Date:         Mon, 24 Jan 1994 04:16:27 -0500

From:         Sandye Chisholm <sac116@PSU.EDU>

Subject:      "DARK ANGEL"

 

!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

 !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

This is my first "serious" post to the fiction list, and I welcome any and

all healthy criticism. I hope everyone enjoys "Dark Angel" as much as I

enjoyed writing it.

 

Cousin Sandye-rah

SAC116@psu.edu

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

 

                          "Dark Angel"

 

                                      by Sandra Alexis Chisholm

 

                 Not perfect, nay, but full of tender wants

                 No angel, but a dearer being, all dipt

                 In angel instincts, breathing Paradise.

                                            Alfred, Lord Tennyson

 

     Ten times the clock chimes drifted down towards the river.  Ten times

she found herself gazing into its silken mirror.  The reflection of the moon

danced in reckless envy, like some dark angel, upon the shifting water.  The

chestnut hair that framed her face fell forward from the wind, her only

company as she walked silently on.  Ten times she crossed the once bustling

bridge in darkness, its girded heights swaying reluctantly overhead.  Ten

times she leaned on its rails, forcing back the tears that yearned to meet

the blackened waters below.  Throwing back her head, Etain resolved to end

these endless evening walks; deciding that this time would be the last.  In

the rushing of the wind, a woman's frantic scream ripped through the fabric

of the night.  Etain never heard it.

     Cold steel beneath her feet, Etain climbed the last step towards the

summit of the bridge.  Shadows in familiar faces faded into the grey and

darkened waters before they dimmed into blackness, beckoning her back to

another time, another life. Whitecaps crashed upon the city walls, wind

rippled through waiting sails on harbored ships, and wings in desolation

beat themselves in wistful rhythms of the night.  Words echoed like distant

drums beating in her ears; neither wind nor rain could drown the voice

inside her head.  With the early light not yet come, life slipped away, as

empty and hollow as this silent world upon her muted heart.  Her tears, her

fragile faith, sustained no more of life in her than in her dying dreams.

     Death was all that remained.  The unwelcome rain dampened all her

senses: more than once, her footing unsure, in weakness she collapsed.  She

could no longer bear the weight of the unseen stranger, she could no longer

dance to illusions' silent music.  Time waits for no one, she thought; or

did it?  Well, tonight it would wait for her.  Etain stared into the

distance.  Standing still above the ground, her world hung deadened by the

breeze and her future slipped beyond the breach, its burden heavy and

unyeilding.  Leaning over the rail, she ripped the silver chain from off her

neck, holding it high into the night in silent invitation to her absent

angel of mercy.  All she could feel was the cool silver burning into her

hand.  All she could see was the blackness of the night.  She'd long since

lost the strength to fight her visions, and still, the voice raged in her

mind:

              ...I have forsaken you, for you have sheltered mine enemy.

              Do not call on me again, for I can no longer hear your cries.

              Seek not salvation, for you are already dead to me.

              As you have left me, so are you, forever alone.

 

What have I done?  What crime so hideous, so evil, damns my soul to

nothingness?  Her disbelief descended into agony.  Never to be forgiven.

But why should she be? She could feel the shame, the guilt, the deep

unending suffering of a cast-away.  Somewhere, love freely given had been

abandoned, discarded like so much wasted time.  The breaking mist sank into

the murky depths as morning light threatened to creep out of its swept and

shattered grave.  Look to the stars, someone whispered in a memory.  "To

find the light?" No, the light held no answers for her now.  Find the dark,

find relief, find release.  "Take this dream of light away.  I can wait no

longer.  This time, I will not falter."  To live without love, to live

without God, was not to live at all.  What is life, she thought, but the

heart in mortal conflict with the soul; love and faith eternal enemies?

That was no life at all. And neither was this: haunted by visions of a life

she had never known; indeed, this was no life at all.  Arms upraised, her

eyes upon the water, her choice was made.  The sunlight burned in her memory

as the silent mirror closed in upon her mind.  She raised her eyes toward

the darkened heavens and in moonlight, dropped the pendant from outstretched

hands to the water below.  The symbol of her love descended into darkness.

She would not be far behind.

     The phone rang four times before Nick's machine picked up.  He was

almost out the door when a voice came from the speaker:

     "Hey, Knight.  You're  gonna love this one.  Crowd control problem

down by the old River Bridge.  Seems there's this babe standing on the

railing, and everybody's making book on when she's gonna jump.  Don't you

just hate it when the moon is full?  Meet ya down there.  Hastala bye-bye."

     Nick was moving before Schanke put down the phone.

     The Cadillac glistened as Nick sped down mid-town streets.  He knew he

had to take the car; he also knew that time wouldn't wait for him, not now.

Time, once an unseen friend, had throughout the centuries, become his enemy.

The driving rain might stop traffic for a while, but it wouldn't stop the

people at the bridge, like vampyres, gathering for the kill.  The

distinctions between his kind and humanity, had once been crystal clear;

tonight, they mixed and blurred like blood and wine in colored glass.  What

kind of people enjoyed this sort of thing?  What twisted souls savored the

suffering of others as sport?  Nick winced; this wasn't the first time he

watched a hungered crowd feed on the torment of others.  Sometimes he

wondered if humanity was truly the cure he sought: so much hidden in their

eyes, so much deep within their souls; sometimes he wondered if mortals

were any different at all.  His mind drifted back to the time he had spent

in England during the Reformation.  The war between the Catholics and the

Anglicans was brutal: they killed each other over what seemed to him, trite

liturgical differences.  Could faith in God drive man to break the very laws

he claimed to defend?  Yes, he's seen it before.  These were the soldiers in

an army of reckless fools.  Once, he had fought in God's army, but that was

long ago.  Then, at least, he and the other Crusaders were killing heathens;

this time, Christians were slaughtering one another.  Nick remembered the

fires that, in another time, in another falling rain, steadily smouldered

throwing unwilling flames into the skies over Smithfield.

     The vampyres waited until the lighting of the fires to feed upon the

staked and steadfast martyrs.  The damp hay burned slowly, its smoke a

protective mist that cloaked them from prying eyes.  How many times had they

gorged themselves on the feast of man's self-inflicted attrocities?  Nick

could not remember.  If fear was the mother of violence, then surely she

loved her children of the night.  The exquisite irony of feeding on these

devout heretics was not lost on LaCroix; for him it made the killing that

much sweeter.  He relished his role as the angel of death: perhaps it was

LaCroix's zeal that pushed Nicholas into the self-imposed isolation that so

angered his companions.  Perhaps Nicholas' practicality, his rationalization

of the kill resulted from his fear of one day seeing himself in the silent

mirror that was LaCroix.  Yet how much did it matter when the thirst called

instinct into action?  The killing was a necessary evil, and one that never

let him forget what he truly was.

     Nicholas weaved through the mist as he flew over the condemned feast

before him.  The heat was tolerable, the fire was another matter.  Nature

had scarcely fashioned him for a heroic role, yet, for those who suffered

the flames in the spiritual agony of persecution, Nicholas might have seemed

the simple and perennial messenger of grace.  His swift justice would temper

this festival of intolerance; even he could bring them easier deaths than

what awaited them in the flames.  Staying close to the far end of the field,

the dark angel brought their horror to a quick close.  Desire fulfilled, he

remembered he was not alone.  Sated, he watched in morbid fascination as the

others mocked their prey; rejoicing in the terror, feeding more on the fear

than on blood.  Truly, he belonged no more with his own kind than with

these poor mortals.  Scanning the field once more before leaving, one

familiar face met him with a fevered gaze.  Only slightly singed, fighting

the heat to stay awake, she turned her eyes toward heaven.  In anger,

Nicholas turned away from the girl.  As he turned, he could see LaCroix's

blood-stained face laughing at him.

     "Leaving the festivities so soon, my boy?  How many times must I tell

you, Nicholas, it's very rude not to clean your plate." LaCroix's bloodlust

turned itself in anticipation to the young girl.  Nicholas changed his mind

and stepped between them.

     "She's mine, LaCroix."

     "Get on with it then, Nicholas.  Take her, now."

     Nicholas recoiled from the flames that danced about the dying girl.

When he was sure that LaCroix had returned to the hunt, Nicholas ended his

feigned attack.  Frightened and confused, the girl remained still; her eyes

still on the mid-night sky.

     "Look to the stars, if you must.  Perhaps your God will send you an

angel."  Nicholas wrapped his arms around her, rising through the night and

out of danger before Elaine could catch her breath.

     Setting her down in a old nearby house, he gazed at Elaine: her face

blackened, her eyes red and full of tears, Nicholas still saw the strong,

beautiful girl that confronted him so boldly on their first meeting.

Brushing back her dark, brown hair, he hushed her whispering sobs with a

kiss.

     "Why did you not leave me to die?"

     His anger rose like burgeoning flame.

     "What right did you have to take me from death's arms?  Do you know

what you have done?" No longer crying, Elaine's wrath matched the fire in

his eyes.

     "What right?  Did you want to die?  Did you want to burn for

your precious faith?   God wouldn't save you, but I did. Should I have

left you for the flames, or perhaps for the others like myself to feed upon?

Don't you know what I can do?"

     Softly, but with conviction, Elaine spoke her words like a prayer.

     "Nicholas, you should have let me die."

     He forgot himself.  He forgot the blood, still fresh on his lips.  His

hand slipped around her delicate neck, shaking her as her eyes widened in

disbelief.  Gold eyes flashed as the fury overtook him.

     "You weren't so keen to die that night in the cellar when I found you,

hiding in the corner, like so many wounded mice.  I could have taken you

then, but instead, I let you live.  And what do you do with my gift of life?

You throw it away on the trinkets of a petty belief.  You ungrateful fool,

you should hold your life as dear as you do your pathetic little cross.  I

will take you now, if death is what you seek."

     Unmoved by his visage, Elaine raised her hand to his cheek.

She didn't notice the blood, not quite dried, upon his face.  Crying while

she spoke, she stared into his face with forgiving eyes.

     "I desire not death.  I am not so different from you, Nicholas.  I

spent my life in search of meaning, in search of love.  I found these things

in God.  I lay dowm my life for him because he offers me love and life

eternal in his kingdom of glory."

     Nicholas loosened his grip from her throat.  Taking his hand in hers,

she raised it to her lips, and laid upon it a kiss so soft, he could no

longer feed his hungry rage.

     "What would you do, Nicholas, to feel that kind of love?  What would

you give to be loved in return?  If you risked the fire to save a fool such

as I, how much farther would you risk yourself to save that which you truly

loved?"

     Her words echoed hidden voices deep within his mind: his pain mirrored

in the grey blush of her eyes.  Leaving her in silence, he burst through the

cottage door and out into the night.

     Nick pulled the car up to the curb just as the bridge came into sight.

Stepping out onto the slick street, he closed the door behind him.  He could

still feel Elaine's kiss on his hand, he could still hear her words echo in

his mind.  He looked up and saw the dark-haired woman standing on the summit

of the bridge.

     The shaded glow of a curious sky lit the fluttering necklace as it fell

toward the excited mob below.  Above, Etain stared into the night and cried.

No one could hear her, no one could see her hands as they loosened their

tenuous grip on the rails.  No one could see the darkness surround her in

its impassioned arms.  No one but Nick.

     After so many years, how could one memory, one very painful memory,

live so vividly in his weary mind?  Turning away, he remembered the girl

from the fire, he remembered her courage: what he wanted to forget, was how

easily she had thrown her life away, and how easily she had turned away from

him.  His memory spilled out on the floor of belief, and in that one

moment--one woman in sight, another long since gone--he closed his mind and

gave himself over to the past.

     Nicholas had returned to the cottage, only to find Elaine scribbling on

half-burnt parchment, waiting for his return.  All traces of the fire were

gone now; she appeared transformed somehow, transfixed, beautified.  In her

eyes he found contentment, and he wasn't sure if it came from her, or from

within himself.

     Elaine stood and met the hidden power of his eyes with a shrouded

strength of her own.  Nicholas sensed a change, and for a brief moment, the

weary night seemed that if might give way.  She made no effort to draw back

as he slowly and deliberately circled the room.

     "You appear to have recovered.  Tell me, Elaine; is God still

whispering in your ear?  You have seen the face of evil and survived.  What

does he tell you now?"  His words were not as cruel as he had intended them.

The expression on her face revealed no fear, no trepidation.  Like an angel

standing in the sun, she remained bathed in the warm, inviting majesty of

her faith.

     "He tells me," Elaine whispered in mocking jest, "that ingratitude is a

sin.  Not wanting to be sinful, I say 'Thank you' to my savior.  Now,

Nicholas, what does he tell you?"

     For a moment, he thought she was trying to be hurtful.  Perhaps it was

only her honesty that stung him; yes, she was incapable of that kind of

vengeful hate.  And so he let her see the pain that he kept prisoner, the

agony that he kept safetly locked away from the rest of the world.

     "He tells me nothing I do not already know.  Salvation is beyond me

now; my sins are beyond his forgiveness."  The words cut deeper that any

weapon.  As life destroys life, so he had wrung down hard justice upon

himself.  Once he lived out his days trying to tell right from wrong.  Once

he lived in an age when honor meant much more to a man than life.  His had

been a sturdy ship, but when beset by a tempest, it failed to survive the

shifting waters of life's cruel seas.  Sadly, where he dreamed to be, he

knew he could never go.  Nicholas tasted the bitter harvest reaped by

weakness, by his frail humanity.  Overcome with resignation, he drew his

breath in the timeless sigh of sad acceptance.

     Elaine closed watchful eyes and wept.

     "Why Nicholas, open your eyes and witness your own rebirth.  No sin is

too great that God may not forgive.  You redeem yourself in your humility.

Look to the light, and you will see you have a place in his kingdom."

     For a moment, he stood motionless.  His hopes, his dreams, slipped away

in the perfect humility of self-knowledge, and like tears fell on empty

ground.

     "Don't talk to me of light; there are no answers for me there.  You

know what I am, you know what I have done, how can you talk to me of

forgiveness?  I could easily kill you now.  How easily will I find

forgiveness then?"

     "I will forgive you, Nicholas."  Elaine walked slowly, but deliberately

into his arms.

     "There is only one way to lead you to God now.  Take my hand.

God will forgive us both."

     "What are you saying?" Nicholas held her at arms length.

     "If I must say it, I will.  I am not afraid.  Take me, Nicholas.  Make

me what you are; I give myself to you willingly."

     Gently reaching out to her, his fingers drifted down her arm, and found

her open hand.  How simple all this seemed; to her, this was a gift of

honesty, of sacrifice.  Though freely given, he knew it was her innocence,

and her ignorant faith that had led her this far.

     "Are you so eager to sacrifice yourself? Death is eternal. Don't be so

anxious to meet him face to face.  It's not a sight for eyes as pretty as

yours."

     "Death may be eternal, Nicholas, but I know two things that are also

eternal.  The first is God, the second, is you.  You took me from my eternal

death in God, so you must bring me to eternity with you.  As you go, so will

I.  Make me one of your kind."

     Her words struck him like fire.  What kind of game was this?  He could

barely believe that this was the same girl that clung so devoutly to the

martry's stake.

     "The heat has made you mad.  Do you really want to be like me?  Can you

imagine what it's like; no, I don't think you can."  Nicholas searched her

eyes, hoping to find fear, hoping that something would change her mind.

     "You know nothing of my kind.  First, they would mock you, then toy

with you, and then they would rip you to pieces.  Even vampyres can be

killed, if you know the proper way."

     "Perhaps.  But I know God will protect me, as he will you, Nicholas.

If I can bring you, and perhaps the others back to his fold, wouldn't that

be worth my life?  I once asked you what you would risk to save that which

you truly loved.  Love you not your soul?  To save it, I would risk my life.

What is it worth to you, Nicholas; what will you risk to save yourself?"

     He tried to turn away, but she held him fast.  He could see heaven in

her eyes; waiting for her, perhaps waiting for him.

     "I cannot believe you truly know what you ask of me, but I have not the

power to resist you.  I will come back tomorrow night.  Do not be here,

unless you still want this."  Nicholas started for the door.

     "I will not be able to turn away from you again, Elaine."

     She nodded, and watched him as he turned to leave.  Falling to her

knees, she prayed to her God for strength and courage that she might face

her fears in victory.  Surely, the hand of Providence had guided her this

far; surely this is what she was born for.  She thought she heard Nicholas

return, but it was only the wind through the broken shutters.  It called to

her, whispering her name and hushing the night into quiet submission.

Louder and louder it grew, until the voice raged like fire in her body,

blazing like thunder in her mind.

     "No, please, have mercy," she cried.  Throwing her hands up to cover

her ears, she pleaded with the voice.

     "God, do not forsake me.  What have I done?"

     Nicholas believed in nothing.  Still, the thought of Elaine fighting

beside him, fighting the evil that chained him to this lifeless eternity,

that chained him to LaCroix, burned in his mind and set his hopes aflame.

How easily he had been seduced, he later thought.  He had known it was

nothing but lies.  He knew it when, the next evening he came for her, and

she was gone.  Only a note, written in a solemn hand, was left to mark her

leaving:

               ...In my mind I have heard the mighty voice of God.  I have

               crossed the boundaries of salvation, and am like you, forever

               lost.  I cannot live knowing God has forsaken me.  I cannot

               live with the knowledge that you were right.  Some sins, like

               betrayal, are unforgivable.  Forget my cruel words; they are

               as useless as my life.  Tonight, I will meet your friend

               death in a sea of blackness.  Farewell, Nicholas.  Pray for

               me, if you can.

                                 Elaine of Guilford

 

He reached the city bridge in time to watch her fall.  He hated her for the

fleeting taste of freedom that she offered.  Revenge would nurse his wounds,

would give him back the sharpness that her forgiving eyes had dulled.

Still, he could have saved her: instead he turned away, listening to the

music of the water that almost disguised the terror of her final scream.

     This time he would not, he must not, turn away again.





     Etain watched as her medallion fell deep into the darkness of the

night.  It was her turn now.  The wind defied her; she couldn't hear the

distance closing in.  Knowing she was no longer on the bridge, she braced

herself for swift death to take her in his arms of ice.  She felt the sudden

shock of stillness: was this all death could bring her, was death no more

than quiet oblivion?  She could feel his arms around her, she could feel the

sharp metal in his hand as he carried her away.  Firm ground under her feet,

the bridge no longer visible; her confusion, once despairing, was now

tempered with desolate frustration.  Nick lowered her to the broken slate

roof of an abandoned city building.

     "What's happening?  Where am I?"  Etain looked up at daring blue eyes

and sensed the sadness with which they watched her bewilderment.  Closing

her eyes as if in prayer, she tried in vain to summon the frantic angels and

seductive demons that possessed her troubled visions.  Suddenly, without

warning, she struggled out of his arms and onto her feet, anger

strengthening her self-destructive desires.

     "It's okay, I'm with Metro police.  You're safe now." Nick tried to be

reassuring.  Yet something burned in her eyes that frightened even him; he

couldn't be sure.  Something tugged at him; something awful pulled at him,

threatening the brittle foundation of his insubstantial humanity.  Finally,

Etain found the words that echoed in her mind.

     "What did you do?  Why didn't you just let me die?"

     These words had substance, and they bit like leeches into his flesh.

What made these mortals so eager to die?  What weakness ebbed in humanity,

what senseless waste existed in disharmony with fantastic potential?  How

strong they were in their weakness, how resourseful in remorse.  Not this

time, no; they would not get the better of him, not this time.  This time he

would have his way; this time he would not turn away in silent resignation.

He needed no justification for his anger.

     Nick whirled around, his rage almost uncontrollable, almost more than

he could bare.  He was on her instantly.  Reaching behind him, Nick pulled

out his handcuffs and fastened them to an old iron railing.  Cool steel

against her wrist, cool eyes against her soul, he held up his hand to quiet

her mouth.

     "Listen to me.  You will stay here and not make a sound.  You are safe

now.  You will be still and sleep until I return.  Do you understand?"

     Something more frightening than disobedience clawed at her mind.

     "Not sleep, no.  Please. I will not sleep."  Etain's tears fell on

Nick's hand and he shook her once again.

     "You will be quiet and remember nothing.  Do you understand?"  Why

wasn't she listening, what fed this unyielding discontent?  Nick stared

deeply into her frightened eyes, trying to calm her into submission.

     Something changed in the shadows of her defiance.  He could feel her

surrendering what had been an irrepressible, independent will: yet it wasn't

his power to which she yielded.  Something different in his consciousness

responded to her capitulation.  His mind was suddenly unclear, muddied in a

river of emotion.

     "Yes, Nicholas" she whispered, "I understand."  Etain felt herself fall

into the darkness of his mind, submitting to his convocation.  Slowly, she

relaxed under the weight of his body, stress draining itself away.  He could

taste the sweetness of her compliance; it lingered in his mind as he ran his

hand across her sleek neck.  This time, he murmured, I will not fail.

Satisfied that she was safe, Nick flew back to his car and the now empty

bridge.

     Piqued, curious eyes watched Nick as he disappeared into the night.  A

new sense of fascination surged through the lifeforce of LaCroix.  What was

this all about?  Why would Nicholas bring the mortal up here?  He stared

in amazement as Nicholas had subdued her.  Perhaps all his teaching had not

been in vain.  Perhaps he could postpone the final lesson for a while

longer.  Had he witnessed the rebirth of his comrade, his brethren, his

child?

     "Not really a very safe place to leave your prize, dear boy.  Anything

could happen this far up into the night."  He flew over to the girl,

touching her soft, wet neck with the tips of his fingers.  Was it possible,

he wondered, for fate to step in after all these years?  A twisted smile

changed the expression of his open, hungry mouth.

     "Sometimes," he whispered, "anticipation is the most satisfying part of

the meal."  He traced the steady pulse in her neck, in a long, repetitive

motion.

     "I'll let you keep your little trophy," he grinned.

     "At least for a while."

     LaCroix stood up, crossed the roof, and before taking flight, turned

around once more to stare at Etain.

     "Nicholas, my boy; It's been a long, long time since you've surprised me

like this.  I'm almost tempted to be proud."

     LaCroix spun on his heels and was gone in a flash; one last thought

echoed back towards the roof-top.

     "Almost."

     Schanke was talking to the divers when Nick stepped up behind him.

     "Nice of you to show up, partner.  So what's it gonna take next time to

get you here in time?  Perhaps an invasion from Mars?  Tell me, would that

get your attention, Knight?  I mean, where the hell have you been?  Think

this is my idea of a cheap thrill; come on!  This was my bowling night!"

Nick was used to Schanke blowing up, and blowing things out of proportion,

but this time, his anger seemed all too real.

     "Sorry.  Traffic's all tied up, this rain sure isn't making things

easier."  Schanke stared at Nick, obviously unappeased.

     "I left the car and headed over on foot.  Looks like I got here to

late.  Good thing you were here to cover."

     "Well, yeah.  I've been organizing the patrols and coordinating with

the divers, so I guess, yeah, thanks to me things are running pretty

smooth."  Schanke, effectively diffused, looked over at the river bridge.

     "The only problem now, except for the clean-up, is the small detail of

a body.  I can't figure it.  One minute she was standing there, the next,

she wasn't.  She had to jump, I mean, there's no way she could have gotten

off that bridge any other way but down, but they can't find her.  You know,

they said it usually takes a while for the body to, you know, sink.  This

one must have rocks in her pockets as well as her head, 'cause she went down

like a brick house."

     Nick stared at the divers gearing up for another trip out into the

river.  He cursed under his breath to think of all this wasted effort,

looking for a body that would never show up.  Schanke misread his reaction.

     "Yeah, it's nothing but a waste, if you ask me.  What kind of crazy

throws herself off a bridge?  I mean, there's got to be a better way to pull

your own plug, especially for a woman.  Well you know, they don't have to

worry about what their buddies would say.  There's got to be a better way to

cash it in, without taking the big plunge.  What a way to go, with half the

city watching.  But then you know women, they always gotta make big exits,

don't they?"

     Nick only nodded in agreement.

     "Sun's coming up soon.  I'd better get back.  I owe you one partner."

Nick didn't wait for an answer.  Driving back to the building where he left

Etain, he wondered just what had brought this woman to the bridge.  This

time, he would have his answers.

     She was sleeping when he climbed the last step that led to the roof.

Obviously, his powers of control were not as unsteady as he had once feared.

Bending down to where she lay, he wiped her hair away from her face: anger

absent, her peaceful countenance disguised any trace of a troubled heart.

Somehow he must discover the source of her pain.  Somehow, he would pull her

back from the edge.  This time, the angel of death would return empty

handed.  She never stirred as he carried her down to the car.  Once inside,

Nick leaned over to wake her.

     "Wake up.  It's time to wake up."  Gently, Nick shook her shoulders

until she opened her eyes.  Slowly, carefully, he waited for her to speak,

and met her with forgiving eyes.

     "Where am I?"

     "Right now, in my car.  But if you tell me your name, and where you

live, than maybe we'll be on our way.  You remember me, I'm dectective

Knight.  My friends call me Nick."  She only turned away, staring at the

changing sky.

     "I bet someone is very worried about you right now.  Maybe I should

call someone?"  She didn't move, she didn't speak, Nick knew she really

didn't care.  This was not going to be easy.  At last, he tried to charm

her.

     "Why don't we get a cup of coffee or something?  Come on, we're both

soaked from the rain, it would be nice to warm up a little."

     Etain turned tired eyes upon him.

     "God, forbid, I wouldn't want to die from a cold!"  She hadn't meant to

be funny, but Nick couldn't help but laugh, just a bit.  Despite herself,

Etain laughed too, at the irony of it all.

     "It could only happen to me," she said. "My granddad always told me I'd

be late for my own funeral, and he was right."  Nick moved a caring hand

across her back; half smiling, half laughing he tried to warm her against

the early morning chill.  The darkness seemed a little less inviting to her

now.  This strange man beside her had a calming effect on her strained

nerves; in his eyes, she saw something more than gentleness and compassion,

she saw someting frighteningly familiar that gnawed at her mind.

     "So, back to the beginning.  I'm Nick, and you're..."

     "Etain, Dr. Etain Kerr.  And I live at the University.  How's that?"

     "Very good, Etain Kerr.  Now how about that cup of coffee?"

     Nick smiled at her, and then he smiled to himself.  As he pulled the

car into traffic, he was sure he could break down her barriers and help her

back to herself.

     A figure in shadow stepped out of the darkness and watched the car

speed away.  Gazing at the sky, he knew the time had come to seek shelter

until another nightfall.

     "Prophecy is a dangerous gift, my boy.  How little we know about

ourselves, until it's all but too late.  Yes, Nicholas; it's getting much

too late for you and I, and for your little friend."  If LaCroix felt any

regret, he hid it from the world, and from himself.

     "Yes. I'm afraid it's getting much too late."  As daylight threatened,

LaCroix took to the inconstant sky.

     Etain turned her key and unlocked the rear door that led to the

university archives.  Nick followed her through the long, dark corridors

that led to the small, windowless room Etain now called home.  Housed in

many cardboard boxes were the remnants of a life of scholarship and travel.

She lit the candles that lined a fairly large desk, covered with folders and

books, and sank down onto the dormitory-style cot.  Glancing around, Nick

wondered if this woman had any life at all besides school.

     Having cleared the books off the chair, she gestured for him to sit

down.  What on earth was she doing?  One minute she's ready to end it all,

the next, she's entertaining strange men. Well, one strange man at any rate.

Yet he didn't seem that strange at all.  Conspicuously staring at him, Etain

could not shake the feeling that his face was familiar.  Realistically, she

realized that they had never met, and she hadn't been in town that long to

have accidentally run into him.  Besides, she remembered everything.

Unlikely as it was, though, it was the only logical explanation.  Suddenly,

she became painstakingly aware that minutes had passed since he first sat

down.  Embarrassed, Etain stumbled for something to say.

     "Sorry about the mess.  I hadn't planned on company."

     "It looks cozy."  Well, that was an obvious lie, he thought, and she

knew it.  Nick hated this kind of small-talk, especially when something

important was not being said.

     "Have you been teaching here long?"

     "About four months.  When the history department offered me the post

as associate professor of British history, I thought 'great', this must be

the big time.  They promised me resident housing, at least till I got

settled into the area.  Unfortunately, no one told the housing office.  Now,

they think that they're doing me a favor letting me stay in this glorified

closet.  Not to mention that my grant money is tied up in bureaucratic

red-tape.  Even if I had the time to find a place, I wouldn't have the

money.  It's not much, I'll grant you, but for the moment, this is home."

     That would make anyone a bit depressed, thought Nick.  Still, he was

sure that a housing dilemma hadn't driven her to the bridge.  At least now,

he could talk to her; get her to open up.  He knew that the sun had already

risen over the city.  Sitting back in the desk chair, Nick accidentally

knocked over a small box and scattered what appeared to be very old papers

across the floor.

     "Sorry. Let me help you with..."

     "Don't touch them!" Etain leaped to her feet, startling him both with

her quickness and the sharpness of her voice.  Down on her knees, she

gingerly arranged the papers into a pile, and as she did, mumbled to herself

in solitary tones.  She looked so helpless then, like a child separated from

her mother in a crowded store.  He knelt beside her, taking by the hand.

     "Look, I didn't mean to upset you. I'm sorry." Etain didn't look at

him; she didn't say a word.  Slowly, she brought her hands up to cover her

face and wept without reservation.  Nick helped her up to the cot.  He

rocked her gently, trying to calm her; yet feeling that very same

helplessness, he waited patiently for her tears to subside.

     "Etain, please tell me why you were on that bridge tonight.  Listen, I

know I can help, if you let me."

     "Unless you've got some magic powers to read my mind and tell me

whether or not I'm losing it, there's nothing you can do."  Etain tried to

pull away, but Nick refused to let her go.  Shaking her, much like a father

shakes a disobedient child, his eyes scolding but sympathetic, he brought

her crying to an end.

     "Why do you think you're losing your mind?"

     Yes.  Finally.  Someone had finally said it. I'm losing my mind, she

thought, but at least someone else would know.  Could she really tell him;

was there any chance that he might understand?  That was all she really

wanted, for someone, anyone to share in this terrible dream.  She stared at

Nick and wondered.  She reached out to touch him, as if to make sure that

he was real.  Satisfied, she took a deep breath and began.

     "Since I was a child, I've had visions, like I was seeing things with

someone else's eyes.  When I told my parents, they just told me it was the

books I read.  That's why I became an historian, you know; so I could

discover the truth through my own eyes."  She turned those eyes, now sad

toward the door, as if she expected someone to step through, to tell her it

was all just a bad dream.  But no one came: like always, she was a lonely

child standing in an empty, evil world.

     "The visions stopped for a while.  For a time, I almost felt free; when

I got here, they only became worse.  I don't have a normal life; it's like

I've picked up some rare disease.  I can't sleep, I can barely eat, and more

times than not, I'm not doing my best work.  I'll be lucky if they don't

fire me.  You know, sometimes I feel like the walking dead."

     Nick shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

     "I've been looking for the answers all my life, and I've found nothing.

That is, until I arrived here.  While I was researching local family

histories of Guilford dating back to the Reformation, I ran across some

interesting letters written by a young heretic supposedly burned during the

Marian persecutions.  At first, I just thought it was a mistake; after all,

it was such a confusing time.  Her name was listed among the family death

roles, but it was removed from Smithfield records of the late 1550's.  Two

letters, personal letters, I found in uncatalogued records, dated two days

apart confirm that she was due to be executed, but also confirm that she

escaped the burning.  I had the handwriting analysed, and I was right.  Both

letters were written by the same hand."

     Etain started to shake, almost uncontrollably.  Nick didn't move to

stop her: eyes wide, he watched her pull her dark, brown hair away from a

face that he had seen in another lifetime.

     "It was only professional curiosity on my part, at least that's what I

told myself, until I had a friend in the States examine the handwriting.

He's an expert, and his opinion would have given me something on which to

base an article for publication.  I sent it off, with just a quick note I

jotted down on the way to the post-office.  The day it arrived, he faxed me

back; I thought it had to be important for him to answer so fast, he's

usually so slow.  He was thanking me for the practical joke.  'Next time,'

he said, 'if I want to waste his time, the least I should do is not forge

documents in my own handwriting'."  She waited, but Nick remained silently

still.  She waited; this was the reaction she should have expected, she

thought.  Foolish really, to think he might understand.

     "Don't you get it, the handwriting on the letters matched my

handwriting on the note.  This is no joke!  Those letters are verified

authentic sixteenth-century. Don't you see what that means?"  Etain was

screaming at him.

     "This is real, empirical evidence and no matter how much I want to

forget, my mind, my historically objective mind comes to only one

conclusion.  I never believed in fairy tales, in past lives, in myths or

legends; not when I had fact, cold hard fact to fall back on."  By now,

Etain was pacing back and forth, trying to escape reality as a wounded

animal tries to tear itself out of the hunters trap. Tired, she sat back

down, resigned to her isolation.

     "I always thought that someone else was in my head, no matter what

those self-aggrandizing psychiatrists said.  I told my parents they were

only throwing good money after bad.  It's almost funny; at least it might be

if it wasn't me.  What should I do now that my entire life, at least the

life I am living now, has been undermined by some demon from the past?

What, in God's name, do I do now?

     Nick had no answer for the stranger that stared at him with ancient

eyes.  He felt the pull of time against his flesh and hoped he had not saved

her, only to have her slip from his grasp once again.

     Voices could be heard from the air vent and Etain grimaced knowing she

was going to be late for her twelve o'clock seminar.  Rising to her feet,

an effort that seemed to absord all of her strength, she make her way towards

Nick and gathered up her books.

     "Listen, I have to go.  My graduate students will only wait so long

before they go crying to the department head; the little bastards think they

own the world.  You can let yourself out."  She tried to slip out behind his

chair, but he caught her by her wrist and for what might have been seconds

or hours, she stood motionless by his side.  Looking into his face, Etain

felt the tug of distant memories.  A shadow formed, and like the tide,

effortlessly rose into the night.  At the very edge of reality, she caught

sight of what remained of her sanity.  Once again, Etain found herself

gazing into the blue eyes of the strange man.  She flashed him a smile,

though she knew her hopes were dashed on the rocky shores of her humanity.

     "We've got to finish this."  Nick raised his eyes to meet hers.  He

waited for a sign of some rememberacne in her sad, grey eyes.  Her smile

faded as she tried to turn away.

     "Look at me, Etain."

     Briefly, he saw himself within the dark recesses of those eyes.  It was

a reflection of the man he used to be: compassionate, yet cruel; confident,

yet ruled by a chaos greater than himself.  It was almost too much for him

to bear.  Then he saw the recognition slide from her consciousness, shunned

by her reason and discarded by her fears.  Nick let go of her arm.

     "Maybe it is finished.  I'll be in my office tonight, you can find me

there if you want to talk.  We can chat about my pending insanity, or

perhaps you can tell me why I shouldn't have jumped off the bridge last

night, because right now, I'm not so sure how glad I am that you stopped me.

Truly, Nicholas, I'm not so sure of anything."  The door closed slowly

behind her, leaving Nick alone with his ever-constant memory and her

ever-threatening madness.

 



    In the hours of daylight that remained after Etain had gone, Nick

searched through her papers hoping to find some other explanation for her

visions.  She'd mentioned psychiatrists: perhaps she simply was unstable.

After all, she had tried to kill herself; who knew if this was the first

time.  Delusion took control of many good, intelligent people; Etain might

just be one of the unfortunate few.  However desperately Nick needed to

convince himself that Etain was deranged, ultimately, he became more

desperate to discover the truth.  His hands fell to his sides in the

absolute realization that none of that was true.  He knew who she was, even

if she had not known herself.  Wasn't that what he wanted to do, to bring

her back to herself?  How wonderful to be so prophetic, he mused

sarcastically.  Deny it though he tried, the proof remained tangible and

ultimately, undeniable.  As the evening slipped quietly into twilight, Nick

knew it was time to head for the station.  Putting the letters in his coat,

he remembered the confusion on Etain's clear, angelic face.  Telling her

would be hard.  Helping her live with it would be even harder.

     Somehow, Etain made it through the day.  Most of her classes had run

themselves.  Letting the grad-students lead impromptu discussions had been a

successful, if not popular idea.  Little did they know that she had hardly

listened.  An occasional cryptic comment was all it took to maintain the

appearance of direction.  She wondered just how many of her professors had

spent class time mulling over personal problems.  If she kept this up, she

was sure her contract would not be renewed.

     Back in her office that night, Etain half-listened to one of her

students as he tried to explain the intricacies of sixteenth-century

anti-papist sentiment.  She hadn't slept, how long had it been; it seemed

like ages since she made it through the night without those dreams, those

terrible dreams.  Slipping out of herself, she could feel their seductive

pull even now.

     Smoky mist held her fast against the night, she could feel the heat,

but she couldn't see the fire.  Putting fear behind her, she slipped in duty

blind, moving without will throughout the sky.  Silent sorrow leads her by a

cold, yet caring hand towards the edge of a what might be a mountain.  She

wants to follow, but she can't find the way.  Looking behind her the water

turns icy blue: too tired to swim, too far out to turn back, she feels the

hand that once guided her push her down under the cold, black surface.  She

can hear him, but she cannot cry out.  Someone is standing beside her, but

when she looks, he turns and walks away.  She is alone, dying, broken.  The

mist swirls around her and in moonlight, she disappears beneath the sky.

Suddenly, she could hear another voice.

     "Do you think I'll have any problems on the exam, Doc?"

     Falling back into herself, Etain clumsily managed to disguise her

confusion.

     "I wouldn't worry about it.  Just make sure you don't overlook the

obvious.  Oh, and Gareth, do you call all your professors 'Doc', or am I

only one of a select few?"  Unexpectedly, Etain watched his face brighten.

     "You're the only one I really talk to outside of class, Dr. Kerr.  I

mean, I really love this stuff, and you make it all so interesting.  I

actually find myself in the library when I don't have to be.  Sometimes I

think that if I can find the answers to some historical question, that I

must be able to find the answers to my simple problems.  I don't know, I

guess that sounds kind'a silly, huh."

     She knew how ridiculous she must have looked, but she couldn't help

smile at him as a tear rolled silently down her cheek.

     "Silly, no. I know just what you mean. But be careful.  There's two

things you should remember. First, no problem is ever simple. Second, don't

look for answers to questions that don't need to be asked; sometimes you get

more than you bargained for.  Don't let this go to your head, now, but I can

see a great potential in you.  You've got the desire, now you only have to

learn to control it.  Once you learn to hone your skills, I've got a feeling

I'm going to have to watch out for the competition."

     "Thanks, Doc.  That means a lot coming from you."  Blushing as he

backed out of the office, Gareth waved good-bye and stumbled into the hall.

     Sometimes, she thought, she almost believed that life was worth all the

trouble.

     Back at the station, Nick cleared away the reports from his desk.

Usually, a quiet night was a welcome change, but tonight, the quiet burrowed

into his mind and gave him too much time to think.  So Etain had a past

life; well, how difficult was that to believe when he himself was proof of

the supernatural?  But for her to be the same girl that he saved from the

flames, the same girl that wanted to save him, how could he accept that?  He

didn't want to accept it, just as he did not want to accept responsibility

for the death of that innocent girl.  What would Elaine have thought about

reincarnation?  For a Christian believer, it might be tantamount to

damnation: not to know the saving grace that she had believed in so deeply,

the same saving grace she tried so desperately to bring to him; had he

damned Elaine just as LaCroix had damned him, ripping the foundation of

heaven out from under her feet?  Had she come back here to haunt him?  He

knew the answer was no.  She was unaware of his identity, unaware that he

was part of her visions: if he had known, she would not be so desperate for

answers.  Unconsciously though, she had to know; yes, he remembered, on the

roof she had called him Nicholas long before he had ever told her his name.

It was undeniable.  Resolved, he knew he had to tell her tonight; after all,

she might figure it out for herself, and then she would never trust him. It

might drive her back to the bridge.  This was one mistake he would not allow

history, or himself, to repeat.

     Etain clicked her computer off just as the security guard began his

last check around the grounds.  He wasn't surprised to see Dr. Kerr's light

still on; no, that was one light that always shined through the night.

Etain went over to close the window, as usual, waved good-night as he

passed by.  Lingering, she let the cool mid-night air wash over her as

moonlight bathed the campus is a warm, gentle glow.  Too bad, she thought.

Nick wasn't coming, she might as well face it; just another victim of her

madness running for cover, no doubt.  What was it about him that made her

feel just a little less alone?  Something about him felt so familiar.  Yet,

he wasn't like anyone she'd ever met before: no one had ever really tried to

help her, no one ever wanted to get involved.  Why did he save her?  More

importantly, how did he save her?  Something didn't make sense: who was she

kidding, most everything in her life didn't make sense.

     "Could I really be going crazy?"  This strange man rescued her from her

own violent hand; he seemed truly concerned.  Nobody loves an ingrate, she

thought.  So, why didn't he show up tonight?

     "Get a grip, Etain"; other people have a life, you know.  Probably he

just got tied up at work.  Then she stopped.  What was this?  Her doubting

Thomas taking the night off?

     "Aren't we optimistic, tonight?" Now, I'm talking to myself, she

thought.  Well, why not?  She was still thinking about Gareth.  She could

make a difference in some else's life, even if she couldn't solve her own

problems. Deciding on a late-night walk, she scribbled a note to Nick, and

pinned it to the bulletin board outside her office door.

     Outside the crisp air whipped around her head, and her hair blew wild

in its whistling dance.  It was about time for a new coat; maybe tomorrow

her money would be available, and she'd have herself a bit of a spree.

Somehow she felt just a little bit freer, just a little bit more human.

Confession must be good for the soul: yes, she certainly had to thank

Nicholas for his help.  Funny, it seems more natural to call him Nicholas;

I'll have to ask him if he minds.

     Etain found herself in a part of campus she hadn't yet had time to

explore.  In a small park that overlooked the central library, she caught a

glimpse of a dark shadow moving rapidly through the sky.  She turned, but

it was gone.  As she looked up towards the darkened heavens, a cold hand

touched her shoulder, a cold voice whispered in her ear.

     "It's been a very, very long time, my dear."

     "I'm sorry, do I know you?"  Etain wasn't sure if she should be excited

or afraid; perhaps she was just a little bit of both.

     "Not by name, of course.  But you and I are not strangers.  Think hard,

my child, listen carefully; do you not know me?  Don't you know what I can

do?"  The man placed his arms around her, not very tightly, but she knew she

had no will to move against him.  He towered over her, and leaning into her,

his whispers turned to deafness and she could hear him only in her mind.

She closed her eyes.  She could feel her visions taking flight, animated in

a dreamscape that surrounded her in darkness.

     Etain could see the fire dancing in the hearth, she could see the

broken shutter banging in the driving rain against the cottage wall.

Praying to her God for courage, the dark-haired girl lifted her face and saw

the darkened heavens through the open window.  Her expression melted from

acceptance to uncertainty.  Out of nowhere, a voice was raging in her

mind.

          ..I have forsaken you, for you have sheltered mine enemy...I can

          no longer hear your cries...seek not salvation, for you are

          already dead to me...you are forever alone...

 

Where the voice came from, Etain could not tell.  Herself voiceless, she

watched as the girl knelt beside the fire and screamed in agony as her heart

burst in discontented anguish.  Etain could feel the heat surge through her

body, sharp sounds tore at her soul, tore at the center of her being.  The

voice cut her down like daggers, tearing at the very core of this poor,

tormented girl.

     "Elaine," she thought. "I'm here, I've always been here."  But Etain's

compassion could not cross the barriers of time; Elaine would never hear her

words of comfort.  Nothing could overpower that voice.  That voice.  Etain

knew that voice.  Time closed in on Etain as she listened to the echo of her

cries; above all this suffering, Etain discovered where the torture came

from. Moving back to herself, a dark figure wrapped her warmly in the

shrouds of night as the icy knife of death called her name.  In that

instant, she left her safety and walked amongst her enemies.  She was lost

in the beauty of dying, its softness still warm upon her lips.  This was the

nectar of a forbidden stream, the place where the sour turns to sweet.

Abruptly, the shadows of night disappeared and she could feel his pleasure

rise as swiftly as she felt the cresting of her pain.  A blackness devoured

her, and then recoiled as suddenly as it came.

     Etain broke away from the tall, blond man; a strength within her grew

beyond any she had ever known.  She turned and faced him, his eyes more

golden than his face in moonlight.

     "You.  I do know you.  At least I know your voice.  You sent that

young, innocent girl to her death.  Yes, I know you."

     LaCroix grinned at her in triumph with the satisfaction of a proud

father.

     "She chose death by her own hand.  I merely pointed out the way.  Shall

I do the same for you? Or perhaps you already know the way.  I wouldn't be

surprised, you already know so much."  He walked around her, examining her

with searching eyes; yes, he thought, this one will be different.  This one

will be mine.

     "What are you?"

     "I'm not that different from you, Etain.  We are more alike than you

would know.  Lovers of history, seekers of knowledge, yes, we are very much

the same you and I.  Have you discovered the true power inherent in your

knowledge?  What is it that all your lessons have taught you?  Tell me,

child.  Show me what you're made of."

     Something snapped in her mind, something that had eluded her in all her

years of questing.  All the missing pieces suddenly fit into place.  The

visions disappeared in one apprehending cry.  It almost took her breath

away.  Etain laughed aloud at the very thought of it.  She had, just as she

had always warned, overlooked the obvious.

     "All the answers, to all the questions, are there, waiting for us, like

a river of knowledge overflowing the fragile banks of humanity.  All it

takes is the courage to see the truth."

     LaCroix bowed to her in deference of her hard-won wisdom.

     "You are the strong one, Etain.  That girl who fell so long ago, she

was weak and pathetic.  She was nothing.  She could never have survived what

you have undergone.  You emerge victorious, glorified in your new life.  Can

you feel yourself changing, can you feel yourself becoming more perfectly

what you were destined to be?"

     "I know that I'm free from the past that held me prisoner for so long.

Now my life is my own.  For the first time, I feel that I am free."  She

whirled around, the glory of her discovery music to her quickened step.

So like a child, LaCroix thought.  Beautiful and free; it would be a long

time before he became bored with this one.  As if the tune had come to its

end, Etain stilled herself and faced him.  She was not afraid.

     "I suppose I should thank you for your help."  Looking around as if she

had somewhere else to be, she realized that she had caught him by surprise.

Then Etain watched his smile turn mercenary.  His eyes betrayed the

injustice of her sarcasm.

     "Thank you. And good-bye."

     LaCroix grabbed her roughly as she tried to walk away.

     "Not so fast, little one.  We're not through yet.  Do you think that

you can simply walk away, turn and never look back?  Do you think that you

can ever be free?  We are bound forever by time and by blood.  Nothing will

ever change that; no, not this time."  LaCroix's stalwart arms tenderly

wrapped themselves around her body; the regret he might have felt hidden

beneath his baneful grin.

     "Come with me; I have much to teach you, my child."

     The night closed in upon her.  Once again, she found herself standing

on the river bridge, alone with her dark angel.

 



     Nick waited almost an hour outside Etain's office before he decided it

was time to leave.  An uneasiness settled on him, like something familiar

gnawing at his mind; something he could neither see nor hear, but knew,

nonetheless, was ever-present.  He was losing his patience; he had to find

her before she did something rash.  If he lost her this time, he would have

to search the rest of eternity to find her again.  Amends must be made, he

thought; if I can save her, maybe, I can save myself.  In a flash of hope,

Nick took to the sky.  As he flew close, he saw a dark-haired woman standing

on the bridge.  Time had not been cruel; he still had a chance.

     "Etain, no." Nick edged up behind her, waiting to make his move.

     "I'm not going to jump Nicholas.  Not this time."  He stared at her,

wishing she would turn around, wishing he could see what was in her eyes.

What would bring her here if she wasn't going to jump?  Her voice had

changed somehow; it was colder, less inviting.

     "I waited for you for over an hour.  I was worried." Something was

wrong.  Nick knew something was very, very wrong. After an uncomfortably

long pause, Etain spoke.

      "I ran into an old friend of yours.  A very old friend.  And he gave

me a message for you. 'Next time' he said, 'when you betray him, you had

better make sure he's absolutely dead'."  She paused just long enough catch

her breath in the cool late-night air.

     "Oh yes, one other thing he wanted you to know. 'He says you're getting

very sloppy, Nicholas. Very, very sloppy'."

     Nick knew what had been gnawing at him, he had sensed another, but how

could it be LaCroix?  Hadn't he killed him that night in the loft?   Yet,

hadn't he felt the vibrations of much too familiar chord, its music echoing

in the chambers of his memory?  In that private room, he had thought himself

alone; now he recognized the shadows of his silent companion rise to meet

him.  This tune he had known for centuries.  How, he asked himself, could it

be anything else?  He felt the hair on the back of his neck rise, and the

fury overtook him.

     "Where is he Etain?  Where is LaCroix?"

     She searched the stars, searched the sky for a chance that this was all

another of her troubled visions.  God had sent no angel this time.  Sighing,

she faced the cold, hard, undisputable fact that this was all too real.

     "Gone, Nicholas.  He's gone."

     "No. Don't let him use you to trick me, Etain.  I have so much to tell

you." Nick started toward her, and stopped dead when she turned around with

eyes as golden as his own.  Etain met Nick's fury with the unencumbered

strength of her own.

     "Now we are alike, all of us.  This is his present to me; for you, this

is his thank you for your treachery, Nicholas.  Something about killing two

birds with one stone.  Yes, he's very efficient, your LaCroix.  Don't look

so surprised; it isn't the first time we failed at saving one another."  She

turned viscious eyes toward the darkness, then back again at Nick.

     "There's something more, though.  He wants me to take your place beside

him.  He wants to teach me, to make me become what he failed to make you."

     Nick backed away from the fire in her eyes.  What had he done?  If only

he had told her right away, if only he had stayed with her, if only he had

been honest.  He had to face the truth; it might have been better if he had

let her die that night on the bridge, LaCroix never would have taken her.

Nick could do nothing but turn away, his rage now muted by his silent

lamentaions.

     "How many times can you turn away from me, how many of my lives can you

throw away?  Why didn't you tell me last night, who you are and what you

are?"  Each outburst brought her one step closer to him.  She was almost

upon him, her eyes blazing with the terror of a caged animal.

     "What am I to do now, Nicholas, now that I am dead to all that I loved?

What you refused to risk last night, to place yourself in jeopardy, has

placed my life, my very soul at risk.  How could I defend myself against an

evil I didn't even know existed?  It might as well have been you who brought

me to this, Nicholas.  My blood may not be in your veins, but surely, it is

on your hands."

     Nick reeled back from the torrent of her words.  Dying might be cruelty

to the unsuspecting, but its sting was fleeting.  This pain, now their

pain, was eternal.  Falling to his knees, Nick collapsed under the burden of

his guilt.

     Etain could not look away.  Unleashed, her demons were unstoppable.

Unbridled, they would rip her, and all around her, to shreds.  This was an

unholy power; somehow she must control it, or else she would be consumed.

She knelt down beside him; her eyes full of tears, her hands outstretched,

Etain whispered softly her pleas for forgiveness.

     "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry.  Your only fault was trying to save me.  Oh

Nicholas, it would have been better if you had let me die."  She turned

away, her fury gone, her hope lost in sorrow.

     "I failed again," Nick murmured under desperate sighs.  The stars that

once shone on an innocent martyr no longer sparkled under heaven's watchful

eye.  Tonight, for Nick and Etain, the stars were nothing but dead echoes of

voiceless music.  He took her offered hands in his, and before he lifted his

eyes to meet hers, he realized that someone else truly understood.  He

didn't have to tell her how cruel and heartlessly he had been taken: no, she

knew all too well.  Somehow he felt less alone that he had in years.  Then

he looked at her, and saw the pain mirrored in the grey blush of her eyes;

it was then that he remembered the agony of the conquered.

     "Etain, I'm the one who's sorry.  I can't change what LaCroix has done,

but I can teach you what you need to know."  Nick held her closer.  Their

eyes met in sad, blue reflections of long, lost memories neither of them

could ever relive.

     "I know, Etain," he whispered over her crying.  "Believe me, I know."

He brushed back her hair, and running his hand over her pale neck, found the

marks of LaCroix's conquest.

     "Can you feel the hunger?"

     Holding back her tears, Etain looked away.

     "Not any more."

     Unsure, Nick gazed at her in disbelief.

     "When LaCroix brought me back to the bridge, the deed was already done.

He took me in the middle of one of my visions, and I couldn't separate the

pain of remembering, with the pain of submission.  I thought I could just

walk away, but he held my mind, and though I struggled, I could not break

free.  He said it was because I was weak, that I needed to feed.  Then,

only then he said, would I be able to stand on my own. I cursed him; he only

laughed at me.  Just before he left, he said I would come to him, needing

him, and then my lessons would begin.  I could think of nothing but dying.

It was all I craved.  I decided just to wait for the sun, to meet death as I

had always intended, on my own terms.  A young woman, not that much younger

than I, crossed the bridge, stopped, and asked me if I knew what time it

was.  All I could think of was that it was time to die.  Before I could stop

myself, she was dying in my arms, her blood coursing through me.  I could

taste her death, Nicholas.  I could feel her give her last breath to me, and

God help me, I relished it."  She shuddered at the memory.

     "God help me, indeed, Nicholas.  What have I become?"

     Nick knew only too well what happened when reason loses its control

over desire.  He could not judge her; he could, however, help her.

     "What did you do with the body?"

     "I could feel nothing but repulsion at what I had done.  I had to be

rid of her, so I picked her up, and threw her over the rails into the river

below."

     Nick leaned over, but could see nothing in the silent mirror of the

water.

     "Ironic, isn't it?  Now, at least, they'll find a body."

     "There are other ways besides killing, Etain.  Let me teach you.  You

can still live a normal life..."

     "Normal?  How can you call this normal?  It's inhuman, Nicholas; you

and I, we aren't human.  No one to love, no one to trust. My God, how do you

live like this?"

     "The only way I can, one step at a time.  We're not alone, though.

There are others like us, right here in the city.  You don't have to be

alone."  Nick closed his arms around her.

     "What happens now?" she said.

     "It's almost morning, we have to leave.  We have to find shelter."

Nick's hand slipped into hers, and she clasped it with the desperation of a

lost child.

     "Come with me, Etain."

     Together they cut through the early morning fog, and reached Nick's

place before the first rays of sunlight cut into the receding night sky.

     Together they slept in sorrow's silent prayer as the sun made its way

across the horizon.

     Together they dreamed of walking in its warmth, afraid of nothing,

loving everything.

     Alone, Nicholas woke to find her note, written in a solemn hand, that

told him she was gone:

              ...It seems I have been walking among the living and

              the dead, and I have found comfort nowhere but by your

              side.  You have been with me throughout time, but now

              I must find the way alone.  There is something in me now

              that cannot be denied, something that you have long since

              conquered.  I hunger for more than blood, I hunger for

              revenge.  LaCroix said he was my father now, as he was

              yours so long ago.  Well, my brother, I will avenge our

              suffering and our father will regret the day that he first

              walked upon the earth.  This is my promise, my solemn vow.

              Remember me, Nicholas.  I will find my way back, someday.

              Look to the stars, maybe you'll see me there.  Until then,

              I remain, another, Dark Angel.

                                               Etain

 

     Nick folded up the letter and placed it, along with the two from his

coat, in the small, black box he kept hidden in the fireplace bricks. Etain

was finally on her own; without any help from him, or from LaCroix.  The

name made him shiver.  What would happen now, he could only imagine.  The

heath-haze stretched out to catch the glittering light reflected on the

silver chain around Nick's neck.  He never got a chance to give it back to

her; she didn't even know he had saved it from the fall.  It was beautiful,

and it was hers.  One winged-angel against a crescent moon lay cool against

his skin; running his fingers along its shape, he could still feel her there

beside him.

     "It's come full circle," Nick whispered to himself.  Maybe this time,

if there was a forgiving God, Etain would find a way to save herself.  Maybe

this time, she would find a way to save them both.

                                         DIXI

 

"DARK ANGEL" by Sandra Alexis Chisholm

e-mail address  ----  SAC116@psu.edu