Date: Mon, 6 Jun 1994 00:01:50 EDT This story is an apocryphal vignette. Which is Susan for 'it hasn't happened, it won't happen, and this is all you're gonna get.' Well . . . mostly. See the end for details. There's a quiz. ********************************************** Ever After A Forever Night Story By Susan M. Garrett The only sound was the continual whisper of the night wind through the grass. It would have to be cut soon--too tall in places, obscuring the older, abandoned headstones. But that wasn't her concern. She didn't care about the hidden markers or the bodies that had once rested beneath them, which had since turned to earth and bone, the flesh having fed worms that had lived and died, generation after generation. Natalie could almost smell that musty after-scents of time and death. But the wind picked up again, the whistle through the grass and the clatter of the empty tree branches covering the sound of her footsteps. With the wind came the smell of moist earth, the memory of a rain that had ceased falling not long ago and threatened to fall again. Even the moon seemed shy tonight, darting from sight behind the clouds and shining only briefly before disappearing again. Again, it wasn't her concern--there was no grass on the grave she sought. Even the rain couldn't raise the green from freshly turned earth. Despite the expansion of her world, the rules of science that had bent and broken beneath the weighty knowledge--and proof-- that such things as vampires existed, there were some truths that remained universal. Nothing came from nothing. That was the way of things. "It was a lovely service." Natalie stopped herself from turning, fixing her eyes on the headstone. Even in the dark the lines seemed sharp, the edges fresh and unworn. "You were there?" Only then did she look over at Janette. Her customary black was suitable for the time and place-- although the strapless dress seemed just a bit flashy for a woman in mourning. Natalie had to admit that the veil was a nice touch, the barest flicker of black lace, attached to a comb in her hair. Janette endured her gaze, but frowned. "Really! Don't be foolish." But then she took a step toward the grave and Natalie saw that she held the stems of several lilies in her hand. Kneeling by the turned earth, she placed the flowers carefully. "It's the correct thing to say. All services are 'lovely.' One gets used to them in time. Part of the ritual." Having placed the last flower, she brushed the petals with the fingers of her black gloves, the hands beneath the lace almost as white . . . if less pure. "And you?" Natalie bit back a slight smile. "I was . . . indisposed." "In the past, I've found 'overcome with grief' works well." Janette rose to her feet, then lightly brushed the dirt from the edge of her dress and her knees. "It does tend to merit a little more sympathy. And, if they've any sense, a bit more time to yourself. Upon occasion, that time can be valuable." "I'll remember that." "See that you do." She touched her fingers to her lips through the veil, staring down at the stone--then Natalie felt those blue eyes on her, their intensity hardly diminished by the lace. "Perhaps you think I've been unsympathetic?" "No. I understand. You've had . . . other things to work out." Natalie bowed her head, staring down at her shoetops. "I haven't really stopped to think, I suppose. Ever since the accident--there hasn't really been time." Then, she looked up, managing a slight smile. "But I appreciate everything you've done for me. I don't think I could've managed on my own." Janette reached out to touch her shoulder, after a moment of hesitation. "It becomes easier. No less annoying, but . . . you're prepared. You know what to do, the next time it happens." Then she withdrew her hand, as if disturbed by the sudden familiarity, and turned her back to Natalie, looking around the quiet graveyard. "I think I'll miss this place. The club, at least . . . well, it's like so many other clubs. But this time it was special. And the others there--it's been some time since I've had such a mix." There was regret in her voice, but it was tossed aside with a light laugh and a shrug. "Will you open another, somewhere else?" asked Natalie. "I'm not sure. In a decade, perhaps." There was another shrug and Natalie saw the sparkle of pearl-white teeth beneath the veil, as Janette laughed again. "When I find a location that draws the handsomest men and prettiest women. Otherwise, there's no point, really." It seemed wrong to be laughing in this place, at this time. Almost . . . impolite. Or disrespectful. But there was something in Janette's manner that lightened her heart a little, as if she shouldn't take this, or anything else, too seriously. Natalie turned her eyes on the surrounding landscape, a field of graves and stone mausoleums and trees and shrubs, looking for . . . what she see? In a heartbeat, Janette was beside her, whispering in her ear. "Don't be impatient, . He'll come in his own time." "But . . . how long should we wait?" "As long as it takes." Janette's hands were on her shoulders. She could easily make out the features beneath the flower-patterned lace veil, as she turned her head and met that blue gaze. "There's much to do. Much to prepare." Lightly, her hand patted Natalie's shoulder, then she moved away again. "As I said, you'll get used to it, in time." "In time." Her words were swept away by the wind, but Janette nodded in response, having heard. For the moment, nothing more needed to be said. So Natalie contented herself with trying to memorize the place--from the dark branches that scraped against the darker sky, to the scent of the turned earth and the flash of the moonlight on the newly hewn gravestone. It was too easy now, to recall passing instants like flipping through photos in a picture album. Too easy to remember. And, oh, so difficult to forget. ************************************* Oh, I know well enough how it ends . . . or how it end. But I thought I'd let you tell me. 1) What's the name on the headstone? 2) Who are Natalie and Janette waiting for? I suppose I'll write an ending in a day or two. Regards SusanG2522@aol.com ========================================================================= Date: Fri, 10 Jun 1994 10:57:50 EDT From: SusanG2522@AOL.COM Subject: Ever After--Conclusion Okay, so three people guessed correctly. The other answers were highly amusing, ranging from downright bizarre to very plausible explanations. As I promised, the conclusion-- *************************************************** Ever After -- Conclusion A Forever Night Story By Susan M. Garrett A rustle of cloth on the wind heralded his arrival. Natalie found herself holding her breath--even though she no longer needed to breathe--and looking around. But by that time he'd landed. LaCroix strolled out of the darkness toward them. With a glance, he seemed to dismiss the gravestone, although his eyes lit momentarily at the sight of the flowers. Janette received a nod, while Natalie was treated to a grim smile. "Ladies." He walked past Natalie and bent low, picking up one of the lilies. After a questioning glance toward Natalie, he met Janette's eyes . . . and seemed to find his answer. "A touching gesture. But unnecessary." Janette shrugged in response. "Tradition." "Ah . . . yes." He smiled and handed the flower to her, which she accepted. "I hope I didn't keep you waiting too long." "Long enough," countered Natalie. There was some arrogance in him that annoyed her. She wasn't certain which was worse--his theft of the flower or his air of implied leadership. "There's a lot I have to take care of before . . . ." When he raised an eyebrow at her inability to finish the sentence, she snapped, "I've got better things to do than cooling my heels in a cemetery, waiting for you." "I'd appreciate a few moments of your time," he said. "As a courtesy. You have eternity, after all. Consider it a favor for a . . . blood relative." He gestured toward the earthen mound, and the gravestone. Natalie's eyes fixed on it again. What a lie it was, those words and numbers preserved in stone, supposed to last through memory, into eternity. His name had been Nicholas--yes--but the surname had been an occupation, a vocation, as well as a statement of character. The birth date was inaccurate, but the date of death . . . . The last was all too real. "We tied by blood," repeated LaCroix. "A minute of your time--a question and an answer--and we'll be on our way. You can spare me that much." Natalie looked up, triying to meet Janette's eyes. But Janette was silent, looking elsewhere. These past few days, she'd depended on Janette for her survival. She'd thought her studies of Nick and his habits would have prepared her for such a rude awakening. But her death having been so unexpected, Nick not being there, and that fierce blood hunger . . . . Staring down at the whispering grass, then the silent mound of earth, she silently apologized to Nick for the hundredth time since she'd first feel the pangs, known the need for blood. And marveled at his ability to control it. How difficult it must have been, to have worked with mortals, walked with mortals, and not torn out the nearest throat to reach the warm blood flowing beneath the skin. "It lessens, in time," said LaCroix. "You'll learn." She looked up quickly, but caught herself before saying anything. He hadn't read her mind--just her expression. And he was right. Controlling the hunger, showing a guiltless face to the world, was a trick she'd master . . . in time. She owed him a few minutes, at least, before she returned home to wrap up what was left of her former life and decided what she was going to do. His eyes had never left hers. After a moment, he looked away, back to the grave. "Will you stay?" "Here? Hardly." Natalie swallowed and clasped her hands together as he echoed her thoughts again--he was too good at this. But then . . . he'd had time to practice. "My resignation raised a few eyebrows, I suppose. But with Nick gone-- There's no reason to stay. It would be safer to go somewhere else. Start fresh." "Sensible." He glanced over at Janette, she almost thought she caught the flash of a smile between them. "And your family?" "I don't think it's any of your business." "You're right." LaCroix turned those cold eyes on her. "Humor me." Natalie didn't flinch. She'd spent her life carving up the remains of the victims left by human predators-- which, in a way, had helped her to understand them. Showing fear would be a mistake. "I'm not ready to deal with them, yet. A phone call. A letter, when I've resettled." "Sensible. Again." "There's only Sidney, after all. And Grace is taking care of him." He raised an eyebrow at the name, but Janette sidled up to him, the flower in her hand brushing his shoulder as she leaned forward to whisper, "Her ." "Ah." LaCroix pursed his lips, then looked back to the gravestone. "So you've no real plans, then? You're welcome to join us. We are, in a sense, family. And there's much more you need to know, if you want to survive." There'd been no warmth within her since she'd awakened, other than that fleeting sense of contentment and well-being that accompanied the blood. But his words sent a chill through her that she thought herself past feeling. There was so little she know. But to travel with them, as Nick had once done . . . . Reminding herself that Nick had spent most of his lifetime trying to escape LaCroix's reach, she shook her head. "Thanks, but I don't think so." "It's your choice. Do keep in touch, though. I think you'd appreciate knowing when we've found him. Or . . . am I wrong?" There was a sudden tightness in her throat as Natalie glanced back at the headstone and the newly turned earth. She refused to look at LaCroix, refused to give credence to what he was saying. "But Janette said-- ?" "I only said that Nicola had died," said the soft voice, still hovering near LaCroix. "We do that all the time, when things become . . . difficult." The grave was empty. Some sixth sense told her that, told her that the body in the coffin wasn't Nick. He was alive, somewhere else. The death, the funeral, had been arranged. He'd left this place. He'd left her. "Yes. He did, you know." Before thinking, she met LaCroix's concerned smile--which she knew wasn't all that concerned for well being. "He brought you across. And then he abandoned you." Again, she looked to Janette for confirmation and received a slight shrug in return. The blue eyes appeared honest. But appearances were so often deceiving. "He told you to take care of me," Natalie guessed. A brief frown from Janette gave her the courage to add, "He couldn't stay. It was too public. They thought he was dead." Her gaze drifted back to the headstone. "That's why he had to die. And . . . move on." It made sense, in a way. She didn't remember much about the night she died, or the way she'd died for that matter. There'd been a call from a murder scene-- she'd been on duty. It was down at the docks, near the warehouses. She'd remembered turning, to lock the car door. The wooden pier had rumbled beneath her with the force of the blast--a boat berthed at the dock had exploded. There's been a flash of light and a smell like pepper, then people scattering . . . . It came back to her as she stared at Janette. The light and the thunder of the moment drowned out everything, except the knowledge that Nick had been there, on board the boat. For frantic minutes she'd gone from body to body, injury to injury, doing what she could where she could until she found him. He'd crawled into the shadows of a bulkhead beneath the pier; she'd guessed instinct had sent him into hiding. Her heart had been like stone as she'd dropped her bag to the sand and fallen to her knees beside him. But it started beating again as he moved. Nick's eyes opened-- But they were red-gold, wild and unseeing . . . . "Yes," whispered Janette's voice, across the short distance. "He said--it was an accident." Natalie swallowed and looked back at the grave. She'd assumed . . . she'd thought . . . . Closing her eyes, she heard Nick's voice in her ear, half-strangled with fear and anguish. "Forgive me--" The darkness would give her nothing more. Her perfect memory wouldn't let her forget what came afterward--waking to that gut-wrenching thirst, in the back room of The Raven. But before that . . . . Opening her eyes, she met LaCroix's gaze. "Where is he?" "We were hoping you might tell us. But then, I guess he didn't have time to give you his itinerary. Our Nick's always been one for rushing into things. Or . . . away from them." LaCroix's smile was sharp. "I'll find him. It may take some time, but I'll find him." Something inside her twisted at his words. Natalie looked away, at the dark tree branches against the night sky. Nick had spent so much time running away from what he was and what LaCroix wanted him to be. If she joined them, she'd become part of the chase. Which was only just, in that she was the reason he'd bolted. Nick couldn't face her. Not after what he'd done to her. It been an accident. But he'd add her murder to the countless others that weighed on his conscience. And then compound it with the fact that he'd brought her across, made her into something he despised . . . one of his own kind. He'd asked her forgiveness, but he'd never forgive himself. Until she found him. And let him know in no uncertain terms that he wasn't going to hold the blame for this, along with the other things that weighed on his mind and his heart. she'd tell him exactly what she thought about him running off, without an explanation, or even a good-bye. They'd been silent, letting her work it out for herself. As she turned her head to face LaCroix again, she saw a satisfied smile on his lips--he'd known all along that once she realized the truth, there'd been no alternative. "When do we leave?" "Tonight." He glanced over his shoulder, at Janette. "I think arrangements can be made. We'll have to travel light." She made a face, then sighed. "I'll have everything sent after us. Why must Nicola always be in a hurry!" Then she looked at Natalie, expression thoughtful. "We should feed before we go. She's hungry." Natalie barely restrained the impulse to lick her lips and looked away. There was too much of her on the surface again. She'd fed no more than two hours ago and already she was ravenous. But she mumbled, "I can wait." "You shouldn't. And you won't." When she stared at LaCroix, surprised at his solicitude, his gaze was even and steady. "We take care of our own. And . . . you're one of us, now." One corner of his mouth twisted upward, in a smile. "Forever." "We'll see." If anything, his smile grew sharper. When LaCroix and Janette rose into the sky, Natalie followed. Leaving behind the earthen mound, and the gravestone and her old life, her thoughts centered on finding Nick, thwarting LaCroix, and feeding the blood hunger. It was enough for now. And later . . . . Well, it might not end 'happily ever after,' but she didn't doubt that at least it would be interesting. The End