Raimer began to consider his next moves. It would of course be necessary to leave Toronto as soon as possible. The police would doubtless be trying every method of trapping him within the city limits. Heavy holiday traffic might be a useful tool in evading those traps, and he would come up with a plan for dealing with that police issue first. In Raimer's esteem, most of the officers that had come up against him had been nowhere near his caliber. The notable exception to that otherwise steadfast rule had been the two cops that had finally brought him in, if only for a short time. Detectives Knight and Schanke. "Toronto's Dynamic Duo" as they had been christened by the local papers after bringing in Canada's most wanted serial killer. "A couple of real heroes," Raimer snarled as he tugged on the pullover shirt. His mind wandered back to that night in the warehouse. Knight and Schanke had managed to corner Raimer there after receiving some new information from a turncoat informant. Raimer stiffened as he recalled his wild flight through the shadowy warehouse, stumbling through one corridor after another, turning back only to fire blindly at his pursuers. He had stopped to rest for a moment when one of the detectives, Schanke, the fat one, had wandered too close. Raimer had opened fire, pinning Schanke between a staircase and a forklift, and wounding him in the process. A rapid fire exchange had begun between the two opponents. He never heard Knight slip up behind him. Raimer had been preparing to fire another shot when his hand was seized in a cold, vice-like grip. Knight was suddenly there, forced Raimer to drop his gun and then hurled him into a wall with stunning force. Having donned the sweater, Raimer set out in search of better shoes and a winter coat. His memories of what had happened next were blurred, recalled only through dreams, and as though visible only through a dense fog at a great distance. He had dreamed of images where Knight had lifted him from the warehouse floor, his eyes glowing gold and his mouth twisted into a snarl which had revealed two razor sharp fangs...something other than a man. The image was never clear. Raimer had dismissed it as a figment of his own imagination caused by the trauma of the moment and his hatred of the detective. The stuff of nightmares. But there was one thing from that encounter that stood out to Raimer with crystal clarity. Knight's words. "You filth! I could tear you to pieces with my bare hands!" Somehow, Raimer didn't doubt that. The detective had been possessed of enormous physical strength, but Schanke had caught up to his partner before Knight could do anything more than cuff his prisoner. Raimer grinned wickedly as he slid into the most comfortable pair of shoes that he could find. "Let's see you do it again, Knight!" he yelled into the deserted building, his challenge echoing in the near complete darkness. Raimer grabbed a heavy black trench coat as he made his way once again to the rear of the store. He could feel the adrenaline surging through his veins as he anticipated the daring of his next moves. Once again, he was feeling powerful. His defeat in the warehouse was displaced from his mind by a fresh rising tide of arrogant hostility. The beginnings of a plan were emerging, and tonight, Gerald Raimer fully intended that society should see true justice done...in the triumph of the strong. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 6/?) By: Stephen Lansing "Geez, Nick! It's as cold in here as it is out there," Schanke grumbled as he slammed Nick's passenger door against the wintry outside world, once again managing to catch the belt of his trench coat in the door. He threw an irritated glance at Nick who merely smiled antagonistically and started the Caddy's engine. Despite the cold, she came to life instantly. Nick pulled slowly away from the curb and eased his vehicle into the hectic holiday traffic. "I can't believe you," Schanke went on. "Sitting there in the middle of a new ice age with no heat, engine off, coat not even buttoned up..." "The heater doesn't work, remember?" "You wouldn't use it if it did!" Schanke was not to be appeased easily tonight. He rubbed his clammy hands together quickly in the hope of producing the smallest amount of comforting warmth. "Freakin' polar bear with a badge," he said between frosty breaths. After they had been originally assigned, Nick had sincerely believed that "Donut" Don Schanke would surely drive him insane within a matter of days. As it happened, Nick had actually gotten used to his partner's outbursts after their first few weeks together and had now come to regard them as more amusing than irksome. Schanke caught sight of the amused gleam in Knight's eye. "We could always go back and get my car...you know, the one with the working heater?" "Myra has your car, Schank." "Oh, yeah...what about Natalie?" "She's at my place...her car too." "Just my luck!" Schanke folded his arms across his chest as tightly as possible and resigned himself to riding in the "big green meatfreezer" for yet another chilly night on the job. He turned to Nick, disgusted that his partner looked as loose and comfortable in the cold as most people would look wearing Bermuda shorts on sunny Miami Beach. "And just what is Miss Lambert's excuse for playing hooky while the rest of us get stuck doing the 'dedicated public servant' thing again?" Nick never took his eyes off of the road. "She's had the flu. You know that, Schank." "So, she just decided that it'd be nicer to have it at your place, huh," Schanke mocked. "No." Nick did divert his gaze for a moment to throw his partner a matter-of-fact look. "She's feeling better but not good enough to go back in yet, so I encouraged her to take a few extra days to rest." Schanke nodded knowingly, all the while forming a broad smile. "Oh...rest. I see. At your place, huh?" Nick felt his partner's gaze as surely as his customary punch to the arm...which Schanke was simply too cold to bestow at that particular moment. "She's decorating for Christmas," he said flatly. Schanke's look of amusement instantly collapsed into wide-eyed disbelief. "Your place? Christmas decorations!" Nick nodded. "Your place!" Schanke shook his head. "Christmas in the crypt, huh? This I gotta see!" Nick had been looking for a way to invite his partner over for the Christmas party and he took advantage of the opening. "Do you really want to come over," he asked. "I mean if things don't work out for going on vacation with Myra, uh, Nat and I thought that..." Nick paused, looking for some reaction. Schanke had resumed his brooding posture at the mention of his wife and vacation predicament. "We haven't talked about what Myra said though..." "Let's not," Schanke growled into his coat. "Sorry, Schank." Nick looked away again. "I didn't mean to pry." Schanke started to mumble, a low, guttural sound which slowly built in intensity. Nick understood that particular sound to be a signal that Mt. Schanke was on the brink of eruption. "Man, oh, man! She took it just like a real champ!" Nick started at the sudden outburst, even though he had fully expected it. "She didn't threaten to throttle me or break my bowling trophies or kick me out of the house...oh, no! It was worse than that!" "Worse?" Nick was genuinely puzzled. His partner instantly obliged him with a technicolor explanation. "She started to cry...of all things!" "Oh, not that!" Nick empathized. He knew that the heat must really be building. Schanke had begun to unbutton his coat. "Yes, that! 'Oh, Donny, why can't you tell them you can't do it? Why does your family always have to suffer? We never spend any time together! Jenny hardly knows her own daddy!' And on, and on, and on! She wouldn't stop, Nick! She went right for the jugular! Like it's all my fault! Like I planned it this way!" Nick listened, waiting for a calm to develop, or for his partner to run out breath. As it turned out, it was the latter. "Did you make any plans?" Schanke's head was resting in both hands. He groaned. "Well, through the tears and bloodletting, yes, we did finally make plans." Schanke heaved himself up into a sitting position again. "We're doing it like you said. Myra and Jenny are flying to Orlando and they'll wait until I get there....*if* I ever do!" Nick tried to sound reassuring, at the same time knowing that fugitive situations were among the most unpredictable situations of their routinely unpredictable profession. "I'm sure you'll be joining them before long, Schank. I bet they'll bring Raimer in before Monday." It was Friday night. Schanke was unconvinced. "Not with my luck, pal. We'll have to chase that guy to the ends of the earth before I get a break." He shifted uneasily in the passenger seat, looking out the windows now instead of just staring at the dashboard. "Speaking of chasing, where exactly are we going?" "Well," Nick began, "I thought we'd go pay a visit to our old friend, Mr. Colson." "Jack Colson," Schanke queried. "The pusher?" "He gave us the right information last time. Took us to Raimer fast enough." Schanke thought for a moment. "Yeah, he might be useful. If Raimer hasn't already put a hole in him." "He is a definite target," Nick agreed. "I'm counting on getting to him in time." Traffic around them was as hectic as either of the detectives had ever seen it. Families attempting to leave the city at the last minute for holiday traveling had turned the roads into raceways. "We might get to him if we don't get ourselves killed in this traffic," Schanke observed. "Everyone's all high-strung and tense. Can't say that I don't know how they feel," he said, clenching his fists for emphasis. "Ah, I've got just the thing for stress relief." Nick reached out with his free hand and opened his glove box, rummaged around for a moment and produced a small cube, which he promptly tossed to his partner. "Try that," he said, smiling. Schanke caught the object and turned it over in his hands. He turned toward Nick, eyes narrowing. "You call this thing a 'stress reliever?'" Nick shrugged, trying to look as innocent as possible. "It's worth a try, isn't it?" Schanke held the cube up to the light, eyeing the confused colors. "Rubick's Cube, Nick? Are you serious? Do you know how long it's been since I've seen one of these! You just keep one in your glove box for laughs?" "Remember the Murphy twins," Nick asked. Schanke shot both arms out into the air in a repelling motion. "Please don't remind me of those two!" "One of them left it in the car," Nick explained. "They're in witness protection now, so I didn't exactly know how to return it." A snort was heard from the passenger seat. "Yeah, well however you came by it, this is definitely *not* a stress reliever! If anything, it's a stress *enhancer*...I never could solve the dumb thing!" Nick reached for the cube. "You don't have to, Schank." Schanke held the cube out of reach. "Yeah, well maybe I like a challenge." Schanke turned his detective's eye to examining the puzzle from every possible angle. Nick smiled as his partner lapsed into silence, slowly, experimentally, turning sections of the Rubicks' Cube and mumbling to himself once again. Nick thought. He then turned his attention back to the immediate task of reaching Jack Colson...hoping that the informant was still alive. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 7/?) By: Stephen Lansing Jack Colson was indeed still alive...just how long he would remain that way; however, was in serious doubt. At the moment that Knight and Schanke left the precinct, Colson lay prostrate on the hard wood floor of his apartment; bruised and bleeding from an ugly gash to his forehead. Gerald Raimer, who had inflicted that wound as Colson had entered his darkened apartment, regarded his humbled betrayer with a mixture of scorn and amusement. He had long awaited this moment. Colson moaned, straining to see clearly through the sea of colors that moved and twisted sickeningly before his eyes. He tried to rise. Raimer rewarded the effort with a savage kick to Colson's ribs. Colson writhed at the sudden explosion of searing pain in his side. He opened his eyes again, hoping that his vision would clear, and turned his head in the direction of his attacker. Raimer laughed at Colson's wide-eyed stare. "Nice to see you again, Jack." Colson's breath came in ragged gasps, a new jolt of stabbing pain coming with each intake of air. A nauseating, sinking feeling gnawed at the pit of his stomach as Gerald Raimer's rough-hewn features came into focus. It was a face that he had sincerely hoped that he had hallucinated seeing. "H-how did you..." Each word that came was a struggle. "How did you get out...of there?" Raimer knelt down beside Colson, a proud smirk on his lips. "To tell you the truth, Jack...at the moment, I'm not so much interested in talking about how I got out of prison as how I got in." Raimer emphasized the word "in" by pressing the barrel of his pistol into Colson's side; evoking a tortured cry from the injured man. "But you wouldn't know anything about that," he said, his smirk growing larger. "Would you, Jack?" Raimer grasped Colson firmly by the shoulders. "That floor must be hard. Let's get you on the couch where we can talk." It was no use to struggle. Colson knew that Raimer would probably either kill him outright or just continue to torture him if he tried to resist. He gnashed his teeth together as Raimer pulled him to his feet, the pain of one or more broken ribs digging into his side like razors. The room seemed to spin around Colson as Raimer dragged him the length of the mid-size apartment and finally flung him onto the couch, deliberately causing Colson's injured side to bear the weight of his fall. Colson collapsed on the couch with a shriek of agony. The pain from his side was nearly blinding. Raimer stood still, observing him for a moment before sitting down on one of the corners of the coffee table, directly opposite from where Colson lay. "I really ought to kill you now, Jack." Shifting his weight onto his uninjured side, Colson faced Raimer. He struggled unsuccessfully to keep the pain from showing on his face. "They...had me," he began. "They made me...talk." Colson gasped for air. Speech was sheer torture. The pain in Colson's voice bolstered Raimer. He shook his head in mock sympathy. "I'll bet they really roughed you up, Jack." He made a show of holding his own side in imitation of Colson's posture and laughed harshly at the blaze of hatred that burned in Colson's eyes. Up until this moment, Raimer had been carrying his captured pistol at his side. Now he brought the weapon to Colson's eye level and waved it back and forth before slipping it into his coat pocket. "Good news, Jack." He moved closer and came to a stop within mere inches of Colson's face. "I'm not gonna kill you after all." Colson knew better than to be relieved. He had seen Raimer in action in the past and knew that he would slaughter anyone and needed no reason other than the mere enjoyment of doing it. To kill a man against whom he had a serious grudge would be a simple chore. Raimer backed away and continued. "It's like this, Jack...I need you." Colson was genuinely puzzled by that last statement and could only reconcile it to Raimer's sadistic sense of humor. The pain in his side now throbbed steadily and Jack began to feel a tingling sensation in his forehead. He reached up with one hand to lightly message his forehead and withdrew the hand to find his fingers sticky with blood. he thought. Raimer reached out and took Colson by the throat. He applied only light pressure; enough to communicate his meaning sufficiently. "You hear me, Jack? You got another chance, man." He patted the coat pocket that contained the pistol. "Not that you have to help me if you don't want to." Colson drew a deep breath and winced at the accompanying pain. "I...I'll help you." Raimer smiled and removed his hand from Colson's throat. "That's nice to know, Jack." ************* Knight and Schanke were only three blocks from Jack Colson's apartment building when Cohen called to give them an update on the situation and to determine their status. She filled them in on the discovery of Sergeant Perkins' body and that of the security guard from Sarringer's Fine Clothing. Raimer's involvement in the security guard's death was confirmed when police found discarded prison clothes on the main sales floor of the department store. Units were on their way to notify the families of the two victims. Raimer's whereabouts were still unknown. "I just can't believe this guy," Schanke exclaimed after Cohen had signed off. "He's a real one man crime wave," Nick agreed, gritting his teeth at the thought of what else might be in store for Toronto unless Raimer was brought in quickly. The thought that he could have easily killed Raimer in the warehouse weighed heavily in his mind. There had been precious seconds where Schanke had been hiding behind the forklift, reloading his weapon. Nick could easily have broken Raimer's neck in those seconds. It was highly unlikely that Internal Affairs would have even bothered to do more than pay lip-service to an investigation into the matter. Nick grimaced as he thought of how simple it would have been to make the entire thing look like an accident. Sergeant Perkins and the others that Raimer had killed since his escape would all still be alive and with their families on Christmas Day. But even as the idea occurred to him, Nick could already hear Natalie telling him that it made no sense to blur the lines of right and wrong for the sake of maintaining those lines, and LaCroix would no doubt torment him for living by a double-standard. The worse part was that they would both be right. Schanke nervously shifted the Rubick's Cube back and forth between his hands. "I knew Sergeant Perkins." Nick quickly shifted from his own train of thought. How much further could his partner's day spiral downward? "I'm sorry to hear that, Schank. Were you good friends?" Schanke shrugged. "Not really. He used to bowl with us on some nights...back in the glory days when I actually worked *days.* He seemed like a good guy. I took him home one night." Schanke chuckled slightly. "He had some cute kids." Nick spotted the street sign where they would be turning. He slowed the Caddy and directed it onto the snow-covered sidestreet. Colson's apartment building was only a couple hundred yards away on the left side of the road. Nick listened to the sound of the snow crunching beneath his tires as he scanned both sides of the road for any sign of Gerald Raimer. Schanke was trying to shake off another bout of depression, suddenly brought on by the news of Perkins' death. This holiday would certainly live in infamy in the Schanke household. "It really makes you think, Nick," he said, his voice almost a whisper. They had arrived. Nick parked the Caddy directly across from Colson's ten story brick apartment building...the Broward Apartment Complex. Schanke began to button his coat in anticipation of the brutal wind chill that he would be exposed to once they were outside again. He continued with his thoughts. "As many nights as I stay out here putting my life on the line...just to know that I've got a wife and daughter at home that probably don't even remember what 'dear ole dad' even looks like anymore." Nick was mildly alarmed by the hollow sound in his friend's voice. "You really shouldn't be alone on Christmas, Schank. Will you at least have dinner with Nat and me?" "I'll think about it," Schanke answered. "Not that I don't appreciate the offer or anything." He raised one eyebrow in his partner's direction. "And it would sure be different to see you actually eating something for a change!" Nick tried to change the subject quickly, his mind going back to that time not-so-very-long-ago when Schanke had very nearly come to the truth concerning Nick Knight's secret. "I'm sure that Myra and Jenny know that you would rather be with them than on the street, Schank." Schanke shoved the Rubick's Cube into his right coat pocket. "It's not enough to 'rather' be with your family, Nick. You've got to *be* there...in person!" Schanke pulled his sidearm and quickly checked to be certain that he had a full load. "No matter what, you always try to do your best for your family," he continued. "Even if you get beat up for it! And something will always be there to keep you apart. I mean, look at me, just because some guy decides to go and pull a 'Jack Ruby,' I get stuck holding the bag again! At Christmas of all times!" The street seemed quiet in comparison to the hustle and bustle of the rest of the city that they had crossed to reach Colson's apartment. The building itself was brightly decorated in all of the holiday colors and families could be seen coming and going through the large glass entrance. Schanke replaced his sidearm in its holster and reached for the door handle, preparing himself to enter the winter world once again. "Everybody out," he announced. "Women and underpaid detectives first." When Nick did not immediately respond, Schanke turned. His partner was staring through the windshield with that familiar glazed expression that meant that although his body might be present, *he* was actually somewhere else entirely. Schanke groaned. "Nick?" ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 8/?) By: Stephen Lansing Winter of 1943 Rouen, France Hitler's 'Fortress Europe' The heavy sound of soldiers' feet echoed loudly in the otherwise quiet city streets. Nicholas and Michel took care to remain hidden in the protection of a darkened alley, neither one moving or even whispering until the sound of boots had faded completely. There were very few who dared to violate the dusk-to-dawn curfew that the Germans had imposed, and the city of Rouen, not especially desirous of any further conflict with the occupying army, had been especially compliant. The soldiers had soon grown bored looking into more darkened windows and had moved on to another street. The two men moved stealthily from their hiding place and, once convinced that the soldiers had indeed moved on, quickly resumed their search. "How far, Nicholas," Michel whispered furtively, his brown eyes warily watching the direction in which the Nazi soldiers had gone. Nicholas pointed, much to Michel's relief, in the opposite direction from the departed soldiers. "A few more minutes and we will be safe." So saying, Nicholas resumed his rapid, silent pace. Michel had difficulty keeping up with his energetic companion and he was breathing heavily by the time that Nicholas slowed and, with a nervous glance over his shoulder, bade Michel to follow him into yet another cramped alleyway. The darkness seemed to be of little consequence to Nicholas as he soon found what he had come for behind a stack of boards that was set against a wall. A heavy, wooden door set deep into an alcove. Michel rattled the doorknob and then gave the door a firm shove, finding it stubbornly unwilling to open even a crack. "You have a key, Nicholas?" "No key," Nicholas whispered, shaking his head. He motioned to the alley entrance. "Go and watch for soldiers. I will give the door another try. Perhaps all it needs is some more persuasion." Michel nodded quickly and made his way to the alley entrance. Nicholas watched him go and made certain that the man's attention was diverted before returning to the problem of the locked door. Ordinarily, Nicholas would have made quick work of such a small obstacle as the door; however, it would not do to demonstrate such remarkable physical strength before the eyes of his mortal friend. Placing his shoulder against the door, Nicholas slowly began to exert pressure. The sounds of splintering wood were painfully loud in the relative silence of the sleeping city and Nicholas gave great care to minimizing the audible effects of his assault on the doorway. It was a matter of mere seconds before the steel bolt of the lock slipped away from its cracked moorings in the door frame and the door swung open. Michel had turned from his vigil at the ally entrance. Nicholas answered his questioning glance with a wave of his left hand, bidding the Frenchman to rejoin him. The duo made their way through the now open entrance, stopping only to glance once more at the street entrance. Nicholas's own inner sensitivities to the human presence informed him that his traveling companion was the only mortal close enough to be of any consequence. Satisfied that they would not be followed, Nicholas carefully set the boards back into place as best as he could to cover the entrance and closed the door behind them. The semi-darkness of the masonry corridor in which they had found themselves suddenly became complete. ******* *"Nick!"* Schanke's roar brought Nick back into the present day with a start. "Sorry Schank." Nick quickly searched for an explanation. "I was just lost in thought." The oft-used excuse bounced ineffectively off of his partner's glare. "That really freaks me out when you do that, Nick." Schanke reached for his door handle once again. "You ready for a little expedition on *this* planet, partner?" Nick smiled weakly, his freshly-stirred memories of the past still vivid. "Let's go." ************ The Wilkes family was one of the groups that were not desperately seeking flight from the city on Christmas Eve. Instead, they were desperately attempting to reach their church in time to make the beginning of practice for the Christmas play. Their three children, two boys, ages seven and eight, and a girl, age five, had ensured that the family left home in its customary late rush. They had arrived at the church with barely five minutes to spare and the security of knowing that their status of "the last ones to arrive for any church function" was in no danger of being lost. "See, I told you kids that we're always the last ones to get here." Mrs Wilkes had to shout to be heard above the din emanating from the back seat of their gray Taurus. It seemed that seven year old Sam had discovered that the crook of his shepherd's staff fit rather nicely around his sister's neck. Little Amy's response to her brother's research had been somewhat less than congenial. "MOMMMYYY!!!" "I asked you to put those staff's in the trunk until we got to the church, Bill!" Sarah Wilkes threw her husband a blunt look of disapproval. He shrugged, offered his wife a slight "forgive me?" smile and concentrated on attempting to find a parking place in the crowded church lot. Much to his relief, he was actually able to find a space rather quickly. Unloading the feuding siblings, Mrs. Wilkes shooed them toward the church and then turned back to rap on the frosty windshield of the Taurus. Her husband reluctantly rolled his window down, quietly lamenting the continued loss of the precious little heat that had built up in the vehicle during the fifteen minute drive to their church. "You do have your list, don't you," Sarah asked. Bill Wilkes nodded patiently. "For the fifth time, yes, I do." Sarah quickly rummaged through her purse to ensure that she had given the list to her husband after all. Satisfied, she turned to go in to the church, turning one last time to admonish: "Don't take too long, Bill. They must have the refreshments served by 9:30." Bill waved to his wife. "I know. They'll be there on time. Have fun at the rehearsal." He moved to roll up his window, thankful to be shutting out the cold once again. He was stopped by an unknown voice. "Family life sure looks fun!" Bill turned to see a tall, red-haired man in a black trench coat standing where his wife had been only seconds before. The man had a large grin on his face as he pointed at the retreating Mrs. Wilkes. "It'll keep you on your toes all right," Bill admitted. "Sure does look that way," the stranger said with a nod. Despite his smile, there was something vaguely menacing about the man, something familiar as well, although Bill could not immediately recall where he might have seen the stranger before, nor had he heard any of the evening news bulletins. He turned his head for a moment to glance at the green digital glow of the clock on the dashboard. "Well, gotta go." He turned back to find himself staring into the barrel of a pistol. "Good idea," the stranger said coldly. "Mind if I tag along?" ************ "Third floor," Nick announced cheerfully. Schanke threw his partner a look of disgust as he arrived, huffing and puffing, on the third floor landing. "The next time you suggest that we take the stairs, remind me to shoot you." He leaned heavily on the railing, trying to catch his breath. Knight shook his head sadly. "Looks like 'Joe Joe's Pizza Palace' is wearing you down, Schank," he teased. Schanke pushed himself free of the railing. "Not 'Joe Joe's.'" Hands outstretched, as though holding a large sign, Schanke bellowed: " 'Grandma Loma's Fine Italian Restaurante!' " Nick feigned a look of disbelief. "Better than 'Joe Joe's?" C'mon..." Schanke laughed as he moved to follow his partner into the dimly lit third floor hallway. "Ho! Ho! 'Grandma Loma's'...I fall down and worship!" Schanke made a rapid, mock bow. Nick laughed at the mental image. "I'd pay good money to see that!" "I bet you would!" Schanke surveyed the apartment numbers. "Colson's in 312, isn't he?" "Right. Down the hallway and about five doors on the left." Both detectives instinctively reached for their sidearms as they approached the door, each taking a separate side. Nick raised his hand to knock. The apartment door was flung open before he could complete the action. ************ In the mind of Gerald Raimer, there was nothing that could compare to simply being free again. Raimer gave his legs a good long stretch as he waited for the traffic light to change. The joy of freedom was only enhanced by the feel of being behind the wheel once again. He ran his right hand lightly across the dashboard of the Taurus and smiled. "Nice car you got here, Bill." The comment was directed at the vehicle's trunk where Bill Wilkes had taken up temporary residence. After highjacking him, Raimer had forced Wilkes to drive some two blocks from the church before he had assumed the wheel and "suggested" that Wilkes ride in the trunk. The man had needed no more persuasion that the sight of Raimer's pistol and the idea that his family might be placed in jeopardy. The familiar look of fright in Wilkes's eyes had been immensely satisfying. The light changed. Raimer slowly accelerated, warily watching the vehicles around him for any sign that someone had recognized him. He had every intention of revealing himself in time...but his next public appearance would be directed only to a special audience. He began to search for that audience. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 9/?) By: Stephen Lansing Jack Colson dropped his gym bag at the sight of the two detectives standing at his door, weapons drawn and trained on him. He slowly lifted his hands, palms outward, to show that he was unarmed. Schanke lowered his gun and grinned. "Hiya, Jack." Colson grimaced. "What do you two want? You got a warrant?" Nick carefully holstered his weapon. "We just have a few questions that we'd like to ask you." Nick and Schanke shared a look. Colson had a large bandage on his forehead and he leaned a bit to his right side, as though he were in pain. Colson's already contorted features twisted even more when he answered. "You already did that." "Aw, c'mon, Jack." Schanke stepped forward, pushing his way into the apartment. "That was then; this is now." Colson took a step backward and reached down for his gym bag, suddenly wincing and gripping his right side. He slowly bent his knees and lowered himself to retrieve the bag. Nick and Schanke shared another look. "Are you all right, Mr. Colson?" Colson carefully stood again and answered Nick's question with a growl. "I'm fine." He looked from Knight to Schanke. "Now, if you aint' got a warrant, I aint' gotta talk to you, so you'll just have to excuse me." Colson started for the door. Nick blocked his way. "You *are* still on probation, Mr. Colson," he reminded the man. Schanke stepped forward again. "That means that you can't leave the city without permission." "I *know* what it means," Colson said with a glare. Nick pointed at the gym bag. "Then you won't mind telling us where you're going." Colson started to answer but was cut off by Schanke, who moved in still closer. "And if you refuse, we'll just have to assume that you intend to violate your parole." "Which would give us justifiable suspicion," Nick chimed in. "We could take you downtown for questioning...maybe even search your apartment." "Or the bag..." This time it was Schanke who pointed at the gym bag that Colson carried. Colson was rapidly looking from one detective to the other; both were only a few feet away, clearly attempting to turn up the heat. "You can't do that!" He grasped at his side again as he said the words. Schanke stepped closer still, bringing his face to within inches of Colson's. "Look *pal*...this is turning out to be one lousy holiday for me and if you don't start cooperating, *real* fast, you're gonna be eating Christmas dinner in a cell and sharing a toilet with some guy named Rosie!" Colson backed away, still holding his side. Nick closed the apartment door. "Like I said, we just want to ask you a few questions. How difficult that process is depends entirely upon you." Colson stared at Nick a moment before growling, "I aint' got nothin' to say to cops." Painstakingly, he turned and shuffled slowly toward a black leather easy chair, where he lowered his gym bag to the floor and placed his left hand against the back of the chair, leaning heavily on it. The simple act seemed to have nearly exhausted him. Schanke eyed Colson suspiciously. "It's really too bad to hear you say that, Jack. What after all of those nice, long talks that we had last time?" He elbowed his partner significantly. "Kinda makes you wonder what could make a man have such a change of heart, eh, Nick?" "Like maybe someone stopping by to show their appreciation for being turned in, oh, say...about a year ago?" Colson stared at the floor, ignoring Nick. He was breathing heavily; the pain in his side nearly intolerable. If only he had been able to leave just a few moments sooner; he might have avoided this confrontation. Jack had faced brutal death this evening because of what he had once told the police...now they were back, asking him to make the same mistake all over again. Nick pitied Colson's obvious predicament but he was determined that the man would tell what he knew. "Raimer roughed you up, didn't he," Nick asked, coming to stand only a few feet away, Schanke close behind. "I told you already...I'm fine!" Colson would still not look at the detectives. "I slipped in the kitchen, that's all." Schanke laughed sharply. "Did you hear that, Nick? He slipped in the kitchen! The man gives cops info that puts away Canada's most wanted serial killer. That killer escapes and the cops find their informant all banged up an hour or so later, but its because he just *happened* to slip in the kitchen...hmmmm...what do you say, Knight?" Nick shoved both hands into his coat pockets. "Overall, I'd say, 'bad acting coupled with shallow plot development.'" Schanke nodded thoughtfully. "True. Also, 'fails to hold the audience's attention, high unbelievability.' Knight and Schanke give it 'two thumbs down.'" He dropped to one knee, attempting to look Colson in the eye. "Care to try again, Jack?" "I *told* you," Colson snapped. "I aint' got nothin' to say to you!" Nick stepped forward quickly, locking his gaze with Colson's. The change was almost immediate. The hostility in Colson's features slowly began to ebb, replaced at first by confusion and then surrender. The apartment seemed to fade around Colson, his field of vision now entirely trapped in the twin blue vortices that were Detective Knight's eyes. They threatened to engulf him...and yet, he felt no fear, no panic. Instead, a warm feeling of peace and total contentment filled Colson, drowning out even the excruciating pain in his side. Nick could feel Colson's heart rate slow, his mind begin to open. "When was Raimer here," he asked slowly. Colson heard the voice as though it came from a great distance and echoed repeatedly in the fog that had encompassed his mind. The words came effortlessly. "Half an hour ago," he whispered. Schanke watched the scene in stunned silence. What was it about his partner that he could still get answers in spite of the most determined resistance?! Knight bore in. "Why didn't he kill you," he asked the expressionless face before him. "He said he needed me." "What did he want," Schanke asked, attempting to get Colson's attention. The man continued to stare fixedly, blankly at his partner. "What did he want from you," Nick asked quickly. He wouldn't be able to keep this up for long with Schanke observing matters so closely. "He wanted...money...and..." Schanke interposed himself between his partner and Colson. "Yeah, okay, he wanted money...aaand?" Nick groaned inwardly. His link with Colson severed by Schanke's well-intentioned intrusion. Colson suddenly blinked as though startled. He began to rub his eyes, suddenly feeling light-headed and somewhat nauseated. The pain in his side returned with full force. Schanke stomped his left foot impatiently. "He wanted money and *what* else?" The harsh glare returned to Colson's features as he reached to hold his right side again. "How many times do I have to tell you! I aint' got nothin' to say to you!" Colson had no idea what had possessed him to reveal that Raimer had been to "visit." Schanke whirled on his partner, pulling him aside to keep Colson from overhearing. "What is it with you! You talk to him; he sings like a canary! I talk to him; he shuts up like a clam!" Nick reached into his left pocket to retrieve his cell phone, returning his partner's accusatory tone with his most innocent shrug. He then left the inquisitive Schanke and returned to Colson. "Mr. Colson," Nick began firmly. "You have admitted that Gerald Raimer came to see you only a half an hour ago. I'm sure that it will come as no surprise to you that Mr. Raimer is a fugitive." Colson had resumed his steadfast staring at the floor of the apartment. Nick continued. "If you like, we can take your refusal as a sign that you are actively aiding and abetting a fugitive wanted for several counts of homicide." Schanke reappeared at his partner's side. "Boy, one phone call to Santa and someone's going to be getting a lot of coal in his stocking this year." "What do you expect me to do," Colson asked Nick, his voice filled with exasperation. "Get myself killed? 'Cause that's what's gonna happen if I go shootin' off my mouth again!" "We can take you into protective custody," Nick responded. Colson laughed as hard as his injured ribs would allow. "I've heard about that. There's a whole lot of guys in the local graveyard that never made it out of 'witness protection.'" Schanke drove the point home. "Then you can take your chances in a cell and pray that Raimer doesn't pay someone to bump you off, which I'm sure they'd be glad to do for a nominal fee." "Or," Nick joined in, "you can take your chances with a bunch of cops looking out for you twenty-four hours a day." Schanke smile broadly. "And the food's a lot better than it is in the joint." Colson messaged his aching head, sorely regretting the day that he had met Knight and Schanke. Nick prodded him. "What's it going to be, Colson?" Jack Colson slowly reached for his gym bag, for the second time that evening he found himself with little in the way of acceptable choices. He winced at a sudden burst of pain from his broken ribs and looked to the two detectives. He pointed to his head and his side. "Fix these up and maybe I'll think of something to tell you." Colson watched as Knight made a cellular call to request an ambulance. He suddenly felt a twinge of guilt. But there was no way that he was going to cross Raimer again and risk getting killed for it...no matter how the detectives tried to reassure him. He might tell them some things but, in the interests of self-preservation, he was definitely not going to reveal all that he knew. No matter what it might cost them. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 10/?) By: Stephen Lansing Lt. Carl Woods, 42nd precinct, like most of his colleagues, had little love for holiday duty. Had it not been for the Raimer affair, he might very well have been home convincing the kids to go to bed early so that Santa would come and visit them. As in years past, "Santa" would actually stay up late with mom, wrap presents, drink hot cocoa and watch Christmas specials. Instead, he found himself back on the street with his rookie partner in the middle of a city-wide manhunt that had nearly every cop in Toronto enlisted. At least he could still have his cocoa. A convenient doughnut shop had seen to that. Woods backed through the glass doors of the shop, each hand occupied with holding onto a steaming cup of hot cocoa. His partner was close behind with the bag of eclairs. Jan Stuart was twenty-six, single, and the makings of one of the best cops that Woods had ever had a hand in training. She had good instincts and really only needed some experience to go with them. Carl was confident that Stuart would not be long in becoming a first-rate officer. Had she known her partner's thoughts on the matter, Jan Stuart would no doubt have turned a deep red with embarrassment. Stuart had heard much about Woods before being assigned to ride with him, and she had come to think the world of her partner during their time on the street. Woods was also the only one who had never felt it necessary to bestow any of the customary departmental "initiations" on her. That simple fact by itself had earned him a world of respect in her eyes. Jan moved off to one side while her partner stood against the door and allowed two customers to enter. After they passed, Woods motioned her on through. It had grown cold early this year and the smell of the hot cocoa her partner was holding wafted through the night air and brought a smile to her youthful face. Searching the streets for a fugitive on Christmas Eve was far from the ideal evening, but at least she had someone to talk to. And that lonely single bedroom apartment would still be there after her shift ended. That thought took her smile away. Providing that she didn't have to work during the time that her parents had scheduled for Christmas dinner, she would be announcing her intention to move back home. It was not that she could not take living alone...she just preferred the company of having family right down the hall. Now that they had accepted her choice of profession, the family fights had ended and her parents were ever on the phone trying to persuade her to move back in. Together, they walked to the squad car. Woods moved behind Stuart, motioning her toward the driver's side. "Your turn," he said, trying to balance the cocoas without slipping on the ice-covered sidewalk. "Where to this time," she inquired. Her partner turned to answer, when he suddenly stopped in mid-stride, staring. Stuart turned in time to see a car pulling directly behind their parked squad car. The driver rolled his window down quickly as he came to a stop. His red hair and ruddy features came into view plainly then in the light of the store front. "Merry Christmas, officers!" The strident voice dripped with mockery. Stuart dropped her bag as she recognized the unlikely well-wisher. "Raimer!" Woods scarcely had time to shout the name before Raimer's pistol appeared in the window. There was a flash as the weapon barked once, emitting a slug that struck Stuart in the chest. She dropped; a startled look briefly crossing her face before unconsciousness claimed her. Raimer fired again. Woods dropped the cocoa cups and dove forward to his partner's aid, fumbling for his sidearm. He could hear the sound of shattering glass in the background as he reached the unconscious Stuart. That sound was immediately followed by the squeal of tires as the gray Taurus sped off. Woods was on his feet again almost immediately, firing at the retreating automobile. He succeeded in putting two bullets into the passenger side of the Taurus, but had no way of knowing if either one had managed to hit Raimer. Turning quickly, Woods fell to his knees, reaching his hand into the neck of Stuart's jacket. A vein throbbed slowly under his fingers; so very slowly. The hole in her black jacket indicated that the bullet had entered very near Stuart's heart. His actions to this point had been instinctive, the result of excellent training, but now rage began to build in Woods as he hurriedly snapped up his radio to call for help. The Taurus was out of sight. ************ There was only one more precious tissue at the bottom of the box. Natalie had circled it like a vulture for at least five minutes, eyeing it, sniffling steadily, forcing herself not to use the last of the 'gentle touch' tissues. Once that was gone, there were only the wretched generic brand tissues. "Might as well sandblast your nose," Natalie mumbled. She had been feeling fine all night...until the last half hour. It was then that her eyes had begun to water and the inevitable runny nose followed soon behind. Natalie had dived into the box of tissues that she had brought, just in case, and did not realize until it was too late just how few were left. She had tried to use the last few sparingly, but her draining sinuses had challenged that notion. Of course, Nick had no tissues, not even any toilet paper. He didn't need those things. Nick didn't get sick. "Lucky Buck." Then again...Nick had his own unique problems. Natalie snatched the last tissue...but she tore off only a small piece and used it to dab lightly at her nose. At least she could not be accused of *totally* yielding to temptation. Her situation thus momentarily alleviated, she took an appraising look around the loft. "Not bad, Lambert, even if you are tired and overworked." It could be reasonably said that Nick's loft had never looked like this before. From the blinking Christmas tree in the corner by the stairs, to the garland draped across the fireplace mantel, the elevator door, around the kitchen table and up the staircase, to the multicolored lights around the windows, and the fake snow sprayed on the window panes, the loft had been transformed. It was not exactly the most extensive decorating job that she had ever done but it was satisfactory to say the least. Natalie smiled broadly as she anticipated the look on Nick's face when he walked through the elevator door into his transmogrified home. It was still a little too dark though, even with all of the lights and decorations. Then again, what had Nick once said? "I like dark." Only that night, that he had said those words in reference to something other than his own living quarters. *Someone* else, to be precise. Natalie smiled again as she thought of how those words had made her feel. Nick was a card-carrying member of the "indirect and infrequent compliment society," and Natalie rarely heard him express anything about his true feelings...other than guilt. She frowned at that thought. The frown turned to near panic as she caught a glimpse of the face of Nick's kitchen clock. Her ham would burn to a crisp if not taken out of the oven in ten more minutes. Experience was a wonderful if not somewhat cruel teacher, and culinary lessons were particularly unforgiving. She had not expected to take so long with the decorations and had completely forgotten about her Christmas dinner. She began to wish that she had decided to cook the meal at Nick's place instead of starting it early at her apartment. Natalie hurriedly located her purse and car keys. She made a flyby of the entertainment center, switching off the television just as the Grinch was about to set off to loot Whoville. She then made the rounds of the loft, unplugging the decorations, remembering the fire hazard...also from past experience, and gritting her teeth at the loss of precious moments and edible meat. Finally, almost forgetting to flip off the main lights, Natalie made it into the elevator and started off in the hope of saving at least some of her Christmas cuisine. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 11/?) By: Stephen Lansing "And you, dear listener, as you hang your stockings by the chimney with care...what sugarplum dreams dance through your head this Yuletide season? Oh, now we're all far too old to believe in flying reindeer and jolly old men with toy shops at the North Pole...aren't we? Instead, we believe in the almighty dollar...we worship at the shrine of perpetual slavery in a world that cares not whether we live or die, so long as we don't forget to send out the Christmas cards on time..." Schanke turned off the radio with a grimace. "For crying out loud, Nick...it's Christmas Eve and all you can find to listen to is some lunatic who makes Ebenezer Scrooge look like the Good Humor man." His memories of encountering "Mr. Nightcrawler" were somewhat blurry, but Schanke would definitely not have picked him out of a crowd to read bedtime stories to children. Nick smiled sympathetically. Most people that he knew had the same thing to say about LaCroix’s radio ramblings, including Natalie. Nick himself knew better than to listen to his master's monologues for any extended period of time. He changed the subject for the second time that evening. "What did you think about Colson," he asked his partner. Schanke rolled his eyes. "The man's a few fries short of a happy meal, Nick. I mean, what does he take us for? 'I slipped in the kitchen!'" "We didn't get much out of him, that's for sure." Nick gritted his teeth. He had come *so* close! Schanke shook his head at the memory of what Colson had told them before the ambulance had taken him away. "Money and drugs! Why? Sure, money, I can see...but drugs?" Nick agreed. "I never heard of Raimer using drugs. I thought he was clean in that aspect." "Ditto," Schanke replied. "Colson has absolutely no idea where Raimer might be *and,* he didn't even give Raimer any drugs because he just didn't seem to have any on him at the time. What an opportunity lost!" Traffic grew heavier as Nick drove deeper into downtown Toronto. The twin beams of the Caddy's headlights revealed glistening snow flurries. "I know of someone who just might know where he is," Nick said absent-mindedly, pulling up next to a curbside. Schanke groaned when he saw the Raven sign. "Nick, is this trip really necessary?" Nick grinned. "You want to come in, Schank?" He would not have asked if he had not been reasonably certain of the answer. Schanke shot Nick his patented "you gotta be crazy" look. "That's a-okay, Nick. If it's all right with you, I'm gonna sit right here and listen to some *Christmas* music. After all, it is *Christmas Eve.* I'd rather not have to listen to that 'music to sever limbs by' or whatever it is that you call the stuff they play in that place." Nick laughed as his partner reached for the radio. "Just one favor, okay, Schank?" "If I can afford it." Schanke protectively covered his wallet. "Tune in whatever you like...just not 'Polka Christmas,' okay?" Nick closed the driver's door of the Caddy. Schanke called after him. "You uncultured heathen!" ************ Even before he entered Toronto's most unusual club, Nick's sensitive hearing was nearly overwhelmed by a virtual deluge of music and the combined voices of a capacity crowd. The Raven's boisterous holiday patrons milled about the congested dance floor, each pursuing their own private means of celebration as Nick entered and began to make his way toward Janette's table. As he had done many times before, Nick observed the interactions of the crowd, wondering what reaction the club's many human customers would have if it were suddenly revealed to them that they brushed shoulders nightly with nearly a dozen vampires. He smiled slightly. Some of them would probably never even bat an eye. Miklos had spotted Nick the instant that the detective entered the club. By the time that Knight reached the bar, there was a drink already mixed and waiting. Nick raised one eyebrow and lifted the glass, analyzing its color. Miklos raised an eyebrow of his own. "Your first drink is on the house tonight," he said in the evenest of tones. Nick took a suspicious sniff. "I'll just bet it is." "Don't worry, Knight." There was laughter in the bartender's quiet voice. "It's what you like. The Lady's orders." He pointed with one thin finger. Nick turned and caught sight of Janette, who was making her way gracefully through the crowd. The moving sea of patrons automatically parted to make way for her, and then closed again in her red and black satin wake. She glided silently past Nick, motioning for him to follow with the same bewitching smile that had first captured the attention of a certain young Crusader so completely almost eight hundred years before. Nick fell in behind her with ease, taking the chair he was offered at Janette's table. He sipped lightly from his glass while Janette leaned over the hard wood table, resting her chin on her steepled fingers. "So, Nichola," she purred, "drinking on duty? Or do we have the night off?" Nick returned her playful smile. "Somehow, I don't think that *this* particular beverage is covered by department regulations." Janette slowly righted herself into a sitting position, resting her hands in the many folds of her silk dress. "No, I would imagine that it is not." The two shared a long look across the table top. Nick watched as the reflections of the club's lights danced in her eyes. In the same manner, as LaCroix, Janette had always been able to make Nick feel as though she were capable of staring straight into his innermost being (she, also like LaCroix, would not use the word "soul"). Nick returned her steadfast gaze, searching her eyes, straining to find something there, wondering what she found in his. Janette continued the analysis for a moment longer before she broke the silence between them. "So," she began, "to what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?" Nick set his glass on the table. "I thought that you might be able to help me find someone." Janette blinked, immediately rebuking herself for being so naive. She should have known that it just *had* to be another of Nichola's little 'cops and robbers' games. He never just came in to see *her* anymore. "I run a club, Nichola..." Janette waved at the crowd. "...not an information service." Nick ignored the dig. He had expected that she would be upset that he had come on police business once again. "Raimer is out," he said significantly. Janette placed one hand to her chest and took a deep breath, her facial expression one of sheer sarcasm. "Oh, my. Whatever shall we do?" "He used to come in here. I thought that he might have come back or that someone might have mentioned seeing him." Nick took a long sip from his glass. Janette threw her hands into the air in much the same fashion as Schanke had done several times already that evening; although it would have mortified her to know it. "We are not accustomed to doing surveys here for the local police department, Nichola. I do not ask my customers who they associate with, nor do I care, so long as they pay." Nick fought back the impulse to give in to frustration. Janette had joined LaCroix in finding room for mockery in virtually everything that Nick had chosen to do over the last few centuries. There was rarely a time that she did *not* try to make him feel foolish. The single object of that mockery had always been Nick's attempt to turn from his darkness and rejoin the ranks of humankind. When he had first made that fateful decision, Nick had known that the path that he had chosen to walk would be fraught with pain. He had expected that LaCroix would never accept that choice and he had been only too correct in that assumption. However, he had also believed that Janette would eventually respect his quest if for no other reason than for the love and closeness that they had once shared. He had been woefully mistaken in that regard. "Do not ever think that I am like you!" The words returned. And with them came the pain that had so deeply wounded Nick on what he had once thought to be the eve of his ultimate triumph. Janette had often helped Nick in times of desperation and he knew that she still cared for him, but he also knew that she had never come to respect his search. She had redrawn the line of separation between them the day that she had uttered those piercing words. He could only hope that she would one day change. Her support and respect would mean so much. But he also knew that he could never return to the life that he had once lived. If Janette chose not to respect his decision, then he must learn to deal with that pain as well. Nick reigned in his frustration and answered Janette with another playful smile. "Janette, I'm only doing what I can to bring in a fugitive." He sighed. "Why do you always have to be *so* difficult?" Janette raised both of her eyebrows so slightly that Nick was not quite certain that he had seen her do it. "You enjoy your little games, Nichola...and I enjoy mine." "Nick!" Nick and Janette both turned at the shout in time to see Schanke burst from the dance floor, somewhat disheveled after the battle to force his way across the club to where he suspected that he would find his partner. Janette remained seated, warily eyeing Nick's partner as he approached. She remembered only too well the day that she had found Don Schanke rummaging through her personal items in search of Nick Knight's identity. Nick stood. "What is it, Schank?" "We just got a call over the radio. Raimer shot a cop on Richmond Avenue about ten minutes ago." Nick turned quickly to Janette. "Duty calls, Officer." The unmistakable gleam of humor was still in her eyes. Nick took her by the hand. "Will you let me know if you hear anything?" Janette stood and gently laid her free hand over Nick's. She sighed. "Dearest Nichola...don't I always?" Nick quickly kissed her hand and turned to go. Schanke directed a timid nod of recognition at Janette before joining his partner. She nodded curtly in return, smiling slightly...and then more broadly as she realized just how uncomfortable the detective was in her presence. The men made their way quickly through the crowd and Janette watched them until they were gone. She then returned to her own particular set of duties, somewhat more thoughtfully than before. ************ Raimer turned the corner rapidly, the Taurus nearly skidding on the layer of new fallen snow that covered the streets. The light flurries had been replaced by a heavier snow fall and low temperatures would certainly allow for rapid accumulation. Raimer accelerated toward the Raven, arriving in time to claim a parking space that was being quickly vacated by a large green Cadillac. The car looked familiar somehow but Raimer had other things on his mind at the moment and gave it only passing consideration. For the second time that evening, Raimer quickly found what he was looking for. All large cities have their own population of youths who, for one reason or another, have taken to the streets to find excitement and to make their way in whatever manner available. Girls, the attractive ones, are usually able to find "work" readily available in one or more businesses that specialize in rather personalized "services". On the other hand, drugs and gangs claim most of the young men who crave fast money and action. Raimer had come in search of the second group. As expected, he found some of them, sheltered somewhat from the bitterly cold wind, gathered in a small group in front of the Raven. Most were too young to be allowed in; however, they often took turns sneaking in. Inevitably, the Raven's bartender/bouncer would escort one or more under-age infiltrators to the door, and others would then make their way in once he was gone. Raimer had frequented the Raven before his arrest and had gotten to know a number of the street teens. He knew that it was a risk to return to the Raven, but Raimer had decided that the police would be well occupied in the wake of his latest atrocity. Nevertheless, he knew that he must act quickly. And it was such a good plan. Raimer immediately recognized two of the teens. The first that he identified was a seventeen year old pusher who called himself "Ricky". Ricky involved himself in making deliveries for various street bosses and had done reasonably well until he had been jailed some two months before Raimer's capture. Standing next to Ricky, close but at a respectable distance, was a dark haired sixteen year old named Jake. Jake was soft-spoken; a born follower, and usually did everything that Ricky asked of him. At the moment, he was lighting a joint for Ricky. Raimer parked at the curbside and rolled down the car's passenger side window. He shouted at the group. The boys seemed amazed to see Raimer but they instantly approached at the fugitive's beckoning wave. Raimer stepped out of the car to meet them. "Man, I thought they had you locked up." "Things change, " Raimer told Ricky. He noticed that Jake was staring at him. "Aint' the cops gonna be lookin' for you, man?" Raimer suppressed a laugh. He had chosen well. For Jake's benefit, he nervously looked up and down the street. "Already are," he replied. "And I gotta lay low for awhile." Raimer opened the rear driver's side door of the Taurus and removed a large brown shopping bag. He motioned for the teens to move in closer. "That's why I wanted to see if you guys were interested in handling a little business for me." Raimer opened the bag to reveal dozens of small, plastic bags filled with a white powdery substance. He smiled as the boys' eyes grew large. They normally handled only small amounts of such things and he knew that they had likely not seen that much of it in one place in a long time. Jack Colson had been remarkably cooperative in turning over his entire stash at Raimer's request. Ricky dropped his joint to the pavement and crushed it with the heel of his shoe. He whistled. "You got a whole lot of cash in there, man." Raimer quickly folded the shopping bag and threw it back into the car. Time was wasting. "You help me out and I'll cut you in for some of this," Raimer pointed at the bag. "It's the good stuff. You can smoke it, sell it...I really don't care what you do with it. That'll be your payoff." The teens looked at one another for a moment. Ricky pulled another joint from the pocket of his faded jeans. Jake lit it for him. He smiled at Raimer. "You got our attention." ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 12/?) By: Stephen Lansing By the time that Nick and Schanke arrived, the scene of Raimer's most recent attack was swarming with reporters and uniformed police officers. An ambulance was parked near the crowded store front and, through the blue curtain of protective officers, the detectives caught sight of paramedics scrambling to stabilize Officer Jan Stuart in order to transport her to Mercy General. Immediately to Knight and Schanke's left, a television news crew was busy with a remote broadcast. "...reporting live from the scene of the most recent violence in an-ongoing string of attacks by the escaped Gerald Raimer. Our information is incomplete at this time concerning the details of the attack; however, we have just been informed that the victim is twenty-six year old Officer Jan Stuart of the 42nd precinct." Schanke grimaced. "Twenty-six years old. Practically a kid." Nick said nothing as he and Schanke watched for a moment as the paramedics prepared to move the wounded officer to the ambulance. The contorted face of Officer Stuart, half concealed by an oxygen mask, was indeed youthful, although, at twenty-six, Stuart was only twice as old as Raimer's youngest victim on record. Nick's jaw clenched with stony anger. The reporter continued her monologue, brushing her long red hair out of her eyes where the winter wind had seen fit to blow it. "At this time, officials from the 42nd precinct are questioning Lt. Carl Woods, Officer Stuart's partner and an eyewitness to the shooting" Camera lights followed the reporter's gaze to a group of officers gathered by the ambulance where an animated conversation was taking place. In the middle of that group, and obviously the focus of attention, stood a tall dark-haired officer with a mustache. Nick and Schanke made their way through the growing crowd of spectators and, after showing their badges, were able to get within a few feet of group that was questioning Lt. Woods. The officer appeared worn, although that was not exactly surprising given the circumstances at hand. He also appeared to be rapidly tiring of the questions that were being put to him by a short, angry looking fellow wearing glasses and a tan trenchcoat. Schanke nudged his partner. "I.A. Man, he got here quick enough." A tall, burly officer standing next to Schanke turned at the remark. "He was two blocks away when the shooting happened," he explained. "He heard Woods calling it in over the radio and was one of the first on the scene. Can you beat that?" Nick shook his head. "Some luck, eh?" "One more time," Woods growled at the investigator. "We came out of the store. Raimer pulled in behind our patrol car; yelled 'Merry Christmas, Officers,' and then he fired at my partner." The I.A. inspector pushed his wire-rimmed lenses further up on the bridge of his nose. His expression indicated that he was clearly not impressed with Woods' explanation of the events. "You're saying that Raimer had time to roll his window down and yell at you, then he drew his gun and fired." He looked down at his wristwatch. "Nearly twenty-three minutes ago?" Woods nodded. The inspector shook his head. "And you didn't find any opportunity to react to him in all of that time before he fired? I find that hard to believe, Woods." "I explained that to you before," the red-faced Woods replied angrily. "I couldn't see who was in the car because of the glare from the store front reflecting on the driver's side window." Nick stepped forward at this point. He pointed at the inspector. "Inspector..." "Rawlins," was the reply. "Inspector Rawlins, I'm Detective Nick Knight, ninety-sixth precinct. My partner here, Detective Schanke, and I were the ones who originally brought Raimer in." Rawlins was busily scribbling notes on a yellow legal pad with the help of a number two pencil. "My congratulations, Detective Knight." Nick ignored the sarcastic tone. "What Officer Woods is saying exactly mirrors Raimer's style. He hits hard and fast. His moves are well planned and precisely timed." "Law enforcement officers are to be ready at all times to deal with the clever criminals as well as the stupid ones, Detective. You know that." Woods slapped the metal side of the ambulance in frustration. "The man is a fugitive! You'd think that he'd be on the run...avoiding cops. How could we possibly expect him to come gunning for us? We weren't even chasing him at the moment. He came and found us!" Rawlins' reply to Woods was cut short by the paramedics who pushed their way through the group, wheeling the wounded Jan Stuart to the rear of the ambulance. Once they had completed the delicate task of placing the officer into the ambulance, Woods reached for the nearest paramedic. "Is she going to make it," he asked, his voice barely a whisper. The sandy haired paramedic clapped Woods on the shoulder. "It's going to be rough. We took as long as we dared to make sure she was ready to be moved. She's critical but I think that she can pull through if we get her to the ER fast enough." Woods nodded appreciatively. He then joined Nick and Schanke and the other officers on hand as they backed away from the ambulance, allowing it to maneuver. A police escort led the emergency vehicle through the crowded streets to Mercy General. Woods ran one hand through is dark hair. "Her family's already been informed," he muttered to no one in particular. "I can't imagine what it'll be like for them if she dies." Nick heard Schanke take a deep breath. "I don't know how many times that thought's gone through my head, Nick." He paused, watching the ambulance fade from view. "What would Myra and Jenny do if 'yours truly' caught a bullet one night?" Nick was watching the ambulance depart as well. "It's a common fear, Schank," he said in a low voice, remembering another time and place. "What would our loved ones do without us?" ****** Rouen, France, 1943 French Resistance Safe House The French Resistance had specifically forbidden guerrilla operations within the city of Rouen in the hope that the Nazis would become complacent in their occupation. By the winter of 1943, the Nazis had indeed grown somewhat complacent in regard to Rouen, and the Resistance began to use the city in earnest to harbor Jews and other fugitives fleeing imprisonment and death. Their one great hope was that deliverance might come from the Americans and the British before the extent of Resistance activity in Rouen could be exposed. Nicholas and Michel had taken temporary refuge in a cramped, damp room that had been constructed by walling off the last twelve feet of a shoe shop. Resistance members had often used that small chamber in the two short years since it had been built, and although it was completely utilitarian in design, none of those who sheltered there dared complain about their accommodations. Any shelter at all was infinitely preferable to the unspeakable horrors of the Nazi death camps. The shopkeeper made certain that he left a small supply of food and water on hand in the chamber for any guests who might arrive after he had gone home for the day. The journey from Dieppe had allowed the travelers to carry little in the way of supplies across the countryside, and Michel was more than simply a little grateful for the shopkeeper's thoughtfulness. "Nicholas, my friend," Michel said, while chewing on another piece of homemade bread. "I cannot begin to thank you for your help." Nicholas, who had feigned an upset stomach in order to refuse eating the chamber's supply of foodstuffs, sat by the door where he would have a better chance of hearing in case anyone should approach. He folded his arms across his chest and stretched his legs, smiling at his friend. "Think nothing of it, Michel. I would do the same if I were in your position." Michel would not have his gratitude accepted so lightly. "Ah, but you are the only one who would make the journey with me. Most of the others thought me a fool and would have no part in the matter." He waved his left hand back and forth in the air as though brushing away spider webs. "So much for them. We have nearly done it ourselves." Michel duBois was, in the eyes of the Nazi invaders, a renowned terrorist. To the loyal French; however, he was a candidate for sainthood. Michel had been a thorn in the side of the German occupational forces since the fall of France and readily sought participation in most underground operations that took place west of the Rhine. The Nazis were offering a generous bounty for the capture of duBois. Michel scoffed at the price that had been placed on his head and joked that he would make it his personal vendetta to so annoy the Germans that they would have to increase their reward for his capture. The one drawback to Michel's patriotism had been the plight of his family. They too had been driven underground and Michel had sent them away to Vichy France where the invaders were less plentiful. His great fear had been that the Vichy French would discover his family and hand them over to the Nazis. Now, at long last, an opportunity had arisen to transport his family to England and freedom. Michel had found few members of the resistance that were willing to assist him in his endeavor until he had been introduced to Nicholas deBrebant. Nicholas had agreed to help Michel escort his family to the rendezvous that would take them out of occupied territory. Nicholas regarded Michel with admiration. "Your achievements in harassing the Nazi war plans have more than earned you the right to save your family, Michel. France owes you that much in the very least." Michel's otherwise jovial features took on a pained appearance. "I worry for them so, Nicholas. In a world at war, what will my family do with no one to protect them?" He idly traced a crack in the floor with one finger. "I say that I will always evade the Nazis. Proud works, eh, Nicholas?" Nicholas smiled. "Ah yes, " Michel went on after a moment. "Proud words from a proud Frenchman. But I must admit that one Nazi bullet can kill even a proud Frenchman. I must provide what I can for my family while I am still able to do so." The man's words touched Nicholas deeply. His eyes revealed a depth of love that had cried out when he had first told Nicholas of his plans. In all of his travels throughout the world, Nicholas had repeatedly seen the power of a man's love for his family. After their initial meeting, Nicholas had vowed to aid duBois in whatever manner possible. Such love might yet prove strong enough to save even a world gone mad with hate. "We have only an hour or so to wait," Nicholas told Michel. "And then you shall see your family again." The plan was that Nicholas and Michel would rendezvous with members of the French Resistance that had been charged with escorting Michel's family to Rouen. They would then return to the safe house, if possible, and begin the journey to Dieppe after nightfall arrived once again. The traveling times perfectly suited Nicholas, but the time that they would meet Michel's family gave the resistance members only a half an hour to escape the dawn. If anything went wrong... Michel raised a small tin cup that he had filled with a bit of wine from the shopkeeper's flask. There was one luxury to the small chamber after all. "To you, my friend...to family...and to the end of wars." ****** Nick was brought back to the present via a firm punch to the arm. "Well, Knight, while you were admiring the view of Richmond Avenue, I was trying to get something done." Schanke produced a pocket-size spiral notebook and handed it to his partner. "1995 Gray Ford Taurus," Nick read aloud. Schanke nodded. "Ontario plates. Woods said that he thought he got a couple of rounds into as Raimer was pulling away, if so, it shouldn't be hard to find. There's already an APB out on it." Nick returned the book to Schanke. "Knowing Raimer, he's probably ditched the car by now," he said to the frosty night wind. The crowd surrounding the doughnut shop had abated somewhat in the few short moments since Officer Stuart had been removed from the scene. Camera crews had given up attempting to interview Carl Woods and had gone inside of the store in order to get at the customers and store workers that had witnessed the shooting. "Then he can't have gotten far," Schanke declared as he got into the Caddy and closed his door. "And if he's on foot, we might have a better chance to pick him up. Right now, I think I'd go for just about anything to bring this guy in." "Me too, Schank." Nick started the Caddy. They were back in traffic a moment later when Nick moved to adjust the volume of his police radio, turning it up even louder than it already was. He threw Schanke a reproving look. After Nick had gone into the Raven, Schanke had turned down the volume on the police radio in order to listen to some Christmas carols and, as a result, he had heard the bulletin concerning the shooting nearly ten minutes after it had happened. Hence their late arrival on the scene. Schanke smiled sheepishly at his partner. "Sorry, Nick. I came and got you as soon as I heard." "And you accuse me of daydreaming," Nick replied with a grin. "Yeah, yeah, yeah," Schanke said, laughing. He lapsed into silence for a few minutes, listening to the static bursts randomly emanating from the police radio, and considering what he had heard concerning Raimer's attack on the lady officer. The details that Lt. Woods had related just did not seem to match the profile of the man that he and Knight had tracked for so many months. "Does any of this make sense to you, Nick," he asked, nervously fishing the Rubick's Cube from his coat pocket and giving it a few halfhearted turns. "What do you mean, Schank?" Schanke thought for a moment longer, wanting to be certain that he formed his question in precisely the right way before spoke again. After all, there was a very real possibility that Nick did not always take him seriously. "The whole thing just doesn't add up," he said. "I mean, you said it yourself back at the doughnut shop. Everything that Raimer does is 'well planned and precisely timed.' This was a drive-by shooting, Nick! A random act of violence with no apparent purpose other than to kill a cop." Nick glanced at his partner and then back at the road. "You're dealing with a twisted mind, Schank. You can't apply reason to the actions of unreasonable people and expect to make any sense out of it." "I know he's crazy, Nick. He's certifiable, but I also know that everything that he does is always directed toward some ultimate purpose. I just can't see what his purpose could be in this." Nick had to admit that what Schanke was saying made sense in light of the patterns of the Gerald Raimer that they had once pursued. The traffic light ahead of them turned red and Nick eased the Caddy to a halt. "Maybe that's just it, Schank. Maybe there is a purpose and it's just not something obvious. After all, it *would be* just like Raimer to do something for no other reason than to simply make us wonder why he did it *and* to possibly throw us off of the track of what he is really up to." Nick paused. Schanke was nodding thoughtfully. "That's most of the reason why he was so hard to catch the first time," Nick concluded. Schanke smacked himself lightly on the top of his head. "You know, that should've occurred to me already, Nick." He sighed and began turning the sections of the Rubick's Cube with considerably more vehemence. "C'mon, get with it, Donny." The light turned green. Nick shot a look at his partner as they got moving once again. "It's all right, Schank. I think that you've had your mind on other things tonight." Schanke laughed. "Maybe I'm just losing it altogether." "No chance," Nick countered. "You're too good for that." The compliment had come quite unexpectedly. Schanke considered it for a moment and then grinned. "Yeah, you're right." His grin grew larger at the sight of Nick's tolerant smile. They drove on. Although it was now late, traffic showed no immediate signs of lightening. Schanke scrutinized each vehicle that they passed and each person shuffling along on the cold sidewalks in the hope of spotting the elusive Raimer among them. He wondered if Raimer would slip through the police net and make it out of Toronto...if that was his intention at all. Finally, he turned to Nick. "What *do* you think Raimer is up to, Nick? With everyone and their brother out looking for him in this city, you'd think that he'd be on the run. Why start playing games with the cops?" Nick braked to let a few pedestrians cross the road. He turned to respond to his partner's question and was cut off by a sudden, blaring announcement from the police radio. Raimer's vehicle had been spotted heading west out of the city. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 13/?) By: Stephen Lansing Her luscious Christmas ham secured in several layers of plastic wrap on the seat beside her, Natalie inserted her keys into the ignition and cranked her car to life. She cupped her hands to her mouth and exhaled slowly, attempting to hold off the chill while she gave her heater time to wake up and do its job. The temperature had seemed to drop at least another ten degrees with the reappearance of snow flakes, right about the time that Natalie had reached her apartment building. She had raced up the seemingly endless flights of stairs with a grand mission: to save her precious Christmas dinner from the ravages of prolonged exposure to an unforgiving oven. Upon reaching her oven, Natalie discovered that she had set its dial to 300 degrees instead of 400. Thankfully, the ham was safe. It had taken only fifteen minutes to gather up all of the essential tools for putting her holiday feast together and she got it all into her car in two trips. Natalie sincerely hoped that Schanke would stop by for dinner as she did not enjoy the prospect of having to eat all of that food by herself. Nick might nibble on a piece of ham to appease her, but he certainly would not be seriously denting the food supply. Before leaving, Natalie had stopped to feed Sydney. She had nearly tripped over her pet when she entered the apartment, and she soon found herself being subjected to the feline double-whammy of pitiful, big green eyes and low mewing sounds. Her heart quickly melted by this display, Natalie rummaged through her pantry until she located a single green can of tuna. She made a mental note to go shopping for some cat food as soon as possible. However, Sydney usually preferred tuna to regular cat food and he greedily attacked the dish that Natalie set on the floor for him. She had taken a moment out to stroke Sydney while he chewed, and, with a look at her wristwatch, decided that fully making up for nearly starving her poor cat would have to wait until later. The heater was finally starting to warm things up. Natalie put her car into "drive" and pulled out of her parking space. Upon reaching the corner stop sign, she turned on the radio and found that "Big Band Christmas" had been replaced by the strident sound of a male reporter's voice. Natalie was ready to hit her number two preset button when she heard Gerald Raimer's name mentioned in the news report. She instantly began to pay more attention to what was being said. <"...the notorious fugitive, Raimer, escaped earlier this evening during a failed attempt upon his life by the father of one of his many female victims. Nearly forty-five minutes ago, Raimer shot and gravely wounded Officer Jan Stuart of the 42nd precinct in a drive-by shooting on Richmond Avenue. The vehicle used in the attack, a 1995 gray Ford Taurus, was spotted only moments ago on the Queen, heading west out of the city. Metro police are now involved in a high speed chase and believe that Raimer may have a hostage in the vehicle. We will bring you more details as they become available..."> Natalie was startled by a blaring horn. She quickly looked into her rearview mirror only to be nearly blinded by the headlights of a large truck. "Okay, I'm going!" Moving through the intersection, Natalie said a silent prayer of thanks that Gerald Raimer would soon be back in police custody and off of the streets where he could once again kill at will. She smiled. Knowing Nick and Schanke, they were probably leading the pursuing vehicles...right on Raimer's bumper. There would be something to celebrate tonight after all. ************ Oncoming headlights became hardly more than blurs to Nick as he listened intently to the mad highway chase as it was related through the police radio. Schanke too sat transfixed by this sudden turn of events, nervously fingering the Rubick's Cube that he held in his lap. The chase had begun approximately ten minutes earlier and Nick and Schanke were too far away from the events to be of any meaningful assistance. Instead, they had continued to drive through the downtown district, listening as the action took place elsewhere. No one had as of yet positively identified Raimer although verification had come that the Taurus was indeed the vehicle used in the attack on Officer Stuart. The individual in the passenger seat of the Taurus had been observed urging the driver on and Metro police had taken the scene to indicate a possible hostage situation. Raimer had once tried something similar in his initial flight from Knight and Schanke nearly a year previous. "C'mon," Schanke balled his fists at the radio. "Take this guy down!" Nick listened with equal intensity although his hands were engaged in firmly grasping the Caddy's steering wheel. <"Suspect now leaving expressway, headed northwest..."> The radio voice proceeded to name several various roadways that branched from the Queen, urging all units to converge and block the fugitive's escape. Acknowledgments poured in as Metro sought to draw its net even tighter around the fleeing Raimer. "We've got him, Nick," Schanke shouted, clapping his partner on the shoulder so heavily that Nick nearly sideswiped a white Toyota in the next lane. "I hope so, Schank," Nick replied as he jerked the Caddy back into its proper lane. He deeply regretted not being in on the pursuit as he could do so much more than anyone else to ensure that Raimer did not evade capture. With so many law enforcement officers present though, it would have been difficult for Nick to employ his special abilities to apprehend Raimer and not be seen by one or more persons. Nick sighed as he realized that it was probably for the best that he was not on the scene after all. "What do you mean, 'you hope so,'" Schanke challenged, bobbing up and down with anticipation. "They're going to corner him for sure!" Schanke's words seemed almost prophetic. No sooner had he finished his sentence when it was announced that police units had succeeded in blocking the Taurus' path. <"Vehicle has left the roadway...now attempting to skirt around the blockade. Units are under orders to fire at vehicle's tires." Something resembling a war whoop was heard from Nick's passenger seat. Nick turned his head slowly. He would not have been altogether surprised to see his partner breaking out the war paint. "Busted!" Schanke yelled the word and did a little fist-pounding on the Caddy's dashboard, much to Nick's consternation. It was at that moment that the reporting officer's voice abandoned its relative calm for a much more urgent tone. It seemed that, with its tires blown, the Taurus was spinning out of control on the snow-covered ground and was careening toward a hillside. The detectives listened in complete silence as it was then reported that the vehicle had gone over the side of a hill and was headed toward a dense growth of trees and shrubbery. Officers were headed after it. Next followed confusion, several persons all talking at once. Then silence. Nick and Schanke strained to hear. Schanke turned the volume on the police radio to maximum. <"Suspect's vehicle has collided with a tree."> The voice was back after a moment. The next report revealed that, upon impact with a tree, the trunk lid of the Taurus had flown open. Officers arriving at the scene found a man, bound and gagged and more than a little bruised, lying unconscious in the trunk. They were carefully attempting to remove the man as other officers sought to get to the driver and passenger of the vehicle. The latter task proved to be impossible as the entire front end of the Taurus had virtually imploded. Police officers could not get to either driver or passenger, nor could they get a good look at either one. Nick and Schanke shared a look. With the severity of the damage being described, it was doubtful that either driver or passenger was alive. "I'll feel real bad if there's a hostage in there, Nick," Schanke said. "But Raimer gets what he deserves." It was then that someone reported a gasoline leak and tiny flames in the engine. The sound of a terrible commotion followed as the flames began to spread and officers fled the vehicle, abandoning their futile efforts to reach both driver and passenger. A roar was heard in the background. ************ Natalie was five blocks from Nick's loft when the band concert was once again interrupted by a report that the vehicle suspected of carrying Gerald Raimer had crashed while attempting to run a police roadblock. Metro police then reported that at least one person had been rescued from the vehicle while others were still trapped. Then came the report of a fire and explosion. Natalie sat waiting at a traffic light, nervously wrapping several strands of her hair around one active finger. She desperately hoped that Nick and Schanke were not among the officers that had been forced to flee from the burning car. She realized that Nick could take care of himself better than the average man but his greatest danger was in exposure, not necessarily physical harm. As for Schanke, he faced the common place mortal dangers that his partner was free to scoff at. Natalie moved on as soon as the light changed, anxious to reach Nick's loft and try to contact him on his cell phone. She was somewhat calmed a moment later when it was announced that no police officers had been injured in the explosion. Whoever had been in the car; however, was not going to be so fortunate. ************ Gerald Raimer listened to the reports of his supposed death with a stony smile, running one long finger slowly across the ridges atop of the steering wheel of his newest vehicular acquisition; a small, dark green Chrysler Cirrus. The vehicle's true owner lay buried in a dumpster in a back alley on Younge St. His second stolen vehicle of the evening suited his tastes even more than the Taurus had. Raimer put the driver's seat back as far as it would go and rested...waiting. So far, his plan had worked even better than he had thought that it would. Ricky and Jake had been more than happy to agree to running an errand for Raimer: a drug run to London, about two and a half hours away. Raimer had given them a fictitious name and address to deliver to, two hundred dollars cash, the keys to one gray Taurus and the promise of drugs to do with as they pleased. The teens turned out to be an excellent choice. They never even saw the bullet holes in the passenger side of the Taurus, or if they did, they had asked no questions. Raimer lay back in the driver's seat, eyes closed, arms folded across his chest. He could only shake his head at the stupidity of the two boys. Of all people, they had chosen Gerald Raimer to put their faith in. "Big mistake," he muttered. Raimer had predicted that the Taurus would be spotted before the teens ever managed to leave Toronto. It had been the sole purpose behind his shooting of the lady cop on Richmond Avenue: to give the cops something to chase. And it had worked like a charm, again, even better than he could have imagined. Raimer had known that the boys would panic and run when they spotted cops. After all, they were in a car that didn't belong to them, and they were transporting a sack full of high quality cocaine. He had counted on this, although he had guessed that they would eventually be pulled over and jailed, not killed in a collision. From what the news reporters had related so far, it appeared that the cops had never positively identified anyone in the car, with the exception of Bill Wilkes whom they had rescued from the trunk of the Taurus. A savage fire had then consumed the teens in the front seat of the vehicle. Raimer laughed. It was so perfect. Identification of badly burned bodies would take more than enough time for Raimer to leave the city...when he was ready to do that. The cops would most likely call off their manhunt even before positive identification came in, convinced that Raimer had been one of those that had perished in the accident. Wilkes would be useful in convincing them of that even more so when he related his story of being kidnapped by Raimer. What had once been a plan to throw the cops off of his trail for just a few hours had turned into a dream come true. As for the street teens that had trusted him, Raimer felt no sorrow for them. They were only punks and would be missed by no one save the distributors that they occasionally worked for and they could be easily replaced. They had served his purpose well and saved him the trouble of discarding them at the same time. Raimer sat up in the driver's seat, thoughtfully considering the shadowy building before him: 101 Gateway Lane. Jack Colson had given him the address. It seemed that Nick Knight had once let Colson stay there while he and his partner hunted for Raimer. The detective had felt that his apartment was the only place where Colson would be safe in case Raimer discovered his treachery...which he did, only not in time to locate Colson and take care of him. Now, Colson was snitching for the opposite side. It had seemed a fair price to pay in exchange for his life...among the other things, drugs and money, that Raimer had deprived him of before leaving. Raimer ran one hand through his hair. He had allowed Colson to live only because it had occurred to him that the man might be useful in the future. He would certainly not be going to the police with any more information. Raimer had driven that lesson home well. As for the problem presented by Knight's residence... There was a security code on the door. Raimer had tried several things before giving up and turning to inspect the outside of the building. There were no lights on at the site that Colson had described as Knight's place and Raimer had not really expected that the detective would be in. "He's probably out looking for me again," Raimer had laughed to himself as he returned to the Cirrus to give more thought to the matter of breaking into Knight's apartment. It would be difficult, but certainly not impossible. While Raimer had considered leaving the city, which seemed the intelligent thing to do, there was a part of his nature which would never allow him to feel truly free so long as Nick Knight and Donald Schanke were alive. Raimer's jaw tensed at the thought of the two detectives that had brought him in. It had been a disgrace. He, Gerald Raimer, had bested so many and then had then been captured by two mere homicide detectives, and then only because someone had turned him in. There had not been a night that Raimer had passed in prison when he did not think of revenge, of how sweet it would be to choke the life from Knight and Schanke, as well as Jack Colson. Colson had received a reprieve only because he had been useful...but Knight and Schanke would be dead before Raimer ever left Toronto; that was simply how it had to be. Raimer returned to the problem of getting into Knight's apartment. In the background radio sound, he noticed that the report of his fiery death had moved on to other things. Someone was doing a human interest piece on the spirit of the holidays in Toronto. Raimer moved to turn the dial to OFF when a work leaped out at him: family. A Toronto business executive was being interviewed on the importance of Christmas. He was answering the question with a veritable dissertation on the importance of family. Raimer considered that one word for a moment. He remembered the fear in the eyes of Sergeant Perkins and Bill Wilkes when Raimer had mentioned their families. Possible threats to an individual's family had gained Raimer considerable mileage, as well as considerable amusement, in the past. Was there a possibility that it might yet come into play once again tonight? Knight had no family. Colson had said that he lived alone. However, Knight was targeted for only half of the retribution that Gerald Raimer had saved for this night. Donald Schanke was another story. Raimer had heard that Schanke had a wife and a daughter. He struck the armrest of the Cirrus with one hand, a horrible smile on his lips. There might not be anyone at Knight's place but cops didn't usually take their families with them on patrol. Schanke's wife and daughter might very well be home. If so, Raimer would have an iron-clad method of ensuring that he got both Knight and Schanke, possibly even at the same time. The engine of the Cirrus came to life. Raimer jerked the car around in the parking lot, tires squealing, and propelled himself quickly toward the main highway, his newest plan quickly taking shape. Had he departed but a moment later, he would doubtless have collided with Natalie Lambert as she turned in at 101 Gateway Lane. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 14/?) By: Stephen Lansing "Don't do this to me, Knight!" Nick could not remember a time when he had seen Schanke more animated than he had been in this one evening. Reason was getting him nowhere fast. "Schank, they haven't even called off the search yet." Schanke stared back at Nick, clearly not wanting to hear any arguments. "They will! What else can they do?" Schanke had risen out of the passenger's seat as far as was physically possible with the Caddy's top up. Now, he collapsed back into the seat, waving his hands in the air. "It's over with Nick! Raimer is toast! Do you hear me? T-O-A-S-T...a french fry...a charcoal briquette...a..." Nick interrupted his partner, genuinely disappointed in him. "How can you be so cold, Schank? There's a good possibility that Raimer had a hostage, some poor soul whose only crime was probably that they were in the wrong place at the wrong time, and that person didn't deserve to die with him! Show a little compassion." Schanke shrank back at the unexpectedly stern rebuke and studied his partner closely. Knight had become somewhat edgy since they had left the scene of the shooting on Richmond Avenue. That mood had become much worse in the time since it was announced that Raimer's vehicle had been virtually destroyed. Nick was rapidly assuming that all-too-familiar "brooding look" that he sometimes got just before claming up and becoming a certified pain in the neck for two or three days. Natalie seemed to be the only one who could get through to him when he was like that. But Don Schanke was determined that he would someday get through the thick shell that his partner wore. And there was no time to start like the present. Hopefully, Nick wouldn't blow him off. "Are you okay, Nick," he asked quietly. "I don't mean to pry or anything, but you look really bugged right now." Nick looked at his partner out of the corner of one eye for a moment before responding. He had been instantly sorry that he had snapped at Schanke and, as always, he felt very sheepish following such an outburst. Finally, he turned and gave Schanke a weak smile. "Sorry, Schank...I've got a few things on my mind." Schanke nodded understandingly, but Nick felt no less awkward. he thought "I didn't mean to snap at you," he said. Again, Schanke nodded understandingly. "That's okay, Nick," he said with a wave of his hand. "Anytime you want to vent...I just want you to know that I'm here for you." He finished the sentence by clapping Nick, lightly, on the shoulder. Nick smiled, more heartily this time. "I appreciate that, Schank. I really do." Schanke folded his arms. "No problem, partner-of-mine...Now, take me home!" Nick dropped his head and allowed himself a small moan. (Only for a moment as they were in the middle of traffic). "Please, Nick! I'm beggin' ya, man!" Schanke clasped both hands together in a prayerful manner and put on his best penitent face. Nick laughed at his partner's display. "So, I'm the one that's supposed to ride around all night by himself...partner-of-mine?" "That's not fair, Nick," Schanke said, feigning outrage. "Think of everything that I've been through tonight! Think of my family!" "Think of what Cohen will say." The thought gave Schanke pause although he recovered quickly. "But they're going to call off the search, Nick," he stammered. "You know that! Raimer is gone...finished!" Nick wasn't saying anything, just driving and humming. "What? Do you think he's still out there?" Nick considered that statement for a moment. "No. It's just always better to go by the book..." "Then what's to prevent me from going home?" Nick still wasn't looking convinced. Schanke suspected that it was mostly his partner's attempt to have a little fun at 'ole Donut's expense. "Then what about this...You take me home. I'll wait there, you know, do some packing and stuff, until the medical types finish figuring out that it's Raimer in that car and we get the official 'All Clear.' How's that sound?" Nick stared straight ahead, watching intently as snowflakes passed rapidly through the beams of his headlights like miniature glowing specters. His mind was all too consumed by past events and he knew it. He had actually been looking forward to more pursuit simply to divert his attention to other matters. "And if they find out that Raimer wasn't in the car?" "Then you can come and get me!" Schanke was smiling hugely at the brilliance of his proposed compromise. He glanced back at the buildings they were passing. "Besides, Nick...right now, I don't think that you really even know where you're going." Nick thought over Schanke's proposal. It was not overly outrageous. In fact, it even made sense. Also, Schanke had been right in his observation that Nick had absolutely no idea where he was going at the moment. He knew where he wanted to go, though. Not that he particularly enjoyed going there, but it seemed to be the only place where he would find the answers that his mind so desperately sought. An answer to the simple question, "why?" And it was not exactly a place that he wanted to take Schanke. Eyes narrowed, Nick threw his partner an appraising look. "Yeah? C'mon, Nick! What do you say?" Nick secretly had to admit that he enjoyed teasing Schanke. "Well...I'll do it..." "All right! Put her there..." Schanke put out one hand. "...On one condition," Nick added. Schanke withdrew his hand suspiciously. "Have dinner with us tonight." Schanke breathed a sigh of relief and extended his hand once again. "Hey, since when do you have to beg Don Schanke to take advantage of free food?" They shook. Schanke sat back in the passenger seat, hands clasped behind his head. "And I absolutely cannot wait to see what your place looks like." Nick sighed. "Neither can I." ************ It was a half an hour later when they reached Schanke's house. The snowfall had grown heavier during the trip from downtown and the residential area in which Don Schanke and family dwelt lay buried under a soft white blanket. Snow flakes danced like fireflies in the wind around the security light on Schanke's car port as Nick pulled into the driveway, carefully edging his Caddy to within the safest distance of the bumper of Schanke's brown Chevy Celebrity. "I see Myra left the car after all." Schanke nodded approvingly. "I asked her to take a taxi, but she threatened to make me thumb my way to the airport...women!" So saying, he folded his arms tightly around his mid-section. "It'll be nice to get back into a car with a *heater* again! you know...a modern device capable of elevating the internal temperature of an automobile." Nick shifted the Caddy into "park." Throwing one arm lazily around the back of his driver's seat, Nick shook his head. "Your life is so rough, Schank. How would you ever manage without all of those modern devices? People once had to, you know." he thought. "Hey, I work hard," Schanke retorted. "I like being spoiled for it." Nick's cell phone rang. It was Natalie calling. "I guess that I don't need to tell you what I heard about Raimer," she said. Natalie had yet to set up the dinner that she had imported from her apartment and was busily attempting to do so. Nick briefly explained what he and Schanke had heard of the chase via police radio. "Sounds like the news had it pretty much right then," Natalie said when Nick was finished with his explanation. At that moment she was placing her ham into Nick's oven to ensure that it would stay warm until whenever it came time to eat. "So, when can I expect the 'prodigal son' to come sauntering in tonight?" "In about an hour or so," Nick replied. "And we will be having a guest for dinner." Schanke snatched the cell phone from Nick. "What's for dinner, Nats?" "Christmas ham," he was told. "As well as assorted other holiday goodies." Schanke raised an eyebrow. "You make it?" Natalie wasn't sure whether she should answer the question or not. Schanke had *that* tone to his voice. "As a matter of fact, I did. Got a problem with it, mister?" "Ah, no," Schanke said, slipping into his best French accent. " 'Tis a true coronary delight! Chef Natalie's Christmas ham...baked to utmost tenderness and lightly coated with a luscious formaldehyde sauce...mmm...what could be better?" Natalie was on her way to the dinning room table. She stopped in mid-stride, listening to Schanke's teasing laughter at the other end of the connection. She had always enjoyed their good-natured bickering and desperately tried not to laugh herself. "Go ahead, Schank," she threatened. "Laugh it up. But don't blame me if a little strychnine somehow finds its way into your Santa cookies." Schanke tossed the phone to Nick as though it were a red hot iron. "Well, we're getting a little testy now, back to you, Nick." Nick had been listening with his eyes closed, trying not to laugh. "Can't you drop him off on a nice cold curb somewhere, Nick?" Finally, Nick did laugh. "It's tempting, Nat." He went on to explain that he had a stop to make before returning to the loft. Although he couldn't see it at the moment, Natalie was nodding her head knowingly. Nick had not told her where he was going, but she had a good guess. "Give my regards to the Grinch," she told Nick just before they hung up. Nick replaced the cell phone into his inside jacket pocket. He looked up to see Schanke staring out the window at his neighbor's house. "Looks like 'ole Larry picked himself up a new car," Schanke said, eyeing the green Cirrus parked on the curbside in front of the house next door. "They're always getting something new." Nick smiled at the envious tone in his partner's voice. "If it's new, I wonder why he parks it on the curb and not in his car port?" Schanke answered as though the matter was obvious. "To show it off, why else? To let the neighborhood know that *Larry Grimes* has something new." "Well," Nick said after a moment. Schanke was still staring out of the window and had begun to mutter things under his breath that Nick pretended not to hear. "I guess that you'll call before you come over," he asked the jealous Schanke. Schanke snapped out of his reverie. "Yeah, sure thing." He buttoned his coat up in preparation to brave the snowfall. "I want to do some checking on flights out of town, do some packing...you know...the usual pretrip stuff." Nick nodded. He had taken one or two trips himself...sometimes rather hurriedly. Schanke took a deep breath and seized the door latch with one hand. "Well, here goes. Try not to eat everything before I get there, will ya." Nick started the Caddy. "See you later, Schank." With that, the passenger door was thrown open and Don Schanke made a mad dash through the cold to his front door. Nick backed slowly out of the driveway and turned his mind once again to other things...things that had weighed heavily on his subconscious ever since he had stood at the scene of Officer Stuart's shooting and remembered. Nick gritted his teeth. He would not allow the memories of the past to continue to haunt his existence. There were answers to be had and only one place to get them. Nick estimated that late night traffic, albeit holiday traffic, would allow him to reach CERK in about twenty-five minutes or so. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 15/?) By: Stephen Lansing "Boy am I glad to be out of that refrigerator that Nick drives," Schanke muttered through chapped lips as he slammed his front door closed, sealing out old man Winter with his frosty breath. It felt *much* better indoors and Schanke was glad that Myra had left the heat on when she left for the airport. The deadbolt slid into place with a loud *thunk*. Schanke reached for the lightswitch and flipped it on. The sudden illumination revealed all of the hard work that Myra and Jenny had done setting up the last few remaining Christmas decorations. Schanke smiled as he thought of them and how very much he wanted to be with them on this holiday of holidays. He turned to hang his trench coat in the hall closet, the first notes of a Christmas song on his lips, and froze dead in his tracks, his heart seemingly leaping into his suddenly constricted throat. There in front of him, not more than two feet away at the most, stood the tall, lean form of Gerald Raimer, a wickedly dark smile on his unshaven face...a pistol leveled directly at Schanke's heart. Schanke stared, wide-eyed at Raimer, his mouth going dry. A thousand impulses converged on his brain at once, to reach for his gun, to jump Raimer, to shrink back. The conflicting emotions canceled out one another and left him a virtual human statue, stunned into immobility. "Raimer..." Schanke felt his lips form the whispered name, but they were the only parts of his body that dared move. "Nice to know that you remember me, Detective Schanke." Raimer said the words slowly, a sinister gleam in his otherwise dark eyes. "I like to be remembered." Schanke cleared his throat, not without some difficulty. "Who...uh, who could forget you," he stammered. He found himself wishing that he had agreed with Nick and stayed on the street until the official word came to abandon the search. Taking a step forward, Raimer pointed upwards with the barrel of his pistol. "Hands in the air, Detective...slowly." Schanke obligingly raised both hands above his head, careful not to make any sudden movement. Raimer made a show of cocking the hammer of his pistol and lifting it high in the air only to lower it again, allowing Schanke to feel the steel barrel on the bridge of his nose. "I think you know better than to give me any trouble," Raimer said as he reached out and relieved Schanke of his sidearm. He then lowered the pistol in order to bring it up under Schanke's jaw, pressing the barrel into the soft flesh until he elicited a grunt from the detective. "We...we thought you were dead." Raimer laughed at the statement. "That's just what I wanted you to think," he told Schanke in a low voice, nearly a whisper. "But did you really think that I could leave town without stopping by to see a few old friends?" He moved Schanke's head from side to side with the pistol. "No, that would be rude. And we have so much catching up to do...so many old debts to repay." He withdrew the pistol and used it to wave at Schanke's couch. "Over there," he ordered. Schanke, turned, his hands still raised, and began to walk toward the couch as he had been directed. Raimer stepped up quickly behind Schanke and swung his pistol in an arc, bringing it down across the back of Schanke's skull. Schanke's knees buckled. The force of the blow drove him forward and down onto the coffee table with a crash, Myra's colorful center piece and other decorations scattering in all directions. Through the white-hot pain in the back of his head, Schanke heard Raimer walk over to stand beside him. "That's just part of what I owe you, Detective." He nudged the prostrate Schanke with the tip of one shoe. "I promise payback in full later, but first we need to talk." Raimer reached down, grabbed Schanke by one arm and propelled him toward the couch, where the detective fell limply, cradling his head in both hands. Raimer gave Schanke's home a short inspection, circumnavigating the living room and finally coming to a stop at the fire place. There he picked up an 8X10 portrait of Schanke, Myra and Jenny. He smiled as he turned back to Schanke, who, by this point, had managed to sit up on the couch and was glaring steadfastly at Raimer. "Where's the wife and kid, Detective?" Schanke only continued to stare at Raimer. He said nothing. Raimer nodded his head slowly up and down as though in deep thought. Just as suddenly as he had struck Schanke, Raimer leaped forward and kicked the coffee table onto its side, spilling what little had survived Schanke's fall. "I don't have a lot of patience with you, Detective," he growled at Schanke. "Now you'd better decide to talk to me...' cause if you don't..." He tossed the picture onto the couch beside Schanke. "I might just have to take my frustrations out on your family." Schanke came half way off of the couch at that remark, fire in his eyes, but he was forced to back off by a sudden jolt in the pain from his wound. "They're where you can't get at them," he shouted at Raimer. Raimer only smiled in his usual cold manner at the detective's outburst. "Well then, you and I can just sit right here and wait for them to get back." Schanke sighed, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. "I told you that they're not here," he hissed between clenched teeth. "They're gone...on vacation...far from here." Raimer perched on the arm of Schanke's favorite chair. "That's too bad. We could have had some fun together." He laughed menacingly, fully enjoying the expression of pure hatred written on the detective's face. He was enjoying this situation even more than he had delighted in torturing Jack Colson. "Never fear," he told Schanke. "You'll probably live for several hours yet. You see, I thought that it might be nice if we went to see your friend, Detective Knight." Raimer crossed the room to retrieve Schanke's keys from the deadbolt lock. He threw them at Schanke who caught them in his right hand, his left hand still messaging the back of his head. "Let's take your car." Schanke sneered at Raimer. "I'm not taking you anywhere, especially not to Nick's place." He knew that Nick would most likely not be there but that Natalie definitely was there. Raimer walked slowly toward Schanke, his eyes locked with the detective's in a hard, cold stare. He came to stand only inches from Schanke, his pistol nearly pressed into the detective's left eye. Schanke did his best to return the hate in Raimer's gaze, but his stomach sank under the look of pure evil that came from somewhere deep in Raimer's eyes and burned into his own. He could not ever remember seeing such a look in anyone's eyes before...and it made him feel cold inside. Schanke pitied even more those whose last sight in this world had been the deadness and unspeakable power of those two evil eyes. When Raimer spoke, Schanke could physically feel the power of his sheer contained anger, desperately wanting to be released. "They gotta come back sometime, Schanke. And I'll be waiting for them when they do. And you know what that means." Schanke felt his fists clench in rage at the very thought of this maniac anywhere near Myra or Jenny. Raimer continued his threats...slowly and deliberately pronouncing each syllable. "There's no way out for you. You know that. But, if you do as I tell you, there's no reason why they have to get hurt. I just want you and Knight. That's it. I'll be long gone by the time your wife and kid get back." He moved in even closer. "But if you're dead, you can't protect them...and I'll do whatever I please with them. And it will be your fault." Schanke shrank away from Raimer, his mind whirling with abject hatred, pain and the notion of what Raimer was asking him to do; betray Nick and possibly put Natalie in danger as well. If he did as Raimer asked, he and Nick would most certainly die. If he did not, then maybe only he would die and Nick might have enough warning to prepare himself. On the other hand, if Raimer were to kill him right there, he would most likely immediately leave and go to Nick's place. After all, he would not have much time before it was discovered that he did not perish in the automobile accident and the police would again be looking for him. Nick had said that the would not be going home for awhile yet. Raimer would undoubtedly find Natalie alone in the loft. But if he did go along with it...perhaps both he and Nick would have a chance against Raimer. Then came the thoughts of Myra and Jenny and Raimer's threats. The man was certainly sick enough to carry out his threat and try to kill them even if the police were looking for him. Raimer's twisted logic hit home with deadly force. Schanke could not protect them if he were dead, whether Raimer kept his promise or not. While he was alive, he had to do whatever he could to protect his family...and trust Cohen to protect them when he was gone. <"So, what's it gonna be, Donny boy? You gonna die now or later on tonight? Heck of a choice isn't it? Either way...you die.> Schanke mentally cursed Raimer. He could never remember having to make such a gut-wrenching decision. he prayed silently as he picked up the keys that Raimer had thrown him. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 16/?) By: Stephen Lansing <"It is now exactly twelve o'clock a.m. on Saturday morning and a hearty 'Merry Christmas,' Toronto!"> Nick switched the car radio off. He simply was not in the mood for well-wishing at the moment; however, he did leave the police radio on in case there should be some emergency or update. The last bulletin that had come in about the accident with the Taurus was that crews had arrived and were cutting the vehicle apart in order to get at what remained of the driver and passenger. Positive identification of the bodies would likely not come for quite some time. Nick thought. Nick eased the Caddy gently into an empty parking space at CERK. "Well, maybe one reason." Nick let the engine idle while he leaned back in the driver's seat and sat motionless for many moments, lazily watching as snowplows emerged to clear the snow-covered streets. Nick listened to the grinding sound of the plows as they scraped the surface of the roadways. From seemingly farther away, he could hear the muffled sound of the police radio; the reports of Toronto's law enforcement arm, busily at work as always...as though the holidays did not exist. Nick stared into the dull glow of a streetlight. The heavy snowfall had been reduced to mere flurries, each one leaping and swaying in the light breeze that blew through the city on its way to the icy waters of Lake Ontario. So much had been going through Nick's mind since the shooting of Officer Stuart and the tortured words of Lt. Carl Woods: <"Her family's already been notified...I can't imagine what it'll be like for them if she dies."> The words had struck a chord with Nick. He had listened to Schanke's ravings concerning his separation from his family...and later, his echo of Lt. Woods. What would his family do without him? On this holiday of holidays, it was sometimes difficult to remember those who had no family or could not be with them for whatever reason...so much sorrow underlying so much joy. It was an old, old story. Nick sometimes thought of his own mortal family and felt a longing to see them again. To remember them was to recapture some of his lost mortality. The thoughts of family that he had heard this night led him to remember Michel, the Frenchman, his love of his family, and the many unanswered questions concerning that disastrous night... **** Rouen, France, 1943 Near Dawn Michel paced back and forth nervously in front of the market. Nicholas did not pace but was every bit as nervous as Michel, if not more so. What was once only the slightest hint of a dull glow in the eastern sky now grew stronger by the minute. It would not be long before the flaming orange orb of the morning sun would appear above the horizon. To remain in the open for much longer could be deadly. Michel's family and their escorts were nowhere to be seen. "What keeps them, Nicholas?" Michel stopped his pacing long enough to question his friend. "Could they have been intercepted by the Nazis?" Nicholas abandoned his own cares long enough to place a hand on Michel's shoulder. "They should be here soon, Michel. The journey was not an easy one for us. It cannot have been so for them." Michel rubbed his temples. "Ah, you are probably right, my friend." The Frenchman looked haggard. He had barely slept during their travels to reach Rouen as the need for constant vigilance left little time for rest. "I worry too much." Nicholas smiled. "Wars make that easy." He took another furtive glance at the approaching morning. The city buildings would provide some protection once the sun rose, and Nicholas hoped that the way back to the safe house would remain in the shadows until they could return. The meeting was scheduled to take place in front of a fish market that was operated by a member of the Resistance. Nicholas and Michel would not encounter the owners of the market in order to prevent the Nazis from implicating others should the duo be captured. The Germans patrolled well into the night, but the hour or so before dawn saw changes in the patrol shifts and the streets, which had always been devoid of activity at that time, would be free of them. The situation was the happy result of the apparent lack of activity by guerrilla groups within the city, providing a relatively safe window for the meeting. Nicholas and Michel, who had up until this time steadfastly avoided open areas, found it difficult to wait for the rendezvous in front of the market, and each continually turned nervous glances up and down the streets. They had rehearsed an excuse in case they were discovered by the Germans and could only hope that Michel was not recognized; however, Michel's growing reputation made a mere case of mistaken identity seem far from a real possibility. They waited anxiously under the predawn sky. Michel was about to suggest that perhaps the group had been forced to abandon the rendezvous when Nicholas suddenly raised a hand to his lips, signaling Michel to remain silent. The outer limits of Nicholas' enhanced hearing had detected the sound of human heartbeats approaching, although the precise number of mortals could not yet be discerned. Of course, the heartbeats of those who slept in their homes near the market had registered to Nicholas, but there was a discernible difference between those which were active and those which were at rest. He had learned to ignore the latter. "I hear someone coming," Nicholas told Michel. Michel strained to listen and heard nothing, but Nicholas turned and pointed up the street in the direction from which they had recently come. The two men hurried to the small opening of space between the fish market and a bakery, preparing themselves to squeeze into the opening in the event that German soldiers appeared. A tense moment passed before a small group of people appeared, walking hurriedly down the street, with what appeared to be scouts in the lead. Michel instantly recognized the forms of his wife and two children. Overjoyed, he could barely be held back by Nicholas who whispered that caution was still in order despite their relatively safe conditions. When it became apparent that the group was not being followed, Michel broke from his hiding place and ran to greet his family. Nicholas kept watch over the meeting, walking out to meet the men that had escorted duBois' family to the rendezvous. There were four of them, each shook hands with Nicholas and congratulated him for getting Michel to the rendezvous safely. The sky had brightened to the point that Nicholas' eyes began to hurt. The affects of the rising sun had also slowed his senses and had been the primary factor in his failure to detect the approach of Michel's family until they were nearly upon them. Virtually all traces of darkness had been driven from the sky and only the buildings of Rouen now separated Nicholas from the murderous rays of the sun. Those who had escorted the duBois family were also anxious, but not from fear of the dawn. "We must get out of the street before we are seen and reported," a young man who had introduced himself as Jon exclaimed. The others, including Nicholas, agreed. Nicholas approached Michel. "Michel, I'm sorry, but we must get you, your family and the others back to the safe house. We cannot remain unnoticed for long." Michel nodded in agreement, gathering his family around him. "Quite right, Nicholas. Let us go now." The group began to move off in the direction which Nicholas and Michel had determined would be the best means of returning to the safe house, when a shout was heard from behind them. *"Halt!"* The Resistance members turned to see seven Nazi soldiers burst from a shop across the street, their weapons at the ready. Nicholas cursed himself for not sensing the men, but what bothered him the most about the appearance of the soldiers was the timing. They had obviously been lying in wait and that could mean only one thing: "We are betrayed!" Nicholas and his comrades drew their weapons and hurriedly stepped in front of Michel and his family. "Go! Get out," Nicholas shouted at Michel, who wavered uncertainly, his duty to both protect his family and stand with his comrades in conflict. Finally, the two men exchanged the grieved look of friends who part in desperate times, and Michel, with his pistol drawn, hurried his family toward the nearest buildings. *"Drop your weapons!"* The lead German furiously barked the order just as Michel and his family began their desperate bid for escape. Curiously, the Nazi soldiers made no move to stop them. This action was all too quickly explained by the roar of an engine and the appearance of a German truck laden with soldiers. The timing was indeed precise and undoubtedly well planned. The duBois family was soon surrounded. Nicholas and his fellow Resistance members looked quickly from one group of soldiers to the next, uncertain of what action to take if any. The soldiers that had first appeared drew closer, warily eyeing the guerrillas. The same German officer repeated his order, the threat in his harsh voice taking on even more menace. *"Drop* your weapons," he commanded. "Or they will be shot along with you!" The man pointed toward Michel, his wife and children. Nicholas took one last look at both groups before laying his weapon on the ground. "Do as they ask," he advised his comrades. "We have no choice." Nicholas was forced to squint as he watched the other men lay down their weapons. The sky was now full of pain-giving light although the sun had not yet appeared above the roof tops. Time was rapidly growing short. The Germans forced Nicholas and his three companions to lie face-down on the street while the other soldiers secured Michel and his family. The now shackled duBois caught sight of his friends lying prostrate on the street beneath the muzzles of Nazi weapons. They had been willing to give up their lives to guard his retreat and their sacrifice had been in vain. His worst fears realized, Michel, now being roughly led into the waiting truck with his captive loved ones, turned tear-filled eyes toward his friends and shouted the cry that had consumed the last three years of his life: "Viva la France!" Nicholas watched as his friend was led away by those against who he had struggled so long and hard. The Nazi truck was soon on its way, disappearing around a corner. Rage consumed Nicholas. With a burst of inhuman speed, he sprang from the street and brought both of his hands up, seizing the head of the lead German officer and snapping the man's neck in a mere second's time. The Nazi crumpled and Nicholas was instantly on a second soldier, ripping away the man's weapon and preparing to turn it on him when he heard the sounds of machine gun fire and felt bullets tearing through his flesh. Although he had been shot many times before, Nicholas had yet to feel the powerful sting of automatic weapons fire. He fell to the street in spite of his near-crazed desire to destroy the soldiers, the impact of the spray of bullets driving the very breath from him. Nicholas lay dazed as his body struggled to repair itself from the sudden, extensive damage that it had sustained. He attempted to rise as the sound of machine gun fire rang out again, taking the lives of those who had stood with him. Nicholas' actions caught the attention of the soldiers once more and the hail of bullets resumed. This time, he lay unmoving when the rapid-fire weapons ceased their attack. The Germans spat on each of their victims and walked away with the body of their fallen captain, leaving the rebels lying in the street as an example to others. Grief surged through Nicholas. With all of his powers he had been unable to save one man and his family and now there would be another set of lives to add to the growing total of those that he had failed throughout his miserable existence. The heat of the dawn could now be keenly felt like small pinpricks on his exposed skin and a part of Nicholas desperately wanted to be left in the street to wait for the rising sun and certain death. But his own instinct for self-preservation refused such suicidal thoughts and, once more, Nicholas attempted to rise, his body screaming at the effort as it tried to heal. There had been few opportunities for Nicholas to feed during the journey to Rouen and that lack of adequate provision had weakened him considerably. Nicholas had managed to prop himself up on both hands just as a car approached. He raised his head at the sound of approaching footsteps. A familiar figure dressed in black knelt down beside him. "Ah, poor Nicholas," the dry, mocking voice said. "How odd to find that it is the 'good Samaritan' who now lies broken on the highway." LaCroix stared at the bodies of the fallen Resistance members a moment before continuing. "You're looking malnourished as usual," he said sadly. Nicholas' anguish turned to rage once again as he stared into the cold blue eyes of his master. "You! You are responsible for this!" LaCroix smiled. "Bravo, Nicholas. There may yet be hope for your powers of deduction. I had begun to think of you as a lost cause." He leaned closer to Nicholas, seizing him by one limp arm. "You still cannot accept the fact that, no matter where you run, I shall always find you." He let go of the arm. "And I shall always confound you when you try to escape me." Nicholas was able to sit up by now. "Why, LaCroix? Why did you do this to them if you only wanted me!" Nicholas refrained from launching himself at his master on account of the number of windows that were now open along the street in the wake of the shootings. LaCroix ignored the question. Instead, he placed a large bottle full of ruby red liquid on the pavement beside his son. Nicholas shrank from the offering as his wounded body cried out for sustenance. Had that feverish hunger not instantly seized him, Nicholas would have hurled the bottle into LaCroix's face. As it was, he shook with the effort involved in not immediately draining the bottle. LaCroix stood and stepped away from Nicholas, glancing toward the buildings that would no longer hide the morning sun. He looked down at his wayward creation. "Someday, you will thank me, Nicholas. And it is only that knowledge that allows me to tolerate you in the meantime." The ancient vampire turned to go back to his car, a black BMW with dark windows. A chauffeur was waiting. "LaCroix!" Nicholas' master turned and regarded him wearily. "Why?!" "Do not despair for your friend, Nicholas," LaCroix smiled coldly. "They are to be important guests of the Fuehrer and will be well treated, I assure you. I hear that the Hotel Auschwitz has a few fine vacancies." A single bright ray of sunlight broke over the tops of the buildings. Nicholas shrank from it and LaCroix quickly retreated to his waiting automobile. He was gone a moment later and Nicholas found himself alone in the street with the rising sun. He seized his bottle and dashed for the shadows. **** Reliving the tragedy of that fateful night, now some fifty years past, had brought back the sorrow that Nick had experienced in the seemingly meaningless loss of his friend. Nick had searched for Michel but never discovered what had become of the Frenchman or his family. LaCroix's reference to Auschwitz had turned up nothing and was most likely only a means of toying with Nick. Even an extensive search conducted after the war had failed to turn up any reference to Michel duBois' fate. For Nick, the worst part of the entire experience had been LaCroix's simple refusal to explain his actions. LaCroix had pursued Nick across many lands and had inflicted a variety of injustices upon him over the centuries, and Nick understood that those things were his master's twisted means of getting even with him or trying to make him feel foolish. What he could not understand was why LaCroix almost always involved innocent persons and, in the case of Michel duBois, placed those persons into inevitably fatal situations. Of course, Nick also understood that LaCroix had a sadistic streak that he had kept well nourished during his long lifetime. There was virtually no one stronger than he, and LaCroix was accustomed to doing exactly as he pleased...including playing games with mortals. But there had to be another reason and Nick felt that he was long overdue for an explanation. Nick was about to switch off the Caddy's engine when a report on the police radio caught his attention. It seemed that a homeless man had reported witnessing what he believed was a homicide on Younge Street. He had reported seeing a man being attacked and dragged into an alley. The attacker had reappeared a few moments later and left the scene in his victims' automobile...a green Chrysler Cirrus. <"Looks like 'ole Larry picked himself up a new car."> Nick remembered Schanke's words and thought back to the car that they had seen parked in front of Schanke's neighbor's house. That car had been a green Chrysler Cirrus. Nick thought. He was then sure it was a coincidence when he heard the second part of the homeless man's report. He had told the police that he was absolutely certain that it was Gerald Raimer that had carried out the attack and theft. The witness had to be mistaken. The time that he stated seeing Gerald Raimer was at the same time that Metro police had been pursuing Raimer. Raimer was dead now. Everyone knew that. And there had been a rash of Raimer "sightings" all over Toronto that evening...the general type of hysteria that follows the escape of an infamous criminal. Nick and Schanke had listened to the reports over the police radio. The homeless man's story even had the time wrong. It did have one thing right though. A body was found in the alley on Younge Street where the homeless man had indicated that he had seen the crime take place. The stolen car report had yet to be verified. Nick was confident that the homeless man would not have to search to hard for a place to stay the night. He turned off the Caddy's engine, locked the car and proceeded to set off on the mission that had brought him to CERK. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 17/?) By: Stephen Lansing Her preparations for Christmas dinner finally completed, Natalie decided to reward herself by sitting down to watch the old holiday classic, "It's A Wonderful Life." She sat Indian-style on Nick's couch, a glass of egg nog in one hand while the other hand remained free to snatch tissues for her ever-flowing nose. George Bailey had just saved his younger brother from drowning when Natalie heard the familiar whine of Nick's elevator. Natalie thought, looking at her watch. Nick must have wrapped up whatever business he had with LaCroix early. Natalie turned, fully expecting Nick to come through the large sliding door. She was surprised to see Schanke instead. "Schank? I didn't expect to see you so soon." Schanke hovered stiffly in the doorway, his expression a strange mixture of anxiety and fear. "Natalie..." The manner in which he said the name was regretful, not one of recognition. Natalie muted the television, puzzled by the forlorn look on Schanke's face. "Schank...are you all right?" Schanke stepped into the loft...and behind him, a pistol trained on the back of Schanke's head, was Gerald Raimer. Natalie's heart sank at the sight of the man she had believed dead...of the face that she had hoped never to see again. Raimer met her astonished gaze with a shake of his head. He shoved Schanke forward, a triumphant smile building on his lips. "And Jack told me that Knight lived alone..." ************ Nick entered the shadowy domain of the Nightcrawler and paused for a moment outside of the glass-encased broadcast booth, watching as LaCroix proceeded with another of his dark philosophical ramblings. Nick was certain that his presence did not go unnoticed, even though LaCroix never once diverted his attention from the glowing sound board set before him. Dull blue and red lights bathed the booth and its sole occupant in an unearthly shimmer that made LaCroix, with his pale skin and short-cropped white hair, seem more a spectral projection than a true physical form. Nick stopped short of entering the booth. Even in his more congenial moments, LaCroix had always maintained an unsettling aura that instantly caused Nick to feel as though he were being subtly reminded that he was young, weak and foolish. LaCroix was certainly the most powerful creature that Nick had ever encountered, and he knew without a doubt that his master sometimes made use of his link with Nick in order to keep the younger vampire off balance. Nick could not tell precisely how LaCroix did this, but the answer was most likely found in his master's own words: <"Perhaps we skipped those lessons."> Nick firmed his resolve to elicit answers from LaCroix and quickly, silently, as only his kind could, he entered the booth. LaCroix never turned, never showed any sign that he acknowledged Nick's presence...other than a pause in his dialogue...and the slightest of smiles on his ancient lips. "And now students, find your seats again, please." LaCroix leaned forward until his pale lips brushed the microphone. "Your caring professor of life's many lessons, the Nightcrawler, is ready to begin yet another night's session in enlightenment. And I shall do so by asking you to answer a question or two for me. This will be an excellent opportunity for some of you out there to salvage your precariously balanced participation scores. "What manner of man is it that will spend a lifetime, or an eternity perhaps, in constant denial of that which he knows to be the truth about his own nature...and yet seeking ultimate fulfillment? Are there answers to be found in a never-ending series of vain pursuits? Can he find the answers that he so desperately seeks...until he first finds himself? "Those of you who think that you know the correct answers, please stand and be recognized." LaCroix moved one finger slowly along the volume lever until it was set to zero. He tapped the microphone lightly to ensure that it was indeed muted and swiveled his chair around so that he faced Nick. "How very ironic that, on this particular night, who should find his way to my humble door but *Saint* Nicholas himself...no doubt only recently returned from some good deed." Nick stepped forward, hands in his coat pockets. "Very funny, LaCroix." LaCroix touched one finger lightly to the silver sword pin that fastened his dark shirt at the throat. He was looking unusually pleased with himself this evening. "So, what brings poor somber Nicholas to the Nightcrawler? Surely there cannot be any scarcity of elderly ladies in need of assistance while crossing the street, can there?" "I came for answers, LaCroix," Nick said tersely, ignoring the mockery. Janette usually waited until Nick had actually said something before she insulted him, but LaCroix felt no need for such delays. "I have been offering you answers for the past eight hundred years, Nicholas..." LaCroix drummed his fingers along the end of the armrest of his chair as he studied his progeny. "So far, you have seen fit to disregard my advice. What is it that has so suddenly revived your interest in my lowly opinions?" Nick thought as he returned his master's gaze. "I'm not talking about those kind of answers. I have no interest in being 'enlightened' by you, LaCroix." "You never did." LaCroix's ice blue eyes narrowed. Nick had not considered exactly how he would go about asking his questions. Instead, he simply let his thoughts speak for themselves. "You've made it your personal quest to find ways to torment me over the years." Nick took another step forward. "What you and I have against each other is our concern..." "Correct." "Then why must you continually go to the greatest lengths possible to harm those around me? Why can this conflict never remain between us alone if you say that it is truly our affair?" Nick stared hatefully at the ancient one, his emotions laid bare in the wake of memories relived, old wounds opened anew. LaCroix raised one eyebrow. "If looks could kill..." In one fluid motion, LaCroix rose from his chair and stood before Nick at his full, imposing height. He stared down into his creation's demanding eyes for a moment, searching their depths as Janette had done earlier. Nick experienced a moments hesitation, desiring to step out of the shadow of his master that so completely covered him. Try as he might, Nick had never been able to escape that shadow and inwardly feared that he would never be entirely free of it, even if he were to regain his humanity. "I know you, Nicholas." LaCroix's whispery voice had a sharp edge to it. "What incident is it in particular that has you brooding so?" Nick turned away from his master's probing gaze but stood firmly in his place. "France, December of 1943. I was helping a young French resistor, Michel duBois, and his family to escape the Nazis." Nick turned again, this time facing LaCroix. "You saw to it that he was captured and I can no longer accept that you do these things simply to spite me. There must be some other reason This is only one such example." Nick's voice descended to a low growl. "What perverted logic justifies this!" A distant expression came over LaCroix's solemn features as he mentally turned back time to the date and place that centered in Nick's tirade. Understanding soon came as LaCroix recovered his memories of the actions in question. "Nicholas, whoever it was that said 'Elephants never forget,' certainly never met you. Why is it that you must carry these things with you? You have all of limitless eternity stretched out before you and yet, you insist on keeping yourself chained in a purgatory of your own creation." Nick angrily turned his back on his master. "I might have known that you would refuse to answer." LaCroix regarded Nick thoughtfully, his slightly narrowing eyes revealing his displeasure. The young imp had burst into broadcast booth hurling accusations, demanding answers and then finally, when not immediately satiated, he turned his back in the very picture of a spoiled child. LaCroix's jaw stiffened. He eased off to Nick's right and began to circle the younger vampire. "If the truth be known, you would not listen to me if I did tell you anything. You would merely launch into a string of accusations tailor-made to fit your own guilt-ridden fantasies." "Do you deny that you have tortured innocent people in your insane vendetta to make me in your own image!" Nick met his master's gaze again as he issued the challenge. LaCroix ceased his circling, standing only inches away. "If you truly seek answers, Nicholas, then you must realize that I have repeatedly warned you of the consequences of our kind attempting to mix with mortals and behaving as though they are our equals. We are incompatible, Nicholas, and our prolonged presence in their company can only lead to the inevitable destruction of one or the other. What can you possibly hope to gain in this insane interaction?" A struggle played itself out on Nick's taunt features at LaCroix's last question. He well knew the answer. LaCroix rolled his eyes, all the while slowly rocking back and forth on his heels as he confronted Nick. "My question is not born of naivete, Nicholas, for I well know of your futile attempts to become what you are not. I ask you the question only to force you to look upon the matter for yourself in the true light of its futility." Nick answered slowly, staring at LaCroix's black clothing as though it were a backdrop upon which to display all of the unfortunate scenes of a centuries-long quest. "What I seek is right." "What you seek," LaCroix bore in. "is unattainable. What you have found is irreconcilable with who and what you are, and yet you pursue it still. It is foolhardiness. It is that simple." Nick did not answer as LaCroix left him and made his way across the broadcast booth to retrieve a small crystalline glass that was set off to one side of the control panel. Colors danced as light rays scattered from the many designs engraved into the sides of the glass that LaCroix lifted to his lips. Nick was caught up once again in his memories of the past, of all the times that LaCroix had harmed someone that Nick had cared for. He heard LaCroix's next question as though it came from far away. "What you should ask yourself, Nicholas...and this depends entirely upon how ready you are to face the truth....is what are your true motivations for interacting with mortals in the way that you do." LaCroix paused, searching Nick's face for signs, reaching out through their invisible link to ascertain his son's thoughts. Nick felt the "touch" and turned his blue eyes to meet LaCroix's intent gaze. "Unlike you LaCroix, I haven't lost the capacity for compassion; to love the human soul." LaCroix sneered. "Well rehearsed, Nicholas. My compliments." He moved quickly from the control panel to stand before Nick once again. "It's time to face the truth. You claim to care for mortals because you believe that helping them will earn you the absolution that you so desperately seek. It is selfishness." Nick exploded at the scathing remark. "Michel duBois was my friend! His cause was just! I risked my own life to further that just cause simply because it was just!" LaCroix applauded theatrically at the end of Nick's outburst. "Well done, Nicholas! I am certain that, even now, the very angels of Heaven struggle to see who will be the first in line to shake your hand." He laughed as Nick's fury built. "To think that I stand in the presence of Nicholas deBrebant: Ruthless creature of the night and renowned philanthropist." Nick nearly lost the ability to restrain himself, wanting nothing more than to hurl LaCroix through the glass walls of the broadcast booth. LaCroix in turn, ceased his laughter and stood motionless, expressionless and expectant. The tension between the two mounted until it became a near tangible thing, threatening, looming. They would most likely have remained in this position of rigid stalemate, neither one wishing to give any ground to the other and hence, forfeit the contest of wills, had Nick's cell phone not rang. Nick answered the phone gruffly, throwing LaCroix a last menacing look. "Knight." "Do not expect me to make this a habit, Nichola," Janette's silken voice flowed through the cellular connection from where she sat by the fireside of her living space at the Raven. "But I have some information that you may find useful in your search for Mr. Raimer." Nick ran one hand through his thick blonde hair. He watched as LaCroix returned to his control panel and took his place at the microphone once again. "Raimer's dead Janette. He was killed in police chase about an hour and a half ago." Janette was somewhat taken aback at the news. "Indeed? Will, I thought it might interest you to know that he was seen outside of the Raven apparently only moments after you left." "So," Nick said, momentarily forgetting his quarrel with LaCroix and becoming interested in Janette's news. "He did go to the Raven after all." "Yes," Janette answered, reclining on her leather couch. "And, from what I overheard a few of my customers saying, he solicited the assistance of two teenage boys in making, shall we say...a delivery for him." "What kind of delivery?"' "Drugs, so it would seem," came the reply. Nick's thoughts whirled back to the words of Jack Colson: <"Money and drugs."> Only Colson claimed that he had no drugs to give Raimer...then again, what else was he going to tell a couple of cops? And why would Raimer, who had no past connection to drug trafficking, suddenly take up the habit on the very night that he escaped from prison? But nothing that Raimer had done that night had made any sense, except for his battering of Jack Colson. Nick found himself in the same predicament as Schanke had been in; searching for meaning in seemingly meaningless acts. "Did you hear anything else," he asked Janette quickly. LaCroix turned at that point. "Nicholas, if you must carry on a conversation at this time, please step outside to do it. I do have callers to tend to, you know." LaCroix's finger hovered over a single blinking light on the control panel that indicated an incoming call. He was watching Nick impatiently. Nick turned and made his way out of the broadcast booth, closing the door with enough force to cause LaCroix's crystalline glass to tremble slightly. The ancient vampire merely smiled and took his waiting call. As Nick left the room, Janette informed him that the two teenagers that Raimer had solicited for the delivery had left in the car that Raimer had arrived in. Nick was stunned by the revelation. "Was the car a gray Taurus," he asked anxiously. Janette rolled her eyes. "I do not know, Nichola. I did not ask them to fill out a form; I just listened as they talked. But I did overhear one last thing," she added. "Raimer apparently told the boys that he was too busy to make the delivery himself. It was something about the need to repay a few old debts before leaving the city." If what Janette was saying was true, then there was a great possibility that the seemingly inexplicable actions of Gerald Raimer did indeed have a deeper purpose than anyone had first guessed. Raimer had broken with his pattern of operating behind the scenes in order to carry out his attack on Officer Jan Stuart. Such a move indicated that Raimer *wanted* to be seen. He must have known that his actions would give the police something to look for: the automobile used in the attack. He had then used drugs to solicit the aid of two teenage boys in driving his marked vehicle out of the city, knowing that the police would be looking for the Taurus and would undoubtedly assume that Raimer was fleeing Toronto. Thus the search for Raimer would no longer be centered in the Toronto city limits and would allow the fugitive to move about with a great deal more freedom. The death of the boys had undoubtedly been fortuitous for Raimer and the law enforcement community now believed him to be deceased, thus buying him even more time to "repay his old debts," whatever that meant. And who in the city of Toronto would Gerald Raimer "owe" other his turncoat friend, Jack Colson...Detectives Nicholas Knight and Donald Schanke. Nick's mind reeled as he thought of the police report concerning the homeless man's account of seeing "Gerald Raimer" murder a man on Younge Street and steal his car; a green Chrysler Cirrus. <"Looks like 'ole Larry picked himself up a new car."> Schanke's words chilled Nick as the entire puzzle came together in one nice, neat horrible framework. *"Schanke..."* "Nichola?" Nick shook his head violently, trying to clear away the images that he saw of himself delivering his partner into a trap, of an entire series of events that simply had to be impossible. "Janette...there's trouble, I've got to go." Janette winced as Nick suddenly cut the connection at his end to rapidly dial Schanke's home phone number. She placed the portable handset of her telephone into its cradle to charge and stretched out once again on the comforting leather of her couch. "Not even a 'thank you,' " she sighed. ************ "Hello?" "Schanke, it's Nick." A pause. *"Schanke?"* "Gotcha! Yes, that's right, you're talking to a machine, one that cost me a day's pay, by the way, so, *hint*, talk to it! C'mon, you know the drill. Leave your name, number and a box of donuts after the beep and we'll call you back." "Schanke, it's me, Nick! Pick up the phone!" There was no answer. *"Schanke!"* Nick's trembling index finger found the "end" button on the cell phone and pressed it viciously. This was *his* fault. Again, another mortal who had been unfortunate enough to fall into the company of Nicholas deBrebant would pay the ultimate price. Only this time, it was not Lucien LaCroix who would be the instrument of injustice. Nick turned and fled the corridor with blinding speed. In the broadcast booth, the Nightcrawler noted the rapid departure of his young son and felt Nick's anguish vibrating intensely along the invisible tie that forever bound the two immortals. Again, he paused in his dialogue. Nick burst from the penthouse door and out onto the roof of CERK. There was barely a moment's pause before he left the gravel surface and rose into the night sky. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 18/?) By: Stephen Lansing Natalie used a second moist tissue to dab at the red, swollen lump rising prominently around the cut on the back of Schanke's head. Schanke winced at the stinging sensation, but the pain from Raimer's blow paled in significance to the sickening knot in his stomach that had resulted from betraying his friends to Raimer. "Natalie..." Schanke's voice emerged dry and raspy. "I'm so sorry..." He shook his head at the futility that resounded in his own words. "He threatened to hurt Myra and Jenny...I..." Natalie stopped dabbing at the lump and dropped the tissue, along with its predecessor, on the nearest end table by Nick's couch. She placed her hands gently on Schanke's shoulders. "It's okay, Schank." Her voice was nervous and strained. "This is *not* your fault. There was nothing that you could have done." Natalie's eyes darted to where Raimer stood, leaning against Nick's kitchen table with his constant, sickening smile; watching them...watching her. Raimer had forced Schanke into a chair that he had taken from Nick's kitchen table, and then coerced Natalie into handcuffing the detective to that chair. She would only do so after Raimer had threatened to strike Schanke with the pistol again. Since that time, Raimer had said very little. He merely stood guard over his captives and waited for Knight to return, although Natalie had noticed that Raimer's dark eyes continually fell on her. She could feel those eyes even when Raimer was not directly in her line of sight. He stared at her still as she moved from where Schanke sat and went to stand by Nick's fireplace, moonlight streaming through the open windows to land in silvery pools at her feet. She folded her arms tightly, retreating as far as possible into her sweater in order to keep out the chill that filtered in through the glass panes of the loft's large windows. Natalie had always been the cool, cerebral one in her family and, whenever turbulent emotions had threatened to overwhelm her, it had been her practice to withdraw into herself, to find some inner reservoir of strength upon which to draw and meet the crisis. That ability had sustained her through some extremely difficult times and, although she tried more than ever to retain that control, she found that growing older was making her somewhat more vulnerable. Perhaps it was because she no longer wanted to depend solely upon herself. Perhaps she now desired to place some of that long-hoarded trust in another...and wherever he was at the moment, Natalie desperately wanted Nick to come and drive away the cold fingers of fear that gripped her heart in the shadow of a brutal killer. Raimer left his perch at the kitchen table. Natalie caught the movement out of the corner of one eye. she thought, quickly attempting to reign in her fears as Raimer approached. She started to walk away and was blocked by the grinning Raimer. "Shouldn't Knight be home by now...after all, the streets aren't a safe place to be this late at night." Raimer's features changed to allow his smile to grow larger but his cruel eyes never varied. Natalie said nothing, only returned his stare with feined indifference. She attempted to get by him and was blocked once again, seized by one arm and held firmly in place. Raimer drew in closer. "You can let go now," Natalie informed him coldly. Raimer shook his head ever so slightly. "I don't have anything against you...'Natalie,' isn't it? There's no reason why we can't be friends." "Aren't I just a little too old for your taste?" Natalie's harangue was born of Raimer's reputation for focusing his atrocities upon teenage and younger females. The tight grip on her left arm painfully increased as the smile faded from Raimer's face. "You've got a real smart mouth, lady," he hissed. "Leave her alone, Raimer!" Schanke found great difficulty in turning his head far enough to the right to see where Natalie was standing. Should Raimer choose to harm her, there would be nothing that Schanke could do to prevent it from his position, and the thought gnawed viciously on his already guilt ridden-conscience. If he had not given into Raimer, Natalie might not be in this position now. Raimer whirled on Schanke, jerking Natalie around so suddenly that she nearly fell. "Shut up, Schanke! Or else when Knight gets here, I'll have a couple of bodies to show him before I put a hole in him!" Schanke fought down the urge to respond, knowing that it would only enrage Raimer further. As it was, the fugitive had already turned his attention back to Natalie. "That goes for you too, sweetheart." Natalie desperately clung to every last vestige of control as Raimer glared at her, his face a mask of fury. He was gripping her arm savagely and Natalie felt tears building up from the pain. But Raimer had already sensed Natalie's fear when he first approached her and that same fear was now quickly replacing the defiance in her eyes. Raimer raised his pistol, touching it to her chin. "It didn't have to go this way you know." He cocked the weapon. Natalie felt her reflexes go numb at the sound, fully expecting Raimer to shoot her on the spot. Instead, he brutally dragged her around by the arm and flung her into Nick's desk. She did not fall, but doubled over as her stomach absorbed the impact of her collision with the hard wood edge of the desk. Natalie leaned heavily on the desk, trying to catch her breath. Tears stung her eyes. Raimer pocketed his pistol. "Looks like I've got a bullet in this gun for you too now...Natalie." "Natalie!" Schanke struggled in vain against the handcuffs that secured him to the chair. "Natalie, are you all right!" Natalie slowly managed to prop herself up on her hands, still allowing the desk to support most of her weight. She waited before answering the concerned Schanke, restoring the necessary oxygen for speech. "I'm...I'm okay, Schank." Some measure of relief washed over Schanke when he heard her respond. He had heard only the sound of scattering objects after Raimer's outburst and had fully imagined the worst. Sweat trickled down the back of his neck despite the cool air in the loft. Raimer watched Natalie as she slid hesitantly into the wooden chair at Nick's desk, one hand supporting the move while the other clutched at her midsection. He smiled again and turned to make his way back to the kitchen where he would continue to wait for Knight to arrive. His plans had been perfectly executed up until this point and the detective's arrival was all that remained to complete the entire sequence of events. He moved past Schanke, laughing softly at the look of sheer hatred on the detective's face. Natalie made certain that Raimer was moving away before she allowed her head to drop onto the support of one arm. The pain in her stomach had abated somewhat by that point and she began to wonder what would happen when Nick finally arrived and found the unexpected gathering that Raimer had arranged. Only Schanke's presence would likely make Nick think twice before using his vampiric presence and powers to subdue Raimer; but if lives were at stake she doubted that he would hesitate for long. And of course...there was still the possibility that Raimer would harm either herself or Schanke before Nick ever made it back or could intervene. Doing her best to drive that last thought from her mind, Natalie closed her eyes and tried to breathe normally. It was the best thing that she could do to ease the dull ache in her stomach. When Natalie opened her eyes again, she could see that Nick had left his desk drawer halfway open in his haste to leave for work earlier that evening. And, half concealed by a stack of papers, a large black metallic object immediately caught and held Natalie's gaze. She gasped with realization. It was Nick's personal .45. ************* The sky was virtually clear of clouds by the time that Nick descended from it to land softly, quietly in the snow drifts of Schanke's back yard. The lights in most houses had gone out as it was now after one o'clock in the morning and the events of Christmas day usually started early for the majority of families. Taking a thorough look at each neighboring window to make certain that no one had witnessed his return to the ground, Nick moved toward his partner's silent home. On route, Nick had been forced to accept the awful truth that it was improbable that Schanke would survive an hour alone with a vengeance-driven Raimer, and fear crept into his mind once again as he reached out with his keen senses, probing...and finding no signs of life in the darkened house. For a moment, Nick had actually felt a burst of hope as he had arrived and noted Schanke's empty car port. But the Cirrus was there as well and Nick realized that Raimer could very easily have killed Schanke and taken his vehicle. Nick approached Schanke's back door and began to apply the necessary pressure to force it open. Had the emotion of the moment not carried him off completely, Nick might have thought to call Natalie from CERK and ask if Schanke had arrived early. Despite his worry, Nick managed a small smile. Schanke was never early to anything. He might have arrived at the loft by now, but Nick decided to wait until he had searched the house before calling Natalie. She had been so worn down with the flu as of late, and there was no use worrying her over nothing. The locks broke easily under only a slight effort and Nick stepped through the now open door and into Schanke's kitchen. He knew that there was no alarm system; Schanke had been talking of getting one for months now...just about the same amount of time that he had been talking about giving Nick a key to the house. The darkness presented no problems to Nick's extraordinary night vision, and upon entering the living room, it yielded the very results that he had hoped not to find. Schanke's coffee table was overturned and various objects that had once sat atop it were now scattered about on the carpet. A large picture of the Schanke family lay on the oversized couch as though someone had simply allowed it to fall there and, only inches away from the picture, a few drops of blood stained the couch; Schanke's blood. Nick fled from the couch and began to frantically search each individual room and closet for his friend, but the effort proved to be useless. There was no sign of Schanke anywhere. ************ Natalie caught her breath, a part of her wishing that she had never seen the .45, a part of her desperately wanting to turn the weapon on Raimer and once and for all end the nightmare that he had visited upon Toronto. Raimer's back was turned. Natalie's mind raced, adrenaline surging through her veins and causing her hands to quiver. She bit her lip, quickly looking from Raimer to the gun. It would be such a simple matter to pull the weapon and fire...to gun down Raimer before he had a chance to harm anyone else. And Nick always kept the gun fully loaded. The tips of her fingers traced the cool steel of the .45. She turned quickly to see if Raimer was watching her. He was still facing away. Her hand closed around the stock... *Riiiiing.* Natalie felt as though her heart would explode. She sat bolt upright as Raimer turned toward her. He pointed at the telephone on the end table by Nick's couch. "Get it," he ordered. Natalie hesitated nervously, her heart still wildly pounding in her chest. She felt as though Raimer would discern her intentions merely by studying her frightened face. However, Raimer noted only her hesitation as the phone rang for a second time. "Fine," he said quietly, and drew his .38, aiming it at Schanke's head form point-blank range. *"No!"* Natalie was out of her chair and running for the phone. She reached for the phone as it rang for the third time and Nick's answering machine clicked on. Raimer clapped one hand down on top of hers and leaned in close, threatening. "You answer nice and easy," he said, brandishing his pistol. "Don't think that I won't use this." He followed up by pointing the weapon at Schanke. "That goes for you too, Detective." Schanke merely sneered at Raimer. The usual tone sounded at the end of Nick's greeting. "Nat, it's Nick, are you there?" Nick's voice sounded urgent. Raimer smiled at the sound of it and removed his hand from Natalie's. "On speaker," he said, pressing a small orange button at the bottom of the telephone's keypad. *"Natalie, are you there!"* Natalie's voice sounded hoarse as she answered under Raimer's cold stare. "Yeah, Nick...I'm here." Her lips trembled as she spoke. Raimer shot her a warning look. "Nat, I'm at Schanke's house..." Schanke's head snapped up at the mention of his name. "Listen, Raimer is still alive. He's been here and he's got Schank. Have you heard anything from Schanke at all?" Natalie turned to look at Schanke and then at Raimer, uncertain as to what she could say that would get her or Schanke shot on the spot. She wanted so badly to scream the words. "Nat?" Nick's voice came slowly as though he were searching for something. "Natalie...are you okay? Is anything wrong?" The same dark smile emerged as Raimer reached for the receiver. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 19/?) By: Stephen Lansing Nick paced nervously with Schanke's portable phone, counting the rings until his answering machine picked up. Had Natalie fallen asleep? When Natalie finally did answer, it was immediately obvious that something was wrong. She was definitely not acting like herself. Her speech was terse and clumpy...and she never used a speaker phone. She always said that they made her sound like she was talking in a tunnel. Nick's world suddenly came down around him as he thought, Could it be that he was already there? Before he could speak again the question was answered. "Hello, Knight." Nick ceased his pacing and gripped the phone so tightly that he heard the plastic casing creak. The harsh voice on the other side of the connection sounded positively gleeful. "You're missing out, Knight. I arranged a little holiday get-together at your place to talk about old times. I've got your partner and your woman here with me. You're the only one missing." Nick allowed himself some relief at the fact that Schanke was still alive, but with Raimer, that was, at best, a temporary state of affairs. His eyes rapidly changed from blue to gold as he thought of his two best friends helpless at the hands of a killer with a score to settle. "If you hurt them, Raimer..." Raimer laughed, clearly enjoying his superior position. "Who's talking about hurting anyone, Knight? Not just yet, anyway. For now, I just think that it would be a good idea for you to come and join us...unarmed and alone. 'Cause if I see anyone else somebody might just have to get hurt. Nick knew that Raimer's statement was only partly true. Knowing Raimer, he would certainly kill Schanke and take Natalie as a hostage in order to shield his escape. That was simply his way of "doing business." "I'm coming," Nick said through clenched teeth, his fangs dropping. "And if anything happens to them, you'll beg me to let you die." Raimer scorned the threat. "Just get here, Knight. We've got some real catching up to do." And he was gone. In only a matter of seconds Nick had raced through the house and was again in Schanke's back yard. There was no one to see him. Nick joined the night winds once again as they followed their invisible pathways over the city skyline. ************ Schanke had seen that look before...on Nick's face just before he proceeded to do something stupid. Natalie could be mysterious and even evasive at times, especially where Nick was concerned, but she was usually level-headed and rational. Now she had *that look* too. After Raimer had taken the phone from her, Natalie had slowly back away from him and was now making her way back to where she had been sitting before Nick called. Schanke watched her, trying to decipher the cryptic and somewhat alarming expression on her face. She had noticed him looking at her questioningly and had made some rapid hand and eye movements that Schanke took as meaning that he should not draw attention to her by staring. She was lost to his peripheral vision just as Raimer completed what had turned out to be an extremely short conversation with Nick and slammed the phone down. Natalie started at the sound. She had made it to Nick's fireplace but her real goal was still several feet, and a great deal of courage, further. Raimer turned quickly, his dark eyes sharp and intense. He stepped forward, seized Schanke by both shoulders and shook him. "Your partner is on his way, Detective!" Raimer nearly shouted the words; his entire body seemed to quiver with excitement. "How does it feel to know that you only have thirty or so minutes to live?" Schanke thought. Raimer was more than close enough to make that action possible, and only the desire to hold on to a few more precious moments of life restrained him from acting out that impulse. Instead, he merely stared at Raimer, expressionless, determined to deny his tormentor any satisfaction. If anything, Raimer seemed more amused than angered by the defiance of his captive. Raimer backed away from Schanke, studying him intently. Next, he shifted his scrutiny to Natalie, who stared at him harshly from where she stood by the apartment's large fireplace, her fingers idly tracing the wood carvings of the mantle. A small change came over Raimer at that point. He slowly stretched his arms high over his head and yawned, maintaining eye contact with either Natalie or Schanke the entire time. Schanke could not ever remember seeing such a simple action appear so menacing. Raimer's facial expression changed to one of finality, even relief: The look of a man who has struggled with a difficult decision and has at last resolved the matter. While his hostages looked on in bewilderment, Raimer slowly removed five of the six bullets from his pistol and placed them into his coat pocket. With a look at Schanke and Natalie, Raimer then gave the pistol's cylinder a spin and, without looking to see where it stopped, he snapped the cylinder back into the weapon's frame. He pointed the gun at the floor and smiled. A single drop of sweat trickled down Schanke's forehead and stung the detective's left eye. Blinking rapidly to clear the burning sensation, Schanke saw Raimer quickly raise the pistol to an even height with his own head. "You know," Raimer began, his smile vanishing entirely. "This has been a dull night. I mean, here we are at a Christmas party and everyone's so somber-faced!" Natalie swallowed heavily, involuntarily, as she heard the soft but distinct clicking sounds of Raimer cocking the .38. She stood rigidly, as though frozen in place by the realization of Raimer's intentions, her eyes fixed on the pistol. "Then I decided that we needed some party games," Raimer continued. "I picked a little guessing game for starters." He looked at both Natalie and Schanke with a cold, distant expression. "So, who's first?" There was complete silence in the loft as Raimer's smile suddenly returned. "Oh, how could I forget?" His dark gaze locked with Natalie's frightened eyes. "Ladies first..." Natalie found herself completely unable to move or breathe; unable to run or to dodge, unable to do anything more than stare steadfastly into the maw of Raimer's pistol. She never heard Schanke's cry of "Stop!" Raimer pulled the trigger of the .38, the hammer falling with a sharp snap. There was nothing else...no explosion, no flash of light, no hot metal tearing its was through her body. Only Raimer's hideous grin. Darkness loomed. Natalie felt as though her legs were lead weights, dragging her down. She clung to the fireplace mantel with all of her strength, desperately struggling to breathe normally and free herself of the nausea that had resulted from her near faint. She could do nothing to subdue her pounding heart and the electric tingle of adrenaline that rushed through her body. Schanke shrank back as much as his confinement would allow when Raimer dropped the pistol from its former target to point it directly at his face, at point-blank range. He winced as Raimer pulled the trigger and then heaved a huge sigh of nervous relief as the same sharp snapping sound indicated that he too had survived Raimer's twisted game. Sweat flowed down his back in veritable streams. He strained against the handcuffs that held him. Raimer laughed at the woman and the detective. Killing was a simplistic matter for him, although rarely so incredibly satisfying. The only times that it could be a truly complete experience were when he was allowed time to fully terrify his victims, to give them a taste of the sheer intoxicating power that ruled life and death. A power which Gerald Raimer wielded magnificently. Only it was time to cease the games. Knight would undoubtedly arrive soon and Raimer intended to make a present of Natalie and Schanke to the detective. Raimer had changed that part of his plan only moments earlier. He would not kill Nick Knight immediately. Instead, he believed that he would find it ultimately more satisfying to let Knight find the bodies of his two friends and live on with the pain of their deaths for quite some time. He would die eventually...Raimer would not withhold what the detective rightfully had coming to him. If Knight had stupidly followed Raimer's direction to come alone, there might even be sufficient time to leave the city unmolested. He could then return to deal with Knight at his convenience. Raimer retrieved the five bullets from his coat pocket and inserted them back into the weapon. "I know that was cruel," he said as he reloaded. "I apologize for that." Raimer finished reloading the pistol and hefted it. "Detective Schanke, I thank you. You see, I really couldn't have done it without you." Schanke hung his head, guilt and rage threatening to boil over in him. The worst part of all was that Raimer was right. He had betrayed his friends and now they would die because of him. Schanke cursed himself under his breath. Raimer brought his weapon up with both hands, once again training it on Natalie, who continued to lean against Nick's fireplace. She never turned. "For all of your help...you get to go last and live a second or two longer," he told Schanke. Schanke heard the hammer of Raimer's pistol click back into place. His head snapped up, blind fury taking the place of all rational thought. Schanke jerked his chair forward and launched himself at Raimer with all of the strength that he could muster in his tired legs. The effort was meaningless, in that he would certainly die, but at least it might leave enough time for Natalie to escape. Raimer, unprepared for the attack, was not able to react quickly enough and was completely knocked off balance as Schanke slammed head-first into his mid-section. Both men crashed to the floor together, Raimer's shot going wild and missing Natalie by more than a dozen feet. Schanke succeeded in turning sideways as he fell on top of Raimer, causing the hard wood chair back to impact heavily with Raimer's chest. The fugitive cried out angrily as the chair back struck home to the right side of his chest, all of Don Schanke's weight behind it. Raimer had managed to hold onto the .38 as he fell, but the impact of the chair dislodged it from his grasp. Schanke saw the weapon and twisted to kick at it with his legs. The effort paid off and Raimer's weapon was kicked well out of reach. "Natalie!" Schanke was unable to see her from his position but he knew that she was not far away. "Natalie! Go! Get out of here!" Schanke had no sooner uttered the admonition than Raimer, sufficiently recovered from the blows he had taken, began to struggle violently to throw Schanke off and get to his pistol. Schanke twisted his head wildly from side to side to avoid Raimer's fists. Natalie had all but completely given up their situation as lost when Schanke had attacked Raimer and knocked the gun from his hands. Schanke was now lying atop Raimer, unable to use his hands, and attempting to keep the man pinned to the floor by mere leverage alone. It was obvious that Schanke was losing that battle and he had begun yelling for Natalie to get out while she could. Pushing away from the fireplace, Natalie moved faster than she had ever thought possible. Schanke was attempting to buy her time although he knew that his own life would be forfeit even if she did escape from Raimer. Natalie set her jaw. She would not abandon him while there was still a fighting chance for both of them to make it. Natalie snatched the waiting .45 from its place in Nick's desk drawer and hurried to intervene in the battle between Schanke and Raimer. Schanke's shift of position had allowed Raimer to slide out from underneath the chair after a brief but intense struggle. Raimer caught one leg of the detective's chair and, in a powerful move, succeeded in flipping Schanke off to one side. Schanke landed heavily, striking the left side of his already injured head against the nearest corner of Nick's endtable. Unconsciousness came almost immediately to Schanke as he lay on the cold floor, the loft spinning and twisting before his eyes...and then darkness. Raimer smiled at Schanke's limp form. Now there would only be the woman to deal with. He rose to a half-squatting position, turned to reach for his pistol...and stiffened. The woman, as it turned out, was standing no more than five feet away and Raimer found himself once again staring into the wide barrel of a .45. Natalie's hands shook as she attempted to keep the gun sights lined up squarely on Raimer's chest. She had fired a gun only twice before, as a teenager during a summer trip to her uncle's ranch, and she had certainly never pointed such a weapon at another human being. The very reason that Natalie had entered the medical field had been to save lives, and she had later accepted a position as a coroner in order to help apprehend those who killed. Now, Natalie found herself staring down just such a killer...with the power to avenge some of those innocent lives in her very hands. Raimer was staring straight at her, unmoving. For the first time, Natalie saw a hint of fear behind the insane cruelty of those cold eyes. Natalie thought. But how long would that be? Could she actually pull the trigger if Raimer tried something? What would it be like to take another human life...even one as perverted as Raimer? How would she live with herself afterwards? A thousand questions fueled the fires of doubt within her as she stood trembling with adrenaline and fear. The .38 was only a few feet away. Raimer eyed it cautiously, trying to decide on the best method of reaching the weapon without getting shot. He hurried the decision, knowing that Knight would arrive at any moment and then there would be no way out. Raimer continued to stare steadfastly at Natalie, breathing heavily from the blow that Schanke had inflicted on his chest. It was now or never... Raimer sprang. Startled, Natalie pulled the trigger and the .45 roared, the kick far worse than she had anticipated, nearly jerking the weapon from her hands. Raimer heard the bullet whiz just by his head before it struck the floor of the loft and ricocheted into a wall. He rolled, seized the .38, and took a flying leap behind the black leather couch. Somewhat thrown off by the power of the gun, Natalie hesitated before firing a second shot, giving Raimer time to get to cover. Natalie backed away quickly, holding the .45 out in front of her like a shield. In the sheer terror of the moment, she forgot entirely about the place where Schanke had fallen. Oblivious to all but the need to keep her eyes on the couch, Natalie tripped over Schanke's right leg and, arms flailing, fell to the floor next to the unconscious homicide detective. The fall had not injured her and Natalie rose quickly, turning, preparing to raise the.45 again. But Gerald Raimer had taken full advantage of the situation and Natalie turned around to find him rapidly closing the distance between them, his .38 aimed at her for the third time that evening. Natalie kept her arms at her sides, knowing that she could not possibly regain her advantage. The .45 that she held clattered to the floor. Raimer's angry expression gave way to one of triumph. He smiled at her again, as he cocked the pistol. "That was a good try, lady...but you lose." ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 20/?) By: Stephen Lansing The loft had just come into view when Nick heard the shots...two of them ringing out through the night. Schanke and Natalie might very well have been dead by now, and if so, it would be his fault for failing to reach them in time. Fear and anger fused into one solid red fury as Nick forced every last reserve of strength and will to propel himself even faster toward whatever horror awaited his arrival. *********** The knowledge that death would come at last, that there was no escape, came remarkably easily. Natalie closed her eyes tightly as Raimer prepared to fire...her thoughts whirling around every last care, concern and hope that she had ever known. Natalie felt nothing when the shot finally came; no pain. A second shot rang out...and then a third...still nothing. Natalie opened her eyes to see that Raimer's weapon was no longer even aimed at her. Instead, it was aimed off to one side and Raimer, his face a twisted mask of terror and disbelief, was backing away hurriedly. Natalie turned toward the source of Raimer's panic. Her mouth dropped open. She had seen Nick's other face on many occasions, and, although it had frightened her, Nick at his worst could not come close to equaling the sheer menace that was displayed by the tall, white-haired vampire that had so suddenly arrived and become Raimer's target. Three holes in the chest of the vampire's dark shirt were the only indication that he had been shot at all. Raimer fired again, three times in succession, as he backed still further away, his weapon now out of the useless ammunition. The vampire growled angrily, his pale lips parting to reveal twin dagger-like fangs, his furious golden eyes locked on the terrified Raimer. Natalie could think of only one creature that Nick had ever spoken of that could possibly match the description of the dark vision that stood before her, although she had not actually seen him before. "LaCroix..." she whispered. Raimer bolted toward the elevator door. He had no chance. In an instant, LaCroix was on Raimer, seizing him by the throat. Choking, Raimer attempted to swing his pistol at the attacking vampire's head, only to have his wrist captured by LaCroix's free hand. Natalie winced as she heard the distinctive sound of cracking bones. A small cry escaped Raimer's constricted throat as he dropped his pistol harmlessly to the floor. LaCroix easily lifted his struggling victim into the air with one hand, holding him aloft and slowly increasing his grip, squeezing the life from Raimer. As Natalie watched the unfolding scene, there was a sudden explosive shattering sound above her head. She quickly dodged the shards of glass that fell like rain around her, as Nick descended, his golden eyes and swirling long black coat giving him the appearance of an avenging angel. He quickly assessed the situation, immeasurably thankful that Natalie appeared unharmed, but he stopped short, stunned, at the sight of LaCroix with Raimer. Raimer's hands clawed at LaCroix's cold fingers, desperately, vainly attempting to relieve the ever-tightening vice-like grip that starved him of life-giving oxygen. LaCroix permitted the struggle to continue for a moment longer before lowering Raimer's feet to the floor. In one rapid movement, he released Raimer's throat to instead seize the fugitive by the back of the head, his free hand reaching around for Raimer's right shoulder and drawing him in closer. LaCroix jerked Raimer's head back, with a snarl, he viciously twisted the powerless mortal's head and shoulders in opposite directions and allowed the lifeless body to collapse into a heap at his feet. ************ Natalie quickly found her way into Nick's waiting arms, leaning heavily against his chest and basking in the strength of his embrace. The nightmare had finally ended; the time to be strong had passed and a few tears could be allowed to escape now. Nick held her for a moment, listening to the sounds of her rhythmic heartbeat and breathing, sounds that he had come to take for granted and had nearly lost forever this night. Nick gently kissed the top of Natalie's head and reached out to lift her chin. "Nat, I'm sorry. I came as fast as I could." Natalie managed a small smile as she looked up into Nick's concerned face. "Hey...what's a little hostage situation? I've been there before, remember?" The two friends found their tension best dissolved in the sharing of a short, nervous laugh and another embrace. There was much mutually relayed and understood in that simple act; actual words, so often inadequate, proved unnecessary. A low groan was heard. Nick and Natalie turned their attention simultaneously to the semi-conscious Donald Schanke, to whom the cares of the world were momentarily lost to a nauseating blend of colors and a powerful headache. "Schanke!" Under a pang of guilt for momentarily forgetting about his partner, Nick snapped the steel chain that held Schanke's handcuffs together and removed the chair that Raimer had forced him into. Schanke groaned again as Nick rolled him onto his back "Schanke, can you hear me?" "Ow..like an air-raid siren...back off will ya?" Schanke placed both hands to the sides of his head and begun to rub gently. "Geez...twice in one night." Schanke's eyes had been closed as he had spoken. Suddenly, they flew open. "Raimer!" "It's okay, Schank," Nick answered, gently easing the injured Schanke back into a resting position on the floor. "Raimer's dead." "Wha...how? Where's Natalie?" Schanke had closed his eyes again, fighting back an attack of vertigo that had resulted form his attempt to sit up too quickly. "Natalie's fine, Schank. Just rest. I'll explain everything later." Nick smiled at that thought. "Yeah...later...sounds great." Schanke's hands now covered his entire face. Nick looked up form where his friend lay, expecting to see LaCroix standing in the same position as before. LaCroix was not there. Only Raimer's body. Nick frowned as he could "feel" his master's presence in the loft but could not see him. He whirled around to find LaCroix standing with Natalie. He watched in horror as Natalie slumped in the vampire's arms. Murder in his eye, Nick lunged at LaCroix, tearing Natalie from his arms and flinging the elder vampire back. "What did you do to her, LaCroix!" Nick frantically turned Natalie's head from side to side, searching for the tell-tale fang marks. There were none; and she seemed to be breathing normally. "She is merely asleep, Nicholas." LaCroix watched as Nick carried Natalie to the couch and placed her there carefully, searching for any signs of harm. "I did her no harm. In fact, the truth, if you are interested this time, is that I actually saved the good doctor's life." She certainly appeared to be uninjured. Nick brushed the hair from Natalie's face and turned to his master angrily. "Then what did you do to her?" LaCroix's expression was unreadable. "You may associate with mortals in whatever haphazard manner pleases you." He glanced down at Natalie before continuing. "I, on the other hand, have not lived for nearly two thousand years by playing the fool. Dr. Lambert will not recall my presence here tonight." Nick was indignant at the absurdity of LaCroix's excuse. "She is no threat to you, LaCroix!" A scowl appeared on LaCroix's face. "Mortal knowledge of our existence has always been a threat." He pointed one pale finger at his son. "You know as well as I that there are those who guard our secret jealously, Nicholas. I think that you also know what would happen if they were to discover what Dr. Lambert knows and who allowed her to come to that knowledge." "You wouldn't dare!" Nick's eyes glowed at the perceived threat. LaCroix raised a stoical eyebrow. "If they come, it will not be my doing." The master vampire added a carvate to his statement. "Nor will I be there to rescue you or share in your blame." "I'm not asking for your help." Nick's words were meant to be defiant; however, they sounded strangely hollow. As LaCroix had stated, Nick well knew the dangers to himself and Natalie, as well as any other mortal who discovered his secret, should the Enforcers learn of the matter. In such a situation, Nick realized that LaCroix's assistance might possibly be the only thing to save him...if even that. The golden glow faded from his eyes. "Nick...who are you talking to?" Schanke was trying to sit up again; fortunately he was not having much success. LaCroix moved to stand under the shattered skylight. Nick followed closely, maneuvering out of range of the curious Schanke. "LaCroix..." Nick's master turned. Despite their differences, Nick realized that if it had not been for LaCroix's intervention, Natalie and Schanke could well be dead. Even so, with their heated exchange of earlier still well in mind, the next words did not come easily. "Thank you," Nick almost mumbled the words. "Thank you for saving their lives." LaCroix's face was devoid of emotion as he spoke. "Yes, I did...didn't I? Although it was surely not my first intention." Nick returned his maker's words with a puzzled expression. "Why did you come?" It was one of those times when LaCroix's pale features seemed to darken as though he were standing in the shadow of some huge unseen thing. "After our disagreement tonight, I decided to give you the explanation that you seek..." Nick started to speak, clearly taken aback by what his master had said. LaCroix interrupted, his words were terse. "After further consideration upon my arrival..." He cast a glance at where Natalie lay sleeping. "I decided that your thoughts must be occupied with certain...other...matters." LaCroix's icy blue eyes shifted to Nick once again. He had seen the way that Nick had treated Dr. Lambert, the way that they had looked at each other. This matter had gone further than even he had ever known...and that knowledge fanned the cold flames of an ancient anger. "Suffice it to say that I...no longer wish to discuss it." LaCroix silenced Nick's answer with a look, one which contained an unspoken threat of things to come in the not-too-distant future. "I assure you, Nicholas, we will once again discuss matters of ....mutual interest when the time is right. For now..." He reached out with one arm to point to the body of Gerald Raimer. "...I believe that you have been looking for 'that.'" Nick glanced at Raimer's body. When he turned back, LaCroix was gone. ***Disclaimers can be found in part one*** And To All A Good Knight (Part 21/21) By: Stephen Lansing Four and a half hours later... "After that..." Nick paused in his narration in order to take a sip from his glass. "I called in the report on Raimer and got medics for Schanke." Natalie was sitting cross-legged on the couch next to Nick, holding a cup of coffee. She rubbed one tired eye and nodded slowly as Nick finished his story. Natalie's memory had been wiped clean from the final time that Raimer had pulled the gun on her until she had awakened to find herself lying on Nick's bed; completely bewildered. She shook her head in an effort to clear the fog that had developed there. "Whatever LaCroix did to me, he did a good job." Nick smiled sympathetically. "I can relate." Natalie laughed as she took a drink of the steaming hot coffee. "I'll bet you can." Her eyebrows lifted with mild surprise as she tasted the dark liquid. Nick watched her reaction closely. "Did I do all right?" A few months back, Natalie had bought Nick a coffee maker in order to give him something to offer to his mortal guests, including a certain caffeine-addicted pathologist...as well as to keep Schanke from rummaging through the refrigerator. But he had never before made any coffee himself. Giving him a 'thumbs-up' sign, Natalie took another drink, savoring the taste. "Mmmmm...magnificent!" She set the coffee cup on the end table beside her and looked quizzically at Nick. "Are you sure you've never made coffee before?" "Pretty sure," Nick answered. "I don't have much use for the stuff." "No, I guess not." Natalie picked a tissue from the box that she held on her lap. "So, how did you explain things to the Department?" Nick propped his legs up on the coffee table and leaned back against the couch, folding his arms. He proceeded to explain what would soon become the official police report on the demise of Gerald Raimer; the practical, decidedly unsupernatural version. According to that particular version of the story, Nick had silently come up the stairs to the loft and entered through the door next to his kitchen area. Raimer had been so fully occupied with Natalie that he did not hear Nick, who was able to slip up behind the fugitive and knock the gun from his hand. "You did not see that happen," Nick explained to Natalie's surprise, "because...you fainted when Raimer pulled the gun on you." "Do tell..." "That way, you don't have to lie," Nick explained hastily. "While you were asleep, I told them that you would make a statement later." Natalie considered that for a moment. Finally, she nodded and took another swipe at her nose with the tissues. "Makes sense. Okay, go ahead." "At that point..." Nick remembered his thoughts concerning what he would liked to have said at Raimer's original capture. "I surprised him, we struggled, he fell and broke his neck...end of story." Natalie smiled knowingly. "You do of course realize that this means that I'm going to have to go back into work to, shall we say, concur with your findings?" Nick found himself looking at the floor, the familiar specter of guilt gnawing at his conscience. "Sorry, Nat. I didn't think about that part of it." "It's okay, Nick...I guess I've gotten used to 'that part of it.' " She sipped at her coffee thoughtfully. "From what you described, LaCroix broke Raimer's neck, he didn't crush it." Natalie suddenly looked up at Nick over the brim of her cup. "You guys do leave fingerprints, don't you?" Nick looked down at his hands. "Well..." Natalie lowered her cup and lightly tapped herself on the forehead, clearly annoyed with herself. "Get with it, Lambert! Of course they leave fingerprints. They have fingers!" Ashamed of herself, Natalie shook her head. "Sorry, Nick. I should be used to it by now, but sometimes the fairy tales take over when I think about your condition." "I understand." Nick smiled as he reached out and took hold of one of Natalie's hands, giving it a gentle squeeze. "How do you think I feel sometimes?" Natalie laughed as she returned Nick's squeeze. "So, how *does* it feel to be a fairy tale?" "Okay! Break it up!" Don Schanke appeared at the top of Nick's staircase. "The chaperone leaves the room for five minutes and you guys start getting physical!" "More like twenty-five," Nick shot back after a look at his watch. "Details!" Schanke began to ease his way down the steps, bearing in mind the doctor's instructions to be ready for some possible dizzy spells accompanying the concussions that he had received. "Did you get a flight, Schank," Natalie asked. "Yeah...Monday morning at about 9:30," Schanke replied, halfway down the steps. Nick retrieved his glass and finished draining it before Schanke could get around to discussing red wine and drinking problems again. "I'm beginning to think that you couldn't book a paper airplane out of this town during the holidays." Reaching the bottom of the stairs, Schanke made his way to the couch where Nick slid over toward Natalie to make room for his partner. "That was the earliest flight they had to Orlando that wasn't filled or delayed for some stupid reason." He collapsed onto the couch. "Oh well," he said with a smile that could only be described as devious. "It was worth it." Nick was somewhat surprised at that statement. "How so?" Schanke grinned. "I made them call and get Cohen out of bed to approve it!" "How's the head, Schank," Natalie asked once Schanke had finished laughing maniacally. "It's there," Schanke said, gently poking his injury with one finger. "It doesn't hurt as much as before." Schanke elbowed his partner in the ribs. "Thank you for asking...Natalie." "Oh," Nick acted as though he had just been awakened. "How's the head, Schank?" "Too late, buster." There was a lull in the conversation at that point, as Schanke rubbed his head, Natalie drank her coffee and Nick stared up at the skylight. The Department had been good enough to send a few men over with some plywood to patch the hole until permanent repairs could be made. He had yet to come up with a plausible explanation for how the skylight was broken in the first place. After a moment's thought, Schanke reached into his right coat pocket and removed the Rubick's Cube; even after the skylight had been patched, he had insisted that he was cold and needed to wear the coat. He handed the cube to Nick, who turned it over several times noting that each side was now perfectly color-coordinated. "Good job, Schank." Schanke shrugged. "Nothing to it. I did it while I was on hold with the airlines. I just needed a little luck and a whole lot of Schanke know-how." Natalie rolled her eyes. "Oh, good grief. Admit it. You peeled off the stickers." Schanke leaned forward, mock indignation on his features. "I am absolutely shocked, Miss. Lambert. Are you implying that I would cheat?" "Implying?" Natalie pointed at the cube. "Look, the stickers are all crooked." Schanke's shoulders drooped. "I simply can't believe that I'm being accused of such things." He shook his head mournfully. "Just admit it, Schank." Natalie sipped at her coffee before adding, "After all...I did the same thing." "You did," Schanke asked Natalie, leaning forward a bit too fast and feeling somewhat dizzy. She nodded. "Yes!" Schanke fell back against the couch. "I'm not alone after all." Nick looked somewhat sheepishly from one friend to the other. They were both staring at him. He turned the cube over a few times and sighed. "Okay...I did it too." "I thought so," Natalie and Schanke said in unison. Another pause. Schanke looked at his Timex, silently cursing Raimer for the crack in the quartz that had resulted from their fight. "I've gotta be getting home," he said with a yawn. The Caddy was still at CERK. Nick groaned inwardly at the thought of trying to explain that series of events. Hopefully, Schanke would be too groggy to care. Natalie put her coffee down hurriedly. "You are coming back for Christmas dinner, uh...lunch tomorrow, right?" The thought of all of her preparations going to waste was not setting well with her. "And pass up free food..." Nick looked shocked that she would even ask such a question. "I think he'll be here." Schanke nodded vehemently, stifling another yawn. "You better believe it. Right now, I just want to get home and sleep some of this night off." Natalie got up quickly, moving toward the kitchen. "Well, before you go, we can at least have a Christmas toast just to say that we did." "After what happened tonight?" Schanke stretched his legs out as Nick had done. "You get held hostage, beat up and threatened with death, and you still feel like toasting the good 'ole holidays?" Removing three frosty glasses from the refrigerator, Natalie turned to answer. "I'm not about to let what Raimer did ruin everything that's important about this time of the year. Christmas is bigger than Gerald Raimer." Nick had followed Natalie into the kitchen. "You can't let what others do to you keep you down, Schank. You've got to move on with living...otherwise, no matter what happens, they win in the end." His thoughts drifted back to Michel duBois and all of the others over the centuries that he had known that had come to less than desirable endings. The shadow of their troubles, long since past, had stayed with Nick centuries after they themselves were gone. The pain, the guilt...LaCroix had been right about one thing, although Nick would never have admitted it to him...it was foolish to carry all of that guilt for so long. What had happened could not now be changed. Nick thought. "Somehow...you have to deal with it, learn form it, and then go on living." The words were more or less directed toward himself. He looked up to find Natalie looking intently at him. "So," she asked, "does this mean that you're going to stop blaming yourself for all of the world's troubles?" Nick smiled meekly. "Probably not just tonight...Give me a little time on that one. Old habits die hard." "I'll take that as a 'yes.' " Natalie turned her attention back to the three glasses that she had set out on the kitchen table. Nick eyed the white liquid uncertainly. "Egg nog, Uh, Nat..." "Don't worry," she interrupted teasingly. "I spiked yours...against my better judgment at that." "You did?" Nick suspiciously sniffed the glass that he was offered. "Can I ask 'what with?' " Natalie shot him a mischievous look with a slight nod at an empty green bottle that was sitting on the kitchen counter. "Moo." "Oh." They were both thinking it. "Hope you like egg nog, Schank," Natalie said as she and Nick exited the kitchen area. They both stopped and shared an amused look. Don Schanke was lying with his head leaning to one side, eyes closed, mouth open, very much asleep. "Well, I guess that settles that." Nick walked back into the kitchen and placed Schanke's intended glass into the refrigerator. He joined Natalie a moment later. She was standing by the same window where Raimer had caught up with her before; only now there was time to admire the view of Toronto's skyline. "Well..." Natalie pointed at Nick's glass. Nick looked at the glass for a moment, dreading yet another in a seemingly endless series of taste tests. Finally, he up-ended the glass and took a large swallow. Nick licked his lips, feeling the cold liquid slowly going down and landing in his stomach like a brick. "I guess that's not the worst look I've seen you give." Natalie drank some of her own glass of decidedly pure egg nog. Nick considered his words carefully before answering. He set the glass down on his fireplace mantel. "I guess that's not the worst thing I've ever drank," he said with a slight grimace. Natalie smiled as she took a look around the loft. "You never told me what you thought of my decorations, Nick." It was Nick's turn to take a look around. He had to admit that Natalie had done quite the stand-up job with the various decorations and told her so. "I'm only sorry that I didn't think to tell you before," he added. "I guess it slipped my mind with everything that happened." Natalie looked away suddenly, scolding herself for blushing at his compliments. she thought. "Thanks," she said, and found herself turning to look at Nick again. "I really wanted you to like it." Her voice trembled slightly. There was something else that she desperately wanted to hear. "I really do," Nick said quietly. Natalie could not bring herself to look away from him as she felt his arm around her waist, drawing her closer. Nick forced out the words that had been caught in this throat for so long. "I know that I don't always say what I really think or feel about things." He raised one hand to gently stroke the side of Natalie's face. "I want you to know that my not saying things...doesn't mean that I don't feel them." The words sounded foolish to Nick. For some reason he had never been able to adequately express his innermost thoughts and emotions to others. "After almost losing you tonight...I..." Nick's voice dropped off as he looked into Natalie's bright eyes. He drew her closer still...they leaned toward each other... ...and jumped in unison at a sudden, blaring noise coming from the couch. It was midway between the sound of rending metal and the flattest of notes possible for the most unskilled person to play on an oboe. Nick and Natalie burst into nervous laughter as they identified the noise. Don Schanke, still sound asleep, continued to snore, oblivious to his amused audience. After their laughter had died down, Nick glanced at Natalie, who was once again staring out into the night, a thoughtful expression on her face. "Are you okay, Nat? After everything that's happened?" "I won't say that I wasn't scared...I was terrified in fact," she answered slowly, rubbing at the still somewhat sore spot on her stomach. "But it's over now...and like you said, we have to go on living and making the best of what we have." She pointed toward the east. "The sun has to start over each day, I guess we can too." Nick nodded in silent agreement as he too stared out into the predawn sky. The stars were still shining brightly, their distant light not yet eclipsed by the coming day. The city slept peacefully, one nightmare now finally past. Natalie leaned her head against Nick's shoulder and felt his arm tighten gently around her. For some reason, the words to perhaps the best-known holiday poem came to mind as she watched the brightening sky and lights of the city in its quietest hour. The thoughts finally became words: "...but I heard him exclaim ere he drove out of sight, 'Merry Christmas to all...'" "And to all a good night," Nick finished the line. They stood at the window for awhile longer, watching as the new day was born, and darkness gradually surrendered its domain to the dawn. The End I hope that you have enjoyed this story. I know that I had a lot of fun writing it!