In the Dark of the Knight
by J L Kerr
March 1999
jlkerr7864@aol.com -or- eaglesmoon@aol.com


[Disclaimer:  The original characters of Forever Knight were created by      
 James Parriott and Barney Cohen and are owned by Sony/TriStar. No  
 copyright infringement was intended.]

[Timeline: first season. Nothing explicit. An elusive killer stirs panic in the 
 city. How far will Nick go to catch his man? Flashbacks to 13th c. 
 Florence.]

[Main characters: Nick, Schanke, Janette, Natalie, Stonetree, LaCroix]

===
PROLOGUE

	The man was sitting casually on one of the benches scattered 
within Trinity Square. He was average looking, in his mid 30's, with short 
light brown hair and just a shadow of a beard upon his face. He could feel 
the slight increase in temperature on his body as a small patch of 
sunshine broke through the cloud covered sky. He adjusted the dark 
sunglasses he wore as he turned his face upwards, basking in the bright 
light shining upon him. He was quite comfortable sitting there, listening to 
the chirping of the birds as they flitted around the nearby fountain. 
Smiling pleasantly, he returned his gaze to the square. 
	There were always many people passing through this time of 
day. The ones in their neatly pressed suits scurrying quickly by, on their 
way to this or that, to any one of the many office buildings surrounding 
the square. The sloppily dressed teenagers gathered together to discuss 
their as yet insignificant lives; as the occasional priest or nun, solemnly 
went forth on an errand to bring their version of salvation to their fellow 
man; while the homeless vagrant, noisily pushing a shopping cart through 
the middle of the square, stopped to rummage through each trash can 
passed. And the majority of them were the mundane men and women, 
rushing to complete their everyday tasks with the determination of self-
importance stamped upon their faces.
	The man chuckled silently to himself. These people had no idea 
what was truly important. He turned his head sharply as he heard a loud 
sound behind him. A woman walking past had stumbled and dropped her 
bag. She and a small girl were gathering packages together and trying to 
fit them back into the obviously too small bag. From the name on the bag, 
the man assumed she had just come from a busy day shopping at the 
Eaton Centre. He furrowed his brow in scorn. If she were incapable of 
carrying so many packages, she should not have purchased to excess.
	The harried woman finally got her items under control, and taking 
the small girl by the hand, continued across the square towards a nearby 
parking garage. The man continued to stare after her, then casually rose 
and slowly followed in the same direction.

	The tall blond man stood at his window looking out over the city 
of Toronto, his blue eyes attempting to pierce the darkness to view what 
few city lights could be seen through the driving rain. Night had officially 
fallen a couple of hours ago, and with some relief, he was preparing to go 
back to work after four days. He and his partner had managed to tie up a 
number of loose ends last week and were <rewarded> with some extra 
time off. He had started to tell his boss that he would rather work, but a 
solid kick to his shin by his partner quieted his protest. He didn't want to 
handle this much time to himself. It made him anxious, and he started 
thinking about things he most definitely didn't want to think about.
	A loud clap of thunder shook him from his reverie. Looking down 
at the remaining contents of the glass in his hand, he took a deep breath, 
and steeled himself to finish drinking the noxious substance. He downed 
the rest of the protein shake, grimacing at the foul aftertaste. It was 
another attempt in trying to find a dietary replacement to help with his 
<condition>. Glancing back down at the glass, he decided this wasn't it.
	Another peal of thunder sounded further away, and it looked like 
the storm was finally moving away from the city, taking the heavier rains 
with it. The storm had been lingering over the city for the last couple of 
days, and it would be nice to have a little relief from the wind and rain. 
Not even his kind liked to be out and about in this type of weather.
	He wandered into the kitchen, and rinsed his glass and put it in 
the dishwasher. Moving to the table behind the couch, he opened the lid 
to a small wooden box. Reaching inside, he picked up his watch and 
slipped it onto his left wrist. He then picked up a small vinyl wallet, and 
flipped it open to reveal his badge and identification-- Detective Nicholas 
B. Knight, Metro Homicide. He placed this in his jacket pocket next to his 
gun. Lastly, he retrieved his keys and dropped them into his pocket.
	Closing the lid to the box, he walked across the floor of his loft to 
the elevator, and grabbing his long coat, he pulled open the door to the 
elevator and stepped inside. Letting the door close behind him, he 
pressed the button that would take him to the lower floor where he parked 
his car, a 1962 San Remo Turquoise Cadillac in mint condition. He had 
purchased it brand new when he had been living in Greenwich Village, 
and just couldn't bring himself to part with it when he moved on. Climbing 
behind the wheel, he felt a sense of relief wash through him as he was 
able to focus his attention on his job once again.

===
CHAPTER ONE


	Nick parked his Caddy at the opposite end of the block from his 
destination. As he gazed towards the house, he saw the street was 
awash with flashing lights. There were numerous police vehicles, a 
couple ambulances, and many other cars parked along the street in front. 
He smiled as he noticed the coroner's van was here and knew that Dr. 
Natalie Lambert was the medical examiner on duty tonight. In the course 
of their unusual doctor-patient relationship, they had also become close 
friends. He trusted her with information about himself, that he had rarely 
confided to another.
	Stepping out of his car, he headed down the street towards the 
crime scene. As he walked along, he took in the upper middle class 
suburban neighborhood. The activity from the emergency vehicles 
seemed out of place, but he had been around long enough to know that 
murder knew no class boundary. The obvious material wealth of these 
homes would be no protection from the vagaries of life usually associated 
with the seamier areas of the city. 
	He continued to look over the houses and yards as he passed 
them. He paused in front of one home, located across the street and two 
doors down from the murder scene he was heading towards. He stared 
at the house, not knowing what specifically drew his attention. The lights 
were off and it appeared there was no one home, but he had a mild 
sensation that felt as if someone was watching him. He detected no 
movement, nor any indication that anyone may be there. To the right of 
the house were a number of large trees surrounded by small bushes. 
Something was there. Suddenly, they began to sway as they were hit by 
a large gust of wind.
	Looking up at the sky, Nick could see the dark storm clouds 
rolling by. It had been raining hard earlier, and just recently let up. It 
looked like it would rain again soon. Nick looked back over to where he 
felt the strange feeling emanating, but was soon distracted by an 
approaching uniformed officer.
	"Excuse me, Detective. They're waiting for you up at the house," 
the young officer shouted, beckoning him to come forward.
	"I'm coming," he replied back, shaking off the mild sensation. He 
sped his pace to the scene, turning his attention to the house up ahead. It 
was about ten o'clock on a Wednesday night and it seemed most of the 
neighbors were standing in their yards trying to determine what had 
happened. He hurried past them and turned up the driveway.
	Nick walked past the uniformed officers, nodding a greeting as he 
went by, and headed for the front door. The officers he passed were 
talking to various neighbors and keeping them away from the scene.
	As Nick stepped into the house, he was immediately assailed by 
an overwhelming smell of blood. It was almost as if the house had been 
drenched in it. Looking up, he could see the drying red substance was all 
over the door frame and surrounding wall. He quickly stepped back out 
onto the porch, and gulping large breaths of fresh air, he forced his 
instinctual reaction, caused by the blood scent, into submission.
	Situations such as this were a sudden reminder to him that he 
was a vampire. Not that he ever actually forgot, but in his quest to regain 
his mortality, he lived and worked with the very mortals he once long ago 
hunted. He had become comfortable in their world... sometimes too 
comfortable, he reminded himself.
	"What's the matter, Knight? A little squeamish?" questioned 
Officer Harris good-naturedly, as he manned the front door.
	"No, I'm all right. Looks a little crowded in there." 
	"Yeah, tell me about it. It's pretty bad in there."
	"So, what do we have here?"
	"Two dead bodies, man and wife, and a missing six year old girl."
	"Great. Do you know who called it in?" 
	"Uh, yeah. Petrie is talking to her now, over there." Harris nodded 
his head in the direction of the driveway.
	"Thanks, Harris." 
	Nick thankfully headed for the driveway where Officer Petrie was 
talking to an obviously distraught woman. He decided that by the time he 
finished talking to her and Petrie, maybe he could better handle going into 
the house. He wasn't ready for this.
	"Excuse me. I'm Detective Nicholas Knight, Metro Homicide,"  he 
quietly stated as he showed the woman his badge and ID.
	"Detective Knight, this is Mrs. Hornsby. She lives next door here," 
Petrie said indicating the house with the adjacent driveway. "She was 
dropping by the Barnett's house here, to visit Mrs. Barnett. She said she 
knocked on the door and no one answered. She knew they were home 
and Mrs. Barnett was expecting her. The door was unlocked so she went 
in, and that's when she saw the blood on the walls. She got scared, ran 
home and called us. Harris and I responded to the call. Mrs. Hornsby met 
us here in the driveway. We went in the house and found the bodies and 
called it in. You probably know the rest."
	Nick had been watching Mrs. Hornsby as Officer Petrie was 
giving him the run down. She was obviously very upset, but then again, 
who wouldn't be. He could tell she had been crying, but looked like she 
was trying to pull herself together.
	"Mrs. Hornsby, I know this is difficult, but I need to ask you a 
couple of questions."
	"Okay, Detective. I want to help," she said taking a deep breath. 
"I can't believe this happened!"  and then she started crying.
	Nick put his arm on her shoulder in an attempt to comfort her. 
This seemed to have a soothing effect. Her crying stopped and she 
seemed to pull herself together a little.
	"What do you want to know?" she asked, in a quavering voice.
	"Were you and Mrs. Barnett close friends?" asked Nick gently.
	"Yes, we were pretty close. We talked to each other almost every 
day," her voice quavering even more. Nick could sense she was on the 
verge of tears again.
	"When was the last time you spoke with her?" 
	"Just a few hours ago, around 6:30. That's when I let her know I 
would be over later tonight, after the kids were in bed. We were planning 
a party for the children."
	"Did she seem upset when you talked to her?"
	"No, she seemed fine. I've been over it in my mind, and 
everything seemed normal," she said, starting to cry again.
	"Mrs. Hornsby, I know this is hard, but do you know if there was 
anything in the last couple of months that she was unusually upset 
about? Had anyone been bothering them, like prank phone calls, being 
followed, or anything like that?" Nick asked in his most soothing voice.
	"Janet, call me Janet please," she said as she wiped her eyes 
and her nose.
	"Okay, Janet."
	"No, not that I know of. I'm sure she would have said something," 
and then Janet starting crying again. "Oh, this is just so horrible. Who 
could do such a thing?"
	"That's what we're going to find out." Reaching into his jacket, he 
pulled out a card and handed it to her. "Here's my card. If you think of 
anything, call me. Okay?" 
	"Okay, Detective," she said taking the card. "Thank you."
	As he looked up, Nick noticed that the local media vans were 
beginning to arrive. He didn't think Mrs. Hornsby was up to handling their 
attention and turned to Officer Petrie, who was still standing by waiting to 
assist.
	"Petrie, why don't you take Mrs. Hornsby, Janet, home. While 
you're over there, see if anyone in the family saw or heard anything."
	"Sure." 
	As Petrie began to take Mrs. Hornsby to her house, Nick turned 
and headed for the Barnett's front door. He took a few deep breaths, 
psyching himself up to handle the smell of blood that was permeating the 
entryway.
	"Hey, Knight. They've been waiting for you in there. I told them 
you were talking to the neighbor who called it in."
	"Thanks, Harris," said Nick, as he took a deep breath and walked 
through the front doorway.
	The smell of blood assaulted his senses immediately. There was 
no way around it. Nick closed his eyes for a moment, forcing himself to 
focus, to get past the smell. After a few moments he felt himself gain 
control.
	As he opened his eyes he began to look around the front 
hallway. The first thing he noticed was the blood painted on the walls. He 
could see why Mrs. Hornsby would have been scared and run out right 
about now. 
	Nick continued down the hall being careful to stay on the plastic 
mats. He went past the living room, dining room and on into the kitchen. 
This is where they found Mrs. Barnett. She was laying atop the kitchen 
table and Nick noticed that all the kitchen blinds had been drawn closed. 
From the looks of the room, Nick figured Mrs. Barnett must have just 
finished cleaning up.
	The once white kitchen cabinets were covered with large 
splashes of blood. It had dripped down and congealed on the kitchen 
counter. Blood was all over the floor, you wouldn't have been able to 
avoid walking in it if it hadn't been for the plastic that had been laid down. 
The aroma from the blood was stronger here than at the entrance. He 
briefly closed his eyes and forced himself to block out the smell.
	"Hey, Nick. You want to take a look at the body before I take it to 
the morgue?" asked Natalie, as she glanced at him with a 'and just where 
have you been' look. Nick walked over to where she was standing over 
the body.
	"Yeah. I was talking to the neighbor outside. The one who called 
it in. I wanted to get to her before the media descended on us. She's 
pretty upset."
	"Yeah, I can see why." Natalie lowered her voice and asked, "and 
how are you doing?"
	"What do you mean?" asked Nick, with a wary look.
	"You know, all this ...." Natalie shrugged, trying to indicate all the 
blood that was over everything. As his doctor, in helping him to find a 
cure for his vampirism, she knew of his strong desire for blood. Although 
he no longer drank human blood, she knew he still craved it. This couldn't 
be easy for him.
	"Oh, that. I'm handling it," said Nick, shrugging nonchalantly, not 
wanting her to know how hard this really was for him. "So, what have we 
got?" he asked, while quickly glancing around the room.
	"My guess is she was first knocked out by a blow to the head. It 
doesn't look like she fought back much, if at all. That's why I think she 
was dazed or unconscious before he took the knife to her. He cut her 
jugular here, and she still had to be alive when that was done. That 
accounts for all the blood," stated Natalie, motioning with her arm to 
indicate the blood all over the kitchen.
	Nick quickly stepped back from the table. "I've seen enough, 
thanks," said Nick, as he pulled out a handkerchief and placed it over his 
nose and mouth, trying to act casual about it.
	"Handling it, huh?" asked Nat, as she motioned for them to 
remove the body and take it to the morgue. Nick just glared at her.
	"Hey, Knight. It's about time you got here. Where're you've 
been?" asked Schanke, walking into the kitchen from another hallway. 
Don Schanke and Nick had only been partners for a short while, having 
been teamed up some months back by their boss, Captain Joe 
Stonetree. Their relationship had started out pretty rocky, but they were 
slowly getting used to each other. Much to Nick's surprise, he actually 
liked having this partner.
	"I was talking to the neighbor. She didn't see anything," he 
added.
	"Yeah. That figures. Come back here. There's another body to 
look at," said Schanke wearily, as he headed back the way he had come. 
"The husband is back there in the den. It's just as bad there as it is here." 
	"I haven't been back there yet either," Natalie said, as she picked 
up her bag and headed after Schanke. "Coming, Nick?"
	"Right behind you." Nick followed Natalie down the hall towards 
the den. The floor was covered by a plastic mat. He could see they were 
following a trail of blood that led from the kitchen. Nick had seen some 
pretty brutal murders in his time, and these ranked right up there amongst 
the worse. He shuddered to think of what kind of mind could do this. It 
was his job to figure it out, and he wasn't really looking forward to this 
one.
	As they approached the den, Nick could see where the door 
frame also had been repainted in blood. As they entered the room, the 
scene was much the same as the kitchen. Mr. Barnett was laying on his 
back, on top of the desk. You could see where he had been struck in the 
head, probably knocking him out. His jugular had been cut in the same 
fashion as his wife's. Blood was all over the wall and floor. Nick decided 
he had seen all he needed to, and he really needed to leave. The smell of 
the blood was cloying, almost making him dizzy. He needed fresh air. 
"Schanke, maybe we should go see what the uniforms have come up 
with?" 
	"Yeah, I think that would be a good idea," said Schanke, just a 
little hesitantly. "Nat?"
	"You guys go ahead. Once I get the bodies to the morgue and 
complete the autopsies, I should be able to give you a good idea how my 
suspicions pan out. Don't plan on any results until tomorrow though, I 
think this is going to take awhile." Natalie turned back to the body and 
continued taking measurements and bagging evidence.
	"I'll catch up to you later Nat, okay?" said Nick, a little hesitant 
himself. 
	"Yeah, sure Nick. See you two later," said Natalie, with just a 
twinge of wry amusement to her voice. They were both looking a little 
green around the gills.
	Nick and Schanke made their way out of the house. They 
nodded to Harris as they stepped to the porch and down onto the front 
lawn. 
	"Man, oh man, Nick. Those people were practically butchered. 
What sick mind is capable of such a thing?" asked Schanke in disgust. 
"Their little girl is missing, her name is Sally. No one has found a trace of 
her. You think the killer would've taken her?"
	"I don't know, Skank," Nick stated in a detached tone of voice. 
This was really bothering him too, and he was trying to get the images 
out of his head. The fresh air was helping. He took a couple of deep 
breaths, then turned into the breeze, letting it blow across his face. After 
a short moment, he said, "let's go see what they have for us."
	Nick headed back towards Petrie to see what else they had 
gathered from talking to the neighbors. Schanke went to the other officers 
on the other side of the yard for the same purpose. Nick finished up, 
thanked Petrie and returned to where Schanke was just finishing up also. 
Halfway across the yard he spotted a large stout man, who he 
recognized as Captain Stonetree, coming up the walk. Nick stopped to 
wait for him, and they both waited for Schanke to join them.
	"I hope one of you has some good news for me. I've got the 
mayor and the commissioner on my back and they're not being very 
patient. The mayor doesn't live far from here and isn't too happy about 
something like this happening practically in his backyard. They both want 
answers now, so what do you have?" demanded Stonetree, in a 
frustrated voice.
	Nick and Schanke looked at each other, hoping the other one 
had something and was going to answer first. When that didn't happen 
Stonetree turned to Schanke and said, "well?"
	"Yeah, well," he started, glancing at his notebook. "It seems that 
no one we've interviewed saw or heard anything. We found signs of 
forced entry into the garage. Once there, the killer waltzed right into the 
house. We think he killed the wife first, then the husband. There's a little 
girl also, but we haven't been able to locate her."
	"You think the killer took her?" asked Stonetree.
	"We don't know, Captain. We still have men out looking for her. 
We hope she just got scared and ran away, but we don't know," replied 
Schanke, sounding frustrated and obviously concerned about the little 
girl. "Her name is Sally, and she's just a year or two younger than Jenny," 
commented Schanke, referring to his own daughter.
	"Let's not think the worse yet, okay, detective," said Stonetree 
encouragingly.
	"Yeah, right Cap," agreed Schanke.
	"Knight, I don't suppose you have anything?" said Stonetree, a 
sound of hopeful expectation in his voice. It wasn't unheard of for Knight 
to pull a rabbit from a hat. The guy had instincts that just didn't quit. It was 
almost eerie, the types of connections he would make. But he was 
usually right, and that was really all that mattered. Any more than that, he 
didn't want to know.
	"Nothing concrete," he replied vaguely. Schanke threw him a 
questioning glance, while Stonetree looked at him expectantly.
	"What's your gut telling you?" asked Stonetree curiously.
	"I think it's obvious this isn't the first time the killer has done 
something like this," said Nick thoughtfully. "He just did it too well. It 
seemed pretty planned out."
	"Okay, so any ideas?" asked Stonetree, first looking at Knight, 
then Schanke. They both shook their heads negatively. "You two stay on 
this. I want some answers. There has <got> to be something, just keep 
looking," ordered Stonetree, fixing them with an 'and I mean now' stare.
	"Yes sir," they both replied. 
	They watched as Stonetree headed into the Barnett's house, 
then turned to look over the neighborhood again.
	"Let's get back to the station and see what we can come up with, 
okay?" suggested Nick.
	"Yeah, okay. I'll meet you back there."

===
CHAPTER TWO


	Back at the precinct, Schanke and Nick were making little 
progress. While Schanke spent the time putting their case notes together, 
Nick was on the computer looking for other unsolved cases that may be 
similar. Nick was sure there were other murders. This killing felt 
practiced, organized, and there seemed to be few obvious clues left 
behind.
	Having finished submitting his query for the information, he didn't 
feel like sitting around waiting for the computer. It would be awhile before 
he got the results, if they even came in tonight. "Skank, we're getting 
nowhere here. Forensics finished at the house a while ago. Why don't 
you wait here and see if you can get a preliminary report. I want to go 
back to the house and see what we may have missed."
	"Sure, no problem. I've got some old case files I want to review. 
Probably a waste of time, but hey, what else is there?" said Schanke, as 
he dropped the stack of papers on his desk.
	Nick walked outside and headed for his car. About halfway to the 
car he stopped and looked around. He just had the strangest feeling, for 
just a second, like someone was watching. But the feeling left as quickly 
as it came. Nick shrugged it off and continued towards his car.

	Nick pulled the Caddy into the driveway of the Barnett's house. It 
was just before four in the morning and the rest of the street was dark. 
The neighborhood was quiet, the only sign of the earlier activity being the 
trampled grass on the lawn leading up to the front door of the house. 
	He checked in with the officers watching the house from their 
squad car in the street, then headed towards the front door. There was 
yellow crime scene tape across the entrance. He opened the door, 
ducked under the tape and entered the house. The smell of blood was 
still strong, but he had been prepared this time. He was hoping, that 
alone and unobserved, he would be able to detect some telltale sign left 
by the killer.
	He concentrated, forcing himself to block out the smell of blood. 
He began looking around. The earlier reports stated they thought the 
killer entered the house through the side door of the garage. Nick started 
there, tracing the killers path through the house.
	As he walked from room to room, he took note of the furnishings. 
It had the look of a professional decorator. Everything seemed to blend 
together, in what he thought was a slightly classical Italian renaissance 
style. Passing through the living room, from the corner of his eye he 
noticed a painting on the wall. Unremarkable, except for the memories it 
invoked. It was of the city of Florence, surrounded by the Tuscany hills. 
The picture made it look not much different now, than it had been in the 
past.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	He was sitting astride the balustrade, with one leg swinging idly 
back and forth. Their villa was nestled high in one of the surrounding 
Tuscan hills, overlooking the valley. He let his gaze wander over the city 
below. It was dark, and few lights were burning. It was not yet midnight, 
and already everyone had scattered to their homes, locking themselves 
safely inside. A soft breeze had sprung up, rustling his hair as it gusted 
by.
	"Nicholas..." He turned as he heard his named called. "And just 
what are you about?" asked LaCroix, stepping onto the verandah and 
walking over to where his son was delicately perched on the railing.
	"I am bored. There seems to be nothing to do," he replied, 
looking again down at the city.
	"Were you not to attend a party at the home of your friend, 
Cosimo, is it not?" asked LaCroix.
	"His father canceled it. Said it would not be appropriate under the 
circumstances," answered Nicholas sighing, obviously not happy about 
having his plans changed.
	"What circumstances?" inquired LaCroix.
	"Remember the man that was murdered down by the Ponte 
Vecchio the other night? He had his throat cut. It was that of Cosimo's 
cousin. His family is in mourning, and all the social events have been 
called off, everywhere," said Nicholas.
	"Everywhere?" asked LaCroix skeptically.
	"Well, everywhere that I wish to go,"  he answered.
	"Then how is it you plan on spending your nights?" asked 
LaCroix, curious to see what amusement Nicholas would choose for 
himself.
	"Cosimo's cousin was the fourth person to be murdered in as 
many months. If this were to continue, there will be no more gatherings. 
Everyone is frightened to leave their homes after dark," he related.
	"And what do you propose we do about this?"
	"I think we should go and catch this murderer ourselves," 
suggested Nicholas.
	"Why should we wish to get involved?"
	Shrugging, Nicholas replied, "it could be fun. We could hunt the 
killer. Does that not sound intriguing?"
	"Ironic, would be a better word. But, if it pleases you, I give you 
my leave to do so," said LaCroix indulgently. At Nicholas' obvious 
excitement, he added, "however, you must be careful. Do not do anything 
that would lead the authorities to our door. They are skittish enough as is, 
and may not welcome your assistance. Are we clear on this?"
	"Yes, LaCroix. I will be careful," Nicholas assured him.

--- End Flashback ---

	Shaking his head, Nick pulled himself back to the present. He 
had no desire to dwell upon old memories, especially those involving 
Lucien LaCroix, his vampire father, the one who had brought him across 
into this life of eternal darkness. Closing his eyes, he could clearly see 
the image of a tall and forbidding man, with close cropped white hair, ice 
blue eyes that could pierce straight into your soul, and a presence that 
radiated with the power and strength of his millennium of existence. That 
chapter of his life was behind him. He had closed the door himself, 
forever.
	Pushing these thoughts to the back of his mind, he continued his 
search. Finding nothing on the ground floor, Nick climbed the stairs to the 
second level. There was less smell of death and blood upstairs, and Nick 
was able to relax a little and let his senses flow. He was standing in the 
main hallway. He carefully moved from room to room, looking for 
anything odd or out of place. The last room at the end of the hall 
appeared to be a child's playroom. Everything looked normal. 
	Frustrated, he took a deep breath, and as he was exhaling, he 
thought he sensed something. It was faint. He concentrated, using his 
enhanced sense of hearing, and was sure he heard it. A rapid thumping 
sound. He followed it to a corner of the room where a small playhouse 
stood. There was someone in the playhouse and the sound was 
unmistakably a human heartbeat. It became more rapid as he opened the 
door and peered inside.
	He looked around and saw nothing. Standing, he announced to 
the room, "I'm a police officer and I'm here to help you. It's safe to come 
out now." Getting no response, he concentrated on the sound. Peering 
back inside the playhouse, he was sure the sound of the heartbeat was 
coming from inside, although he saw nothing. The back of the playhouse 
was open and pressed up against the wall. Looking closely, he saw what 
looked like a hinged door in the wall. Standing, he picked up the 
playhouse and moved it away from the wall, revealing a small door 
leading into a crawlspace over the garage.
	Getting on his hands and knees, he pulled open the small 
doorway and gently spoke into the opening, "Sally, I'm a police officer 
and I know you're in here. It's okay to come out, I won't hurt you. I'm here 
to help you." He could hear the increased beating of her heart, but 
otherwise, no response.
	Nick crouched down and crawled part way into the opening, and 
said, "don't be afraid. I won't hurt you." Using his enhanced sight to see in 
the darkened space, he looked around and saw a terrified six year old girl 
staring back at him. She was sitting on the floor with her hands wrapped 
tightly around her knees. Tears were running down her face and she was 
trembling. Nick slowly held out his hand to her and said, "it's all right 
Sally. I'm a police officer. I'm Detective Knight. I'm here to help you. I 
won't hurt you. Do you understand?" She just stared at him with huge 
terrified eyes.
	He could tell that she knew what had happened to her parents... 
had probably seen it happen. He continued to hold out his hand to her, 
locking his eyes with her, and in his most soothing of voices told her, "it's 
okay. I'm not going to hurt you. You can trust me."  He could feel her 
calming down and relaxing as he continued to talk soothingly to her, 
when all of a sudden, she let out a small cry and ran to him.
	She grabbed him tightly around the neck, pressing her face into 
his shoulder, and began crying uncontrollably. Nick wrapped his arm 
around her and backed out of the cramped area. He stood up, holding 
her securely, and whispered to her that everything was going to be okay. 
After a few minutes her crying subsided, but she didn't release her hold 
on him, if anything, she was holding him tighter.
	Nick decided that the best thing to do was to get her out of the 
house. He didn't want her to see the blood smeared all over the walls, so 
he removed his coat and placed it over her head so she couldn't see. He 
then walked downstairs and out of the house to his car. He opened the 
drivers' door and slid into the front seat with the girl. 
	He tried to put her down in the passenger side of the car, but she 
refused to let go of her grip around his neck. He continued to soothe her 
until she finally let loose so he could set her down on the seat next to 
him, where she immediately grabbed him around the waist, pressing her 
face against his stomach. He gently stroked her hair and could feel her 
beginning to relax. Nick then started the car and backed out of the 
driveway. He stopped alongside the watching officers, and after a few 
brief words, headed back to the precinct. He left it to them to call in and 
report that he had found the girl.

	Meanwhile, across the street and down the block, the killer sat 
hidden behind a small group of large bushes. He was silently watching as 
the detective carried the small girl out to his car.
	He had known she was in the house, and he knew she had seen 
him earlier. It had not concerned him at the time since he was planning 
on killing her too, but that neighbor woman had interrupted him. He had 
been looking for the girl when he heard her enter the house. He had to 
abandon his search knowing that the police were being called.
	When he had seen the two detectives leave, since he couldn't go 
back to the house while the rest of the police were there anyway, he had 
decided to follow them. He recognized the tall blond detective as the one 
who had stopped on the sidewalk outside his hiding place earlier, and 
had stared into where he was crouched behind the bushes watching. He 
sensed something from this one that he suspected would be trouble. This 
one seemed to 'know things'. 
	He had sat in his car outside the police station for most of the 
night and when he saw the tall blond detective leave, he decided to follow 
him. It didn't take him long to figure out he was headed back to the 
murder scene. The killer knew that the little girl was still in the house and 
maybe the detective would find her for him. He could not allow her to live. 
She had seen him. 
	When he saw the blond detective leave the house with the girl, 
he became excited. The killer hurried to his car and quickly caught sight 
of the Caddy heading down the street. 'This is just too easy,' thought the 
killer, chuckling to himself.

	Nick's concentration was on the little girl seated next to him. She 
had stopped crying and was now sitting quietly, her arms still wrapped 
tightly around his waist. They came to a stop at a red light and Nick 
asked, "Sally, are you feeling better now?" She just sniffed and pressed 
closer to him. 
	Looking ahead down the road, Nick noticed an all night burger 
place. Glancing down at Sally he asked, "are you hungry? Would you like 
to stop and get something to eat?" Nick figured she probably hadn't eaten 
in quite a while and must be hungry. Sally didn't answer. Nick decided he 
would stop. They wouldn't have anything for her at the station and it was 
going to be a long day ahead for her. She should probably eat something 
now while she had the chance.
	When the light turned green, Nick headed down the road and 
pulled into the burger place. The drive-through was closed so they had to 
go inside. He pulled into a parking place and stopped the car. As he 
opened his door and started to get out, Sally reached up and grabbed his 
shirt as if she were frightened he was going to get away. He reached 
down, grabbed her under her arms and picked her up. He carried her into 
the restaurant with her arms tightly wrapped around his neck.
	He went to the counter and ordered her some food. It was placed 
in front of him before he could finish paying for it. He picked up the tray 
and carried it, and the little girl, to a table in the center aisle. He set the 
tray on the table as he sat in the booth. He managed to get Sally to let go 
of him long enough to turn around and sit on his lap. With coaxing from 
him, she picked up her hamburger and began to slowly eat.
	Business was slow this time of the morning and most of the 
customers, like Nick, were probably working the night shift and just 
grabbing a quick bite. In the short time they had been sitting there, a few 
customers had come and gone, so there was really no reason to be 
suspicious when a man entered and headed towards the counter at the 
front of the restaurant.

	The killer was on the other side of the room and he stopped just 
behind where he saw the blond detective sitting with the little girl. He had 
followed them to the restaurant, chuckling the entire way. This detective 
was making things so much easier for him that he couldn't believe his 
good luck. This was a clear sign that destiny was on his side. This was 
meant to be.

	As Nick sat there watching Sally eat, he again sensed that 
strange feeling he had experienced earlier as he was going to his car, 
only this time it didn't go away. He turned around to look just in time to 
see a man, tugging a ski mask over his face, pull a gun and aim it in his 
direction.
	Nick grabbed Sally and threw her and himself to the floor just as 
the bullets passed through the air where they had been sitting. Nick 
pulled his gun, rolled across the aisle and came to his knees with his gun 
pointing in the direction of where the shots had come from. No one was 
there. Nick saw the back of a man running out the door into the parking 
lot. He held off firing and got up to give chase. He was almost to the door 
when he heard Sally screaming. He hesitated briefly, before reluctantly 
turning back to take care of the little girl. 
	He was sure this man was the killer and he tried to get a sense of 
the man, as he hurried back to Sally. He holstered his gun and bent down 
to pick her up. She stopped screaming the moment she was in his arms. 
"Has anyone called the police?" he asked, looking around quickly.
	"I did," said the manager, from the front of the restaurant. "They 
said they would be right here."
	"Okay, everyone be calm and stay down. I'm a police detective 
and everything's under control."
	He stood with his left arm supporting Sally, who had her arms 
once again tightly around his neck. Then he got that strange sensation 
again, very strong.
	He pulled his gun and stretched out his arm, pointing his gun out 
the window towards the parking lot. It was dark out there, and even with 
his enhanced sight, all he could see were shadows, but he could feel the 
presence. The killer was still outside. He could feel him moving, stalking 
him. He turned in a slow circle, gun arm outstretched, staring intently at 
the darkness, as he sensed the presence moving outside.
	He heard sirens in the distance.

	'Damn that detective! How did he know I was there? How is it he 
knows where I am now? If he can see me, how come he doesn't shoot? 
Unless he can't see me, yes, that's it. But he knows I'm here somehow. 
He can sense me. He's following my every step. Damn! This could ruin 
everything. Well, I'll just have to kill them both now, won't I?' the killer 
thought to himself, feeling totally confident that he would be able to carry 
out his plans. 'Now, how am I going to leave without that detective seeing 
me?'
	He heard sirens in the distance.

	There was a loud noise directly behind him and Nick spun, 
aiming his gun at the source of the noise. A customer crouching next to 
the condiment counter had knocked over the napkin dispenser, sending it 
crashing to the floor. Nick, seeing this wasn't a threat, turned back to look 
for the presence he had earlier sensed. It was gone. Nick concentrated, 
and surprised, sensed nothing. The killer was gone.
	Just then a couple of patrol cars, lights flashing, pulled into the 
parking lot. As the officers came running into the restaurant, Nick put his 
gun away.
	"Hey, Knight, what's up?" said Officer Harris, with Officer Petrie 
beside him. They both looked around, saw the frightened customers 
crouching on the floor, and noticed the table full of bullet holes next to 
where Nick was standing.
	Just as Nick was getting ready to answer, Schanke came 
hurrying in, "Nick, are you all right? Is that the little girl?" he asked, all 
worry and curiosity.
	"This is Sally Barnett," replied Nick, indicating the girl who had 
her face buried in his neck. Nick could feel her trembling. Her breath was 
quick and hot against his neck and he could hear her heart beating 
rapidly. "I found her hiding in her house and we were on our way back to 
the precinct when we stopped for a quick bite. I believe the man 
responsible for this is the one we've been looking for. He must've 
followed us from the house."
	"Here, let me take her," said Schanke, reaching up to take her 
from Nick. As Nick started to push her towards Schanke, Sally started to 
scream.
	"It's okay, Sally. This is Schanke, he's my partner. It's okay," said 
Nick, trying to calm her down.
	"No, no, no," yelled Sally, as she grabbed a tighter hold on Nick, 
not about to let go of him.
	"Okay, Sally, it's okay. I won't let go of you," said Nick, trying to 
calm down the crying child. He gave Schanke a 'what have I got myself 
into' look as he hugged Sally closer to him. She stopped crying.
	"Okay, now what do we do?" asked Schanke.
	"Here's what we'll do," sighed Nick. "Schanke, you drive Sally 
and me back to the precinct. Harris, Petrie, you guys finish up here and 
one of you drive my car back to the station. How's that sound?"
	"Sounds good to me. Let's go," said Schanke, heading towards 
his car.
	"Okay," said Harris, holding out his hand for Nick's keys.
	Nick handed over his keys and then followed Schanke out to his 
car.

===
CHAPTER THREE


	"Hey, honey, we're not going to let anyone hurt you. You're safe 
with us," cooed Schanke, trying to soothe the little girl. She was sitting in 
his partner's lap, hand tightly clenched around a fistful of Nick's shirt. She 
had calmed considerably since they got her to the precinct, as long as 
they didn't try to separate her from Nick. Looking up, Schanke said to 
Nick, "well, you certainly put a spell on her. Now what are you going to 
do?"
	Looking completely at a loss, Nick replied, "I don't know. What 
am I suppose to do? She can't stay with me. I don't know anything about 
little girls."
	"You underestimate yourself, partner. You're a natural," said 
Schanke, smiling at Nick's discomfiture. "Just look," he added, indicating 
Sally's small form curled up in his lap. She had lain her head against his 
chest and she looked like she was sleeping.
	"Okay, you two, listen up," said Stonetree, as he approached 
their desks from his office. "I just got off the phone with Children's 
Services. They can't get anyone over to pick her up until noon, at the 
earliest. We'll have to keep her until then."
	"Noon," said Nick, in disbelief. "I can't stick around until noon."
	"Yeah, I know," said Stonetree, eyeing Nick speculatively. "Look, 
it's almost morning. Until Children's Services show up, she's in our 
custody and we need to protect her. That means she stays with you two."
	"What do you mean, stays with us?" asked Schanke.
	"Just that, detective." Turning to look at Nick, he continued, "take 
her back to your place. That's where I told Children's Services they could 
find her."
	"What am I suppose to do? I can't take care of her," argued Nick. 
"I don't know anything about children."
	"Sure you do," replied Stonetree. "After all, you were one once 
yourself, right?"
	"That was a long time ago," replied Nick, thinking to himself how 
long ago 800 years was. He could barely remember being mortal, let 
alone being a child.
	"Schanke will help," said Stonetree.
	"I will?" asked Schanke.
	"Sure. You're going with him," stated Stonetree. "He's your 
partner, and she's in protective custody until Children's Services show 
up." Turning to look at both of them, he said, "don't let anything happen to 
her, understand?"
	"Yeah, we understand," said Schanke, resigned. Turning to Nick, 
he said, "I better call Myra and let her know I'll be going home with you 
this morning."
	Nick just took a deep breath and sighed his agreement. This was 
not how he expected this night to turn out. Standing, he shifted Sally to 
his left shoulder and walked over to wait for Schanke.
	"Okay, partner. We're all set," said Schanke, turning to Nick as 
he hung up the phone. "Let's roll."
	"I have to go to the bathroom," said a quiet voice into Nick's ear.
	"Skank?" said Nick, turning to his partner, with a 'what in the hell 
am I suppose to do about this' look on his face.
	"Yeah, I heard. Go ahead and take her, then we'll go. No big 
deal," said Schanke, looking innocently at his partner.
	"I can't take her," said Nick anxiously.
	"You're gonna have to," said Schanke, grinning at Nick's obvious 
aversion.
	"I have to go," she said again, tugging on Nick's collar.
	Turning to Sally, he replied, "okay. Give us just a sec." He put her 
down so she was standing next to him. She leaned against him with one 
hand clutching his pants leg, and looked up at him expectantly. He was 
just getting ready to say something more to Schanke, when Norma 
walked over from the administration desk.
	"Here, Nick. I'll take her," she said. At Nick's grateful look, she 
bent down to ask Sally, "you want me to take you?"
	In response, Sally turned and wrapped her arms tightly around 
Nick's leg, and pressed her face against him. It was obvious she wasn't 
about to let herself be separated from him.
	"Sorry, I tried," she said to Nick, as she stood up.
	"Thanks anyway," he replied, resigning himself to the task at 
hand. "Okay, let's get this over with," he muttered, as he picked her back 
up. She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and buried her 
face against his shoulder.
	He walked out of the office and down the hall towards the 
restrooms, with Schanke following closely behind. Just as he started to 
enter, Schanke hollered, "Nick. Other door."
	Turning to Schanke, he said, "what difference does it make?"
	"You can't take a little girl into the men's room. You have to take 
her to the ladies room," he explained to his partner's glaring face.
	"You're enjoying this, aren't you?" sniped Nick.
	"Yeah, I am," smirked Schanke, as he knocked on the ladies 
room door. Getting no answer, he pushed the door open and held it for 
Nick. "I'll guard the front."
	"Do that," ordered Nick brusquely, as he brushed past Schanke 
into the ladies room.
	He headed towards the first stall and set Sally down in front of it. 
He pushed the door open for her. She just looked up at him and grabbed 
hold of his pants leg. "Go on. I'll just wait over here," he said, indicating 
the area by the sinks.
	When she made no move to go in, he started to move away from 
her. She cried, "no," and grabbed him tighter.
	Kneeling down in front of her, he said, "I'm not going anywhere. 
I'll be right here, I promise."
	"Don't leave me," she said softly, her eyes starting to water.
	"I won't leave you," he said, sighing in resignation. "Let's go." He 
took her hand and led her into the stall. After watching her for a moment, 
he said, "well?"
	"You have to close the door," she explained.
	That done, he said, "okay. Now what?"
	"Turn around, and don't watch," she answered, waiting for him to 
comply.
	He turned around, closed his eyes, and put his hand up to his 
forehead. He couldn't believe he was doing this. He felt Sally let go of his 
leg and move slightly away from him.
	"You won't leave?" she asked hesitantly.
	"I won't leave," he assured her. He stood there and waited for 
her.
	When she was finished, she took hold of his leg and announced, 
"I'm done. You can look now."
	Turning around with relief, he saw that she was indeed, quite 
done. He pulled open the stall door and led her out into the larger area. 
As he started for the door, she said, "I have to wash my hands."
	"Of course," he replied wearily, changing direction and heading 
for the sinks.
	She couldn't reach the water faucets, so he turned them on for 
her. As she busied herself with the soap and water, Nick took a moment 
to glance in the mirror. His eyes were their normal shade of brilliant blue, 
without a trace of the gold or red that would indicate a transformation into 
his vampiric self. But he thought he looked tired and drawn, and he still 
had a long day ahead. Turning to the sink in front of him, he turned on the 
water. He washed his hands, then ran them still dripping, over his face 
and through his hair, before reaching for a paper towel. As he dried his 
hands and face, he saw Sally staring intently at him. Then she pulled her 
hands from the water and copied his movements almost exactly. Smiling, 
he handed her a towel to dry her hands and face. She smiled back.
	"So, you ready to go?" he asked, kneeling down to her level.
	She moved closer to him and seriously asked, "do I have to call 
you Detective Knight?"
	Replying seriously, he said, "no, you can call me Nick."
	She put her hand on his shoulder, and wrapped her fist around a 
handful of his shirt. Looking directly into his eyes, she asked, "Nick, are 
my mommy and daddy gone forever?"
	He hesitated, as he wasn't sure how to answer her. She was only 
a little girl, but he was pretty sure she knew what had happened. He 
wasn't really sure how much she actually saw, but he decided it would be 
pointless to try to couch the truth from her. "I'm sorry, Sally, but I'm afraid 
they're gone. They won't be coming back," he said, as gently as he could.
	She looked down at the floor, accepting his words. Her hand 
tightened on his shirt. She breathed a small sigh, then looked back up 
and asked him, "did they really go to hell?"
	Shocked at her question, he asked, "why would you think that?"
	"That's what that man said," she whispered, looking back at the 
floor.
	"What exactly did he say?" asked Nick, knowing she was talking 
about the man who killed her parents. When she didn't answer him, he 
placed his hand on her chin and pulled her face up to look at him. "Sally, 
this is important. Tell me what you heard." She continued to stare at him, 
not speaking. Her chin was quivering and she looked like she was about 
to start crying again. Calmly, and soothingly, he spoke to her. "Sally, look 
at me. I'm not going to hurt you. No one is going to hurt you. You're safe 
here. It's okay to tell me what you heard." He could hear her heart 
beating as he spoke to her. The thumping increasing as she 
remembered. His voice calmed her.
	"I have passed through the third circle and am sending you 
onward to hell to announce my coming," she recited in a monotone.
	Surprise registered on Nick's face, and he looked away, breaking 
eye contact with Sally. She immediately began to cry. He pulled her close 
and hugged her to his chest. "It's okay, Sally. Everything's going to be 
okay. You're safe now." His words had a soothing effect and her cries 
subsided. She wrapped her arms around his neck and held him tightly.
	Nick looked up as the door opened and Schanke poked his head 
in. "Everything all right in here?" he asked concerned.
	"We're just leaving," answered Nick, picking Sally up as he stood.
	"What's wrong?" he asked, as Nick brushed past him in the 
doorway.
	"Later," answered Nick, indicating Sally's distress.
	"Yeah, right. Look, we'd better hit the road. It's almost dawn," 
said Schanke, hurrying down the hall in front of Nick.
	"We're right behind you," said Nick, following after.

	Sally had fallen asleep during the drive, but had woken as they 
stepped off the elevator into the loft. Her head lay on Nick's shoulder as 
she looked around at her new surroundings. Schanke headed straight for 
the kitchen and started opening cupboards.
	Turning to Nick he said, "I don't suppose you have any food here, 
do you?"
	Looking slightly irritated, Nick replied, "no. I wasn't expecting 
company."
	"Seeing as she hasn't eaten, and I'm starving, I'll go out and get 
us something. What do you feel like?" asked Schanke, looking at Nick.
	"Feel like?" replied Nick, confused over what Schanke was 
asking him.
	"You know," said Schanke, shaking his head. "Food. What do 
you feel like eating?"
	"Nothing for me, I'm fine," answered Nick, walking into the living 
room area.
	"What do you mean, fine. You haven't eaten all night. I know you 
got this weird diet and all, but you must want something," said Schanke 
curiously.
	Picking up the remote, he pressed the button to close the steel 
shutters that would block the approaching daylight. "I have some stuff in 
the fridge. Don't worry about me," answered Nick.
	"Oh, yeah. Like what?" asked Schanke, heading for the fridge. 
He got the door open before Nick could get to the kitchen. "Let's see, 
what do we have. Wine, wine, wine, and what's this?" he asked, picking 
up a container full of some liquid brown stuff.
	"That's a protein shake," answered Nick.
	"It looks disgusting," replied Schanke, shaking his head as he put 
it back. Heading for the elevator, he said, "I'm going to the store and I'll 
be right back." Pausing outside the elevator, he asked Nick, "will you be 
okay while I'm gone?"
	"Yeah, we'll be fine. Go ahead."
	As soon as Schanke was gone, Nick pulled open the refrigerator 
door. He started to reach for the protein shake, then at the last minute, 
grabbed a 'wine' bottle. Sally had her head laying on his shoulder, and 
was being very quiet. If she was going to remain this close to him all day, 
he knew a protein shake just wasn't going to cut it, especially not after the 
night he just had.
	Opening a cupboard, he grabbed a large mug and set it on the 
counter. Picking up the bottle, he pulled the cork out with his teeth and 
spit it onto the counter. Glancing quickly at Sally, he saw that she had her 
eyes closed. He sensed she wasn't really sleeping, but she seemed 
content for the moment. He poured a liberal amount from his bottle into 
the mug. Setting the bottle down, he picked up the mug. He turned up his 
nose as a whiff of the cow's blood registered on his senses, then taking a 
deep breath, he drank it all quickly. He set down the mug and poured 
himself a refill.
	He was leaning with his back against the kitchen counter, about 
halfway finished with his third mug, when Sally said, "he drank from a 
bottle."
	Nick knew she was talking about the killer. "He did?" he asked 
tentatively, seeing if she would continue talking on her own.
	"He was drinking blood," she said, lifting her head to look at him. 
He was surprised and didn't know what to say. "Are you drinking blood?" 
she asked, looking into his mug.
	He quickly pulled it from her view, and said, "why would you think 
that?"
	She just shrugged and said, "it's red. He drank red stuff. It was 
the same red stuff he painted on the doors. He said it was 'blood of the 
lamb'."
	Nick knew the doors had been painted in blood. He had been so 
overwhelmed by the smell, that he had spent most of his time trying to 
block it from his senses. He hadn't bothered to notice what kind of blood. 
He and the others had assumed the blood was from the Barnett's. "Did 
he tell you this? Was he talking to you?" asked Nick, confused and 
curious.
	She shook her head. "I was hiding at the top of the stairs. I saw 
him in the living room. I don't know who he was talking to, he was just 
talking."
	"Did he know you were there?"
	"He heard me crying," she whispered, burying her head against 
his shoulder once again. "I ran and hid."
	"It's okay," he said, trying to soothe her. "You did the right thing."
	She settled down against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She 
had to be really tired. She'd been awake most all night. When he had 
found her earlier, she had been hiding in the crawlspace for over six 
hours, terrified. He was surprised that she was able to function at all. He 
supposed her 'recovery' was mostly due to his influencing of her. First, 
when he had coaxed her out of the crawlspace, and then in the bathroom 
when he got her to tell him what the killer said.
	Since she seemed to be dozing, although not asleep, he quickly 
finished his drink. He rinsed out the glass and put the bottle away before 
Schanke got back. He carried her over to the couch, where he sat down 
and turned on the television. He turned the volume down to where only 
he could hear, and watched the morning news. The leading segment was 
on the Barnett killings. The report only said that there had been a double 
murder in one of the higher rent areas last night. No details of the crime 
were given, and no victims names were released. A sketchy report, at 
best.
	Nick closed his eyes and let his head lay back against the cool 
leather of the couch. He was just starting to doze off when he heard the 
elevator engage. Rubbing his eyes, and telling himself to wake up, he 
stood up just as Schanke emerged into the loft.
	"Hey, how's she doing?" asked Schanke, indicating the small girl 
wrapped around his partner's neck.
	"She's still awake," replied Nick. "What did you get?" he asked 
curiously.
	"I picked up some stuff that I know Jenny and her friends like. 
Mainly milk and cereal. Why don't you take her over to the table and I'll 
bring it over," he suggested.
	Nodding, Nick walked over to the kitchen table and sat down. 
Sally had opened her eyes and was watching Schanke. She turned 
around, sitting on Nick's lap, facing the table. Schanke came over and 
placed a bowl and spoon in front of her. Nick looked at the contents of the 
bowl and made a face. He gave Schanke a questioning look.
	"It's what kids eat," he said, defensively.
	"Isn't that an awful lot of sugar?" asked Nick, skeptical that this is 
what she should be fed.
	By that time, Sally had picked up a spoon and was starting to eat. 
Looking vindicated, Schanke gestured towards her and said, "she seems 
to like it just fine."
	Nick just rolled his eyes and turned back to Sally. A few moments 
later, Schanke joined them at the table. "You're eating it too?" asked 
Nick, a slightly incredulous tone in his voice.
	"Hey, if it's good enough for the kid, who am I to complain? And 
besides," he said, in between mouthfuls, "it's a heck of a lot better than 
that <stuff> you drink."
	Nick just shook his head and sat there in silence, while his 
partner and Sally ate what he thought was a disgusting mixture of milk, 
sugar, and who knows what.
	After they were done eating, Schanke cleared the table and put 
the dishes in the sink. "We'll clean these up later. I'm ready to hit the hay. 
What say you, partner?" he asked, turning to Nick. "How do you want to 
do this?"
	"Simple. You take the couch, and I don't," said Nick, heading for 
the stairs. "Blankets are in the linen closet over there. Wake me when 
Children's Services arrive, okay?"
	"Yeah, sure. No problem," said Schanke, watching Nick climb the 
stairs to his bedroom, carrying Sally with him.
	When Nick got to his bedroom, he pulled a large quilt out of the 
closet and threw it on the bed. He sat down in the center of the bed and 
set Sally down on his lap. He pulled her shoes off and tossed them on the 
floor. He did the same with his. Then, gathering up the quilt, he laid back 
on the bed, Sally beside him, and pulled the quilt over them both. He 
closed his eyes as he felt the small girl burrow in close to him and settle 
down. He could sense her falling asleep and allowed himself to do the 
same.

	Schanke woke to the sound of a buzzer. It took him a moment to 
remember where he was, then he climbed off the couch and walked over 
to the security monitor, mumbling, "yeah, yeah. I'm coming. Hold your 
horses."
	Looking in the monitor, he saw two women standing on the 
sidewalk. Pressing the speaker button, he said, "hello. Can I help you?"
	The older lady replied, "yes. We're looking for Detective Knight."
	"And you are?" asked Schanke, figuring these must be the 
Children's Services people.
	"I'm Mrs. Foster and this is Dr. Reynolds. We're with Children's 
Services."
	"Hold your identification up to the camera," he requested. They 
took turns holding up their ID. Satisfied, Schanke replied, "I'll buzz you in. 
Take the elevator up to the second floor."
	Walking to the foot of the stairs, Schanke yelled, "yo, Nick. We've 
got company." He waited a moment before starting to yell again, but 
about that time the elevator arrived. He walked over to greet their guests 
as they walked off the elevator.
	Mrs. Foster held out her hand and asked, "you're Detective 
Knight?"
	"No," he replied laughing, mostly to himself. "I'm his partner, 
Detective Schanke. Knight's upstairs with the little girl, Sally Barnett. I 
think they're still sleeping." Upon seeing the curious look on their faces, 
he explained, "we work graveyard."
	"Oh, I see," said Mrs. Foster. "I apologize that we are so late, but 
it took us awhile to make the proper arrangements for Sally. We assume 
she must be highly traumatized by events from last night, the poor child."
	"Yeah, it was pretty rough on her. My partner's the one who 
found her hiding in the house after everyone else had gone. She's kind of 
latched on to him. Won't let him out of her sight. Starts crying. Are you 
prepared to deal with that?" he asked, curious to see how prepared they 
really were.
	"Yes. Captain Stonetree informed us of the situation. That's why I 
have Dr. Reynolds with me. Dr. Reynolds is a psychologist specializing 
with traumatized children. We're hoping Sally will be able to transfer her 
emotional dependence to her. It will make this much easier for the child," 
explained Mrs. Foster.
	Glancing at the stairs, and not seeing or hearing any movement, 
Schanke figured Nick must still be asleep. "Let me go get them," he said. 
"Make yourselves comfortable." He pulled the blankets off the couch and 
tossed them onto the floor, out of the way. "I'll be right back."
	He climbed the stairs and walked into Nick's bedroom, as Sally 
sat up and looked at him, wide awake. However, Nick was still sound 
asleep. "Hey, honey, did you sleep well?" he asked sweetly. She didn't 
respond, but continued to look at him. "We have some people downstairs 
to see you. What say we wake Nicky boy here and go down and say 
hello. What do you say?"
	She still didn't answer, but turned to look down at Nick. She 
cuddled close to him and laid her head on his shoulder. She continued to 
look at Schanke, and finally said, "he's tired."
	"Yeah, I know he is. But we need to wake him up anyway, okay," 
he explained. Looking at his partner, he said loudly, "hey, Nick. Wake up, 
buddy." There was no response. Schanke grabbed his ankle and gently 
shook him, saying again, "come on, Nick. Rise and shine." Still no 
response. Sally sat up and looked down at him. Schanke muttered, "I 
swear, he sleeps like the dead." 
	Sally gasped, and looked at Schanke. Realizing what he had 
said, and what she was probably thinking, he quickly assured her, "no, 
no, honey, it's okay. He's not dead, honest." Walking over to the other 
side of the bed, Schanke said to Sally, "watch this." He grabbed hold of 
Nick's pillow and yanked it out from under his head. Nick came awake 
with a start, and leaped away from the 'supposed' attack.
	He quickly suppressed the growl emanating from his chest, and 
closed his eyes tightly, willing them back to their normal hue. Still in a 
guttural tone, he snapped, "Schanke! That wasn't funny," glaring at his 
partner's laughing face.
	"Sure it was," he replied. "Besides, I was just showing Sally here, 
that you weren't really dead."
	Nick calmed considerably as he noticed Sally clinging to his arm. 
"Don't do that again," he said to Schanke. He then turned to Sally and 
said, "everything's all right." He looked up as Schanke shoved her shoes 
at him. Nick threw him a questioning look.
	"Company is downstairs," he explained.
	"Yeah, right," replied Nick, taking the shoes. Looking at his 
bedside clock, he said, "they're late."
	"I know, but they seem to be pretty okay. The main lady is Mrs. 
Foster. She's got a, um, doctor with her that she thinks can help."
	Nick finished helping Sally put her shoes on, then grabbing his off 
the floor, pulled them on as well. Turning to Sally, he held out his arms 
and she came right to him. He picked her up, then turning to Schanke 
said, "lead the way."

===
CHAPTER FOUR


	They had arrived at the precinct early tonight. Children's 
Services, mainly in the name of Mrs. Foster and Dr. Reynolds, had been 
at the loft for well over an hour before they finally left, taking little Sally 
with them. She had been crying, and was very upset to be separated 
from Nick. She did seem to like Dr. Reynolds, and Nick didn't feel bad 
about her going. He was in no position to take care of a little girl, even if 
he wanted to, which he didn't.
	For now, Mrs. Foster had assured them that Sally would be well 
taken care of. She was going to be placed in a high security facility, as 
the police had concerns that the killer may try to come after her. And this 
particular facility offered her the best protection. Mrs. Foster was also 
able to tell them that Sally had a number of relatives that may possibly 
take her in sometime later, after her situation was more resolved. She 
would not be an orphan, which was comforting to the two detectives.
	Neither of them were able to return to sleep after Mrs. Foster left. 
Instead, they sat talking about the case until it was time to go into work. 
Nick brought Schanke up to speed on the conversation he had with Sally 
in the bathroom, but didn't mention the other one where she had said that 
she thought the killer was drinking blood. That was a little too close to 
home, and it had him concerned over who, or what, this killer may be. 
Even though he thought he had sensed someone watching him on a 
couple occasions, he hadn't gotten the impression this someone was a 
vampire.
	These last few years, he had worked so hard to repress his 
vampiric tendencies, he was now doubting his ability to accurately sense 
another. At the crime scene, he hadn't even suspected that the blood 
around the doors wasn't human. Although it hadn't been confirmed, one 
way or another yet, he should be able to tell for certain. He shouldn't 
need to wait for forensics to tell him what kind of blood it was.
	Sitting at his desk, he logged onto the network. The first thing he 
checked was the results of his query from the night before. The results 
were in, and it looked like his request had registered a number of hits. He 
wrote down the filename on a piece of paper, then quickly scanned his 
email. Nothing to interest him there.
	Turning to Schanke, he said, "I'm going to go check on 
something and I'll be right back. Did you ever get a forensics report last 
night?"
	"Not yet, but where are you going?" asked Schanke.
	"Just see what you can get and we'll go over it when I get back," 
said Nick, turning to leave.
	"Whatever you say," replied Schanke, in resignation. It was 
obvious Nick didn't want to tell him where he was going. "You will leave 
your phone on though, won't you?" he shouted after him.
	"Yes, you can call me," said Nick, as he paused at the 
administration desk. Turning to the young woman behind the desk, he 
said, "hey, Norma. Can I get you to print this out for me?"
	"Sure, Nick," she said, taking the piece of paper he handed her. 
"I should have this on your desk by the time you get back."
	"Thanks," he said, as he hurried out.

	The music bombarded his mind as soon as he walked in the 
door. The soft sensuous rhythms pulled at him. He stood quietly for a 
moment, absorbing the feel of it, before walking down the ramp towards 
the bar.
	The Raven was not crowded tonight. He could sense most of the 
patrons were of the immortal variety, and he could feel their gaze 
following him as he slowly crossed the dance floor, and headed towards 
the dark-haired beauty who owned the club, Janette DuCharme. He had 
known her his entire vampire life, she being the one who introduced him 
to LaCroix. She had been his friend, sister, and sometimes lover for the 
past 800 years. He still was as drawn to her, as he had been that night 
long ago, when she had first seduced him.
	He had only been in the club a few times since moving to 
Toronto, the first time just a few short months ago. It had been good to 
see Janette again, but after what happened later with LaCroix, he had felt 
too guilty to come again so soon. He was afraid she would know what 
had happened, and blame him for it. Although, in his mind, it was all 
LaCroix' fault. But the bottom line was, he didn't want Janette to hate him 
for what he had done, so he had been avoiding her.
	Walking up to where she sat, he quietly said, "hello, Janette."
	Looking up at him, she smiled. "Nicolas. It has been quite some 
time. I take it you have been busy, no?" she asked, her soft French 
accent washing over him, as she held her hand out to him.
	He quickly captured her hand in his, and raised it to meet his lips, 
placing a gentle kiss upon it. "It is good to see you," he said, letting a little 
of how much he missed her show in his smile. "You look as beautiful as 
always."
	Smiling knowingly, she replied, "as do you, my handsome 
crusader." She looked into his eyes, and saw his passion simmering, just 
below the surface. But she knew that was not why he was here. "May I 
offer you some refreshment?" she asked, indicating her own glass.
	Being around Janette always intensified his appetites, whatever 
they may be at the time. He had not fed this evening, as he and Schanke 
had been dealing with Sally and Mrs. Foster, and afterwards, Schanke 
was still there and he had not had the opportunity. He was hungry, and 
he looked longingly at her glass.
	"Miklos," she said, indicating to her bartender that she wished 
another glass.
	With the reality of his desire thrust upon him, he quickly said, "no. 
I'm not thirsty."
	"You are sure, mon cher? There is nothing here that you want?" 
she asked suggestively, the double entendre evident in her manner. 
When he failed to answer, she waved Miklos away. "Nicolas, you are 
here for a reason, are you not?" she asked directly.
	"Yes," he answered. "I need your help." He looked at her to gage 
the affect his words were having. She looked at him, concern written 
across her face. "It's this case I'm working on," he said hesitantly.
	"Case?" she asked uncomprehendingly. "What is a case?"
	"You know, my job. I'm a homicide detective. We work on cases," 
he explained, smiling. He saw the understanding come across her 
features.
	"Ah, yes. You are working a case. For this little hobby of yours. Is 
that it?" she asked, slightly amused.
	"It's not a hobby, Janette. It's my job, and I take it seriously," he 
avowed.
	"You take <everything> seriously, mon cher," she replied, turning 
to face the bar. She picked up a cigarette and placed it between her lips. 
Miklos appeared almost out of nowhere, to light it for her, then just as 
quickly, disappeared. She inhaled deeply, then turning to face the dance 
floor, sensuously blew the smoke out between her lips. "I remember a 
time when this was not always so."
	Nick stood there mesmerized by her actions, as she always had 
this affect on him. She turned back to him, a knowing smile on her lips. 
She was well aware the influence she had on him, as he also had on her.
	"This is important, Janette," he said, trying to bring his 
concentration back around to why he had come in the first place.
	In a bored voice, Janette turned to him and said, "very well, 
Nicolas. What is so very important?"
	Hesitatingly, he said, "there is a murderer I am looking for. I need 
to know if he is one of us."
	Janette just looked at him, mildly surprised. "You mean you do 
not know?" Nick just looked at her without answering. After a short 
pause, she asked sarcastically, "tell me. How can you not know?"
	"I can sense him, sort of. He doesn't feel like one of us. But he 
was seen drinking blood at the murder scene," he explained, obviously 
confused. "I need you to tell me if you know anything."
	She could see the self-doubt on his face, but she refused to 
accept it. "Nicolas, if you have sensed him, and he doesn't feel like one of 
us, then you have your answer," she replied firmly.
	"I need to know for certain," he said abashedly, as he looked 
towards the floor.
	"You do know for certain," she said sharply. He looked up at her, 
his unsurety evident upon his face. "Nicolas, what is wrong with you?"
	Getting defensive, he replied, "nothing is wrong with me. I just 
thought you could help, that's all."
	"You have been playing in your mortal world too long. You no 
longer trust what your senses tell you," she admonished him. "You are 
not one of them, and you never will be. If you have sensed this 
<murderer>, and you do not think he is one of us, then he is not."
	"You don't understand," he replied.
	"I understand perfectly," she responded resolutely.
	They just stared at each other for the longest time, neither giving 
in. Finally, Janette softened and reached out her hand to caress his 
cheek. "Oh, Nicolas. Why do you do this to yourself?"
	He captured her hand in his, and held it against his cheek for a 
brief moment, before pushing it away. "I'm doing nothing to myself, 
Janette. I am only doing what must be done. It's my job to catch these 
murderers, before they kill more innocent people. And that's what I'm 
going to do," he said impassionedly. "Are you going to help me or not?"
	Staring into his eyes, she felt herself swallowed by his passion, 
buried deep inside. He has always been this way, she reminded herself. 
That is one of the reasons she has always loved him so. Sighing audibly, 
she said, "of course I will help you, mon cher."
	"Thank you, Janette. You will tell me if you hear anything?" he 
asked, grateful for her help.
	"Yes. I will call you should I hear anything," she said, smiling 
openly to him.
	"I have to go," he said, smiling winningly at her.
	His smile could always cause excitement to leap in her heart. 
She took a swallow from her glass, then turned her face up towards him. 
"A la prochaine, mon cheri."
	Leaning in, he gently brushed his lips against hers. It would be so 
easy to lose himself with her, as he had so many times in the past. He felt 
her suck lightly on his lower lip, and he pulled back, slightly startled. He 
ran his tongue over a spot of moisture left lingering on his mouth. It tasted 
of bloodwine. His eyes darted to her glass, then back to her face. She 
was smiling at him, knowing full well the effect she was having. Taking a 
deep breath, he forced the hunger down. He had to leave before the 
temptation became too much. He didn't trust himself to speak. He leaned 
in and kissed her on the cheek, just as she turned her head to the side. 
His lips close to her ear, he whispered, "later." 
	He pushed himself away from the bar, turning his back on her 
and walked quickly across the dance floor, the curious eyes of the club's 
patrons following his every move. He was a relative stranger to them, as 
he did not readily mingle with the members of their community. Janette 
has been here for years, but him they've rarely seen. He was a mystery 
to them, but obviously not to Janette. They could see her watch him as 
he departed. The look on her face obviously not that of a stranger.
	Janette watched him leave, his final word resounding in her 
head. Later. How could one word have so many meanings? A request, a 
promise, a desire, or all of these. She did not know. Most likely, neither 
did he. He was gone, but she knew he would return. He always did, 
sooner or later. Sighing, she requested another drink and turned her 
attentions back to the dance floor.

	Nick walked out of the elevator onto the main floor of his loft and 
made a beeline for the refrigerator. Pulling the door open, he grabbed the 
closest bottle. Extracting the cork with his teeth, he spit it into the sink. 
Placing the bottle against his mouth, he upended it and quickly drained 
the remaining contents. The bottle had been slightly over half full, but was 
more than enough to quench his thirst.
	After leaving the Raven, he knew he couldn't go back to work 
without feeding. Before going to see her, he had almost forgotten how her 
mere presence could bring out the beast in him. It was never that bad 
when they lived together, just when they came together again after 
having been apart for so long. He could feel the pull between them and 
had to fight hard to maintain his control.
	Of course, it didn't help at all that he was living in a constant state 
of denial. He had immersed himself in the mortal world. He lived, worked, 
and played, all in their world. He hadn't socialized with one of his kind in 
years. When the mortal world became more than he could handle, he 
simply ensconced himself in solitude until he regained his equilibrium. 
There were times when this happened more often than not.
	And then there's the blood. Always the blood. Many times it 
seemed as if he was more consumed with the lust for blood now, then 
when he wasn't denying himself. He had switched to animal blood a long 
time ago. Cow was the easiest to get, so that's what he normally drank. It 
did nothing to satisfy his cravings, but it dulled the hunger. When he kept 
his mind occupied, he could pretend that the cravings didn't exist. That 
worked most of the time. Most of the time, but not always.
	He looked out the window and gazed at the city lights. The sky 
was dark and foreboding. The perfect weather for a crime such as the 
one he was currently trying to solve. The killer was out there in the city 
somewhere, and Nick knew he was going to kill again. He just knew.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Nicholas came bursting into the villa, shouting, "LaCroix. 
LaCroix." Entering the main living area, he found LaCroix seated in front 
of the fire, reading a book.
	He looked up as his son burst into the room, curious as to the 
nature of this exuberance. "Nicholas, what is it?" he asked.
	"I found him, LaCroix. I found him," exclaimed Nicholas.
	"And who is that?" he inquired.
	"The murderer," he answered, his tone of voice indicating that 
LaCroix should have already known that was who he meant.
	Putting down his book, LaCroix turned his full attentions to his 
overly excited son. "Indeed. And where is this murderer now?" he asked.
	The excitement seemed to drain from his body as he replied, "I 
am not certain."
	"You did say you had found him, did you not?"
	Hesitantly, Nicholas replied, "yes. But I did not exactly find 
<him>."
	With a touch of consternation crossing his features, LaCroix 
asked, "what <exactly> did you find?"
	Resuming his excitement, Nicholas proclaimed, "he is one of us."
	LaCroix stared at Nicholas for a long moment, then simply stated, 
"nonsense."
	Stunned at LaCroix' response, Nicholas assured him, "but he is. I 
sensed this to be so."
	"Did you actually see this person?" asked LaCroix.
	"No. But he killed again tonight, and I arrived just shortly 
thereafter. His presence still lingered in the vicinity," explained Nicholas. 
"I sensed him there. He has to be one of us."
	"Nicholas, I would know if there were another in the city. And I 
would most certainly know if this other were indiscriminately killing, and 
leaving bodies laying about. I assure you, it is not one of us," said 
LaCroix reasonably.
	"There are over 100,000 people living in this city. How can you 
know them all?" asked Nicholas skeptically.
	"I do not need to know them all to know this one is not one of us," 
replied LaCroix firmly.
	"But, LaCroix, I felt him. How do you explain that?" challenged 
Nicholas.
	"Very well, Nicholas," said LaCroix, rising from his chair. "You will 
take me to where you sensed this other, and we shall both see."

	The two vampires set down just north of the Ponte Vecchio 
bridge, on the north side of the Arno river. Nicholas led LaCroix down the 
street and into a nearby alley. The body had not yet been discovered and 
still lay where Nicholas had last seen it.
	"How is it that you discovered this body so quickly?" asked 
LaCroix, more curious after seeing the deserted area in which it lay.
	"I was hunting, just over there," he said, indicating an area further 
west of their location. "I heard the man scream and I came to investigate. 
By the time I got here, the murderer was just gone, and the man lay 
dying."
	As Nicholas started to near the dead body, LaCroix reached his 
arm out across Nicholas chest, barring his further advance. When 
Nicholas looked questioningly up at him, LaCroix asked, "did you go 
anywhere near this man, as he lay dying?"
	"No. I stopped over there. The blood was gushing from his neck, 
but I sensed the other nearby. I went to look for him, but could not find 
him. That is when I returned home to tell you what I had found," he 
explained.
	"Very good," said LaCroix. "Stay clear of the body and do not 
walk near it," he further ordered.
	"Why? He is dead."
	"Can you not see that the ground is covered with his blood. You 
do not wish it to get on your shoes or your clothing. You do not want to 
leave bloody footprints around a body that you are not responsible for 
killing. It is an unnecessary risk," he lectured.
	Taking a step back, Nicholas watched as LaCroix surveyed the 
area. "Do you sense him?" he finally asked, tired of the waiting.
	Taking a deep breath, LaCroix regarded Nicholas carefully. 
Nicholas became uncomfortable under this scrutiny. There was obviously 
something he had missed, that LaCroix was about to point out to him. 
"Better yet, Nicholas, do you still sense this other?"
	Confused at the question, Nicholas just look at LaCroix strangely. 
"I don't understand."
	"If one of us were responsible for this, his presence would still be 
lingering. So tell me Nicholas, can you still sense his presence?" asked 
LaCroix amicably.
	Nicholas tore his eyes away from LaCroix and looked around the 
area. He closed his eyes and concentrated on finding the telltale 
presence of the other. He could sense nothing. Confused, he opened his 
eyes and turned back to LaCroix. "I swear I sensed him earlier."
	"Yes, and how about now?" asked LaCroix patiently.
	"Now, I sense nothing," replied Nicholas, surprised at this 
admission. "I don't understand."
	"It is simple, Nicholas. What you sensed earlier was not one of 
us," he explained.
	"I sensed something. What was it?" he interjected anxiously.
	"Be patient, mon fils, and I will explain," he said. When he was 
sure he had Nicholas' attention, he continued. "The presence you felt 
belonged to that of a mortal." He raised his hand to quell Nicholas' 
protestations. "There are a few mortals that emit this vibration. It is very 
weak, and if you will pay close attention, you will notice that it is quite 
different than one of ours. Knowing now that this exists, you will not make 
the same mistake again."
	"If I can sense this mortal's vibration, can he sense us?" asked 
Nicholas.
	"Not exactly," said LaCroix tentatively. "The mortal cannot sense 
our presence, but those with this ability will generally find themselves 
drawn to us. They will not understand why, but they will feel a slight 
attraction."
	"Is this not dangerous to us?" asked Nicholas.
	"That would depend," said LaCroix, musing aloud. "In a case 
such as this, I would tend to think it not in our best interest to have this 
particular mortal about. I think perhaps it is time I assist you in your 
amusement."
	Nicholas smiled at this last. This should be great fun, he thought.

--- End Flashback ---

	Nick knew Janette was right. He knew the killer wasn't a vampire. 
He had been trying so hard to pretend that his vampiric abilities weren't 
there. He thought if he could make them disappear, he would be a step 
closer to regaining his mortality. Not only was he no closer; his senses 
felt dull and he wasn't even sure if he could trust them.
	Sighing, he looked at the clock and realized it was later than he 
expected. Schanke's probably climbing the walls by now, he thought 
amused. He quickly grabbed his coat and headed out the door.

	Sure enough. As soon as he walked into the office, Schanke was 
all over him. "Do you realize how long you've been gone? Since when 
does a couple of hours constitute 'I'll be right back'?" demanded 
Schanke, following him to his desk.
	"Ease up, Skank. I'm here now, so what do you have?" asked 
Nick, trying to divert his partner's attention off him and back to the case.
	"You're not going to tell me, are you?" stated Schanke, glaring 
angrily at Nick, who just stubbornly stared right back. "Okay. Fine. You 
want to know what we have? Here." Schanke grabbed a small stack of 
files from his desk and plopped them loudly on Nick's desk. "And while 
you're playing catch up, I'm going to go get something to eat." Schanke 
grabbed his coat and started walking off.
	"Skank," called Nick, to his retreating back, a look of 
bemusement on his face.
	Stopping and turning around, Schanke replied, "and no, I won't 
be <right back>." He then proceeded to storm out of the office.
	Shaking his head, Nick turned to the papers in front of him. It was 
the preliminary forensics reports. They had collected a lot of evidence 
and were still sorting through most of it. Nick read through the 
documents, not really finding much to go on. The reports did confirm that 
the blood around the door frames was not human. It was definitely animal 
blood, but they hadn't determined which yet.
	They had also gotten footprints. Whoever the killer was, he had 
stepped in the blood on the floor and then tracked it through the house, 
as had Officers Petrie and Harris when they first arrived on the scene. 
The preliminary reports confirmed what they all thought anyway; that the 
killer was male. They were going to see if they could determine a height 
and weight from the impressions.
	It was going to take them awhile to sift through the rest of the 
samples collected. They still hoped to come up with hair or fiber samples. 
They didn't expect to have a more finalized report for a few days yet.
	In continuing to sift through the papers, Nick noticed there was 
no preliminary autopsy report. Natalie must not have had it ready when 
these came over. Nick decided that as soon as Schanke returned, they 
should head over to the morgue and see what she had. They usually got 
better information when dropping by than by waiting for the reports 
anyway.
	"Hey, Nick. Did you find that report I left you?" asked Norma, as 
she passed by his desk, always looking for an excuse to talk to him.
	He looked up to see where she was pointing. Seeing the report, 
he picked it up. "Yeah, thanks," he said, smiling at her before he started 
flipping through the pages.
	"Sure, any time," she said, returning to her desk, disappointed 
that he seemed more interested in the report.
	Nick had gone through the report a number of times. He had 
marked five unsolved cases that he had asked Norma to pull the files on. 
She had brought them to him almost immediately, and he had been 
sitting at his desk sifting through them when Schanke returned.
	"Yo, partner. Still here I see," remarked Schanke dryly.
	Ignoring Schanke's attitude, Nick said, "hey, Skank. Take a quick 
look through these files, then let's go see Natalie and find out what she's 
come up with."
	His curiosity piqued, Schanke sat down and picked up the first 
file. "Hey, Nick. This is pretty old. What are we looking at here?"
	"I ran a computer search for similar unsolved cases going back 
five years, and I thought these particular ones needed a closer look," he 
explained.
	"But this one is three years old," remarked Schanke skeptically.
	"If our guy's been killing for awhile, that may not be too old," he 
said.
	"So what makes you so sure our lunatic has killed before?" asked 
Schanke. At Nick's 'you've got to be kidding' look, he said, "okay. Okay. 
You've got a point. Just give me a few minutes to go through these."
	After about an hour of them both studying the files, Schanke said, 
"how do you figure these may be related to our guy? I see some 
similarities, sure, but nothing that jumps out and bites me."
	Nick raised his eyebrows in amusement at his partner's choice of 
phrases. If he only knew, thought Nick, then quickly discarded that 
thought from his mind. Turning serious, he said, "they're all unsolved, the 
choice of weapon used was more personal, and there was excessive 
blood at the scene, some of it animal."
	"What do you mean, the weapon was more personal?" he asked.
	"You know. Not like a gun where you could shoot them from 
across the room, but the killer had to be in close contact with his victim. It 
takes a certain type of killer to want to do this," explained Nick, his mind 
drifting off as he said the words.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	The city had been quiet, and it was late. Dawn was barely a few 
hours off and he was hungry. He had spent too much time in the 
company of his friends and had neglected to feed. Nicholas had come 
upon his prey almost by accident. He was hurrying along the alleyways 
that ran parallel to the Arno, thinking there would be someone about 
down by the river. He walked around a corner, casting a glance back 
over his shoulder, when he tripped over a body sprawled at his feet.
	Regaining his footing, he looked down in annoyance. The body 
turned out to be a man, who seemed to be just as annoyed that he had 
been disturbed. "Watch where you're going, you young ruffian," spat the 
man in anger.
	Nicholas looked at the man, astonished that he would be spoken 
to in such a manner. "Perhaps you are the one who should be watching 
out," he retorted in anger.
	The man glared at him and ordered, "be off with you, whilst I'm 
still in a mood to let you go."
	Nicholas laughed, "you are going to let me go? Oh, I think not old 
man." He reached down and grabbed the man by the remnants of his 
coat and pulled him harshly to his feet, and immediately shoved his back 
hard against the wall.
	The man started to protest in anger, until he looked into Nicholas' 
eyes. They were glowing with a golden fire, and he was grinning 
dangerously, fangs gleaming in the moonlight. The man started to 
scream as Nicholas pulled him towards him. 
	He immediately clamped one hand over the man's mouth, and 
using this same hand pushed his head to the side exposing the neck. As 
the man uselessly struggled against him, Nicholas tore into his throat, 
savoring the hot blood as it gushed into his mouth. Momentarily sated, he 
let the body dropped to the ground. Laughing, he wiped the traces of 
blood from around his mouth, and looking down said, "so who is going to 
let who go now." He laughed again as he bent down to pick up the body. 
Flying straight up and out of the alley, he headed for the river to dispose 
of what was left of his dinner.

--- End flashback ---

	"Yeah," said Schanke. "A real sicko. That's what it takes."
	Breaking free of his reverie, and wanting to change the subject, 
Nick stood up. "Let's go see what Natalie has." He reached for his coat 
as Schanke stood up to get his.
	"Yeah, okay. Let's hit the road, partner," said Schanke, leading 
the way out of the squad room.

===
CHAPTER FIVE


	"Go on in, detectives," said Grace pleasantly, as they 
approached her desk. She knew they were working on that awful Barnett 
killing and were probably anxious for the autopsy reports.
	"Thanks, Grace," said Schanke, as he pushed open the door and 
held it for Nick.
	Natalie turned as she heard them enter the lab. Nick reached her 
first, with Schanke just a couple of steps behind. "So, what are you boys 
up to tonight?" she asked lightly, seeing the serious expressions they 
were both wearing.
	"We thought you might have the results ready for us," said Nick, 
as he stopped to stand next to her. "On the Barnett's," he added for 
emphasis.
	Seeing that any attempts to lighten the mood were going to be 
ignored, she asked, "do you guys have any suspects?" She crossed the 
room to her desk, glancing over her shoulder for a response.
	"Not yet," replied Schanke, looking curiously at Nick, who was 
staring down at his shoes. "Nick pulled a few old cases out he thinks we 
should look at, but we wanted to see your autopsy reports first."
	Natalie picked up a file off her desk, and walking over to Nick, 
handed it to him. He looked up just long enough to take it, then turning his 
back on them both, opened the file and began to read. Looking at 
Schanke, she pointed to Nick and mouthed, 'what's wrong with him?' 
Schanke just shrugged, 'I don't know'.
	About that time Nick turned back around and asked, "Nat. Are 
you sure about this?"
	"What?" she asked, peering over his shoulder to see what he 
was looking at.
	"This blood. The report says it was lamb's blood. Are they sure?"
	"Yeah, they're sure. Why?" she asked, trying to draw out what he 
was thinking.
	As Nick kept reading the report, Schanke answered, "forensics 
says that it was animal blood painted on the doorways, but they didn't 
know what kind."
	"Well, now they do. It's definitely lamb's blood," she replied.
	"Why was it found on the victim's?" asked Nick, looking at her 
expectantly. "How did it get there?"
	"My guess would be that the killer had it all over him, and when 
he killed the Barnett's, some of it transferred to them," she explained.
	"You don't think he purposefully used it on them?" continued 
Nick.
	"No, there's no evidence to indicate that," she replied.
	Nick just nodded his head, then looking up, passed the file to 
Schanke. As Schanke turned aside to read it, Natalie took hold of Nick's 
arm and pulled him to the side of the room. "Are you all right?" she asked, 
concern in her voice.
	"Yeah, I'm fine. Why do you ask?" he replied.
	"You seem kind of, oh, I don't know, out of it somehow. Is there 
something going on here that I should know about?" she asked 
conspiratorially.
	"No. No, it's nothing like that," he replied, picking up on her 
meaning. "It's just this case, that's all. It's, uh, different."
	"Different. How so?" she asked, expecting an answer.
	"You know," he shrugged casually, expecting to put her off.
	"No, I don't know. Tell me," she insisted.
	Sighing, he started to say something when they were interrupted 
by Schanke. "So, Nick. You think we should take a look at those other 
case files again. See if we can match up some comparisons, or what?"
	Jumping at the chance to escape Natalie's unrelenting questions, 
he quickly stepped towards Schanke and said, "yeah. That's exactly what 
we should do. If we hurry, maybe we can get through most of them 
tonight."
	"Nick," said Natalie, trying to draw him back into their 
conversation.
	"Sorry, Nat, got to go. We'll see you later," he said to her as he 
headed towards the door. "Come on, Skank."
	Turning to give Natalie an 'I'm sorry about that' look, Schanke 
said, "we'll catch you later. Thanks for the report." He then hurried to 
catch up with his partner, who was already halfway out the door.

	Once they were settled in the Caddy, and heading back towards 
the precinct, Schanke asked, "so, what was that all about back there?"
	Taking his eyes off the road to momentarily glance at Schanke, 
he replied, "all what?"
	"You know. The third degree she was nailing you with," explained 
Schanke, sounding a touch patronizing. He knew Nick knew what he 
meant.
	"Oh, that. It was nothing," he replied, dismissing the 
conversation.
	"Are you going to make me drag it out of you?" asked Schanke 
perturbed.
	"Skank, it's no big deal," answered Nick defensively.
	"If it's no big deal, then why is she worried whether you're all right 
or not? Just what aren't you telling me, <partner>," he asked.
	"Honest. It's nothing. You know how she is," he replied, obviously 
not wanting to discuss this.
	"This has nothing to do with your health, or anything like that 
then?" he asked, sounding with a mix of relief and worry.
	Really confused, Nick replied, "no. Why would you think that?"
	"Oh, how about because you have this weird <disorder> and 
you're on this strange liquid diet, which by the way, I can't imagine any 
human surviving on, need I say more," he said, finishing his mild rant.
	Grinning, Nick slapped Schanke on the shoulder and said, "and 
here, I didn't think you cared."
	"Yeah, yeah," he replied, a little embarrassed. Then turning a 
little more serious, "just tell me there's nothing to worry about."
	Nick glanced at Schanke, still grinning. But seeing he was 
serious, Nick replied, "Schanke, I assure you, there's nothing to worry 
about. I'm completely healthy, honest."
	Schanke just nodded his head and turned to look at the report in 
his lap.
	After a moment's pause, Nick asked, "so, you feel better now?"
	Without looking up, he replied, "yeah. Now I feel better."
	They rode the rest of the way in silence.

	Nick pulled into the parking lot. They exited the Caddy and 
headed for the precinct. Nick was in front, with Schanke trailing close 
behind. Without warning, Nick came to a complete stop, and was 
momentarily jostled when Schanke walked into him.
	"What did you stop for?" asked Schanke, quickly backing up and 
putting some distance between them. Nick was ignoring him and looking 
across the fence on the other side of the parking lot. "Nick?" said 
Schanke, trying to get his attention, to no avail.
	Nick took a few steps in the direction he was looking, then 
stopped again. He was standing rigidly, eyes narrowed, scanning the 
darkened shadows across from them. "What are you looking at?" 
whispered Schanke, not seeing or sensing anything out of the ordinary.
	Just when he thought Nick would never answer, he did. "There's 
someone over there, watching <us>," he said, growling quietly, leaving no 
doubt as to what he was thinking.
	"Where? I don't see anything," whispered Schanke, scanning the 
area closely himself. "How do you know someone is there?"
	"I can <feel> it," answered Nick, in a hushed voice. "It's him."
	"Who?"
	"Our killer," replied Nick, taking another step forward. He was 
unable to pinpoint the exact location, he knew someone was over there. It 
felt the same as the presence he had sensed at the restaurant. He knew 
it was the same. It was the Barnett's killer. He just knew it.
	If it were anyone else saying this, Schanke would have chalked it 
up to anything, other than reality. But he had been around Nick long 
enough to know this was probably real. "We should get some men and 
canvas the area," he suggested, pulling out his cell phone and calling into 
the precinct.
	"You go ahead. I'll see if I can locate him," said Nick, starting to 
move away.
	When Schanke realized Nick was moving forward, he tried to 
grab the back of his jacket and missed. "Nick. Wait." He was too late. His 
partner was already moving rapidly across the parking lot, towards the 
area he thought the killer was waiting. Schanke pulled his gun and 
started after him.
	Schanke started cursing when he saw Nick go over the chain 
fence. Just then, a number of uniformed officers rushed out of the 
precinct and over to where he was watching Nick disappear between two 
buildings. He quickly had the men form teams and sent them out in 
search of Nick and the suspected killer. Schanke and two other officers, 
then took off over the fence attempting to follow the same path taken by 
Nick.
	Meanwhile, Nick still hadn't seen anything. But he was sure he 
could feel a presence. If he trusted his instincts, he should be able to find 
whoever this was. He knew he was out here. Nick paused and tried to 
focus his attention. He tried to locate the vibration he was feeling. It was 
very difficult. He was distracted by the noise the others were making as 
they searched the area, and he could hear Schanke calling his name. He 
tried to block it all out and concentrate. Frustrated, he continued to move 
forward.
	He thought he heard something up ahead. He hurried his pace 
and quickly rounded the corner. Nothing. He looked around using his 
enhanced sight, and still saw nothing. The feeling remained. It hadn't 
grown any stronger, nor had it weakened. He was still here. Taking a 
deep breath, Nick forced himself to relax. He could do this, he knew he 
could do this. He just needed to concentrate. It used to be so easy. Of 
course, it hadn't always been.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	"Nicholas, you are not concentrating," scolded LaCroix.
	"I am. There is nothing there," replied Nicholas, clearly frustrated.
	"You need to pay attention," ordered LaCroix.
	"I am paying attention," insisted Nicholas.
	"Try again," demanded LaCroix.
	Tired of this, Nicholas replied, "I do not want to do this any more. 
Let us do something else."
	"No," snapped LaCroix. "We will stop, once you have done this."
	"I cannot do it. There are too many people about," groaned 
Nicholas.
	LaCroix grasped him by the shoulders and said, "look at me." 
When Nicholas continued to stare at the ground, LaCroix gently shook 
him and said more firmly, "Nicholas, look at me."
	Nicholas raised his eyes to look at LaCroix. He could tell by the 
resolve in LaCroix' face that this lesson was far from being over. "This is 
too hard. Maybe we can try again tomorrow," he suggested.
	"It is not too hard, and we will do this tonight," stated LaCroix 
firmly.
	Nicholas sighed in resignation as LaCroix stepped behind him to 
stand at his back. LaCroix put his hands firmly around his shoulders, and 
held him tightly against him. LaCroix' mouth was close to his ear, 
whispering to him. "Look around and tell me what you see."
	They were standing to one side, in the dark shadows of the 
Piazza della Repubblica. It was early evening and there were still many 
people about. It was a clear warm night, with the moon high in the sky. 
The night lanterns were lit around the square casting a false light about 
the area, making it easy to move about and continue the day's 
socializing. Taking a deep breath, Nicholas began in a bored voice, "I see 
the marketplace, shops, the artisan stands, the tower, people, horses, ..." 
	"Enough," whispered LaCroix. "I want you to relax."
	"I am relaxed," replied Nicholas, a bit too quickly.
	Chuckling softly, LaCroix tightened his grip on Nicholas' 
shoulders, pulling him closer. Nicholas' back was firmly pressed against 
LaCroix' chest. Whispering again in his ear, LaCroix said, "I want you to 
close your eyes, take a deep breath, and relax."
	Nicholas did as he was told. He closed his eyes tightly, then 
taking a deep breath, slowly exhaled, willing his body to relax. "I am 
ready," he said.
	"Are you sure?" asked LaCroix, gently squeezing his shoulders.
	Taking another deep breath, he replied uncertainly, "I am sure."
	"Open your senses and cast them out from you. Then, tell me 
what you feel," whispered LaCroix.
	After a few moments, Nicholas replied, "I do not feel anything."
	Patiently, LaCroix whispered, "concentrate. You can do this, 
Nicholas. Just focus your concentration like I told you. Now, tell me what 
you feel."
	Nicholas tried hard to do as LaCroix wished. "It is not there," he 
said, struggling to find this elusive vibration.
	"It is slight, but it is there. Can you not feel it? Concentrate," he 
urged.
	Concentrating as hard as he could, he started slightly when he 
thought he detected something. "LaCroix, I think I felt something."
	"Focus your concentration. Reach out with your mind for that 
which you feel," he whispered, guiding Nicholas in the subtle nuances of 
this fine art. "Do not let it slip your grasp. Concentrate."
	Startled and surprised, Nicholas opened his eyes and stared 
straight ahead through the crowd. "LaCroix, I feel it. He is there," he said 
smiling broadly, then reaching out with his hand, he pointed to the mortal 
source of this vibration that he had been seeking.
	Before his gesture drew attention to them, LaCroix captured his 
wrist and pulled his arm down to his side. "Very good, Nicholas. Very 
good. I knew you could do this," he praised him, smiling as he did so. 
"There are not many of us who can master this technique. From mortals, 
the vibration, when there, is so weak, and therefore very difficult to 
knowingly seek out, but I knew it was within your abilities. For this 
success, you shall be rewarded."
	"May I have him?" asked Nicholas, looking hungrily at his mortal 
quarry.
	"No. Not tonight. We will leave him for a future lesson," explained 
LaCroix. "Come, I have something more satisfying in mind."
	Nicholas happily followed LaCroix out of the piazza, looking over 
his shoulder at the mortal man whose vibration he had sensed. Since 
discovering that some mortals had this vibration, Nicholas had been 
eager to learn how to detect them. The murderer, that he still sought, had 
such a vibration. This would make it much easier to catch him. 

--- End Flashback ---

	Startled, Nick jumped for cover. A bullet had barely missed him, 
bouncing off the wall next to where he had been leaning. He looked up, 
and quickly ducked again. He saw the flash from the muzzle just a 
fraction before he heard the impact, less than a foot away. The sound of 
the gunshot echoing against the walls.
	The shooter was behind the corner of the building just up ahead 
on his left. Nick jumped to his feet and ran around the building to his right, 
hoping to come up behind the shooter. As he rounded the second corner, 
he pulled his gun and stopped up at the next corner. He could sense a 
body just beyond. Diving into the alley, he rolled once, and came up on 
his knees, gun leveled in front of him, and yelled, "freeze. Police." He 
cursed softly as he saw the two uniformed officers quickly lowering their 
guns so he wouldn't shoot them.
	He stood up and walked towards them. "Did you see anything?" 
he asked, already knowing that they hadn't. To confirm this, they both 
shook their heads negatively. He turned yet again when Schanke came 
running up behind him.
	"Nick, are you all right? Who was shooting?" asked Schanke, out 
of breath.
	"Someone took a couple shots at me, but I'm fine. They missed," 
said Nick, clearly irritated. He shoved his gun back in his holster and 
turned to the others. The other two officers that had been involved in the 
search rushed around the corner, joining them. "Did anybody see 
anything?" demanded Nick. They all began to talk at once, but the bottom 
line was, no one had seen anybody or anything. Other than the two shots 
taken at Nick, there was no evidence that anyone had been there. 
	"Do you think this guy is still in the area?" asked Schanke.
	"No. He's gone," replied Nick disdainfully.
	"You sound awfully sure of that," said Schanke skeptically.
	"I am sure," said Nick arrogantly, kicking at a stray box standing 
in his path.
	"Drop the attitude, Knight. We all want to catch this guy," scolded 
Schanke.
	Nick just glared at his partner, but didn't say anything more. As 
Schanke was directing the officers on what to do next, Nick turned 
around and started stalking back towards the precinct. He had only gone 
a short distance when he was stopped by a shout from Schanke.
	"Nick, don't you dare go stomping off without me. Just wait, right 
there," demanded Schanke.
	Impatiently, Nick waited. As soon as Schanke caught up to him, 
he said, "I don't need an escort."
	"Yeah, and I don't need a dead partner," retorted Schanke.
	"I told you, the killer is gone. He was here, and we blew it, and he 
got away," raged Nick, storming off in the direction of the precinct 
building.
	Schanke ran to catch up, then matched him stride for stride. 
"Look, you're not the only one upset about this. And we don't even know 
for sure if it was him," said Schanke, trying to dissolve some of Nick's 
anger and frustration.
	"<I> know it was him," snapped Nick. "And he was right there," 
he continued, stopping to point back in the direction they had just come.
	Schanke was feeling a little exposed standing in the middle of the 
parking lot. Grabbing Nick's arm he pushed him in the direction of the 
building and said, "come on. Let's get inside."
	With one lingering look behind them, Nick allowed himself to be 
propelled across the parking lot and up the few stairs into the building. 
With Schanke at his back, he led the way to their office. As they walked 
by Norma seated at the administration desk in their department, they 
could see Stonetree standing by their desks, with his arms folded tightly 
across his chest.
	"Would one of you two like to tell me what is going on out there?" 
he bellowed.
	Nick was still fuming. He glared once at Schanke, then turned his 
back on them and started removing his coat. Stonetree turned his 
attention to Schanke and said, "well?"
	"Nick spotted someone, who we think may be our guy, on the 
other side of the parking lot when we pulled in. We went after him. He 
took a couple shots at Nick, and then got away. The uniforms are 
canvassing the area now," said Schanke wearily.
	While Schanke had been explaining to Stonetree, Nick had 
walked behind them and dropped into his chair. He looked up when 
Stonetree turned to him and asked, "so. Did you actually see this guy?"
	"No," replied Nick tersely.
	"But you're sure it was him?"
	"I'm sure."
	"Then I suggest you quit sulking and go find him again," 
commanded Stonetree, just as he turned and headed for his office. 
Turning back to them, he added, "I don't want this to go on any longer 
then necessary. Understand?"
	As soon as Stonetree left the office, Schanke sat at his desk and 
said to Nick, "like he thinks we do. Man, I tell you. You almost get killed 
tonight, and he acts like we're not doing enough."
	"Well, we're not," admitted Nick. "We should've had him."
	"Hey, Knight," said Schanke, his tone indicating a change in 
attitude. "Tell me. Just <how> did you know he was there? And <how> 
did you know it was our guy?"
	Nick just stared blankly at Schanke for a moment, then 
shrugging, picked up a file and tossed it to him. "Let's go over these and 
see what we can come up with."
	Schanke fixed Nick with a knowing look, and said, "that's what I 
thought you'd say."

===
CHAPTER SIX


	The killer leaned against the building, breathing hard. 'Damn!' he 
swore silently. 'That was close. Too close.' He bent over at the waist, 
hands on his knees, trying to quickly catch his breath. After a few 
minutes, his breathing eased. When he could, he stood and looked 
around the area. He was a few blocks away from the precinct and his 
abandoned car, which he had parked in the opposite direction from where 
he had been forced to run.
	This had never happened to him before. No one had ever seen 
him, or known that he was watching. He knew he had been well hidden. 
But that blond detective had known right where he was. And this wasn't 
the first time either. He had chalked that first time, in front of the house, 
as up to coincidence. But later at the restaurant, that was uncanny. 'That 
Detective must have eyes in the back of his head', he thought irately. 
'And how was it that he immediately followed me when I was outside in 
the parking lot; when he could see me, but not see me', the man mused, 
angry and confused.
	'Well, Mr. Detective, whoever you are, this cannot be allowed', he 
thought to himself in determination. 
	Having completely caught his breath, and feeling more 
composed, the killer decided it was time to leave. He would come back 
for his car later. He was sure the police were all over the area. 'How 
could I have missed?!' the killer berated himself. 'If I had aimed just a little 
more carefully, that detective would be history. I wouldn't have to worry 
about him interfering any more'.
	He walked up to the nearest Metro station that was on the corner 
of Bloor and Yonge just a few blocks away. He climbed aboard the first 
train, and grabbing a seat by the window considered carefully his next 
move. He still hadn't located the little girl. After he had lost track of her at 
the restaurant, he had thought he would see her if he watched outside 
the police station. However, those two detectives had come in early 
tonight without her. He thought they would be guarding her, but she was 
nowhere. When they had both left earlier tonight, he had wandered into 
the station and had casually looked around. Since he didn't want to draw 
attention to himself, he didn't remain in any one area for very long. But 
there was no sign of her.
	Maybe she wasn't all that important, he began to think. After all, 
she's just a kid, and who's going to believe anything a kid says. Maybe 
that's why the detectives dumped her already. They had no use for her 
either. Made sense to him. And anyway, that tall blond detective was 
definitely more worrisome than any little girl, no matter what she may 
have seen.
	That detective changes things. None of the other police had ever 
even got close to suspecting him. Maybe he should consider moving up 
his timetable. If that detective is going to try to stop him, then the sooner 
he finishes his journey, the sooner he will be powerless to do anything 
about it, he thought to himself gleefully. He hadn't realized he was 
chuckling out loud, until he saw a passenger in front of him turn around 
and give him a dirty look. He sneered back at the man, then composed 
himself. He didn't want any attention drawn to himself. There would be 
time enough for that later.

	Meanwhile, Schanke and Nick were sorting through the stacks of 
files they had already accumulated on the case. They had them pretty 
much in order, when Schanke said, "Nick, I don't know about you, but I'm 
ready to call it a night."
	Nick looked over and smiled, "yeah, I think I am too. Help me 
load these files into a box. I think I'll go through them this afternoon."
	"You, partner, should get some sleep," chastised Schanke.
	"I will," replied Nick, amused at Schanke's concern. "This will just 
give me something to do when I get up, that's all."
	"Yeah, okay," replied Schanke, loading up one of the two boxes 
of files. "I'll carry this one down, you grab the other."
	The two detectives booked out at the desk and carried the boxes 
down to the parking lot and loaded them into Nick's trunk. As Schanke 
started to climb into his car, he said, "how about if I stop by your place on 
the way in? That way, you can tell me all about what you've found."
	"Sounds good to me," replied Nick, climbing into his own car.

	His sleep was restless. He had gotten to bed late and kept 
waking intermittently. As he lay, half asleep, half awake, unbidden 
memories rose in his dreams.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	He woke suddenly, not knowing what had caused him to wake. It 
was still very early in the day, and his tiredness came back upon him 
heavily. He lay back down, and after tossing and turning for a short while, 
he climbed out of bed. He was uneasy, unable to shake the night's tumult 
from his mind.
	Rubbing his eyes tiredly, he left his bedroom and padded softly 
across the hall to the room opposite his. Entering this room, he saw 
LaCroix laying on his back, appearing to be sound asleep. He stood at 
the door, pausing with indecision. After a few moment's thought, he 
walked to the foot of the bed, then falling to his hands and knees, crawled 
towards the headboard. He pulled the covers back and slid his feet and 
body down underneath them.
	As he was settling in, he heard LaCroix speak softly, "Nicholas, is 
there a problem?"
	"No," he mumbled, rolling onto his right side, facing LaCroix.
	"Is there a specific reason you feel the need to share my bed?" 
he asked solicitously.
	"Uh, uh," he grunted, edging closer and burrowing in beside 
LaCroix.
	He felt LaCroix raise his arm, allowing him to nestle even closer. 
Almost immediately, he relaxed and dropped into a sound sleep.

--- End Flashback ---

	Nick awoke with a start. 'Where in the hell did that come from?' 
he thought to himself. Looking around, he convinced himself that the 
memory was really just a dream, an unwelcome dream. After forcing the 
thoughts of LaCroix from his mind, he settled back down to sleep. It 
wasn't long before he was back in that state between waking and 
dreaming.

--- Resume flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	He was jostled awake by the sudden loss of his headrest. He 
opened his eyes just barely enough to see LaCroix rising from the bed. 
Slowly pushing himself up on one elbow, he looked sleepily at him and 
asked, "is it time to get up?"
	Reaching down, LaCroix moved his pillow to occupy the area just 
vacated by his body, gently pushing Nicholas down so his head and 
chest rested upon the pillow. 
	His eyes closing of their own volition, he heard LaCroix whisper 
in his ear, "it is early yet. Sleep." He began to drift away, his last 
sensation being that of a soft caress against his cheek.

--- End Flashback ---

	Nick jolted awake. Sitting upright, he pushed the sheets away 
from where they had been rubbing against his face. He looked around in 
momentary confusion, as if he almost expected LaCroix to be in the 
room. Realizing immediately that he was once again reliving old 
memories through his dreams, he covered his face with his hands and 
said into them, "no. Go away." After an unsuccessful attempt at banishing 
LaCroix from his thoughts, he decided he would get no further rest this 
day, and figured he may as well get up.
	Nick came downstairs, still in his black silk pajamas and red 
brocade robe. He headed directly for the refrigerator and sharply pulled 
the door open. After a slight hesitation, he grabbed the protein shake. He 
pulled the cap off and smelled it, making a face as he did so. Holding his 
breath, he quickly downed half the contents. Shuddering from the awful 
taste, he replaced the cap and put the remainder back on the shelf. Next, 
he drank a large glass of water, trying to wash the taste from his mouth. 
Whatever was in that, it left a queasy, heavy feeling in the pit of his 
stomach, enough to kill his appetite for anything else.
	He looked at the clock and noticed that it was shortly after one in 
the afternoon. He turned on the television to the local news, and saw that 
it was still overcast outside. They were expecting rain later tonight. 'Well, 
that's nothing new', he thought and leaving the television on as 
background noise, he walked over to the kitchen table.
	He randomly poked through the case files still sitting in the 
boxes. He pulled out the ones of the Barnett's, and opening them, 
organized the photos over the table. He carefully studied each picture, 
hoping something would jump out at him, but nothing did. The grisleyness 
of the murders seemed much more acute, seeing them spread out in this 
manner. He didn't remember the actual crime scene being this cold and 
austere. The killer obviously had no respect for the lives he took.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Nicholas dropped the old man in the river, and hovered long 
enough to see the body sink below the splash of its' entry. He flew back 
to the main road and landed near the bridge. He turned sharply at the 
sound of an unexpected voice behind him. "Nicholas, I see you found 
some nourishment this evening," said LaCroix, as he walked over and 
stood next to him.
	"I had to settle for some ragged beggar," he complained, 
brushing the dust off his coat with his hands.
	"Indeed. And why is that? I thought you had finally found some 
suitable entertainment this night," remarked LaCroix, slightly amused.
	"There was no one else about. This murderer has everyone 
frightened and they are all staying indoors. Unless we catch him soon, all 
that will be left for us will be the dregs that live under bridges," he 
lamented.
	"I do think you are exaggerating, just a bit," chided LaCroix. 
"What of these <friends> with whom you spend so much of your time?"
	Nicholas looked at LaCroix, surprise evident on his face. "You 
are not suggesting that I feed off my friends, are you?"
	"I offer the possibility, if what remains otherwise is that distasteful 
to you," he replied.
	"If I were to do that, then very soon I would have no friends left. 
Then what would I do for entertainment?" he asked, his attitude much 
more subdued.
	"Then we would move on, and you would make new friends," 
suggested LaCroix.
	After a moment's thought, Nicholas replied, "I do not want to do 
that. I like it here. And I like my friends. I would much rather we catch this 
murderer. Then everything will return to the way it was. That is what I 
want," he said decisively.
	"Very well. Then that is what you shall have. For now, we will go 
home, and tonight we will start the hunt," announced LaCroix.
	Nicholas smiled in anticipation, then turned to follow LaCroix.

--- End Flashback ---

	He grabbed the boxes and moved them to his coffee table. He 
sat on the rug, between the table and the fireplace, giving himself more 
room to spread things out. Picking up the remote, he turned on the 
flames in the fireplace. Next, he pulled out the latest forensics reports and 
started through them in minute detail. He caught a note that said some 
more of the blood work was supposed to be finished by noon today. 
Going to the phone, he called forensics and asked them to fax the latest 
information to his loft. A few minutes later he heard his fax machine 
engage. He walked over and read the pages as they came off the 
machine.
	'That's odd,' he thought, reading through this one page. It was 
the results on the evidence found in the backyard. Although it had been 
raining heavily that night, they had found traces of blood on the grass. It 
seemed to be centralized in one spot. Something nagged at Nick's mind. 
He went over to the kitchen table, and among the pictures still spread out, 
he found the one he was looking for. It was of the Barnett's backyard. It 
was of the spot where the blood was found. There was a coil of rope laid 
out in a circle on the grass. Even with the rain, you could see where the 
grass had been stamped down in the center of the coil. According to 
forensics, the blood traces found were a mixture of those belonging to the 
Barnett's, and also lamb's blood. That means it had to have been the 
killer who did this. But why?
	Nick recalled what Sally had told him she heard the killer say, 'I 
have passed through the third circle'. Could this be representative of the 
circle the killer was referring to? And if so, what did it mean?
	Nick tried to envision himself as this killer. Just what was he 
thinking? What was he doing? What was his reason? All killers had a 
motive. Nick suspected this killer really enjoyed what he was doing, but 
there was more to it than that. This killer thought he had a purpose. A 
grand plan perhaps. He wasn't simply killing, he had some ritual about it. 
If Nick was right, it was going to make this murderer harder to catch. 
They would need to anticipate him, and to do that, they needed to know 
why he was killing.
	Looking up from the floor, Nick's eye caught the scorch mark, still 
very much in evidence on the elevator door. It was as if it were mocking 
him. Why did he torture himself this way? Why can't he just bring himself 
to paint over it? He asked himself these questions for the hundredth time. 
Every time he looked at it, he was reminded of LaCroix. Is that why he 
can't get rid of it? Because it would be liking getting rid of LaCroix? Once 
and for all? Isn't that what he'd always wanted? No, not always.
	Nick cast his eyes down, away from the vivid reminder. Despair 
threatened to overwhelm him. He flung himself on his back, and lay on 
the floor staring up at the ceiling. He tried to force his mind blank, drive 
out all thoughts of <him>. The harder he tried, the more the memories of 
LaCroix invaded his being. Everywhere he looked, everything he did, all 
that he was, reminded him of LaCroix. 'Surely I will go crazy', he thought.
	Sitting up, he leaned back on his arms and stared into the fire. 
He forced himself to think of all the horrible things done to him by LaCroix 
and to those close to him. If he focused on those memories, and only 
those, he could bear this. It would get easier in time... he knew this. 
LaCroix' death had not been that long ago and it was still so fresh in his 
mind. When he closed his eyes, he could still feel the texture of the wood 
as it slid through his hands, as he allowed his rage to drive it into LaCroix' 
chest. He could remember the sudden fear and anguish that had gripped 
his heart as he realized Alyce was dead, killed by his father, and how his 
fury turned to a numbing shock when he looked up and saw that LaCroix 
had vanished. But what was done, was done. LaCroix had taught him 
that, too.
	And it truly was for the best. He kept telling himself he didn't have 
to worry about <when> LaCroix would appear, or what he would do. What 
new ways he would devise to interfere in his life. He was completely on 
his own now. No one to tell him how he must live, what he must do, when 
he must do it, or who he should do it with. Not that he hadn't lived on his 
own before. He had, many times. But always with the knowledge that 
LaCroix could show up at any time, with no warning, to totally and 
completely disrupt whatever life he had built for himself. Well, no more. 
That would never happen again. He had made sure of that. 'But at what 
cost, this freedom?' he asked himself.
	Staring morosely into the fire, he felt lost. His surroundings 
seemed strangely out of focus. He had to snap out of this. He couldn't 
allow himself to sit around and wallow in self pity. If LaCroix were 
watching him somehow, from some afterlife or other, wouldn't he just be 
laughing up a storm. This is exactly what he would have expected to 
happen. Nick could hear him now, saying 'I told you, Nicholas. You would 
be lost without me'. Well, he wasn't lost. And he was happier, or he would 
be someday.
	His attention was drawn to the television. The news was playing 
and he had heard a reference to the Barnett's. He quickly stood up and 
walked to stand in front of the set. There was that news reporter, what 
was his name, Steve Tate. He was describing the murder scene, along 
with the fact that the police had no suspects, no leads, and basically, no 
answers. Nick groaned aloud at this coverage. They were probably going 
to be in Stonetree's office half the night. It would most likely start in the 
mayor's office, and run downhill until he and Schanke were standing knee 
deep in it.
	Nick looked down at the files scattered on his floor. He still had a 
couple of hours before Schanke got here. He had practically memorized 
the forensics' report on the Barnett case, and other than that strange 
circle with the blood in their backyard, nothing stood out. He had those 
other case files that he had Norma pull for him, and he hadn't really gone 
through them in detail. Well, no time like the present, he thought, but 
before settling himself down to read, he crossed to the kitchen and 
poured himself a glass of blood. Natalie wouldn't be happy, but he did 
drink half that shake she had brought him, and he really did need this. 
With a final glance at the elevator door, he crossed the room and settled 
down in front of the fire. Taking a swallow of his drink, he set down his 
glass and picked up the first of the five files.

===
CHAPTER SEVEN


	"Yo, Nick. You up?" shouted Schanke, as he walked off the 
elevator, into the loft. Seeing no movement, but hearing the television, he 
walked into the living area. He was carrying a brown paper bag and was 
being careful to hold it upright. Looking all around, he didn't see Nick 
anywhere. "Nick, where are you?"
	"I'm here," said Nick, from the top of the stairs. "I'm getting 
dressed. Give me a minute."
	"Sure thing, partner," said Schanke, walking in front of the fire to 
get a good look at what Nick had been working on. Seeing all the files 
and photographs spread out, and looking at how organized and 
categorized they were, he shouted, "did you actually do any sleeping 
today?"
	Smiling, Nick came bounding down the stairs. "I slept a little," he 
answered. "How about you?"
	"Yeah, sure. About as much as one can dealing with all this," he 
said, indicating the files Nick had been working on. "Hey, did you catch 
the news tonight?"
	"Yeah, I saw," answered Nick solemnly.
	"What say we skip the office and work from here tonight? Looks 
like you've got everything we need," suggested Schanke, not really 
expecting to be taken seriously.
	"Actually, Skank. I did come up with a couple leads for us to 
check out," he said happily.
	"What, you think you've got a bead on this guy?" asked Schanke, 
prepared to be astounded.
	Smiling ruefully, Nick replied, "not exactly. But I think we have 
evidence of some of his prior work."
	"No kidding?" replied Schanke. "That's still something. Show me 
what you got."
	"Sure," said Nick, walking towards one of his piles of folders. 
Curiosity getting the better of him, he asked, "what are you carrying in 
that sack?"
	"Oh, yeah. Almost forgot. This is for you," he said, handing Nick 
the bag.
	Before taking it, Nick asked, "what is it?"
	"Something I'm sure you don't want, but Myra insisted," 
answered Schanke, shoving the bag into his hands. "I told her all about 
yesterday. You know, taking care of the kid, you getting shot at..." his 
voice trailed away.
	Looking inside, Nick asked, "what is it?"
	Schanke rolled his eyes, "oh, come on, Knight. What's it look 
like?"
	"How am I suppose to know?"
	"Look, I know you don't eat the stuff, but I figured you would at 
least know what it looked like," he proclaimed. At Nick's blank look, he 
added, "it's a casserole. Myra's assuming you don't eat right. Which, by 
the way, you don't," he added for emphasis.
	Grinning, Nick asked, "what am I suppose to do with it?"
	"Stick it in the fridge, then, when it has fuzzy green stuff growing 
on it, you throw it away," he explained, matching Nick's grin. "But don't 
throw away the dish. Myra wants that back."
	"Sure, no problem," said Nick, as he walked over to the 
refrigerator and set the casserole on a shelf. "Tell Myra, thanks, I guess."
	"I told her you wouldn't eat it. In fact, I told her you didn't eat 
anything, but she insisted," he continued to explain.
	"Well, it's the thought that counts anyway, right?"
	"Yeah, right," said Schanke, wandering back towards the files. 
"You were going to show me what you found."
	Nick dropped to his knees on the floor, and pick up a couple thick 
accordion files. "Take a look at these," he said excitedly.
	Schanke sat on the couch and took the files from Nick's 
outstretched hand. "What are these?" he asked, as he started to flip 
through them. "Didn't we look through these last night?"
	"But look here," he said, showing Schanke the pictures of the 
Barnett's backyard. "See this?" he said, indicating the depressed circle of 
grass.
	"What about it?"
	"There's similar evidence at these other two scenes," stated Nick. 
"And that's not all. These other scenes also have forensic evidence of 
lamb's blood."
	"No kidding," said Schanke, stunned at Nick's discovery. "How 
did you find these?"
	Nick just shrugged, and said, "I asked the computer to do a 
search."
	"And it just popped these right out?" asked Schanke 
incredulously.
	"More or less," replied Nick. "There were a few other cases too, 
but they didn't look like possibles to me."
	"If these pan out, well, that's good work, partner o'mine," kidded 
Schanke.
	Nick just rolled his eyes. "It doesn't get us any closer to the killer, 
but it might help us figure out his motivation. And if we have previous kills 
of his, we may be able to link the victims."
	"I'll give you motivation. How about sick, psychopathic, 
demented, deranged... need I go on?" expounded Schanke.
	Nick just stared at Schanke seriously, then said, "it's not always 
that simple."
	"Sure it is. Anyone who kills, is a real sick puppy, Nick," said 
Schanke vehemently. Looking at his partner's turned back and rigid 
stance, he asked, "you don't agree? You think he may have a good 
reason for killing?"
	Turning around quickly, Nick replied sharply, "I didn't say that. I 
just think it's important to know why, before we start making any 
judgments."
	"Fine," said Schanke sarcastically. "I'll let you handle all the 
touchy feely motivations, while I concentrate on catching a killer. And 
make no mistake, Nick. This guy is a killer, and there is no excuse for 
that. Hell, he even tried to kill <you> last night," finished Schanke, 
obviously still upset about the shooting. "For the second time, I might 
add."
	Nick just shrugged nonchalantly, and said, "all I'm saying, Skank, 
is that in order for us to catch him, we have to know why he does what he 
does. That's all."
	"I guess," replied Schanke, a bit embarrassed at his outburst. 
"After all, it's not like he's leaving his name and address laying around for 
us to find."
	"He was careless last night," observed Nick.
	"Was he?" asked Schanke skeptically. At Nick's questioning look, 
he added, "or were you just unnaturally observant?"
	Breaking eye contact abruptly, Nick said, "we better go. I'm sure 
Stonetree is anxiously awaiting our arrival." With that said, Nick started 
picking up files and shoving them into boxes, leaving Schanke to handle 
the two files that warranted further investigation.
	As Nick hustled around, preparing to leave, Schanke whispered 
to himself, "thought so."

	"So, you think our guy is a serial killer, is that it?" asked 
Stonetree, trying to get a clearer handle on what his detectives were 
telling him.
	"Yeah, I guess," said Nick hesitantly.
	"You guess," challenged Stonetree.
	"I definitely believe he was responsible for these other killings," 
said Nick firmly. "And if that makes him a serial killer, then so be it."
	"Do you think it's possible he killed these other people, and he's 
not a serial killer?" asked Stonetree skeptically.
	"Nick's into all this touchy-feely motivational crap," spouted 
Schanke, looking challengingly at Nick.
	"Is that right?" asked Stonetree, raising his eyebrows 
questioningly and looking at Nick for confirmation.
	"I'm not saying it excuses anything, I'm just saying I think 
motivation is important," answered Nick defensively.
	"Yeah, right. And if his mother hadn't dropped him on his head 
when he was a baby," sniped Schanke.
	"Stow it, Schanke. If Knight thinks motivation is important, then 
it's important. End of story. Got it," said Stonetree, glaring at Schanke.
	"Yeah, I got it," he replied wearily. "But look, I'm just saying that I 
don't see how knowing his motivation is going to help us catch this creep. 
Who cares why he's killing. We just need to stop him."
	"Skank, this guy is just not going to walk in the station and turn 
himself in. We're going to have to go out there and find him," said Nick 
heatedly.
	Schanke just looked at Nick for a long moment, then replied, 
"okay. Okay. You're right. I guess if we're going to go on a manhunt, we 
need to know who we're hunting.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	"Nicholas, pay attention now," he said sharply.
	"I am paying attention," replied Nicholas defensively. "I thought 
we were going to go hunting for the murderer."
	"We are. But before we start, a short lesson," said LaCroix 
patiently.
	Nicholas turned his back to LaCroix and rolled his eyes. "I do not 
see why we cannot just go and find him," he sighed, in a hurry to go.
	"Very well, Nicholas. And where would you go? Where will you 
look? What will you look for?" asked LaCroix, wryly amused. He was well 
aware of Nicholas' impatience.
	"We will go to the piazza," he stated.
	"And why there?"
	"There are lots of people there. Now that I know how to sense 
him, that is what we will do?" he explained, pleased with his reasoning.
	"And what makes you think this murderer will be anywhere near 
the piazza?" inquired LaCroix.
	"Why would he not be?" asked Nicholas, confused. "Many people 
are there. It would be easy for him to pick one, follow them, then kill 
them."
	LaCroix considered this, then said, "true. So, it is your belief that 
the murderer chooses his victims from a crowd, follows them until they 
are alone, then simply kills them." At Nicholas' hesitant nod, LaCroix 
asked, "and why do you believe this?"
	"That is how we hunt," said Nicholas shrugging, not 
understanding why LaCroix was arguing the point.
	"Do not assume this murderer is anything like us. There is no 
comparison," said LaCroix sharply, getting Nicholas' attention.
	"He is a killer, we are killers. What is the difference?" retorted 
Nicholas.
	"The difference is in the motivation. Why does he kill? We kill to 
survive, we kill to eat. We do not kill simply for the sake of killing. That is 
not true for this one," lectured LaCroix.
	"We also kill for pleasure," argued Nicholas.
	"It is not a crime to enjoy the partaking of sustenance. Do your 
friends not enjoy their meals?" he asked.
	"It is not the same thing. They did not kill to put food on their 
tables," he said.
	"Did they not?" replied LaCroix sarcastically. "They may not be 
as direct about it, as are we, but I assure you, Nicholas, their meals did 
not come without a price."
	Frustrated by LaCroix' logic, Nicholas finally said, "what has any 
of this to do with us hunting this accursed mortal."
	"I simply wish to point out to you, that in order to catch him, you 
must first understand him," responded LaCroix.

--- End Flashback ---

	"So, where do we go from here?" asked Stonetree, looking at 
Knight.
	"Schanke and I should review these other case files more 
thoroughly. I know they're old, but I'd still like to check out the murder 
scenes. Get a feel for where they happened," said Nick, bringing himself 
back to the present.
	"And we could use some help to have the witnesses 
reinterviewed. See if we can come up with some common denominators 
that may tie the victim's together," offered Schanke.
	"Didn't you say the detectives on the marina killings were Bissett 
and Clarke?" asked Stonetree. At Schanke's nod, he added, "they're out 
of the 96th. I'll see if they want to pitch in on this."
	"Fine, but make sure they know it's our case," said Nick, 
obviously not wanting any interference.
	"Getting a little territorial, aren't we, detective?" asked Stonetree, 
slightly amused.
	"Don't let it bother you, Captain. I've gotten use to it," replied 
Schanke, giving Nick a friendly slap on the shoulder as he stood up. 
"Come on, partner," said Schanke, opening the door and starting through 
it.
	Nick's immediate reaction was to respond to the comment that 
Stonetree had made on his motives, but he could tell they had both 
already moved past it. He didn't want to make an issue of it and give their 
thoughts more credence, so he clenched his jaw shut, and after sending 
a short glare Stonetree's way, got up and followed Schanke out of the 
office.
	After they were both seated at their desks, Schanke asked, 
"where exactly do you want to start?"
	Sighing, Nick answered, "see if you can get us on that yacht in 
the marina. I'd like to take a first hand look at the murder scene."
	"Even though it's been over a year?" asked Schanke, curious on 
what Nick thought he was going to find.
	"Do you have a problem with that?" asked Nick haughtily.
	"Jeez, Knight, lighten up," chastised Schanke. "I know you had a 
rough night last night, but don't take it out on me. I'm on your side, 
remember?"
	After staring at Schanke for a moment, he visibly relaxed and 
replied, "yeah, I remember. Just set it up, okay?"
	"That's much better," said Schanke, shuffling through the files 
looking for a phone number.
	"I want to go back out to the Barnett's tonight," said Nick, 
distractedly staring at the photo of their backyard.
	"You think the killer may still be hanging around there?"
	"No. I want to take a look at this," he said, waving the picture at 
Schanke.
	"Give me a minute to get this together, then we'll go," replied 
Schanke.

===
CHAPTER EIGHT


	Nick looked up at the darkening sky. He could feel the cold 
breeze ruffle his hair as it swept past him. Standing, with his hands in his 
coat pockets, he looked back down at the ground in front of him.
	"We'd better hurry up, before it starts raining again," suggested 
Schanke, noticing the gathering storm clouds. "I'm not looking to get 
drenched out here."
	"A few more minutes," answered Nick, removing his hands from 
his pockets, and bending down closer to the ground. They were standing 
in the Barnett's backyard, near where forensics had identified the blood 
on the grass.
	Nick could see the impression left from the rope, which was itself 
now a part of the evidence collected and removed from the scene by 
forensics. It was a rough circle, about two feet in diameter. He reached 
out with his hand to let his fingers trace the indentation in the grass. He 
quickly pulled them back when he felt a mild burning sensation. Looking 
at his fingers, he was surprised to see the already healing burn marks.
	"What is it? Did you find something?" asked Schanke, noticing 
Nick's reaction. He leaned over Nick's shoulder, shining his flashlight 
down, trying to get a look at what he may have found. At the same time, 
Nick quickly stood up, almost knocking him over. Schanke reached out a 
hand to steady him. "You okay?" asked Schanke concerned.
	"Yeah, I'm fine," he answered. Then seeing the questioning look 
on Schanke's face, he continued, "I don't see anything here."
	There was a low rumble of thunder in the distance, and a few 
scattered raindrops fell onto them. "Are you ready to go then? Bissett and 
Clarke should be at the marina waiting for us by now," said Schanke, 
anxious to move on.
	"Yeah, let's go," said Nick, taking one last look at the area. He 
noticed, from where he was standing, close to where the killer had stood, 
that this spot was protected from prying eyes. None of the neighbors 
could see into this section of the Barnett's yard. It was protected from 
view by the surrounding fence and the angle of the house. The killer 
could have stood here for quite some time, without risk of being seen.
	"Knight, are you coming?" asked Schanke impatiently.
	Turning his attention away, he followed Schanke around the side 
of the house, back to the street and the Caddy. As he pulled his keys 
from his pocket, he looked again at his now healed fingers, remembering 
the mild searing sensation.
	"Are we going to go, or what?" quipped Schanke, looking at him 
curiously.
	Nick was looking up the street, towards the house where he had 
originally sensed a presence when he first arrived at the crime scene. "I 
want to check out one more thing," said Nick distractedly. Turning to 
Schanke, he noticed his partner's annoyed look. "You can wait in the car. 
I won't be long."
	"Why? Where are you going?" asked Schanke plaintively.
	Nick started across the street, angling towards the house two 
doors down. Schanke hurriedly ran to catch up with him. "You don't have 
to come with me," answered Nick, starting across the grass towards the 
small clump of trees and bushes.
	"You are not going off anywhere by yourself, comprende, 
partner?" declared Schanke. "This psycho has already tried to shoot you 
twice. I'm not about to let him have a third run at it."
	By this time, they were standing on the grass in front of the trees. 
"So, what? You're here to protect me. Is that it?" asked Nick, obviously 
amused.
	"Listen, Nick. I don't think this is funny, and neither should you. 
This guy is obviously serious about whatever it is he believes he's doing, 
and I don't like him using you for target practice," lectured Schanke, 
poking his finger at Nick's chest for emphasis.
	Realizing Schanke was obviously more upset about this than he 
had realized, Nick replied, "you're right. And believe me, Skank, I'm not 
taking this lightly."
	"Well, good. Because I'm telling you..."
	"I get it, okay?"
	"Okay," replied Schanke, settling back down. Looking casually 
around the area, he asked, "what's here?"
	"The killer was here," answered Nick, pointing to the small 
clearing behind the bushes. "He was here watching when we arrived on 
the scene. I think he was also here when I found Sally."
	"How do you figure that?" asked Schanke skeptically.
	Nick ignored his question and walked around to the back of the 
clearing. He circled the small copse of trees a couple of times, before 
finally entering the clearing. Once there, he bent down to the ground near 
where he believed the killer to have been. Sure enough, he found a slight 
imprint of a shoe in the ground. Schanke had come up behind him and 
was looking over his shoulder. Nick pulled a plastic glove from his pocket 
and put it on. With the gloved hand, he snapped off a low lying twig from 
the bush. Holding it up, Schanke shown his flashlight on it. Traces of 
what looked like blood were on the leaf.
	"Well, I'll be," commented Schanke, pulling out an evidence bag. 
"One of these days, you're going to have to tell me how you do this."
	"Nothing mysterious," replied Nick, sticking the leaf in the bag 
and watching Schanke seal it and shove it in his pocket. "Just simple 
deduction. There's not too many places to hide on this street, and this 
looked like a likely spot. That's all."
	"Yeah, right," replied Schanke skeptically. "I don't suppose your 
<deduction> will tell us where the murder weapon is, will it?"
	Ignoring him, Nick headed back towards the car, Schanke 
following closely behind. When they reached the car, Schanke climbed in 
right away. Nick stood at the open driver's door, looking up at the sky. 
The rain was starting again in earnest. Nick remembered the sensation 
he felt that night, when he first arrived on the scene. He had felt it again 
at the burger joint, and then outside the precinct last night. That first night 
he was unsure. He had even gone to ask Janette. And she was right, he 
should have known. He did know.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	They were standing at the scene of the latest murder. The 
authorities had already disposed of the body earlier. No one had stepped 
forward as a witness, and there were no suspects. The authorities were 
being pressured to solve this spate of killings, and that was dangerous in 
and of itself. They would be tempted to latch on to the likeliest of 
suspects, with no regard as to whether said suspect ever committed the 
crime. Anyone with strange habits, or any peculiarities was at risk. That 
made it especially hazardous for Nicholas and LaCroix to be about, late 
into the night.
	"It is unfortunate we were unable to arrive before the authorities 
decimated whatever evidence may have been left behind," remarked 
LaCroix, walking in a circle around the scene.
	Nicholas stood off to the side, looking at the spot where the body 
had lain. "How will we catch him, if he eludes us so?"
	"Nicholas, we have only just begun to hunt. This mortal will not 
be able to evade our detection. Not for long, anyway," said LaCroix 
assuredly.
	"But there are no clues. Even the authorities are baffled," replied 
Nicholas.
	"The authorities are fools, Nicholas. They have no where near 
the intellectual capacity of you or I. This murderer does not stand a 
chance against us. It is only a matter of time," proclaimed LaCroix.
	"Where do we start?" asked Nicholas eagerly.
	"You have sensed this mortal once, and you will do so again," 
said LaCroix, looking expectantly at Nicholas.
	"What should I do?" he asked, knowing LaCroix expected 
something of him.
	"See the blood, here and here," he said, circling the area and 
pointing out patches of drying blood.
	"Yes, I see it," answered Nicholas.
	"Are you sure it all belongs to the victim?" asked LaCroix. 
"Perhaps, our victim fought back. Perhaps, our murderer himself did 
bleed," he suggested.
	"How can we tell?" asked Nicholas, eager for a new lesson in 
tracking.
	"Like this," said LaCroix, bending down to touch his fingers to the 
small pool of blood at his feet. He looked at the red liquid on his 
fingertips, rubbing it casually with his thumb, smearing it evenly. He then 
held it under his nose, sniffing delicately to get a sense of the life which it 
once supported.
	Watching him closely, Nicholas did the same. The smell was a bit 
stale, not sweet like fresh blood. It had a distinct aroma that did not 
please his senses. Once he was sure he had ingrained the scent into his 
mind, he moved his fingers closer to his mouth to taste of the essence 
therein. Before he was able to do so, he felt his wrist grabbed and 
wretched away. He looked at LaCroix in surprise.
	"Do not put that in your mouth," ordered LaCroix. 
	"I was just going to taste it," said Nicholas, confused at LaCroix' 
anger.
	"You know better than that," chastised LaCroix. "This is no 
different."
	"Sorry," said Nicholas, as he rubbed his fingers against the 
ground to remove the blood.
	"Now that you have the victim's scent, see if you can find any 
trace of another's," commanded LaCroix, as he moved about the area 
looking for patches of blood.
	Nicholas moved away from the body in a direction opposite of 
LaCroix. He sniffed several blood trails, all those of the victim. Moving 
further away, he spotted a patch far off to the side. Sniffing this, he 
noticed it was different. "LaCroix, here. I found it," said Nicholas excitedly.
	LaCroix grasped Nicholas' wrist and held his fingers to his nose, 
sniffing the blood. Catching the scent, he replied, "very good, Nicholas. 
You have done well. This most likely belongs to our killer."
	Nicholas smiled. "What do we do now?" he asked impatiently.
	LaCroix sniffed the blood again, then said, "engrain this into your 
memory. Mark the scent, if you will. This, along with the vibration you 
previously detected, will lead you to our quarry."

--- End Flashback ---

	"We're going to be late," yelled Schanke. "Are we leaving or not?"
	"We're going," replied Nick, shaking himself from his reverie.

	"Okay, let's review this," said Schanke, pulling out the file on the 
marina killings, while Nick concentrated on driving. The rain had started 
to come down in earnest, obscuring their vision of the streets. "Can you 
see okay? I can't see a thing," remarked Schanke, peering out of the 
windshield.
	"I can see fine," replied Nick, using his enhanced vision to make 
certain he stayed on the road and didn't hit anything.
	Chalking it up to one more on the 'I don't want to know how you 
do this' list, Schanke turned back to the file in his lap. "Let's see, where 
were we... oh, yeah. Just over a year ago, Jason Kraft and Carol Ward 
were found murdered on a yacht in the marina, owned by none other than 
Jason Kraft. They both had been bludgeoned, and their throats cut. Lots 
of blood, just like the Barnett's. Forensics reported that there was lamb's 
blood found liberally spilled at the top of the ramp, completely covering it 
as you stepped onto the boat. At the bow, there was a coil of rope, about 
two feet in diameter, with small amounts of human and lamb's blood in 
the center. Also, just like at the Barnett's, there were bloody footprints, 
but no other evidence to link directly to a suspect. Apparently, Jason and 
Carol were both married and carrying on an illicit affair. Carol's husband 
Bob admitted that he suspected, thereby making him a suspect, but it 
was dropped due to lack of evidence. The killer has never been found, 
case still open," finished Schanke, closing the file as he said this last.
	"You didn't see anything that would connect Carol Ward or Jason 
Kraft to the Barnett's, did you?" asked Nick, already knowing that there 
was nothing there.
	"Nope, not a thing. They didn't live in the same neighborhoods, 
work in the same part of the city, jobs weren't even closely related, 
nothing, nada," said Schanke. "I don't know why we're even here, to tell 
you the truth. What do you expect to find, anyway?"
	"If I knew, we wouldn't be here," replied Nick, glancing irritatedly 
at his partner.
	"Look. That must be Bissett and Clarke," said Schanke, pointing 
to a dark Buick parked next to the pier, as he and Nick pulled into the 
parking lot of the Yacht Club. Nick maneuvered the Caddy alongside the 
Buick.
	Schanke glared at him briefly, knowing that Nick purposely 
parked to the left of the Buick, meaning he had to roll down his window 
while his partner stayed nice and dry. Nick just shrugged in reply. 
Schanke cranked down the window, as his counterpart did the same.
	"You Bissett and Clarke?" he said, raising his voice to be heard 
through the rain.
	"Yeah, I'm Bissett, and this is my partner Clarke," he said, 
indicating his passenger.
	"I'm Schanke, this is Knight," he said. "Thanks for meeting us 
down here."
	"Our Captain told us you wanted to look at the yacht where the 
double homicide occurred last year. That right?" he asked curiously.
	"Yeah. We got a similar case. We think they may be related," 
explained Schanke.
	"Let's go then," sighed Bissett, looking up at the rain as he 
pushed his door open. Clarke stepped out of the passenger side, carrying 
an umbrella. They moved over to the pier to wait for other two detectives.
	Schanke rolled up the window, and wiped the water rivulets off 
his face. Turning to his partner, he said, "you're not going to melt on me, 
are you?"
	Nick just glared at him, then opened his door and stepped into 
the pouring rain, pulling the collar of his leather coat higher around his 
neck. Schanke quickly joined him, pulling his own trenchcoat tighter 
around him. They followed the other detectives down the pier, and then 
up a ramp onto a yacht. Clarke produced a key, unlocking a door that led 
into the main cabin.
	Even though their coats were water resistant, Schanke and Nick 
were drenched, while Bissett and Clarke were relatively dry, having had 
the foresight to bring an umbrella. Schanke was mumbling about the 
weather, while Nick ran his hands over his face, and through his hair, 
shaking off the clinging water.
	"Well, if it's any consolation, it was raining like this the night of the 
murders," said Clarke.
	"Really," said Nick, looking out the window at the water. "It's 
pretty dark out here, you can hardly see."
	"That's probably one of the reasons there weren't any 
witnesses," replied Bissett.
	"Is this where the boat was docked then?" asked Schanke.
	"Yeah. It hasn't moved. Since the murders, no one has really 
been on board. It's almost as we left it about a year ago. Mrs. Kraft hasn't 
been able to bring herself to deal with it, although we released it months 
ago," explained Bissett.
	"Where were the bodies found?" asked Nick, looking around the 
cabin.
	"Kraft was found here, in the living room. The woman was found 
in the bedroom," answered Clarke.
	Just as Nick was about to ask another question, Bissett 
interrupted by saying, "before we play twenty questions, why don't you 
guys tell us what you have. After all, this is still our case."
	"While Schanke's filling you in, I'm going to look around," replied 
Nick quickly, patting Schanke on the back as he moved off down the hall. 
Schanke glared at him with a 'you better appreciate me' look on his face, 
then turned back to the other detectives to start filling them in on the 
Barnett case.
	As Schanke started talking, Nick went back to the bedroom. He 
stood there looking over the scene. He had carefully studied all the 
pictures from the file and was able to easily envision where Carol Ward's 
body had been found. He wandered around the room, trying to imagine 
himself as the killer.
	The coroner's office and forensics had already confirmed that 
Jason Kraft had been killed first. That had occurred back in the living 
room where they had first entered. The killer had then walked back here 
in order to kill Carol Ward. She had probably thought it was Jason 
returning, and that was how the killer got the drop on her. Not that she 
probably had a chance anyway, but there had been no evidence of a 
struggle, not by either of them. Just as with the Barnett's, the killer had 
taken them both by complete surprise. But the question still remained... 
why?
	Nick still didn't understand the significance of the lamb's blood or 
the circle of rope. Many cults or sects used lamb's blood as a purification 
against evil. He supposed a warped mind could assume that the couple 
killed here were evil, afterall, they were having an adulterous affair. But 
nothing they had discovered about the Barnett's tied into that theory.
	Holy water. The thought just struck him. That was why his fingers 
were burned at the Barnett's. Whatever made the circle in their backyard, 
holy water was used. That would tie into a religious angle and support a 
theory that the killer was expunging evil of a sort. But what did the 
Barnett's do that a killer would consider evil? He headed back out into the 
living area, where Schanke was finishing up with Bissett and Clarke.
	"Find anything?" asked Bissett skeptically.
	Nick just shook his head negatively. "Where was this circle of 
rope found?"
	"There," said Clarke, pointing out the window.
	Nick walked over to the window and looked out. All he could see 
was water. He headed for the door, obviously to take a closer look.
	"Nick, you're going to catch your death out there," warned 
Schanke.
	Smiling ironically, Nick replied, "somehow, I don't think so. I'll be 
right back."
	The other three detectives stood in the living area and watched 
as Nick stepped out into the rain. He circled the deck until he was 
standing in the area indicated by Clarke.
	After watching him stand there for a minute, Bissett asked, "how 
long is he going to be out there?"
	"When he says he'll be right back, that could be anyway from two 
minutes to two hours," replied Schanke. "There's no way to know for 
sure."
	"You put up with this?" asked Clarke.
	Schanke just shrugged.
	"What's he looking for, anyway," asked Bissett.
	"He thinks the only way to catch this guy, is to get into his head. 
That's what he's doing," answered Schanke.
	"Is he able to do that?" asked Clarke doubtfully.
	Shrugging, Schanke replied, "I don't know. But I'll tell you, he's 
come up with some amazing connections in the past. I don't know how he 
does it, but these giant leaps of his are usually right on target."
	"We've heard you guys are pretty good. That's the only reason 
we agreed to meet you here tonight. Anyone else, we would've just blown 
them off," explained Bissett.
	"Any chance you're going to let us in on this?" asked Clarke, still 
eyeing Knight through the window.
	Following Clarke's gaze, Schanke replied, "depends on what my 
partner there comes up with."

	Meanwhile, Nick stood in the pouring rain gazing out over the 
water. The deck swayed roughly under his feet, constantly threatening to 
knock him down. There was nothing but darkness, wind, rain, and the 
pounding of the water as it slapped against the yacht. He had to squint to 
keep the driving rain out of his eyes, and finally closed them, letting the 
elements assault him. Even with his enhanced senses, he could hear 
nothing but the wind and rain. 
	Opening his eyes, there was nothing but darkness before him. 
He was trying to determine what the killer had been doing out here. It 
must all be part of some ritual performance. For some reason, even 
though he couldn't quite make sense of it, the religious angle felt right. He 
believed this killer was motivated by his perception of the forces of evil. 
Whether he was serving them, or fighting them, was yet unclear. At this 
point, in his theory, a case could be made either way.
	Looking down at the deck, Nick knew the killer came out here 
after the killings. It had been raining hard that night. The killer laid down a 
coil of rope, possibly soaked or sprinkled with holy water, then stood 
inside the circle. The rain would have washed the blood from the killers 
body, causing it to pool at his feet. Forensics found human and lamb's 
blood here, which meant the killer had already poured the lambs blood 
upon the ramp. Nick suspected this was done before the killings. The 
lamb's blood would act as a barrier to the evil; either keeping it out or 
keeping it in.
	The killer, standing in the circle, allowed the rain to wash the 
blood from him. Was he cleansing himself of the evil? Or was he 
wallowing in it, concentrating it's energies? Loud thunder sounded 
overhead. Nick looked up into the sky, just as lightening lit up the backs 
of the clouds. He had experienced enough of mother nature for one night. 
He turned and headed back towards the cabin.

	"Come up with anything?" asked Schanke, as Nick closed the 
cabin door behind him. Bissett and Clarke were looking at him like he 
was nuts, but Schanke looked like he actually expected some kind of 
revelation of sorts.
	"No," he answered, wiping the water from his face, and then 
shaking it off his coat. He brushed his hair back with his hand, and looked 
down at the floor. Water was running off of him and pooling at his feet. 
Continuing to stare at the floor, he realized that this is what the killer saw 
when he stood in the rain, only it was blood being washed off him by the 
storm. It was a cleansing ritual. The killer would stand in the rain 
afterwards, letting nature cleanse him of the blood from the victim's. The 
lamb's blood was used for purification. The killer believed he was fighting 
evil.
	"Knight," called Schanke, demanding his attention.
	"What?" he asked, finally looking up.
	"Come on. We're leaving," said Schanke firmly. Then turning to 
the other detectives, he held out his hand, shaking each of theirs in turn. 
"Thanks, guys. We really appreciate the tour."
	"No problem," said Bissett, turning to Nick, who held out his hand 
to shake as well.
	"You won't forget us if you come up with something, will you?" 
asked Clarke, eyeing Nick speculatively as they shook hands.
	Nick didn't answer. He politely pulled his hand away and stepped 
to the door. Schanke jumped in and said, "we'll keep in touch. If we find 
out anything, you guys will be the first to know."
	Schanke and Nick exited the cabin and dashed for the Caddy, 
leaving Bissett and Clarke still aboard. Settling into the car, they were 
both soaking wet. "Jeez, Nick. This is no night to be out traipsing about 
on yachts."
	Nick just stared out the window, into the darkness, his mind 
obviously elsewhere.
	"Okay, what is it?" demanded Schanke.
	"Nothing," replied Nick, dismissing him. He started the car and 
backed out of the parking space. He turned the wheel and headed out of 
the lot and onto the road. He headed north up Spadina. The clouds were 
so low, that looking at the CN tower to their right, the top disappeared into 
the fog.
	"Where are we going now?" asked Schanke, feeling cold, wet 
and slightly disgruntled.
	"Back to the precinct."
	"Great. It'll be nice to be somewhere warm and dry. You know, 
Nick, it wouldn't kill you to get your heater fixed. It is freezing in this car," 
complained Schanke.
	"It's not that bad. I'm not cold," replied Nick, grinning at his 
fidgeting partner.
	"You're the one that's going to end up coming down with 
pneumonia. I hope you know that," responded Schanke.
	"I'll take my chances," he replied, turning right on Richmond.
	"Why are you turning here? I thought we were going to the 
precinct," asked Schanke.
	"We are, Skank. I just want to make a quick stop first," he said, 
pulling into a parking spot along the curb. "Wait here. I'll be right back," 
he said, closing the door as he stepped to the sidewalk.
	Cranking down his window, Schanke yelled after him, "I am not 
sitting out here all night."
	Nick just grinned, waved, and kept walking.

===
CHAPTER NINE


	He paused just inside the doorway, shaking the loose water from 
his coat. Even though it was quite late, the club was still very busy, but 
Nick figured that was to be expected on a Friday night. He headed down 
the ramp while looking over the rail for Janette. He didn't see her near the 
bar, or in his quick scan of the throng of customers. He walked slowly 
down the stairs, towards the bar. He pushed his way through the crowd 
of people, and demanded the bartender's attention.
	"Where's Janette?"
	The bartender just shrugged, and asked, "what'll you have?"
	"Who knows where she is?" he slightly shouted, trying to be 
heard over the crowd and the music.
	"She's here somewhere. If you wait long enough, I'm sure you'll 
get a chance to see her. Do you want something to drink, yes or no?"
	Irritated, Nick pushed himself away from the bar and headed 
towards the backrooms. As he stepped in the back hallway, one of the 
vampire security staff stopped him. "You can't come back here," he said, 
sensing Nick as one of their kind, but not recognizing him.
	"I'm looking for Janette," said Nick.
	"And you are?" he asked in a bored tone.
	Taking a deep breath, he composed a smile and replied, 
"Nicholas."
	"Go wait at the bar. I'll tell her you're here," ordered the man.
	Nick was tired, wet and impatient. The bar was crowded and 
noisy. "You will take me to her, now," he demanded.
	"That's not the way it works around here," he answered warily. 
He didn't know who this guy was, but just in case he was a friend of 
Janette's, he didn't want to do anything that would upset her.
	"It is tonight," said Nick, pushing past the man to go in search of 
her himself. The vampire grabbed Nick by the arm to stop him. Nick spun 
around, and before he knew what was happening, Nick had grabbed him 
by the front of his shirt, lifted him off his feet and slammed him against 
the wall. "That was not a good idea," snarled Nick, eyes glowing with a 
golden fire.
	"Nicolas," said Janette loudly, from just behind him. "Release 
him."
	After a slight hesitation, Nick dropped the man and backed away 
from him, still keeping his eyes firmly on the other's.
	"Thank you, Carlos. That will be all," she said, dismissing him. 
Carlos slowly backed away, eyeing Nick cautiously.
	Taking Nick by the arm, she led him back out into the club. "Mon 
cher, I would appreciate it if you would not terrorize my staff."
	Starting to defend himself, he turned to her saying, "Janette, I 
was not... okay, maybe I was." Seeing her smile humorously at him, he 
continued, "I'll try to control myself in the future."
	She led them over to an empty table, between the bar and the 
dance floor. It had a reserved sign prominently placed on it, obviously her 
private table. He sat in the chair next to the wall, and she sat beside him, 
their knees touching. "What brings you back so soon? And why are you 
so wet?"
	Laughing, he leaned forward, brushing his lips lightly against 
hers. "It's raining outside," he explained, indicating his current condition. 
"And a lot has happened since I saw you last."
	"Such as?" she inquired curiously.
	"Well, for one thing, you were right. This murderer isn't one of 
us," he admitted.
	"You mean, you were right," she said firmly, then softening, "and 
what else?"
	He told her about the incident in the parking lot at the precinct, 
and everything that had happened since then. He made certain not to 
mention his memories of Florence, or of LaCroix. She hadn't asked him 
why LaCroix had suddenly seemed to have left Toronto, and he didn't 
want to tell her. He forced those thoughts from his mind, as he didn't want 
her picking up on his emotions. He finished up by saying, "we're just on 
our way back to the precinct, to call it a night."
	"And who is we?" she asked.
	Grinning, he answered, "my partner, Schanke. He's waiting in the 
car."
	"I see," she replied, sounding disappointed. She had hoped he 
was planning on staying. "So, you just stopped by to tell me that this 
murderer is not one of us. That is the only reason?" she asked, implying 
that she expected more.
	"After my last visit, I thought you would want to know," he 
explained, looking longingly at her. She was so beautiful, and if things 
were different, he would like nothing better than to lose himself with her.
	She recognized the look in his eyes, but it had been a long time. 
They had not been together for over fifty years. Not since London, during 
the war, and then they were only together because of the war. And that 
had ended badly. After Daniel had been brought across, Nicolas left soon 
after. He returned to France and had joined the Resistance. Then soon 
after, LaCroix followed him. She had not seen either since. Not until this 
year, anyway. She had heard Nicolas had moved to Toronto, but he had 
been here three years before looking her up. And then, it was only 
because LaCroix had arrived in town and Nicolas had wanted to locate 
him. Now LaCroix had gone and Nicolas was still here. She did not know 
what had happened between them, and using these past 100 years as a 
guide, she was sure she did not want to know. Nicolas had only come to 
see her a few times since LaCroix had come and gone, and obviously did 
not want to talk about it. That was fine, as far as she was concerned. 
There was too much discord and she did not like being in the middle 
between them.
	"Janette," he said, drawing her attention.
	"Sorry, mon cher. I was lost in thought," she admitted, smiling at 
him. She reached out with her hand, and caressed his cheek. He 
reached up and grasped her hand, holding it against his face. Leaning 
forward, she kissed him, and was surprised when he did not pull away.
	He leaned into the kiss, opening his mouth against hers. He 
gasped slightly, when he felt her tongue gently touch the roof of his 
mouth and rub against his recessed canines. He was slowly losing 
himself in his desire for her, when his attention was abruptly diverted.
	"Knight!" shouted Schanke, slapping his hands on the table and 
leaning forward to yell at his obviously engrossed partner.
	Nick and Janette separated hurriedly, both turning to look at him 
in surprise.
	"Nicolas?" queried Janette, traces of irritation and humor in her 
voice.
	"I thought I told you to wait in the car," snapped Nick, surprised to 
find Schanke hovering over him.
	"And I told you I wasn't going to sit out there all night," retorted 
Schanke. "But of course, I didn't know you were coming in here to play 
kissy-face with the owner." Turning quickly to Janette, he politely added, 
"no offense, Janette."
	"Skank ...," said Nick irritatedly, but was cut off by Janette's 
laughter. "What is so funny?" he said, turning to her.
	"Nothing, mon cheri. Absolutely nothing," she said, still smiling, 
stroking his cheek with her hand. She took her thumb and rubbed it 
across his lips.
	He pulled away saying, "what are you doing?"
	"Lipstick," she said, showing him her thumb smeared with traces 
of lipstick she had wiped from his lips.
	"Oh," he replied, rubbing his hand over his mouth, removing the 
last remnants from his mouth.
	"If you don't mind, I'd like to get back to the precinct," said 
Schanke sarcastically. "If you want to continue this, you can come back 
on your own time."
	Standing, Nick replied, "this isn't what you think."
	Snorting, Schanke answered, "yeah, right. Can we go now?"
	Glaring at Schanke, he turned back to Janette and said, "I'll see 
you later." Taking her hand in his, he gently brushed his lips across the 
back of her hand. Releasing her, he stepped around her chair and 
followed Schanke across the dance floor and out into the night, glancing 
back just before exiting.
	Wistfully, she watched him leave, smiling secretly to herself, for 
she knew he would be back soon. Now that he had finally made contact 
with her again, he would not be able to stay away. And she wouldn't have 
it any other way.

	They walked in the precinct office together, Schanke loudly 
complaining about Nick leaving him waiting in the car while he had been 
entertaining himself in the nightclub. Nick was fuming, having listened to 
Schanke all the way over in the car. He stormed through the reception 
area, ignoring the stares of the others in the bullpen, as he headed for 
their desks. He started grabbing folders and stuffing them in boxes.
	Schanke finally reached their desks, and said, "what are you 
doing?"
	Nick just glared at him without speaking.
	"You have no right to be upset with me, and I have every right to 
be upset with you," accused Schanke.
	Grabbing another stack of folders, Nick shoved them into the box 
on his desk.
	"Will you stop?" demanded Schanke, indicating his partner's 
packing efforts. "You are not taking those home with you this morning."
	"And why is that?" demanded Nick.
	"Because, you were up all day yesterday with them, and that's 
not going to happen two days in a row," answered Schanke.
	"You've decided that, have you?"
	"Yeah, I've decided that."
	Nick shoved another file in the box, then stopped to stare at 
Schanke, who was staring right back. "I don't take orders from you," said 
Nick, obviously very irritated.
	"Look. I know the last couple days have been rough, and maybe, 
just maybe, I shouldn't have gotten so upset," said Schanke, almost 
apologizing.
	Nick was staring at the top of his desk. "I didn't plan on being that 
long," he admitted.
	"Okay, then. That's it. Everything's fine, okay?" said Schanke, 
looking at Nick to agree.
	Looking up, Nick finally nodded and said, "yeah. Everything's 
okay."
	"Great. Now, leave that here," he said, pointing at the box of files, 
"and let's book out of here."
	"I might get a chance to look through these today."
	"Forget it. There's plenty of time tonight. You, partner, need to 
get some sleep today. No more burning the noontime oil," advised 
Schanke.
	Sighing, Nick agreed that Schanke was right. He was tired. That 
was what had lowered his defenses with Janette. If Schanke hadn't come 
into the club when he did, he might not have been able to pull himself 
away, and he really wasn't ready to get involved with Janette anew. At 
least, not yet anyway. He needed more time.
	"You're right. Let's get out of here," said Nick, turning to follow 
Schanke out.

	The killer sat in his car, watching as the two detectives left the 
precinct. He had contemplated following the blond one, to see where he 
lived, but the more he considered the idea, the worse it seemed. The 
streets weren't nearly crowded enough this time of morning, and he was 
sure to be spotted, especially by this one.
	He was still angered by the events in the parking lot the other 
night. That detective should not have known he was there, and he was 
upset with himself for having missed when he shot at him. That was twice 
he had tried to kill him and missed. Well, like they say, the third time's the 
charm. This next time will need to be better planned.
	In the meantime, he had firmly decided to move up his timetable. 
His next victim had already been chosen, and he just needed to wait for a 
suitable night. Perhaps tonight. He would need to check the weather 
report, but he would be ready.

	Nick woke up early, having slept fitfully. After having not slept 
well, or much, the last few days, he had fallen into a sound sleep as soon 
as he had gone to bed this morning. He got up feeling better than he had 
in a while.
	Having showered, shaved and dressed, he headed downstairs. 
He turned on the television to catch the local news and was just going 
down to get his paper and mail, when he heard the elevator start 
descending. He waited for it to come back up, and was pleasantly 
surprised when Natalie emerged.
	"Hey, Nat," he said, smiling as he greeted her.
	"Here," she said, returning his smile and handing him the large 
bag she was carrying. "Take this into the kitchen."
	He took the bag from her, and carried it over and set it on the 
counter. "What's this?" he asked, peering inside.
	Having dropped her coat over the back of a chair, she walked 
into the kitchen and nudged him aside. She reached in the bag and 
started pulling out containers. "Protein shakes for you," she said, smiling 
at his practiced expression, "and muffins for me."
	"You shouldn't have," he said sarcastically.
	"Oh, but I must," she said humorously. She opened the 
refrigerator and took out the partially empty container inside. Holding it 
up, she asked, "did you actually drink this?"
	"Of course," he replied innocently.
	"Did you like it?"
	"Are those the same thing?" he asked, indicating the ones she 
was now placing on the shelf.
	"I tried something a little different with these," she offered.
	"Good," he said, then turned and walked into the living area.
	"Nick," hollered Natalie from the kitchen. "Why do you have a 
casserole in your refrigerator?"
	"Myra sent it over with Schanke," he explained.
	"And what's the milk for?"
	"You pour it on cereal."
	"Nick," she said, feigning exasperation.
	"It's from the other day, when Schanke and Sally were here," he 
said amused.
	"Oh, yeah. I forgot about that," she replied, joining him in front of 
the television. "So, what's on?"
	"The news. They're still talking about the Barnett killings."
	"Have you guys come up with anything yet?" she asked, as she 
turned to look at him. Although he hadn't told her, she had heard about 
the two attempts on him. The one at the burger joint was reported on the 
news, but no connection to the Barnett case had been made by the 
media. And the one near the precinct hadn't been picked up yet, but she 
had heard about it from some other detectives.
	"We came across a couple of old unsolveds that look like they're 
by the same guy. Skank and I are running them down now," he said.
	"You think this is a serial killer? How sure are you about those 
other cases?" she asked surprised.
	"I'm sure," he replied. "The information should have been sent to 
your office this morning. Schanke and I have one old crime scene to 
check out tonight, then we'll probably be by to see what you have."
	She nodded in acknowledgment. "So, anything else I should 
know about?" she asked, her tone indicating that she expected there was 
still something for him to tell her.
	He just stared at her, not sure what she expected him to say. The 
weather report came over the television, and he turned his attention to 
the reporter.
	"Nick," she said, drawing his attention back to her. "Do you want 
to tell me why someone is trying to kill you?" At his look, she added, "I 
heard about the shootings."
	"It's the Barnett's killer. He followed me the night I found Sally, 
and then the next night he was watching us in the precinct parking lot. 
When I took off after him, he shot at me," he explained calmly.
	Frustrated at his seeming nonchalance, Natalie retorted, "you 
know, it's not really a good thing if you get shot."
	"Nat, it's not like he can really hurt me," he replied reasonably.
	"Not permanently, no, but he could get lucky. If he were to hit a 
vital organ, you'd be out of commission for a short while. And if anyone 
happens to be around, then what are you going to do when you 
miraculously wake up?" she asked. 
	"I'll be careful," he answered. At her skeptical look, he added, "I 
promise."
	"Okay, fine. I suppose you know best," she commented dryly.
	Walking back to the kitchen, Natalie returned carrying a plate 
with her muffins, and a tall glass that she set down on the coffee table in 
front of Nick, then joined him on the couch.
	"You want me to drink that now?" he asked tentatively.
	"No time like the present," she replied, taking a bite of her own 
breakfast.
	He picked up the glass and took a whiff of the contents. It didn't 
smell very appetizing, but since Natalie was watching him expectantly, he 
took a deep breath, then swallowed a large mouthful. It tasted worse than 
it smelled. He managed a second swallow, just as his stomach began to 
immediately rebel at the onslaught. He placed the remainder back on the 
table, and then rising, he walked rapidly into the kitchen.
	"That's it?" she asked, turning to see what he was doing.
	He grabbed a glass from the cupboard, filled it with water and 
rinsed out his mouth. After setting the glass in the sink, he returned to the 
couch where Natalie was eyeing him with dissatisfaction. "Sorry, Nat," he 
said, one hand over his stomach as he sat back on the couch, "but that 
was pretty bad."
	"Fine, I'll try something else," she replied, tight-lipped.
	"Don't be mad," he said, trying to appease her. "I did at least try 
it, which is more than I could have done a few months ago."
	Nodding her head in agreement, she said, "that's true. At least 
we're making some progress. I just expected this to be a little easier, 
that's all."
	Sounding slightly astonished, he replied, "you thought curing 
vampirism would be easier?"
	"No, that's not what I was referring to," she said, somewhat 
annoyed. "I meant finding a food substitute. If we can just find something 
that you can get past the 'gag reflex', it will be a lot easier to start working 
on a cure."
	"I thought these were the cure?"
	"Just the first part," she explained. "I'm convinced that it's the 
blood that keeps you a vampire, but it's also your only source of nutrition, 
and we can't just cut off your food supply. You'll starve, like what nearly 
happened a few months ago when LaCroix hit town. Remember?"
	"Yeah, I remember," he said solemnly, then stood and walked 
over to the windows.
	Sensing that the mood had definitely taken a turn, she stood and 
walked to stand next to him. He turned his face away and stared out into 
the night.
	"What is it?" she asked. When he gave no sign that he intended 
to answer, she continued, "Nick, talk to me. There's something else going 
on here, isn't there?" He glanced at her briefly, then sighed and went 
back to staring out the window. "Come on, Nick, out with it. I sensed there 
was something else bothering you before, at the morgue, and you 
managed to dodge me then, but not now, so talk."
	Taking a deep breath, he resigned himself and said, "it's 
LaCroix."
	She hadn't expected that. Softening her stance, she said, "he's 
dead, right?" At Nick's nod, she continued, "he can't hurt you any more. 
He's out of your life, forever."
	Hanging his head, he replied, "it's not that simple."
	"Of course it's that simple," she replied firmly. "He's dead. He's 
not coming back. You killed him yourself, right here," she said, pointing to 
the scorch mark on the elevator door.
	"You don't need to remind me. I know what I did," he replied 
testily.
	"Then what's this all about?" she asked, surprised at his 
emotions. 
	Calming down, he wearily turned and walked over to the large 
leather chair. Dropping down in it, he leaned forward and rested his face 
in his hands. Natalie followed him and sat on the couch near him. 
Looking up, he saw that she was patiently waiting for an answer. "I can't 
quit thinking about him," he admitted.
	"That's not really unusual, Nick. Even for a mortal, it hasn't been 
all that long since it happened. You just have to keep reminding yourself 
that it's for the best," she said comfortingly.
	"Is it?" he asked. His thoughts kept bouncing back and forth on 
this. There were times when he was elated, and there were just as many 
times he was despondent.
	"Nick, how can you ask that?" she said shocked. "He was a 
monster. You yourself told me of all the horrible things he did to you."
	"I didn't tell you everything," he said.
	"You told me enough," she replied heatedly. "He was a cruel, 
sadistic monster."
	"Not always," he admitted to her, and to himself.
	"How can you say that? After everything you've told me, how can 
you even think that?" she asked, astonished at his seeming remorse.
	Looking up at her, he answered, "things were really pretty good 
between us for a long time. It was only this past century that we began to 
have problems. And even then, not always."
	"Ever since you stopped killing, and started looking for a cure. 
You told me that he would never allow you to find a cure. That he would 
do anything to stop you, even if it meant killing you himself. Didn't you tell 
me this?" she asked.
	Nodding in agreement, he said, "yes. It's just that sometimes, 
some of the better memories surface, and then I'm not sure."
	"So, tell me. If he were still alive, where would he be right now? 
What would he be doing?" Nick just looked at her strangely. "Come on, 
Nick. If you're having any doubts as to whether you're glad he's dead, 
then think of how things would be if he weren't. Which is better?" she 
challenged.
	After a few moments of thought, he was feeling relieved. "You're 
right. I can't let old memories haunt me. I'm just having some trouble 
dealing with this, but I'll be okay," he said.
	"Of course you will. Just give yourself some time. It'll get better, 
you'll see," she said encouragingly. Seeing his mood lighten a bit, she 
continued, "let's talk about something else." Natalie managed to distract 
him in other conversation until it was time they both left for work. 
	Heading down in the elevator together, Nick said, "I'll probably 
see you later tonight. I think Schanke and I plan to drop by when we get 
back from Brampton."
	"What's in Brampton?" she asked.
	"That's where our first victim was killed," he answered.
	The elevator came to a halt and Nick walked Natalie outside to 
her car. On the way in he picked up his mail and paper. Not seeing 
anything of interest, he placed them on the rail near the elevator. He'd 
take them upstairs when he returned home later. Climbing into the 
Caddy, he backed out of the garage and headed to the precinct.

===
CHAPTER TEN


	As Nick crossed the parking lot, going from his car to the 
entrance of the precinct, he noticed movement out of the corner of his 
eye. Turning, he saw a man walking quickly to intercept him. The man 
was carrying a microphone, and a cameraman was walking hurriedly 
behind him, trying to keep pace.
	"Detective Knight, may I have a word with you?" shouted the 
man, as he closed the gap. Nick recognized him as the reporter from the 
local news channel, Steve Tate. He was the one who was reporting on 
the Barnett killing.
	"I have nothing to say," answered Nick, changing his course to 
avoid the reporter.
	"Just a couple questions," said Tate, reaching the bottom of the 
stairs first, blocking Nick's path.
	Nick started to glare at the reporter in annoyance, but noticed the 
camera was on. Keeping his expression neutral, he replied, "sorry. I'm in 
a hurry."
	"I won't take up much of your time, Detective. Do you have any 
leads on who killed the Barnett's?" Tate asked, pointing the microphone 
in Nick's direction to pick up his reply.
	"I'm sure you'll be informed as soon as we make an arrest," 
answered Nick. "If you'll excuse me," he added, moving to walk past the 
reporter.
	Tate stepped in front of Nick, and asked, "is it true you think the 
same person is responsible for the marina killings last year?"
	Nick stared at him for a moment, then firmly replied, "no 
comment." He started to make his way past again, when Tate backed up 
a couple of steps to remain in front of him.
	"Is it true, Detective, that you were involved in a shoot-out with 
the killer the other night and he managed to get away?" asked Tate more 
hurriedly.
	"I said no comment. Now get out of my way," answered Nick 
strongly, forcing his way past the reporter and into the precinct.
	As the door closed behind him, he could hear the reporter talking 
into his microphone, "and there you have it. That was Detective Nicholas 
Knight, lead investigator on the case, here at the 27th precinct..."

	"Hey, partner, how're you doing?" asked Schanke, as Nick 
reached his desk.
	"Just great," answered Nick, removing his coat and hanging it on 
the rack. He had barely sat down, when Stonetree came out of his office.
	"Knight, Schanke. In my office," he shouted, storming back 
inside, obviously not in a pleasant mood.
	Nick and Schanke eyed each other warily, then rose from their 
desks and walked the short distance to Stonetree's office. Entering, Nick 
sat in one of the chairs facing their Captain's desk, while Schanke closed 
the door before doing the same.
	"What's up, Captain?" asked Schanke.
	"I just got off the phone with the Commissioner's office. He wants 
to know what the hell is going on? He has reporters calling him and 
asking about a serial killer. One who's also taking potshots at the 
investigating detectives. Now, gentlemen, just what am I suppose to tell 
him?" roared Stonetree.
	"Gee, I don't know, Captain," replied Schanke nervously.
	"You don't know," said Stonetree calmly, looking first at Schanke, 
then at Knight. "You don't know," he repeated, his voice rising. "That's 
just great. You two are suppose to be solving this case, and you don't 
know."
	Frustrated, Schanke exclaimed, "we have no motive, no 
fingerprints, clues that don't mean anything yet, and a couple of old cases 
that might be the same guy. This is going to take us some time to put 
together."
	Turning to Knight, who had been silent up to now, Stonetree 
asked, "what is your plan? What are you doing to catch this guy?"
	After a slight hesitation, Nick answered, "we're reviewing the past 
case histories. Hopefully we'll be able to detect a connection between the 
victims that will lead us to the killer."
	"That doesn't sound very encouraging, Detective," challenged 
Stonetree. "What else?"
	"We're going to check out the first crime scene tonight. On our 
way back, we'll stop by the morgue and see what Natalie and forensics 
have. We sent over the files yesterday, so they should have the 
information on the possible link between the prior killings and the 
Barnett's. By the time we return here, we hope that most of the 
reinterviews will be done and we can go through those," replied Nick.
	"And you expect then that you'll have a line on this killer?" asked 
Stonetree skeptically.
	Nick just stared at Stonetree, so Schanke asked, "what else 
would you have us do?"
	Stonetree just shook his head and glanced down at his desk. He 
knew they were doing the best they could, and there was nobody else 
that could do any better. These cases just took time. "Okay, gentlemen, 
just keep me informed of your progress," he ordered, as he looked at the 
two of them, effectively dismissing them.
	Nick stood first, opened the door and headed back for his desk. 
Schanke paused in the doorway to say, "yes, sir. We'll keep you up to 
date." Pulling the door closed behind him, he returned to his desk. Nick 
was putting his coat on.
	"Let's go," said Nick. He called dispatch and checked them out. 
By the time he hung up, Schanke was ready to go. They walked out the 
door, headed for Brampton to check out the scene of the first murder. 

	The killer was sitting on the couch in his apartment, making 
preparations for his next victim. His television was tuned to the current 
news program. He was waiting to hear the weather for tonight, although 
he had already determined conditions were not quite right. There was a 
storm on the way, but it would not be here for another day or two. He had 
already decided to move up his timetable, so he wanted to be ready. That 
blond detective made him nervous. There was something about him that 
just wasn't right. He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but he felt it 
nonetheless. He was an unanticipated problem, but nothing that couldn't 
be dealt with.
	The killer's attention was suddenly captured by the story on the 
television. The broadcaster had been talking about the Barnett killings. 
That, in itself, was of no interest to the killer, but there was a reporter on 
the steps of the precinct building, trying to interview that blond detective. 
That <was> of interest. His eyes were riveted on the screen, devouring 
each word, each movement, each nuance. He watched, captivated as the 
blond detective replied, "I said no comment. Now get out of my way," then 
pushed his way past the reporter and disappeared inside the precinct. 
The reporter continued, "and there you have it. That was Detective 
Nicholas Knight, lead investigator on the case, here at the 27th precinct. 
Although there allegedly has been contact with the killer, the police are 
no closer to making an arrest and the investigation is ongoing. We will 
keep you informed of any new developments. This is Steve Tate 
reporting from the 27th precinct."
	'Detective Nicholas Knight, of the 27th precinct. Now I know who 
you are, but you still don't know me. But you did figure out I did the 
marina killings, that is not good. Who else, and what else does he 
<know>. No, no, no. This is not good, not good at all'.
	After a few minutes of contemplation, an idea sprang to mind. 
'This could be fun', thought the killer gleefully. Grabbing his phonebook, 
he looked up the number for the 27th precinct. He almost picked up his 
phone and called, then at the last minute stopped himself. This was the 
police department, and they could be tracing these calls. He was smarter 
than that. He wasn't about to make a stupid mistake and have them stop 
him before he was finished. And there was no doubt in his mind, they did 
want to stop him. Especially that Detective Knight. He put on his coat, 
picked up his car keys, and headed out into the night.

	Schanke was sitting comfortably in the passenger seat, more 
than content to have Nick driving. They had just passed onto Queen 
Elizabeth Way on their way to Brampton. He was busy reading the 
newspaper, and reading aloud the articles he found interesting to his 
silent partner.
	"Hey, look at this. A tiger from a circus got loose. You like the 
circus, don't you? I've seen that poster you have on your wall," inquired 
Schanke casually.
	"Yeah, sure," commented Nick distractedly.
	"It killed two people before they could recapture it, and in the 
process they killed it. That's awful," he related sadly.
	"It's always awful when people get killed," replied Nick.
	"Well, yeah, that's true. But I was actually talking about the tiger. 
It's too bad that they killed it," explained Schanke.
	"How can you feel sorry for the tiger? It killed people. They say 
once a tiger has a taste for human blood, it will always want more," said 
Nick, thinking of how those same words related to him. A quick memory 
of the taste washed deliciously through his mind, and he quickly forced it 
away.
	"It wasn't the tiger's fault. That's their nature. You can't blame 
them for that," replied Schanke.
	"Legend says that a tiger that kills man, is possessed by an evil 
spirit, therefore becoming evil itself. The only way to stop the evil is to kill 
the tiger, otherwise the evil will continue to grow and consume all in its' 
path," related Nick solemnly.
	"Get real, Knight," exclaimed Schanke sarcastically. "You say 
that like you believe it."
	"What's not to believe?" asked Nick.
	Folding the paper in his lap, Schanke turned and looked at his 
partner. "First of all, just because a predator kills, that does not make it 
evil. They kill to survive, to eat. That's what they do. There's nothing evil 
about it. It happens in nature everywhere you look," he said. "Heck, even 
we're predators."
	"How about when they start killing, just because they like to kill?" 
debated Nick.
	"So, now we're not talking about tigers any more. Now we're 
talking about our sociopath. And that, partner, is a whole different story. 
And even then, when we catch him, nobody's going to kill him. They'll just 
lock him up for the rest of his life. If society doesn't kill those who kill 
others for pleasure, why should we punish predators, who by their very 
nature, must kill to live?" philosophized Schanke.
	Surprised, Nick turned to take a quick look at his partner, not 
really sure what to make of his statements. Schanke had turned back to 
the paper, having it spread out before him once more. If he only knew 
that a real live vampire was sitting in the seat next to him, remembering 
the thrill of drinking hot, fresh human blood, he'd probably have different 
thoughts on the subject. Nick forced his eyes back to the road and 
mentally shook himself. "Let's talk about something else," he said, forcing 
himself to concentrate on the road and his driving.
	"Sure thing," replied Schanke, noticing that their recent 
conversation seemed to push Nick deeper into one of his darkening 
moods, which was the exact opposite of what he had been trying to do. 
Turning to the sports section, he asked, "how do you think the Leafs are 
going to do tonight?"

	The killer pulled his coat around himself as he stepped out of his 
car. He rounded the hood and stepped on to the sidewalk, and then 
walked the half block to the pay phone. He dialed the number for the 27th 
precinct and when the phone was answered, he asked for Detective 
Knight. His call was transferred, and a woman answered the phone.
	"Homicide, may I help you?"
	"I'm looking for Detective Knight," said the killer politely.
	"He's not in at the moment. Can one of the other detectives help 
you, or I can take a message?" she offered.
	"When do you expect him back?" he asked, a thought taking form 
in his mind.
	"Not for sometime yet, but I can get a message to him."
	"I'll try again later," he said, hanging up quickly. He was only a 
few blocks from the precinct, and he started walking in that direction.

	Schanke spotted the house they were looking for, and Nick 
pulled the Caddy into the driveway. Another car was already parked 
there, with a woman sitting inside. She stepped out of her car to greet 
them.
	"Hello, I'm Diane Graham, with the realty company. Call me 
Diane," she said pleasantly.
	"I'm Detective Schanke, and this is my partner Detective Knight. 
We appreciate you meeting us here like this," he said.
	"I was surprised when my office got your call. It's been three 
years since the murder took place, and I wasn't aware that the police 
were still investigating," she replied.
	"Yeah, well, we never close the books on unsolved cases, and 
we recently got some new information. That's why my partner and I 
wanted to take a look at the scene," explained Schanke.
	"Well, I don't know what you're going to find in the way of 
evidence. All traces of the incident have been cleaned up and painted 
over," she said. "However, as you can see, the house is still on the 
market. When people find out about that awful murder that happened 
here, they lose all interest in purchasing the property."
	While Schanke had been talking with the realtor, Nick had walked 
around the house. Everything seemed quiet and normal. He found the 
spot in the backyard where the rope circle had been found, with the blood 
evidence, and as expected, there were no lingering traces. He had bent 
down and touched the grass, as he had at the Barnett's, and nothing. Of 
course, any traces of holy water would have washed away long ago, so 
he wasn't surprised.
	Coming back around to the driveway, he walked up to his partner 
and Diane and politely asked, "may we go inside?"
	"Of course," she said, and headed for the front door, the two 
detectives trailing behind her.
	As they walked through the unfurnished house, they noticed that 
the floors were clean and the walls were all nicely painted. As Diane had 
said, there was no visible trace of the murder. They were in the den 
where the body had been found, where Schanke was going through the 
pictures taken at the crime scene. They showed the position of the body, 
and were a stark contrast to the immaculate present.
	Nick was wandering around the room, his preternatural senses 
on full alert, but was picking up nothing. This had been a long shot at 
best, so he wasn't really disappointed that nothing turned up. It looked 
like this had been a wasted trip.
	"Hey, Knight. Come look at this," said Schanke, sounding like he 
had something. Nick walked over to his partner, who was standing in 
front of the fireplace holding a picture out in front of him. "What do you 
make of this?" asked Schanke, handing Nick the photo.
	Nick took the picture and held it out at arm's length, orienting 
himself. The picture was of the window and wall. Not standing in the 
room, you wouldn't notice that the edge of the photo aligned with the 
fireplace. This was only significant, because in the photo, there looked to 
be a design on the wall. But standing in the room, looking at the wall, and 
visualizing the design, it didn't make sense that it was part of the decor. 
"Do you have a bigger shot of this?" asked Nick.
	"Yeah, hang on," replied Schanke, sorting through the photos. He 
finally pulled one out, and after a brief glance, handed it to Nick.
	In this photograph, all by itself, was the design. It turned out to be 
a phrase, painted on the wall. It was very neatly done, and almost looked 
like it could belong. It said 'in orbem consistere'.
	"To form a circle," said Nick absently, looking intently at the 
photo. He noticed that the window overlooked the spot where the rope 
circle had been found. You couldn't see the spot unless you walked right 
up to the window, but he knew that was where it had been.
	"What did you say?" asked Schanke confused.
	"In orbem consistere. It's Latin meaning 'to form a circle'," he 
repeated.
	"How do you know Latin?" inquired Schanke, skeptical at his 
partner's translation.
	"Just something I've picked up," he replied, staring blankly at the 
photo.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	"I see no reason for further lessons," declared Nicholas.
	"You are hardly proficient, and until such time as you are, you will 
continue your studies," stated LaCroix.
	"I do not know why you insist on all these tutors. And besides, my 
Latin is sufficient," he further avowed.
	"Really?" inquired LaCroix skeptically.
	"Yes," insisted Nicholas.
	LaCroix immediately launched into a long discourse, all in Latin.
	Nicholas stared at him blankly, understanding only half of what 
was being said.
	Feeling justified with his demands, LaCroix said, "obviously you 
require further instruction. I have obtained the services of another tutor. 
He will be here in the morning."
	Nicholas glowered, disgruntled. "I do not wish to have my 
mornings taken up with tutors."
	"I can always arrange for them in the early evenings, if you 
prefer," suggested LaCroix amicably, knowing his son most definitely 
would not want his evenings occupied in such a manner.
	Seeing that he was not going to get his way, Nicholas reluctantly 
replied with a sigh, "mornings will be fine."
	"One last thing to remember," said LaCroix. As Nicholas looked 
at him expectantly, he continued, "they are not breakfast. You will not 
dispose of this new tutor, as you did the last. Is that clear?"
	"He insulted me," replied Nicholas, defending his earlier actions.
	"Nicholas," said LaCroix warningly.
	"As you wish," promised Nicholas grudgingly.

--- End Flashback ---

	"Nick!" shouted Schanke.
	"What?" replied Nick, turning quickly to look at his partner.
	Schanke shook his head and mumbled under his breath to 
Diane, "see what I have to put up with."
	Annoyed, Nick flipped the photo back to Schanke and said, "let's 
go." He then headed for the front door.
	Schanke hustled to collect all the photos back in the file, then 
followed Nick and Diane back outside.
	Once they had reached the driveway, Nick turned to Diane and 
said, "thank you for meeting us and showing the house."
	"It was my pleasure, detectives. If there is anything else I can do, 
please call me," she replied, handing Nick her business card. He put it in 
his pocket and got into the Caddy, leaving Schanke to say his own good-
byes and join him.
	They waited until the realtor was in her car and drove off, before 
Nick backed the Caddy into the street and headed back towards Toronto.

	The killer walked up the steps and into the precinct. He pulled 
down the bill of his baseball cap to shade his eyes, tugged the collar of 
his coat tighter around him, and then finally made sure his gloves were 
on securely. He went to the desk sergeant and asked for Detective 
Knight, and was directed to homicide. When he entered the department, 
he stopped at the administration desk to his right.
	"May I help you?" asked the woman behind the desk.
	"Yes. I am looking for Detective Nicholas Knight. Is he here?" he 
asked, keeping his head down and not making eye contact.
	"I'm sorry. He and his partner are out right now. Can someone 
else help you?" she asked, indicating any of the other detectives that 
were seated at their desks.
	"No, I really need to talk with Detective Knight. When do you 
expect him back?" he inquired politely, keeping his eyes downcast.
	"I'm afraid he won't be back for sometime," she replied. "Would 
you like to wait, or leave him a message? I can get it to him right away."
	"No, that's okay. It's not really urgent. Can I just leave him a 
note?"
	"Of course," she replied, handing him paper and pen.
	He scooted down to the end of the counter and wrote a quick 
note. After folding it in thirds, he asked, "do you have an envelope?" She 
handed him one, and he sealed the note inside. On the outside of the 
envelope he wrote, 'Detective Nicholas Knight'. Handing the woman 
behind the counter the envelope, he asked, "will you see that he gets this 
as soon as he gets back?"
	Taking the envelope, she replied, "yes. I'll give it to him as soon 
as he returns." She then placed it in a slot under the counter.
	The killer turned, and slowly made his way out of the department, 
and out of the precinct. By the time he reached the street, he was smiling 
broadly to himself.

===
CHAPTER ELEVEN


	"Oh, Natalie. Come out, come out, wherever you are," shouted 
Schanke playfully, as he walked into the morgue, Nick close behind him. 
Grace had said she was in here, but he didn't see her.
	"Here she comes," said Nick, as he saw her enter from the room 
where the bodies were stored.
	"Hi, guys," she replied, making sure the door was firmly shut 
before crossing the room to join them. "So, how was Brampton?"
	"Total waste of time," responded Schanke, exasperation 
sounding in his voice.
	"I wouldn't say that," rebutted Nick mildly.
	"You wouldn't?" inquired Nat.
	"And what made it worthwhile?" asked Schanke. Nick pulled the 
picture from his pocket and waved it at Schanke, who merely rolled his 
eyes. "We already knew that."
	Natalie took the picture from Nick's hand and looked at it 
curiously. "What is this?"
	"It's a Latin phrase the killer must have printed on the wall. It 
means 'to form a circle'," explained Nick.
	"Yeah, I know what it means," replied Natalie. Seeing Nick look at 
her somewhat surprised, she continued, "you're not the only one who 
knows Latin. We, meaning doctors, do Latin too, you know." She grinned 
at having caught him slightly off guard.
	Smiling, he snatched the photo back and replied, "yeah. I knew 
that."
	"Yeah, right," replied Schanke. "Now, if you two scholars are 
quite through, would one of you like to explain just what it's suppose to 
mean?" He looked back and forth at each of them, neither one offering an 
explanation.
	Finally, Nick replied, "I don't know, Skank. But it's got to tie in 
somehow. Maybe if we put it together with what else we have, it'll make 
some sense."
	"And just what else do we have, Natalie?" asked Schanke, as 
both detectives turned to look at their favorite medical examiner.
	Moving over to her desk, she picked up a file. "Well, while you 
two boys were out taking a joyride this evening, I was reviewing these 
files you sent over yesterday. I pulled up the results from the autopsies 
and made some comparisons."
	"Did you find anything?" asked Nick eagerly.
	"Okay, to recap, here's what we know," she started, switching to 
her professional lecturing mode. "Between the three crime scenes, 
spread over three years, there are five bodies. One body at the first, two 
at the second, and two at the third."
	"But if you take into account that he was planning on killing Sally, 
then that would be three at the third. You think he's using the body count 
to tally his murders?" asked Schanke disgustedly.
	"I don't know. That doesn't really make sense, and would be hard 
to maintain if he were to keep going," replied Nick.
	"Are you two through? May I go on?" asked an amused Natalie. 
At their chagrined expressions, she continued, "they were all killed by 
having their throats cut with a large, sharp knife. My guess would be a 
hunting knife. And while I can't say with absolute certainty, since 
nobody's found the murder weapon, it's probably the same knife. 
Preceding this, each of the victims had been hit with a large blunt object, 
most likely rendering them unconscious first. It looks to me like it could 
very well be the same killer. You guys did a good job putting this 
together."
	"Well, that's what they pay us for, right, partner?" said Schanke, 
slapping Nick on the back.
	"Yeah," his partner replied, glancing at him before turning back to 
Natalie. "What about forensics?"
	Picking up a larger folder, she answered, "your first victim, 
Professor Johann Freid, was a physicist at University College. No DNA 
evidence from the killer was found at the scene. There was lamb's blood 
painted on the door frame of his house, and traces of it and the 
professor's blood were found pooled in the center of a rope coil in his 
backyard. And you have that," she said, pointing at the picture Nick still 
held in his hand.
	"Practically the same as the other two scenes; only on the yacht, 
the ramp entrance was covered with lamb's blood, instead of a doorway," 
said Schanke. "And the doorways at the Barnett's were covered with 
blood. What is with that anyway?"
	"Some believe that placing lamb's blood on the door assures 
them of God's forbearance," explained Nick.
	"You think that's what this guy is doing?!? Telling us that it's okay 
that he kills these people? That is just sick," proclaimed Schanke.
	"Just a thought," replied Nick. Turning to Natalie he asked, "what 
else?"
	"The rope. I pulled the fiber samples from all three scenes, and 
they match. It appears to be from the same coil. And again, at the first 
scene, the circle of rope was made with one coil, two coils at the second 
scene, and then three coils at the last scene," she reported.
	"Great. One, two, three, again. It must mean something," said 
Schanke thoughtfully.
	"The rope coils tie into something Sally Barnett said to me, 
remember, Skank. She said she heard the killer say 'I have passed 
through the third circle and am sending you onward to hell to announce 
my coming'. Sounds like these coils represent some kind of circle, a 
passageway or something," theorized Nick.
	"Forensics evidence indicates, that after his victims were killed, 
he went outside, created these circles, then stood in the center in the 
pouring rain. That would account for the lamb's blood and the victim's 
blood, all pooling in the center of the circles," said Natalie, as she closed 
the folder and set it back on her desk.
	"Sally also told me that she saw him drinking the lamb's blood," 
said Nick.
	"Yuck! That is so disgusting. Who in the world would want to 
drink blood? Especially animal blood," exclaimed Schanke.
	"So, non-animal blood would be better?" asked Nick, amused 
and mildly disconcerted. He turned to Natalie, slightly startled, when she 
whacked him on the arm.
	"It's not necessary. There's got to be plenty of other options out 
there," replied Schanke, giving a little shudder.
	"There are," stated Natalie firmly, looking at Nick.
	"It's all a cleansing ritual," said Nick, turning away from her glare 
and focusing back on the killer.
	"You think this is some kind of religious thing to this guy?" asked 
Schanke.
	"Starting to sound that way," replied Nick. Turning to Natalie, he 
asked, "did forensics detect anything on the rope?"
	"Like what?" she asked suspiciously.
	Shrugging, he replied, "I don't know. Chemicals, or holy water, 
maybe?" He looked down and inspected his fingers. There was no 
physical sign where he had burned them, but he remembered the 
sensation.
	Lifting his head, his eyes met Natalie's. She stared knowingly at 
him, and answered, "no chemicals, and it was soaked with water. 
Presumably from the rain."
	"Okay, okay. Enough about the rope. Assuming this all means 
something, it sounds like the first murder, was the first murder," stated 
Schanke. At Nick and Nat's questioning look, he added, "that phrase 'to 
form a circle'. You only do that the first time, right? If you've already got a 
circle going, then you don't need to form one. That's why it was only 
found at the first scene."
	Smiling, Natalie replied, "very good, Detective."
	"Yeah, makes sense to me," added Nick.
	"The question still remains, now that we know all this, how does it 
help us catch this guy?" inquired Schanke.
	"Well, assuming we're guessing right, knowing his motivation can 
only help," said Nick.
	"Yeah, help how?" demanded Schanke.
	"I don't know yet," replied Nick wearily.
	"Well, when you boys figure it out, be sure to let me know, okay?" 
she said, walking over to her lab table.
	"Ooh, I think we've been dismissed, partner," said Schanke 
jovially.
	"Yeah, well, Captain Stonetree is waiting for us. We better go 
give him an update," said Nick, as he started to follow Schanke out the 
door.
	"Nick?" he heard Natalie quietly call to him.
	"Skank, I'll meet you out at the car in a minute, okay?" asked 
Nick.
	"Sure," whispered Schanke, glancing back at Natalie. "Just make 
sure it's not a repeat of last night. I don't want to have to drag you out of 
here, too."
	"It's nothing like that," hissed Nick, slightly annoyed. Schanke 
threw him a knowing look, then headed down the hall. Nick turned back 
to Natalie and waited to hear why she called him back.
	Walking up to him, she quietly said, "is there something I should 
know?"
	"Like what?"
	"Drinking blood. Holy water. What's that about?"
	"Sally saw the killer drinking blood, and I burned my fingers on 
the ground where the rope had been laying at the Barnett's. I'm guessing 
it was soaked in holy water," explained Nick, trying to allay her 
suspicions.
	"Let me be blunt. Do you think this killer is a vampire?" she asked 
nervously.
	"No," he answered firmly.
	"Are you sure?"
	"Yes, I'm positive. This killer may be a bit uncanny, but he's 
definitely not one of us."
	"He's tried to kill you twice already," she said worriedly.
	"Another vampire wouldn't use a gun. It can't kill me," he assured 
her.
	"No," she agreed, "but it could incapacitate you long enough for 
something else to kill you."
	"That's not going to happen."
	"You just be careful," she ordered.
	"Nat," he said, humoring her, "there's nothing to worry about."
	"Famous last words," she retorted.
	He frowned at her comment, then shaking his head, turned to 
leave. As he exited the door, he heard her shout to him again, "be 
careful."

	As soon as they walked in the door of the precinct, the desk 
sergeant told them that Stonetree wanted to see them ASAP. After 
checking in, Nick and Schanke made a beeline for Stonetree's office.
	"Hey, Cap. We just got back," said Schanke, poking his head into 
the office.
	"Where's your partner?" inquired Stonetree gruffly.
	"I'm right here," replied Knight, crowding in behind Schanke.
	"Well, both of you. Get in here and shut the door," the Captain 
ordered. Stonetree leaned back in his chair and waited for the detectives 
to get seated. Once they were settled, he asked, "so. What did you find 
out?"
	They spent the next ten minutes briefing the Captain on what 
they had figured out in Brampton, and what the ME's office had put 
together connecting the three crimes. Schanke had done most of the 
talking, and ended the briefing by stating, "so, Nick here thinks this guy is 
one of those religious nutcases."
	Stonetree gave Knight a measuring stare. "Is that right, 
Detective?"
	"It seems to fit," answered Nick nodding. "The lamb's blood, the 
circles of rope, what Sally Barnett heard him say."
	Stonetree continued to stare at Nick. "Why do you think he's 
killing these people. What's he trying to accomplish?"
	"We haven't figured that out yet," answered Nick.
	"But we're working on it," added Schanke.
	"How's that, Detective?" asked Stonetree skeptically. Schanke 
shifted uncomfortably in his chair, then turned to look at Nick, who just 
shrugged. "That's what I thought."
	"We're trying. We've got a lot of information, but nothing 
identifying our killer," explained Schanke.
	Nick perked up as a thought struck him. "How about we have 
Sally Barnett work with a sketch artist? I think she saw our guy, and 
maybe she can help with a composite."
	"Come on, Nick. She's just a kid. You really want to put her 
through that?" asked Schanke.
	"We'll check with Dr. Reynolds and see what she says. It can't 
hurt to ask, and it could even help Sally deal with her guilt if she actually 
helps us catch this guy," reasoned Nick.
	"She shouldn't have any guilt. It wasn't her fault, and she's just a 
little girl. Not like she could have done anything to stop it," replied 
Schanke.
	"You know that, and I know that, but try to tell her that," said Nick.
	"You're my two best detectives. I expect you to solve this case," 
said Stonetree, as he leaned forward in his chair. "Do what you have to 
do."
	"Yes, sir," replied Schanke, as both he and Nick rose to their feet.
	As they were leaving, Stonetree looked at Nick warily and asked, 
"so, this religious angle. Is this going to be a problem?"
	Not sure what he meant by that, Nick just gave the Captain a 
blank look and shook his head negatively, and then continued out of the 
office. Stonetree's comments sometimes made him uneasy. It was almost 
as if he knew something he shouldn't, like he suspected Nick was more 
than he appeared to be. Stonetree couldn't possibly know, and he never 
came right out and asked or said anything specific. Nick dismissed his 
thinking as paranoid and put it out of his mind.
	As Nick walked to his desk, he heard Schanke already on the 
phone with Children's Services, trying to reach Dr. Reynolds. He turned 
around as he heard someone call his name. "Hey, Norma. What's up?"
	"Some guy was in earlier looking for you. He left you this note 
and asked me to give it to you as soon as you got back," she said, 
handing him the sealed envelope with his name written on it.
	"Thanks," he said, accepting the message. He turned back to 
listen to Schanke on the phone, as he looked over the envelope briefly, 
then tore it open. He extracted the single sheet and unfolded it. As he 
read, his body tensed. He must have made a noise, because Schanke 
looked up sharply from his phone conversation to stare at him. Nick didn't 
notice.
	"Hey, Nick. What is it?" whispered Schanke, as he listened to 
someone talking to him over the phone. Schanke could tell something 
was wrong, and when Nick didn't reply, he spoke into the mouthpiece, 
"look, I have to call you back. Sorry."
	Coming around the desk to see what was about ready to make 
his partner spit fire, Schanke asked, "what is it? What's it say?"
	Nick hissed through his teeth, and shoved the note at Schanke, 
who gingerly retrieved it from his outstretched hand. Nick was furious. He 
looked like he wanted to tear someone apart.
	"What's going on?" asked Stonetree, coming out of his office. He 
had seen Knight's reaction to the note Norma handed him and figured it 
must have to do with the case.
	"I don't get it," said Schanke curiously, as he finished reading the 
note to himself.
	"Read it," ordered Stonetree.
	"Dear Detective Knight. 'O thou who art led through this Hell, 
recognise me, if thou canst.' Signed, ... then there's a picture of a knife 
with what's probably blood dripping from it," read Schanke.
	"Sonofa ...," Stonetree started to swear. "Is that from who I think 
it's from?"
	"Yes," answered Nick, a soft growl sounding in his throat. "That's 
from the killer. He was here, and we missed him."

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Nicholas had been confining his hunting to the area north of the 
Arno river, just west of the Ponte Vecchio. He thought this would give him 
a better opportunity to find the killer, as this seemed to be the same 
general area most all the killings occurred. Knowing that, one would think 
most people would keep clear of the area, but that was not so.
	Dawn was not for a couple of hours yet, when he heard the 
muffled shouts from a short distance away. Looking down from his perch 
atop one of the higher buildings, he leaped off the roof and quickly flew to 
where he heard the shouting.
	As he landed, he noticed that all was silent now. He ran up to the 
near building, and stopping, peered around the corner. He saw a man, 
bending over another. The one on the ground was not moving, while the 
other man was wiping, what appeared to be a knife blade, across the 
chest of the fallen man.
	Concentrating, he reached out with his senses to confirm that 
this was the murderer he sought. As he felt the subtle vibration reach 
him, the man suddenly stood and stared in his direction.
	Nicholas stepped out from the corner of the building and 
advanced towards him. The murderer immediately took off running in the 
opposite direction. Nicholas gave chase, running across the street and 
into the same alley. Pausing at an intersection, he saw the man turn a far 
corner and he rushed to close the shortening distance between them.
	He emerged from the alley onto a narrow street, running as fast 
as he could. He saw the man dart into a doorway, just up ahead. Without 
breaking stride, he followed the man, bursting through the partially ajar 
door. The impact of his body on the door caused it to swing open hard, 
and crash into the wall opposite, surprising all on the other side. Startled, 
Nicholas forced himself to a sudden stop and looked at all the staring 
faces.
	"What is the meaning of this?" said a loud booming voice to his 
right. This voice belonged to a very large man, who had the look of the 
proprietor about him. He was wiping his hands on an old cloth, and 
walked towards Nicholas, who was still standing just inside the open 
doorway.
	Slightly taken aback, as he had not expected to enter a crowded 
tavern, having limited his narrow focus on the chase, he stumbled a 
response, "I am looking for a man who just entered before me."
	"And who would that be, young sir?" sneered the proprietor, 
looking him over from head to toe, obviously not pleased to have him in 
his establishment. The rest of the patrons were silently glaring at him as 
well, hostile looks upon all their faces. It was not often, if ever, a well-
dressed gentleman visited here, and the regular patrons preferred it that 
way.
	Straightening his stance, Nicholas looked imperiously at the 
proprietor and said, "the man who is responsible for the killings of late, 
has just entered here. You will tell me where he is."
	After a lengthy pause, another man stood and stepped forward. 
He was tall, with a narrow and grizzled face. He glared hatefully at 
Nicholas and said, "you're mistaken. Go look elsewhere."
	"I saw him enter," replied Nicholas firmly. He stared back at the 
man, narrowing his eyes. "He is here, and I will have him."
	Nicholas stepped deeper into the room. His intention was to 
ignore these mortals and use his senses to spy out the man, but before 
he had a chance to do so, the majority of the customers stood as if to 
challenge him. Surprised, he stopped his advance. A few of them circled 
around behind him, leaving him no clear path to take.
	"And who are you, that we would turn over one of our own to you, 
on your say so?" shouted the same grizzled faced man who had already 
challenged him. "How do we know you are not the murderer? Perhaps 
this man you claim to be chasing escaped you."
	"The man he killed is laying out in the street even now," said 
Nicholas, turning to point in the direction he had just come, annoyed and 
frustrated. He knew his quarry was here, and this riffraff was keeping him 
from ferreting him out.
	"You had best leave, now," ordered the proprietor. "I don't want 
any trouble here."
	"That's good advice, lad. Young gentlemen, like yourself, tend to 
get swallowed up in places like this," said the group's self-appointed 
spokesman.
	"Are you threatening me?" asked Nicholas incredulously.
	His question brought laughter to the room. Many of the patrons 
stepped forward, crowding closer to him. Even though he was so close to 
catching his quarry, Nicholas decided the wiser move would be to retreat. 
He could not take on everyone in this room. He knew the murderer was 
here, but there was nothing he could do for the moment.
	Grinding his teeth in frustration, he reined in his temper, and 
keeping his eyes locked on the man who had threatened him, he slowly 
backed towards the door. It was then he felt hands grab onto his back 
and shove him roughly forward. He twisted around as he crashed 
backwards into the forward circle of men. More hands grabbed him. He 
twisted, trying to break free. A fist impacted on his ribcage, causing him 
to gasp for breath.
	Using his vampiric strength, he shoved back at the men in front 
of him, sending them flying backwards. This enraged the crowd, and he 
soon found himself buried beneath a multitude of bodies. He managed to 
roll onto his back, and put his hands over his head, trying to protect 
himself from the blows being reigned upon him. Kicking out with his feet, 
he tossed off a couple more men.
	The weight of the bodies pressing upon him began to lessen, and 
he heard the loud shouting, "enough. I said enough." He felt a large hand 
close over his upper arm and pull him roughly to his feet. The owner of 
this same large hand, stepped in between him and the others, still 
shouting, "back. All of you get back. Leave him be."
	Gaining his feet, Nicholas looked on as the proprietor brought 
order to the crowd. His angry customers slowly backed away. They 
clearly had no desire to go against the owner of their favorite gathering 
place.
	"Okay, boy, are you all right?" asked the proprietor gruffly, turning 
to look at Nicholas.
	"I am fine," snarled an angry Nicholas, as he wiped away the 
blood from his cut lip, while scowling irately back at the retreating crowd.
	"Then I suggest you get yourself home. This is no place for the 
likes of you to be. Consider yourself lucky you're still in one piece," 
warned the proprietor, as he grabbed Nicholas by the arm and shoved 
him towards the open door.
	Nicholas jerked his arm from the proprietor's grasp, only to be 
roughly shoved through the door. He fell to the ground in the street. 
Catching himself with his hands, he immediately rolled to a sitting position 
facing the door as it was slammed shut. He could hear the cheering and 
yelling from those still inside.
	Fuming, he sat there and glared at the door for the longest time. 
He was furious. He had killed men for less, and in his current state of 
mind, he wanted to kill them all. He knew the murderer he sought was still 
inside. He had not been one of the men who attacked him, for he would 
have known. Even though he could not sense him now, he knew he was 
there.
	Growling in frustration, Nicholas hit the ground with his fist. In 
fact, he hit the ground so hard, it hurt. He looked at his injured hand in 
surprise. The pain lasted only a few moments, then it was gone. Nicholas 
stood up and brushed off his clothing. He strode angrily across the street 
and into a nearby alley. He straightened out his now torn clothing as best 
he could. Since dawn was still a short time away, he hid himself in the 
shadows and settled in to watch the doorway. During the time he stood 
watching, he saw some of the men leave, but not who he was waiting for. 
Still angry, he became disappointed when he looked up to see the first 
hint of the oncoming dawn upon the horizon. Having to call it a night, he 
checked to make sure no one was about, then leapt into the air and 
headed for home.

--- End Flashback ---

	Nick snapped himself back to the present, and heard Norma 
finish describing the man who left the note to Schanke. "He was about 
5'10", 160 pounds. Even though he had a cap on, his hair was short and 
light brown. I couldn't see his eyes because of the cap, and it didn't look 
like he had shaved."
	"Isn't there anything else you noticed, Norma?" asked Schanke 
hopefully.
	"Sorry, Detective," she said.
	"Let's pull the security tapes," ordered Stonetree. "Knight, you 
and Schanke go take a look and see if you can get an ID." Turning to a 
couple of uniformed officers, he continued, "Miller, Dubois, interview 
everyone that came in contact with this guy."
	Schanke went into the interview room to make sure the video 
recorder and monitor were ready to go, while Nick went to retrieve the 
video surveillance tapes. As soon as Nick returned with the tapes, they 
popped them into the video recorder and hit the play button.
	They quickly identified the portions that had their alleged suspect, 
and went through them practically frame by frame. There was not one 
clean frame that showed his face. It was clear to the two detectives that 
the killer had planned to elude the camera's. They had sent the envelope 
and paper to the lab for fingerprints, but that hope was dashed as they 
saw he never removed his gloves.
	Disappointed with their lack of findings, they went to talk with 
Miller and Dubois. They spent the rest of their shift reviewing the 
interviews the two officers had provided, along with looking through all 
the reinterviews from the other crime scenes.
	Nothing.
	They were sitting at their desks. Schanke was busy flipping 
through some papers, and Nick was still basically stewing over the fact 
that the killer apparently had the gall to walk in here and leave him a note. 
At least they were assuming it was the killer, and Nick felt pretty confident 
that it was.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Arriving home, Nicholas closed the door loudly behind him and 
strode forcefully into the drawing room. He was still fuming about his 
encounters in the tavern, which also allowed the murderer to elude him 
yet again.
	"Nicholas. Where have you been?" asked LaCroix, annoyed with 
his son's lateness. After critically eyeing his appearance, he added, "and 
just what have you been up to?"
	"I almost caught the murderer. I chased him into a squalid tavern, 
and with the help of the dregs inside, he escaped me," snarled Nicholas, 
obviously quite upset. Seeing LaCroix raise his eyebrow, silently saying, 
'oh, really?' he rapidly continued, "there were about fifteen men in there, 
all rabble. They wouldn't tell me where the murderer was, and then they 
attacked me. I had to fight them off to escape. Then I waited outside for 
the murderer to come out, and he never did. When I saw the sun start to 
rise, I had to come home."
	"When you fought this <rabble> off, did you reveal yourself to 
them?" asked LaCroix cautiously.
	"No," he replied, then sheepishly added, "the proprietor pulled 
them off me."
	"I see," replied LaCroix, relieved at not having to deal with the 
situation otherwise.
	"I am going to go back there tonight, and I will take my revenge 
on that wretch that attacked me," he raged, referring to the man who 
threatened him in the tavern earlier. "I am going to kill him, and everyone 
that helped him."
	"No, you will not," said LaCroix calmly. At Nicholas' questioning 
look, he explained, "there is already a murderer on the loose that has the 
authorities notice. You will not deliberately do anything that will guide their 
attentions in our direction."
	"I will make sure that no one sees me," said Nicholas, annoyed 
that LaCroix would think him careless.
	"They will not have to see you to suspect you," explained 
LaCroix. "After your encounter tonight, should they all turn up dead, who 
do you think they will look to for their murderer? And then what is to stop 
them from blaming you for these other deaths as well?"
	"You want me to do nothing?" asked Nicholas astonished. "I 
should just let them get away with treating me like that?"
	"There will be time enough for revenge later. For now, you must 
concentrate your energies on locating your elusive murderer. Once the 
authorities are satisfied, then you may seek all the retribution you like," 
reasoned LaCroix.
	"I do not wish to wait," sulked Nicholas obstinately.
	"You will wait," ordered LaCroix. Seeing the thwarted expression 
crossing his son's face, he added firmly, "you will do as I tell you."
	Nicholas grudgingly acquiesced. "Fine, I shall wait."
	LaCroix noted how upset Nicholas still was, so suggested, "you 
are obviously too agitated for bed. Come with me to the ballroom, and we 
will work off some of that energy you are so palpably radiating."
	"What is in the ballroom?" asked Nicholas sulkily, yet intrigued.
	"Come," replied LaCroix, walking out of the room and down the 
hallway.
	Nicholas quickly followed.

--- End Flashback ---

	"Hey, Knight," repeated Schanke, tossing a wadded up piece of 
paper at his partner, hitting him square in the chest.
	Nick's eyes refocused and zoomed in on his partner. "What?"
	"You figure out what he meant?" asked Schanke, referring to the 
note the killer left. "Must be some kind of quote or something, what do 
you think, Nick?"
	Leaning forward and rubbing his forehead tiredly, Nick replied, 
"yeah. I think you're right. It sounds vaguely familiar, but I can't place it."
	"It's like he's daring us to find him," said Schanke thoughtfully. 
"Come on, it's almost morning. Let's call it a night. We'll pick it up fresh 
tomorrow."
	Nick readily agreed. They both checked out and headed to their 
respective homes.


===
CHAPTER TWELVE


	Nick spent most of the day tossing and turning. Although he had 
slept, he still felt as though he hadn't. Each time he fell asleep, LaCroix 
would appear in his dreams, calling to him. He would look and look, and 
not be able to find him. He would begin to panic, then the voice calling to 
him would grow fainter and fainter, and then finally in a frenzy, he would 
wake. He would remind himself that LaCroix was dead and couldn't be 
calling to him, and he was happy that this was so. He had a difficult time 
convincing himself of that last part, which is probably why the dream kept 
returning. He admitted to himself that he didn't really believe he was 
happy, only that he wanted to be.

	He arrived at the precinct before Schanke, and noticed that he 
was the first on the night shift to arrive. The afternoon shift was having a 
little birthday party in the bullpen for one of the detective's. Half the office 
was crowded around a desk, having just sung 'Happy Birthday' and he 
could still smell the smoke from the recently blown out candles. As he 
walked in, he was greeted with a number of friendly hello's, and some 
gentle ribbing about being in so early. He tried to skirt past the crowd and 
get to his desk, but was stopped by one of the younger officers.
	"Hi, Nick. You're in early," she said, still laughing from the earlier 
events.
	"Hello, Elaine. I've got a lot of work to do," he replied, moving 
past her.
	"Wait, wait," she said in a rush, turning her back to him briefly. 
When she turned back around, she handed him a paper plate with a 
piece of birthday cake. "Here, you have to have a piece of this. I made it 
myself."
	"Thanks, anyway, but that's too much sugar for me," he replied, 
hoping she would accept his excuse.
	"Don't be silly. You hardly need to be watching your waistline. 
Take it," she laughingly insisted, shoving the plate in his hand.
	Not wanting to offend her, he smiled politely and said, "sure, 
thanks."
	As he started to move towards his desk again, she asked, "aren't 
you even going to try it?"
	"Uh, I'll save it for later. I just ate before I came in," he replied 
awkwardly. He was relieved when she let it drop and he was able to gain 
a few more feet towards his desk.
	"Hey, Knight. How's it going?" asked Detective Baxter. "Heard 
you and Schanke are working on a nasty one. Is that what has you in so 
early?"
	"Yeah, we've got a lot of work to do," answered Nick.
	"Schanke on his way in early, too?"
	"No, just me."
	"Oh, good. I see you got some of my cake."
	Realizing that it must his birthday, Nick replied, "yeah, Happy 
Birthday."
	"Thanks," he responded, then moved off to talk to some other co-
workers.
	Seeing a clear path before him, Nick darted quickly to his desk. 
He set down the cake, and seeing that people were starting to head in his 
direction, he kept walking and ducked into the locker room. Just his luck 
that he came in early and walked in during a rare social event in the 
office. So what if they thought he was anti-social. He wasn't in the mood 
for chit chat tonight.
	He killed some time by rummaging around in his locker, then 
headed back into the squad room. By the time he got back to his desk, 
the party had broken up and people had pretty much returned to their 
normal duties.
	He went through his and Schanke's inboxes, and pulled out any 
new information related to their current case. Nothing of major interest. 
Next he checked his email, and again, nothing worth noting. He started 
reorganizing the files they already had, and was just finishing when 
Schanke arrived.
	"You look like you've been busy. When did you get in?" he 
inquired curiously.
	"A couple of hours ago," replied Nick absently, as he kept 
skimming through the files.
	"What? Couldn't sleep?"
	"I slept. What about you?"
	"Like a baby," Schanke declared. 
	Nick looked at him skeptically, with a half-smile on his lips.
	"Well, for a little while anyway," he added. "And don't go telling 
me you did any better."
	Nick looked up, a look of utmost innocence upon his face.
	"Yeah, right. I see those circles under your eyes. You don't hide 
your lack of sleep very well either," observed Schanke.
	"Maybe if we make some headway tonight, we can both sleep," 
commented Nick.
	"Yeah. Tomorrow's our night off. It'll be nice to take some time 
and regroup a little," sighed Schanke. "So, what's the plan for tonight?"
	"I don't know," replied Nick, sounding a little discouraged. "I keep 
thinking we must be missing something. This guy couldn't have killed five 
people without leaving a clue about who he is."
	"So, you're saying we need to go through the files... again?"
	"Unless you have a better idea."
	Resigning himself to the tedious task at hand, Schanke grabbed 
a stack of files. "I'll go through these."
	"Keep them in order. I just finished reorganizing them <again>," 
Nick commented offhandedly.
	"Don't worry. I'm not going to mess up your precious files," he 
retorted. At Nick's stern look, he added, "it's not like he's going to get 
away due to bad filing."
	"Maybe not, but if we're just not seeing something in the files 
that's there, that could slow us down in catching him," he justified.
	"Fine, fine," replied Schanke exasperated. And the night had just 
begun. He shouldn't get so snappy. He and Nick both hated all the 
paperwork, files, and forms... but someone had to do them. He was just 
finishing organizing his desk, when he noticed something unusual on 
Nick's. "What's that?" he asked, almost accusatory.
	"What?" asked Nick, surprised.
	"That?" said Schanke, pointing to the object of his interest.
	Seeing what drew Schanke's attention, Nick grinned. "Oh, that. 
Elaine gave it to me. It's a piece of Baxter's birthday cake. They were 
throwing him a little party when I got here."
	"Well?" exclaimed Schanke, after Nick went back to reading his 
file.
	"What?"
	"Aren't you going to give it to me?"
	"Why would I do that?" asked Nick, smiling now.
	"Come on, Knight. It's not like you're actually going to eat it. Hand 
it over," demanded Schanke.
	Grinning from ear to ear, Nick handed him the cake. "She made it 
herself," he added.
	"Delicious," he said, after taking a large bite.
	Nick was just starting to say something in reply, when Stonetree 
interrupted them. "Hey, Cap," he said. "What's up?"
	"What are you two doing tonight?"
	"File work," replied Nick, indicating the two large stacks, one on 
his desk and one on Schanke's.
	"No new leads?" he asked, already knowing the answer, as both 
of his detectives shook their heads negatively. "Well, here's something 
else for you. Before you book off tonight, I want you both to catch up on 
your daily reports, and I want your weekly status reports, too. Okay?"
	"But we've got all these files to go through," replied Schanke.
	"Then I suggest you get busy," Stonetree responded, as he 
walked away towards his office.
	Once the Captain was safely out of earshot, Schanke said, "man. 
How are we suppose to find time to do all this paperwork, and go through 
these files. Do they want us to catch this guy, or do reports? I do <not> 
want to work late on our one night off."
	Nick closed his file and dropped it back on top of his stack. "Let's 
do the reports, then if there's any time left, we can go through the files."

	By the time they finished the status reports and got them turned 
in, their shift was almost over.
	"We might as well book off. We're not going to get anything more 
done tonight," suggested Schanke.
	"Maybe we can take these files home and look them over. That 
should give us a head start for when we come back," Nick further 
suggested.
	"No, absolutely not," stated Schanke firmly. Nick looked at him in 
surprise. "We need to take a break, come back with fresh minds. That's 
not going to happen if you spend all your off time going through files. And 
besides, you already know what's in them," reasoned Schanke.
	"Yeah, I suppose you're right," he replied.
	"You know I'm right. Now let's just pack these away and head out 
of here."

	Nick was wandering around his loft, not ready to go to bed, and 
yet, not really having anything to do. He couldn't stop thinking about the 
killer he and Schanke were after. He was starting to get a idea of what 
this killer was like, but there were still a lot of gaps. Something kept 
tugging at his mind, but he just couldn't grasp whatever it was. Maybe he 
should take Schanke's advice and just take his mind completely off the 
case for awhile. Maybe he was trying too hard.
	Briefly, he turned on the morning news and saw there wasn't 
anything of real interest, except the weather report. There was another 
storm coming in and rain was expected at any time. The three murders all 
occurred on very rainy nights, and he was sure that wasn't coincidence. 
He turned off the television and returned to wandering the loft.
	He tried playing the piano for awhile, but that just wasn't focusing 
his mind enough. There wasn't anything good on television, and listening 
to music wasn't going to do it. He spotted his chessboard set up on the 
table near the fireplace. Maybe a good game of chess would focus his 
mind and push these other thoughts away, at least for awhile.
	Before settling down to play, he went to the fridge. Opening the 
door, he looked long and hard at the protein shake sitting there, then 
opted for a glass of cow's blood. He told himself that he would drink the 
shakes tomorrow. He carried his glass over to the chessboard, and 
settled himself on the floor in front of the fire. He quickly became 
engrossed in the game.
	After a couple of hours, he was in the middle of the game, when 
he just stopped. Suddenly losing interest, he decided this wasn't any fun. 
True, it was keeping his mind occupied, but it wasn't the same as having 
an opponent to play. He turned to stare into the fire, and let his mind drift 
to other times.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Nicholas stood at the window and watched the rain as it pounded 
against the earth. He could hear the wind howling as it roared over the 
villa and every so often, the sky lit up with the flash of lightning, swiftly 
followed by peals of thunder. The eye of the storm was very near. It was 
certainly no night to be out, not even for a vampire. Nicholas had no 
desire to be blown about by the elements, or to become drenched in the 
cold winter's rain.
	Hearing footsteps in the hallway, he turned as LaCroix entered 
the drawing room. "You are not going out in this weather, are you?" he 
asked.
	"This is hardly a night for man, beast, or vampire to be about," 
replied LaCroix, looking Nicholas over with a critical eye. "Do you intend 
to finish dressing?"
	"I am dressed well enough," he replied. He was wearing a casual 
short tunic, unbelted, that fell to just above his knees, with silk hose and 
bare feet. At LaCroix' frown, he added, "it is not like any one will be 
visiting." He turned back to stare out the window.
	Acquiescing, LaCroix asked, "what would you like to do this 
evening?" 
	Nicholas merely shrugged and continued to look out the window. 
He had absently raised one hand against the glass, and was tracing the 
edge of the panes with his fingers.
	"Come over by the fire. I will set up the chessboard and we will 
play," said LaCroix.
	Without turning around, Nicholas replied quietly, "I always lose."
	"That is only because you do not properly apply yourself. You 
need to be more patient, and think through your actions more carefully. 
Chess is a game of strategy that requires planning," replied LaCroix. 
"Now come, you still have much to learn."

	They were well into the game, and Nicholas was studying the 
board intently. He was sprawled on the carpet in front of the fire, laying 
on his stomach, elbows propped in front of him, his chin resting on his 
hands. He idly swung his feet in the air over his back, crossing and 
uncrossing his ankles. He barely noticed as LaCroix rose from the carpet 
and refilled their goblets.
	Rather than reclaim his spot across the board from Nicholas, 
LaCroix sat on the floor next to him, and slightly behind. As Nicholas 
reached out for his bishop, LaCroix leaned forward to see, slightly 
brushing against him. Nicholas hesitated and withdrew his hand.
	"Very good, Nicholas. You are learning," commented LaCroix 
chuckling, while he gently ruffled his son's hair. "You were wise to change 
your mind. You must plan carefully, study your opponents moves, 
determine his plans."
	Slightly annoyed, Nicholas brushed LaCroix' hand away from 
him, and said, "I cannot think while you are talking to me."
	"I see," replied LaCroix humorously. "Then I shall endeavor to be 
ever so quiet."
	Nicholas frowned at him, but went back to studying the board. 
This was hard. He had been unable to figure out LaCroix' strategy, and 
he knew whatever move he made, LaCroix would immediately counter it. 
He was not really enjoying this, but it was a way to pass the time. He also 
knew that if he did not make a real effort to play well, LaCroix would 
become upset with him and most likely make him play again, so he may 
as well put forth the effort now.
	In the midst of his concentration, he felt LaCroix lightly run his 
fingers up and down his back. Nicholas shrugged him off, but LaCroix 
kept it up. Finally, Nicholas said while squirming, "you are distracting me."
	"The world is full of distractions. You must put them aside and 
focus on what you need to do," replied LaCroix, not taking his gaze from 
Nicholas' back.
	LaCroix continued to run his fingers lightly over his son's back. 
"You are taking unfair advantage," said Nicholas. "You are not afraid that 
I may win, are you?" he asked, surprised as the thought occurred to him.
	"There is no such thing as <fair>," answered LaCroix, now 
tracing patterns on his back.
	Nicholas dropped all concentration on the game. He quickly 
rolled over and sat up facing LaCroix, and said, "well, two can play at 
this."
	Sighing, LaCroix replied, "I am trying to teach you a lesson. You 
must learn to maintain your focus and not become so easily distracted. 
You are actually doing quite well, and if you will but continue to apply 
yourself, you may just be surprised at the results."
	Disappointed, Nicholas turned back to the game. Rolling once 
again onto his stomach, he continued to study the board, determinedly 
ignoring LaCroix' distracting behavior. Finally, he moved his knight.
	"Very good, Nicholas. That is exactly what I would have done," 
replied LaCroix, quite pleased. Nicholas' pleasure was short lived 
however, as LaCroix immediately made a counter move and said, "I 
believe it is your turn."

	Sometime later, Nicholas thought it obvious he was losing. He 
was discouraged and bored, and finally announced, "I am tired and I do 
not wish to play any longer."
	"We will finish the game," replied LaCroix.
	"I will concede."
	"You will not."
	Sighing heavily, Nicholas returned to the game, forcing himself to 
concentrate. When he finally made a move, he was surprised when 
LaCroix did not take his turn right away. They had been playing all night, 
and although Nicholas could spend up to an hour determining his next 
move, LaCroix rarely spent any time on his. Nicholas smiled and said, "is 
there something wrong?"
	"Quiet," answered LaCroix, frowning slightly as he studied the 
board.
	"What were you telling me earlier? Oh, yes. The world is full of 
distractions..." he managed to say before he was interrupted.
	"I said be quiet," said LaCroix, slightly annoyed.
	After a short interval, LaCroix moved his queen, however, he 
didn't seem very happy.
	Newly inspired, by what he interpreted as concern on LaCroix' 
part, Nicholas carefully studied the board. He looked up when LaCroix 
stood and walked to the fireplace, placing one hand on the mantel and 
staring down into the flames. Turning his eyes back to the board, he 
could hardly believe what he saw. Carefully reviewing all the positions to 
make sure he wasn't mistaken, he again moved his knight and said, 
"checkmate."
	Taking a deep breath and turning back towards Nicholas, 
LaCroix said, "very good. I knew if you would but persevere, you would 
one day prevail."
	"This is the first time I have beaten you," said Nicholas joyfully. 
Then looking at LaCroix' emotionless face, he asked, "you did not let me 
win, did you?"
	"I assure you, Nicholas, I did not let you win," answered LaCroix 
firmly.
	Nicholas beamed happily at LaCroix. "I did not think I could win," 
he said, still smiling.
	LaCroix' face softened as he saw how happy Nicholas was. "If 
you would but put your mind to it, you can accomplish most anything."

--- End Flashback ---

	Angrily, Nick struck out with his hand, sweeping the chess pieces 
violently from the board. They flew across the room, and smashed into 
the wall. 'No', he screamed in his mind. 'I don't want to think about him'.
	He jumped to his feet and strode across the room. He flipped on 
the sound to the stereo and let the music blast out of the speakers. It did 
nothing to redirect his thoughts. Out of desperation, he silenced the 
stereo and turned on the television. He finally found a show that was 
somewhat interesting, and was able to distract him from his own 
thoughts.

	Nick opened his eyes as the sound of strange voices penetrated 
his brain. He was laying on the couch, and the voices were coming from 
the television. He must have fallen asleep with it on. He was tired and 
groggy. Without rousing himself overmuch, he got up, turned off the 
television, and went upstairs to bed. It was still quite early in the day. He 
returned to sleep as soon as his head hit the pillow.

	It was well after dark when he next woke. He had finally fallen 
into a deep sleep, and had slept soundly the rest of the day, and partly 
into the night. By the time he had showered, shaved, and dressed, he 
was feeling fairly energetic. The only problem was, he still didn't have 
anything to do.
	Opening the fridge, he remembered his promise of yesterday, 
and grabbed one of the protein shakes Natalie had left for him. The taste 
was so vile, but after a short struggle, he finally forced himself to drink the 
entire shake. He stood there for awhile, his eyes closed, concentrating on 
keeping it down. Once his stomach got used to it, the queasiness 
lessened and he began to feel a little better. Eyeing the container he had 
just drank from, he thought that in the future, it may be best not to drink a 
whole one at once. It was still not settling well.
	He had raised the steel shutters when he first came downstairs, 
and could see the storm raging outside. He could hear the wind blowing, 
and the rain beating against the windows. Since he had overslept, he 
missed the evening news, so had gone downstairs to retrieve his mail 
and newspaper. He sat down at the kitchen table and read the paper.
	Soon, he was up and pacing the loft again. Normally, he could 
come up with any number of activities to keep himself occupied, but not 
tonight. He was just anxious and restless. As he wandered across the 
loft, his eyes darted around the room. When he caught sight of an antique 
sword hanging on the far wall, his gaze lingered. He went and sat in the 
leather chair in front of the fireplace and continued to stare at it.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	LaCroix noted how upset Nicholas still was, so suggested, "you 
are obviously too agitated for bed. Come with me to the ballroom, and we 
will work off some of that energy you are so palpably radiating."
	"What is in the ballroom?" asked Nicholas sulkily, yet intrigued.
	"Come," replied LaCroix, walking out of the room and down the 
hallway.
	Nicholas quickly followed.
	They entered a large ballroom, where all the shutters had already 
been closed, blocking out the deadly rays from the sun. LaCroix began to 
light the candles along one wall, and instructed Nicholas to do the same 
along the other. Once all the candles were lit, the room was aglow with a 
soft luminous light. With their vampiric senses, it was actually quite bright.
	"What are we going to do?" asked Nicholas.
	Walking to a table that ran alongside the wall at the front of the 
room, LaCroix pulled the cloth covering away. Laying neatly displayed 
were a number of swords. "Choose one."
	Nicholas quickly chose a long blade, reminiscent of his days as a 
knight, while LaCroix chose a slightly shorter blade, similar to what he 
had carried as a Roman general. Nicholas' blade was heavier, and a bit 
more cumbersome to wield, while LaCroix' was easier to maneuver, but 
didn't have the same reach.
	"So, what exactly did you have in mind?" asked Nicholas, smiling 
in anticipation.
	"I thought we could spar some," suggested LaCroix mildly. Then 
smiling suggestively, he added, "a little bloodsport, if you think you are up 
to it."
	Smiling back, Nicholas replied, "oh, I am up to it. Are you?"
	"Let us see, shall we?" challenged LaCroix.
	They both set their weapon down long enough to rid themselves 
of any cumbersome clothing, then picked up their swords and began. At 
first, they warily circled each other, carefully checking each others 
defenses, looking for any possible openings.
	Without a hint of warning, Nicholas suddenly lunged, his blade 
swinging horizontally towards his opponent's chest. LaCroix easily 
stepped back, raising his blade to deflect the attack. Metal rang loudly, 
the sound echoing off the walls, as time after time, they thrust and swung 
at each other, neither one obtaining a distinct advantage over the other. 
After about twenty minutes of this, they both dropped back and eyed 
each other critically. They were both breathing hard, and a light sheen of 
sweat covered their bodies.
	"Come, come now, Nicholas. You are not tiring, are you?" 
taunted LaCroix.
	"I am just getting warmed up, but you seem a bit out of breath,"  
provoked Nicholas. "It has been awhile since you have wielded such a 
weapon. Perhaps you have had enough."
	In reply, LaCroix attempted an uppercut, which Nicholas quickly 
avoided. Swinging his sword forcefully, their blades met in an upward arc, 
propelling LaCroix forward. Nicholas dropped his blade, and spinning on 
his heels, swung his sword around in an attempt to take advantage of 
LaCroix' off balance position.
	Before he could get his blade around, LaCroix regained his 
balance, and swinging his own blade, turned to meet Nicholas' attack. 
Their blades clashed again and again, each trying to gain advantage over 
the other. LaCroix pressed his attack, never letting up. Nicholas found 
himself continually giving ground, until his back was nearly against the 
wall. Not wanting to be trapped, he ducked under LaCroix' swing, and 
surged forth with an attack of his own.
	This maneuver left him off balance, and he was not able to 
recover before LaCroix parried and swung. Nicholas yelped in pain as he 
jumped backwards, looking at his left upper arm as blood began to flow 
from a deep wound.
	"It would seem that I scored first blood," said LaCroix merrily, as 
he lowered his sword and walked close to Nicholas to examine his 
wound. LaCroix' blade had sliced through Nicholas' upper biceps, leaving 
a long serious gash. Nicholas' sleeve was quickly turning red from the 
gushing blood.
	"You got lucky," said Nicholas sullenly, wincing as LaCroix took 
hold of his arm and carefully pulled the soaked material away from his 
skin.
	"Let me make it better," replied LaCroix, lowering his mouth to 
the cut. He placed his lips over the wound to catch the blood as it spurted 
forth. He gently sucked at the hot liquid, until the flow ceased of its' own 
accord. Pulling his mouth away, he looked to see that the wound had 
closed. After a few more moments, only an angry red mark remained. In 
a short time, that too would be gone, once again leaving the skin smooth 
and unblemished. Looking up, he met his son's eyes. "Do you wish to 
continue?"
	In reply, Nicholas shoved him roughly away, swinging his blade 
before his father could regain his balance. He was disconcerted that 
LaCroix had drawn first blood, as he had considered himself the better 
swordsman of the two. To him, this was no longer a game, and he was 
bound and determined to win. He yelled in frustration, as LaCroix agilely 
dodged his blade.
	"Nicholas, do not allow your emotions to get the better of you," 
warned LaCroix, as he sidestepped the other's weapon.
	Knowing the advice to be sound, Nicholas quickly brought his 
feelings under control. He focused his entire attention on the battle at 
hand. He rapidly swung blow after blow, beating LaCroix backwards. He 
maneuvered him towards the table. As LaCroix' attention was 
momentarily diverted, trying to avoid a collision with the table, Nicholas 
closed in and was rewarded with a cut across his opponent's right 
forearm, causing LaCroix to drop his sword.
	"Now it's my turn," said Nicholas, smiling as he advanced.  
LaCroix held his arm out to his son, allowing him to take hold of his wrist. 
Nicholas twisted the arm to gain better access to the wound, and lowered 
his mouth to drink. LaCroix' laceration was not as deep as his had been, 
and healed up much quicker. Frustrated, he started to bite at the wound, 
in order to draw more blood.
	LaCroix felt Nicholas' teeth, and harshly pulled his arm away. 
"You know the rules. No biting."
	Growling lightly, Nicholas grabbed his sword and stepped quickly 
away.  He had not gone more than three steps, when he suddenly 
pivoted and slashed down with his blade. LaCroix, having not yet 
recovered from his injury, jumped clumsily away. Nicholas pursued, 
swinging repeatedly, giving LaCroix no chance to regain his equilibrium.
	LaCroix tried again to reacquire his balance, but Nicholas was 
relentless. He saw the swing coming, and could not raise his blade in 
time to deflect the cut. He fell backwards, to the ground, as Nicholas' 
blade sliced across his chest. 
	Nicholas smiled as he felt his blade cut through the unresisting 
flesh. Seeing his father on his back with blood quickly soaking his shirt, 
he dropped his sword and fell to his knees beside LaCroix. Pulling the 
ruined shirt roughly aside, Nicholas bent down and began to drink 
hungrily.
	LaCroix, having been torn between the dismay of losing, and the 
pride of watching his child achieve victory, lay quietly allowing Nicholas 
his prize. As his son drank as if starved for sustenance, LaCroix raised 
his hand to the back of his head, running his fingers through the soft silky 
blond curls. His wound, not all that deep, healed quickly. He started 
unexpectedly, as he felt Nicholas sink his teeth into his shoulder.
	Grasping a handful of his son's hair, he roughly pulled his head 
away. Nicholas jerked his head free, and reburied his teeth into his 
father's neck. LaCroix allowed him a moment to drink, then more firmly 
grabbed his head and pulled him away. "Nicholas, you know the rules."
	"But I won. I get to make my own rules," he replied petulantly.
	"Do try," challenged LaCroix.
	Nicholas attempted to pin LaCroix to the floor, only to find himself 
tossed to the side. Before he could get his bearings, LaCroix jumped him 
and they quickly became embroiled in a wrestling match.  After a lot of 
thrashing around, Nicholas found himself flat on his back, with LaCroix 
sitting on his chest, and his wrists securely pinned to the floor above his 
head. He struggled uselessly, unable to free himself.
	Smiling, LaCroix asked, "do you submit?"
	The question caused Nicholas to erupt in a frenzied attempt to 
extricate himself, all to no avail. LaCroix held him firmly in place, not 
yielding his position. Nicholas finally calmed down.
	"Are you going to submit?" asked LaCroix again, smiling 
congenially.
	After another short bout of trying to wriggle free, Nicholas finally 
replied, "I submit."
	"Good boy," said LaCroix, releasing him as he stood up. He 
reached a hand down and helped him to his feet. "So, do you think you 
are sufficiently exhausted and ready for bed now?"
	Nicholas just frowned and replied, "I do not think I am all that 
tired."
	"Tell you what then, go get yourself cleaned up, change into your 
bedclothes, and I will come in and read to you before you sleep. Would 
you like that?" asked LaCroix solicitously.
	"I suppose," replied Nicholas, somewhat despondent over having 
lost, yet again; earlier in the tavern and then now. As he began to walk 
away, he turned and said, "I did beat you with the swords."
	"Yes, you did," acknowledged LaCroix. "But in the end, you lost."
	"I almost beat you," said Nicholas.
	"Almost is never good enough," replied LaCroix solemnly. 
"Remember that."
	Nicholas stared at his father for a moment, then nodded his head 
knowingly as he started out the door.

--- End Flashback ---

	As the memories left him, he felt a wave of despondency start to 
descend upon him. He stood up, as he immediately sought out the scorch 
mark on the elevator door. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes. He 
was not going to let these memories invade his mind. The harder he tried 
to not remember, the quicker and clearer they seemed to come. 
Frustrated and determined that this was not going to happen, he crossed 
the floor and grabbed his coat. He started to reach for the elevator door, 
and couldn't bring himself to touch it. Instead, he pulled open the door to 
the stairwell and quickly ducked inside. He had to get out of here.

===
CHAPTER THIRTEEN


	He didn't have a specific destination in mind, he was just driving. 
At least, that's what he told himself. The wind and the rain were 
obscuring the roads, and there was too much traffic, and  he found 
himself becoming more agitated just from having to deal with the other 
drivers. It wasn't long before he found himself in front of the Raven.
	Parking the Caddy in the alley that ran alongside the club, he 
made a dash for the main entrance. No doorman, and no lines to get in. 
Being a Monday night, there wasn't much of a crowd. He made his way 
down the stairs and spotted Janette at the bar. As he made his way 
towards her, he noticed that the patrons were mostly regulars from the 
community. There weren't many mortals present, and business seemed 
kind of slow. But it was early yet.
	Janette smiled at him as he approached. "Bon soir, Nicolas. How 
nice to see you?" She set her glass down on the bar, and raised her chin 
to accept his kiss.
	He lightly brushed his lips against hers, and casually leaned 
against the bar next to her.
	Looking towards the door, she asked teasingly, "did you leave 
your partner in the car again? Will he be joining us soon?"
	Smiling ruefully, his eyes downcast towards the bar, he 
answered, "no. I'm not working tonight. I'm here by myself."
	Lifting her eyebrow in a pleasant surprise, she inquired, "you're 
not here on business?"
	He shook his head no, as he began to idly play with a coaster 
laying on the bar.
	She placed her hand over his, to stop his fidgeting. "So, why are 
you here, mon cher?"
	Shrugging, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Just kind of at loose 
ends, I guess." Turning, so his back leaned against the bar, he surveyed 
the dance floor. "So, what's going on here?"
	She studied his visage closely. All was not well. He seemed 
tense and anxious. She had seen him like this many times in the past, 
and she could tell by the way he was acting, that something was really 
bothering him. She knew better than to ask, for he would be quick to deny 
it. If she chose, she could coax it from him. That was really the only way.
	Taking his hand, she stepped forward, tugging on him to follow 
her. In answer to his curious expression, she said, "come. Dance with 
me."
	With the barest of hesitations, he allowed her to lead him onto 
the dance floor. He took her in his arms and began to gently move to the 
rhythm of the music. It was soft and melodious, guiding them into a mild 
swaying motion. They slowly moved across the floor. Nick closed his 
eyes and let his cheek rest against her temple. He felt her arm move 
around him, and her body molded closely against his.
	"You are very tense, my love. You should relax, non?" she 
whispered in his ear. She felt him hold her just a little bit tighter. "Do you 
wish to tell me what is troubling you?"
	"No, I'm fine," he said. "I just need to get my mind off work for 
awhile, that's all."
	"I see," she replied, having expected just such an answer.
	"Schanke and I are kind of hitting a brick wall. We have lots of 
information, but no real clues," he explained.
	"Oh, my. That does sound a mite frustrating," she replied 
sympathetically.
	"I have the feeling that there's something there, just out of reach. 
I just can't figure it out." He let his hand that was resting on her shoulder 
slide down to the middle of her back. Taking a deep breath, he noticed 
how good she smelled.
	"So what do you do when that happens?" she asked, trying to 
keep him talking. She felt him shrug.
	"Schanke says we're trying too hard. That if we quit thinking 
about it for awhile, it'll just come to us," he answered.
	"And what do you think?" she asked solicitously, raising her hand 
and softly stroking his face.
	"I don't know," he answered absently, rubbing his cheek against 
her hand.
	Smiling mischievously, she whispered, "maybe you just need to 
think about something else entirely." She felt his body stiffen slightly.
	"I've tried that. It doesn't work," he said, more harshly than he 
intended, thoughts of LaCroix rushing quickly through his mind. He 
expelled them forcefully and turned his concentration back to Janette.
	Feeling him beginning to withdraw from her, she guided him to a 
table near the edge of the dance floor. "You are obviously choosing the 
wrong thing to think about," she said playfully.
	"Sometimes it's not really a matter of choice," he replied, 
sounding perturbed.
	"Now <that> is something I can definitely help you with," she 
declared.
	"How's that?" he asked skeptically.
	"Here. Sit," she replied, pushing him down towards an empty 
chair. 
	He sat, a question beginning to form on his lips, when she 
effortlessly glided onto his lap. As he started to protest, she placed her 
hands on his shoulders and pushed him back, effectively holding him 
gently trapped in place. "Janette ..." he began warily, and was quickly 
silenced by her words and actions.
	"Hush, mon cheri. I am going to give you something else to think 
about," she replied breathily, as she lowered her mouth to his and kissed 
him soundly. He didn't react at first, but as she pushed her tongue deep 
into his mouth, she felt him try to pull away. Ending the kiss, she pulled 
back and asked teasingly, "you did not like that?"
	"It's not that ..." he barely got out before she kissed him again. 
Harder, deeper, longer. His senses were bombarded. It had been a long 
time since they had been together, but his body remembered. He could 
feel a tingling sensation in his stomach, starting to radiate throughout his 
being. He opened his mouth, allowing her greater access.
	When she was certain she had his complete and undivided 
attention, she pulled away, ending the kiss. "Would you like more?" she 
asked, looking into his eyes. She saw that he did, although he continued 
to hesitate. Taking the decision away from him, she quickly kissed him 
again. Then, taking his hand, she rose to her feet, pulling him up with her. 
"Come." She started to lead him across the dance floor, towards the 
back.
	"Janette?" he said, coming to a stop as they reached the bar. 
She turned a questioning look to him. "I don't know about this."
	Before he could say any more, she pressed her fingers to his 
lips, silencing him. When she was certain he was going to stay quiet, she 
removed her fingers and rewarded him with a short, soft kiss. "Come with 
me," she entreated, pulling him gently along.
	He allowed himself to be persuaded, and quietly followed her 
through the back, and upstairs to her living quarters.
	She could sense how reticent he was, and nervous. She knew 
what he needed, and wanted, if only he would admit it. Not wanting to 
give him opportunity for second thoughts, she led him through the living 
room and into the bedroom. 
	He hesitated at the doorway, slightly pulling away from her. "May 
be we could talk," he suggested. He was confused. He wanted her, but 
he was reluctant. There was too much unsettled with them, and he was 
fearful of having it come between them.
	"We will talk," she said soothingly. "In here, where it is more 
comfortable." As he continued to hesitate, she asked, "Nicolas, do you 
not want me?"
	"It's not that," he answered quickly.
	"Then what is it?" she inquired, trying again to draw him out.
	"I just have a lot on my mind right now, that's all," he weakly 
explained.
	"So you've already said, mon cher," she replied, smiling 
charmingly at him as she moved close to him. "I thought the whole idea 
was to have your mind not think about anything for a time."
	As he acknowledged her words, she reached up and cupped his 
face in her hands. When he didn't try to stop her, she kissed him. As she 
felt him respond to her, she slowly backed towards the bed, leading him 
with her. As her legs touched the bed, she turned them both around and 
gave him a light push. He fell backwards onto the bed, and looked up at 
her a bit surprised. "Now, that's not so bad, is it?" she asked, as she 
climbed onto the bed, straddling his hips.
	"Janette, what are you doing?" he asked, as he tried to raise 
himself on his elbows, only to be pushed back down by her. As she 
leaned down to kiss him again, he whispered, "I thought we were going to 
talk."
	"Oh, we will, mon cher." Just before her lips touched his again, 
she added, "after."
	"After?" he whispered back. As her mouth enveloped his, he 
succumbed to the physical stirrings generating within. He wrapped his 
arms around her, tightening his hold, as he felt her body stretch out along 
the length of his. He relaxed, and began to return her ardor with a 
passion of his own.

	It was very late and the area was deserted. Everyone in the 
office building had already gone home for the night, except for one man. 
Outside, an observer stood in the secluded courtyard, watching the lights 
go out in the last occupied office. The only sound to be heard was the 
heavy pounding of the rain upon the courtyard patio.
	It shouldn't be long now, the observer thought, as the last of the 
lights were extinguished. He watched the man step outside and set down 
his briefcase, then turn around and insert a key in the door. Having 
locked the door, the man then picked up his briefcase and walked along 
the covered walkway, towards the gate leading to the parking lot.
	The observer pressed himself flat against the wall of the building, 
standing between the large shrubs decorating the wall. He watched as 
the man walked past him unnoticed, and once again set down his 
briefcase to unlock the gate. As the man was reaching to pull the key 
from his pocket, the observer stepped forward from the darkness and 
walked up behind the man unseen.
	As the man started to insert the key, the observer, turned 
assailant, raised a thick oaken staff and swung it hard toward the man's 
head. The man fumbled and dropped his keys, and just as he was 
bending down for them, the assailant finished his downward swing. The 
blow missed it's intended target, and instead hit the gate.
	The man, taken completely by surprise, turned as the momentum 
from the assailant's swing carried him forward. The assailant fell against 
the gate, but recovered quickly, furious at having missed, and 
immediately began another assault. The man reached out to protect 
himself, grabbing for the assailant's arm, in an effort to forestall the blow 
he saw coming. There was a brief struggle, which ended when the 
assailant kicked the man in the chest, incapacitating him. As the man 
slumped to the ground, temporarily winded, the assailant swung the 
oaken staff again, this time connecting with the man's head. The body 
dropped to the ground, having been rendered senseless.
 	The assailant tossed the staff towards where he had been hiding, 
then bent down and grabbed the unconscious man's ankles and dragged 
him towards the center of the courtyard, into the pouring rain. Once he 
had the body positioned, he returned to his hiding spot to retrieve his 
backpack. It was then he noticed the blood on his wrist. When the man 
grabbed him, he tore a gash in his wrist, which was now bleeding. The 
assailant took a cloth from his backpack and bandaged his arm. It wasn't 
that bad, and he would take care of it later. Now, he needed to get to 
work. He didn't have much time.

	Nick lay on his back, eyes closed, head thrown back on the 
pillow, his neck stretched taut. Janette was curled up at his side, her 
head resting on his shoulder, one hand idly rubbing up and down his 
chest, and occasionally allowing her fingers to travel along his neck, 
stroking him lightly beneath his ear. Nick sighed contentedly. Janette 
leaned forward and brushed her lips against his upper jaw, and gently 
nibbled on his ear lobe. He squirmed slightly at her attentions, causing 
her to chuckled seductively.
	"Feeling more relaxed now?" she asked, lightly running her 
fingers across his nipple, just to enjoy his reaction..
	"Much," he answered, nodding his head.
	"Tired?" she inquired casually, letting her fingers stray down to 
his stomach, rubbing little circle patterns on his skin.
	"Actually, no, I'm not," he answered, opening his eyes to stare at 
the ceiling. He felt her bare leg rub along the length of his. He took a 
deep breath, and released it slowly, relaxing even more. He was very 
comfortable and satisfied. This was a very familiar feeling for him, and he 
had almost forgotten how enjoyable.
	"No?" she said teasingly. "Does that mean you want to make love 
to me again, or have the last couple of hours been enough?"
	He rolled onto his side, so close, their faces were almost 
touching. He leaned forward and softly kissed her. Pulling back, he 
replied, "I could never have enough of you."
	Smiling, she placed her finger against his lips, lightly tracing 
them. "Good answer, mon cheri."
	Kissing her again, he replied, "thank you, Janette."
	"You are <very> welcome, my love," she said, smiling adoringly 
at him. "I will always be here to help ease your troubles. You do know 
that, do you not?"
	Frowning slightly, and breaking eye contact, he responded, "I 
know. But there's only so much anyone can do."
	She could sense that something was deeply troubling him, and 
she had a hard time believing it had anything to do with this job of his. 
When they had been sharing blood, she could taste the emotional turmoil 
within him. He was afraid and worried, and was trying to bury those 
feelings within himself. There was something very wrong, that much she 
could tell. "Do you wish to talk now?" she asked encouragingly.
	"There's nothing you can do," he whispered.
	She put her arm around him and kissed him soothingly on the 
forehead. "Come," she said, pulling his head to her shoulder. He cuddled 
close to her, and she wrapped her arms around him, holding him tight, 
her chin resting against his silken curls. "You know you can tell me 
anything." She felt him tense at her words. "Nicolas, mon cher, tell me 
what is troubling you."
	Taking a deep breath, he decided to tell her. After all, she was 
going to find out sooner or later anyway, so it may as well be now. "It's 
LaCroix," he said quietly.
	So quietly, she almost couldn't hear him. "What about LaCroix? I 
thought he had gone. Has he returned?" she asked, concerned.
	"No, he hasn't returned. He won't be back," he answered 
hesitantly.
	"And why is that?" she asked curiously. If this was true, it would 
be very unexpected. LaCroix had never left Nicolas alone for long. In fact, 
she had been very surprised when she discovered he was no longer in 
Toronto.
	Instead of answering her question, he replied, "I keep dreaming 
about him, and even when I'm awake, I can't stop thinking about him."
	"It almost sounds like you miss him," she replied, chuckling 
slightly. Knowing how eager Nicolas was to escape LaCroix' scrutiny, she 
doubted very much that he would admit to missing him. She was 
surprised when Nicolas tightened his hold on her, and buried his face 
closer into her shoulder. Something was wrong, very wrong. "Nicolas," 
she said sternly. "What happened with LaCroix? Why did he leave 
Toronto? What happened between the two of you?"
	After a long pause, he finally answered, "it was an accident. I 
didn't really mean for it to happen."
	"You didn't mean for <what> to happen?" When he didn't answer, 
she had a feeling of dread trickle through her. "Nicolas, tell me what 
happened," she ordered. When he still didn't answer, she asked, "why 
won't you tell me?"
	"I don't want you to hate me," he admitted, his embrace 
tightening even more.
	Kissing him lightly on the forehead, she said, "I could never hate 
you, Nicolas."
	"Don't be so sure," he replied bitterly.
	Something really awful must have happened for him to think she 
would hate him. Running all the possibilities through her mind, she 
couldn't come up with anything that would cause her to hate him, and told 
him so. "Nicolas, there is absolutely nothing you could do that would 
cause me to hate you." When he pulled away to look her in the eyes, she 
repeated, "nothing."
	They stared at each other for a short time, and then Nick decided 
he needed to just tell her and go from there. "LaCroix' not coming back, 
because he can't." Seeing the confusion in her eyes, he continued, "he's 
dead."
	Janette stared at him for the longest time, trying to determine 
why he was saying this. She finally realized, he believed what he was 
saying. "Why do you say he is dead?" she asked curiously.
	Breaking eye contact and looking away, he answered quietly, 
"because... I killed him."
	"You did?" she asked skeptically. At his nod, she inquired, "how 
did you kill him?"
	"I was in the middle of a case, and there was an altercation at my 
loft, and there was a fire. LaCroix showed up and killed the suspect, and 
then tried to kill Dr. Hunter. I tried to protect her. LaCroix and I fought, 
and he knocked me out. When I woke up, he was attacking her. I 
grabbed the closest thing I could find as a weapon. It was a flaming 
stake, and I stabbed him in the chest with it... and he died," this last was 
said very quietly.
	"You are certain that you killed him?" she asked, finding this hard 
to believe, even though she was certain that Nicolas believed it.
	"Yes, I am certain," he said.
	"You do not seem very happy about it. I would think, that after all 
the times you have threatened to kill him, that you would finally be glad 
that you had succeeded?" she inquired curiously. She was having a hard 
time believing LaCroix could really be dead.
	Nick rolled away from her on the bed, and lay down with his back 
to her. She's right. Why wasn't he happy about it? He knows he should 
be. After all the terrible things that LaCroix had done to him over the 
years, he should be throwing a party. All he really knew was that he 
wasn't happy. It upset him every time he thought about it. But Natalie had 
told him that was normal, that he would get over it in time. And it really 
hadn't been that long, just a few months.
	Janette slipped further under the sheets and moved closer to 
him. She slipped her arm around his waist, and settled her body against 
his. She laid her head against the back of his neck, leaning forward to 
gently kiss him on the shoulder before settling back down against him. He 
lay tense and unmoving beneath her.
	This news was very disturbing to her, but not for the reasons 
Nicolas would think. LaCroix couldn't simply die without her knowing 
about it, she would have felt something, as would Nicolas. Yet Nicolas 
truly believed he had killed him. "What did you do with his body?" she 
asked softly.
	"His body?" replied Nick confused. "There wasn't anything."
	"What do you mean, there wasn't anything?" she asked, her turn 
to be confused.
	"I told you, I stabbed him with a burning stake. The fire consumed 
him, there was no body," he explained.
	"Mon cheri, tell me <exactly> what happened. What you <saw> 
happen," she requested.
	Sighing softly, he said, "I stabbed him in the chest with a burning 
stake, pinning him against the elevator door. I went to see how Alyce 
was, and discovered she was dead. I looked back at LaCroix, and he was 
already gone."
	"What do you mean, gone?" she asked, something here was not 
right.
	"Gone. Burned up. There was nothing left but the burning stake, 
and some of his clothes. Everything else had burned," he related quietly 
to her.
	"Don't you think that it is strange that he would have burned so 
quickly?" asked Janette.
	"That's what vampires do when they catch fire. They burn 
quickly," he explained gruffly.
	"You've been in fire. You've been burned. I don't recall you 
disappearing so quickly," she replied.
	"I don't know how long it really took. It didn't seem like any time 
at all, just a few seconds, but it must have been longer. And where else 
could he have gone?" asked Nick, then continuing, "and besides, this 
was months ago. If he hadn't died, you could be sure I would be dead by 
now."
	"Oh, I doubt that, mon cheri, and you have lived long enough to 
know that nothing is for certain," she retorted.
	Pushing her off him, he rolled over and sat up. "I was there. You'll 
just have to take my word for it. He's gone, and he's not coming back... 
ever," replied Nick, in a combination of anger and sadness.
	Janette decided to let the matter drop. It was obvious that there 
was no doubt in Nicolas' mind that he had killed LaCroix. From what he 
said, and from what she knew, she doubted that LaCroix was really dead. 
She didn't doubt that Nicolas had seriously injured him, but no more than 
that. He was probably just off licking his wounds somewhere, bidding his 
time.
	"Very well, mon cheri, I do not doubt that you believe you have 
killed him," she acquiesced, "and see, I do not hate you." At his timid 
smile of relief, she asked, "so, do you want to tell me about these dreams 
and memories that are plaguing you?"
	"It's no big deal, really," he said, feeling relieved that the worse 
was over, and she was still here. He had been so concerned that she 
would hate him and never want to see him again when she found out 
what he had done to LaCroix. Her acceptance was a huge relief to him, 
more than he had expected.
	"So, tell me then," she said, once again wrapping her arms 
around him and drawing him to her. She lay on her back, pulling Nicolas 
down with her. He put his head on her shoulder and wrapped his body 
around hers. She stroked his hair, and kissed his forehead. "Tell me."
	"It's this case I'm working on. It reminded me of when we lived in 
Florence, just after I was brought across. It was before you joined us. 
There was this murderer, and I wanted to catch him. LaCroix helped me."
	After a moments thought, Janette said, "yes, I remember. You 
wrote me about it while I was still in Paris. And when I did join you in 
Florence, it was all you talked about for weeks."
	"Back then, I thought it was pretty exciting," he chuckled as he 
remembered.
	"Yes. Who would have thought, that 700 years later, here you still 
are, hunting mortal killers," said Janette reminiscing. "And it was so unlike 
LaCroix to get involved, even back then."
	"He was just helping me. I was the one who had wanted to get 
involved," he responded morosely.
	"Well, the whole point of you two going to Florence without me for 
so long, was because LaCroix thought you needed to ... what do they say 
now ... spend <quality time> together," she remembered.
	Nick raised his head and looked at her strangely. "LaCroix never 
told me that. He said you didn't want to come, not until we were well 
established in Florence."
	Smiling ironically, she said, "that sounds like something he would 
say. Anything but the truth, if it had to do with how he felt."
	Frowning, Nick sat up and turned around, his back to her.
	"I didn't mean to upset you," said Janette, reaching out to him.
	He didn't pull away when he felt her hand on his shoulder. "You 
didn't," he said, turning back to her. "I didn't realize how late it was. I need 
to go."
	"Are you sure?" she asked, a little worried about his state of 
mind. "It's hours yet before dawn, but you're more than welcome to stay 
the day with me."
	"Thank you, Janette," he said, then leaned in to kiss her. Pulling 
he away, he continued, "but I have to go. You understand?"
	"Oui, I understand. You go, but do not be a stranger, Nicolas. 
Promise me."
	"I promise," he pledged. Rising from the bed, he began searching 
for his clothes.
	After a few minutes of watching him, Janette rose to assist him in 
his search. Soon, they were both dressed and she walked him back out 
to the club. They said their good-byes, under the watchful eyes of the 
clubs regulars, and then she wistfully watched him head up the stairs and 
out the door.
	Her thoughts were interrupted as Miklos set a wine glass in front 
of her. She raised the glass to her lips and took a small sip. She 
continued to think about Nicolas, and was concerned about his believing 
he had killed LaCroix. Well, she decided, she would just have to help him 
get over it.

===
CHAPTER FOURTEEN


	He felt much better after his visit with Janette. Until now, he 
hadn't realized just how much he had been dreading telling her about 
LaCroix. Just thinking about how well she took it was a huge relief. It was 
like a tremendous weight had been lifted from him, one he hadn't even 
realized he had been carrying.
	Nick pulled the Caddy to a stop as the streetlight turned red. It 
was still raining heavily, but traffic had eased considerably since earlier 
tonight. It was late enough that there was hardly anyone on the roads. 
That was one nice thing about living nights. You didn't suffer from the 
same congestion in traffic, or with people, that you would living days.
	The light turned green and he was just stepping on the gas when 
his police radio blared suddenly. "81 kilo, 81 kilo. Please respond." He 
just looked at in surprise. He was suppose to be off tonight. Why would 
dispatch be calling him on the radio? Then he remembered he had left 
his cell phone at the loft. 
	Picking up the microphone, he replied, "this is 81 kilo. What's 
up?"
	"81 kilo. Report to the scene. Downtown at First Financial Trust."
	Confused, he replied, "what's going on? I'm off tonight, and that's 
not even in our precinct."
	"81 kilo. Meet the Detectives, Bissett and Clarke. Stonetree's 
orders."
	Sighing, he answered, "81 kilo responding."

	He parked the Caddy on the street, well away from all the other 
emergency vehicles at the crime scene. The rain began pelting him 
immediately, as he hurried forward. When he neared the scene, a 
uniformed officer stepped forward to stop him. He reached into his pocket 
and pulled out his ID, holding it up for the officer to see. "Detective 
Knight," he said. "What's going on here?"
	"There's been a murder, sir. Back there, in the courtyard," the 
officer answered, pointing towards the parking lot running alongside the 
building.
	He craned his head to see if he could get a better look. "Bissett 
and Clarke there?"
	"Yes, sir. All the way back, to the right," he replied, stepping 
aside to let Nick pass.
	Nick slowly walked through the parking lot, heedless of the water 
running through his hair and down his back. He headed for the courtyard 
he saw up ahead. He wasn't sure why Stonetree wanted him here, but 
assumed it might have to do with his current case, especially since it 
seemed Bissett and Clarke were involved.
	He reached the gate and turned into the courtyard, ducking 
under the covered walkway. He spotted the other two detectives right 
away. They were talking to a security guard up near the entrance to the 
building. Looking to his left, he could see where an impromptu plastic tent 
had been erected in the center of the courtyard. There, kneeling over a 
body, was Natalie. Other members of the forensics team were under their 
umbrellas, scouring the area looking for anything the rain hadn't washed 
away yet.
	He walked up and greeted her, "hey, Nat. What have you got?" 
He squatted down next to her.
	Looking up at him in surprise, she answered, "a little out of your 
jurisdiction aren't you? And isn't this your night off?"
	"Yes, on both counts. Dispatch said Stonetree wanted me here," 
he replied, as he looked down at the body curiously. "Well?"
	"Mind you, I can't say absolutely for certain, but it does seem to 
be the same MO as at the Barnett's. The victim, one Edward Lanier. He's 
a financial advisor here, and apparently was working late. The security 
guard found him when he noticed his car was still in the lot. It looks like 
he was severely bludgeoned, then had his throat cut. Forensics is getting 
samples now, but there's blood on the outer doorway there," she pointed 
towards the exit Edward Lanier used to leave the building, "and on the 
gate there, "she pointed to the parking lot. "I'm guessing lamb's blood, but 
we won't know for sure until we run some tests."
	"What about a rope circle?" he asked, intrigued and a little 
dismayed.
	Cocking her head to the side and nodding, she answered, "yep. 
Over there." She pointed to the far corner of the tent.
	Nick could see where a piece of rope had been coiled four times. 
He stood up and walked over to it, not noticing that Natalie had risen to 
follow him. He squatted next to it and looked it over carefully. It was in the 
grass with a diameter of about two feet. There were visible signs of blood 
in the center where the grass had been stomped down.
	He closed his eyes and concentrated. There was a lingering 
presence that he could just barely sense. Concentrating harder, his mind 
began receiving fuzzy images. A man standing in the rain, hands raised 
above him, the water washing down and cleansing his blood splattered 
body. All the while, the image of the man was smiling and laughing, as he 
kept slowly turning in a circle, over and over and over again.
	"Nick. Nick," she called, before he finally snapped out of it and 
acknowledged her presence.
	"What?" he asked dazedly.
	"You tell me what. You looked like you were in a trance or 
something," responded Natalie.
	"Something," he replied absently, staring back at the circle. He 
slowly reached out and touched the rope, jerking his hand back quickly 
as the fiery sensation burnt into him.
	Natalie grabbed his hand and turned it to look at his fingers. They 
were visibly burned. "Holy water?" she asked.
	"That's my guess," he replied, pulling his hand away and 
standing. He cradled his injured hand against his chest.
	"Here, I can give you something for that," said Natalie, tugging on 
his arm.
	"No, it's fine. Just give it a few minutes," he answered, quickly 
checking out his burned fingers again. They did feel a little better already. 
He wasn't surprised he had burned them, as he had been expecting the 
holy water.
	"What was with that trance thing?" he heard Natalie ask.
	"Oh, uh, it wasn't really a trance, I was just sensing something," 
he replied.
	"Sensing what?" she asked a little more forcefully.
	"It's the same guy that killed the Barnett's," he stated.
	"You're sure?" she inquired skeptically.
	"I'm positive," he replied.
	"But you still don't know who he is?"
	"No."
	Her face and tone brightening, she said, "you may be in luck 
tonight."
	"How's that?" he asked, smiling at her mood change and 
following her back to the body.
	She squatted back down next to the body and lift the victim's 
hand. "It would appear that Mr. Lanier may have gotten a piece of 
whoever attacked him. It looks like skin and blood under his fingernails. 
I'll be able to check it out at the lab, but my guess is, it's your killer."
	"That's great," he said, surprised at finally seeming to get an 
substantive break. He watched as she wrapped the victim's hands in 
plastic bags to protect the evidence. He stood up and stepped away to 
give her room, then turned when he heard his name called.
	"Knight, what are you doing here?"
	Nick turned as he saw Bissett and Clarke approaching him.
	"What brings you to this side of town?" continued Bissett warily.
	His demeanor changing to mirror the other detectives, he replied, 
"looks like the same as the Barnett killings."
	"Yeah, and the marina killings from last year," commented Bissett 
dryly. "So, that still doesn't answer why you're here."
	"Stonetree sent me," replied Nick casually.
	"You and Schanke anywhere on the Barnett killings?" asked 
Clarke, matching Nick's casual tone.
	"We're still working on it," answered Nick. "So, what have you 
guys found."
	"We think it's the same guy too," replied Clarke.
	"And?" encouraged Nick.
	"And, why don't you tell us what you've got," answered Bissett, a 
little sarcastically. At Nick's 'you've got to be kidding' stare, he added, 
"after all, this makes two cases we've got, to your and Schanke's one."
	"Schanke and I have been working on this for the past week. You 
guys haven't looked at it since last year," parried Nick.
	"There's no reason why we can't work on this together," said 
Clarke, to his partner. "Right, Knight?" he asked, turning back to Nick. 
"After all, we did help you through the marina crime scene."
	Smiling tautly, Nick replied, "that is why Stonetree sent me here. 
So we could work together."
	"See?" replied Clarke to his partner, giving him a friendly jab in 
the arm. "So how do we want to do this?" he asked, while Knight and 
Bissett stared at each other, neither one smiling.
	Finally, Nick replied tightly, "I'll have Schanke call you."
	The three men were interrupted then by their Coroner, who had 
been patiently waiting for their conversation to come to some sort of an 
end. "Well, if you boys are done divvying up the turf, I'm ready to take the 
body. Anyone want a last look?"
	Bissett and Clarke both shook their heads no. Bissett closed his 
notebook and placed it in his inside coat pocket. With a final glare at 
Knight, he and Clarke turned to leave.
	"Nick, are you through?" she asked, looking at him as he 
watched the other two detectives depart.
	Breaking out of his distraction, he turned to her and replied, 
"yeah, I've seen enough."
	"What was that all about?" she asked, indicating the conversation 
he had been having with the other detectives.
	"Nothing," he replied. Then seeing her skeptical look, he added, 
"you know, just cop stuff."
	"I see," she replied turning away from him and rolling her eyes as 
she moved away.
	As soon as the body was removed, the scene began to clear. 
Before very long, there were only a couple uniformed officers, and a 
couple forensics people still about. Nick had stayed behind mainly for two 
reasons. He wanted a chance to check out the scene with fewer people 
about, and he just wasn't ready to go home yet.
	He had gathered from the speculative conversations he had 
overheard, that they thought Edward Lanier had been attacked by the 
gate, then his body dragged to the center of the courtyard, where his 
attacker then cut his throat, killing him. Keeping that in mind, he 
wandered over to the gate. It was hard to detect if anything else was 
here, as he recognized the scent of lamb's blood all over the immediate 
area.
	He closed his eyes, forcing back the sensations brought on by 
the smell of the blood. Oddly, this wasn't as hard as he would have 
normally expected. Smiling to himself, he thought this was one more 
thing to thank Janette for. He hadn't felt this satiated in a long time.
	Turning his mind back to the crime at hand, he started down the 
walkway towards the building's exit door. About a quarter of the way, he 
stopped. Something had got his attention. It was a smell. Slight, but there 
nonetheless. Looking around, using his preternatural vision, he spotted 
the blood on the bushes next to the building. Stepping in between the 
shrubbery, he saw where there was an impression in the dirt, as if 
something had been laying there. He bent down close to the ground and 
saw footprints. This must be where the killer had stood in hiding.
	Casting his eyes about for further clues, he saw none. Drawn 
back to the blood stains, he reached out to touch them. They were wet 
and sticky. Rubbing his thumb over the wet blood on his fingers, he held 
it up to his nose. This was human blood. He closed his eyes, drawing the 
scent into himself and imprinting it in his mind. When he was certain he 
had it indelibly etched in his memory, he turned and wiped his fingers on 
the grass. Returning to the tent where Edward Lanier's body had just 
been removed, he bent down and repeated this process with the blood 
found there. It was different. Nick decided that the blood by the shrubs 
belonged to the killer. In fact, he was certain of it.
	Suddenly looking towards the sky, Nick realized dawn was not 
far away. It was time to go.

===
CHAPTER FIFTEEN


	The next night, Nick walked into the precinct to find Schanke and 
Stonetree waiting for him. Not bothering to remove his coat, he followed 
Schanke into Stonetree's office where they shut the door and sat down.
	"So, Nick. You made it to the crime scene last night?" asked 
Stonetree.
	"Yeah. It was our guy," he answered.
	"You sure about that," inquired Stonetree gruffly.
	"Yeah. I'm sure," he stated assuredly. Then plunging right in, 
"you know, Cap, it's going to slow us down if we have to work with Bissett 
and Clarke."
	"Is that right?" asked Stonetree skeptically.
	"Hey, what's this all about?" inquired Schanke cluelessly. "What 
crime scene last night?" Turning to Nick he asked, "what were you doing 
at a crime scene last night? You were suppose to be off."
	"I sent him," stated Stonetree, putting an end to the question. 
"And as for time off, there isn't going to be any until you two catch this 
guy, capice?"
	Schanke stared at Stonetree for a moment, then when realization 
dawned on him, he turned to Nick. "You mean that banker last night was 
done in by our guy?"
	"Yeah," answered Nick. "And Natalie might have some DNA 
evidence from the killer this time."
	"Oh, that does sound good, partner," replied Schanke smiling. 
His smile quickly turned to a frown as he thought, "wait a minute. Didn't 
that murder occur in the 96th?"
	"Yes, which is why I sent Nick there to check in with the 
investigating detectives," answered Stonetree.
	At Schanke's questioning look, Nick replied, "Bissett and Clarke."
	"Oh, yeah. From the marina," remembered Schanke neutrally.
	"So, Nick. How did you leave it?" asked Stonetree knowingly.
	Somewhat hesitatingly, Nick replied, "I told them you sent me 
down there so we could work together."
	"Did you now?" stated Stonetree skeptically.
	"Well, yeah, sort of," answered Nick, a little fidgety.
	"I hear you weren't real cooperative," said Stonetree 
conversationally.
	"I was cooperative," replied Nick defensively.
	"How so?" inquired Stonetree.
	"I told them that ...," he hesitated knowing how lame this would 
sound, " ... Schanke would call them."
	"Oh, yeah. Real cooperation, that," replied Stonetree 
sarcastically.
	"It was late," responded Nick, in the way of an excuse.
	"I see," said Stonetree, "so, it's safe to assume that you'll be 
more forthcoming at your next meeting then."
	"Oh, great, so now I'm suppose to call them," huffed Schanke.
	"Sorry, Skank," whispered Nick, in an aside to him.
	Becoming more serious, Stonetree leaned forward and asked, 
"so, Nick. Did you get a better read on this guy last night?"
	Nick looked at Stonetree, trying to get a notion of what he was 
really asking. The Captain already knew what he had reported from the 
scene. There's no way Natalie would have said anything about him 
sensing anything, so what was Stonetree really asking.
	"I'm not sure what you mean, Cap," answered Nick cautiously.
	"I mean, you were there checking out the scene almost right after 
it happened. It was fresh. The killer must have barely left when it was 
called in. Did you get a sense of this guy?" inquired Stonetree again, 
distinctly giving the impression that he wouldn't be surprised if Nick pulled 
out the killer's address and phone number right then and there.
	Nick thought to himself, 'yeah, I got a sense of this guy', but it 
can't be what Stonetree is asking, could it? Playing it safe, he answered, 
"maybe I picked up a clue or two. We're waiting for Natalie to come back 
with the lab results on skin and blood samples. She thinks the victim got 
his nails into the killer."
	"Good," said Stonetree, leaning back in his chair, obviously 
satisfied.
	"Now maybe you can clue me in, partner," commented Schanke.
	"Sure," responded Nick.
	"Well, what are you two waiting for. Go catch me a killer," ordered 
Stonetree.
	Both detectives rose at the dismissal.
	"Yes, sir," replied Schanke, exiting the office quickly.
	Nick gave Stonetree a hesitant look, then nodded and followed 
his partner.

	Reaching his desk, Nick took off his coat and tossed it on the 
coat rack behind him. He and Schanke then went through their normal 
procedures. Looking through their inboxes, reviewing the regular mail, the 
email, and finally voice mail.
	Nick had a few messages in his voice mail, but only one that 
really got his attention. It was a man's voice, and the message was time 
stamped about 6:00 a.m., earlier today. He listened to it, his face clouding 
over. Although he didn't recognize the voice, he knew who it belonged to.
	"Skank," he hissed, as he finished listening.
	Seeing the dark look marring his partner's features, Schanke 
new something was wrong. "What is it?"
	"Listen to this," replied Nick harshly, punching a few buttons and 
then shoving the handset towards Schanke.
	Schanke listened to a man's voice recite, "thou harborest a vain 
thought; the undiscerning life that made them foul now makes them dim 
to all discernment," followed by laughter, then a click.
	"Who, or better yet, what was that?" asked Schanke, staring 
intently at Nick.
	"<That>," said Nick, voice deepening into a growl, "is our killer."
	"Are you sure?" asked Schanke, not wanting to believe it. "I 
mean, it could be..." his voice trailed off as he saw the look on Nick's 
face, the one that said,  'what's wrong with you, of course I'm sure.' 
Sighing in frustration, he asked, "okay, so now what?"
	Nick frowned. He didn't have a next move. They kept getting 
more and more information and evidence, but so far, it wasn't leading 
them any closer to the killer.
	Seeing Nick's indecision, Schanke suggested, "how about if I go 
ahead and call Bissett and Clarke and set something up. We'll go from 
there." At Nick's nod, Schanke picked up the phone to place the call.

	A few hours later, both detectives were much calmer. A couple of 
numbing hours pouring through reports will do that, especially reports 
you've already seen a half a dozen times. Nick parked the Caddy at the 
curb. He and Schanke exited onto the sidewalk and began to stroll 
towards the cafe on the corner.
	Nick slowed down at the newsstand, and called to Schanke, 
"hold up a sec. I want to buy a paper."
	"We're already late. I don't think it's a good idea to make them 
wait too much longer," replied Schanke impatiently.
	Smiling, Nick answered, "it'll only take a minute."
	Schanke waited for Nick to make his purchase, then walked 
anxiously next to him as he insisted on slowly strolling down the sidewalk. 
"Nick, will you pick up the pace."
	"Where's the fire?" he asked calmly, turning over the paper in his 
hands as he walked.
	"For crying out loud," Schanke lamented. "Finally, we're here. 
Now remember, I'll do the talking, okay?"
	"Sure, whatever," replied Nick distractedly.
	Schanke pulled open the door to the cafe allowing Nick to enter 
before him, then followed close behind. Nick stood in the cafe lobby, until 
Schanke grabbed him by the arm and tugged. "Look. There they are. 
Come on."
	They casually strolled over to the booth occupied by Bissett and 
Clarke, and sat down opposite them.
	"We already ordered," said Bissett, looking at both detectives. 
"We got tired of waiting."
	"Well, you know how traffic is this time of night," commented Nick 
sarcastically. Schanke kicked his shin under the table, shutting him up, 
but not before drawing an annoyed look.
	"Sorry, we got held up at the station," Schanke said in answer to 
Bissett's statement, ignoring that Nick had even spoken.
	"Let's get to it then," said Clarke. "We got the results back from 
forensics and the M.E. Whoever killed Lanier is the same person that 
killed the Barnett's."
	"We already knew that," intoned Nick.
	Ignoring him, Clarke continued, "and as you already figured out, 
this same person killed the couple on the yacht last year, and the 
professor in Brampton three years ago."
	"So, you guys have any idea who this someone may be?" asked 
Schanke congenially, feeling he needed to make up for Nick's less than 
friendly attitude.
	"No more than you," sneered Bissett, looking at Nick.
	Any reply that may have been made was interrupted by the 
arrival of the waitress. "You gents ready to order?"
	"Yeah, bring me a cheeseburger, lot's of onions, side of fries, and 
a diet cola," ordered Schanke. Nick looked at Schanke and rolled his 
eyes. "What?" asked Schanke, looking back at him.
	"Nothing," replied Nick with a grin.
	"So how about you?" the waitress asked Nick.
	"I'll just have water," replied Nick.
	The waitress made her notes and headed off to the kitchen with 
her order.
	"So, you won't even eat with us?" asked Bissett incredulously.
	Before Nick had a chance to reply, Schanke said, "ignore him. 
He never eats. He's on this weird diet, and apparently it doesn't include 
food." Schanke chuckled at his last statement. Nick gave him a dark 
questioning stare, and Schanke answered, "what? Am I wrong?"
	Nick just shook his head and turned to look at his paper.
	The detectives chatted more about the case, but there really 
wasn't a lot of unknown information to share.  It was decided that since 
Bissett and Clarke had two cases in their jurisdiction, they would focus on 
trying to find the link between the victims, while Nick and Schanke would 
try to track down the clues left from the evidence at the crime scenes. It 
was obvious that Bissett and Clarke expected to have more success, 
which is why they opted on investigating the victims. They clearly had 
more information to work with.
	When the waitress brought their food, Nick continued to read the 
paper while the others ate.
	"Hey, Nick. Give me the sports section," requested Schanke, 
between mouthfuls.
	"Why? It looks like you've got your hands full already," he replied 
grinning.
	"Hardy, har, har. Just hand it over," said Schanke, setting down 
his cheeseburger.
	"I haven't read it yet," replied Nick.
	"So, I'll give it back when I'm through," responded Schanke.
	"I don't think so," said Nick, pushing it a little further away.
	"You just really don't like to share, do you?" accused Schanke.
	"And this is news to you?" retorted Bissett.
	"And what's that suppose to mean?" inquired Nick, irritated.
	"It doesn't mean anything," answered Clarke.
	At Nick's stare, Bissett added, "yeah, it was just a joke."
	"Well, it's not funny," replied Nick, to Bissett and Clarke. Then 
turning to Schanke, he said, "and besides, you're busy eating and I don't 
want you to get grease all over it."
	"Oh, yes. Heaven forbid I should get grease on your precious 
paper," retorted Schanke. At Bissett and Clarke's look, he casually 
added, "I put up with this all the time."
	Nick just shook his head and went back to reading the paper, 
while the others turned back to their plates to finish their meals. When 
Nick finally got done reading the sports section, the others had finished 
eating. He folded the section up and tossed it at Schanke, who just barely 
caught it before it landed in his dirty plate. Schanke threw an accusatory 
frown at Nick, who just smiled pleasantly in return.
	"Ready to roll?" asked Nick.
	"Yeah, sure," Schanke replied to Nick. Then turning to the other 
detectives, he said, "we'll see you guys around later."
	"You'll let us know if you come up with something?" asked Bissett 
skeptically.
	"Just as we know you'll do the same," replied Nick sarcastically.
	Schanke gave Nick a push towards the door, and said, "let's go."

	Nick and Schanke returned to the precinct after their dinner 
break. Since it was their job to put together the clues from the evidence, 
they put in the necessary calls to make sure the results from last night's 
murder also got routed their way, instead of only to the 96th. Nick just 
hung up the phone from talking with Natalie, while Schanke was still on 
the phone with forensics, as a couple of uniformed officers brought in a 
suspect. They took him to a desk, just across the room from Nick, and 
pushed him into the chair, handcuffing him in place, then went to look for 
the detective who was handling the case.
	This was a normal nightly occurrence, and usually didn't even 
rate a second glance. But tonight, Nick found himself staring at the man 
in the chair. The suspect's free hand had been injured, and was wrapped 
with a makeshift bandage. The injury must have been bleeding quite a 
bit, because the bandage was soaked. Nick couldn't take his eyes from it. 
His nostrils flared slightly at the smell, and he gasped quietly as the 
hunger hit him unexpectedly.
	After last night with Janette, he felt as though he had strayed way 
off of Natalie's diet regimen, more than usual. He hadn't drank any 
human blood, but he had drank quite a bit of Janette's, which in some 
ways was even worse. It had quenched his hunger in a way he hadn't 
remembered for a long time, but his body craved a repeat of the 
experience. Cow's blood just didn't do it.
	To make up for his dietary lapse, when he got up this evening, he 
had forced himself to drink almost an entire protein shake, and had 
forgone his normal 'bovine chaser'. As he continued to stare at the blood 
soaked hand, he began to think that had been a mistake. Nick closed his 
eyes and could taste the scent of the blood as it continued its' assault on 
his olfactory senses. His mouth began to water, and his teeth began to 
itch. He closed his eyes tighter and clenched his fists, digging his nails 
into his palms.
	"Knight," snapped Schanke, for probably the fourth time. "Will you 
snap out of it." Nick's eyes flew open as his brain finally registered 
Schanke's words. "Just what in hell is wrong with you? You are acting 
weirder than normal."
	"I've got to go," he replied dazedly, then jumped to his feet and 
fled the room. He dashed quickly into the locker room. He had to get this 
under control.
	Meanwhile, in the squad room, Schanke jumped to his feet. His 
intention was to follow his partner and find out just what his problem was. 
Before he had a chance to do so, Natalie arrived at his desk.
	"Schanke, what's going on?" she inquired worriedly, looking 
towards the locker room where Nick had just disappeared.
	"That's what I was about to go find out," he replied, and started to 
move off.
	"Wait," said Natalie, figuring the last thing Nick wanted was to 
have anyone follow him right now, even though she didn't know what the 
problem was. At Schanke's curious look, she added, "I brought over 
those reports you guys just called me about. The ones on Edward 
Lanier."
	"It'll just have to wait a minute. I need to go see what's up with 
Nick," replied Schanke, heading off towards the locker room.
	"But, Schanke... ," she started to say, in an effort to dissuade 
him.
	"Just wait. I'll be right back," he said, hurrying through the door 
into the locker room.
	Sighing heavily, Natalie turned around and sat in one of the 
chairs facing the detectives desks. As her eyes wandered the room, she 
spotted the suspect, and his bandaged hand. Putting two and two 
together, she figured that must be what was bothering Nick. But on the 
other hand, she thought he seemed to be handling being around blood 
much better. It hardly affected him at all anymore... or so it appeared.

	In the locker room, Schanke found Nick sitting on the bench in 
front of his locker. "Nick, do you want to tell me what's wrong?"
	Having removed himself from the room where the blood scent 
was, Nick was quickly getting a grip on his craving. He was just telling 
himself that it was only affecting him this strongly because it was 
unexpected. Normally, he knew when he was going to be exposed to the 
blood and he could prepare. Seeing Schanke standing anxiously at his 
side, waiting for an explanation, he replied, "there's nothing wrong."
	"You've been acting strange all night," retorted Schanke. "Even 
strange for you."
	Nick gave his partner an annoyed glance, and answered in an 
irritated voice, "thank you for that astute observation."
	When he realized that Nick wasn't going to say anymore, he 
demanded, "so. Spill. What's wrong?"
	"Nothing," insisted Nick.
	"There's got to be something," contended Schanke.
	Realizing that he wasn't going to let it drop, Nick went with the 
first excuse that came to mind. "I didn't sleep well last night. I'm tired, 
that's all."
	"I've seen you tired. This isn't it," pressed Schanke.
	Standing up, Nick replied hotly, "okay, fine. Maybe the pressure 
of this case is getting to me. Are you happy now?"
	Accepting this answer, and trying to help, Schanke replied, "just 
relax, okay? I think this one is getting to all of us. There's a lot of pressure 
being heaped on us. It only makes sense that you'd feel it a little now and 
then."
	Turning his back on Schanke, he leaned against the lockers. 
"Well, that's not going to help solve this case, now is it?" Nick turned back 
around when he heard Schanke chuckling. "What?"
	Shaking his head, Schanke replied, "the way you're acting, it's as 
if you think you're suppose to be some superman that just pulls all the 
answers out of thin air." At Nick's questioning look, he continued, "look. I 
know you've got great instincts, and I'll be the first one to admit that I 
don't know how in the hell you come up with some of these great leaps, 
or hunches, of yours. So, this one's taking a little longer. Big deal. It'll 
come together and we'll figure it out. You'll see. No one can do any better 
than us."
	"Skank, people are dying. And not only do we not know who the 
killer is, we've got him trailing us, shooting at us, coming into the precinct 
and leaving handwritten notes, and voice mail messages on my phone. 
And those quotes, I know I've heard them before, but I can't remember 
where," ranted Nick mildly, very frustrated. "And what else do we have to 
go on. Lamb's blood, which he can get anywhere. Rope that can be 
purchased at any one of 1,000 different stores in the city alone. We have 
his footprints at all the crime scenes. We have him on videotape here at 
the station. And we still aren't any closer to knowing who he is."
	"Jeez, Nick. You're raving like you think he's some kind of 
supernatural demon, or something," retorted Schanke. "Well, he's not. 
And we will catch him." At Nick's seeming return to normalcy, he 
continued, "and speaking of which, Natalie is here with the results on 
Lanier. Maybe she has something we can use."
	Nick looked at Schanke skeptically, then stepped past him and 
headed back for the office.

	"Everything all right?" asked Natalie, looking closely at Nick as 
the two detectives took their respective seats at their desks.
	"Yeah, everything's fine. We want to hear what you found out," 
responded Schanke.
	Eyeing the two detectives speculatively, and seeing that she had 
both their attentions, she proceeded. She opened the file she had 
brought with her, and laid it in her lap. "Actually, there's not a whole lot 
more. The only thing we picked up from the Lanier crime scene, that 
wasn't at any of the others, was the blood and tissue samples under his 
fingernails. They confirm that it's a Caucasian male, blood type A 
negative. You catch somebody, we'll be able to match it."
	"Great," sighed Nick sarcastically.
	"I take it things aren't going well," she commented.
	Nick just shook his head negatively, and Schanke leaned 
resignedly back in his chair. They both looked a little miserable, their 
hopes dashed that she would be able to give them some unexpected new 
evidence that would lead to the killer's capture. The three of them sat 
silently, mulling over the information they did have. Nick began staring at 
the floor, his thoughts on his frustration and how it would be nice to get 
just one piece of solid evidence to go on.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Nicholas had slept restlessly most of the day. He was anxious to 
return to his hunt for the murderer, and these thoughts kept him tossing 
and turning. He had come so close the night before, and he was 
confident that he would be successful this evening. As much as the thrill 
of the hunt excited him, he was still smoldering over the humiliating 
experience in the tavern. LaCroix had forbade him to take revenge on 
those responsible. He consoled himself by thinking of when this was 
over, then he would be able to seek them out, and then they would pay 
dearly.
	As soon as dusk descended, Nicholas left the villa and went 
directly to the tavern. He took up the same position he had vacated just 
that morning. From his spot in the alley, he could see all the comings and 
goings from the front door of the tavern. He soon became bored, but had 
no intention of reentering the establishment. Before long, he reasoned it 
was yet too early in the evening for anything worthwhile to occur, and 
decided that he would go hunting for dinner instead and return to the 
tavern thereafter.
	It was a couple of hours later, after successfully locating and 
partaking of a satisfying meal, that he returned to his post. He waited for 
hours, and as each hour crept by, he became more and more discomfited 
and edgy. He wanted something to happen, anything at all. He could not 
take just standing around in an alley, waiting for the murderer to appear. 
He wanted to be doing something.
	Just as he began to think he could not wait any longer, he saw a 
man he recognized leave the tavern and start down the street away from 
him. Smiling dangerously, Nicholas decided to follow him, as it was the 
grizzled faced man from the night before. He rationally told himself that 
by following this man, he might lead him to the murderer. That is all he 
was going to do.

	As the man walked down the street, he occasionally tottered and 
fell against a nearby wall. He would soon straighten himself, then start off 
down the street again. He was making very slow progress. As he 
staggered past an alleyway opening, a hand suddenly appeared. It 
grabbed him firmly by the front of his shirt and jerked him into the alley. In 
his drunkenness, the man was not able to immediately comprehend what 
was happening. He had been dragged halfway down the alley before he 
was able to react. He dug in his heels and was able to stop their 
progress. In his mild stupor, he turned to his assailant and demanded, 
"unhand me, you idiot."
	"Make me," demanded the assailant. The man tried 
unsuccessfully to break free. His assailant laughed and said, "where are 
all your cronies now? And just when you need them," he hissed.
	The man looked up into the face of his assailant and froze. He 
stared in sober recognition of the face before him. He had not looked so 
dangerous last night. After all, by the looks of him, he appeared to be 
nothing more than the young pampered son of one of the cities rich 
families. He most likely hadn't known a day of hardship in his life, nor was 
he about to. The man decided it must be the ale that caused him to see 
anything to fear in this young one before him. "What is it that you want, 
boy?" the man asked roughly, in an attempt at false bravado. He didn't 
know why, but he was very frightened.
	"I am still looking for the same man I was seeking last night. Tell 
me where I may find him," demanded Nicholas harshly.
	The man laughed, and at the same time pushed Nicholas hand 
off his shoulder. As he turned to leave, he said, "you were sent home last 
night. You should have stayed there."
	Nicholas' temper flared. He grabbed the man and whipped him 
back around to face him. He slammed him against the wall. The man's 
face began to take on a look of horror, as he witnessed his assailants 
eyes begin to glow with a inner golden fire. "You will tell me," he hissed 
insistently.
	"I don't know," the man stuttered.
	"You must know. You were protecting him last night," reasoned 
Nicholas. "Now, tell me."
	"Honestly, I don't know. The man you were chasing, he ran 
through the tavern and out the back door. I don't even know who he 
was," babbled the terrified man, as he watched the golden orbs change to 
blood red in color, still glowing eerily. The man began to tremble, and 
pleaded, "let me go, please, let me go."
	Nicholas smiled menacingly and said, speaking to himself as well 
as to the man, "my father only said I could not kill everyone. He did not 
say I could not have just one."  The man made a desperate attempt to get 
away, but to no avail. Nicholas held him tightly against the wall. "I have 
been looking forward to this all day," he whispered to the man, while at 
the same time baring his fangs. The man was too terrified to scream. He 
just stared in horror, knowing he was about to die. As Nicholas saw the 
acceptance reach the man's eyes, he grinned and asked, "do you not 
wish now, that you had been more helpful last night?"
	"I'm sorry," whispered the panicked man, a spark of hope 
entering his befuddled brain.
	Pressing his body against the man, Nicholas whispered in his 
ear, "too late." Nicholas exposed the man's neck, and quickly nipped it a 
couple of times with his fangs. The man squealed in terror. Nicholas 
laughed, then without further hesitation, bit solidly into his neck. He shook 
his head slightly, causing his fangs to rip the jugular open further. He 
swallowed convulsively as the blood spurted into his mouth. As the blood 
flow lessened, and then came to a stop, Nicholas withdrew from his 
victim. Stepping away, he released the man and watched as his body 
slumped to the alley floor, and lay there unmoving, dead.
	Nicholas basked in a moment of total satiation, closing his eyes 
and letting the feeling wash over him. After a few moments, he took stock 
of his surroundings. He judged that he had just enough time to dispose of 
the body, and return home far enough ahead of the sunrise so as not to 
upset LaCroix with his lateness.

--- End Flashback ---

	"Okay, that's it. We're calling it a night," declared Schanke, 
pushing himself to his feet.
	"What?" said Nick, shaking himself mentally.
	"We're both tired; you're out of it; we just need to go home and 
start fresh tomorrow. Maybe we just need to sleep on it," reasoned 
Schanke.
	Standing up, Natalie dropped her report on Nick's desk and said, 
"Schanke's right. Go home."
	Climbing to his feet, Nick replied, "yeah. I guess you're right. I'll 
see you tomorrow." He watched as Schanke grabbed his coat and 
headed out of the office. Turning to Natalie, he said, "come on. I'll walk 
you to your car."
	Hesitantly, she asked, "do you want me to come by this morning? 
Maybe we could talk."
	Seeing the worried look on her face, he answered, "really, I'm all 
right. I just need to get some sleep and I'll be fine."
	As they headed across the floor, she asked, "you're sure?"
	Holding the door open for her, he answered, "yeah, I'm sure."

===
CHAPTER SIXTEEN


	It was the middle of the afternoon, and the sun had just poked 
through the overcast sky. It was only a momentary break in the wind and 
rain storms that were one after another passing over the Great Lakes 
area. As the man stepped out of his car, he looked up, squinting. He put 
on his sunglasses and pulled his cap down over his face, as he began 
the short walk to his destination.
	The man smiled to himself as he walked those few blocks. He 
constantly amazed himself with the ease in which he was able to fulfill his 
mission. Granted, playing this little game with Detective Knight hadn't 
originally been part of his overall plan, but he knew there would be 
obstacles to overcome.
	He paused in the middle of the block and checked the address 
carefully. Yes, this was it, 101 Gateway Lane. And to think, all he'd had to 
do was look it up in the phonebook. He needed to be really careful now. 
Since Detective Knight worked nights... how appropriate, he laughed... he 
probably was asleep now. But with this one, you didn't know for sure. He 
was a bit eerie, to say the least.
	He slowly walked up the sidewalk, inching his way towards the 
door with the security panel. He saw the camera in the ceiling of the 
alcove and avoided it easily. He noticed the slot in the wall next to the 
door. He carefully lifted the metal flap and slipped the envelope inside. He 
didn't realize that he had been holding his breath, until he was well away 
from the door and around the corner. It wouldn't have surprised him to 
find Detective Knight laying in wait for him, the same way the Detective 
had known he was being watched in the parking lot that night.
	Feeling confident that his presence had not been detected, he 
started walking rapidly back to his car. He quietly chuckled to himself, 
trying not to draw any unwanted attention. This ought to put Detective 
Knight in the mood to play, and with any luck, after tonight he would be 
out of his way for good.

	As had become habit of late, Nick slept restlessly. He had finally 
dropped into a sound sleep when he was startled awake by the sound of 
his alarm clock. He groggily sat up in bed, reached over and silenced the 
alarm. Rubbing his face with his hands, he tried to recall the disjointed 
dreams that had been plaguing him most of the day, but they were rapidly 
dissipating.
	Freshly showered and dressed, he descended the stairs. As 
night had already fallen, he grabbed the remote and pressed the button 
that would raise the steel shutters. He thought he caught a glimpse of 
starlight through the blinds, so pressed the other button that retracted the 
shades. He went to the refrigerator, and just to make sure there wasn't a 
repeat of last night, he bypassed the waiting protein shake and opted for 
the contents of a green wine bottle. Pulling the cork with his teeth, he 
removed it from his mouth with his hand, and lobbed it the short distance 
into the sink.
	He walked up to the window and looked out over the city, taking 
a long swallow straight from the bottle. Over the years, he had built up a 
tolerance to the taste of cow's blood. He couldn't quite say that he 
enjoyed it, but it was no longer abhorrent to him as a steady diet, as it 
had been when he first started drinking it regularly. But tonight, the taste 
was unusually bitter. Again, he attributed that to his recent encounter with 
Janette. After having tasted her blood so recently, what he was drinking 
now was vile in comparison. But drink it he would. The alternative was 
just not acceptable any longer. No matter how much he craved human 
blood, he would not allow himself to partake of it. He couldn't be with 
them, work with them, call them friends, if he was still feeding from them. 
He just wouldn't do it.
	Taking another long swallow, his taste buds cringed at the flavor. 
To distract himself from his thoughts, he put the bottle down and went to 
retrieve his newspaper and mail. Maybe if he didn't think about drinking 
human blood while he was feeding, it wouldn't be so bad.
	Stepping back off the elevator, he walked over and dropped his 
paper on the kitchen table. He sorted through the mail, separating the 
bills from the junk, until one envelope caught his eye. It had been in with 
his mail, but was unposted. Looking it over, he noticed there was no 
return address, and the front of the envelope simply said, 'Detective 
Nicholas Knight'.
	Frowning, he walked back to the window, examining the 
envelope for any clues to its' contents. He picked up his bottle, took a 
long drink, then set the bottle down and opened the letter. Inside was a 
single sheet of paper, with the words neatly printed, 'O foolish creatures, 
how great is that ignorance which harms you!' Nick was momentarily 
stunned.
	This letter was left by the killer, who had obviously walked up to 
his home and dropped it in his mail slot. It wasn't there when he got home 
this morning, so the killer must have come while he was sleeping. Nick 
couldn't believe it. It had been on the bottom of the pile of mail, which 
means the killer must have dropped it off before the postman came. The 
postman usually came sometime after 2:00 p.m., so it was dropped off 
before then. The killer had actually been standing at his front door.
	The more Nick thought about it, the angrier he became. He 
already believed he was being played for a fool, and having the killer walk 
right up to his front door and drop off a letter addressed personally to him, 
didn't help assuage those feelings. Nick was furious. When he got to 
work tonight, they had better be able to come up with something. Nick 
wasn't sure how much longer he could take this taunting before it drove 
him to do something he didn't want to do.
	After an interminable amount of time, Nick finally settled down. 
Raging around his loft wasn't going to help anything. Schanke was right, 
he needed to calm down and think. And what is with these weird 
messages. They were eating away at the back of his brain. Every time he 
thought he was close to remembering something, a door in his mind 
would slam shut. He laughed humorlessly to himself. Every time he was 
on the verge of remembering something, it involved LaCroix. That's why 
he wouldn't let himself think about it.
	Okay, so maybe whatever he wanted to remember, legitimately 
did have something to do with LaCroix. Nick took a deep breath and 
composed himself. He told himself that LaCroix was dead. He wasn't 
coming back, and he was just going to have to live with it. And in order to 
that, he had to be able to think about LaCroix without starting to fall apart. 
He couldn't let memories of their past life together throw him into a 
tailspin, especially the good memories... which in all honesty, were 
greater in number than the bad. Every time he thought of LaCroix, he 
forced himself to dredge up only the bad memories. He thought that 
would make it easier to live with, but he was coming to the realization that 
he had to be able to deal with them all. He really had no choice. He 
couldn't go on like this for the rest of his life, which could be a very long 
time.
	He sat down in the leather chair in front of the fireplace and 
closed his eyes. He thought about the messages left by the killer, the 
note at the precinct, the one on his voice mail, and now the one tonight in 
his personal mail. The words sounded familiar, not well known, but 
familiar. It was from something he knew.
	He let the quotes, for he was certain they were that, flow through 
his mind. 'O thou who art led through this Hell, recognise me, if thou 
canst', 'thou harborest a vain thought; the undiscerning life that made 
them foul now makes them dim to all discernment', and then tonight, 'O 
foolish creatures, how great is that ignorance which harms you!'  As the 
words passed through his mind, he heard them in LaCroix' voice. The 
phrases were disjointed, as though they didn't really belong together, but 
were connected.
	Then it dawned on him. They were from a book that LaCroix had 
read to him. That's why his memories were in LaCroix' voice. But what 
book. LaCroix had always loved the sound of his own voice, and had 
frequently read to him and Janette in the early morning hours just after 
dawn. They would be sitting in front of the fire, full from a night's 
pleasures and drowsy with the morning sunrise. He would lay with his 
head in Janette's lap, while they both listened to LaCroix' recitations. Or 
sometimes, LaCroix would just read to him while he fell asleep.
	'Stop', he shouted mentally to himself. That's more than he 
wanted to remember. Rubbing his forehead, he turned his concentration 
back to the phrases left by the killer. But his thoughts kept drifting to 
LaCroix, and then there were the memories of Florence from long ago. 
He started to mentally shake himself again, to break this train of thought, 
when it came to him in a flash. Dante. Those were quotes from The 
Divine Comedy. 
	The times in Florence that he had been remembering, Dante had 
lived there then. He had never met him, and he didn't think LaCroix had 
either. His book was written after their stay in Florence, but he 
remembered having it read to him. He had read it himself sometime much 
later. He recalled that LaCroix had found it amusing, and at the time, Nick 
had merely been intrigued by the concepts.
	The pieces started to fall together. Dante, the Latin quote about 
circles, the lamb's blood, holy water, what Sally Barnett had told him she 
overheard, "I have passed through the third circle and am sending you 
onward to hell to announce my coming." It was all beginning to make 
sense. This guy is a real lunatic. He thinks he's descending through 
Dante's circles of Hell. The lamb's blood and holy water would be an 
offering, as if to say he was sanctioned by heaven to kill these people, for 
whatever his purpose. He thinks he's on some kind of divine mission.
	Nick gasped at his own thoughts. If he was right, and he felt 
certain he was, this guy was a complete madman. And the fact that he 
was getting away with his crimes, just kept feeding his warped delusions. 
He should have thought of this sooner. This guy would hardly be the first 
maniac to latch onto Dante and his circles of Hell for some kind of divine 
inspiration. In fact, it was rather cliche, but nonetheless deadly for its' 
victims.
	And how will knowing this help find this psychopath. Every little 
bit they were figuring out was bringing them just a little bit closer. This 
guy had to be insane to think he could actually carry out this plan, and get 
away with it. Nick was certain he was bound to make a mistake. One that 
would lead them right to him. The fact that he was successful up to now 
had to be luck; it certainly wouldn't last. Now maybe they could come up 
with a plan to catch him.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	"Where have you been?" asked Nicholas anxiously, as LaCroix 
stepped through the door just moments before the sunrise.
	"Do not tell me that you were concerned?" answered LaCroix 
ironically.
	"The sun is almost up. You are always telling me to be home well 
before dawn begins to touch the sky," admonished Nicholas, as he 
followed LaCroix into the drawing room.
	"And now you know why," he replied. Nicholas frowned and 
glowered at him. "So, tell me. Did you have any success tonight?"
	"What do you mean?" asked Nicholas quickly, trying to hide the 
sudden feeling of guilt.
	LaCroix looked at him questioningly, and watched as Nicholas 
turned his back, then bent down to stir the fire. "I am referring to your 
murderer. Did you locate him?"
	"No," replied Nicholas, sighing. "I watched for him outside the 
tavern, but he never showed up."
	"But you did not wait all night," stated LaCroix, in a slightly 
questioning tone of voice.
	"What do you mean?" asked Nicholas, thinking LaCroix knew 
what he did.
	"You did hunt, did you not?"
	Nicholas stood and turned to look at LaCroix. He saw the 
suspicious look on his face and decided it best to just tell him. After all, he 
had done nothing wrong, not really. "The man from the bar last night, 
well, he came out of the bar and walked right past where I was standing," 
explained Nicholas, thinking that was close enough to the truth.
	"Yes? Continue," ordered LaCroix.
	"I followed him down the street, and pulled him into an alley. I 
thought he could tell me where the murderer was."
	"And did he?"
	"No. He did not know, or so he said."
	"Do go on."
	"There was no one about, so I killed him." Seeing the frown on 
LaCroix' face, he rapidly continued, "you only told me I could not kill them 
all, and I made sure the body was properly disposed of. No one will find 
it, I swear."
	LaCroix turned his back and walked a few steps away, a smile 
upon his lips. "Very well, Nicholas," he replied, turning back to face his 
son, the smile replaced by his stern countenance. "While you were out 
<amusing> yourself, I discovered what is motivating our murderer."
	"How did you do that?" asked Nicholas, astounded at the 
assertion.
	"Do you not remember what I told you earlier?"
	"I remember," said Nicholas annoyed. "You said that in order to 
catch a murderer, you must first understand him." After a brief pause, in 
which LaCroix did not speak further, Nicholas asked, "what did you 
discover?"
	"I spoke with the families of the victims, and I discovered what 
they all were doing on the night that they were murdered," replied 
LaCroix.
	"You saw the families? And they just told you?"
	"Well, it did take some small amount of persuasion, but I did get 
the information," he responded.
	"Tell me," demanded Nicholas impatiently.
	Chuckling at his son's eagerness, he continued, "it would seem 
that they all shared a common interest in visiting a particular house of 
pleasure, and I would wager that they all enjoyed the same company 
within."
	"Femme galante?"
	"Exactly."
	"How does this help us?" asked Nicholas.
	"I have a plan," replied LaCroix, smiling in wicked anticipation.

--- End Flashback ---

	Feeling newly energized, Nick grabbed his coat and headed for 
work.

	Having already checked in at the precinct, he filled Schanke in on 
having received the letter this afternoon, and the quotes as coming from 
Dante. Once his partner was up to speed, they filled in the Captain. Nick 
didn't have the patience to sit around sorting through paperwork, and it 
didn't take much convincing before he and Schanke were in the Caddy, 
cruising the streets. They needed to come up with a plan.
	Before they left, Schanke had insisted on leaving a progress 
report for Bissett and Clarke. Nick wasn't really against having them 
involved, he just preferred working alone. And by alone, he meant just 
him and Schanke. Funny, how a few months ago he would have meant it 
literally, but to his surprise, he had quickly gotten use to having Schanke 
as a partner, and now, actually preferred it.
	Nick rubbed at his chest where his kevlar vest was chafing him, 
and adjusted his T-shirt for protection. He hated wearing these things, but 
Stonetree wouldn't let them out on the streets without one. Not after 
having nearly been shot twice already while working this case.
	"81 kilo, 81 kilo. Please respond."
	"Yeah, 81 kilo here," answered Schanke, having snatched the 
mic at the first call. He and Nick had been discussing their options, and 
not having much luck. They were both grateful for the interruption.
	"81 kilo. See the man. Riverdale Park. South of Winchester St."
	"Who is it we're suppose to be meeting?" he inquired curiously. 
That was a strange location to be called to meet someone.
	"Check with the desk, Detective. They took the call."
	"Roger that. 81 kilo out," he replied, putting the mic away. "So, 
what do you think?" he asked, turning to Nick.
	"Check it out," answered Nick, noticing that Schanke already had 
pulled his cellphone and was dialing the number.
	"Hey, Norma," greeted Schanke. "We just got the call from 
dispatch to meet some guy in Riverdale Park."
	"Yes, Detective Schanke. I took the call. Says his name is Virgil 
Lombard, and he's a neighbor of the Barnett's. He says he has some 
information about the murders and he wanted to meet with you and 
Detective Knight."
	"What's with the weird location?"
	"He said he was taking his dog for a walk, and he didn't want to 
upset his family by having you come to the house. Says he'll be there for 
the next hour."
	"Okay, Norma. Thanks," replied Schanke, pocketing his cell 
phone. "What do you think?"
	"I remember seeing the name on the list of neighbors that had 
been interviewed. It can't hurt," answered Nick, already turning the car to 
head for the park.
	"Who knows. Maybe this guy videotaped the whole thing and just 
now remembered," quipped Schanke.
	Nick just looked at him and grinned.

===
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN


	After parking the Caddy,  the two detectives got out and headed 
into the park. There weren't any other cars about and the area looked 
fairly deserted. It wasn't really all that late, but it was cold and there was a 
light rain falling. They walked slowly around the area, deeper into the 
park. Neither one saw anybody about.
	"Well, if he's walking the dog, he could have wandered off 
anywhere. I say let's go back to his house and wait for him there," 
suggested Schanke.
	"Give it a few more minutes," countered Nick, looking deeper into 
the darkness. He was trying to tell if he could detect anyone nearby, and 
he thought he sensed someone up ahead. There was an open field in 
front of them, with a heavy copse of trees atop a small incline on the 
other side. He sensed the presence in the trees. "This way," he said, 
heading across the short field.
	The detectives made their way to the trees, but by the time they 
arrived, nobody was there. Frowning in confusion, Nick looked around, 
seeing if he could pick up the presence again. They walked along the 
treeline as it led further up the crest of a small hill, finally ending at a 
short, steep embankment.
	"Now what," said Schanke, disgusted at this seeming wild goose 
chase.
	"I guess we go back to his house," replied Nick, at a loss as to 
where this someone he sensed was. Just as they started to turn, 
something caught the corner of his eye. "Wait a minute. What's that?" 
asked Nick, moving further along the edge of the embankment to the next 
clump of trees.
	Schanke saw it then too. "It looks like a rope, with something 
hanging from it."
	They both reached the object at the same time. A piece of rope 
was hanging down, having been tied to a tree branch. Attached to the 
end of the rope was a large hunting knife, with what looked like blood 
stains on it.
	"Are you thinking what I'm thinking?" asked Schanke, 
unbelievingly. "What's the odds of that being our murder weapon?"
	Before Nick had a chance to answer, there was sharp popping 
sound, then Schanke was on the ground holding his arm. Nick stared in 
amazement as the second shot splintered the bark of the tree next him. 
Having seen Schanke get shot, and then smelling the blood, was enough 
to make Nick go berserk. He had seen the flash from the second shot 
and quickly started moving in that direction.
	
	Meanwhile, the man with the gun was grinning, trying to control 
his elation. He just couldn't believe how easy it had been to lure them 
here. And soon, they would be out of his way permanently. As he saw 
Detective Knight turns toward him, he aimed and fired a third shot. He 
obviously missed, as the detective kept coming. He was getting ready to 
fire a fourth shot, when he saw the glowing red eyes of Detective Knight.
	Instantly grasping the situation, he threw his gun in Detective 
Knight's face, momentarily deflecting his attack and buying himself a few 
more seconds. Rolling to the ground, he grabbed his backpack and 
pulled out a large brass cross. As Detective Knight came at him again, he 
held the cross out towards him, ecstatic at Detective Knight's reaction.

	As he closed the short distance between them, Nick sensed the 
mortal's vibration and knew this was the killer. Nick flinched as the metal 
object was thrown in his face, but recovered quickly and went for the man 
again. He was caught off guard as the cross was shoved in his face, and 
his reaction caused him to fall backwards, as if he had been struck by 
lightening. The man advanced towards him, wielding the cross. Snarling 
and baring his fangs, Nick scooted back and away.

	The man had come to terms with this revelation rather quickly. 
No wonder he had sensed something uncanny about Detective Knight, 
he was a demon sent to stop him. Only a demon from Hell would have 
glowing eyes, fangs, and be repelled by the cross. He had expected 
something like this to happen, so he had been prepared. As the demon 
scampered backwards across the grass, towards his downed minion, the 
man carefully bent down and retrieved his gun.

	From his position on the ground, Schanke lifted his head and saw 
a man with a cross in one hand, and a gun in the other. The man was 
moving up the hill towards Nick, who was on the ground and scampering 
backwards, trying to get away from him. Schanke pulled out his gun, and 
would have taken a shot, but Nick was in his line of fire. The man with the 
gun seemed to have his full concentration on his partner. Rolling to his 
knees, Schanke climbed to his feet and pointed his gun over Nick's head 
and at the man, yelling, "freeze, police."

	Without hesitation, the man dropped to the ground, putting Nick 
once again between them, then turned his gun towards Schanke, while 
still holding the cross in Nick's direction.
	Thinking the man was about to shoot Schanke, and not being 
able to get to him because of the cross, Nick took the only other course 
of action he saw open to him. Using his vampiric speed, he turned and 
ran up the hill towards Schanke, jumping him and sending them both 
tumbling over the edge of the embankment, but well out of the line of fire.
	Schanke yelled as Nick's body impacted against his, and then 
they were both airborne for a few brief moments. Nick had wrapped his 
arms around Schanke's chest, holding on to him, and had turned their 
bodies so he took the main impact of their landing. The breath was 
knocked out of him as his back slammed into the ground, and the full 
weight of Schanke's body landed on top of him, followed by them both 
tumbling and sliding to the bottom of the hill. When they came to a rest, 
they both lay there, stunned by what had just happened. Nick reached 
out with his senses to determine if their unbalanced killer was pursuing 
them, and found the presence he sensed getting fainter, telling him that 
the man had fled.
	Nick gasped for breath, and upon hearing Schanke's moan, he 
forced himself up from the ground. They had come to rest in a large, wet 
patch of mud, and they were both soaked and filthy. Nick crawled on his 
knees to Schanke, and asked, "how bad is it?" There was so much mud 
he couldn't see the wound.
	"I'll live," gasped Schanke, out of breath. "He just nicked me in 
the arm. I don't think it's that bad."
	"Let me help you up," said Nick, holding his hand out for Schanke 
to grab.
	With his good arm, Schanke took hold of Nick's hand and let 
himself be pulled to his feet. They spent the next minutes scaling back up 
the wall of mud, with Nick taking the lead and dragging Schanke up 
behind him. Before they reached the top, Schanke asked, "are you sure 
this guy is gone? He's not just waiting there to take another shot at us?"
	"Trust me, Skank. He's gone," answered Nick wearily. This mud 
was hard to maneuver in and it was all he could do to keep them from 
slipping back down.
	"Trust you?" quipped Schanke. "You just threw me off a cliff." 
Nick just glared at him, then softened his look at Schanke's grin.
	They finally reached the top of the embankment and slowly made 
their way to the car. They were both wet and covered in mud, from head 
to foot. Nick was debating on what to do. He didn't relish having them 
both in the Caddy, getting dirt and mud all over the interior. Maybe he 
could have a squad car pick them up and one of the officer's could drive 
the Caddy.
	He was just starting to reach for the mic, when Schanke 
staggered against the hood. Turning his attention to his partner, he could 
smell the fresh blood seeping from his mud covered arm. A stab of fear 
shot through him. "How's your arm?" he asked nervously.
	"I think it's just a flesh wound, but I tell you Nick, I don't feel so 
good," answered Schanke weakly.
	Without thinking any further, Nick pulled open the car door and 
shoved Schanke into the front seat. Rushing around to the driver's side, 
he jumped in, starting the engine as he pulled the door closed. Then he 
backed up and peeled out of the parking lot and headed for the nearest 
hospital emergency room. By the time he was out of the parking lot, he 
was already calling it in to dispatch.
	"Hey, slow down. I'm not dying here," yelled Schanke, at Nick's 
panicked driving.
	Nick didn't say anything. He just put the flashing light on the 
dash, turned on the siren and kept driving.

	In no time at all, they were careening into the emergency room 
driveway entrance. The Caddy skidded to a halt, and Nick leapt out of the 
car. A couple of orderlies rushed out at the commotion. Nick pulled open 
the passenger side door and started helping Schanke out of the car.
	Turning to the orderlies, he shouted, "get a doctor. A police 
officer's been shot."
	The orderlies rushed a wheelchair over, and helped Schanke into 
the seat. He tried to wave them off, and let them know it wasn't that bad, 
but he couldn't be heard over Nick's shouting. He was feeling tired and 
dizzy, probably from the blood loss, but he couldn't believe he was hurt 
as bad as Nick was making it out to be.
	He was wheeled into the emergency room as quickly as possible, 
with Nick dogging the orderlies every step, telling them to hurry. As soon 
as they entered the main area, Nick started shouting for the doctor.
	A nurse came right over and instructed them to take the patient 
into the nearest vacant exam room. As Nick followed, the nurse tried to 
get him to wait in the lobby, but he insisted on following them inside. 
Seeing how worried he obviously was, she relented. As she started to 
exam the wound, he interrupted her.
	"Excuse me, where's the doctor?"
	"He's with another patient and will be here in a few minutes," she 
explained.
	Nick grabbed her arm and pulled her away from Schanke. "I think 
you should go get him now."
	"He'll be right in, I assure you," she said, removing her arm from 
his grasp. "Maybe you should wait outside," she suggested again.
	"Maybe you should just go get the doctor," he snapped at her.
	"Nick, calm down. It's okay. I'm sure the doctors and nurses 
know what they're doing," said Schanke, trying to calm his partner down.
	"Look," said the nurse, trying to explain, "I need to look at the 
wound and clean it for the doctor. He'll be here as soon as he can."
	"That's not good enough. He needs a doctor <now>, and if you 
won't go get him, I will," he insisted.
	Taking a deep breath, the nurse nodded her head and exited the 
room. She returned a few moments later with the two orderlies. Looking 
at her and the orderlies suspiciously, Nick said, "I thought you went to get 
the doctor. Where is he?"
	"The orderlies will show you to the waiting room. The doctor will 
come see you when he's through in here," she answered, indicating he 
should leave with the orderlies.
	Shaking his head, Nick replied angrily, "I'm not going anywhere."
	"Knight," shouted Schanke, getting his partner's attention. "Go."
	Nick glowered at the nurse and orderlies, finally acquiescing to 
Schanke's request. Reluctantly, he allowed himself to be led from the 
room. Turning at the door, he said to the nurse, "he had better be all 
right."
	"He'll have the best of care," she tried to assure him.
	As they reached the hallway, one of the orderlies took hold of 
Nick's arm and started to guide him towards the waiting room. Nick jerked 
his arm free and snapped, "don't touch me." Both orderlies back away, 
their hands slightly raised in the air to show that they were going to keep 
their hands off.
	"Knight!"
	Nick turned to see Stonetree calling to him from the lobby waiting 
area. Taking one last look at the closed door to the exam room, he turned 
away and walked to where the Captain was standing.
	"How's Schanke?" asked a concerned Stonetree.
	Shaking his head angrily, he replied, "I don't know. They wouldn't 
let me stay."
	"I'm sure your yelling at the nurse didn't have anything to do with 
that," commented Stonetree, mildly sarcastic.
	"I wasn't yelling," replied Nick defensively.
	"I could hear you from the porch," responded Stonetree 
conversationally. "So tell me what happen. And what's with all the mud?"
	"Schanke got shot," answered Nick worriedly, eyes wandering 
back to the closed door.
	"Come over here and sit down," requested the Captain, indicating 
a couch in an alcove off to the side.
	The area indicated was out of sight of the exam room and Nick 
was reluctant to move that far away. "I want to be here when the doctor 
comes."
	"The doctor's not going to be able to tell you anything until after 
he's examined your partner. Then, I'm sure he'll come out here and let us 
know what's what." When Nick failed to acknowledge that he had spoken, 
or make any attempt to comply with his suggestion, Stonetree ordered, 
"that wasn't a request, detective. Now, get over here."
	Nick tore himself away and walked to the couch indicated and 
dropped onto it. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and put his face 
in his hands. He was worried about Schanke. He raised his head and 
looked at Stonetree when he felt a comforting arm on his back. He was 
surprised to see that the Captain was worried about him, so hurried to 
convince him, "I'm all right."
	"It's not every day your partner gets shot," replied Stonetree, 
patting his back a couple times before removing his arm. "You look like 
you've been mud wrestling. Why don't you take a deep breath, calm 
down, and tell me what happened."
	After a moment's hesitation, Nick took a deep breath, relaxed a 
little, then proceeded to tell Stonetree everything that happened since 
they got the call in the car until they arrived at the emergency room. 
When Nick was done with his narration, Stonetree asked, "so you're 
absolutely certain this man is the killer you're tracking?"
	"Or, at least the one who's been tracking us," he said in disgust.
	"Did you get a good look at him?" asked the Captain.
	"He was wearing a mask, like in the restaurant that night with 
Sally Barnett. I didn't see his face," Nick reluctantly admitted.
	Sighing, and looking up at the ceiling, Stonetree replied, "I've got 
a team scouring the park. Forensics is on it, and they'll find anything 
that's there to find. What are you going to do?"
	"What I should have done in the first place," he answered with 
grim determination.
	Stonetree just look at him speculatively. He had a good idea what 
Nick meant by that, so didn't feel the need to ask. This lunatic needed to 
be caught, and however Knight did it, he probably didn't want to know.
	Just then the doctor came in. Nick leapt to his feet and rushed 
over to meet him. "How's Schanke? Was he hurt very bad? Is he going to 
be okay?"
	"Slow down, Detective, and I'll be happy to answer your 
questions," replied the doctor. "You're his partner, Detective Knight. I can 
tell by the clothing," he observed humorously.
	"I'm Captain Stonetree, Doctor. How is he?" The doctor and 
police captain shook hands briefly.
	At Nick's impatient and glowering look, the doctor answered, "I'm 
Doctor Lefebvre, and your Detective Schanke is going to be fine. There 
was one bullet penetration, in his left biceps. It was a flesh wound, just 
under the skin and clean through. I'm going to keep him overnight for 
observation."
	"If he's all right, why do you need to keep him overnight?" asked 
Nick, worried he wasn't getting the whole truth.
	"No offense, Detective, but that filth you're both coated with could 
cause an infection, and he did lose a fair amount of blood before he got 
here. I've given him some antibiotics, and I just want to make sure they're 
working before we release him," explained the doctor.
	"So, he's really all right?" asked Nick skeptically.
	"We're just getting ready to move him upstairs to a room. If you 
want, Detective, you can see him before we do." At Nick's eager 
expression, the doctor pointed down the hall and continued, "he's still in 
the exam room. Go on back."
	Nick hurried down the hall and into the exam room, leaving 
Stonetree to finish up with Doctor Lefebvre.
	"Hey, Skank, how're you doing?" he asked as he burst through 
the door.
	"I'm fine. They're just going to keep me overnight. How are you 
doing? Since I've been thinking about it, I could swear that psycho got 
one into you too," inquired Schanke curiously.
	Nick just nodded nervously, then patted his chest. "Got the vest," 
he replied. "You sure you're okay?"
	"Yeah, lucky me. Just think, if his aim had been as good with me, 
I wouldn't be sitting here either," Schanke replied, laughing tensely.
	"Do you want me to call Myra?" inquired Nick quietly.
	"No, no, no. I better call her. If she hears about this from anyone 
else, she'll never believe I'm not laying dead in a ditch somewhere," he 
replied hurriedly. As Nick nodded in agreement, Schanke asked, "you 
going after this guy on your own?"
	"Um, yeah, I thought I would go get cleaned up, then maybe go 
back to the park and see what I can pick up. Stonetree has a bunch of 
people there looking for clues, and maybe I'll help," he replied hesitantly.
	"Listen, Nick. I know nothing I say will change your mind, so just 
be careful, okay?"
	"I will."
	"I mean it, Nick. This guy is a whacko. I don't want to wake up in 
the morning and find you in the bed next to me. Understand?"
	Grinning, Nick replied, "don't worry. I'll be careful."
	The nurse entered the room with the two orderlies. "We're ready 
to take you to your room now, Detective."
	At her stern look, Nick said, "I was just leaving." Giving a last nod 
to Schanke, he exited the room. As he headed down the hall, he saw 
Stonetree talking to a woman at the admittance desk. He skirted around 
them and out the door before he was seen, and headed for his Caddy.

===
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN


	Nick arrived at the precinct a couple of hours after having left 
Schanke at the hospital. He had gone home to shower and change, and 
also took the opportunity to make sure he was well fed. The events 
tonight had been stressful and he needed the extra energy that he didn't 
get from his usual regiment.
	He then went by the morgue to see Natalie. He figured she would 
have heard about what happened in the park and want an update on 
Schanke. And he was right, she had been worried. He told her most of 
what happened, leaving out the part with the cross, as he didn't want her 
to worry unnecessarily.
	He was on his way back to the park, and first wanted to check 
with the precinct on the off chance any useful information had turned up. 
When he checked his voice mail, there was another message from the 
killer. It said, 'with lamenting and with sorrow, accursed spirit, do thou 
remain, for I know thee, though thou be all filthy'. He became so angry, 
he almost crushed the telephone receiver in his hand. He caught himself 
just in time. That's it, he thought. I don't care what it takes, I'm going to 
catch this guy. With those thoughts firmly in his head, he stormed out of 
the precinct, heading for the park.

	The crew Stonetree had dispatched to the park were gone by the 
time he arrived. From the reports he had heard, they hadn't found 
anything he would consider useful. The rope and the knife had been sent 
to the lab, the latter being expected to match as the murder weapon. Nick 
walked to the place where he had last seen the killer.
	He was quick to spot the killer's footprints, and easily followed 
them north until they reached the street. This was where Nick and 
Schanke had parked when they first came, and there hadn't been any 
other cars in the area. Nick figured the killer must have still been on foot. 
He crossed the road, then walked back and forth along the shoulder, 
looking to pick up the tracks again. His eyes had taken on a golden hue, 
enflamed by his desire to capture this lunatic.
	About fifty feet further up the street, using his enhanced night 
vision, he spotted where the killer had left the road and started north 
again. Nick bent down low to the ground and trailed his fingers in the 
outline of the tracks, lifting traces of mud to his nose. On a number of 
tries, he had attempted to pick up the scent of his prey, but the rain was 
obscuring that part of the trail. Even with his preternatural senses finely 
tuned to the hunt, he was unable to detect a distinctive smell. A low snarl 
sounded in his chest as he looked in the direction taken by the killer.
	Nick silently followed the tracks through the Necropolis and into 
Hillcrest Park. The trail took him through the cemetery and stopped at a 
wrought iron fence, then abruptly ended. After searching for about ten 
minutes, Nick was unable to pick up any further signs. Frustrated, he 
forced himself to remain calm, and focus. He knew the killer had gotten 
this far... so, where did he go?
	As Nick walked slowly along the fence, all his senses were 
trained on detecting the killer's trail. He paused as he caught a whiff of a 
very faint, but familiar scent. He closed his eyes and allowed his entire 
being to focus on the smell. After a short time, he opened his eyes and 
walked the short distance to the fence, and closely examined one of the 
iron bars.
	Blood. There was a trace of blood present that was all but 
impossible to see. Touching his fingers to the still wet substance, he held 
them to his nose and recognized the scent immediately. It belonged to 
the killer. He remembered it from courtyard where Mr. Lanier was 
murdered. He figured the killer must have climbed over the fence. 
Growling softly, he levitated over the fence and landed quietly on the 
opposite side. He then followed the trail until he reached Wellesley Street, 
where it once again ended.
	All along the next block, the street was empty of cars. Nick slowly 
walked down the center of the street, searching for any clue that would 
indicate the direction taken by his quarry. Finding no evidence of his prey 
in the first block, he searched the next block over. There were parked 
cars scattered along this block. He had walked the full length of the street 
twice, and was now doubling back on the sidewalk, when he spotted 
clumps of mud on the curb next to an empty spot on the street.
	It looked as if someone had scraped their shoes. He bent down 
to examine the mud. It had the same consistency as that in the park and 
he felt certain it was from the killer. He must have come back here to his 
car and scraped the mud off his shoes before driving off. Nick stood up in 
frustration. He had tracked him this far and wasn't about to let him get 
away now. 
	He stood and turned in a tight circle, looking over the 
neighborhood. It was a combination residential and commercial, so 
strange cars coming and going was unlikely to garner any special notice. 
He was beginning to scowl in frustration, the growling in his chest getting 
louder, when he belatedly focused on a convenience store located 
directly across the street.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	They were standing outside a large well kept house. A small 
amount of light slipped through the shuttered windows, onto the street. 
With their vampiric hearing, the two vampires listened to the revelry 
within.
	"I do not understand how this plan will work. If the girl is 
discovered dead, they may think you killed her. So how is it that you will 
be able to spend the night with this <girl>, and not kill her?" asked 
Nicholas, finally voicing his thoughts.
	"Nicholas, mon fils, you are very young. There is much for you 
yet to learn. Suffice it for me to say, it will not be a problem. Now, do you 
remember what you are suppose to do?" inquired LaCroix.
	"Yes. I will wait out here for the murderer. Assuming he has not 
made his presence known beforehand, when you leave I will follow and 
catch him when he tries to kill you," answered Nicholas. "Why can I not 
also go inside? Perhaps I will be able to sense him sooner."
	"We have already discussed this. If he sees you first, before you 
are able to determine who he is, we may lose him completely," explained 
LaCroix.
	"He could not have gotten that good a look at me the other night," 
argued Nicholas.
	"You do not know that for certain. The plan, as it is, will work," 
asserted LaCroix.
	"And what if it starts raining again, while I am standing out here 
waiting?" asked Nicholas exasperated.
	"I think you can survive a little rain. Now, do you wish to catch 
this murderer, or not?" he inquired pointedly.
	"Yes."
	 "Then make sure you stay well hidden," cautioned LaCroix.
	"Do not worry. I know what to do," replied Nicholas firmly, as he 
moved away and disappeared into the shadows.

--- End Flashback ---

	As a surge of adrenaline went through him, Nick hastened across 
the street and to the store. Pausing briefly outside, he consciously took 
stock of himself and made certain that any outward appearances of his 
beast were buried. He had felt his fangs retract, and looking at his 
reflection in the glass, only blue eyes stared back. Satisfied, he pulled the 
door open and strode purposefully to the counter.
	"Yes, sir, may I help you?" asked the very young clerk, who 
looked like he should still be in high school.
	Nick pulled out his ID and held it up to the young boy's face. "I'm 
Detective Knight, Metro Homicide." The young boy gulped nervously. 
"Does this store have video surveillance camera's installed?"
	"Yes, yes, sir," the boy stuttered.
	"I need to see the tapes," stated Nick determinedly.
	"I'm sorry, only the store manager has access to them," the boy 
replied hesitantly.
	"Then call him and get him down here," Nick said, more harshly 
than he intended. At the boy's stricken look, he softened his tone and 
added, "I really need to see those tapes."
	"Yes, sir. I'll call him," responded the boy, picking up the phone to 
call his boss.
	Nick waited very impatiently for the store manager to arrive. To 
the boy's relief, he did most of his waiting outside. Nick took the time to 
check out the rest of the neighborhood and concluded that this store's 
videotapes were his best chance of identifying the killer.
	"Detective?" called a man, just stepping out of the store to look 
for him.
	Nick came forward quickly, and asked, "you're the manager?"
	"Yes, why don't we go back to my office and you can explain to 
me what you're looking for," suggested the manager, as he held the door 
for Nick to reenter the store.
	Once in the back office, Nick explained what he wanted. The 
manager acknowledged that the store had the tapes, and that there was 
a good chance that the information he was looking for was on them.
	"Then you'll give me the tapes," Nick stated.
	"I'm afraid I can't do that," replied the manager. Seeing the 
detective's expression darken, he explained, "it's corporate policy, and 
I'm just the manager. I can't give you the tapes, at least, not without a 
subpoena."
	Nick wasn't about to wait for a subpoena. Not when he was this 
close. Looking the manager in the eye, he leaned forward intently. He 
heard the sound of the man's heartbeat slow and saw his expression 
glaze over. "You want to help the police."
	"I want to help the police," the man repeated in a dazed 
monotone.
	"You don't really need a subpoena."
	"I don't really need a subpoena."
	"You'll give me the tapes."
	"I'll give you the tapes."
	Nick broke off his stare and the man swayed slightly, then put a 
hand up to his forehead.
	"I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong," apologized the manager.
	"That's okay," replied Nick. "You were saying about the tapes."
	The man started as if he just remembered something, "oh, yes. 
Let me get those tapes for you." He moved to a locked door behind his 
desk and pulled out his keys. As he unlocked the door and retrieved the 
tapes, he added, "we always want to cooperate with the police."
	As the manager handed the tapes to Nick, he responded, "thank 
you for your help. We'll make sure these get back to you when we're 
done with our investigation."
	"Yes, of course," replied the man, following Nick out of the office 
and through the store. He stood by the counter with his young clerk, as 
he watched the detective head down the sidewalk towards the park, 
tapes in hand.

	Nick drove straight to the police video lab. Once there, he got a 
technician to run the tapes and he was able to identify the man he 
believed to be the killer. The man stepping into the car was not wearing a 
mask and they were able to get a clear picture of his face, and as the car 
pulled away from the curb they got his license plate number. Running it 
quickly through motor vehicles records gave them a name, Erich Volker, 
and an address just off Dundas near Eaton Centre.
	A short time later, Nick was in Stonetree's office. "What do you 
mean, we can't get a search warrant?" he demanded hotly.
	"Listen, Knight. The judge won't issue one without a positive ID. 
Seeing a man get into a car is not grounds for a search warrant," the 
Captain explained again.
	"But I'm telling you, that's the man who shot at me and Schanke 
in the park. I tracked him to his car, and that's him," Nick continued to 
insist.
	"And how do you know it's him?" demanded Stonetree.
	"I just do," replied Nick, through clenched teeth.
	"Sorry, Nick. I believe you, but the judge isn't buying it," replied 
Stonetree.
	"So, what are we suppose to do? How many more people is he 
going to have to kill before the judge does buy it?" preached Nick hotly.
	"No one's seen him?" inquired Stonetree.
	Nick held the picture of the killer in his hand, thoughts churning 
wildly in his mind. "What did you say?" asked Nick, snapping out of his 
distraction.
	"I asked if you were sure nobody can identify this guy?" asked 
Stonetree.
	After a moment's hesitation, Nick replied quietly, "Sally Barnett."
	"The little girl."
	"Yeah, she saw him." Getting excited again, he asked, "if I can 
get her to identify him, can we get the warrant?"
	Not wanting to burst his bubble, but trying to insert a touch of 
reality, he replied, "it's the middle of the night, Nick. Do you really think 
she'll be able to identify him?"
	"There's still a few hours before dawn. That's plenty of time," 
reasoned Nick. "And yeah, if <I> show her the pictures, she'll be able to 
identify him."
	"Let me get this straight, you want to wake up a little girl in the 
middle of the night, and ask her to pick out the man who killed her 
parents?" Stonetree asked incredulously.
	With a determined look on his face, he replied, "if that's what it 
takes it get a warrant, then yes." At Stonetree's dubious look, Nick added, 
"we're going to have to ask her anyway. What difference does it make 
when? That is, except to the killer's next victims."
	"Okay, you've got a point," said Stonetree, his mind made up. "I'll 
call Children's Services and let them know you're coming, and then I'll get 
hold of the judge. Call me the minute you get an ID, one way or the other, 
got it?"
	"Thanks, Captain," answered Nick, as he practically ran out the 
door.

	When Nick arrived at the Children's Services facility, Dr. 
Reynolds was waiting for him.
	"I just want you to know, Detective, I don't approve of this," stated 
the doctor firmly.
	"I understand, Doctor, and if there was another way, I wouldn't be 
here," replied Nick sincerely.
	Barely mollified, Dr. Reynolds said, "follow me."
	They walked through the lobby to the elevator, and took it up to 
the third floor and exited onto the top floor of the building. As they headed 
down the hall, Nick sensed there weren't many people in this wing, and 
commented on his observation to Dr. Reynolds.
	Dr. Reynolds looked at him questioningly, not knowing how he 
could notice such a thing, but replied, "we thought it best for Sally, to 
keep her in this less populated section. She's going through a rough time 
right now and it's not really for the best that she mix in with the other 
children yet. She still needs to come to terms with what's happened to 
her."
	Nick nodded his head in understanding and followed Dr. 
Reynold's into a room just up ahead. As soon as he walked in the door, 
he heard Sally yell, "Nick." She then jumped off the bed and ran to him, 
wrapping her arms around his knees and hugging him tightly.
	Dr. Reynolds looked a little surprised. "I told her you were 
coming, but even so, she hasn't been very responsive since coming 
here."
	Nick didn't reply to the doctor, but instead, squatted down to a 
level with Sally. She let go of him just long enough to grab him around the 
neck. He wrapped his arms around her and picked her up. Holding her 
close, he carried her back to the bed and sat down. He pulled her away 
from him just enough so he could look at her. She stayed on his lap, one 
arm around his neck. With her other hand, she grabbed onto the lapel of 
his coat.
	"Hi, Sally. Dr. Reynolds tells me they're taking good care of you 
here," he said gently. When she didn't reply, he asked her, "how are you 
doing?"
	Sally just shrugged, and said, "I miss my mommy and daddy."
	"I'm sure you do," he replied, hugging her again. She seemed to 
be content to sit on his lap and play with the fabric of his coat. Not really 
wanting to unduly upset her, yet wanting to go after this killer before 
dawn, he rushed into the conversation sooner than he would normally 
have liked. "Sally," he began slowly. "Do you know why I'm here?"
	"To see me," she answered.
	"Yes," he agreed. "But did they tell you why I asked them to wake 
you up so I could see you?" Nick could see Dr. Reynolds frowning at him. 
She obviously disapproved of his visit.
	"She said you wanted to show me some pictures," she replied 
absently.
	"Yes, that's right. Is that okay with you?" he inquired.
	Sally looked up at him, and seeing that this is what he wanted, 
she answered, "it's okay."
	Dr. Reynolds wheeled a tray table over near the bed. Nick 
reached into his coat and pulled out six photos. When he had them 
spread out on the tray table, he said to Sally, "take your time. I need you 
to look at these, and tell me if one of them is the man you saw."
	She knew what he wanted her to do, but was too frightened to 
look. Instead, she pressed her face against his chest and held him tight.
	Nick gave her a few minutes to settle down, then he pulled her 
away. Tilting her head to look up at him, he caught her eyes and calmed 
her with his look. "Sally, everything's going to be all right. No one's going 
to hurt you. I want you to look at these pictures and tell me if you 
remember seeing one of these men before. You will remember," he said, 
emphasizing the last.
	Slowly, she turned her eyes away from him and looked at the 
pictures.
	Dr. Reynolds was watching, very curious over Sally's reactions to 
Detective Knight. She hadn't seen the child this calm since she was 
brought here, and she was surprised at the composure that Sally 
displayed in complying with Detective Knight's request.
	Sally stared at the pictures for a long time. Nick was beginning to 
think that maybe he shouldn't have influenced her as hard as he did. 
Then, to his cautious delight, she pointed to the picture he believed to be 
the killer.
	"He's the one that killed my mommy and daddy," she replied 
stoically.
	"Sally, are you sure?" he had to ask.
	"Yes," she replied, just as she turned and buried her face against 
Nick.
	He put his arms around her and said, "it's okay, Sally. 
Everything's going to be okay." Then turning to the doctor, he said, 
"would you look at the photo and make note of the one she chose?"
	"Of course," Dr. Reynolds replied dryly. Picking up the photo, she 
looked at it carefully. "Is this what you were hoping for?" she asked.
	"Yes," replied Nick, determined now to get his search warrant 
and arrest this madman. Taking Sally by the shoulders, he gently pushed 
her away. "Sally, I have to go now."
	"I don't want you to leave," she replied sadly.
	"I have to," he explained. Holding up the photo of the man she 
just identified, he said, "I have to go and arrest this man and put him in 
jail."
	Staring at him for the longest time, she pulled away and said, 
"okay, he should be in jail."
	Dr. Reynolds picked Sally up from Nick's lap, allowing him to 
stand. Placing a hand on her hair, he said, "I'll come back and see you 
later, okay?"
	"Promise?" she asked hopefully.
	Smiling, he replied, "I promise."
	Seeing a satisfied look come over her face, he turned to Dr. 
Reynolds and said, "thank you."
	"Of course, Detective. I hope you catch your man," she 
responded.
	Nodding an acknowledgment to her statement, he slowly stepped 
out of the room, then quickly departed the facility. As soon as he slid into 
the Caddy he called Stonetree, who assured him that the warrant would 
be issued by the time he got back to the precinct.

===
CHAPTER NINETEEN


	Stonetree had insisted on informing the 96th precinct as soon as 
he found out the judge was signing the warrants for Erich Volker. Nick 
wasn't really upset about this, he just didn't want any interference that 
would delay the arrest. And here he was now, standing in the hall of the 
apartment building with Bissett and Clarke, and a bevy of uniformed 
officers from both precincts. They were spread out along the hall and 
men had been posted at both the front and back entrances of the 
building.
	Since it was Nick's information that was used to obtain the name 
and address of the suspect, which then provided for the warrants, it was 
agreed that he would take the lead. Standing next to the apartment door 
with his back pressed against the wall, Nick reached around and banged 
loudly on the door, shouting, "Metro police. We have a warrant. Open the 
door."
	There was no response. Nick looked at the others and could feel 
the tension in the air. He banged on the door and shouted again. Still no 
answer. Warning everyone to stay back, he quickly pivoted in front of the 
door and kicked it in. The wooden frame splintered, and the door crashed 
open loudly. With guns drawn, they all went rushing into the apartment. 
As a room to room search was conducted, it was quickly apparent that no 
one was home.
	Bissett and Clarke took over the scene and started issuing orders 
for a full scale search of the premises. Nick was in the living room where 
there were two windows overlooking the alley. Peering through the glass, 
he saw where the one window opened on to a fire escape and on closer 
examination, he noticed that the window was unlatched. He raised the 
window and stuck his head outside to take a quick look.
	As soon as they had entered the apartment, Nick had been able 
to sense that the occupant was the person they were after. Leaning out 
over the fire escape, he used those same senses and realized that the 
suspect had just recently been this way. Staring down the alley, he knew 
they had just barely missed him. Somehow, he must have known they 
were coming.
	"Knight," shouted Clarke. "Take a look at this."
	Hearing his name called, he pulled his head back inside and 
turned to Clarke. "What?"
	"Back here," replied Clarke, walking into the kitchen where his 
partner Bissett was arranging items on the dining table.
	"Looks like we're on the money," commented Bissett, indicating 
the gallon jug of blood that he had just removed from the refrigerator. 
They all assumed it was the lamb's blood used at all the murder scenes. 
This was placed on the table with a number of other incriminating items 
that had been easily found.
	Nick picked up a book and flipped it over to read the title, 'The 
Divine Comedy'. There were also a number of other books that focused 
on cultish religious themes, along with a notebook that looked like the 
suspect had been keeping as some kind of journal. On a page near the 
front were the names and addresses of the first two victims. There was 
also some partially used first aid supplies. Nick picked up a bloodied cloth 
and briefly held it up to his nose before dropping it back onto the table. 
The scent was that of the killer.
	"There's no doubt about it in my mind. This is our guy," stated 
Bissett.
	"Where do you think he is?" asked Clarke.
	"He went out the window and down the fire escape just before we 
got here," replied Nick tightly. He wanted to catch this killer so badly, he 
could almost taste it.
	"How do you know that?" demanded Bissett.
	"The window was unlocked, and there's a fresh scuff mark on the 
windowsill," Nick improvised.
	"He couldn't know we were coming," reasoned Clarke. "For all we 
know, he's on his way home now."
	"Fine," said Nick. "You two stay here and finish the search while 
you're waiting for him to come back."
	"What are you going to do?" asked Bissett sarcastically.
	"I'm going after him. He couldn't have gone far," replied Nick, as 
he moved towards the window. The fact that he had been able to sense 
the killer on the fire escape meant that he had <just> been there. As he 
headed out the window, Bissett and Clarke stayed behind. They didn't 
expect Nick to have any luck, but they didn't try to stop him either.

	Erich Volker was crouching behind the dumpster near the end of 
the alley, watching to see what was happening in his apartment. Just 
moments earlier he had been returning from the basement, having 
decided to do some laundry, when he had seen the first car pull up out 
front, and he knew right away that it was the police. And then he had 
seen Detective Knight, correction, the demon on the sidewalk waiting for 
some other men to join him. Probably more of his minions. Volker had 
then rushed back to his apartment, running up the stairs as fast as he 
could. And then grabbing his backpack containing all his equipment, he 
went out the window and down the fire escape. Because of the cops 
milling around, he had decided to just hide a short distance away hoping 
that when they didn't find him, they would just leave.
	He swore quietly to himself when he saw the demon stick his 
head out the window and stare down the alley to where he was hiding. 
He was relieved seeing him return inside, but decided just to be safe he 
had better start moving. He slowly crept down the alley, making sure to 
avoid the few officers they had in the area. When he realized that they 
were only stationed at the front and rear entrances to his building, he 
laughed quietly to himself. Once again he was outsmarting them.
	He turned to take one last look at his apartment before turning 
the final corner to escape the area, and saw the demon coming out the 
window and starting down the fire escape. Hissing through clenched 
teeth, he angrily took firm hold of his backpack and started moving at a 
faster pace toward Yonge Street. He thought if he got to the other side of 
the busy thoroughfare, the demon wouldn't be able to track him.

	Nick dropped the last few feet to the alley. There being no one 
else in the near vicinity, he put his preternatural senses to work. The 
killer, who he now knew for sure to be named Volker, must have landed 
right here. Nick could still sense his fading presence. He slowly walked 
first one way, then the other, trying to get a feel for where the presence 
was strongest. When he was finally convinced that he had determined 
the correct trail, he took off in that direction. He quickly moved to the end 
of the alley and paused, for he knew Volker had just come this way. He 
was able to sense the vibration lingering in the area, and it was stronger 
here than when he first landed in the alley. After sensing for the proper 
direction, Nick headed towards Yonge Street.

	Volker was fidgeting from one foot to the next, and kept stealing 
quick glances back in the direction he had just come. He was standing in 
the middle of the block, trying to cross Yonge Street. There shouldn't be 
any traffic this time of the early morning, but there were just enough cars 
and trucks to slow him down. Finally, the way was clear and he started 
across. Just as he reached the other side, a niggling feeling crawling up 
his spine made him turn around and look. Just stepping onto the sidewalk 
was the demon. Their eyes met briefly, just seconds before a large truck 
passed between them.

	Nick stopped dead in his tracks as his eyes met those of the 
killer. Volker had just reached the sidewalk in front of the Eaton Centre 
when he had turned to look in his direction. As the truck rumbled by, 
blocking their view of each other, Nick rushed up to the street. Once his 
line of sight was clear again, Volker was no longer on the sidewalk. 
Looking around anxiously, Nick spotted him racing down the street and 
quickly took off running after him.

	He could feel the pursuit behind him, and quickly ducked into a 
service entrance alcove leading into the shopping center. It was too early 
for the mall to be open to the public, but for those who worked the after 
hour maintenance shifts, there was access. Volker pulled out his 
employee pass and ran it through the security scanner. He then punched 
in his personal code and heard the door locks tumble. Pulling the door 
open, he quickly darted inside, letting the door slam shut behind him. 
'That ought to slow him down', Volker thought gleefully, then headed 
towards the lower levels.

	Reaching the door Volker had just entered, Nick grabbed the 
knob, shaking it in frustration as he realized it was locked. Glancing 
towards the eastern sky, he could see the dawn approaching as a few 
early rays of the sun peaked over the horizon. The rain had stopped a 
couple of hours ago and the sky looked like it was beginning to clear. 
	Nick thought he was too close to stop now, but he couldn't afford 
to be caught in the Eaton Centre's glass towers in the full sunlight. 
Deciding to cross that bridge when he came to it, tightening his hold of 
the doorknob, he used his vampiric strength and twisted the lock until he 
heard it break. Pulling the door open, he stepped into an enclosed 
hallway and immediately spotted a staircase off to the side. He sensed 
with elation that Volker had headed downward, where the lower levels 
should provide him protection from the sun. It was only a matter of time 
now.

--- Start flashback ---
Florence, late 13th c.

	Many hours after LaCroix had enter the pleasure house, Nicholas 
was pacing back and forth in a nearby alley. He was careful to keep his 
eyes on the main entry, as it was agreed that LaCroix would be sure to 
exit that way. The rains had returned, and Nicholas was very wet. He 
pulled his cape tighter about his neck, trying to keep the water from 
running down his back. There really was no place to seek shelter and still 
maintain his vigil.
	Although he could not sense the approaching dawn, he knew it 
was close. Just then he heard the door opening and peeked around the 
corner. He had been surprised at the number of men coming and going 
throughout the night. LaCroix had said that he was certain he would be 
able to ascertain the identity of the girl and obtain her services. If he 
should choose incorrectly, then this had all been for naught.
	Just then LaCroix stepped out onto the street, and Nicholas 
watched as he made his way slowly towards the river. They had 
previously agreed upon the route to be taken, so there was really no 
chance of losing him. Nicholas took to the air and followed his progress 
from the rooftops, and searched his trail for the murderer.
	Nicholas followed LaCroix for quite some distance, as his sire 
slowly wound his way through the streets. He was just about to give up 
hope of this plan working, when he spotted movement some distance 
away. A man was making his way through the alleys, on what looked to 
be an intercept course with LaCroix. Excited, Nicholas flew up to the 
rooftop nearest the man and looked down upon him. The man did appear 
to be stalking his father, but Nicholas was unable to sense if this were the 
murderer. He silently dropped to the ground a short distance behind the 
man, and almost immediately, he could feel the vibration, confirming that 
this was the man he sought.
	Meanwhile, LaCroix discerned the activity behind him. He noted 
the mortal's presence at the same time as did his son. He did not need to 
sense this man to know he was the murderer, why else would he be 
following him. LaCroix continued his leisurely walk, smiling in satisfaction 
to himself. He knew this plan would work, and he quite anticipated the 
pleasure Nicholas would take in its' conclusion. He sensed the silent 
approach of the mortal, but continued calmly on. The mortal was getting 
quite close. He could feel Nicholas nearby, but could not completely 
pinpoint his location. It would be very annoying if he were to be forced to 
deal with the mortal himself.
	Then just as the mortal dashed out of the alleyway, his intention 
to attack LaCroix, Nicholas flew at him. Growling loudly, he tackled the 
man about the torso, and they both crashed against the opposite wall. 
LaCroix calmly turned around, and raised one eyebrow in surprise at the 
ferocity with which Nicholas had attacked this mortal.
	The mortal, still conscious, had been completely caught off 
guard. He had not expected to be attacked while he was in the middle of 
his own assault. His arm being free, he swung his knife at his attacker. 
Nicholas captured the mortal's wrist, and while snarling viciously, he 
squeezed the wrist, crushing the bone and causing the mortal to drop the 
knife. The man howled loudly in pain. 
	"Nicholas," said LaCroix warningly. "The authorities are nearby."
	Without turning to his sire, Nicholas released the mortal's wrist 
and clamped his hand over his mouth to silence him. All that could be 
heard were the mortal's muffled screams and the vampire's low growls. 
Nicholas eyes were ablaze, and he smiled in anticipation. He had been 
hunting for this mortal for almost two weeks, and he fully intended on 
savoring this kill. Exposing the mortal's neck, he placed his lips over the 
jugular and slowly licked the sweat drenched skin. He could taste the 
fear, mixed in with the saltiness, and it made him smile all the more. The 
man began thrashing against him, trying to break free. Nicholas held him 
tighter.
	"Quit playing with him and finish this," ordered LaCroix. Nicholas 
lifted his head and glanced at LaCroix in annoyance. "Now, Nicholas."
	Nicholas turned back to the murderer, and with a deep breath 
inhaled the essence before him. He opened his mouth and with a roar, 
savagely tore into the mortal's throat, draining him completely. Finally 
satisfied, he let go and stepped away from the body. Wiping the blood off 
his mouth, he licked it off his fingers, then said to LaCroix, "your plan 
worked."
	"Of course," replied LaCroix. "Finish up here and make yourself 
presentable while I go fetch the authorities. I am sure they will be quite 
pleased to have their murderer."
	Nicholas dropped to the ground next to the deceased body. 
Grasping the murderer's head in both hands, he savagely twisted the 
neck, snapping it easily. He then stood, looking down at the murderer 
thoughtfully, while he waited for LaCroix to return.

--- End Flashback ---

	With predatory anticipation, the vampire detective felt the chase 
coming to an end. Smiling grimly to himself, he rapidly descended the 
stairs in search of his prey.

	Volker could feel a menacing presence nearing, and knew it had 
to be the demon. He ran down the hallway, turning the corner into an 
alcove, and saw up ahead a small intersection. Looking wildly around, he 
could see there was no one about. He knew further down the hall, one of 
the corridors, extending off the intersection, led to where there were 
others: employees, unlike himself, that were just arriving to their jobs and 
preparing the stores for opening time.
	He dropped to the floor and opened his backpack and withdrew a 
couple of items. The first thing he pulled out was the cross. It had worked 
before and should work now. The second item was a vial. He stood up, 
carefully placing the vial in his jacket pocket, making sure it was easily 
accessible. He unzipped his jacket and felt for the gun shoved into his 
waistband. Secure that he was ready, he took a position and waited.

	Nick sensed the killer just up ahead. Confident, he strode forward 
and rounded the corner, spotting his quarry immediately. He slowed his 
advance until he was within a few meters of Volker and then stopped.
	They stood there staring at each other, each studying the other 
carefully. Volker didn't seem as apprehensive as Nick expected him to 
be, which caused him to become more wary. Nick noticed that Volker had 
one hand behind his back, while the other seemed to be gripping 
something in his jacket pocket.
	Forcefully, Nick stated, "Metro police. You're under arrest."
	Laughing, Volker replied fervently, "I know what you are, and 
you're not going to stop me."
	As Nick took a step forward, Volker quickly pulled his hand out 
from behind his back, shoving the large cross in Nick's face. Momentarily 
stunned, Nick jumped back against the wall. His eyes instantly changed 
from their customary brilliant blue to a more seldom seen dark gold. 
Baring his fangs, he snarled at his provocateur.
	"Yes, demon, cower down at the sight of the cross. Depart now, 
or I will destroy you," invoked Volker madly.
	Incensed, Nick held his ground. Quelling the beast inside, he 
willed his eyes to return to their normal blue, however, he continued to 
prominently display his fangs. With quiet and firm determination, Nick 
slowly and menacingly stepped towards the killer, who continued to 
brandish the cross at him. For each step he took forward, Volker stepped 
back.
	As Volker's back was pressed against the wall, he held the cross 
more rigidly in front of him and shouted, "begone, demon. I command 
you."
	Nick stood firmly without backing away, yet kept his distance 
from the cross. Volker withdrew a vial from his jacket pocket and threw 
the contents at his face. Although he moved to avoid being hit, some of 
the liquid splashed on his face, much to the killer's delight. Nick howled in 
pain as a couple drops of holy water burned in his eyes, momentarily 
blinding him.
	Without wasting any time, Volker ran out of the alcove and down 
the corridor. Nick recovered quickly and took off after him in a fury. 
Running as fast as he could, he rounded the far corner and quickly 
skidded to a stop as he realized he had just entered a populated area.
	People were all about, preparing the stores for the day's new 
business. The wide corridor ran almost the length of a city block, before 
branching off up ahead. The metal gates were raised on most of the 
storefronts along both sides of the hall, as the men and women were 
pushing handcarts, stacking boxes, and arranging the goods on the retail 
shelves.
	Nick slowed to a fast walk and strode purposefully through the 
corridor, drawing a few curious stares as he passed. He spotted Volker 
meandering purposefully up ahead and moved to intercept him. 
	When he was about halfway to him, Volker must have sensed 
him closing, for suddenly he darted to the side and grabbed a young 
woman that had been busily stacking boxes. The woman started 
screaming, attracting everyone's immediate attention. Volker held his gun 
to the woman's head, as Nick also pulled his weapon and aimed it at him.
	Yelling to the crowd, Nick shouted, "Metro police. Everyone get 
down." Having seen the guns and having heard the woman screaming, 
most all had already rushed to escape the area or get out of the way. 
Staring steadily at the killer, Nick pointed his gun and demanded, 
"release her."
	"No," Volker shouted back, over the woman's screams. Turning 
to her, he yelled, "shut up. Shut up!" The fear on her face intensified, as 
her screaming diminished in volume.
	The two men stood frozen in place, their weapons drawn. Off to 
the side, one of the store manager's, who was safely out of the way, 
crept to a phone and called the police.
	"Release her," shouted Nick more forcefully, holding his gun 
steady.
	Volker held the woman tighter and pressed his gun against her 
head. "Stay back," he warned.
	Nick didn't move. He stood glaring in frustration, as Volker stared 
back at him. Nick tried to capture his attention, thinking he may have a 
chance to hypnotize him into releasing the woman and surrendering. For 
a moment he thought he had him, until Volker's eyes darted away, 
breaking the tenuous connection. Volker started to back away, dragging 
the woman with him. Nick slowly followed. "You can't get away with this," 
said Nick, trying to reason with him.
	Realizing he wasn't far from an exit, Volker ordered Nick, "put 
down your gun." As Nick shook his head negatively, Volker continued 
adamantly, "put it down, or I'll kill her."
	The woman started crying and beseeched Nick with her eyes to 
help her. Believing that Volker may just do as he threatened, Nick felt he 
had no choice. Carefully, he lowered his gun. Bending down, never letting 
his eyes leave Volker, he laid it on the ground. As he stood, he saw 
Volker smile as he moved his gun from the woman's head and pointed it 
at him instead. Relieved that the woman no longer seemed in immediate 
danger, Nick tried to reason with Volker again. "Give up. You can't get 
away with this. We know who you are."
	"And I know who <you> are," said Volker, self-righteously. Then, 
without warning, Volker suddenly shoved the woman out of the way, 
while at the same time firing twice rapidly.
	Nick felt the impact of the bullets on his chest, the force knocking 
him backwards into a stack of nearby boxes and toppling them as he fell 
to the floor. He could hear people screaming around him as he lay on the 
floor gasping for breath. The intense agony passed rapidly and as Nick 
rolled to his hands and knees, he could sense Volker's presence fading. 
Lurching to his feet, he put a hand on his chest in an attempt to suppress 
the lingering pain throbbing within. Staggering at first, then recovering 
enough to run, he started after Volker.
	He could see him up ahead. He gave chase, stumbling 
occasionally, and was soon close on his assailant's heels. Volker 
suddenly darted to the left and through a door. Without pausing, Nick 
rushed after him and crashed through the door behind him, severely 
startled to find himself in bright sunshine. Reacting on pure survival 
instinct, Nick recoiled and leaped quickly back the way he had come, 
seeking the life sustaining shade of the inner corridor, a few small wisps 
of smoke marking his course.
	In his panic to return the way he had come, Nick's vampiric 
strength had caused him to inadvertently rip the door from it's hinges. He 
had moved far enough down the hall to be sheltered from the sunlight, 
but was still visible, to the one standing out in the courtyard, as he sat on 
the floor trying to catch his breath. Nick's eyes once again glowed bright 
amber with just a trace of red and with his fangs clearly visible, he 
snarled in frustration.

	Volker had paused once he realized the chase had ended. It only 
took him a moment to realize the servant of the devil could not stand in 
the light of day. At first smiling, then laughing at the clearly frustrated 
demon, he proclaimed, "I have won. You cannot defeat me. I command 
you to go back from whence you came; back to the bowels of the earth. 
Tell your evil master that I am more powerful and I will not be stopped. 
Interfere with me again, and you will surely die."
	"You cannot escape me this easily. I will stop you," proclaimed 
Nick, in the deep guttural voice brought on by the emergence of his 
beast. 
	Continuing to laugh maniacally, Volker slowly stepped towards 
Nick, stopping when he reached the edge of the sunlight. "The day has 
been won, and you have lost," declared the killer. "Begone, demon," he 
evoked, raising his gun to take careful aim at the supernatural detective 
before him.

===
CHAPTER TWENTY


	Just as Nick flinched and drew back, in expectation of being shot, 
he heard footsteps run up behind him and a voice yelled, "freeze." He 
opened his eyes as a shot was fired wildly in the corridor, and he caught 
a final glimpse of Volker as he ran out of sight across the courtyard.
	"Hey, Nick. Are you okay?" asked Schanke, hurriedly and out of 
breath. He dropped to the ground behind Nick, who was barely nodding, 
and put his hands on Nick's shoulders, gripping him tightly. He continued, 
"man, he was going to shoot you. Are you sure you're okay?"
	Nick nodded again, as he glared out at the courtyard where 
Volker had last stood. He was furious. He had come so close, he should 
have had him. Nick closed his eyes and took a couple of deep breaths, 
forcing himself to regain some semblance of normality. He managed to 
calm himself enough so that no outward sign of the beast was apparent, 
although inwardly he was seething. Rubbing his chest absently, he noted 
that the pain from before was almost gone.
	They slowly made their way back inside, returning to the area 
where Volker had taken a hostage. As they drew nearer, they could hear 
shouting. Turning the corner, Nick saw where a small contingent of Metro 
police officers had already descended on the scene and were taking 
charge of the witnesses.
	"Nick, are you really sure you're okay?" asked Schanke, yet 
again.
	"Skank, I told you I'm fine," replied Nick wearily. Then as another 
thought dawned on him, he asked, "why aren't you in the hospital?"
	"Hey, partner. It wasn't really that serious, and when I heard you 
were involved in another shooting match while pursuing our guy, I had to 
come," replied Schanke, "and good thing too, wouldn't you say?" He 
grabbed Nick by the shoulders and was holding him at arm's length, 
looking him over.
	"What? What's wrong?" asked Nick, perplexed at the scrutiny.
	"I heard you took two in the chest," answered Schanke, releasing 
one hand from Nick, just to soundly pat him on the chest a couple of 
times. "Thank God you didn't take this off," he commented with a relieved 
sigh, referring to the kevlar vest Nick was still wearing.
	Nick cringed slightly at the pressure on his chest. Getting shot 
wearing a vest was actually more painful than if he hadn't been wearing 
it, at least for a vampire, although it did make it easier to explain why he 
was still walking around.
	Seeing Nick wince, Schanke hurriedly said, "geez, I'm sorry. I bet 
that still hurts."
	Nodding in agreement with Schanke's remark, Nick looked 
around at the activity. "Looks like everyone is all right," he commented 
tiredly.
	"Yeah. It's just too bad, what's his name, Volker got away. But 
don't worry, partner, we've got cops all over the streets around this place. 
If he's still in the area, we'll catch him," proclaimed Schanke. "How did he 
get away from you, anyway?" he asked curiously. "It's not like you to let 
one get away when you're so close on his heels. What was that I walked 
in on back there?"
	"He ran outside. I couldn't follow him," answered Nick tiredly, as 
he casually started walking towards a table and chairs sitting in front of a 
closed coffee bar.
	As soon as he sat down, Schanke said to him, "where's the 
Caddy?"
	Looking up at him questioningly, Nick answered, "a couple of 
blocks over by Volker's apartment. Why?"
	"Give me the keys. I'll have a couple uniform cops go pick it up 
and bring it around to the parking garage. Then I can take you home. It 
looks like you had a long night and could use some sleep," he explained.
	Looking somewhat amazed, Nick replied, "you're the one that got 
shot."
	"Yeah, well so did you," Schanke retorted mildly. "Now just give 
me the keys."
	Nick handed over his keys and watched as Schanke went and 
talked to a couple uniformed officers. As soon as the officers left, 
Schanke rejoined him at the table. They waited there for the officers to 
return from their errand. After some slight prodding, Nick filled him in on 
the events since leaving him in the hospital. When the officers returned 
with the car, Schanke drove Nick back to his loft, with Nick in the trunk 
and out of the bright sun.

	He had just gotten out of the shower and was drying off when he 
heard his name being called. 
	"Nick, are you here?" yelled Natalie from the kitchen.
	Sticking his head out his bedroom door, he called down to her, 
"just a minute." He threw on a pair of old jeans and a sweatshirt, then 
joined her downstairs.
	"What are you doing here?" he inquired, as he was halfway down 
the stairs.
	"I heard about what happened at the mall, and I was worried. 
When I didn't see the Caddy downstairs, I wasn't sure if you were here or 
not, even though the sun's been up for hours," she answered.
	"Schanke took the car after dropping me off," he explained, as he 
reached the kitchen where she was standing. They stared at each other 
for a moment, neither one speaking. Then Nick said, "So, you were 
worried?"
	After a moment's hesitation, she replied, "with good cause, it 
would seem."
	"Nat, I was fine the whole time," he responded.
	"Is that the whole time while you were being shot, or the whole 
time when you were playing outside in the sun?" she asked sarcastically.
	"Look, I was wearing a vest, and I didn't know the door led 
outside. It just caught me a little off guard, but everything worked out 
fine," he replied.
	"This time," she remarked dryly, sensing she wasn't really getting 
the whole story. She watched as Nick walked over to the fireplace. He lit 
the flames using the remote, then stood there staring at them as he ran 
his fingers through his wet hair. "Nick?" she called to him. When he 
looked up at her, she continued, "you want to tell me how this guy caught 
you so off guard?"
	"I guess I'm just a little out of practice," he commented, sighing.
	"Out of practice for what?" she asked curiously, thinking that was 
a strange answer.
	He hesitated, wanting to answer her, yet not really wanting her to 
know. Finally, he settled on saying, "I was too focused on tracking him, 
and then chasing him, that I didn't pay close enough attention to what 
was going on around me. I was so intent on Volker, I didn't notice the 
people up ahead. If I had, I may have been able to prevent him from 
taking that woman hostage."
	"You don't know that," she interjected.
	Conceding to her, he continued, "maybe. After he shot me, I was 
so angry I just wanted to catch him. I was chasing him too fast to stop, 
even if I had realized the door led outside."
	"You're lucky the door didn't close behind you, locking you 
outside," scolded Natalie.
	"As it was, I ended up ripping the door off it's hinges anyway," he 
replied with a smile.
	"So, what's next?" she inquired.
	He just shrugged.
	"Well, I mainly just wanted to make sure you were okay. Since 
you're obviously still alive, although why I don't know, I'll head home and 
let you get some sleep," she said, starting to leave.
	Nick turned around, then hurried to walk her to the elevator. 
"Thanks for stopping by. It's nice to know you worry about me," he 
commented, smiling at her.
	"I just wish you would be a little more careful. I don't know why 
that's so hard," she entreated.
	He pulled the door open for her, then gave her a quick kiss on 
her forehead. "I know what I'm doing," he said confidently.
	Smiling, somewhat reassured, she said, "I'll see you tonight."
	Nick let the door close and stood there as the elevator 
descended. He then headed for the fridge. Pulling out a green bottle, he 
uncorked it and poured the contents into a glass. Leaving the bottle on 
the counter, he picked up his glass and wandered over to his piano. He 
took a swallow from his glass, set it down on the piano top as he sat on 
the bench. He ran his fingers lightly over the keys. 
	He hadn't really played in a couple of weeks, and now he needed 
something to calm his mind so he could sleep. He cleared his thoughts 
and let the music come. He played bits and pieces, stopping inbetween to 
sip from his glass. After a short while, he got up for a refill, then returned 
to the piano. As he began to relax, he continued to play. As he played, he 
reviewed the events of the past week in his mind.
	Since this case began, he had relied on his vampiric nature more 
so than he had in any previous case. He felt saddened and exhilarated at 
the same time. He was sad, because he had been working so hard these 
past couple of years in trying to suppress these traits, and he thought he 
had been succeeding. In fact, when he had first seen Janette again, a 
few months ago, she had even commented on how she could hardly 
sense him any more. At the time, he had taken it as a sign that he was 
moving closer to his coveted state of mortality.
	Now he knew that this was not the case. His senses hadn't been 
fading, they were just laying dormant within himself. This past week had 
proved that much was evident. As his frustration with not being able to 
track this killer using mortal methods increased, he had turned to his 
darker side. He had found his vampiric abilities waiting just beneath the 
surface, and they came rushing to the foreground at his slightest urging. 
And the more he used them, the more empowered he felt. They were 
what had allowed him to track this killer, and what allowed him to come 
within a handsbreath of catching him. But they were also what allowed 
the killer to escape. Using them more had also reawakened his desire for 
the hunt, for blood, for satisfaction. That's probably what led him to 
Janette the other night, and why he now had such a thirst.
	Laughing morosely to himself, he thought it ironic that this killer 
thought he was a demon. This was something he had sometimes 
wondered himself. There were those among his kind that believed their 
nature was brought about by demons, although he had never believed 
that himself. Probably because LaCroix wouldn't hear of it. LaCroix didn't 
believe in demons. LaCroix didn't believe in a lot of things. LaCroix was 
dead, he forcefully reminded himself.
	The thought of LaCroix immediately took over his thoughts, a 
direction that he did not want to go. It was the reemergence of his beast 
that was responsible for his thoughts of LaCroix. Of that he was sure. 
This case, combined with him starting to use his senses again, are what 
dredged up the memories of his father, and of Florence. But that was so 
long ago, and much had happened since then. Many things were 
different, very different. LaCroix was dead.
	He forced himself to stop thinking about LaCroix, about the killer, 
about the blood. He turned back to the music and began to pay closer 
attention to what he was playing. He needed to clear his mind. He 
needed to rest. He knew he couldn't sleep with all these thoughts racing 
through his head. Focusing on the music, he continued to play.

	Meanwhile, Erich Volker was holed up in a motel up by the 
University. It really hadn't been hard to elude the police, and since he 
hadn't known where he was going, he felt certain that the police wouldn't 
either. He had been wracking his brain all morning trying to figure out 
how they found out who he was. The only thing he could think of was 
Sally Barnett. She was the only one who had seen him and could identify 
him.
	Of course, now there was also Detective Knight. But no one was 
going to hold it against him for purging a demon from their midst. After all, 
it's not like he was human or anything. But he would be a problem. He 
had been sent to stop him, and that just couldn't be allowed. There was 
still much left to do. Planning was the key. The first step would be to 
eliminate Sally Barnett. He should have done that before now, but he had 
been tricked into thinking she didn't matter.
	First thing he needed to do was find out where she was. There 
would only be so many places to keep her. Let's see now. What was that 
news reporter's name? Tate, that's it. Steve Tate. Just in case they were 
tracking incoming calls, Volker went to find a payphone.
	After leaving the motel, he found one a few blocks away. Looking 
up the number in the phone book, he dialed it now.
	"Children's Services Division. How may I direct your call?"
	"I'm Steve Tate, a reporter for CRTV. I need to talk to someone 
about Sally Barnett."
	"Yes, sir. Just a moment. I'll connect you with Dr. Reynold's 
office."
	"Dr. Reynolds office."
	"Yes, I'm Steve Tate, a news reporter with CRTV. I'm doing a 
follow up report on the Barnett killings, and wanted to see if I could speak 
to someone about Sally Barnett. I understand she's at one of your 
facilities."
	"I'm sorry Mr. Tate. You would have to speak with Dr. Reynolds 
regarding any information, and she's not available right now. Can I have 
her return your call?"
	"No, that really won't be necessary. Actually, all I really need is to 
have you confirm to me where Sally Barnett is located. I can follow up 
with Dr. Reynolds a little later."
	"I'm sorry sir, I can't give out that information. You'll need to 
speak with Dr. Reynolds."
	"I'll call her back later then."
	"Very well, sir. Thank you."
	After hanging up the phone, Volker headed back for his motel 
room. He didn't want to be on the streets any more than necessary. He 
didn't want some lucky cop to bump into him; that would be messy.
	Finding Sally Barnett wasn't going to be as easy as he hoped. He 
was going to have to go snooping around for her himself. But at least he 
knew her doctor's name now. If he could find this Dr. Reynolds, she could 
lead him to the little girl.

	Groggily opening his eyes, he tried to determine where that 
sound was coming from. It was his telephone. Grabbing the back of the 
couch, he pulled himself up and picked up the receiver just before the 
machine would have answered.
	"Yeah, Knight here," he spoke, his voice sounding a little gravelly.
	"Detective Knight?" was the queried response.
	"Yes, who's this?"
	"Detective, this is Dr. Reynolds," she answered. "Obviously I've 
woken you, I'm sorry about that, but I thought you would want to hear 
this."
	Almost fully alert now, he replied, "what's that?"
	"I received a strange phone call this morning. A man called and 
spoke to my secretary. He said his name was Steve Tate and he was a 
news reporter with CRTV," she began.
	"I know who he is," commented Nick.
	"Well, he didn't want to leave a message, and he said he wanted 
to know where Sally was staying. When my secretary wouldn't release 
that information, he said he would call me back. When I returned from 
lunch, rather than waiting for him to call, I decided to call him instead. 
Well, when I got him on the phone, he claimed he didn't know what I was 
talking about," she finished.
	"He hadn't called you?" inquired Nick.
	"According to him, no," answered Dr. Reynolds. "Do you know 
what this is about?"
	"I think so," he answered. "I want you to increase Sally's security. 
That was probably the man who killed her parents looking to finish the 
job."
	"You warned us this might happen, so I was sure you would want 
to know," she said.
	"You're right. I appreciate your calling," he replied. "Thank you, 
Doctor."
	As soon as he hung up from speaking with Dr. Reynolds, he 
called Schanke and told him to get right over. There was still a couple of 
hours before sunset, but Nick thought he just might have a plan to draw 
out Volker, and he needed Schanke's help.

	A couple of hours later, everything was set up in Nick's garage. 
Schanke had come right over and helped him with the details. Nick had 
called the reporter, Tate, and had easily enlisted his full cooperation.
	"Okay, Detectives, ready to go?" asked Tate, as he straightened 
his tie.
	"We're ready," Schanke answered for them.
	Tate made a final check with the cameraman, then giving the all 
go signal, waited for the count, then began. "Good evening. I'm Steve 
Tate, with CRTV, and we're here with Detectives Nicholas Knight and 
Don Schanke. They are the team investigating the brutal murders from 
last week, of George and Donna Barnett, with their daughter, Sally, as 
the sole survivor." He moved aside slightly, and turned to address the 
detectives. "I understand you have identified the killer, and almost 
apprehended him this morning."
	"Yes, that's right. His name is Erich Volker. We went to arrest him 
this morning, but he had left just before we arrived. We tracked him to the 
Eaton Centre, where there was a small altercation, and he got away," 
related Schanke.
	"Detective Schanke, I understand you were wounded last night. 
How did that happen?" asked Tate.
	"Oh, that," Schanke said, laughing lightly. "Fortunately for me, the 
guy's a lousy shot. It turned out to be just a scratch. We had tracked him 
to a nearby park. After he took a couple potshots at us, he got scared 
and ran away. My partner followed him to his car, and then it was just a 
matter of looking up his address and going to his apartment."
	"Detective Knight, what can you tell us about Erich Volker?" 
inquired the reporter.
	"We have his picture, that I believe you're going to show. Other 
than that, from what we've gathered, he's not really all that bright. He had 
a lucky break this morning, that's the only reason he's not in custody. 
We're confident that we'll be picking him up soon," answered Nick.
	"What can you tell us about his motive, Detective. Why did he kill 
those people?"
	"He has these juvenile delusions, and fancies himself some kind 
of devil worshipper. He sees demons everywhere. That's just further 
proof of his lack of intelligence. He commits these spectacular crimes 
because he wants to be caught," explained Nick.
	"You say he wants to be caught. What makes you say that?" 
asked Tate, requesting further clarification.
	"Well, for instance, he left clues all over the crime scene, 
including an eye witness. You don't do that if you don't want to be 
caught," reasoned Nick.
	"You're talking about Sally, the Barnett's six year old daughter. 
Aren't you concerned that he may change his mind and try to go after 
her?" Tate further inquired.
	Schanke stepped in and replied, "no, not really. I mean, he might 
try, but the Hayter facility has the best security there is. It would be really 
tough for him to get to her there."
	"Detectives, how soon can we expect an arrest?"
	"We're closing in on him as we speak. Any time now," replied 
Schanke confidently.
	"Okay, and there you have it. This is Steve Tate, with CRTV."
	The cameraman gave the signal that the tape had stopped 
running. The bright lights were turned off and Tate handed the 
microphone to his assistant.
	"Exactly when is this going to air?" asked Schanke.
	"I've already cleared it with the producer, and it'll be the lead 
story on the local early evening news tonight, then every broadcast 
through tomorrow. And we're going to advertise it every half hour. If he's 
watching, he'll see it. So, you think this will work?" asked Tate, excited at 
the prospect, and the promised scoop.
	"You'll be one of the first to know," answered Nick.
	As Tate and his people began to pack up the camera's, Schanke 
turned to Nick, "so, you don't think we laid it on a little thick?"
	"No. You did great," replied Nick, with a smile.
	"You weren't half bad yourself. I liked that devil worshipping bit. 
That ought to send him over the edge," said Schanke, laughing a little 
himself.
	"I'll stay here while these guys clear out. You better get over to 
the Hayter facility and make sure everything is ready for Mr. Volker," 
suggested Nick.
	"On my way," said Schanke, glad to actually be able to be 
proactive on this case for once.

===
CHAPTER TWENTY ONE


	Schanke was checking over the readiness of everyone at the 
Children Service's Hayter Facility. The east wing on the second floor had 
been cleared, and all the staff were actually police officers working 
undercover. Just enough of a lapse in security had been left to allow an 
intruder entrance, but not so much as to make it appear to be a set up. 
Now all they had to do was wait, which was the hardest part.
	Nick was in the room that had been identified as belonging to 
Sally Barnett. A small mannequin had been placed in the bed, and Nick 
was hiding in the closet. He knew he would be able to tell the moment 
Volker entered the room. A signal from him on the radio, and the room 
would be swarming with cops. There was no way Volker would get away 
from them tonight.

	Volker had missed the early evening news, but had seen the, 
"more news at eleven" ads and tuned in. What he saw sent him through 
the roof. He was furious. How dare they say he wasn't very intelligent. 
He'd been outwitting the police for over three years now, and they didn't 
track him to the park. He lured them there. But the worst blow of all was 
being called a devil worshipper. That was so far from the truth, and that 
Detective Knight knew it. In fact, Detective Knight was the one in league 
with the devil.
	But there was one thing they were right about, and that was 
leaving Sally Barnett as an eye witness. He'd show them who wanted to 
be caught. Well, one good thing came out of their flagrant distorting of the 
facts. Their obvious stupidity let him learn where Sally Barnett was, and 
the last thing they would expect would be for him to show up there 
tonight. Grabbing his backpack, he headed for the Hayter facility where 
he would rid himself of at least one problem tonight. Let them explain that 
on the news tomorrow. They would be the ones looking like fools.

	"Hey, Nick, you there?" crackled his radio.
	"I'm here. What's up?"
	"We got a situation down on the lower floor. I'm heading down to 
take care of it. Will you be okay while I'm gone?"
	"Yeah, Skank. I'll be fine. Let me know if there's a problem," 
answered Nick, impatiently waiting for Volker to show. Nick was certain 
he would.

	Schanke headed down to the lower floor. "Hey, Petrie, what's the 
problem?" he asked once he got there.
	"A couple of detectives from the 96th are here, and they're not 
very happy. They demanded to see either you or Knight. We moved them 
back over there, out of the way," said Petrie, motioning down the hallway.
	Schanke looked around the corner and saw Bissett and Clarke 
restlessly cooling their heels. Taking a deep breath, he sighed. "Thanks, 
Petrie. I'll take care of it."
	As he was seen approaching them, Bissett blurted out, "just what 
the hell are you and Knight doing?"
	"What are you guys doing here?" asked Schanke, ignoring the 
earlier question.
	"That's what we came to ask you, and I want an answer," 
demanded Bissett.
	"Keep your voice down," implored Schanke. "What does it look 
like we're doing?"
	"Did you and Knight forget that this was our case too?" asked 
Clarke.
	"Yeah, and just where is the golden-boy?" sneered Bissett. At 
Schanke's questioning look, he added, "we heard about his little 
<altercation> at the mall this morning."
	"How come we had to see you two on the news to find out what 
was going on?" inquired Clarke. Neither man had given Schanke a 
chance to reply.
	"Just hold your horses," said Schanke in a rush. "No one's trying 
to squeeze you guys out of anything." At their skeptical looks, he added, 
"this was a last minute, spur of the moment thing. We didn't want to 
spread the word around because we don't want our suspect to know this 
is a trap."
	"You don't want him to know it's a trap?" asked Clarke 
incredulously. "You did everything but show him a map. Do you honestly 
think that Volker is going to come waltzing in here tonight?"
	"Yeah, we do," stated Schanke.
	"Well, while you two are staked out here waiting for him, he's 
probably figured out it's a trap and is headed over to the D'Arcy facility as 
we speak," retorted Bissett.
	"Look, you two can either stay and help, or get the hell out of our 
way," quipped Schanke.
	"Fine. You and Knight can spin your wheels all you want. This is 
a waste of time. We're out of here," snapped Bissett, turning to storm off, 
his partner close on his heels.
	Shaking his head, Schanke left the hallway and headed back to 
the upper floor to resume his wait.

	Meanwhile, unbeknownst to the three detectives arguing in the 
hallway, a lone observer lingered in the room at the end of the hall. He 
had held the door open just a crack, and had heard the entire 
conversation. So, this was a trap and they thought to catch him. Well, as 
it turned out, he was smarter than them. He now knew it was a trap, and 
he also now knew where Sally Barnett really was. Very quietly, he 
allowed the door to close, then carefully retraced his steps out of the 
facility.

	It was late, and Sally should have been sleeping. Instead, she lay 
in bed in her room, listening to the noises from the hallway. She had been 
here almost a week now, and was almost beginning to get used to what 
noises were normal and which weren't. She sat up, seeing the door to her 
room beginning to open. Anyone coming to her room certainly wouldn't 
creep in, she thought nervously. She crawled onto the floor and crouched 
at the end of the bed, waiting to see who was coming to see her.
	When the man finally made his entrance, the glow from her night 
light illuminated his face. She recognized him immediately. It was the 
man who killed her parents, the man that Nick said he was going to 
arrest. Scared, and in a panic, she ran into the bathroom and slammed 
the door shut, locking it behind her.

	Volker cursed as he saw the girl run and lock herself in the 
bathroom. She wasn't going to get away from him that easily. Moving to 
the door, he paused for a second, then kicked it hard. The door gave a 
little, but didn't open. He kicked again, and again. On his third try, it 
smashed open. He dashed into the bathroom, only to find it empty. The 
door on the opposite side was open to another room, and Sally must 
have run out. He followed after her, but she was no where to be seen. 
The door from this room to the hall was open, and the floor was 
practically deserted. She couldn't have gone far, and there were only so 
many places to hide. He began searching for her.

	"Hey, Nick," said Schanke into the radio.
	"What is it?"
	"It's getting kind of late. Don't you think he would be here by 
now?" inquired Schanke. "The last news broadcast was three hours ago."
	"Maybe," replied Nick. "Let's give it some more time."
	"Roger that," said Schanke, signing off and settling back in to 
wait.

	Sally huddled in a dark corner, scared. Every once in awhile she 
heard a noise, but it never came close. She knew <he> was here, and 
<he> was looking for her.

	Volker knew the little girl was hiding from him. He had begun a 
methodical search, only to have it interrupted occasionally when a late 
night worker wandered by. He would duck down and hide, then resume 
again after they passed.

	Dr. Reynolds had been informed of the trap that Detectives 
Knight and Schanke were using to try and catch Sally's parents killer. 
She had decided to remain in her office until she heard it was over, as 
there was no telling how the results may affect the small girl. Being a little 
at loose ends, she decided to go peek in and see how Sally was doing. 
She was very surprised when she found the child was not in her room, 
and after checking with the staff, no one knew where she was. 
Suspecting the worse, she placed a call to the precinct.

	A short time later, Schanke received a phone call and he 
immediately radioed Nick. "Hey, partner. You there?"
	"I'm here," answered Nick.
	"Just got a call from the precinct. Dr. Reynolds called and said 
Sally is missing. No one can find her," reported Schanke.
	Nick stood up and came out of his hiding place. "They're sure 
she's missing?"
	"Said they searched everywhere, can't find her," related 
Schanke.
	"He's there," spat Nick with conviction.
	"You don't know that," cautioned Schanke. "She could have just 
wandered off."
	"And what's the odds of that?" asked Nick skeptically.
	After a slight hesitation, Schanke replied, "you're right. What do 
you want to do?"
	"Handle things here, just in case. Then dispatch some men to the 
D'Arcy facility. I'll head over there now," ordered Nick.
	"Will do, partner. Keep in touch," replied Schanke.
	Nick walked over to the room's window and raised the glass. 
Looking outside, he saw no one about. He jumped out the window, and 
started flying in the direction of the D'Arcy facility. If Volker was there, 
then Sally was in trouble, and he had to save her.

	Sally heard someone nearing her hiding place. She knew if he 
caught her, he would do to her what he had done to her parents. 
Terrified, she quietly crawled on the floor towards a nearby couch. She 
squeezed herself between the couch and the wall, and began waiting 
again.

	Nick reached the facility in just a couple minutes, as it had only 
been a short distance away. He forced open a window on the top floor, 
and entered the building unnoticed. He passed through the room and into 
the hallway. Once there, he paused, listening carefully. He thought he 
heard something down the hall to his right. Extending his senses, he tried 
to see if he could detect Volker's presence. Nothing yet. He headed down 
the corridor.
	As he slowly walked down the hall, he came to a large 
community room at it's end. As soon as he neared it, he sensed a 
vibration. He couldn't see him yet, but he knew the killer was there. As 
Nick walked into the room, a man at the far end stood up and spun to 
face him, and they locked stares with each other. Nick started towards 
him, just as Volker pulled out his cross and brandished it in his direction.
	Growling, he instinctively fell back a pace, but held his ground. 
"Give it up, Volker. You won't get away this time," snarled Nick.
	Feeling supremely confident, he replied, "of course I will. You can 
lie all you want, demon, but in the end, I'm stronger and I will vanquish 
you."
	"Not a chance," proclaimed Nick determinedly.
	Then, just as Nick began to advance towards Volker, he moved 
away. They warily circled each other, looking for the other's weakness. 
Just as Nick was thinking to rush Volker, a movement caught him out of 
the corner of his eye.
	He and Volker both turned to look. It was Sally. She must have 
heard Nick and was coming out of hiding to go to him. Nick and Volker 
started for her at the same time, but Volker was much closer. She hadn't 
seen him until he snatched her around the waist and lifted her off the 
ground. She screamed.
	Tightly gripping the little girl, he lifted her up with one hand, while 
steadily holding the cross with the other. "Stay back, demon," ordered 
Volker, as he slowly backed out of the room.
	Nick followed him, keeping a discreet distance, looking for an 
opening. Volker backed out the door of the community room that led to an 
outdoor patio. Once they were outside, he looked wildly for an exit. The 
nearest one was far on the other side.
	"I said stay back," demanded Volker, holding the cross high in his 
outstretched arm. Sally was crying, screaming, and struggling in his grip, 
distracting him. He held her tighter, knowing the demon wouldn't attack 
him while he held the child.
	Nick, finally having enough, rushed forward. He grabbed the 
cross and ripped it from Volker's hands. Ignoring the burning pain that 
seared through his palm, he furiously tossed it aside, the faint smell of 
burnt flesh lingering in the air. Volker looked at him in total astonishment, 
and dropped the little girl. Nick quickly grabbed Sally and shoved her 
behind him. Believing her now to be safe, he turned his menacing visage 
upon her captor.
	Meanwhile, Volker got over the shock of having the demon 
snatch the cross from his hand. Quickly reaching into his backpack, he 
pulled out an already armed small crossbow, and pointed it at Nick. 
Laughing, he shouted, "die, demon."
	Having already unleashed his beast, Nick watched Volker in 
silent fortitude. As the arrow flew the short distance between them, in a 
motion faster than the human eye could follow, Nick reached up and 
snatched the deadly missile from the air. Glowering sternly at Volker's 
shocked expression, he squeezed his fist, snapping the arrow in half, and 
let the shards fall to the ground.
	Volker looked on in horror, as the demon's enraged and glowing 
red eyes turned to him. Panicking, Volker turned and began to run, as the 
demon bared his fangs and advanced towards him, growling in it's ire. 
Hoping to reach the far exit and escape, Volker ran with the knowledge 
that his life depended upon escaping this demon's wrath.
	With instincts born of the hunt, Nick flew at his antagonist. The 
impact of his body on Volker, propelled them both forward towards the 
roof's edge. As their momentum threatened to send them over, Nick 
tightened his hold on Volker, while with his other hand, he reached to 
grab hold of the railing, just as gravity pulled their bodies downwards. 
They hung for a few moments, suspended in the air, until Nick's fingers 
lost their tenuous grip, causing them both to fall the three stories to the 
ground. As they fell, Nick released Volker and pushed him away, and 
then called on his vampiric abilities to control his own fall. As it was, his 
body impacted the ground hard. He landed on his back with the wind 
knocked out of him, gasping for air.
	As soon as he was able to catch his breath, he pushed himself to 
a sitting position and looked around for Volker. At first, he didn't see him 
anywhere. When he got to his feet, he smelled blood and looked in the 
direction of the scent. Startled, he stepped back in surprise when he 
spotted the body. Volker had fallen the three stories, impaling himself on 
a wrought iron fence. He was very dead.
	As he started to step towards the body, he was halted by the 
frantic shouting coming from his right. Turning to look, he saw Schanke, 
with a squad of officer's, rushing onto the grounds. Looking up, he 
spotted Dr. Reynolds on the patio peering down. She waved, indicating 
that everything was all right where she was. Sally was okay.
	He staggered slightly as Schanke reached him, slapping him on 
the back.
	"Man, oh, man, oh, man. I do not believe this," exclaimed 
Schanke.
	Nick gave him a slightly dazed look.
	Schanke continued, "now that is what I call real shish kabob, 
partner. Just how did you do that? That's over thirty feet," he added, 
indicating the distance from the roof to the ground.
	Nick just raised his hands in a gesture of, 'who knows?'
	"Good job, partner. Good job," declared Schanke, slapping him 
on the back some more. Schanke threw his arm around Nick's shoulders 
and pulled him out of the way as the various teams descended on the 
scene.

	Nick and Schanke stayed to oversee the activity. Stonetree was 
the first to arrive and congratulate them. It had been just less than a week 
ago that the Barnett's had been killed, and the fact that they had solved a 
seemingly complex case in so short a time was considered remarkable, 
especially so for having tied in the previous murders. Stonetree 
mentioned that he had already called the mayor, who was extremely 
pleased.
	Shortly after Stonetree, Natalie arrived in her capacity as Medical 
Examiner. After a brief inspection of the body, she ordered it removed 
from the scene. It took a little work to extricate it from the fence, but it was 
finally loaded into the coroner's van and headed for the morgue. Natalie 
stayed behind with Nick and Schanke, as the rest of the forensics team 
finished their work.
	While all this was going on, Nick had gone back upstairs to see 
Sally. He had stayed and talked with her until Dr. Reynolds finally 
decided to give her a light sedative. This had been a very traumatic event 
for her, especially coming so closely on the heels of seeing her parents 
murdered by the same man almost a week ago. Once Sally was tucked 
in and sleeping, Nick headed back outside to join Schanke and Natalie.
	"Well, partner," started Schanke, as soon as Nick returned, "I 
think it's time to call it a night, don't you?"
	"I think you two deserve it," added Natalie, smiling happily at the 
two of them.
	"Yeah, I could use some down time," admitted Nick, smiling with 
relief.
	Schanke put his arm around him, slapped him on the back and 
hugged him. "I'm with you, partner. We did a fine job here tonight, and the 
citizens of Toronto can rest easy in their beds once again."
	Nick looked at Schanke as if he thought he was laying it on a little 
thick.
	"What?" asked Schanke, grinning at Nick's look.
	"Where are you two headed," inquired Stonetree, coming back to 
join them.
	"Um, well, we thought we'd book off now," declared Schanke.
	"You do that," ordered Stonetree. "And I don't want to see either 
of your faces again until Sunday night, hear me?"
	"Are you serious, Cap?" asked Schanke, surprised. "You're 
giving us four days off?"
	"Is that a problem, Detective?"
	"No, Captain. Not at all," answered Schanke happily.
	"What about you, Knight? You got a problem with taking some 
extra days?" asked Stonetree curiously, knowing his star detective had a 
tendency to balk at taking extra time off.
	Much to the Captain's surprise, Nick answered, "no. No 
problem."

	After seeing Schanke off, Natalie offered to give Nick a ride to his 
car, which he readily accepted. Driving the short distance back to the 
Hayter facility, Natalie pulled up and parked behind the Caddy. They 
lingered in her car, both mildly hesitant to leave right away.
	"You know, Nick," said Natalie, a bit tensely. "This whole case 
really had me concerned."
	"Nat, I told you that you didn't need to worry about me," he 
replied softly, interpreting her meaning. "Everything turned out okay."
	"You have to admit though, I had good reason to be worried," she 
insisted gently.
	He looked out at the ground, not responding.
	"I know you haven't told me everything," she informed him, "and I 
just want you to know, that's okay. I don't expect you to tell me every little 
detail."
	Smiling, he looked up at her, and said sincerely, "I just don't want 
you to worry."
	Laughing, she replied, "that would be much easier if you could 
refrain from getting shot, stayed out of the sun, and quit leaping off of 
cliffs and tall buildings."
	"Did I do all that?" he answered, grinning charmingly back at her.
	"Yeah, you did all that... and probably a lot more that I'll never 
hear about," she retorted teasingly.
	"Okay, I promise. I'll be more careful," he replied.
	Nodding her head in agreement, she said, "good. I know I'll sleep 
a lot better."
	Turning serious, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. 
"It's nice to know you really care."
	She looked up at him wonderingly, as he opened the car door 
and stepped out, closing the door behind him. She looked at him for a 
brief moment, then started her car. In response to his wave, she waved 
back at him as she then drove off, headed for home.
	Nick stood there, lost in thought, as he watched her leaving. After 
a short moment, he shook his head, and smiling to himself, headed for 
his car and home.

===
EPILOGUE


	Later that morning, with the steel shutters closed tight against the 
burgeoning sun, the loft was aglow with the soft radiance of a myriad of 
candles set about the room. The fireplace was lit, shedding an even 
brighter light upon the faces of the two who were very comfortably 
ensconced in the blankets and pillows sprawled on the carpet in front of 
it's burning flames.
	Janette was sitting up, a pillow at her back, leaning against the 
leather chair, dressed only in Nick's unbuttoned silk shirt. Nick lay with 
his head in her lap, eyes half closed in relaxed satiation, staring 
unseeingly into the fire. She picked up a nearby bottle and refilled her 
glass. She raised it to her lips, taking a small sip. All the while, she 
absently stroked Nick's hair, as he occasionally sighed with contentment.
	"Nicolas," she whispered softly, knowing he was still awake.
	"Hm?" came the quiet reply.
	"Would you like something to drink?" she inquired solicitously.
	Pushing himself off her lap, he sat up and turned to face her, 
gathering the blankets about his waist as he did so. He accepted the 
glass she handed him and took a swallow. "Thank you," he replied.
	She watched as the firelight shimmered against the pale skin of 
his chest. "I'm so happy that you invited me over. I can't think of a better 
way to spend the day, mon cheri." She smiled warmly at him.
	He had told her all about Volker. About tracking him down, 
chasing him, only to have him escape. Laying a trap, only to have it miss, 
then having to chase him down again. She could tell he was very 
satisfied that this killer had been caught, although he lacked the 
enthusiasm of 700 years ago. But that was to be expected.
	"I'm glad you came," he replied, smiling comfortably at her.
	Shortly after arriving at home, he had an impulse to call her, and 
did so before he could give it more thought. This had been a rough week 
for him. Volker was dead, and that case was over. He could put it out of 
his mind and go on. He knew that would not be a problem. But a lot of old 
feelings, old memories, and long suppressed desires had also risen to 
the surface. They weren't so easily dismissed.
	He and Janette shared an intimate closeness brought on by their 
800 years of knowing each other. She always made him feel good, 
happy, content, warm, and safe. And since the worse thing he could have 
done to cause a rift between them was now out in the open, and she 
freely admitted she didn't hate him for it, he felt incredible relief... and 
gratitude.
	He doubted if their relationship would ever go back to what it was 
at it's most intense, but he had missed their frequent interludes together. 
With her, he could be himself, completely. He needed no barriers, no 
excuses, no reasons. He could simply be, and she accepted that. Turning 
to look at the fire, he put his glass to his lips and drank.
	Janette reached over and took hold of his glass. She met his 
questioning look with a smile. He released the goblet to her, looking on 
with anticipation of her motives. He didn't have long to wait, as she 
leaned forward to kiss him. He moved towards her, and moaned softly as 
his lips melted against hers. He raised his arms and wrapped them 
around her, then lay back on the blankets, pulling her on top of him. He 
sighed as he felt her soft skin caress against his, their naked legs 
entwining.
	She held his face between her hands, and continued to kiss him 
thoroughly. He surrendered himself to her ministrations completely. 
Pulling her lips from his, she moved slightly away, softly kissing him again 
as he raised his mouth to follow hers. With a final kiss, she pushed him 
back down. He looked up at her in joyful expectation.
	"Nicolas, mon cher," she said, her voice a soft caress. "You will 
confess all your troubles to me, will you not?" He just nodded in 
agreement, his eyes never leaving her face. "And together we will make 
them all go away, non?"
	"Yes, I will tell you everything," he said breathlessly. "After." He 
smiled seductively at her as he said this last.
	"Oh, but it is <after>," she laughed, teasing him.
	"No, that was just the beginning. I have four days before I have to 
return to work. Will you indulge me until then?" he asked lightly, making 
his intentions clear.
	"Oui, my love," she smiled, agreeing quickly, then leaned down to 
once again devour him with her passion.


THE END