Date: Sat, 12 Sep 1998 16:50:30 -0600 Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Evidence Part 01/36 To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU I actually began writing this story in the Fall of 1996. But I couldn't make it work, and put it away. In the spring of 1997, I pulled it out and took another stab at it. Can you tell I really liked the idea? This time I actually finished it. But for reasons that are neither here nor there, I put it away and chose not to post it. This summer, I returned to it, and revised it significantly. I think that my writing skills are finally catching up to my original vision--but that may be overly optimistic. At any rate, I thought it was time to give this story its chance. It's the story from which Take Out came, for those interested in trivia. That was one of those side trips that just happen, but didn't belong in this story. I must absolutely thank Jeanne for going through the editing process twice on this story (luckily only once a year), and Liza for encouraging comments. Though our offices (make that cubicles) are no longer in the same building (I got hijacked) and we are not in the same group anymore (sob), she has continued to be a very strong supporter, and I appreciate all of her comments. Finally, I must admit that this story has been influenced by ongoing discussions on Forkni-l (yes I read it when I can, and am often regretful that by the time I read it, the discussion is long over). In fact, it was a thread in the spring of 1997 that caused me to rethink and change the focus of this story--and obviously was the catalyst to picking it up and finishing it (the first time) . So I must give deep appreciation and thanks to the members of Forkni-l who have so much depth and knowledge and aren't afraid to explore the hard and difficult issues. As always, these characters do not belong to me. I merely take them out and play with them from time to time, and put them back in absolutely excellent condition. If you don't receive all parts, they can be found at http://www.loftworks.com on my "Writing for the Knight" page shortly after being posted. This story may be archived at Mel's fiction site. With all that out of the way, let's get on with the story (if you're still with me)... This story takes place shortly after Trophy Girl... Evidence Part 1 Copyright 1998 Dorothy Elggren Prologue Working a terrible pain and ruin. -- Electra Melvin sang off key as he worked. Under his breath, the words slipped out in a chant, while furious rain pounded out the percussion on the windowpane. "I can't get no... sat-is-fac...shun. I can't get NO, I can't GET NO...sat-is-FAC...shun, but I try, and I TRY and I TRY..." He was terribly off-key, but he didn't care. There was only one person who could hear him, and he was beyond such simple considerations. He didn't care that Melvin couldn't sing, for he lay captive--tied securely and snugly to the table. All he cared about was the pain. Tears streamed from his eyes and sweat dripped from his brow. His cries were muffled, drowned in the gag biting him cruelly. He fought futilely against the bonds that held him in a vicious grip, and his wrists and ankles bled from his struggles. But there was no escape. Melvin sang loudly, jarringly, as he carved a rose in the living flesh of his captive. He made each slashing stroke with deadly precision, in syncopated time with the song. Blood welled up in the incisions, pooled and overflowed. The petals, leaves and stems slowly disappeared in the tide of blood. When Melvin was done, he put down his knife and wiped the blood away. He surveyed his handiwork and smiled. The rose seeped and wept blood. Tears filled Melvin's eyes and he sighed. He looked up at the frosted, cracked glass and for the first time noticed the rain. The earth, he thought, was crying, too. "This one is for you, Libby," he whispered. "You see, I'm making him cry for you. I'm making him sorry." He looked down at his bloody victim and smiled gently. "You're crying for Libby, aren't you?" The man stared back at him uncomprehendingly. He just wanted it to end. Melvin scrounged in the toolbox at his feet and pulled out a cheap child's make-up kit. "I gotta make sure you are crying," he crooned. "Now, be still," he commanded. And then, very carefully he drew a teardrop underneath his victim's eye with red paint. His victim moved his head, fearful of the brush so close to his eye. Melvin cuffed him. "I said, be still!" He was still. With delicate strokes, he filled it in, and brought the tear to life. When Melvin was satisfied with his artwork, he nodded carefully. "It looks real good," he said softly, half to himself, half to his victim. Then Melvin looked at his victim and said simply. "I think it's time for you to die. You gotta die for Libby." Act 1, Scene 1 Have I not seen enough of blood... -- Iphigenia in Taurus Nick Knight could see the lights, even before turning off Danforth Avenue onto the Don Valley Parkway. The tightly packed cluster of strobing lights illuminated the scene in Riverdale Park in garish hues, and reflected eerily in the rain-slicked road. Forensic experts, in alternating shades of blue and red, huddled near the evergreen bushes close to the river's edge. Police held back the few curious onlookers on the sidewalk. The rain drizzled down with a discouraging monotony, and water puddled everywhere. Nick glanced over at Tracy Vetter as he parked his Caddy next to the Coroner's van. "You up for this?" Nick asked quietly, as he pulled the keys from the ignition. Tracy bit her lip as her gaze slid from the scene in front of them to Nick. If the report were accurate, this would be the fourth one. The fourth man assaulted, mutilated, and murdered over the last six months. Their eyes met in unspoken understanding. "Yeah, as ready as I'll ever be," she said. "Let's go." She shut the door rather firmly, to bolster her flagging spirits, and turned up the collar of her jacket to ward off the insulting rain. It wasn't as if this was her first homicide, or that she hadn't seen worse, because she had. But it was her first day back after a three week "cooling off" period. Cooling off, because Tracy had killed two people in less than a week. She winced mentally at the thought. She'd been in homicide all of three months and had already killed two people. Tracy sighed and tucked her chin into her body against the rain as she followed Nick across the parking lot. She was supposed to handle murder with equanimity, but right now her stomach felt queasy. The three weeks hadn't dulled the edge of her memories at all. Even as she detoured around a puddle, she could see reflected in its depth the alley where she'd shot her first perp. She saw him firing at her from it's wavery depths--and miss. In slow motion she watched as she fired--and the perp went down. The gun's report echoed in her ears. Tracy gritted her teeth and tried to stay in the present. It was very different when you were the one doing the killing. And to compound her problem, she had ignored orders to take her initial "cooling off" period and gone undercover, instead. Tracy remembered Nick pulling Efrem Sedrick off of her and throwing him into the wall of the darkened cellar. Then as Nick turned to her, she had watched Sedrick pick up an axe and raise it behind Nick. She'd had one bullet in her gun, and she'd used it. It didn't matter that she'd taken that shot to save Nick. It was another life taken, and it still hurt. Nick had been on the force for years and never killed anybody. *Why am I so lucky?* Tracy wondered. With relief, Tracy saw that they'd reached the grass. She pushed her memories away. It was time to deal with the present, not the past. She took a deep breath, pushed her straight blonde hair out of her face, and followed Nick through the barrier to the crime scene. Dr. Natalie Lambert crouched over the body, holding one of the victim's hands in her own. She carefully covered the hand with a plastic evidence bag, and then noted some information on the tag. The Ident unit was being particularly careful with this case. There was no doubt in anyone's mind that they had a serial killer on their turf. The media was calling him the Parkway Killer, because he dumped all his victims in a small stretch of the Riverside Park along the Don Valley Parkway. Natalie wondered what they would call him if they knew what he was doing to his victims. As Natalie bagged the hand, she hoped that this time they'd find something to help them unravel the case and find the killer before he struck again. "Hi, Nat," Nick said softly. "What have you got?" Tracy peered over his shoulder and blanched at the sight, but she remained where she was, determined to stick it out. Natalie looked up and smiled. "Nick," she said, relief coloring her voice, then added, "Hi, Tracy, good to see you, again." She put the hand down gently and stood. Her long chestnut-colored hair fluffed briefly as she shook it back from her face. Natalie looked at Jake Carter who was standing by patiently with the body bag. "Okay. I've done all I can here. Let's get him back to the lab." Natalie began to climb up the embankment and took Nick's proffered hand to finish the trip. "Thanks," she said joining them on the sidewalk. Natalie noticed Tracy staring past her at the body as Jake placed it in the body bag and realized that she was looking rather pale. She wanted to put a comforting hand on her arm, but suspected Tracy would not appreciate it--not when she was trying to regain her 'homicide stomach'. Natalie glanced at Nick. Nick was pale, too, but it was his usual shade of pale. Tonight, she thought with gallows humor, they were a matched pair with their blond hair gleaming in the klieg lights and pallid skin turning alternating shades of red and blue. Then she turned her mind to the business at hand. "TOD," Natalie said briskly, "is somewhere between four and six hours ago, I would guess, based on rigor and lividity. But that, as you know, is a rough guess. I'll be able to tell you cause of death after I've done some tests." Nick looked down the embankment at the body, then back at Natalie. "It's the Parkway Killer." It was not a question. She grimaced, and glanced up at Nick. "Well, without doing those tests I can't be 100% sure, but, yeah..., it's him. All the usual signatures are there." Tracy swallowed. "This is just so sick. What is it with this guy?" she asked. Nick and Natalie looked at each other. Natalie shrugged. "I don't know, Trace. That's your job, I'm afraid. When you catch him, maybe you can find out why he does it." "We'll get him." Nick said with certainty. "He's bound to become overconfident. And when he does, he'll get sloppy." Nick watched them roll the body away. "Maybe," he said quietly, "he already has." "Yeah," Natalie agreed. "Let's hope so. Well, I'm going back to the lab. I'll be putting this at the top of the stack, so I should have something for you in a couple of hours. See you later." She touched Nick on the arm with an encouraging pat, smiled at Tracy and headed for her car. Nick watched Natalie go, allowing himself to enjoy the view. He loved the way her hair fell down her back and the slight sway of her hips. But if Natalie caught him watching her like that, he knew he'd be in trouble. He often had to remind himself that this was the nineties--the nineteen-nineties. Tracy watched Nick watching Natalie with interest. Since she'd become Nick's partner, she'd spent a lot of time wondering exactly what their relationship was--along with most of the precinct. More than one detective had asked Tracy for the inside scoop on Nick and Natalie's relationship, but she didn't know anymore than anyone else. However, she was a detective--and his partner--and she figured sooner or later, she would find out. "Well, let's see what we've got," Tracy said. "I'll check with the uniform and see who found the body. " Nick smiled and nodded. "Okay," he said. "I'll talk to Garcia about the physical evidence." Tracy nodded and they split up. End Part 1 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... ______________________________________________________ Dorothy Elggren ---- delggren@es.com Missing a story part? You can find them at: http://www.loftworks.com Date: Sat, 12 Sep 1998 16:52:54 -0600 Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Evidence Part 02/36 To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Evidence Part 2 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Nick headed down the embankment his raincoat flowing behind him and stopped momentarily, surveying the area where the body had lain. Then he unleashed his very special senses and scrutinized the area. For Nick was a vampire, and while he wished more than anything that he wasn't, he figured as long as he had special powers, he might as well do something useful with them. Natalie, who knew Nick's secret and was helping him search for a cure, would disapprove. She often told him in private, "if you want to be mortal, Nick, then you've got to act like one." But Nick didn't know how to *not* use them. They had been a part of him for almost eight centuries. He cast his senses out over the area, searching for clues others might miss. His enhanced vision revealed nothing unusual. He closed his eyes and sniffed at the lingering scents in the air, turning his head slowly, but nothing stood out. Opening his eyes, Nick surveyed the scene dispassionately, and after a moment, reluctantly allowed himself to look at it from the killer's point of view. He felt the vampire rise up in him hot and hungry. The body had been dumped near the sidewalk. It was a good move on the killer's part. In fact it was a well-calculated move, the sign of a killer who was thinking and--regrettably in Nick's mind--in control. It was a popular area of the park, and it would be difficult to sift through all the debris and figure out what--if anything--had been left by the killer. Nick hesitated a moment, struggling with the vampire's desire to hunt. The beating hearts around him suddenly pressed heavily on him. Nick swallowed and willed it away, knowing that what he was going to do next required all his control. He stepped next to the tape marking where the body had lain, and then slowly reached out with his mind-- using the vampire's ability to sense others--his psychic sense. A cloud of anger and hatred enveloped him abruptly, and he trembled with a fevered hunger. He stepped back involuntarily and shuddered as his fangs screamed for release. His eyes briefly glowed a febrile green. Nick stood there, taut, silently *living* the murderer's anger and his hunger to kill. He *needed* and *wanted* to kill. It was an overwhelming passion, one Nick knew from personal experience. He felt an affinity with this murderer and his insatiable hunger. Nick moved farther away and shook his head to clear it, relieved to be out of the psychic cloud, and still in control--barely. He took a breath and tried to analyze what he'd learned. Beneath the anger, he felt something more. It was like a vibration deep in his bones--reminiscent of a vampire's signature--and yet not. He knew instinctively that this was no vampire. He shouldn't be able to feel a mortal this way, but he could. It disturbed and worried Nick that he felt this--connection, whatever it was. Abruptly, Nick remembered a moment from long ago. Amalia... Her name was Amalia... He knelt by her still warm body, lingering, unable to untangle himself from the incredible moment of heady passion. So complete...and yet...already so empty and hungry. "Poor Nicholas," LaCroix murmured from behind him in cruel amusement. "One moment we gorge on the life force, and the next...only silence fills us, and we are empty again. Then...whisperings...of renewed thirst. You feel it already, don't you? Already your thoughts have strayed from her to the next. How will you find her? How will you take her? All at once? A little at a time? I can see it in your eyes, Nicholas. Can there be any finer thing than this? Eternal hunger followed by eternal pleasure. If this is our prison, let us *rot* for all eternity. You will forget this one, Nicholas. There will be many, many more and you...you will possess them all." Nick shut off the memory. He knew that the Parkway Killer shared those feelings, the satisfaction that lasted only a moment, the emptiness, and then the renewed need. He was probably already looking for his next victim. Victim... It echoed oddly in his head. Again, he was conscious of every heartbeat calling to him. Nick shook his head and obliterated the desire. He ignored the ache in his jaw where his fangs still cried for release and shut off all of his senses to regain control. It was dangerous to indulge in them for even a few moments. It was always dangerous. Nick ran his hand through his damp hair and took a deep breath, and then another. The vampire slowly receded. After a moment, he looked around for Garcia, and spying him, moved to joined him. "Joe," Nick said, as he touched Officer Garcia on the shoulder. Garcia looked up from the clipboard he'd been writing on. "Detective Knight," he said with a grimace. "I guess you want to know what I've found." Nick nodded. Garcia shook his head and stared at his clipboard. "I haven't got a lot to give you, Detective. This bastard is really efficient. He knows just when and how to discard his victims without leaving any evidence behind. He's organized." Nick nodded, recognizing the reference to the standard profiling term. "Yeah, I've noticed," Nick said, shoving his hands into his pockets. "What have you got?" "Well, the body was found by a jogger about an hour ago." He inspected his notes. "It was dumped just under a meter from the sidewalk. It was partially hidden by the evergreen bushes. The body was nude and lacked any distinguishing marks, besides those the killer gave him. If there was any obvious physical evidence, the rain destroyed it." Garcia sighed and shoved his glasses up. "My guess is that the body was wrapped in something prior to being dumped. Plastic perhaps, something that kept it clean until he dumped it. Our preliminary inspection showed that there was nothing *visible* clinging to the skin besides dirt and evergreen needles. Dr. Lambert might find something in the lab, but I wouldn't hold my breath. As far as I can tell, he didn't leave anything but the body." Garcia fell silent, his hands clenching the clipboard tightly. "And...," Nick prompted. "It's the same as before, a single small wound in the stomach, a little tear drop painted on the cheek, and...," he stopped. "...and a rose carved on the torso," Nick finished, anger lacing his voice. "Yeah, " Garcia said softly. He shuddered slightly, but said nothing more. The dark humor he typically employed to deal with the ugliness of his job was missing. Nick touched him comfortingly on the shoulder. "Well, if you find anything else, let me know," Nick said. "Sure, but, you know," he shrugged. "Yeah, I know. Thanks," Nick said and looked around for Tracy. Garcia, cursing quietly, headed back up the path. The intermittent drizzle turned abruptly into a downpour, cleansing the earth of the bloody crime. Nick sighed and turned up his collar against the sudden onslaught. Catching sight of Tracy, talking to a tall, thin man in gray sweats, he climbed up the embankment and joined them. She was sheltering both herself and the man under her oversized umbrella. "...and you didn't notice anyone or any cars when you parked, Mr. Fredette?" she was asking. "No. Sorry. I really wasn't paying attention. I was thinking about a work problem I'm trying to solve, and just wasn't looking," Fredette replied. "Well, if you remember anything, will you contact me at this number?" Tracy asked, producing her business card with a bright smile. "Sure," he said as he took the card. He turned it over absent- mindedly, his face a pasty gray color. Nick thought he might be in a state of shock. "Mr. Fredette, I'm Detective Knight," Nick introduced himself. "You look rather pale; are you all right?" He looked at Nick, or rather through him, as if he was still seeing the body. Then he focused on Nick and attempted a smile. "Not really, but I guess that's to be expected. I'm not used to seeing..." He stopped and looked at the card again, as if surprised to find it in his possession. "If you need someone to talk to, we can put you in touch with someone," Tracy supplied, knowing all too well what he was feeling. She felt a little sick herself. "No, I'll be okay. I'm just a little shook up," he said. "Well, I think that is all for now. If we have any further questions, we'll contact you. Thank you for your help and patience," Tracy said. Fredette ran his hand through his damp hair. "Yeah. Then I can go?" "Yes, Mr. Fredette." Tracy smiled at him sympathetically. He nodded, then turned and left abruptly. Tracy and Nick watched him thread his way through the barrier and disappear into the rising ground mist. "Think he'll be okay?" Tracy asked, glancing at Nick. "Probably, after a while," Nick said, sliding under the umbrella. Tracy just looked at him. "Maybe after a stiff slug of whiskey?" he amended. "I don't know, I think he was really shook up." "He's not the only one," Nick said, looking searchingly at Tracy. She looked away. Nick was too astute for Tracy's comfort. He knew she was struggling with her demons. It was all mixed up in her head. Between her recent officer-involved shootings, her rocky relationship with Nick, and her own feelings of inadequacy, she felt like she was losing, rather than gaining, ground. During her third week in Homicide as Nick's very green partner, she had seen this psychopath's work for the first time. It had been the Parkway Killer's second victim. This was the second body he had left them since then, and they were still no closer to finding him. She still remembered how appalled she'd been when she read the autopsy report. She couldn't understand how one human being could do that to another. Nick had taken one look at her white face and suggested they take a break. It wasn't much later she'd found herself sitting in Kim's All- Night Diner sipping Dutch-Almond coffee under Nick's sympathetic gaze. That, in Tracy's opinion, was the moment when they actually began to form a real partnership. She'd talked about her difficulties in dealing with dead bodies and her struggle to be accepted on her own terms and not as Commissioner Vetter's daughter. Nick had opened up a bit about Schanke--Donald G. Schanke, his long-time partner. Tracy had read between the lines to realize that Nick missed Schanke deeply, and felt guilty for his death. She wished she could have met Don Schanke. As Nick talked about him, Tracy gained a clearer insight into Nick's partnership with Schanke. People had told her they'd been really something. But listening to Nick that night, she'd realized it had been far beyond a partnership. It had been a gestalt. And their record proved it--it had been astounding. Tracy had been envious and sad at the same time. Her relationship with Nick seemed so shallow in comparison. She wanted *that* kind of partnership. But Nick was so distant and removed, trying to deal with Schanke's death. But slowly, it was getting better. She *was* learning, and Nick *had* come to accept her. Then she'd killed two people, and she felt like she was at ground zero again. Tracy took a deep breath. "Yeah, well ... I'm working on it." "So, what did you learn from our jogger?" Nick asked, bringing the conversation back onto safer ground. "Jaques Fredette, Engineer. Apparently he comes jogging every night after ten p.m. He says he arrived around 10:15 tonight, and ran two and half miles down the parkway, before turning around. He didn't notice anything until he came back. He thinks it was about 10:55 when he saw the body." Tracy said, getting down to business. "Were there a lot of other joggers?" Nick asked. "No. There were only a couple of other joggers on the path. The rain seems to have put all but the die-hards off," Tracy said. "You know what this means, don't you? "Yeah, most likely the body was dumped in that half hour," Nick said looking at Tracy. "With such a narrow time frame, maybe we can find someone who saw something. What else did Fredette say?" "He said he looked around immediately, but didn't see anyone. Then he approached the body just to make sure he wasn't hallucinating. He says he checked to see if he was really dead, but one touch convinced him, so he pulled out his cellular and called it in." "He touched the body," Nick said. "Yes, but only the neck to check for a pulse. He said the body was cold, and then he didn't touch it anymore. In fact, I think he tried to avoid looking at it at all until the patrol unit arrived. I get the feeling he was pretty close to losing it." Tracy wrinkled up her face as she thought about it. "Not that I blame him. I can't say I wanted to look at it, either. But he's obviously not the perp. Can't fake that kind of reaction." "No, turning pasty gray isn't easy to do," Nick agreed. The rain drummed on the umbrella, getting louder, the storm's intensity growing. "Nick, my feet are soaked. Do you think we can leave now?" Tracy asked plaintively. End Part 2 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Evidence Part 03/36 To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Evidence Part 3 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 1, Scene 2 Why is your face so stained with tears? -- Electra Finished with the autopsy, Natalie quietly covered the small defenseless body. She put a hand gently on his forehead. "Rest in peace, Kevin. Just rest, now, in that better place you're in," she said softly. The pain suddenly seemed unbearable. She turned away and snapped her gloves off and threw them in the biological hazard waste disposal. Natalie sat down at her desk, closed her eyes, and leaned her head against her hands. A tear slid down her cheek. Children were the hardest. They were so young, so innocent and so defenseless. They didn't have the physical strength to fight off their attackers, nor could they outrun them. Her insides churned at the thought. Tonight had been a bad one for her. First the Parkway Killer's victim, and then the call asking her to do the autopsy on a child the day shift hadn't gotten to. A child brutally abused and murdered. Sometimes she hated all killers with a violence that was frightening. They killed to protect themselves and their lusts. They didn't care that they destroyed; all they cared about was satiating their own sick needs. Damn them, Natalie thought, as her god-child Cynthia's face haunted her. Damn them all. The door opened bringing Natalie abruptly back to the present. She was unaccountably happy to be interrupted. Tracy walked in followed closely by Nick. Both looked uncomfortably damp. Their hair, while not plastered to their heads, had that slightly frizzed look of slowly drying hair. Tracy's shoe squeaked as she walked across the room. Natalie raised an eyebrow and pointedly looked at Tracy's feet as she approached. "Nice squeak, Tracy," Natalie said with a grin. She looked past Tracy to see it mirrored on Nick's face. He was trying hard not to laugh. "Yeah. Well, let's hope it's not permanent. These shoes cost...." She stopped, took a breath, and found her sense of humor. A smile suddenly lit her face. "Murphy's law. I would have to wear new shoes in a rainstorm." "You should have heard her walking down the hall," Nick added impishly. "It was squeak, swish, squeak, swish..." "Hey! The swish was you, too," Tracy protested, swatting his arm, looking for support from Natalie. "Wet clothes make this rasping sound when you walk. *Everybody's* wet clothes," she emphasized, rising up on the balls of her feet slightly, staring at Nick. Nick merely grinned. Natalie felt her mood lift with the light-hearted banter. "It's a losing battle, Trace," she said dryly. "You'll never get Nick to admit to anything." "No, maybe not, but at least I can take comfort in knowing he's wetter than me. He didn't have an umbrella," she said triumphantly. "Turned into a downpour, did it?" Natalie asked. "Yes, one of those storms where someone turns on the faucet," Tracy agreed. "And it lasted until we got back in the Caddy. Then, wouldn't you know it, it stopped. Weird." "Speaking of which," Nick intervened adroitly, "did the rain wash away all the evidence, or did you find anything?" "Well, whether the rain washed it away, or the killer was very careful, I don't know. I really haven't had a chance to check," Natalie said. "But I'll bet the body is clean. He really is thorough and organized." Natalie shook her head as though it would help clear out the depression she felt. "Sorry. It's just that I'm not looking forward to doing this autopsy. The way this guy kills just makes me sick." Natalie stopped abruptly. "I guess I let it get to me," she said. "Sometimes we all do," Tracy agreed, thinking about how hard this one was for her. "You haven't started the autopsy, yet?" Nick asked, surprised. "No," Natalie said shortly. "I got a another one handed me as a priority. I barely made it to the lab when I had a *request* to perform an autopsy ASAP. Be glad you aren't on that one, guys." "Why?" Tracy asked. "What is it?" "A twelve-year old was beaten to death by his father. Abused and beaten...," Natalie trailed off. "Natalie?" Nick asked gently. "Are you okay?" "Yeah," Natalie said, avoiding eye contact. "I'm okay... I think." "Should we come back later?" Tracy asked, concerned. "No. I can give you some preliminary stuff, not that it's any different, but we have the usual signatures, starting with..." "A teardrop," Nick supplied, "underneath the right eye." "Yes, the teardrop," Natalie confirmed, "which is comprised of a cheap makeup, as before, probably something from a costume or Halloween kit. There's wax, mineral oil, talc, preservatives, and coloring--probably ultramarine or cobalt blue. It's being analyzed. Anyway, it looks like the same kit he's been using all along. What I still find strange is that he seals the teardrop with nail polish," Natalie said. "Almost like he wants to ensure that it is preserved, undamaged," Nick added, thinking aloud. "Maybe," Natalie said. "I don't know." "Could it be his way of making the victim cry, or feel pain, whether they really do or not?" Tracy asked, puzzled. "I don't know. It's possible. But if the teardrop represents pain, I think it more likely it's the killer's pain, not the victim's," Nick said slowly, unconsciously rubbing his thumb. "He needs them to express sorrow for something--something specific--that happened to him. He can't resolve it in his own mind, so he's using his victims to resolve it. If that's true, he has to do it over and over again, because it isn't the person he really wants to punish." Tracy raised an eyebrow. "It makes sense, I guess...but you would think he could work it out through a psychiatrist or something. Killing people to resolve his pain is just sick." "You'd be happier if it was his way of acknowledging the pain he's causing?" Nick asked softly. Tracy shrugged. "Not really, but I could understand it, maybe. I just don't understand it." "You probably don't want to," Nick said. Natalie looked up at him sharply, not liking the tone of his voice. Nick's own guilt was slipping through the cracks. "I suppose that's true. Everything I've learned about serial killers says they are so driven by their own needs that they don't have a conscience--or at least they've suppressed it to the extent it doesn't matter. The desire to fill their own needs wipes out any concern for their victims," Tracy said. She looked at Nick. "Doesn't it?" "It depends," Nick said quietly. Too quietly for Natalie. "They might not have any conscience when they kill, but often they struggle to stop themselves. But then the need fills them--whether it's the need to satisfy the emptiness or sexual desire or whatever--it calls to them and eventually they succumb, or are overwhelmed. And when they fail and sanity returns, they can be as guilty and horrified as the next person--until the need overwhelms them again. It just depends on the person." "But that's not always the case," Tracy persisted, oblivious to the undertones. "Is it?" "No," Natalie supplied, eyeing Nick cautiously. "Sometimes they don't care at all. Sociopaths, for instance, don't comprehend pain or suffering, unless it's their own." "True," Nick agreed his voice lightening. "But there is no template that defines why a murderer murders. Each is different, Tracy. There are no hard and fast rules. But every murderer has a pattern, and that mean we can understand their behavior, find them, and stop them. So even if the Parkway Killer doesn't leave hard evidence we can trace, he does leave a pattern." Natalie took her cue. "The rose, for instance." "The rose," Nick echoed. "Yeah, but what does it mean?" Tracy asked, idly running a finger along Natalie's desk. "I don't know," Nat answered. "All I know is, it's done *before* death," she said softly. "Why does he have to do that?" Nick looked at Natalie, feeling her underlying pain, and realized that more than this case was bothering her. He decided he would have to talk to her alone. Soon. "Still," Tracy pursued, looking at Nick, "it has to mean something, just like the teardrop does. Everything he's doing seems to have some really significant meaning. Or else why is he doing it-- and doing it over and over again? I mean, its like he's taking out a full-page ad in the paper or something. So what is the message? What is he trying to tell us?" "You're assuming the message is for us," Nick said leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms comfortably across his chest. "Remember he might be sending a message to only one person or simply expurgating his own soul." "Yeah, but I doubt it," Tracy said emphatically. "Otherwise, why put the bodies out where they--and their messages--can be found. I think he wants to whole world to share his little problem." "Maybe, Tracy," Nick said suddenly keying in on what she had rattled off thoughtlessly, "it is his way of telling us what his problem is--what he's trying to resolve. It could also be his way of telling us something about his inner image of himself, or why he's doing it." Nick shrugged. "Then again, it may just be his way of putting roses on the grave." "Or his way of expressing his inner artist," Natalie added dryly. "Eww," Tracy said making a face. "That's sick." "That's the point, Trace," Nick said quietly. "He *is* sick." He looked at Natalie. "Anything else you want to add?" "No, not really. Without the autopsy, anything else is speculation," Natalie said. "But he is definitely not someone I would want to meet in a dark alley." All three were silent for a moment. "I wish I could give you more. But I can't--yet. From the other cases, we already know that he's right-handed and likes to paint teardrops and carve roses. He's killing people, and he's doing it with a consistently increasing frequency. It was over three months between the first two murders. Then it dropped to two months between the second and third victims. Now it's been less than a month, and he's killed again..." Natalie realized she was rattling on and stopped, hating it. . "Yeah," Nick said. "I know. He's losing control of his urges. He needs to kill. Let's just hope it makes him careless, so that he leaves some useful evidence to help us catch him." "And someone will die," Natalie whispered, "so that we can get that evidence." "Probably," Nick conceded reluctantly. "Unless we get help, or get lucky..." Silence filled the room. Tracy cleared her throat. "We might get lucky," she pointed out, "we might just find something new. Remember there was only thirty minutes in which he could have dumped the body. He may have left some physical evidence on the body." "True," Natalie agreed. "I'll get started on the autopsy and see what I can find." "And somebody may have seen him," Tracy said looking at Nick. Nick brightened. "It's possible. Maybe we should go look into that, partner." Tracy smiled. "Okay. Catch you later, Natalie." "Yeah, later," Natalie said with a small smile. "I'll catch up to you, Tracy," Nick said, eyeing Natalie. Tracy looked at him with a spark of interest. She really wished she could figure out what was with Nick and Natalie. Oh well, maybe Nick would let something slip later. Yeah, right, Mr. closed-mouth. More like glued-shut, to be precise. She was going to have to hone her interrogation skills. That, at least, was something to look forward to. "I'll see you at the precinct, then," Tracy said, and waved a cheery goodbye. "Squeak, swish," Nick mouthed to Natalie as she left. She listened to the squeaking fade away with a slight smile, and turned to find Nick watching her intently. "Are you okay, Natalie?" he asked softly. She tightened her lips trying to suppress the emotions suddenly heaving and churning inside her, under his understanding gaze. "Yeah, I'm fine...," she trailed off. Nick waited. She closed her eyes and a tear began a slow journey down her cheek. She struggled to hold it inside. Nick was instantly beside her, his arms surrounding her. "Okay, then." she surrendered with a slight sob, "I'm not fine." Natalie began to cry quietly into his shoulder. Nick held her and let the storm run its course in silence. He rubbed her back and held her close. Finally, Natalie pulled away and found a Kleenex. Defiantly, she blew her nose and wiped her eyes. She felt embarrassed at her emotional overflow. It didn't happen often, but it seemed like Nick was always around when she did fall apart. "Thanks, Nick," she said quietly. "Anytime," Nick said, and added softly, "my shoulder is always available for you to cry on, Nat." She stared at him and tension bloomed between them. Nick looked down at his hands, breaking contact. He looked back up to find Natalie watching him with a look he had no difficulty reading. He swallowed and changed the subject, knowing that whatever feelings Natalie had for him, or he for her--it was something they couldn't explore, it would only end disastrously. "It's Cynthia, isn't it?" he asked. Natalie blinked, and a brief shadow of sadness crossed her face. Whether it was for Cynthia or for them, Nick couldn't tell. Natalie sighed as she looked up at Nick. "It's Cynthia, and every single one of these children that end up on my table. Their innocence is cut short, and then their lives. They die in pain and fear. They die, not understanding why someone would do this to them. Only a sadistic murderer keeps them company--and in this case, it was his father--someone he should have been able to trust. That's worse than alone." Her voice rose, becoming tremulous. She took a shaky breath. "Sometimes I can't bear the pain. Their pain." She closed her eyes and bit her lip, then turned away. End Part 3 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 4 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Nick closed the distance between them and put his arms around her, and rested his chin on her head. "You know, it isn't just the children, either. It's all the people who end up here, because somebody thought they had the right to play God," Natalie said fiercely. "I can determine exactly what was done to them and in what order, and I can produce all the evidence in the world to put away these killers--but it *isn't* enough. I want them to live! I want to undo the horrible things that have been done. They should have their whole lives ahead of them. And they don't." Nick tightened his hold on her and rubbed her back comfortingly. "You know, Nick, I can understand how, I just can't understand why. I just can't..." "I know," Nick said. "Natalie, I've done a lot of things in my life that are probably beyond your comprehension, and some were..." He stopped as Natalie took his hand in hers and held it tightly. " But you are right. They should have their lives, they shouldn't have to die like this. But they do and we can't change it. We can only give them justice." "Justice." Natalie said the word as if it was a foreign object. "I'm not sure Kevin's father deserves justice--or this guy who carves roses on people like it's some kind of new art form. Justice is a trial and a nice cushy jail cell. They deserve to suffer, to burn in hell, for what they've done. They should be dead!" Nick became still and was silent for so long that Natalie let go of his hand and turned to face him. The look on his face spoke volumes. Natalie felt his pain palpably. "Nick...," Natalie said stricken. He merely shook his head, and his face seemed to close down. "Nat," he said softly, "don't...don't feel that way. Don't let them control how you feel. I... It's just that I'm not sure if we are talking about Kevin's father, the Parkway killer, murderers in general..." His unspoken words *or me* hung in the air between them for several long seconds, "...or whether we are talking about Gault." Nick paused for a moment, "You've never let go of that anger, and it's eating at you. Isn't it?" Natalie turned away and hugged herself tightly, closing him out. He waited patiently, stuffing his own guilt away. This wasn't about him. "I don't know," she said slowly. "Maybe. I just know it hurts and I'm angry. Maybe I'm still angry with Gault. I guess I wanted him to suffer, like he made Cynthia suffer, like her parent's did--and still do." She turned and looked at Nick. "Is it so wrong, to want him to suffer?" "No, it's a normal reaction." He smiled at her as he added, "It's a very human reaction." Natalie smiled at the irony behind his words. "I just know from personal experience that when you hang on to anger, the only one who really suffers in the end is yourself. You need to work this out, Nat. Somehow, you've got to work it out," Nick said quietly. Natalie kicked her toe against her desk. "Yeah, maybe. But how? How do I stop hating him? How do I stop hating all of them?" she cried in frustration. "I don't know, Nat. I've spent a lot of time trying to figure that one out...," Nick stopped, and after a moment, quirked an eyebrow. "I can't say it's one I've ever followed, but... 'Love your enemies, bless them that curse you, do good to them that hate you and pray for them which despitefully use you and persecute you.' Matthew, chapter 6, verse 44." "What?" Natalie asked confused, staring at Nick in amazement. "I don't know, maybe you work it out by returning the hatred with kindness, like the Bible says," Nick said with a grin, "you know, turn the other cheek." "I didn't know you knew the Bible, Nick," Natalie said, suddenly diverted. "Yeah, well, for a long time, it was the only thing you could find to read. So I read it. Several times," Nick said a little defensively. Natalie laughed. "Really! This is interesting, Nick. Stunning, in fact. It's hard to image you reading the Bible." Nick gave her a look. Natalie snickered and hastily covered her mouth with her hand. Nick shrugged and gave a slightly sheepish grin. Natalie smiled back, then took a deep breath. "Okay," she said, pacing around the autopsy table, "Perhaps you are right. Maybe you are supposed to love your enemy, but it's a very hard thing to want to do. I feel so much anger, it closes off any desire I have to...forgive, or to ...," Natalie paused, unable to complete the sentence or the thought. "I just don't think I can, Nick." Nick gripped Natalie by the shoulders and stared intently into her eyes. "Yes, you can, Nat. You're one of the most caring people I've ever met. Natalie, your life is full of kindness and giving. Without you...I don't know where I would be. You gave me hope, you gave me a belief in my humanity. You accepted me. That's an incredible gift. "People like Gault only know how to take. They are full of anger and hatred and it destroys them. It's a very empty life. I know, Natalie. I've been there. Maybe that's why we need to give, because it fills up the emptiness in us. It makes us happy. I don't know why, but it does." Natalie looked at him quizzically. "Now who are we talking about?" she asked. Nick smiled lopsidedly. "Maybe me. Maybe you. Maybe all of us. I don't know." Companionable silence fell between them. Nick hugged Natalie close and then pulled back to look at her. "Do you feel any better about this?" "Yes. I think I do. Thanks," Natalie said with a smile. "I can't say I've solved anything, but...I feel better." Nick kissed her lightly on the forehead. "Good." "So what are you doing, later?" Natalie asked. "You mean after my shift?" "Yeah." "Nothing. What did you have in mind?" Nick asked with a sudden grin. "Why don't I bring a video over and we can wind down together?" Natalie asked. Nick looked at her, his eyes expressing his love. "I'd love that." Natalie smiled. "Okay. I'll meet you at the loft after work. Sounds like a plan to me." Nick kissed her forehead again. "Guess I'd better go before Tracy sends out an APB. See you later." "See you," Natalie said softly. Nick gave her a smile and disappeared out the door. Natalie stood idly twirling a pencil as she thought for a moment about what Nick had said. He had given her a lot to think about. She hadn't realized she was so angry--not consciously. She didn't like the way it made her feel, or the kind of person it was making her. She did have to deal with this. She had to get this anger out of her system before it did permanent damage. She was surprised in a way that Nick was the one to point it out to her. He was so wrapped up in his guilt he couldn't see straight half the time, and yet, he could see this. A pity, she thought, that he couldn't apply it to himself--but then she wasn't one to talk. Look at where she was. Natalie shook her head, and then she smiled. Nick read the Bible. It still astonished her. He avoided religious symbols as much as possible, yet he'd read the Bible. Amazing. She laughed at the thought, feeling somehow refreshed as if a weight had been taken off her shoulders. Then she got back to work. She still had a body to autopsy. End Part 4 Evidence Part 5 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 1, Scene 3 If we put our heads together, we could surely... -- Iphigenia in Taurus Nick breezed into the precinct and slid into his chair. Tracy looked up at him and raised her eyebrows. "So, have you found anything out from the uniform interviews?" Nick asked briskly before Tracy could get out the question that was obviously burning a hole in her tongue. She opened her mouth, stopped, gave him a frustrated look, and narrowed her eyes ever so slightly. Nick watched her with a guileless look while inwardly enjoying her thought processes. She would be lousy at poker. Maybe he should invite her over to play a hand sometime. He could probably make a small fortune without even trying- -not that he needed a small fortune--but still, the idea appealed to him. "Not really," Tracy finally spluttered. "The only possible witnesses were joggers--seven of them, to be precise. We have names and addresses, but initial reports indicate none of them saw anything suspicious. With the rain, they probably had their heads down. If there was anything to observe--with our luck--they all missed it. "We need to interview these people for any vehicles they may have seen and cross-check their whereabouts and see if we can derive any useful information from their locations. It is possible, Nick, that our murderer took on the role of a jogger." Nick frowned as he thought about it. "Possible, I suppose, but not probable. It doesn't really fit the profile we have of him." Tracy shrugged, "Well, you never know. We might still want to keep it in mind." "Okay," Nick said with a shrug. It never hurt to keep an open mind to the extreme possibilities. "Anyway," Tracy continued, "it looks like tomorrow we are going to be doing interviews." "Maybe Getz and Miller can interview some of them during the day," Nick mused, leaning his chin on his hand. "It might help us get a heads-up on things. The sooner the better, you know." Tracy brightened at that thought. She hated going door to door. It made her feel like a salesman or something. So slimy. She shuddered involuntarily at that thought. "We should probably check with the businesses and homes in the area, and see if anyone saw anything," Nick added, thinking out loud. "I think there is a reason the perp is dumping them all on the Parkway." "Like, what?" Tracy asked sarcastically. "He eats his lunch there? His happiest memories as a child were in the park?" Nick grinned slightly. "That wasn't quite what I was thinking, Trace," Trace leaned back in her chair. "You have a better reason, then?" "No, but think about it. The victims have been picked up all over the city. The first was from Chinatown, the second near Yonge and Eglinton, the third over by High Park, and I'll bet tonight's victim is from an entirely new location." "He could be from anywhere," Tracy agreed glumly. "We won't know until we can identify him." "Yeah. But all of them were found within one mile of each other on the Parkway. Maybe he is being sloppy--but I doubt it. It's more likely a matter of proximity. It might be close to home or work, so that he isn't doing anything outside of his normal habits to dump them. This guy is organized and I'll bet he's doing it to prevent anyone from noticing anything unusual." "If it's proximity, then why wouldn't he be picking them all up in the same neighborhood, too?" Tracy asked. "I don't think it makes sense." "Yeah, it does. A neighborhood would become more observant as the people got more frightened. Spreading it out, keeps people from becoming alert. It's safer and easier to find a victim. But he could be involved in making deliveries or driving a vehicle on a standard route that takes him all over the city. He might spot them that way," Nick answered. "Or he just likes to drive around the city aimlessly looking for victims," Tracy muttered. "Maybe, but I don't know," Nick agreed. "There's too many possibilities to really tie it down." He rubbed the bridge of his nose as he thought about it. "I don't know, Trace, I still think there is something here that we are missing. Maybe we should go through the case files again. There's a reason for the Parkway." "Why?" Tracy asked, enjoying playing the devil's advocate. Besides she was in a mood to question everything Nick said tonight. He wasn't the only detective with brains in this partnership. "I don't know. It's just a feeling," Nick said missing her sarcasm. Something hovered at the edge of his mind and he struggled to bring it into focus. Just then Officer Lloyd dropped some files on Tracy's desk and Nick lost his concentration. Whatever was hovering vanished. "Here are the last of the reports, guys. Oh, and there's the report on the Jensen shooting, Detective Knight," she said as she handed him another folder. She smiled sympathetically and made her escape. Tracy eyed the stack and made a face. She hated paperwork. Nick glanced at the report in the file. They looked at each other. "You finish up Jensen, I'll finish doing the uniform reports," Tracy volunteered reluctantly. Nick leafed through the file and sighed. "I've got to go over to ballistics." At that moment, Captain Reese swept into the bullpen and headed for his office looking a little harried. Lt. Corvall followed on his heels with a stack of folders hugged to her chest. Reese caught sight of Nick and Tracy and detoured past their desks. Corvall nearly ran into Reese when he stopped abruptly. Nick thought for a moment that she looked just like a terrier. He suppressed a smile "Hi, Cap," Tracy said brightly. "Cap," Nick added, "how was the vacation?" Reese smiled, a little tightly, "Great. Too many museums, though. Denise dragged me to every single museum in Boston, I think. That woman loves museums almost as much as she loves talk shows. But I gotta admit there was one exhibit, that was...riveting," Reese paused, looking at Nick, "but it was good to get away. Can't say I missed this place at all." "Well, you were missed, though," Tracy said. "Nick tells me Captain Masur just doesn't do nights." Reese raised an eyebrow. "That so?" Nick shrugged. "He just needed more time to adjust. Not everybody is a night person." Reese nodded in agreement, while Corvall bounced around behind him impatiently. "Glad to see you back on the job, Vetter," Reese said smiling at Tracy. Tracy grinned up at him. "It's good to be back, Cap." Nick listened to the banter, wondering why the Captain was so tense for his first night back. He could read it in every line of his body. It felt a little odd. But Reese's next question answered his question. "I hear the Parkway Killer is back. You two have any leads?" Reese asked. "Not really," Nick said. "This guy is very clean. He's an organized killer--very methodical and planned. He leaves nothing to chance. But he might have screwed up this time. He dumped the body earlier than he has in the past. There were more people around and we've been able to bracket the time-frame for when he dumped the body." "A half-hour," Tracy piped in. "So we are going to canvas the area around the Parkway tomorrow and see if anybody saw anything suspicious," Nick finished. "That's all?" Reese asked, disappointed. "Yeah, but you never know, something could break. His cycle is getting shorter. He can't contain his urges anymore, and he's getting careless. Dumping the body that early in the evening is proof," Nick said. "He's never dumped one before midnight before." "Yeah, but *people* are dying, and I want it stopped now. You hear! Find this guy!" Reese walked off frustrated and slammed his door shut in Corvall's startled face. After a moment's hesitation, she opened the door and disappeared inside. Nick and Tracy looked at each other. Tracy wasn't sure what to think. A tiny crease marred Nick's forehead as he thought over the exchange. Something was definitely up with Reese. Tracy sighed. "You don't suppose the media's been leaning on him already, do you?" "Maybe," Nick murmured, puzzled. "Either that, or somebody upstairs is." Reese's reaction seemed a little off. Nick shrugged it off and looked back at the folder in his hands. "I'm going to take care of the Jensen case, and then we can concentrate on the Parkway Killer." Nick pushed back from the desk and headed out. Tracy watched him go and thought about what he had said. She wondered if her Dad was leaning on Reese. She knew what *that* felt like, and suddenly felt sorry for the Cap. Idly she twisted a paperclip in her hands as her thoughts wandered farther. Nick had stayed with Natalie for quite some time, and he'd deftly averted her questions when he had finally showed up. He was really good at avoiding topics he *wanted* to avoid. Maybe she should change tactics and grill Natalie. Natalie, though, Tracy decided was just about as tight with a word as Nick. But they couldn't keep it up forever. They were bound to let something slip sooner or later, and she was in the prime position to see it. With a slight smile, she opened the first report and started reading. The shift would be over soon, and she had a lot of ground to cover. +++++ Nick signed the last of the papers and closed the folder. "That takes care of the Jensen case," he muttered. In an even lower tone he breathed, "I hate paperwork." "What? What did you say?" Tracy asked perking her ears. "Nothing." Nick said. He looked at the clock. "Sun's coming up. I've got to go." "Yeah," Tracy agreed, "time to call it a night. I've organized a plan for tonight. Interviews and canvassing. And I've left some for Getz and Miller. That okay?" "Yeah," Nick said absently as he searched the desk for his sunglasses. "Oh, I almost forgot, the Captain wants to have an update on his desk tomorrow night, first thing," Tracy said. She leaned forward and whispered, "I'm really glad he's back from vacation, even if he had to come back to this. After listening to what people have been saying, I'm glad I missed working under Masur." Nick smiled. "Masur may be a good Captain," he said softly, "but he's too wound up for the night shift." It took a certain laid-back attitude to get through the nights. People got tired after midnight, and if they were wound as tight as Masur, they got cranky and autocratic. And Masur had been cranky and autocratic *all* week. "Maybe he wasn't getting enough sleep," he said, "he is a day guy, after all." Tracy smiled and said slyly. "LoMiller told me that you were calling him Little Napolean, Nick." "Never," Nick snorted. Tracy raised an eyebrow. Nick laughed. "All right, I give. He's cranky. He's Napoleon-- and he's gone. You happy?" "Yeah," Tracy said with a satisfied grin. "Good," Nick said, pushing back his chair and standing up. "Sun's coming up," he said again, and put on his sunglasses. "Bye." Tracy was always amazed how he just up and left. No chit chat, no nothing. "Bye," she said to his vanishing form. She shrugged. That was Nick. End Part 5 Evidence Part 6 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 2, Scene 1 What puzzles you? -- Iphigenia in Taurus Joe Reese covertly watched Nick's departure from the safety of his office. He sat stiffly and uncomfortably in his normally comfortable chair. When he'd first taken over the office, it had been standard issue--and it had been as uncomfortable as hell. It'd taken a mere three days before he broke down and bought his own. He had no idea how Cohen had lived with that damned thing all those years. A good chair made all the difference in the world, and this one had lumbar-support *and* extra padding. But tonight it didn't feel comfortable at all. He shifted uneasily again, trying to find some position that didn't make him twitchy. The problem, though, Reese knew, was not with the chair. It was in his head. He had a big puzzle in front of him, and it was driving him crazy. He stared down once more at Nick's personnel file. It wasn't the first time he'd looked at it; he'd looked at all his people's files when he'd become Captain of the 96th precinct. But that had been a cursory glance done under the incredible stress of Cohen's death and the precinct bombing. This time he'd examined it in minute detail, searching every line for answers. And he didn't like what he'd found, not one damn bit. His little puzzle, that he had been sure the file would answer, was getting bigger every second. In fact, getting Knight's file (his first official action he'd taken when he'd returned tonight) had made it worse... Reese shifted in the chair again. It felt like the iron maiden, he shifted again and got up to stretch. Getting his hands on Nick's file hadn't helped him at all. It explained nothing, and Reese found he was unable to keep his focus on work. He watched Tracy Vetter pick up her purse and follow Nick out of the precinct. He supposed he ought to go, too. The shift was over, but he didn't want to take this problem home again. Denise would probably throw him out. She'd not been very happy to have to have him muttering about it all the way home from Boston. If only they hadn't gone to that museum, Reese thought. If only... Since that day his thoughts had kept circling and circling--and always coming back to the same question. Who and what the hell was Nick Knight? Boston, two days ago... Joe Reese looked undeniably relaxed as he sauntered along after Denise. It was their first museum of the day--and the fourth on this trip--but he didn't mind. It had been too long since they had been on a vacation, and far too long since he had really pampered Denise. For the last five days, they'd done everything she wanted to do, and Denise was in heaven. It made Joe happy, too, because when Denise was happy, she spread it around. He grinned, remembering just exactly what she'd done for him--and to him the previous night. He watched Denise's hips sway with pure enjoyment. Yeah, this trip had been great. For once, his job wasn't getting in the way of their plans. Even better, he wasn't wearing a tie, and that made him a very happy man. Man, he hated ties. Boston had been a good idea, he thought. Not too far, but far enough that work wasn't following him. He noticed Denise veering into a bunch of cracked dishes. Why would anybody want to display cracked dishes, Joe wondered? Ah well, it didn't really matter as long as he didn't have to look at them. He saw a another gallery that looked more appealing to him, and touched Denise on the shoulder. "Honey, I'm going to check out that exhibit over there, okay?" Denise smiled. She recognized escape when she saw it. "Sure, Joe. I'll come and get you if I get done first." Joe bussed her fondly on the check and headed for the gallery. He didn't pay much attention to what it was as he went in. It wasn't dishes. That was all that mattered. Turned out it was someone's exposition on how scandal affected politics or some such drivel. He was amused to see that the nature of scandal that could affect someone's career had changed over time. Used to be that politicians could have all kinds of affairs on the side and nobody would report it or care, but that had changed a lot in the last 30 years. Nowadays people got real moral outrage over that--and didn't give a damn if you lied. Used to be the other way around. Joe wasn't sure which was worse. He figured that people ought to be honest as well as faithful- -made life a lot better in his mind. His stomach growled and Joe glanced at his watch. It was close enough to lunch that he could probably drag Denise away. With lunch beckoning, he headed back towards the entrance. And that was when it had happened. He ran smack-dab into the photo--the photo of Nick. Or at least a photo of someone that looked *exactly* like Nick. Joe stopped and stared with open mouth. Then he shut it and swallowed. He'd never seen such a perfect double in his whole life. Damn. He could swear it was Nick. But it couldn't be Nick. It just couldn't. He checked the plaque just to make sure. The plaque said it was taken at the 1968 Democratic National Convention. Getting his bearings, Joe scanned the information next to the photo. Nick, or his double, was a minor character in the display. Thomas Gardiner, a political candidate brought down by the suicide of Angela Mosler, one of his top staffers, was the primary focus. Gardiner stood in front of a doorway looking at Nick's double. The double was looking back at him, and the look they were exchanging spoke volumes to Reese. He'd seen that kind of look before. It was the kind that spoke of subterfuge and under-handed dealings. He wondered briefly what had actually happened and then dismissed it. He was more interested in the fact that the look on this double's face was a look he'd seen on Nick's too many times to count. It was a look he was sure he'd worn, too. It was the one you wore when you discovered who'd killed the corpse. Gardiner, Joe thought, had been guilty as hell. What he'd been guilty of didn't matter. He'd been caught and politically skewered. It was history. But who was this guy? He looked so much like Nick that if you changed the clothes and the hair, it would be Nick. He had the same pale complexion and the same intense gaze. Joe found himself leaning closer and staring hard. The card identified him only as a security guard. When Denise touched him on the shoulder he gasped and jerked back. "Joe?" Denise asked quizzically. "What is it? You've been staring at that photo like you've seen a ghost." Reese wiped his brow. He felt like he had seen a ghost. Deep inside, alarms were going off and he didn't know why. "Joe?" Denise asked, more concerned when Joe didn't answer. "It's all right, Honey. I... uh, well, I don't know. It's just that this guy looks exactly like one of my detectives. He looks like Nick Knight. It's a little unnerving, I guess," Joe said. Denise tilted her head and looked at the photo, and then at Joe. "Which one looks like him?" Joe numbly pointed. Not that Denise could make any judgment calls, she had never met Nick. Denise examined the photo and then looked at Joe. "So why is it bothering you so much? Everybody has a double out there somewhere. After all, there are only so many ways you can combine noses, eyes and mouths," she said with a smile. Joe nodded slowly. "Yeah, I know, but..." Denise had hit the nail on the head. It was bothering Joe. It was bothering him a lot. "But, what?" Denise asked. "I don't know," Joe said slowly taking another look. "I really don't know." His stomach growled, reminding him that he was hungry. "Never mind, honey. Why," he said, "don't we go find something to eat, Mrs. Reese?" Denise smiled back. "Why don't we, indeed?" But even as they walked away, Joe couldn't help but glance back one last time. He felt an odd tingle run through him. He shook his head, and took Denise's elbow. The sooner they got out of here, the happier he would be. But as they passed the information center at the entrance, Joe slowed and the cop in him kicked into gear. He just couldn't let this go. "Hang on a second, Denise. I just gotta ask a question," he said as he veered toward the information booth. Denise followed him to the booth and listened in amazement (and some disgust) as Joe drilled the man with questions. When he walked away, Joe was in possession of the phone number and name of the Curator and the Exposition manager. If there had been a postcard of that particular photo, no doubt he would have got that, too. The guy in the booth hadn't stood a chance against the seasoned grilling of Captain Joe Reese. Denise just shook her head as she steered him down the road towards an interesting looking restaurant she'd spied earlier. Joe was with her physically, but he'd left, mentally. She wished she'd never gone into that museum. The crab cakes were delicious, but Joe didn't notice, as he mulled it over what he had seen. He kept trying to figure out just exactly what he'd seen and why it was bothering him so much. Even more disturbing was the ominous feeling he had. Denise watched in frustration as the cop took over. She'd spent a whole week getting it out of him, and some stupid photo was destroying all her work. She sighed, but knew it wouldn't do any good. It was a good thing that they were heading home the next day. "Joe," Denise said, waving a hand in his face to get his attention. "What's going on. You're supposed to be on vacation. Reese looked up sheepishly. He hadn't realized he'd checked out on her. "Sorry, honey," he said. "I don't know what's going on, exactly. I just know I ran across something important with that photo." "Why is this so important, Joe? It's just an old photo." Joe stopped stirring his coffee and looked up. "I don't know, Denise. I just know that it is. You get a sixth sense about things, you know, being a cop. And this is making all the alarms go off. And when they go off, well, I gotta listen." Denise sighed and leaned back. She'd heard this speech before. "So what are you going to do about it?" Joe thought about it for a moment. "I don't know, but I'm sure I'll think of something." +++++ Reese watched Tracy disappear out the door after Nick. He stared down at the file in his hands. Nick's file. He tapped it in frustration against the desk. Initially he'd thought that it might be Nick's father, and that he'd been a cop doing a little work on the side. But the file said that Nick's father had been an archeologist. He didn't get within a right angle of being a cop or a security guard- -and more importantly--he had died in 1961. The image in the photograph could not have been his father. So who the hell was it? He looked at the folder again. Nick had no brothers, no sisters, maybe an uncle? The file was singularly unsupportive of his ideas. Nick apparently had no immediate or extended family. He stopped on that thought for a moment and wondered what it was like to have no family. Man, that would make holidays hard. Holidays were crammed with family parties. Denise had more family than you could shake a stick at. But Nick had none. It gave Reese a hollow empty feeling. But it explained Nick's shell. With no family to draw him out, he had turned into a world-class recluse. Well, it was beside the point, Reese supposed. The point was, it wasn't Nick's father in that photo. It was somebody else. And Joe knew deep inside him, in that place where all his gut reactions came from, that the photo was of Nick. It was absolutely stupid and totally ludicrous. But he believed it--he knew it. And all he had to do was prove it. Prove the impossible. Joe snorted at the sheer madness of it. But he had a few ideas on that, too. In a few hours, a very specialized digital imagery corporation would be open for business and Reese would be on their doorstep. Before he'd left Boston, he'd wangled a copy of the photograph from the Curator. He wanted it enlarged and examined in detail. It was crazy--idiotic, in fact--but he had to know. And if anything could prove or disprove him, this would be it. A digitally enhanced enlargement, he hoped, would prove him wrong. Then he could put this whole thing to rest. Or not... Joe Reese sighed and put on his jacket. It was time to get out of there and let someone else wrestle with all the idiots breaking the law. He put the file away in his drawer and locked it. With that, Joe Reese picked up the incriminating photo and left, intent of finding some answers. End Part 6 Evidence Part 7 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 2, Scene 2 What do you bid me to do, of which I am capable? To have the courage to follow my counsel. -- Electra by Sophocles Nick rode the elevator to the loft morosely. The Parkway Killer was getting under his skin. He tentatively touched his fangs. They were aching dully. He didn't need this. He *really* didn't need this. But still, he could feel it, the hunger and the need to fill the empty place inside. He knew how the killer felt. He knew how every killer felt. He'd been there, done that, and had too many damn T-shirts. The elevator jerked to a stop and he slid the door open leaving his thoughts behind. The loft was alive with candlelight. Natalie had arrived before him and brought the place to life. The loft felt warm and soft and full of love--like Natalie. He smiled as his eyes met hers. "Hi, Nick. I thought I'd make myself at home. Hope you don't mind." She was stirring something up in the kitchen. "No," Nick said softly. "I don't mind." He dropped his coat on a chair and dumped his mail on the table. "I'm making soup, want some?" she asked playfully Nick walked over and gingerly took a peek. It was green. It looked gross. He took a sniff. "What is it?" he asked tentatively. Natalie laughed. "Cream of Asparagus soup. It won't kill you!" He made a face. "Maybe not, but I think I'll pass." "Wimp," Natalie said good-naturedly. Nick looked at her for a long moment and said reluctantly, "Okay, I'll try a taste..." Before he could get any farther Natalie stuck a spoonful in his mouth. Nick struggled to keep from gagging and heroically swallowed. Natalie watched with hopeful amusement. "Well, that's enough of that," Nick said when he could speak, and made a beeline for the fridge. "Nick... " Natalie's voice followed him. Nick opened the fridge and pulled a bottle out. He removed the cork impatiently and foregoing any manners drank straight from the bottle. The blood slid down his throat, thick and salty, invigorating him, burning through him--giving life. Natalie was silent, staring at him--and the incriminating bottle. He looked at her, then resentfully at the bottle in his hand. "I know, Nat," he said bitterly, "I just think we both know after all this time that there isn't a quick fix or easy answer. And nothing else sustains me, or holds the *beast* in check." "I know. I'm sorry," Nat said quietly. "Don't be sorry, Nat," Nick said his face softening. "You've done more for me than anyone ever has. Don't ever be sorry." They looked at each other in silent understanding. "Nat?" Nick ventured finally. "Yes?" "Your soup is boiling..." "Oh...drat!" Natalie jumped and turned to pull the bubbling stuff off the burner before it boiled over. Nick smiled and downed the rest of the bottle while her attention was off him. Feeling revitalized, he put the bottle in the sink. While Natalie prepared her dinner in companionable silence, Nick looked through his mail impatiently. He threw it on the table and wandered over to the window, staring out at the lightening sky. Beads of water splattered against the window as the storm renewed itself with the dawn. Rivulets slid down the pane in random glee. Nick stared in fascination, his mind drifting away...feeling himself slip inside the killer's mind. "NICK!" Nick looked around, "Huh... What?" "What century are you in? I called you three times," Natalie said. "Sorry, Nat. I'm having a hard time getting my mind off of this case." "I know. Me, too," Natalie added, joining him at the window. Nick put a finger out and traced patterns on the window. "I have seen a lot of violence in my life," he said slowly, as if forming the thoughts and putting them into words was physically painful. "I've been the instigator of a lot of violence. I've enjoyed it. I've loved it. Hated it... I've wanted it, and...needed it." Natalie remained silent, waiting for him to reach his point. "I know this killer, Natalie. I *know* how he feels. Something about him is like looking at my own soul. I can feel his ambivalence. He's like me. He loves it and hates it. But he needs it. He *needs* to do this." He looked at Natalie grimly, "And he's not fighting it anymore. "I'm also certain that this is not random. He's not killing just to kill. It's not sexual, either. I'm sure of that. He has a purpose. I just haven't figured out what it is, yet, but I know he's got a purpose--a very definite agenda. If we don't find him before he's done, I don't think we ever will." "Why?" Natalie asked, puzzled. "Because we don't have any suspects? And why do you think he'll stop. Once someone starts down this path, they typically don't stop unless they're captured or killed." "I know. But he's not exactly...typical. Something about him doesn't fit the profile." Natalie searched Nick's face. "That may be true, but how can you know he'll stop?" "Because. I've felt it. I felt something at the murder scene. It's like a vibration, and you know what, Nat? He leaves such a strong impression behind, that I think I'd know him if I met him," Nick said as he ran his hand through his hair in frustration. "Wait, you can feel him?" Natalie asked incredulous. "What do you mean, you can feel him? Is this telepathic or something? Is this typical?" Nick shrugged. "No, it's not typical--it's not anything remotely normal, Nat. I just know he leaves this impression behind. It lingers with the body. It's a lot like when I know another vampire's around. An aura would be the best way to describe it." Nick shook his head and stared out the window. "But he's mortal, Nat--and that makes it extremely unusual." "So you're telling me you have a psychic connection of some kind with the Parkway Killer?" Natalie asked. Nick nodded, not looking at her. "And it's not a normal vampire ... talent?" Natalie asked carefully. "No." Nat stared at him in fascination, wanting to pursue this new information. "But...you can recognize other vampires--just by this aura? And that is normal?" Nick nodded, as he suddenly realized he'd let something drop that maybe he shouldn't have. The more Natalie knew, the more danger she was in. He realized he shouldn't say anymore about this than he had to. "Yeah, I can. But that's not the point. The point is, I can recognize his aura. I think I can recognize the Parkway Killer if I get near him. I'm sure of it, in fact. I don't know why, but I'm sure. Maybe it's because he feels a lot like I do, Nat. He's divided and struggling with his nature. He's consumed with this overwhelming need to reach his...objective. He's consumed by it--to the point that I don't think he knows who he is anymore. He just knows that if he has to do this." The silence grew longer, punctuated by rumbling thunder. "What are you saying, Nick?" Natalie asked at last. "That you are divided? That you don't know who *you* are? That you are losing the battle to be human? That you are doing this just because you think you have to?" There was a tiny tremor in her voice. Nick turned and gazed at Natalie, and then looked away. He leaned his head against the pane. "I don't know. I just feel...empty, and I want... I want..." He closed his eyes and sighed, "Sometimes when I deal with these kinds of cases, the vampire becomes stronger--a lot stronger. The hunger overwhelms me. I forget what I want--what I'm striving for-- because of the immediacy of the hunger." "Are you sure?" Natalie asked. "Is the vampire getting stronger? Or is it that you are just paying more attention to it, because of this psychic connection?" Nick's shoulders slumped. "I don't know." He turned and leaned against the window and stared at her. His eyes were tinted gold. "Sometimes I feel it's hopeless. And I think that more often than I used to." Natalie stared at him, trying to understand what he wasn't saying, what he was struggling to verbalize. "Nick," she said finally, "have you lost hope? Are you saying you don't believe that you can become human, that you can find a way back?" He looked away and shrugged. "I don't know, Nat. I... I don't know." "Are you giving up? Is this your way of saying it's time to move on?" End Part 7 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 8 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Nick wouldn't meet her eyes. He turned back to the window and watched the rain beat against it. Natalie closed the distance between them, but he refused to turn, refused to meet her gaze. "Nick answer me! Tell me what's going on. Tell me what you're thinking," Natalie demanded as the silence grew. Lightning illuminated them suddenly, throwing the room into stark relief. "I *don't* know," Nick said in frustration. Nat stared at him, anger starting to form. "Nick," she said angrily, but he cut her off. "Nat, I don't. Really. I'm not planning on leaving... It's just that if there is no hope, no cure possible..." He shook his head impatiently, and turned to look at her. His eyes were a chilly green- gold. "Nat, I'm a vampire who is *trying* to be human. I'm not. And I may never be, no matter how much I want it. My reaction to events is far different than yours or Tracy's because of *who* and *what* I am. Some days I don't know who I am. I don't know if I'm a vampire playing at being a cop, or a cop that happens to be a vampire, or...something else. And when I don't know who I am, I lose control and nature tends to win, and my nature is..." Nick sighed, "I'm sorry, Natalie. This wasn't a good idea..." Natalie watched him as he stared moodily out the window at the dark lowering skies and heavy rain. Sometimes she wondered if there was a cure, too. It was hard. It was hard for her, and hard for him... She wondered what she could say to reach him. And then, suddenly, she knew. "How well *do* you know the Bible, Nick?" Nick turned around and stared at Natalie, his face a question mark. "What are you talking about, Nat?" "Well, you are the one who said you've read it. And there's nothing quite like the Bible for encouraging people to overcome their nature. Doesn't it spend a lot of time encouraging people to change, despite the odds?" "Nat...," Nick said on an exhale of frustration. "What does it say about faith, Nick?" Natalie persisted A slight smile crossed his face, and his eyes slid from gold to blue. "'Now, faith is the substance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen,'" Nick quoted softly. "Hebrews, chapter 11, verse 1. Paul said it. Why?" "I just think you are forgetting what faith is all about, is all," Natalie said firmly. "What do you mean?" Nick asked, puzzled. "You *hope* for humanity, for a cure. You've embarked on this quest with absolutely no proof it is achievable. No evidence. Yet you've believed. You've had faith. You've acted on it. Why are you giving up that hope, that faith now?" Natalie searched his face to see if she was even reaching him. He stared at her for a long time. "Maybe, because the evidence is saying something different--that there is no cure. After all this time, I should have found something, seen something, some change, and yet I haven't. I've found nothing. I'm as much a vampire now as I was four years ago--or a hundred." The words were edged with bitter cynicism. "On the other hand, maybe the evidence is just not obvious, because you haven't found all the pieces," Natalie said quietly, putting her hand on his arm comfortingly. "Nick, anything worth having, anything of value in our lives, typically is something we've worked long and hard for. This is worth the effort. Don't quit because you are in the middle of this and can't see the end, and you can't remember the beginning." Nick stared at her as if she was some unreadable, unfathomable Rosetta stone. A light seemed to break across his face. "I won't quit," he said in a low voice, his hand convulsively clutching at hers. "I can't." Then he smiled, "But I can and do have set backs. Big ones." "I've noticed," Natalie said dryly, humor crinkling the corners of her eyes. Nick smiled back, glad Natalie was on his side. "Remember, you've got to be patient, Nick." "It's 'run with patience the race which is set before you' if I recall correctly," Nick murmured. Natalie tilted her head. "Is that in the Bible, too?" Nick merely smiled. "Well, it's good advice, Nick." "So..." "Nick, all of us are divided and ambivalent at times. We all struggle to be 'good', to be better than our nature. Don't think because you are a vampire, that you are the only one..." "Yes, but Natalie, when you lose the battle, it doesn't cost someone their life," Nick pointed out, grimly. "Stop it, Nick. Don't put yourself beyond redemption. Look at the Parkway Killer. When he loses the battle, *a man--a human being* loses his life. Humans and vampires are not all that different. Our natures may be against us, but the choice to give in, is always up to us," Natalie said firmly. "And you," she added poking him with her finger, "can't let the set-backs stop you. You pick yourself up, dust yourself off, and keep trying. It's what all of us do, whether we are mortal or vampire." Nick smiled slowly. "Okay, *Doctor*, if you say so." "I say so. " They stared at each other, the air thick with raw emotions. Tentatively, Nick reached out and pulled Natalie to him and gave her a hug. A gentle kiss touched her forehead. They stood silently gathering strength from each other. The storm outside seemed to have vented its force as well, the downpour turning into a soft misty rain. "Do you still want to stay and watch a video?" Nick asked, hesitantly, against her hair, afraid she might decide to go home. Natalie pulled back and met his gaze with a reassuring look. "Of course. I've been looking forward to it all night. Besides, I still have some soup to eat." "I'm glad," Nick said and stroked her hair. He glanced over at the coffee table where her bowl sat, obviously much cooler than when she'd poured it out. "Umm, Nat, I think your soup is cold..." Natalie laughed. "It figures. Oh well, I'll just throw it in the microwave." She picked up her bowl and headed for the kitchen. Nick quirked an eyebrow at the mental image Natalie's words brought to mind. "Could be messy," he murmured, as he picked up the remote and shut out the day. "What?" Natalie asked glancing over her shoulder. "Oh, you know, throwing soup into a microwave. I thought you wanted to eat it, not use it for a sporting event." "If you want a sporting event," Natalie said with a wicked grin, "I'm sure we can find something *else* to throw it at." Nick held up his hands in mock surrender. "No, thanks," he said as he sprawled on the couch. "So, what are we watching, anyway?" Natalie smiled. "Just a little something with no plot. I thought it would be a nice change of pace." Nick raised an eyebrow. "Really. No tearjerker? No chick flick?" "Nope," Natalie said as she put her soup down carefully on the coffee table. She smiled innocently as she plopped down next to him. Nick casually dropped his arm around her as he hit play on the remote. "Ferris Bueller's Day Off....!!" he said incredulously, as the credits began to roll. Natalie sighed contentedly. "Yup. I love this show. I figured we needed something different. Something light. Besides, it's lots of fun. It reminds me of the stupid things I did in high school--not to mention college. Didn't you ever do anything crazy and wild like that?" Nick thought for a moment, "Some. But it was different when I was growing up. We didn't have a lot of free time to waste. But I did a lot of really stupid stuff when they first came out with the automobile, so I suppose that counts." "Oh, yeah? This I've got to hear," Natalie said. "After," Nick said, as Ferris went into his 'sick' routine. "Besides, I want to study his technique. I always need to add to my repertoire. It's not easy being a vampire, you know. People look at you, start thinking you're way too pale. Then they think you're cold, or that something is wrong. It never hurts to have a good non- specific, 'I'm sick' routine, up your sleeve." Natalie almost choked on her soup. "Hey!" Nick said feigning a wounded look, "it works." "So that's your secret," Natalie said. "And I always thought it was the whammy." "Last resort, only" Nick smirked. Natalie laughed. "Hand me the popcorn," she demanded, and snuggled a little closer. End Part 8 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 9 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 2, Scene 3 I am bewildered. And I cannot think... -- Iphigenia inTauris Tracy unlocked her door and walked into her dark and empty apartment. She sighed and shut the door with a little more force than was necessary. The night had been harder than she thought. And it hadn't helped that the Parkway Killer had chosen her first night back to kill someone. "Why did he have to choose tonight, of all nights?" Tracy wondered. "Why," she muttered, "does he have to kill at all?" The words dropped into the silence around her, and Tracy took a deep breath. She hated coming home to an empty apartment when her mind was buzzing like this. She needed someone to talk to, someone to work through everything with--from everybody watching her on her 'first night back' to the Parkway Killer's nasty present. In some ways, it was as if she hadn't been off the job at all--in other ways it felt like a lifetime had gone by. She supposed that all in all, she'd done okay. A few butterflies, a few bad moments, but she'd lived. She'd gotten through her first night back in one piece. Now, if they could just stop this *stupid* killer. "Food," Tracy said to the walls, "I need food, and my head hurts.' What she really needed, was a little company. She supposed she could use food as a substitute. It wouldn't be the first time. She puttered around the kitchen and eventually decided on toast and hazelnut coffee. It wasn't like she needed the coffee. It would probably keep her up. But on the other hand, she...well, needed it. Tracy sighed. She hadn't figured out how to adjust to sleeping during the day and living her life at night. She just wasn't a night person. "Whose idea was this, anyway?" she asked. "Nobody should be up all night." Shaking her head she turned around and smacked into Vachon, splattering coffee all over him in her shock. "Aarrgh!" "Is that any way to greet a friend, Vetter?" Vachon asked mildly, as he pulled his hands out of his pockets and calmly brushed away the coffee droplets. "And I, personally, if you are taking a poll, think being up all night is great." Tracy waited for her heart to find its way back into her chest. She looked at him through narrowed eyes. "It is when they don't *knock*!" she said with meaning. "Why do you do that?" He grinned innocently. "Because I can." "What? Am I the only one you can sneak up on? So you take perverse pleasure in trying to scare me to death?" Tracy demanded, almost spilling her coffee again. She glared at him, and then circled around him to get to the table. Vachon grinned slightly as he followed her. Tracy carefully placed her cup on the table with a shaking hand and turned back to find him practically on top of her. She gasped, and Vachon laughed. "Well, you are the only one I know that I could scare to death, so to speak, and you can't sneak up on another..." "Don't say it!" Tracy ordered. Vachon smiled gently. Tracy glared for a moment and then her humor reasserted itself. Shaking her head she sat down and with a nod invited Vachon to join her. He slouched onto the chair. Tracy regrouped. "Okay, so why are you here? Just in the neighborhood?" "Actually, Trace, I came to see you, and if you don't mind, I'd like to borrow your couch." "My couch?" "Yeah. Unless you want to drive me home." He nodded his head in the direction of the window. "In case you didn't notice, the umm...sun is up. I could get a bad sunburn," he added with an innocent look. "I thought you had a built-in alarm clock or something. You know, like the computer on Star Trek. 'Warning, the sun will be up in 10.2 minutes.' That sort of thing." "We do," Vachon allowed. "It even sounds just like it." Tracy rolled her eyeballs. "Yeah, sure." "Okay, it's more like this feeling that you want to find a dark hole. But it works." Tracy smiled at him. "If it works so well, how come you're still here." "It was your first day back on the job, and I thought I'd see how it went. And since the sun is now up, when you get through talking about it, I thought I'd borrow the couch, unless you feel a serious need to drive me home--and with your trunk space, Trace, it just isn't a lot of fun. She didn't know how to define Vachon. He didn't fit into any of the neat categories in her life, and she didn't know how he felt about her. But looking into his deep, dark eyes, she realized he did care-- more than he probably wanted to. She smiled ruefully. "Thanks. That's the nicest thing anyone has done for me since this all started. You can borrow the couch." Vachon smiled gently. "Specially the part where you hung around...even though I didn't get here until late," Tracy said quietly. Vachon leaned back casually, tipping the chair up on two legs. "So, how'd it go?" Tracy wrinkled her nose, and shook her head as she took a bite of her toast. "Nof greaff," she said a round the mouthful, laughing. Vachon raised an eyebrow. Tracy swallowed, "Not great, but not bad, I guess. It's just that people were looking at me like I was some kind of circus act. Sheesh, you'd think I'd taken out half of Toronto, instead of a couple of criminals actively pursing their...criminal activities. "And then we had another homicide tonight. The Parkway Killer dropped another victim off for us." Tracy took a sip from her coffee and stared into it morosely. "So?" "So, why couldn't he have waited until I adjusted? Or better yet, why couldn't he just have forgot the whole thing? This guy is a complete creep. He tortures them, carves pictures on them, and kills them." Tracy stopped. "Oops. You're not supposed to know that, Vachon." "Which part?" Vachon asked mildly. Tracy sighed, "The part about carving pictures. Erase that, okay?" "Erased," Vachon said. "Never heard it." Tracy laughed. "Thanks. I guess I'm really wound up or I wouldn't have let that happen." "S'okay." "So, what did you do while I was off serving and protecting?" Tracy asked, feeling something inside of her start to ease. "I started the night with a motorcycle ride," Vachon said. "It was a perfect night. You should have been there." His glanced at her sideways, under lowered lashes. As their eyes met, Tracy felt her heart slam into her ribs. It wasn't like he'd said anything, exactly, but it was there in his eyes- -that indefinable something that told her he was attracted to her. More than attracted. Tracy cleared her throat, feeling a sudden tension building. "Well, yeah, I wish I'd been there, too. Some other night, huh?" Vachon smiled and after a moment blinked, and the tension vanished. "Yeah," he agreed. Tracy wondered if she'd imagined it. Not that she knew what to do with Vachon anyway. He was, after all, a vampire. She couldn't quite imagine taking him home to meet the folks. "Hey," he said. "Can I play your guitar? I'm trying to write this song. There's this one part I want you to listen to..." Interlude Keep a sharp lookout. Somebody may be coming... -- Iphigenia in Taurus He whistled tunelessly as he waited for the light to change. Traffic waded slowly through intersections flooded after the night's deluge. The day looked to be raw and cold. It was a perfect day for a stroll in the neighborhood. He squinted up at the sky through the windshield and smiled. He loved rain--the way it could delicately mist the air, or splatter drops with intense abandon, or deluge the earth so suddenly you couldn't see to drive, or even hear yourself think. Rainy days were better for seeing color. Sunlight paled everything to a shadow of itself, it washed out the colors. But on a rainy day--every delicate color and shade was alive--vibrantly alive. Yeah, he *loved* rain--especially when it washed away any trace of evidence. He laughed--a loud cracked sound. It momentarily unsettled him, and he wondered if he were mad. Then he wondered if it mattered. The light turned green, and he put the truck in gear and moved forward, the tires sending up gouts of water as he pushed through the intersection. He wasn't going to get to work on time today. Nothing was moving fast. Frustration marred his face with a scowl, and he tapped unconsciously on the steering wheel. Underneath his frustration at traffic, he felt another frustration building in him. Already, he felt the need twitching in him--calling him to finish it. He was so close, and yet... He'd dumped the guy just last night--he'd been high, excited. For a moment he'd felt satiated and elated. But the anger burned in him, still. It wouldn't go away. He knew it wasn't going to go away until they had all been given retribution. All of them. He cursed and tried to empty it from his mind. But it was a vibration deep inside demanding completion. It was thrumming in his bones, a whispering in his muscles, and a scream inside his mind. He couldn't ignore it. Before he realized it, he started thinking about the next one. Already he was making plans, figuring out what he needed to do. How to do it--pull it off. The sweaty feel of anticipation was exciting. It made him feel alive. It was the only thing that made him feel alive, anymore. He hadn't been alive since they all died... End Part 9 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 10 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 3, Scene 1 No wonder you are asking all these questions -- Iphigenia In Taurus Tracy strode into the precinct humming under her breath. She tried to ignore the fact that she was humming Vachon's new song. It didn't work. A silly grin briefly crossed her face, and Tracy shook her head. "This is ridiculous," she muttered. "This is really stupid, Vetter." Stupid or not, Vachon made her feel...good. Somebody out there cared about Tracy Vetter, normal human being, not Commissioner Vetter's daughter. Vachon didn't give a damn about who her father was, or what her job was. He just cared about her. And that made Tracy feel extraordinary. She wouldn't really say he was a boyfriend, and she wasn't sure she wanted to. In fact, Tracy wasn't sure what Vachon was to her, or how she felt about him, or for that matter, if she wanted him as more than a...friend. But he had made a major difference in her life. She felt...happy. And it was all Vachon's fault. She grinned openly at the thought, as she entered the bullpen. Thanks to Vachon she was ready to take on the world again. Nick looked up as Tracy plunked down in her chair with a sigh. She removed the lid from her coffee and sniffed appreciatively. Nick wrinkled his nose ever so slightly as the bitter aroma wafted his way. She took a sip of the steaming liquid and gave a satisfied sigh, then looked across the desk at Nick. "You know, if it wasn't for coffee, I don't think I'd ever be able to do the night shift. I don't know how you do this on a permanent basis, Nick. Even after all this time, I still feel--well, weird. Like everything is backward." Nick laughed. "You get used to it...specially when you don't have a choice." He leaned forward and whispered, "I adjusted to the night life--oh, it seems centuries ago. Can't remember it any other way." Tracy shook her head, laughing, suddenly thinking of someone who really had adjusted to the night centuries ago. "Well, maybe someday I'll get used to it. For now, it still takes serious amounts of coffee to wake up." "Well, I've got something to wake you up," Nick said as he threw a folder on her desk. "They've identified our latest victim--Curtis Pierson, who just happens to live off of Danforth Avenue. Two blocks from where he was left." Tracy stared at Nick. "He killed a guy from the neighborhood? But...why? That seems awfully close to his dumping ground? It breaks his pattern, doesn't it? People are going to start paying more attention." "Yeah, it's a possibility," Nick agreed, looking down and making random circles on his blotter with his finger. "The question is, why? This guy is one cool customer--or at least he has been. He's picking them up from all over, he dumps them late at night..." "Except for last night," Tracy interjected. "Except for last night," Nick said softly. "And the guy was from nearby. I wonder if he picked him up near there, or from somewhere else?" Tracy frowned at that, "You mean, he might not have known where he was from?" "Possibly. The killer hasn't done anything to specifically excite this area, besides dump the bodies. Nobody has been from near here--keeping the level of awareness down a bit." "Until now," Tracy added. "Yeah," Nick agreed. "The question is, was it deliberate or accidental?" "It would be nice if we could ask him," Tracy said in frustration. "Even if was just hot or cold." Nick stopped twiddling with his blotter and looked oddly at Tracy. "What?" Tracy grinned, "You know, like when you played hide and seek, and they'd let you know if you were hot or cold." Nick stared at her. "Like close or really far away," Tracy said in surprise. "Didn't you play that?" Nick shook his head. "I don't think so." "Weird. I thought everybody played a version of that." Nick decided to change the subject before it got dicey. "I'd still like to know if it was deliberate. And the victims, is it random or do they have something in common?" "Something in common," Tracy repeated in frustration, easily sidetracked from Nick's lack of familiarity with childhood games. "Well, if they have, we haven't found it, Nick. It's not like we haven't looked, and cross-checked, and..." Tracy quit on an exhale of frustration. She slumped back in her chair. "Okay. We'll do it again. What do we know about Curtis Pierson?" Nick nodded at the folder lying on her desk. "Everything we currently know is in there. Getz and Miller did the background check. Pierson, it turns out is no boy scout. He was known for being drunk and abusive. He did some time for theft a few years ago, and I get the impression he wasn't exactly reformed by the experience. He wasn't liked much by anybody. No one had anything good to say about him. He was loud, rude, angry, and he beat his wife." "Sounds like a winner," Tracy muttered. "A guy with enemies everywhere. Great." The words echoed oddly in Nick's head, touching a long-forgotten chord... "....he has enemies everywhere, Nicholas," LaCroix said, pulling the velvet hanging back and peering out at the angry crowd. "We really can't afford to make any mistakes. The sooner we leave this miserable place, the better. He's a venal, greedy young man with far too much power--and no sense." Nicholas rose from the bench by the fireplace and joined him at the window. They watched in silence the sullen crowd gathering in the square below. "Perhaps," Nicholas said, "he's gone too far." "Oh, he went too far, long ago," LaCroix said mockingly. "I've heard he killed his brother to gain the Duchy. Poison." LaCroix smiled at that, "Actually, that was probably a sound move, but he has no head for power. He uses it for personal pleasure only. I hear he's very fond of torture, just for the sake of torture. *That* is depraved. He doesn't gain anything politically from it." Nick stared at LaCroix in disgust, but said nothing. LaCroix smiled wickedly, "Oh, really, Nicholas! And what would you do if it was your Duchy?" Nicholas turned away. "I wouldn't use it like this," he said impatiently. LaCroix eyed him, and nodded. "No, you've no desire for power. You'd probably be poisoned within the week." Nicholas turned and stared at LaCroix. "LaCroix!" he said impatiently. "It's true, he has gone too far," LaCroix said with a shrug, returning to the subject of the Prince, "he is depraved. It's a good thing he's not one of us. He has no idea of control. He would bring far too much attention to us with his behavior. If the Enforcers didn't get him, the mortals would." "Perhaps, we should leave tonight. Gian Maria may hunt his enemies with impunity, but his people are growing angry, and will soon be hunting him," Nicholas said. He turned away from the window, his houppelande of sapphire velvet, trailing after him. He looked very much the part of a rich nobleman. LaCroix looked out the window. "Perhaps...," he said. "But I do not think that they will overthrow their Duke. His guards are loyal. He pays them *very* well. Besides, Nicholas, you know we cannot leave. Not without our pretty Janette." Suddenly, the crowd began shouting as the Duke and his entourage rode through the gates of the city. Nicholas rejoined LaCroix at the window. They watched the people cry out for respite from their heavy taxes. The young Duke sneered impatiently. His voice carried clearly. "Get this rabble out of my way. Now!" The troops rode forward into the crowd, their horses piked armor maiming several people instantly. More fell beneath their hoofs. "Lord, Duke," the people cried, almost as one. "Spare us!" But their Prince ignored them and pressed his troops forward. They did so brutally, lowering their piked lances at the milling, terrified crowd. Screams echoed throughout the city as the streets emptied before Nicholas and LaCroix' eyes. The young, fat Duke laughed as rode up the hill, looking awkward on his horse. His entourage disappeared from sight, and the street was empty save for the dead and wounded. LaCroix licked his lips as he looked down, and Nicholas stiffened at the sweet smell of blood that rose up from the cobbled street. "Dinner is laid for us," LaCroix said softly, angrily, "and yet, we dare not feast. Too many eyes are watching. The Duke makes it difficult for us to even get a decent meal in this wretched city." Nicholas shut the window abruptly, and let the velvet hanging fall--shutting out the blood scent calling to them. "He has no character," LaCroix murmured, "he is truly disgusting..." "Nick?" Tracy asked, "Did you hear me?" Nick looked up at Tracy. "Um, no. I was thinking. What did you say?" "I said, maybe we should go finish up the interviews." "Maybe," Nick said. "But I just realized something. Our victims do have something in common." "What?" Tracy asked, wrinkling her brow. "Curtis is an abusive drunk. Terrence Wilburn was an habitual liar, John Prandle was an intimidating bully, and Caroll Vickers was..." "...a small-time con-man. So what are you thinking, Nick?" Tracy asked. "I think that maybe they are being picked out because of their character traits. His picking them because they are...jerks." Tracy blinked at that. "They're being auditioned?" "Yeah," Nick said with sudden insight. "I think our killer is looking for just those kind of people. He's looking for people that fit a profile. And that's why we can't find a common denominator. Not time of disappearance, or last known location, race or religion. I'll bet our killer is bar-hopping and picking them out by their behavior, or he sees them somewhere in his daily routine. Anyway, he sees enough to know what they are like, and then I'll bet he stalks them and picks them up when no one is watching. I should have seen this before... He's a stranger killer. He has to be." Tracy shook her head in amazement. "Where do you come up with these ideas, Nick," she asked in amazement. Nick looked at her in surprise. It was suddenly so obvious. "Experience," he said dryly, thinking to himself, about 800 years of experience. "I don't know. It sounds kind of out there to me. I mean, I can buy the stranger killer, because of his behavior. But picking them out because of their characteristics? That takes time, and effort. Why not just pick up the first convenient guy that strays into his path?" Tracy asked. "Because he's got a mission," Nick said suddenly, staring into space. "He's on a personal mission, and it's got to be just right." "Nick!" Tracy said. "Get real!" "You got a better idea?" Nick asked with a grin. Tracy locked stares with him, and finally shrugged. "No, not really, but Nick, that's pretty thin," Nick smiled at Tracy as he picked up the folder. "Maybe it is, but I think we ought to check it out. Meanwhile, we still have some interviews to do." Tracy wrinkled her face up in disgust. "I was hoping Getz and Miller would have got them done." "Well, they did get a lot done, but some people weren't home, so we should..." Nick's phone suddenly trilled. "Knight," he said as he put it to his ear. He looked at Tracy as he listened. "Yeah, we'll be right there," and hung up. "That was Natalie, she's just finished the autopsy and she's got something she wants us to see." He was already out of his chair as he spoke. Tracy sighed and shoved the lid back on her coffee. Watching Nick go off on a tangent like this just made her tired. How did he do it? "And he does it without any caffeine, too," she said sadly as she picked up her coffee and followed Nick out of the precinct. End Part 10 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 11 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 3, Scene 2 But what has happened that would call for this? -- Iphigenia in Taurus "It's not much, but it's something," Natalie said as she pointed to the microscope. Nick peered through it at the slide. "And it is...?" Nick asked as he peered through the microscope. "Transmission fluid," Natalie said as Nick gave Tracy a chance to look. "Easily identified by the cherry-red coloring. Not to mention the high detergent content, and, of course, the petroleum based synthetic oil." "Oh, of course," Nick said dryly. Natalie grinned. "Sorry, I'm just excited to actually *find* something." Tracy looked up from the microscope at that. "This is great, Natalie. I think our guy is finally slipping. Do you think you can identify a manufacturer?" Natalie shook her head. "I doubt it. Too many manufacturers use the same exact formula." Nick walked slowly around the autopsy table thinking, then turned and looked at Natalie, "Nat, where did you find it?" "It was in the puncture wound that killed him. Around the edges. It must have been on the surface of whatever he's using for a murder weapon." Nick was silent for a moment. "Was there any oil found on his internal organs?" "It's hard to tell. His insides were pretty chewed up. This is a pretty gruesome way to kill someone, you know," Natalie said. "It's a gruesome way to kill people," LaCroix said. "He hunts them down with a pack of dogs. He trains them to hunt people." Nick turned from the fire's dancing light, his hammered silver girdle glinting in the light, and waited for LaCroix to finish the thought. "They rip them to shreds, and he laughs while he watches it. He reserves this particular death for those he believes have betrayed him." "And Janette is up there in his castle. What game does she think she is playing? She could expose us all!" Nicholas said with frustration. "Yes, but do look at it from her point of view. The spider who believes he controls the lives and fate of everyone around him is being lured in by a much more venomous spider. One who does have a very good reason to kill him," LaCroix said softly. "He did, after all, kill Virginie just because she was in his path. I must admit, even I had a fondness for her. If Janette wasn't doing it, I think I would..." Nick stared at LaCroix, feeling slightly surprised. He knew that he would like to kill the miserable little Duke, but LaCroix? LaCroix raised an eyebrow. "Oh, come now, Nicholas. If I didn't like her, she would have been breakfast a long time ago. Janette has never been a fool, and her choice of servant was...remarkable. She was truly an asset." "Yes," Nicholas said softly, his face tinged with sadness. "She was unique." "And Janette *will* have her revenge," LaCroix added. "And if she's not careful, he could discover her trick during the daylight--and then how will she escape?" Nick asked pacing the room in anger. LaCroix watched him with amusement. "Do have a little faith in her...Janette is no fool. I expect we will hear from her soon. And then the pretty little Duke will find that being torn to death is not the most frightening death imaginable..." "Nick?" Tracy asked, tapping him on the arm. She rolled her eyes at Natalie. Nick could go into a fog at the oddest moments. "Are you there?" Nick focused back on the present. "Yeah. I was just thinking about the way he kills. He must be very angry." "Why do you say that?" Tracy asked. "Because most people kill with a single gunshot, or a single blow with a knife. They use the most convenient method at hand. It's quick. But this guy is plotting it out. He's torturing his victims and making sure they suffer. Revenge, perhaps," Nick said thoughtfully. "Revenge? His victims are total strangers... Nick, they haven't done anything to him. How can it be revenge?" Tracy asked in frustration. Nick turned and grabbed her by the shoulders, staring intently into her eyes. "It's not revenge on them, but revenge on somebody else. Someone he can't touch--that is out of his reach--or dead. And so he has to kill over and over again to satisfy the need. I had a case like that a couple of years ago. It's possible that this is similarly motivated." Natalie raised an eyebrow at that. Sometime Nick took giant leaps into unknown territory, but he was seldom wrong. It just took a while for the evidence to support him. She hoped he was right, and he could solve this quickly. "You think that is why he's killing them by..." Tracy trailed off. "...by puncturing them with a sharp object and rotating in through their internal organs and shredding them," Nick finished brutally. "Yes. I do. It's starting to make sense. He's been suffering for a long time, and now he wants revenge--he wants someone else to pay, to suffer as he has. He wants closure." Natalie looked away from Tracy's devastated face. She still remembered the first victim. There had been no obvious evidence of trauma, nothing to really show cause of death--only a small puncture wound in the stomach. It hadn't been until she'd opened him up that she'd understood what had happened. The killer had pierced the victim with something long with a sharply pointed tip. It had been jabbed forcefully into the stomach and then rotated around at an angle through the intestinal tract and stomach. Nothing had been whole. And when he'd pulled his weapon out again, the flesh sealed back over the wound to disguise the destruction. All that was visible was a tiny puncture mark hiding the grim evidence. She'd actually read about a case like this in medical school. She just never thought she'd actually see one. Tracy swallowed and regained her composure. "Okay, so what can we do with the transmission fluid?" "Let's start checking out some of the automotive shops around the Don Valley Parkway," Nick said. "I think it's close to home for our killer." He was already heading for the door. "Nick," Tracy protested, "there are hundreds of auto-shops in Toronto. How can you be so sure its going to be nearby--or if he even works in a shop? Maybe he's a backyard mechanic and had to change his own fluid. Maybe he's one of these guy's who wouldn't go near a shop for anything. A do-it-yourself type of guy." Nick turned and looked back at Tracy. "He could be, but I don't think he is." Tracy opened her mouth, but Nick forestalled her. "I know, Trace, but somehow I think this guy's a mechanic, and I think we will find him. Soon." Nick left the door swinging silently behind him. Tracy looked at Natalie. Natalie shrugged. "Don't look at me, Tracy. I don't know where he gets these ideas. I just know when he's like this, things happen." "Then, I guess I'd better catch up with him before he arrests somebody, huh?" Tracy said, shaking her head and following Nick out the door. Natalie smiled to herself. Nick was really fascinating to watch when he began putting things together. It must be really something to have 800 years of experience to rely on. Somehow it made it possible for him to see things beyond mortal ability. From a mortal perspective it seemed crazy. But she knew it wasn't. It was experience beyond mortal comprehension. She wished just for a moment that she could access that kind of perspective. In fact, right now, she could really use a different perspective-- or more precisely, any perspective. She'd endured a sleepless day, tossing and turning as she dreamed of faceless murderers who carved roses and killed children. Her dreams were a confused jumble of her current and past cases. In her dream, Natalie had found herself walking through gray, empty hallways in the Coroner's building, with her footsteps echoing around her. In each room she had entered, rows of bodies had lain before her, and as she walked past them, each had turned their dead eyes upon Natalie. She'd run and run and run, trying to escape their wounded eyes. But no matter where Natalie ran, their dead and empty eyes followed her and demanded that she give them retribution. They begged her to give them peace. The faster Natalie ran the slower her progress, until she seemed to be running in place. She'd stopped finally in despair and pressed herself against the wall as all the dead had closed in on her. It was only then that Natalie had realized each one of them had a rose slashed into their chest. Her screams had echoed around her, and then suddenly, she'd been in the park, and as if she couldn't see him, slipping up quietly, with a surgeon's scapel in his hand, had been the killer. She knew it, because his bloody red T-shirt was emblazoned with the words. "Parkway Killer and proud of it! Natalie had read the words, then met his eyes. They were familiar eyes. They were Roger's eyes. "I'll make you feel so loved, Natalie," he whispered gleefully. And then she'd run once more in panic, only to find he was in front of her--again and again. Just as he caught her and raised his arm high, blade glinting in the host sun, he turned into Gault. The tables were abruptly turned and Natalie found the knife firmly gripped in her hand. She stared at Gault handcuffed in front of her to a wall. Natalie looked at the knife and then without hesitation, stabbed him over and over again as he laughed at her. She'd begun to weep as his hot spurting blood covered her... Natalie had woken up in to find herself drenched in sweat. Weeping softly, she had sat on the edge of her bed for a long time. Feeling chilled she had found refuge in her shower. She couldn't have said how long she stood in the shower under a pulsing hot stream. She only knew it was for a long time. Natalie sat down in her chair and stared into space. Nick had suggested she forgive and forget. She wondered if he had *ever* followed that particular advice himself. Was it even possible? Did it ever get any easier? How did you learn to cope? She stared back at the empty mockery her life had become. Richie was dead, Cynthia was dead, and Natalie--well, a serial rapist had damn near killed her-- because of her search for someone to love. To make matters even worse, she'd freaked out over that awful comet scare, and nearly ended up dead--or undead. Natalie had been so scared, and so angry over Nick's refusal to help her, that she'd sought a total stranger out to make her a vampire, just so she wouldn't have to die. "Stupid, Natalie, really stupid," she muttered. So much had happened to her in so short a time. She wondered if she could cope anymore. Therapy was starting to sound really good. The only problem was, if she went into therapy, could she stop before she started talking about the most important thing in her life--Nick. He loomed over everything else. He was friend, patient, and sometime when she looked really close, lover. At least she thought so, but she wasn't certain. In quiet moments, she relived Nick kissing her, holding her, wanting her, slowly reaching out to her. They had been getting very close. But something had happened on Valentines Day, and Nick had backed away, and slipped behind his mask. She remembered a kiss, she thought, and when she thought about it, sheer terror would shoot through her. She thought she remembered Nick's mouth ravishing hers-- hungry, desperate. She was almost sure that she remembered Nick holding her, tightly as if absolutely terrified. But she didn't know why, and she was afraid to ask, afraid to know for sure, mostly because her dreams might be truly destroyed, and all hope of a future together, gone. Natalie sighed. Love and hate. Such strong emotions that one so easily became the other. Love your enemy. Sure. Right. That's about as easy to come by as winning the lottery... She sighed again. She had a body waiting for her, reports to be filed, and tests to be run. Life went on, all the daily demands. It didn't care about your emotional pain, it just expected you to keep moving. After a moment, Natalie got up and got moving. End Part 11 Comments are eagerly looked for at delggren@es.com... Evidence Part 12 Copyright 1998 by Dorothy Elggren See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers Act 3, Scene 3 And what would you suggest, to ease your mind? -- Iphigenia in Taurus Joe Reese slowly swiveled in his chair, his mind far from work. He'd sacrificed four hours of sleep and two-hundred dollars today to spend some quality time at The Digital Image, Ltd. The two-hundred had netted him one hell of a photo enhancement, and the quality time had made him late--late enough to miss Nick and Tracy. The Duty Officer had informed him they'd gone to the morgue about twenty minutes ago. "Damn," Reese said softly under his breath. "Damn." He picked up the digitally enhanced and enlarged photograph and glared at it balefully. All doubt was gone, now. Absolutely all doubt. The guys at The Digital Image were good. But even they had admitted that the original photo's lighting had helped them get lucky. Get lucky, Reese thought bitterly, staring down at it. Yeah, real lucky. It had been just a tiny hint of light and shadow on the photo, but enhancement had turned it into a scar. Probably chicken pox the tech had guessed. A chicken pox scar on his forehead, exactly where Nick had one. You could see it in his personnel file photo. Right there. Same place. There was no way that this was possible. Absolutely no way. But there it was in black and white--very cold black and white. Reese didn't know what to do about it. He didn't know how to feel about it. He couldn't begin to wrap his brain around the concept that Nick had been alive and well and looking just the same in 1968. It just wasn't possible. But there it was... When they'd first showed him the enhanced photo, his heart had started to pound and pushed up into his throat, closing it off. Sweat had beaded across his brow and adrenaline had slammed through his system, making his hands shake. If he didn't know better, he'd think he'd gone into shock. The tech had taken a look at him, and gotten him a glass of water. He wished it had been Scotch. Reese stared at his hands, and turned them over carefully. They were still shaking slightly. He felt sick to his stomach. He was scared, and he was angry--a very bad combination. He supposed it was a good thing that the enhancement had taken so long. Otherwise he would have confronted Nick and demanded to know what the hell was going on. Not a good idea. Reese had been reacting and running on adrenaline. Confrontation almost always led to disaster, and Reese knew better. But his fear had gotten between him and his good judgment. Joe stared at the photo for a few more moments, as if it would make any difference. It was burned into his memory--it wasn't like he needed another look to refresh his memory. With a deep labored sigh, he slowly put the photo in a folder and carefully locked it in his drawer. Reese stared out into the bullpen and didn't see a thing. His mind seemed to race in circles. If he was a dog, he thought wryly, he'd be chasing his tail. "Dammit!" he swore again. "I can think about this logically. I've been trained to. Where the hell is my head!" With that, Reese pulled a pad of paper out from under a pile of papers, and turned to an empty page. After a moment, he carefully titled it "Reese: X-file #1" in large black block letters. He grinned a bit at his temerity. He was no Mulder, but then this wasn't fiction, either. But it fit the profile. It was beyond the realm of normal reality. Then he began to write down all the jumbled thoughts in his head: *Who is Nick Knight? What do I know about him?* Reese bit on the cap of his pen thoughtfully as he contemplated how little he really knew his star detective. He began writing down what he did know, and the list began to grow under his hand: *He's allergic to sunlight and exclusively works nights. He's on a special diet and nobody has ever seen him eating or drinking. He has no family. He doesn't fraternize with other detecti