Date:         Sat, 23 Jan 1999 00:38:23 EST 
From: Stephen Lansing <Phoenix348@AOL.COM> 
Subject:      The Hands of Time (Part 01/??) 
To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU 

This story is the compilation of several ideas that I have had brewing in the
back of my mind for some time now and is the beginning of a work that will
ultimately be completed in the form of a trilogy of stories.  The three and
one half parts of this story represent the prologue to the series.

I would like to thank my beta readers, Cindy Brewer and Wooby, for their time,
interest and enthusiasm.  I appreciate it very much!  Once again, I would also
like to thank my wife, Betty, for her willingness to give her husband up to
the computer so often.

Disclaimer:  This story is based on characters and situations from the Forever
Knight television series created by James Parriott, Barney Cohen and owned by
Sony.  No infringement is intended.  All other characters as well as certain
locations are, to my knowledge, original creations.  Permission given to
archive on Mel's fanfic site.  All others, please ask.  Unlike some of the
characters in this story, I do *not* bite.

Please direct all feedback to Phoenix348@aol.com.  Your comments are greatly
appreciated!

Timeline:  Dates related to events which occurred in FK canon are approximate
and are based, for the most part, on airing dates for lack of much else to go
on.

The Hands of Time (Part 01/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

Washington D.C.
February, 1996

     She glided silently through their midst; all at once distinctively
individual and yet conformed to the whole; carried swiftly along as the stray
leaf that falls into a burbling stream is swept inexorably away by the
current.
     Perhaps those that moved alongside of her took notice of the shadow that
lay draped like a morbid shroud across her otherwise ivory-white countenance;
that plunged the icy blue of her eyes into a still colder place.  Even the
cursory glance of an untrained eye would have recognized the dark, primal fear
revealed in rapidly shifting eye movements, an evasive turning of the head,
and the pale hands that struggled to keep both collar and hood in careful
safeguard about the face although the front of the dark, leather coat remained
unfastened, exposing the body of its wearer to the frigid February wind.
      Of course, the casual observer could not have been expected to realize
that, to this particular individual, a winter wind was only the mildest of
possible inconveniences.  At any other time, the coat might only have been a
formality, perhaps even a fashion statement in a lighter moment.  On this
particular winter evening; however, in a substantial gathering of those who
walked Georgetown's streets in spite of the cold, she found the coat to be a
desperate attempt to meld with those around her...to disappear...to hide.
     An utterly useless attempt.  For those who sought her among the assembly
of Washington's weekend wanderers, among the nightclub patrons and the
nightowls, among the street players, the derelicts and the curious, would not
be deceived.  There would be no refuge for her in crowds, no haven in the
congested streets.  Those who sought her employed methods beyond mere physical
senses, and mixing with the human masses, and dodging through crowded street-
side shops would accomplish no more than to simply delay what she knew to be
inevitable.  As the winter wind, these mortal conventions were merely
inconveniences, momentary hindrances to their purpose.  If need be, they would
wait.
     And they had time to wait.
     Perhaps her dread was obvious.  Perhaps those who passed her on the busy
streets recognized the apprehensive watchfulness of a cornered prey, of one
who knows that she is caught but knows not from which direction the blow will
fall. Perhaps they saw it all.
     It is more likely that they did not.  For only in the darkest recesses of
their unconscious minds could they have conceived of the shadowy events that
transpired on the stage of their modern, enlightened world.  The cast of this
particular production could not have amazed them more than the events
themselves had they known...had they known that their myriad advancements and
technological contrivances and unremitting denials had not yet driven specters
from the Earth.
     She felt a twinge, a sensation of something beyond the physical.
     She stopped short, ignoring the annoyed stares of those who were forced
to detour around her.  There was nothing more to do than to remain still,
steadfastly staring at the sidewalk as she mentally followed the impression to
its source.  Lifting her head ever so slowly, she saw him.  He was staring at
her from across the street, his pale, cold features hideously illuminated by
the purple and red neon lights of a nearby bar sign.
     Before this night, she had never personally encountered Enforcers, but
she had been told that they traveled in pairs.  The tales now seemed confirmed
as the creature who so coldly regarded her was only the second that she had
seen on the streets of Washington.  This one was tall, with thick, black hair
while the first had been somewhat shorter and completely bald.
     She maintained an apprehensive face-off with this second predator for
several moments longer, her mind reeling with the knowledge that there was
nowhere that she could go where they could not follow.  Now that the second
Enforcer had found her, the first would surely not be long in coming.
Desperation and fear fought to control her, to send her fleeing through the
streets.  But as one who had been hunted before, albeit not by her own kind,
she knew that of all things, panic was the first step in a downward spiral
that ended in certain doom for the hunted.  Reason must prevail over
desperation at any cost.
     She turned sharply on her heel and began to move in the direction from
which she had come, carefully analyzing her surroundings in an effort to find
a clear route of escape.  As she turned her back on the Enforcer, the
invisible, tenuous link that had been established between the two foes
suddenly reasserted itself with considerable force, causing her to wince and
come to a stop.  The effect of the mental touch was much the same as though
someone had audibly shouted at her and she knew that the intent was certainly
the same.  The touch was also a shocking display of force.  Such connections
were ordinarily possible only to those who had immediate ties one to another;
however, all of her Kind possessed the ability to instinctively sense the
presence of one another.  But to directly effect the mind of a stranger with
such a clear, intense impression was unheard of in her experience.  Turning
back, she noticed that the Enforcer had moved forward, coming to stand at the
edge of his side of the busy street, his stony glare reinforcing the mental
impressions that she had just received.  She was effectively being told to
remain where she was, to surrender and be taken without a struggle.  She
turned once again to walk away and proceeded no more than five steps before
coming to an abrupt halt.
     Among those who now approached her on the icy sidewalk, at a distance of
perhaps only thirty yards, was the missing Enforcer.  His rapid pace indicated
that the distance between the two of them was a mere buffer zone that would
last only a matter of seconds longer.  A swift glance in the opposite
direction revealed that the second Enforcer, still attempting to keep her off
balance with his remarkable talent, was also in motion, hurriedly crossing the
street in her direction.  His tactic had succeeded in startling her into both
immobility and indecision, robbing her of valuable seconds that could
otherwise have been spent attempting to escape the net that was now being
drawn upon her.
     Trapped, with both Enforcers nearly within arms' reach, she bolted into
the street, naked fear driving her into the path of oncoming vehicles, many of
which blared their horns as they braked and swerved to avoid hitting the
suicidal woman that had run out in front of them.  The soft luminescence of
the street lamps, the glaring brilliance of vehicle headlights and the faces
of those who turned to view the new spectacle all blurred into a solid mass of
confusing colors as she reached the far side of the street and began
desperately searching in all directions for some means of escape.
     The Enforcers momentarily ceased their pursuit, waiting for the passersby
to reach the conclusion that nothing further was to happen with the strange
woman who had suddenly run into the street, and to turn back to their own
affairs.  The immediate drama now passed, the human masses quickly became
uninterested and did as was expected of them, leaving the Enforcers free to
pursue their quarry once again, paralleling her course from the opposite side
of the street.
     She knew that they would seek to take her in such a way as to minimize
the possibility of outside observation or interference.  It was, after all,
their way.  For the Enforcers existed to serve a single purpose...to protect
the secret of their Kind's existence from discovery by the mortal world.  They
would do whatever was necessary to ensure that they succeeded in that goal,
and their record of successes in the nearly three centuries since their
inception was enviable.  They knew their task and they did it well.  She also
knew that they would pursue her vigorously until there was nowhere left for
her to go...until she was theirs.
     And then she would die.
     A sudden blaring of heavy metal rock music assaulted her sensitive
hearing as the large wooden doors of a nearby nightclub parted to admit a
young Asian man and his date.  She stopped to consider the club for a moment
as the door closed and the intense beat of the music was once again relegated
to merely another background sound of the city at night.  Out in the open
streets, she would be easy prey; it would simply be a matter of wearing her
down until she made a mistake that would deliver her into their hands.  But in
a club such as the one that she had just taken notice of, a blue neon sign
proclaimed the establishment to be the "Aztec Club," there would be crowds,
loud noise, plenty of distractions with which to momentarily confuse even the
heightened senses of her pursuers.  She knew that the crowd in the Aztec would
not be able to save her any more than the crowds on the streets, but she was
willing to gamble that the closer quarters might give her a chance to at least
get further ahead of her pursuers. She also realized that the reduced
maneuvering room would work against her, further limiting her already razor-
thin margin of error.
     The decision was made quickly as alternatives were nonexistent.  By the
time that the two Enforcers reached their fugitive's last position, she was
already on the other side of the Aztec's double doors, quickly dissolving into
the rhythmical movements of the patrons who filled the dance floor.


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 02/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

Rural Iowa


     Death had come quickly, without a struggle, as was often the case with
the young ones.
     Feeling the muscles of the young one's arm slacken, Cain slowly relaxed
his grip, allowing the corpse to first slump, and then finally fall to the wet
ground.  A flash of sheet lightning, dancing from one black storm cloud to the
next high above briefly illuminated the pallid facial features of the body
that now lay at his feet.
     Cain had thought that killing the young one, his name had been Scott,
would have brought him immense satisfaction as the act was a successful
conclusion to what had become a very personal vendetta; a mission of
vengeance.  Now that it was done, there was nothing of the expected euphoria.
All of the hatred and blame that Cain and his fellow Enforcers had heaped upon
the head of this one dead creature offered nothing save a physical form in
which to manifest the forthcoming disaster, a demon with which to wrestle.
     But there could be no real victory in this one's death for events had
moved far beyond the simple corrective measures that had once so effectively
served to deter apocalypse for their Kind.  This killing was surely a just
reward for the crime committed, even a token bit of vengeance in the face of
certain calamity, but it would prevent nothing.
     His efforts had merely yielded a body, and there would likely be many
more of those before long.
     Cain could feel the eyes of the others on his back now, silently awaiting
his approval.  They had maintained a respectful distance while he dealt with
the young one, and that event now predictably ended, they desired to serve.
Two of the men stepped forward instantly as he turned.
     "Get rid of him," Cain ordered, not deigning to look back at the body to
which he referred.  He continued to stand with his back turned as the two
Enforcers hurried about their task.  Left where he lay, the young one would
surely disintegrate within the hour, leaving behind only ash-filled clothing
and the stake upon which he had been impaled, but that was not their way.  No
evidence of the executed vampire could be allowed to remain.
     There was silence as the body was removed and carried into the night sky.
It was only then that Allison broke ranks with the others and hesitantly
approached the master Enforcer.  Cain answered her unspoken question with a
curt nod of his head, permitting her to speak.
     "The mortals have told all that they know of the matter."  Allison's
demeanor was formal, her tone neutral.  All the same, Cain could see more than
night shadows reflected in her radiant green eyes.  He turned to the three
remaining Enforcers, one male and two females, who nodded silently at their
master's look of dismissal and took to the air.  They would be waiting nearby
until they were needed again.
     Cain waited until the other vampires were gone before speaking.  "They
told you of all who know?"  He moved closer to Allison, reaching out with one
hand to stoke the coppery locks of hair that rested on her shoulders.
     "Yes," she replied, evenly, glancing across the snow-covered fields
toward the large farmhouse from which she had just returned.  "Although they
no longer have the tape, it's been turned over to the authorities, they did
tell us the names and locations of those whom they know have seen it."
     Cain's attention was momentarily diverted from Allison by a crash of
thunder.  He watched as the storm continued to intensify in the distance and
moved across the plain in their direction.  "And they have forgotten the
experience," he asked, removing his hand from Allison's hair to place it
gently on her left shoulder.
     "Yes."  Allison averted her gaze as Cain's eyes shifted from the storm to
regard her closely.  He lifted her chin so that their eyes met again.  "Then
you have succeeded, and that cannot be what is troubling you."
     "We are exposed, Cain!"  Outwardly, Allison remained still, although some
inner part of her being trembled at the thought that her Kind's worst fears
were realized.  In light of such serious considerations, she was more than a
little surprised at the appearance of a slight smile on the face of her
master.
     "Dearest Allison," Cain said, thoughtfully.  "We have been exposed for
some time now."
     The truth of the matter was undeniable.  It had been nearly two years
since a cleverly perpetrated hoax had convinced most of humanity that massive
Asteroid 6748 was destined to collide with the planet Earth and to extinguish
all life in favor of a planetary hell that would last for some twenty to
thirty years.  The result had been a global panic in which thousands were to
die as fear and desperation swept through the nations causing many to turn on
each other or to take their own lives.
     And though many died in the human insanity that took hold of the world
during the two days in which the hoax prevailed, still others were to meet an
end that never came to light on the evening news.  Vampires had also embraced
the lie as surely as the mortal world, and believing that all were destined to
perish in the end, many had cast off their cloak of secrecy and had begun
killing at random.
     It was during that chaotic time that Scott Connors had been created.
Drained and left for dead like so many others, Scott had joined the one in a
thousand who survive the experience and cross over into the vampire world.  He
had been wild, irrational and driven to kill as instinctively as any animal
would behave, and it was during that mad night that he had killed in the
presence of mortals.  In his wild state, Scott had never known that a
camcorder had filmed the attack.  Pure instinctual panic had caused him to
flee immediately once discovered.
     The madness, although intense, had been short-lived and Scott was soon
able to acclimate to his new condition.  Without a master to guide him through
those first days, lessons had come hard and, at first, Scott had never shared
the story of how he had come across with any of the others that he
encountered.  He himself was not entirely certain as to which events were
fantasy and which were reality during that first night.  Finally, though, he
had shared the story with another.  The story had made its way through the
Community and had eventually reached the ever-vigilant ears of the Enforcers.
     The vampires that passed the story along knew only that Scott had taken
part in the madness that had threatened to expose their lot to the mortal
world.  To the Enforcers; however, it was simply another verification that
such an exposure had already taken place.  The bodies that had been left
behind in the wake of the asteroid crisis had already done the bulk of that
work, leaving the mortals with evidence that had been quickly whisked away.
The Enforcers also knew that a vampire attack had been filmed and that it was
in the hands of mortals, although they did not know where the tape was or what
vampire it was that had been so careless as to be filmed until Scott's story
had circulated through much of the mid-western Community.
     Along with the others who were known to have killed at random, Scott had
been hunted relentlessly, but as a rogue, he traveled alone and had proven
very difficult to locate.  In time though, the Enforcers had succeeded in
locating their fugitive.  Cain, an ancient one, second in the Enforcer ranks
and the one who had spearheaded the search, forced Connors to take him to the
city where he had made that first clumsy kill.  The location of the attack,
Cedar Rapids, Iowa, was accurate with what information they had on the video-
tape incident.  Scott had then been assigned the blame and had paid the price
for the results of his actions.
     But no matter how many were singled out and punished for what had
happened, the results were unchanged.  Mortals had finally rediscovered the
vampire in their world.
     Allison was incredulous.  "And this does not trouble you?  The knowledge
that we are exposed to the world?"
     Cain took little notice of her tone, one which he decidedly would not
have tolerated from another.  "I am not saying that exposure does not effect
me.  Of course it does."  He took hold of her by both arms in order to
emphasize his words.  "What I *am* saying is that it has been nearly two years
and the mortals are doing nothing."
     "Must we wait for them to act before acting ourselves?"
     "No," Cain said, decidedly.  "We are acting even now, as you have seen
tonight, in order to determine how far this knowledge has spread."  He
released his hold on Allison.  "It is simply the fact that the mortals must
act with caution as we must also do  The asteroid crisis wrecked havoc world-
wide and they dare not risk panicking their populations anew with more wild
tales!"
     Cain could see that Allison was beginning to understand.  Even among the
Enforcers, the knowledge of how serious their situation had become was
permitted to only a select few due to the fear that such a revelation might
ignite yet another wave of random, public killings should vampires come to
feel threatened en mass once again.  Thus, in order to prevent word of the
confirmed exposure from reaching the Community, the Enforcer leadership had
determined that the matter must be concealed for the near future.  Allison had
become privy to the secret only since the last sunset and she had been
understandably shaken by the knowledge.
     And although Cain had imparted this knowledge, he did not share with
Allison what he himself knew would likely come in the event that their
exposure triggered a confrontation with mortal world.  Vastly outnumbered and
hindered by sunlight, the vampire community would be faced with the very real
threat of extinction, a threat for which the Enforcer leadership had prepared
one ultimate response, the consequences of which frightened even one of Cain's
stoical demeanor.
     This time it was Allison who reached out to touch him and Cain permitted
the gesture, finally taking her hand in his and lightly kissing the cool
flesh.
     Her eyes met his again, more softly than before.  "Then what are we to
do?"
     "Unfortunately," he answered, allowing her hand to slip from his.  "That
decision is not ours to make."


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 03/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

Washington D.C.

     Her greatest fear upon entering the Aztec had been that only one Enforcer
would follow her into the club and that the other would wait outside in case
she managed to make it out to the street again.
     She had been surprised to see that, in fact, both Enforcers had chosen to
enter the club, and to her chagrin, they had immediately spotted her.  There
was no hiding from the very basic senses that her Kind held for one another.
She had known that this when she first entered the club but desperation had
moved her to tempt that axiom.
     Breaking free of the mass of bodies that moved across the polished ebony
surface of the dance floor, she reached the Aztec's spacious bar.  The male
bartender's physical attempts to restrain her met with no more success than
did his verbal warnings.  He could only cry out, startled, as he was seized by
one frail-looking hand and hurled unceremoniously to the floor.  Straining to
stand again, he made no attempt whatsoever to stop the two grim-faced men that
suddenly appeared at the bar and pushed their way through the swinging doors
where the woman had just disappeared.  Instead, he reached for the telephone
that was located under the bar's cash register, intent on calling upon the
police to remove the intruders instead of facing another assault himself.
     He had only enough time to reach the handset of the phone before he heard
the shrill tones of the emergency exit alarm sounding at the rear of the club.
     She had thrown the mortal man off with ease, pushed her way through the
double doors and raced down the adjoining corridor, desperately looking for,
and finding, a rear exit door.  Bursting through the door, she found herself
in an expansive but dimly-lit service alley, one side of which dead-ended at
the emergency door where she now stood, the other side curving around to where
it met with a side street.  Fortunately, the alley was also empty save for a
stray tabby that ran off the instant that she exited the building and
disturbed his nap.
     Her sensitive hearing picked up the hurried sound of her pursuers
entering the corridor through which she had just run and she immediately
launched herself into the night air, intent on leaving the city and the
Enforcers far behind.
     The ground quickly slipped away beneath her and she turned, preparing to
alter her direction and rise still higher when she was painfully struck from
behind and propelled off to one side at tremendous speed.
     She regained her senses quickly and began to struggle against her
attacker, enraged at having been taken by surprise by a third, hidden
Enforcer.  The ensuing furious mid-air struggle between the two vampires
prevented either of them from altering their common course, allowing sheer
momentum to send them crashing through the boarded up windows of an abandoned
apartment building.  The rotted timbers of the building's bare wooden flooring
groaned under the impact of the two tangled bodies that landed heavily on its
unstable surface.
     In spite of the force of their impact, the Enforcer was able to maintain
his grip on her.  Swiftly rising to his feet, he attempted to lift her from
the floor.  All of the force of that effort momentarily concentrated in his
knees, the Enforcer was ripe for the slashing attack that she was able to
bestow with her free hand, sending the other vampire to the floor once again.
Her success in knocking the Enforcer off balance did nothing to lessen his
iron grip on her left arm; however, and he pulled her with him as he fell.
She twisted to kick at her attacker, eliciting angered howls from the Enforcer
as the heels of her boots repeatedly battered his ribcage.
     The Enforcer released her arm in order ward off the blows to his chest by
seizing her legs.  Now forced into an even more awkward position, she flung
herself backward, clawing at the wooden flooring with determined fingers as
she was pulled toward the Enforcer.  But just before the final, savage jerk
that would deposit the trunk of her body into Enforcer's grasp, she spotted an
object a few feet away in the semi-darkness.
     The thin, jagged strip of pine was a scrap of debris from the boards that
had once covered the window through which she and her attacker had so
violently entered, and it was barely within arms' reach.
     Straining, she seized the broken board as the Enforcer rolled her onto
her stomach, one of his arms sliding around her throat and forcefully jerking
upward; his other arm closing around her waist.  Having established a firm
hold on his captive, the Enforcer lifted her into the air, pinning her back
flat against his chest.
     As her feet left the floor under the Enforcer's powerful exertion, she
savagely twisted to her left, exposing the Enforcer's mid-section into which
she promptly drove the splintered wood.  In his hasty attempt to subdue the
struggling female, the Enforcer had never seen her snatch the board that she
had so suddenly turned into a weapon against him and he shrieked in both
intense pain and surprise as he released her.
     She whirled on her enemy, fear now purged by the raw power of unleashed
rage.  He was indeed hurt, but the wound was not fatal and, in her current
state, he was still the stronger of the two of them.  Immediate action was
necessary if she were to escape.
     The Enforcer's red-rimmed eyes flashed at her in cold hatred as he made a
feeble attempt to dislodge the board, his knees nearly buckling under the
painful exertion.  Moving forward with inhuman speed, she tore the wood from
the Enforcer's body and then lunged as if to stab the him once more.  Instead,
she turned the flat end of the board toward the Enforcer, striking him solidly
to the left temple, a blow that spun the vampire around and dropped him to the
floor.  He was struggling to rise as she quickly stepped over his body and
raised the makeshift stake above her head, its bloodied point targeted
squarely for the region of the Enforcer's back that was located over his
heart.  She bared her fangs, a sharp hissing sound accompanying the in-rush of
air as she drew in a deep, full breath before plunging the stake down toward
its target.
     The stake had reached only the middle point of its downward arc when
there was a sudden furious flash of ivory fangs and crimson eyes.  A horrific
blow followed, lifting from her feet in an angry white flash of pain and
hurling her into a nearby wall.  She sagged to the floor, most of the impact
with the wall having been to her head and leaving her momentarily stunned.
She was vaguely aware of the sound of wood on wood as her makeshift stake
clattered to the floor several feet away in the darkness.
     She had been so completely absorbed in her need to destroy the third
Enforcer that she had neglected to watch for the others, and they had arrived
in time to save their comrade from destruction.  Cold hands gripped her arms
painfully and lifted her from the corner into which she had fallen.  She
raised her head, several locks of tangled, raven-black hair falling like a
curtain before her blue eyes as she found herself face-to-face with the first
Enforcer that she had encountered that night.  The image of his pale face and
bald head were made a blur as she was quickly propelled into the waiting arms
of the second Enforcer, who seized her by the throat with one hand while
securing her arms with the other.  Once again there was a mental touch from
this one, the powerful, yet non-physical slap of an unseen hand, and she set
her jaw as she stared hatefully into his eyes.  The Enforcer's dark eyebrows
drew closer together, shading angry golden eyes as he returned her stare, a
low growl emanating from the depths of his throat.
     "If the Code did not already dictate your fate, you would suffer greatly
for this."  The words were spoken by the first Enforcer as he watched his
wounded comrade slowly rise to his feet.  He then extended a restraining hand
as the vampire turned to lunge at their captive, his red eyes flashing with
rage and pain.  The Enforcer who held her slowly turned her around to face the
others.  Her fears fought to return to control as the first Enforcer
approached, the sound of his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty expanse.
The Enforcer stopped short of her, his golden eyes boring into her soul.
     "Indeed, you deserve to *burn* for this."
     She struggled with a sudden surge of panic at his words, for even more
than the stake, her Kind instinctively feared burning.  There was a gleam of
satisfaction in the Enforcer's eyes as he saw the fear in hers.  He reached
into his coat, never removing his eyes from her, and produced a wooden stake.
It was no mere scrap of broken timber such as she had used, but was instead
long, slender, carefully sharpened to a razor's edge and obviously designed
for its use; not an improvised weapon at all.  Her eyes widened at the sight
of it.
     "But you *are* an ancient," the vampire continued.  "And for that, and
*that* alone, there is respect."  He held out the stake for the third Enforcer
who greedily snatched it and held it at the ready, his low growls rising in
volume.  "He is young," the first Enforcer stated, "and must learn.  You
should be honored.  You *are* his first."  A scornful smile drew the tight
ends of the Enforcer's lips upward as he moved aside to make room for his
young protege.
     The second Enforcer maintained his tight grasp on her throat with his
left hand but freed his right to run long fingers through her hair.  When he
spoke, his thickly accented voice was as a cold wind in her ear.  "You do know
*why* it is that we do this."  It was a statement, not a question at all.
     Anger surged within her again and she stiffened, causing the second
Enforcer to tighten his grip on her.  Yes, she *did* know why it was that they
had come for her, and the injustice of it burned in her heart like a live
coal.  Through hellish pain, she had come to possess the greatest of gifts,
only to have that gift snatched from her in an instant of time.  At least the
running was now at an end.
     She had determined to remain strong, but that resolve failed her as the
Enforcer that she had wounded now moved to plunge the stake into her heart.
Her eyes involuntarily snapped shut as the vampire's inhuman speed caused the
wood to seemingly flash through its arc.  She awaited the searing pain of the
stake's penetration...
     But the pain never came.  There was instead an angry growl, joined
instantly by two others as a wave of what her mind could only reconcile as
*dread* washed over her on a level that was both physical and mental.
     She quickly opened her eyes to discover that, as with her's, the third
Enforcer's stake had been halted just shy of its goal.  His wrist was caught
in the pale hand of a stranger, one whose ashen face and dark eyes exuded a
threat that was unequaled in all of her immortal existence.  The force that
flowed from him was a near tangible thing, and had she not been so securely
held by the second Enforcer, she would have fled the room out of pure,
instinctual panic.  It was obvious that none of the vampires in the room had
sensed his presence until he was already upon them.
     In an instant, the stranger's dark eyes were gold, then brilliant red.
His right hand clamped down further upon the third Enforcer's wrist as his
left hand, in the form of a tightly clenched fist, shot up from the darkness
to strike the third Enforcer squarely in the spine.  The unmistakable sound of
shattering bone resounded like exploding fireworks in the building's silence
as the stranger followed through on the momentum of his blow.  No sound
escaped from the now limp form of the third Enforcer as the stranger hurled
his broken body at the first Enforcer.  Both crashed to the floor together.
     The dank floor of the building quickly rose to meet her as the second
Enforcer tossed her aside and lunged at the stranger, hissing wildly.  But the
stranger's speed was astonishing.  He quickly side-stepped the attacking
Enforcer and dipped low, catching the Enforcer by both legs and flipping him
into the air.  The Enforcer landed hard on his back, growling with the impact
and throwing his hands outward against the apartment floor.
     She watched, seemingly frozen, as the second Enforcer, who had boasted
great mental powers, was dispatched with unbelievable speed.  For even as he
fell to the floor, the stranger had already moved to snatch the stake that the
third Enforcer had dropped.  The second Enforcer had only time enough to begin
to cry out as his attempt to rise was greeted with the familiar brown flash of
descending wood.
     The first Enforcer had regained his footing and flew at the stranger as
the second Enforcer was staked.  He collided with the stranger, both vampires
rolling with the impact.  The stranger did not immediately retaliate, but
waited, fangs bared, for the remaining Enforcer to renew his attack.  The now
lone Enforcer, intent on avoiding the painful lessons of his fellows,
hesitated, studying his opponent before deciding on a course of action.  The
stranger decided to provoke the contest, inching forward until he was within
range of the Enforcer's left hand, which promptly lashed out as a fist.  With
another burst of speed, the stranger dodged the blow and leaped at the
Enforcer, his pale hands seizing the opposing vampire by the head and twisting
violently.
     The crack of snapping bone was heard once again as the Enforcer slumped
against the stranger and then fell to the floor, his eyes staring vacantly at
the building's filthy walls.  The stranger watched as the Enforcer fell, as if
to assure himself that his opponent was spent.
     He then turned to face her, the glow fading from his eyes.
     Although she had been frightened into immobility by this sudden,
unexpected culmination of her wild flight from the Enforcers, she felt as
though the dread that this new and powerful vampire inspired had vanished with
the color of his eyes.  Despite his demonstrated ferocity, there was something
in those eyes that she desperately wanted to trust.  Still, fear; the
instinctual fear of the weaker, controlled the moment; for he had overcome
three vampires, three *Enforcers* as simply and rapidly as vampires were
capable of overcoming mortals.  Despite the inexplicable instinct to trust
him, she involuntarily tensed as he stepped forward and offered his hand,
those dark, ancient eyes filling with an unexpected warmth.  It was a stark
contrast to the violence that he had displayed only a moment before.
     "I won't hurt you," he said, his voice low but not harsh or unkind.
"I've come to help you...Janette."
     The unexpected sound of her name on the lips of the stranger earned him a
temporary trust.  Janette slipped her own pale hand into his, and stood to her
feet with his gentle assistance.  She stood speechless then, staring into the
face that; with its blond hair and pale, youthful features, immediately
reminded her of another that she had once trusted intimately.  And yet, amid
all that she somehow recognized in those dark, smiling eyes, she saw something
completely unfamiliar...something of another time and place, beyond even her
own immortal years.
     It was then that fate conspired to add even more unanswered questions to
the unknown nature of the stranger that had so suddenly come to her rescue.
They were walking toward the window through which Janette and her attacker had
entered the building, when the stranger turned, his eyes coldly regarding the
three fallen Enforcers.
     Then came the flames.  White-hot, crackling and angry and fueled by a
source no more apparent than the very atmosphere of the room, the flames
greedily assaulted and consumed each of the three immobilized vampires, soon
reducing their bodies, flesh and clothing, to blackened ashes.
     And touching nothing else.
     Their task thus rapidly accomplished, the flames dissipated, leaving only
wisps of gray smoke and ashes as testimonials to their brief but intense
existence.  Mute in the wake of this final display of power, she could only
turn once again to search the depths of the stranger's eyes, seeking to know
what unknown world it was that had taken recognition of her, and what it might
demand from her in return.


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***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 04/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

*Note:  The first section of this part is the end of the prologue and the main
story picks up immediately thereafter.

****

Iowa

     Cain ignored the angered growls that rose up from all around him as he
contemplated the images that he had just seen in his mind.  The others had now
returned and were gathered where he and Allison had been talking alone only
moments before.  They too had experienced the sudden barrage of sensations and
images, originated by others of their Kind, not merely vampires but
*Enforcers.*  Although the distance over which those thoughts had been
transmitted could not be immediately determined, one thing was for certain:
they were the sensations and images of death.
     Cain turned, rapidly scanning the faces of those who stood before him,
noting the mixture of both understand and confusion that each displayed.
"Quickly, Allison," he said to his favored, "what did you see?"
     Allison's brow was furrowed as she sought to voice her thoughts.
"Enforcers have been killed," she responded confidently, angrily.
     "How many?"
     There was a brief pause before she answered.  "I...cannot tell for
certain.  It would seem that two or more have died.  The images are too
confusing for me to tell more."
     Cain nodded.  "Three, to be precise," he informed her.  "The rapidity of
the images, which is the cause of your confusion, bears witness that their
deaths were swift, only seconds apart."  Cain did not need to explain the
images themselves, for each Enforcer knew the importance as well as the limits
of the mental bonds that existed between the various members of their ranks.
Even those Enforcers who had never physically met one another would receive
the impressions caused the death of their comrades.  This particular
sensitivity, although it was rarely utilized, served as an excellent means of
sounding the alarm in times of crisis.
     "And we *have* seen the face of their killer," Allison stated, looking to
Cain for support of her conclusion about the one consistent image in the
myriad of those that had touched their minds.
     Cain stared at the storm clouds that were now moving overhead and
beginning to unburden themselves of their weight of rain.  "Yes," he replied,
distantly, remembering.
     A fresh chorus of growls emanated from the assembled Enforcers as each
vampire sought to focus on the image of the killer, to remember it.
     Prompted by Cain's distance, Allison stepped forward and moved so as to
meet the master Enforcer's gaze.  "The image is of one unfamiliar to me," she
said, "but not to you."  There was no question there.  For the first time in
her experience with Cain, Allison saw the usual bold strength in his eyes
replaced by something that bordered dangerously on fear, an emotion that she
had never expected to see manifested on the countenance of this strong one.
     Cain quickly withdrew from his reverie, from the images of the face that
he had hoped never to see again, in order to confront Allison and the others.
He hoped that the authority of his presence would not be diminished by the
gnawing of a new uncertainty that had unexpectedly come upon him in the face
of the one from the images he had seen.
     "We must go!"  The tone of Cain's voice, ringing true with the oft-
practiced authority of the Enforcer's second highest ranking member quickly
elicited the necessary respect from his underlings.
     "Where will we go?  To avenge?"  The questions were Allison's although it
was evident that she spoke for all.
     <Yes.  To avenge, and to vengeance.>
     "To our master," Cain replied before taking to the night sky with no
further explanations.

****
Toronto,
Two Months Later


"I won't leave you.  Whatever happens...we'll be together."

"Forever..."

     She had faith.
     In him.  In them.  In a future which had so far been denied them by the
seemingly insurmountable gulf that separated light and darkness.  And it was
that faith that quelled the anxious beating of her heart, that gave victory
over fear and certainty in the unknowable as they embraced.
     His gentle kiss brought the touch of fire to her lips, and in his eyes
there was a softness, a willingness such as she had never known from him
before.  It was a willingness to give all that was his, to accept all that was
hers, to mold two destinies together in one.
     Fear surfaced again as his hands worked to move the hair aside.  Her
breath became hurried at the brushing of his lips against her throat.  Of all
the forces that had conspired against them, she knew that fear was the
strongest, and it was against fear's ravages that she clung to her hopes and
dreams with renewed vigor, that she clung to the one she loved.
     Then came the pain, the sting of twin pricks at her throat.  She gasped
and clung to him all the more, straining against the vertigo that had sent the
loft into a spin all around her.  A dark vortex opened, drawing them down.
     And the world went away...


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***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 05/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

     She opened her eyes in a world of which she had only heard tale...in a
time long since passed...in a memory not her own.
     The world was awash in the colors, sights and sounds of another era.  The
faces that passed before her were all at once alien and intimate.  Father,
mother, sister...  Sister.  Fleur.  Fleur?  Ah, her name.  Such eyes.  <You
will be beautiful someday, my sister.>
     The barrage of images accompanied varied emotions:  joy, sorrow, pride,
anger.  All were alive with sensations of which she could only begin to taste,
to sample.  He had once told her of the experience, but his words had not done
it justice.  It was intoxicating.
     The lands around her mutated from castle to forest to village to
fortress; a panorama of landscapes and human dwellings.  She was now a knight.
*She.*  Yes, and yet, no.  There was a sword clutched in hands that were not
her own.
     And now, she was in another land.  Not willingly.  *Why?*  She could feel
the sands of Jerusalem on her face...
     Now she was traveling.  Constantinople?  Vienna?  She had been wounded.
A good place to rest just up ahead...
     And now, fear.  A face of the past and yet of the future, already old but
unchanged even in this time.  Janette.  She was beguiling.  And then there was
another; a dark-robed figure with such wild eyes.  LaCroix.  <"We're going to
be very old friends...">
     *No!*  And yet, he offers eternity.  But the Guide is warning her/him.
<"Nicholas, you may come to us.">
     <"What have you to offer me?">
     <"A choice.">
     Don't be a fool!  Too late.  Now, it's done.  But something...something
is wrong...don't know what it is...
     <"It's the guilt, Nicholas.">
     Darkness now.  But one last thing to do...  Fleur?  <"This is what I have
become...">  A touch of sorrow and loss.  <"Are we agreed?!">
     <"We are agreed.">
     The years accelerate into a blur now.  Faces, places, names,
feelings...all rushing by at a dizzying pace.  Going from city to city...must
move on.  Hiding from the sun.  She could still feel the burning in her hands.
Running from the hunters.  The centuries hurry by.
     Running now from LaCroix.  Fangs, golden eyes, blood, death.  So much
death!
     <"I can't be this anymore.">
     Night passes into night.  Friends grow old and die.  Time is meaningless.
So many have died at her/his hands now....to feed the undying thirst.  The
guilt is crushing!
     From the beginning, she had felt lost in this impossibly long life.  It
was as though the eyes through which she was seeing so much had somehow become
her own; resulting in a melding of consciousness that made each thought and
feeling seem to be her own unique experience.  And yet, she retained the
ability to think for herself as well.  Words could not describe the confusion
of it, the beauty...
     The images came faster and faster.  There were more familiar names and
places:  Francesca, Chancellorsville, Shanghai, London, Titanic, the Czar.
The twentieth century dawned with great innovation.  Could science provide an
answer at last?  Such terrible wars.
     City to city again... Chicago...Toronto.  And now, another face, staring
at her with large, hazel eyes.  <"What are you?">  Strange to see yourself
from another's point of view...almost made her laugh.
     <"I am a vampire...I'm dead.">
     <"No...No, you're not.">
     Hope?  After all this time?  She despaired at the thought of more
disappointments, and yet, she knew that she must try.
     The images began to slow.  She saw more of herself and those around her
through the confusion of two distinct sets of emotions:  his, as she saw it,
and hers, as she remembered it.
     LaCroix.  She thought that she/he had destroyed him.  And then, he
returned and was never far, always conspiring to bring back the darkness and
destroy hope.
     More confusing images.
     <"Driving and thinking about what?">
     <"About nothing.  About everything.  About me.  About you.  About us.">
     <"I do not love this woman.">
     <"Then bring her over!">
     No.  Lie.  <"Forget, Nat.">  Better for her.  LaCroix would have killed
her/me?
     Such emotions.  Such hope.  Such loss!  Foolish to have even tried.
Almost lost her.  A cure is the only hope.
     Their remaining years passed nearly as one before her new eyes.  She was
now vaguely becoming aware that her fascination with the seemingly endless
life that passed so quickly before her eyes was somehow beginning to displace
her own thoughts, memories and feelings.  The snatches of time that she had
viewed now sought to more completely expand and unfurl, to be more fully
expressed.  Some distant part of her consciousness suddenly became afraid that
the tide of eight hundred years of such powerful emotions and experiences
might completely overwhelm her own identity.  She began to fight for control.
     <"Schanke...">
     <"You can't blame yourself...you can't!">
     <"You'll never know how much I really do care.">
     <"We made quite a good team, didn't we?">
     Love and faith.  Like undercurrents moving beneath the surface of the
sea, love and faith had carried her through the sensations that she had
experienced during the journey through Nicholas Knight's immense life.
Repeatedly, she had turned eyes of love and faith against the killing, against
the vampire's hunger, against the darkness, against all that she had seen,
against the sordid past that he had never before allowed her to know; now laid
bare in a sharing that she had never fully imagined possible.
     And she was astonished to realize that the love that she felt was not
only what she was giving, but what she was receiving as well.  For in a way
never before possible, he was expressing his love, a love that had been long
shackled by the fear that he could not embrace her without destroying her.
     Free at last to completely experience what had been so long withheld,
startled by its power; she nearly ceased the struggle for identity in order to
bask, if only for a moment of time, in the sweetness that flowed around her.
     And as the sensations and images of all that she had seen and felt merged
into one overshadowing, chaotic mass against her lessened efforts, some
distant part of Natalie Lambert's mind realized that she was dying.


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***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 06/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

     He had tasted the lives of many:  the beautiful and detestable, the
drunkard and the murderer, the rich and poor, vampires and mortals alike.
Each was unique.  Each surrendered its darkest secrets.  Each was a drama set
upon a stage of living characters who sensations defied the most talented
fictional portrayals.  His was the ability to experience the thoughts, dreams
and emotions; the very essence, of other souls.  Of all of the lures of his
nature, Nick Knight found this singular ability the most difficult to
surrender.
     But the life of the one that he now held in his arms drew him in as none
other ever had.  He had claimed the lives of countless mortals throughout the
centuries;  the vast majority taken in order to satisfy the never-ending
hunger that drove the beast within him.  Some he had killed in vengeance or
even for sport.  Still others had known of his nature and wanted to be like
him.
     This life simply wanted to be *with* him.
     Here was one who knew his true nature, however incompletely she might
understand it, and still, she accepted him; even loved him in spite of what he
was.
     Love flowed from her, the unrestrained passion of a soul's embrace.  And
he wanted it...more and more of it.  He had been trapped for centuries in the
anguish of guilt, afraid to touch anything pure lest he defile it, abstaining
from mortal love lest it discover his true nature and loathe him for it.
Acceptance was glory.
     Tender unspoken thoughts, words long silenced by looming fears, love at
last unbridled and acknowledged.  All of these things and more he wished her
to know, and with the sweet, he also released the bitter; laying the truth of
who and what he was before her as he could never have verbally expressed.  In
the place of words, sensation and image would relay his story and his love in
a manner few mortals were ever permitted to experience.  It was his gift to
her, and whether or not this sharing would result in the miracle that Janette
and her Robert had accomplished, nothing could ever be the same between them
again.
     Only centuries of experience allowed him to maintain the lines of
demarcation between his own being and the life that now passed before his
eyes.  And each revelation merely fueled the hunger, the insatiable desire to
probe further into the depths of Natalie's soul.
     He walked through the years of her childhood as though it had been his
own, tasting each girlish memory, hope and dream that had ever been hers.  Joy
and sorrow melded with a sea of faces and places, each thought and emotion
bringing near those whom he had never known and closing the distances that
separated the past and present.
     He was there when daddy took the training wheels away, and when Richie
was hit by the car.  He shared in the laughter of her life, the bright, sunlit
days with family and friends, the triumphs and accomplishments that mounted
with each passing year as intelligence and maturity evidenced their claim on
her at an early age.
     And he was there for the tears as well; a roadside accident that forever
haunted her mind, the loss of her mother to cancer, her grandmother's abuses
and her father's depression.  He marveled at the combinations of light and
shadow that had made Natalie Lambert the woman he had come to know, and yet
had never really known at all.
     Perhaps the most surprising and revealing facts of all were the things
that he learned about himself through her.  For he had never known just how
much he had changed her, how his appearance in her life had given hope in a
world of increasing emptiness.
     <"You've got a life.  And it isn't empty.">
     <"Not anymore.">
     Reliving their experiences again through her eyes, he was stung by the
thoughtless words and deeds of which he had been continually guilty, for the
first time feeling their impact as she had felt them.  And then there were the
times when the smallest of compliments or considerations had lifted her spirit
in a way in which he had never envisioned.  She was strong, stronger than him
in many ways, and yet, her loneliness was profound and constantly worked to
undermine her strength.
     His sudden entrance into her life had tugged at her curiosity and
compassion as she sought to understand more about the wandering, guilt-ridden
being that was Nick Knight.  In time, she had grown to love him, and in spite
of what he was, in spite of their failures and misunderstandings, he knew that
he was as much the light in her darkness as she had come to be his.
     <"I'm not afraid of death.  Or of an eternity in darkness as long as I
can spend it with you.">
     He felt as though her lonely soul had somehow reached out and found what
remained of his own, freeing him from his darkness long enough to enable him
to hope and dream again.  The last such power he had known had come nearly
eight hundred years before when he had awakened with the surging of LaCroix's
"gift" within his veins and Janette's arms around him; when he had embraced
the darkness.  Now, those centuries of the vampire's night seemed lifted from
him in the strength of his bond with Natalie, the power he felt inspiring him
to embrace the light instead of the darkness.  He knew that it would welcome
him now.
     And yet, something was wrong.  The rich, full sensations that had so
enveloped him seemed weakened, the thundering sound all around him was fading.
He clung to her, refusing to surrender the world of light that seemed at last
ready to receive its wayward son, even as his mind filled with the realization
of what that fading sound must be.
     He had heard that sound before, a hundred, a thousand times before.  It
was the sound of life at the precipice of eternity.
     It was Natalie's heart.  It was her dying heart.
     Struggling to extricate his senses from the swirling mists of Natalie's
life and memories, Nick opened his eyes and shook his head to clear away the
afterimages that filled his vision.  He turned his gaze downward.
     Natalie lay on the floor of the loft, unmoving; her face the color of
death.
     Nick stared down at Natalie in disbelief for seconds that seemed like an
eternity, unable to move from where he knelt beside her, his hands still
supporting her limp form.
     "Well, now..."  LaCroix's whispery voice pierced the oppressive silence
of the loft.  "All that remains now, is to turn out the lights, and to lock
the door on our way out.  Unless of course, you have decided to add her to our
entourage."
     Nick had never sensed his master's arrival, never heard the ancient
vampire approach to take the position that he now occupied only a few feet
away.  But the sound of his voice shattered the spell that had seemingly
stopped time and conspired to forever lock Nick's gaze upon the face of the
one who had loved him enough to risk everything.
     The one he had murdered.
     LaCroix's ancient blue eyes were softened by a surge of grief, a non-
verbal cry of anguish as powerful as any impression that he had ever received
from his son.  He could well imagine what had led to the scene that he now
witnessed, what Dr. Lambert must have asked of Nicholas.  And they had
proceeded, oblivious to what the consequences of their folly must inevitably
be.  "Oh, Nicholas," he sighed, a truly regretful sound.  "You have thought
this through haven't you?"  Of course, he had known the answer before asking
the question.
     LaCroix's words were lost as shadows in the darkness, as the loft and all
that it contained, as the universe itself faded from reality, leaving Nick
trapped in the world of eternal despair from which final escape now seemed
impossible.
     "I couldn't stop myself," he cried, as sorrow racked his body in wave
after torturing wave.  "I've taken too much!"


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***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 07/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

     <"The cellular customer that you have contacted is not available or has
left the service...">
     The message was cut short as Captain Joe Reese stabbed at his speaker
phone button with one irate finger, abruptly terminating his seventh attempt
to reach Police Commissioner Richard Vetter.  The glass paperweight that his
daughter had given him for his last birthday rattled nervously as Reese's
clenched fist came down hard on the right rear corner of his desk top.
     "Okay, Joe," Reese muttered to himself after striking the desk.  "It's
okay.  Just try to take it easy."  The words instantly reminded him of Denise
and of how she always tried to help him control his fiery temper.  He allowed
himself the luxury of a slight smile as he remembered that Denise had once
told him that if she had to apply a brand name to her husband's temper it
would doubtless be "Eveready."  Temper tantrums were useless anyway.  So was
pounding on desks.  The former generally embarrassed you.  The latter just
made your hand hurt.
     Although Reese would gladly have pounded the desk into matchwood with his
bare hands if doing so would bring Tracy Vetter back from the dead.
     "Tracy."  The named escaped from Reese's lips in the form of a sigh as he
eased back in his chair and attempted to rub away the dull pain in his right
hand.
     It had been nearly a year since Commissioner Vetter had placed his
daughter with the ninety-sixth precinct, giving Reese specific instructions
that he should "look after" her.  Reese had assigned her to Detective Nick
Knight in what he had intended to be a temporary partnership while Knight's
actual partner, Don Schanke, was out of town on police business.  Reese
himself had been temporarily sitting in for the ninety-sixth's actual captain,
Amanda Cohen, who had accompanied Schanke on what had turned out to be an ill-
fated plane trip to Edmonton, Alberta.  When the plane was destroyed by a
serial bomber, Reese had stayed on as captain, per the considerable influence
of the aforementioned Commissioner Vetter, while Tracy had become Knight's
permanent partner.
     The following months had been turbulent to say the least.  Reese had
found the challenge of molding the ninety-sixth precinct to his liking far
less demanding than the task of attempting to force Knight and Vetter to
behave more like partners and less like feuding siblings.  Knight had a marked
tendency to vanish at will, while Tracy demonstrated a talent for taking risks
that threatened to make Reese's hair stand on end.  However, as of late, the
two had actually begun to work together; Knight developing respect for Vetter,
who in turn had realized that she did not need to constantly imperil herself
just to prove that she was a good cop.
     And after a time, Reese had come to believe that things were working out
all right after all.  Knight was a good, experienced detective who would
eventually make a great detective if he would only drop some of that hot-shot
attitude that had gained him such a reputation.  Hot shot or not, he got
results and Reese knew enough by now to let Knight go out a way before
attempting to reel him in.  On her end, Tracy had finally begun to shed the
all-encompassing shadow of her father and had come to be recognized for her
own abilities, although she lacked the Midas touch of experience.
     Reese took Tracy's badge between the thumb and index finger of his left
hand, gently flipping the second flap of leather aside to reveal the
detective's photo identification card.  For a moment, he forced himself to
look into the blue eyes that smiled up at him from beneath a few strands of
light blonde hair.  Although it was an accurate depiction of the young
detective, the police ID photo could not do justice to her wide, bright smile,
the timid display of which had often served to cool her captain's renowned
temper.  Reese was uncertain as to whether he had given her the occasional
break because of her father's expectations or because she truly deserved it,
nor was he likely to ever know the answer to that question.
     Cruel fate had used the insanity of Delbert Dawkins to ensure that no one
would ever know the answers to a great many questions surrounding what Tracy
Vetter might have become with time.
     Reese rose from his chair and walked to the window.  The pain now faded
from his right hand, Reese used it first to open the blinds and then to loosen
his tie as he stared into Toronto's pre-dawn sky.  Black night still dominated
the city skyline, and Reese stared intently at the stars, as though by a
simple act of will he could force them to break their ancient silence and tell
what secrets they knew of the world over which they kept eternal vigil.  But
the stars were silent.  There would be no answers tonight.
     His eyes fell from the zenith to rest instead upon the eastern sky where
ghostly streaks of blue, advance scouts sent forth by the coming day, were
only now becoming visible.  With or without answers, the sun would rise again.
Even the darkest night ruled by a fleeting domain.
     <For the former things are passed away...>
     The words entered Reese's mind with renewed meaning as he watched the
approaching sunrise.  And the fingers that gripped Tracy Vetter's badge and
photo slowly came together, closing the leather flaps with a finality that
echoed the passing of a life snatched away before its time.


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***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 08/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

"Life is a gift...I have never been able to understand the logic of willfully
surrendering such a treasure."

     The words were his:  the spoken reflections of a life which had cast its
immortal shadow across the wrinkled face of time in defiance of the passing of
some nineteen centuries.  As a Roman general, he had waved the bloody sword of
the emperor's decrees against the barbarians and trod the crimson dust of
battlefields beneath his sandled feet.  Later, he would stand stretched to the
sky upon the highest of modern man's steel and concrete towers, far above the
city streets and far away in time and space from the seven hills and the
crumbling remains of eternal Rome.  The emperors were gone, the colorful
banners faded and turned to dust; yet he remained.  Strength was both his
servant and his task master.  For to Lucien LaCroix, that fountain of youth
pressed to his dying lips by a child long since lost to him was no eternal
panacea but instead an eternal longing, refusing to die because it could never
be satiated.  To live forever, one must love life above all else.

"And you do love it.  I've seen you smell the sea; gaze at the stars at
night."

     The love of life.  How many had he destroyed for his eternal mistress?
How many had he enslaved for her?  Here was one now, the dearest to him of all
he had made like himself:  one whom he had chosen, protected, nurtured and
loved as only a father can.

"You are my closest friend."

     He cursed as he raised the staff, his muscles tightening under the
anticipation of the downward thrust to come; the blow that would fulfill an
ultimate trust, and yet take from him that one last possession that he held
dear in the world.  His breath caught in his throat as he moved to strike,
hands that had once been shaken in defiance of the gods now shook with fear.
His daughter's curse would at last be realized, a grim prophecy fulfilled by
his own hand.  He would be alone, with the blood of another child on his
hands, and all of limitless eternity to mourn.
     The rounded point of the staff wobbled unsteadily as LaCroix's hands
shook, fear now turning to anger as Divia's mockery resounded in his ears.
Weakness, an enemy that LaCroix had always regarded as the deadliest of
adversaries, loomed threateningly as he realized that a moment of surging
emotion had caught him and made him a part of actions that flew in the face of
his beliefs, of all that had made him strong enough to endure the centuries.
This was more than the undoing of another; this was ultimately his own
undoing.
     It was General Lucius of Pompeii, Roman conqueror, that withdrew the
staff with a snarl, red eyes blazing.  "No!"
     Nicholas turned from where he knelt beside Natalie's still form, the
grief on his tear-streaked face melding with anxious confusion.  "LaCroix, you
must."  His voice seemed near breaking as he whispered the words, pleading
once again for an end to his suffering.
     "Nicholas, this is madness!"  LaCroix's chest heaved with the ragged
breath of one who has escaped near calamity.  "I will not be a party to this
exercise in self-pity!"
     Nick stood slowly, staring into his master's face as firelight framed the
two vampires in an ethereal, orange glow.  Desperation seemed etched into
Nick's countenance as though it were a natural element of his facial features,
suspended by the same forces that had preserved his physical being for eight
hundred years.  "LaCroix, please..."  His voice trembled slightly.  "Don't you
see?  I can't go on like this anymore."  He stepped forward and placed one
hand on the staff that LaCroix held so rigidly.  "You must help me do this."
     LaCroix's pale features twisted angrily.  "You have not heard me,
Nicholas," he growled, pulling the staff from his son's grip.  "I have said
that I will *not*!"  The vampire punctuated his last statement by savagely
striking downward with the staff as he brought his right knee up.  The staff
snapped in two with a sharp *crack.*
     Nick stared in mute anguish as his master hurled the two halves of the
wooden staff into the fireplace.  He moved forward, intent on retrieving the
staff despite the flames, and found his way blocked by LaCroix.  The anguish
and despair that had so dominated Nick's face now gave rise to a stony anger
as he turned toward his master, his blue eyes rimmed with gold.  "I *trusted*
you."
     Prompted by the growing fury that he sensed in his son, LaCroix gripped
Nick firmly by both shoulders, as though his physical actions could suppress
the younger vampire's surging emotions.  "Listen to me, Nicholas."  LaCroix's
voice was firm but even.  "It is as I have told you.  We have stayed past our
time.  All that has happened this year, this very night, surely must convince
you of that!"  Nick turned his head, averting his gaze from LaCroix, who would
not be ignored so easily.  He strengthened his grip on Nick's shoulders and
continued, his voice becoming stronger.  "We must leave this, all of this,
behind; and we must do so tonight!"
     Nick whirled on LaCroix, nearly breaking free of his master's grasp.
"That's it, isn't it," he accused, "that's what *you* want.  It's always about
what *you* want!"
     LaCroix released Nick's left shoulder to point at the fireplace where the
flames had already accepted their latest wooden offering.  "And *that* is what
*you* want?  All that you truly desire?"  Quickly, he searched for some sign
that his words had struck home.  There was only the ever-present mask of guilt
that he had grown so accustomed to seeing his son wear, now for the first time
displayed in conjunction with a haunting madness.  "You can lie to me,
Nicholas," he continued.  "You can even lie to yourself, but we both will know
that it *is* a lie."  Again, he pointed at the remains of the burning staff.
"That is *not* what you want.  It has never been what you have wanted!"
     The eyes that turned to meet him now were entirely golden.  "Well, maybe
*that* is all that I am permitted!"  With a savage jerk, Nick broke LaCroix's
hold and turned to face him fully, his breath ragged, his eyes afire with
blame.  "And what would you care about that?" he challenged.  "All that you
have ever cared about is yourself!"
     The icy blue of LaCroix's eyes now threatened to change as well in the
wake of his son's acidic harangue.  The creature that stood before him was not
Nicholas deBrabant, but was instead a physical manifestation of guilt and
self-torment that now existed for no other reason but to destroy itself.
Inwardly, LaCroix began to consider the possibility that his son might indeed
be lost to him forever despite any logic or reason he could proffer.  "Strange
words," he said, coldly, "strange words indeed concerning your 'closest
friend.'"
     LaCroix stiffened under the anticipation of impending attack as Nick
shook with the fury of centuries of fear, anger and guilt.  But instead of
launching himself at his master, Nick turned again to the fireplace, intent on
retrieving a stake of the flaming wood.  Even as he began to move, LaCroix
seized him by the arm, employing strength that would have helplessly crippled
a mortal man.
     "You will *not* do this," he commanded, the blue of his eyes now lost
entirely to the vampire's emergence.
     "You can't stop me," Nick thundered as he once again moved toward the
fireplace, only to find his progress hindered by LaCroix's stubborn hold.
Furious, Nick lashed out at LaCroix and used his master's iron grip to jerk
the ancient vampire off his feet.  LaCroix released Nick's arm and flung both
of his own arms out at his sides as he was hurled into the wood frame of the
loft's fireplace.
     Nick was on him instantly.  LaCroix's head was forced back against the
fireplace mantel as Nick's hands closed around his throat with crushing force.
With a snarl, the ancient vampire thrust both of his hands into the space
between Nick's arms and broke the choke hold by violently snapping his arms
outward against Nick's wrists.
     All of his force concentrated in the choke hold, Nick was thrown off
balance as his arms were forced apart.  He fell against LaCroix who took
immediate advantage of Nick's instability by striking out with all his might
against the younger vampire's chest.
     LaCroix readied himself for a renewed attack as Nick crashed to the floor
and rolled.  He inwardly rebuked himself for failing to anticipate his son's
enhanced strength, remembering that Nicholas had ingested a large quantity of
human blood only moments before.  In his preparations to leave Toronto,
LaCroix had fed very little that night and only on what had been available to
him from the Raven's reduced stock.  The strength of his great age had
momentarily spared him, but he knew that he could not long stand against a
vampire of Nick's age who had not only fed directly from a mortal, but was
also roused into a near frenzied state by overwhelming emotions.  Under such
circumstances, Nick could ultimately subdue him.
     Nick rose to his feet snarling, fangs extended, but he did not attack.
LaCroix took a cautious step forward, attempting to reassert his master's
authority.  "I say again, Nicholas.  I will *not* permit it!"
     Nick stared back defiantly, and yet LaCroix could see evidence that some
of the viciousness had left his son's features.  Nevertheless, the voice that
responded to him was little more than a growl.  "And *I* say that you can't
stop me!"  Nick turned  his attention to the loft's large windows where the
blackness of night was slowly beginning to take on a deep, bluish hue.  "The
sun will be up soon," he said.  "Try to stop me then and you'll die with me!"
He looked up at the loft's skylight as though he would rise through it and
rush to meet the coming dawn.
     And yet, he did not.
     LaCroix forced the gold from his eyes as he contemplated the matter.
Nicholas was certainly correct in that LaCroix would be hard pressed indeed to
stop him from walking into the sun.  And even if he were to succeed this day,
there would be other dawns, other opportunities in which he might be not be
able to intervene.  Nicholas was both brash and determined, and the force with
which his guilt had now chosen to manifest itself might very well be
sufficient to drive him to destruction in spite of all efforts to the
contrary.  There was a chance that Nicholas would eventually return to a sound
state of mind, he had always done so in the past, but his episode was much
more intense than any that had come before.  LaCroix could not watch over his
son every moment for the continuous days on end that might pass before
Nicholas could be reconciled again.
     Moreover, LaCroix certainly knew that his attempts to restrain Nicholas
in the past had been the very thing that had driven his son so far from him.
Had it not been so with his own father?  And in the darkness of the moment,
LaCroix also knew that if Nicholas was to be saved it would have to be for
reasons beyond, indeed, in spite of, his master's edicts.
     And as these thoughts burned in LaCroix's mind anew, his eyes crossed the
loft and fell upon the still form of the one who had done so much to wrest
Nicholas from his grasp, the one who had continually indulged his son's mortal
fantasies.
     The one for whom Nicholas was willing to die...and perhaps the only one
for whom he would be willing to live.


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Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 09/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

****

     LaCroix raised one eyebrow as he turned to Nick.  "Nicholas, I know that
anything that I might have to say would simply be lost on you at this point;
however, before you hasten to your end, there is one last voice that you might
care to listen to."
     "I cannot imagine what that might be," Nick shot back, his spirit
somewhat boosted by the hollow tones of LaCroix's voice.  His master was
essentially admitting defeat.
     LaCroix stepped forward and fixed his gaze upon the restored blue of
Nick's eyes.  The simple fact that Nick had chosen to listen to him at all
indicated that the battle might yet be won.  He closed his eyes and drew in a
deep breath.  "When one sets out to listen, Nicholas, one does just that."
     Nick stared at his master suspiciously, certain that he was being
subjected to another of LaCroix's psychological games designed to undermine
his will.  The events of this night had formed the capstone of his
determination to seek an end to his sufferings, to join his Natalie in the
world that she had envisioned with such faith.  Nick prepared to rise into the
eastern sky and to await the sun's arrival, when, in the silence of the loft,
he did hear a sound.
     Through all of the hushed tones that his enhanced hearing could detect in
the city's predawn hour, there was one sound that was distinctly closer than
the rest.  It was weak and sluggish, fading, but undeniably there.  And it was
a sound that Nick had thought he would never hear again.
     LaCroix's eyes opened slowly as Nick hurried past him to kneel beside Dr.
Lambert has he had done moments before.  LaCroix's ancient lips parted in the
slightest of smiles, and he permitted it to remain there for a moment before
erasing the expression as he turned to face his troubled progeny.
     Nick placed Natalie's cool hand in his own as he gazed down at her.  "I
thought she was gone," he whispered, sorrow now returning to dominance and
displacing the anger that had so consumed him at LaCroix's betrayal.
     "Not surprising considering the intensity of your own self-hatred,"
LaCroix said as he approached.  "I have warned you many times concerning the
power of guilt, Nicholas.  It is the ultimate predator, for we ourselves
empower it and turn our own throats to its ravages in the belief that we
deserve to be torn by it.  It lies in wait for us in the darkest recesses of
our being and we willingly seek it out ."
     Nick closed his eyes as LaCroix's shadow came to rest over him, where it
had truly always been.  Natalie's heart seemed determine to beat on,
struggling to live, and yet, it weakened steadily.
     "The combined force of your guilt and anguish succeeded in driving away
all competing sensation, anything that might have given you a reason to hope
and to live," LaCroix continued, slowly attempting to gain by emotion what he
had never been able to take by force.  He leaned closer to his child.  "I told
you that she lies at the brink, Nicholas.  She lingers there still.  And now
the question is again, what will you do?"
     Nick reached out to stroke strands of hair from Natalie's ashen face.  "I
can't do it, LaCroix.  Even to save her, I can't make her like me.  I can only
join her."
     "Nicholas, you are truly incorrigible," LaCroix sneered.  "She is
prepared to give all that she has for the chance to live with you, and *this*
is what you will do for her in return.  This end is what her love has
merited?"
     Nick turned on LaCroix, anger creeping back into his features once again.
"'Be done with her.'  'Time heals all.'  How can you say those things and then
expect me to believe that you care about what happens to her?"
     "Those words were said in the expectation that you would choose to live
on, her life and memories a part of you, in effect, one with you; the only
true togetherness that is permitted our Kind where mortals are concerned."
LaCroix's expression grew dark and he quickly averted his gaze.  "You would
possess what I was never permitted to retain of your sister.  You would be a
wealthy man in my eyes."
     Nick's stare grew somewhat softer at LaCroix's mention of Fleur and the
pain that he had endured since losing her to time's inevitable reckoning.
     His master banished the pain that had filled his eyes and faced Nick
again.  "But if you simply intend to destroy yourself, Nicholas," he said,
pointing to where Natalie lay, "then you dishonor her and all that she tried
to give you by making her a casualty of your own self-pity.  I do not know the
doctor well, but I do know that she would expect, that she deserves, more from
you than this."
     "But the only way that I can save her..."
     "Again, Nicholas, you have blinded yourself to the obvious," LaCroix
interrupted forcefully.  "There is another alternative here.  If you will not
allow her to exist in our world, then permit her the dignity of remaining in
her own, alive, not a human sacrifice to some fanciful delusion of what may or
may not lie beyond the pale."
     LaCroix noted with carefully guarded satisfaction that a new hope had
appeared in his son's eyes.  Nick stooped to Natalie's side, indecisive.
LaCroix gently placed one hand on his son's shoulder.
     "She lives still, Nicholas: and while there is life, there is yet hope."
     "But is there time?"  Nick's hands trembled as he lifted Natalie from the
floor and stood, gently holding her in his arms.  He turned an anxious face to
his master.
     "There will not be if you do not go now," LaCroix warned, knowing that
Nick must also sense the coming dawn even as he did.
     With a last look at LaCroix, Nick rose swiftly through the air, brushing
aside the skylight's opening and racing upward just ahead of the rising sun.
     LaCroix smiled again as he regarded the empty loft and the charred
remains of the staff that he had thrown into the fire.  He had once warned
Nicholas that his guilt would someday return with staggering force, and so it
had; with such force in fact, that it had proven infectious.  LaCroix had come
dangerously close to fulfilling Nicholas' wishes and destroying him.
     In the end; however, LaCroix had won the battle with his own emotions and
had used Nicholas' own love of life in conjunction with his love for the
mortal woman to save his favorite son.  If mortal science could save Dr.
Lambert's life, it might be possible that Nicholas' guilt could at last be
swayed for his own good.  Perhaps Nicholas would agree that he could no longer
endanger her life with his presence.  Perhaps he would leave her, leave
Toronto altogether and travel again with his master.  Given time, this night,
this trial by fire might ultimately restore his son to him.
     When nightfall came there would be decisions to make, but for the moment,
Lucien LaCroix seemed to be winning his little war.


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 10/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

*Note:  Pronunciation of the name "Kaylel:"  The "a" is soft and the "y" is
silent.

****

     The first rays of sunlight landed with a golden splash on Joe Reese's
desk as he buttoned his coat and prepared to go home.  He had been
unsuccessful in reaching Richard Vetter, and even the commissioner's own
secretary, Lorraine Bushman, had been unable to locate her boss.  Vetter
rarely strayed far from the office, but when he did leave town he tended to
entirely detach himself from the outside world.  Lorraine had informed Reese
that the commissioner was indeed out of town and was not scheduled to return
until sometime Sunday afternoon.  She had also said that Vetter had most
likely turned off both his cell phone and his pager, as he habitually did on
road trips, but that she would try to reach him anyway.  By comparison,
Barbara Vetter had been much simpler to locate, and she had arrived at the
hospital shortly before her daughter passed away.
     After returning from the hospital, Reese had spent the rest of the early
morning hours putting the precinct back in one piece after Dawkins' rampage,
fielding questions from Internal Affairs, organizing his report concerning
Tracy's death, and trying to track down renegade detective Nicholas Knight.
     Knight had been one sorry piece of work at the hospital where Reese had
last left him, sitting at Tracy's bedside, helplessly staring at the various
machine readouts that testified to her weakening vital signs.  But who could
blame him?  Two partners in one year; both lost under tragic circumstances.
Aside from that, Knight had suffered a near-fatal gunshot wound two months
previously and, for a period of time, had lost most of his long-term memories.
He had rebounded from it all as ably as anyone that Reese had ever known, but
like any other human being, Knight would have his breaking point.  Reese had
been amazed that the detective had lasted this long.  It was certainly no
secret that a lot of good cops had gone under from far less sensational
provocation.
     At 4:30, Lorraine Bushman had called to tell Reese that she thought it
futile to continue attempting to contact Richard Vetter.  She had worked for
the commissioner for ten years and had known that he would have cut himself
off from all outside communications until such time as he chose to call in.
She also knew Vetter well enough to know that even though he had made himself
incommunicado, both she and Reese had better be able to tell Vetter that they
had spent all night trying to reach him.  Now that they had tried their best,
there was nothing else to do.  Reese had agreed and suggested that Barbara
Vetter might have more luck finding her estranged husband.
     And Nick Knight would rue the day that Internal Affairs caught up with
him.  Wherever the detective was, he had managed to disappear as thoroughly as
Vetter.  Maybe Knight had snapped after all.  Maybe the next call that came in
would alert Reese that Knight had been found in that drafty warehouse
apartment of his, dead from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head:  a
second suicide striking close to home in less than twenty-four hours.
     Reese shook his head to clear away the absurd image of Knight committing
suicide and decided that a few hours sleep was now his next order of business.
Realistically, it would more likely be a few hours of tossing and turning,
images of last night's pandemonium continually replaying in his tired mind,
and a few precious moments of sleep squeezed in during intermissions.
     Reese closed his office door not-too-gently and made his way across the
busy squad room, stopping to speak with Desk Sergeant Carl Finster.  "Keep
trying to locate Detective Knight," he told the officer.  "Call me right away
if you find him."
     "And you'll be where, sir?"
     "At home, probably in bed, hopefully asleep," Reese replied.
     He had descended to ground level by way of the narrow rear stairwell and
was reaching out to push his way through the ninety-sixth precinct's parking
lot access door when he was stopped by a shout.
     "Captain!"
     Reese turned to find the lanky form of Carl Finster quickly approaching.
     "What is it, Sergeant?"
     "I just got a call," Finster told Reese as he came to a stop on the last
stair step.  "Detective Knight showed up at the Mercy General E.R. with Dr.
Lambert about twenty minutes ago."

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

San Fransisco, CA

     Cain stood alone beneath the Golden Gate, his dark shape partially
obscured by the mists that crept inland from the frigid bay waters and swirled
in serpentine patterns around his feet.  Pale moonbeams descended from high
above the city, parting in deference to the metal superstructure of the bridge
and casting a ghostly shadow of that same mortal creation upon the landscape
below.
     The city stretched out before him in all of its twinkling towers and Cain
listened intently to the trace sounds of late-night traffic passing through
the winding streets.  City sights and sounds had changed dramatically in his
lifetime, and automobiles now roared where there had once been only the heavy
clapping of horse's hooves.  Cain almost expected to hear the horses still.
The technological revolutions that had brought about such drastic changes in
the lifestyles of human beings consisted of ink still freshly pressed upon the
newest pages of a very old and extensive volume.  The twelve hundred years of
Cain's existence had been the story of change, and yet, those centuries had
been woven together with a comforting sameness, a thread that had since been
lost in an age where even the atom had been harnessed to the whims of
mankind's machines.
     His quiet reflection upon things both past and present was interrupted by
a rippling in the atmosphere, the usual disturbance that heralded the arrival
of another of his Kind.  Cain did not need to avert his eyes from the San
Fransisco skyline to know who it was that had come to him.  Old, adept and
powerful, Cain's perceptions were formidable, and yet, it was what he could
*not* sense in his visitor that so clearly identified him.
     Cain almost refused to turn but immediately thought better of it.  He did
turn, and took the customary step backward, his pale blue-green eyes carefully
shielding emotions that he dared not manifest.
     "Always thinking, Cain."
     From the aspect of a purely physical evaluation, the vampire could have
been Cain's son, and he was in fact some six centuries younger.  In this
particular instance; however, the typical vampire ratios of age and strength
fell by the wayside.  Cain was among the most powerful of his Kind, but the
Master of Enforcers, Kaylel, was a different matter entirely.
     "There is much to think on," Cain replied, curtly.  He noticed that the
Master's ever-present personal attendants, brutal and savagely loyal
Enforcers, were located at a respectable distance but close enough to act
immediately at a signal from their leader.
     "Quite so," the Master acknowledged.  "And now there is more to think on
than there has been for quite some while."  His words were spoken with the
same silken ease and contained the usual undercurrents of amusement and
authority that Cain had come to expect.  Kaylel was possessed of a monumental
arrogance that caused him to view other persons as inferior and virtually
insignificant, consequently, the manner in which he averted eye-contact with
his subordinate was not a sign of insecurity but rather, indifference.
     As Master of Enforcers, Kaylel had expanded their secret society to
unprecedented heights of power and brutality and could literally reach into
any corner of the globe to destroy whomever he chose; mortal and immortal
alike.  The Enforcer oath to protect the secret of the immortals who walked
the Earth, the very purpose for which they had been created had, in the hands
of Kaylel, been relegated to a secondary task; a convenient shield behind
which to advance a far more ambitious agenda.  His was the seat of power,
surrounded by the strongest of the strong, and yet, Cain knew that the Master
Enforcer was not merely the manipulator of powers...
     He himself *was* power.
     Inexplicably, Kaylel possessed the gifts of the ancients.  Cain had seen
it with his own eyes; and that phenomenal strength, coupled with what was
perhaps the most powerful concentration of immortal beings yet assembled made
Kaylel seem indomitable.
     Cain fell into step beside the Master.  He mentally forced aside the
sounds of the city, choosing instead to listen to the sounds of water striking
the shoreline and the crunching of pebbles beneath his feet as he walked.
"Much has happened in recent months," he said.
     "Indeed."
     "Much that I would have discussed with you had I been permitted an
audience."
     Kaylel walked on in silence, now staring straight ahead into the night,
his hands folded behind his back.
     Cain struggled to prevent the frustration he felt from entering his
voice.  "I was told that my reports would be forwarded to you..."
     "And so they were."
     "But I have received no responses."
     The Master's eyes narrowed.  "I'm responding to you now, am I not?"
     The statement was of little consolation.  "Since we have not met," Cain
responded, "I have chosen to continue the work of determining the extent of
our exposure and dealing the mortals reversals where it has proven expedient
to do so."
     Kaylel slowed to a halt and turned to face his Second.  "Then all is at
is should be."
     Cain stared back at the Master.  When he spoke, his tone was challenging.
"Hardly that," he said.  "We are now certain that most of the major
governments must be aware of our presence, although the extent of their
knowledge as well as to what degree they might have exchanged information with
one another is still unclear.  The threat is now very real but still largely
undefined."
     Cain experienced a small flush of anger at the smile that crept on to the
lips of the Master Enforcer.  "Fortunately, there has not yet been a backlash
against our Community, or a credible leak of information to the general
public.  It appears that any private citizens who do know of us are not
speaking out for fear of ridicule."
     Kaylel's smile broadened.  "Understandably so."
     "But the governments *do* know although they have not yet acted in any
manner that we can discern," Cain added.  "Those of us operating within or
near the mortal bureaucracies are finding precious little upon which to base a
plan of action."  The Second Master of Enforcers turned his gaze upon the fog-
enshrouded hillsides.  Whatever knowledge the mortals possessed concerning
their Kind, Cain was certain that they could never imagine that vampires,
Enforcers, had made their way into the most sensitive of human institutions,
even if by only electronic means in most cases.  Kaylel had orchestrated the
beginning of this infiltration years before with the explanation that it would
more effectively enable Enforcers to be certain that all knowledge of vampires
was thoroughly suppressed.  All Enforcers were aware of this, as most of them
were actively involved in it to one degree or another; however, what was not
so widely known was that Kaylel had also used their expanding inroads into the
mortal world in order to carry out a subtle experimentation.  No longer
satisfied with merely monitoring mortals, the Master was now trying his hand
at manipulating them, a practice that bespoke of bolder things yet to come in
light of Kaylel's successes thus far.
     Armed with their abilities to alter mortal minds and to come and go
virtually unnoticed and uninterrupted, vampires had proven to be the ultimate
infiltrators.
     Kaylel himself had always been a study in controlled psychosis.  He was
wildly ambitious and aggressive, perhaps another side of his heightened
powers, but he had always been quite patient and calculating as well.  Of
late, that state of affairs had been changing.  Stories had begun circulating.
It was said that the Master's renowned patience was vanishing.  He had become
more reclusive and brooding, as even Cain had not been able to obtain an
audience in more than two months in spite of serious developments.
     <Perhaps it is because of those events,> Cain thought as he studied the
Master's ghostly features.  Perhaps it was because Kaylel believed that he was
destined to lead vampires into an era of fundamental change, and that the hour
of that change was nearly within his grasp.
     Cain had suspected that the Master would move in that direction soon, now
that it seemed that there was no one who could oppose him, no one to warn of
apocalypse or to extract the tentacles that had been wrapped so tightly around
the vital organs of human society.
     Until the reappearance....


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 11/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

***

     "I am not concerned with human governments, Cain.  They are fleeting
things at best."  Kaylel's gray eyes now fixed on Cain with an intensity that
did little to dissuade the Second's thoughts of impending psychosis.  "Rather,
I am concerned with those things which do *not* change."
     "The High Ancient," Cain stated, noting with interest the flames that
ignited in the Master's eyes at the mention of that title.
     "You saw it for yourself!"
     Cain understood that his master referred to the death cries of the three
Enforcers who had been slaughtered so quickly over two months before, an
unprecedented killing.  "Bu why does he appear now, after a near century of
silence?"
     "Why does he exist at all?" Kaylel growled, his eye color shifting to a
golden hue.  "To impede our race; to shackle us to a past, to an authority
that is no longer!  To deny us our rightful place of dominance in a world now
controlled by the weak!"
     "It seems impossible that he can have survived."  Cain spoke with
unrestrained awe.  "They were the greatest of our Kind, powerful beyond
imagining; and yet only one remains.  The others are dust."
     "As *he* should be," Kaylel spat.  "And yet, he clings to this world and
so we are hindered!"
     "But the questions remains:  why now?  And why would he suddenly attack
and  kill three Enforcers?"  Cain awaited answers to his questions as the
Master stared angrily into the night sky.
     "They had been sent to destroy an ancient," Kaylel said, without turning
from his standoff with the heavens.  "A woman who...had crossed over again."
     Cain's hardened features suddenly wrinkled with thought.  "Then she is
the first in centuries," he observed.  "A rarity indeed."
     "And as great a danger to us," the Master added forcefully.  "She had
been made one of us again but dared to tell of her experiences.  Her act
warranted death."
     "But the High Ancient intervened," Cain interjected.  "Why would he be
concerned with such a matter?"
     "I do not proport to understand the workings of that infernal mind!"
Kaylel faced his subordinate once again, rage now threatening to overwhelm
him.  "But the fool has chosen to show himself again and it will be his
undoing."
     "Even if we could find him," Cain replied, "it would be no simple matter
to destroy him.  He can only have grown more powerful, and the Community may
stand with him against us."
     "He is not a god," Kaylel countered, his body shaking with anger.  "He
*can* be destroyed and you will see that for yourself!  As will the others!"
     "He *is* a legend among our people."
     The Master bared his fangs and Cain wondered if he might be struck.  "He
is a coward!  He hides behind the myths of our race in an attempt to conceal
his own weaknesses, his cowardice.  His sudden appearances are meant to
confuse and frighten our Kind into perpetuating the disastrous lies that have
stagnated our culture and denied us what is truly ours; what we must now take
hold of forcibly!"
     Cain listened to his Master's words in silence.  There was nothing to be
said in the face of his hatred, no reason that would penetrate the accumulated
anger of the centuries.  Instead, he asked another question, not really
expecting an answer.  "And what is to prevent him from simply vanishing again,
as he has always done in the past?"
     It was then that Kaylel's anger gave way to a stony determination, a
shadow of his old cunning emerging once again.  "This time will be different.
He has chosen to interfere in affairs in which there is more than one
individual with which to be concerned.  He cannot protect all involved,
nevertheless, he will try, if for no other reason than to spite us."
     "You're certain of this?"
     "Completely."  Kaylel drew himself up to his full height.  "He will
expect us to exact vengeance for the deaths of our agents against those who
are tied to the woman, and so we shall.  However, our efforts against them
will merely be designed to draw him out where we may finally deal with him.
*They* will be the means, while *he* will be the objective."
     "And who are *they?*"
     "All that are of her line, primarily her Maker and brother-by-blood."
Kaylel stooped down to pick up a rounded stone and examined its surface as he
spoke.  "As for the woman, her name is Janette DuCharme, late of Toronto,
Canada, where she had spent several decades, the last seven years or so of
which she owned a nightclub called the Raven.  Her establishment catered to
vampires and mortals alike and, upon her departure nearly one year ago, she
sold the club to her Maker, one Lucien LaCroix."
     "LaCroix."  Cain repeated the name, momentarily absorbed in his memories
of that particular renowned immortal.  "The General has fallen upon difficult
times of late."  His remark was an understatement if the latest stories from
Toronto were to be believed.
     "All the better for our purposes," the Master observed.
     "And you mentioned that she has a brother-by-blood as well."
     Kaylel smiled again, a sight that would have driven a mortal to flight.
"His name is Nicholas deBrabant, although he currently calls himself 'Nicholas
Knight.'  I leave it to you to discover the rest, for his is an interesting
tale, and one in which you will find quite a basis for taking action against
the lot of them.  But for his master, we should have been done with him long
ago."
     Cain took a stab at the direction in which Kaylel seemed to be moving.
"And it is your intention to use the actions of these immortals to implicate
the High Ancient should he move to their defense.  A cause by which to rally
the Community against him on the pretense that he has grown complacent with
age and could assist in exposing us?"
     "In time, Cain," the Master responded, discarding his stone to the
roadside.  "For now, you will observe, mortals and vampires alike, and be
certain to conceal your presence.  I do not want them to know that someone is
watching them just yet.  That should occupy your time until I arrive."
     "And the High Ancient?"
     "He, undoubtedly, will be watching you."
     Cain, the ancient and powerful immortal who had fought in and against
some of the mightiest armies in all of European history, who had crushed
mortal and immortal enemies with his own hands, seemed quite justified in the
lack of fear that he displayed in the face of most dangers.  But a cold
anxiety gripped him in the face of this newest challenge.  For the High
Ancients were not mere immortals, but were the very forebearers of their Kind,
a generation removed from even the next oldest living vampire by some two
thousand years; and truly separated by far more than time.
     Theirs was the primal power.  Theirs was the secret of the beginnings.
     But only one remained.  How such an ancient and powerful band of
immortals had withered away and vanished through the millennia was a true
mystery.
     Perhaps, inevitably, time was the master of all.  Even vampires.
     Would the Community turn against such a creature?  Indeed, why should
they?  Cain knew very little concerning what causes fueled the savage hatred
that drove Kaylel to seek the destruction of this last immortal patriarch, but
he strongly suspected it to be some sort of overwhelming jealousy.  No
legitimate reason had yet been given and Cain knew better than to question the
matter directly.  Kaylel's obsession with his own abilities had blinded his
reason before, but never so consistently, and Cain feared that this particular
indiscretion could prove disastrous if the High Ancient should accept battle.
For Kaylel, despite his extraordinary abilities, had lived but the span of a
watch in the night compared to the one he sought to destroy.
     For now, Cain would watch as he had been bidden to do.  There was far
more at stake here than the pride of the Master Enforcer.  If he must err, he
would do so on the side of reason and caution.
     Kaylel was speaking again.  Cain forced his attention back to the
Master's words.
     "...but take no action against him."
     "And if he should come for us?"  Cain's own question sounded strange in
his ears.  No one had ever hunted Enforcers before.
     Kaylel's answer was equally unique.  "Then fall back," he commanded.
     "We would appear weak in the eyes of the Community," Cain protested.
     "Such a loss would be a mere temporary setback from which we would
recover fully once we have won the day.  Ultimately, the Community will
acknowledge only the victor and it is, therefore, unnecessary to win each
engagement as long as we are prepared to act when it is truly critical to do
so."
     Cain was completely unprepared for this reasoned retort.  Upon Kaylel's
fiery outburst of only moments before, Cain had begun to believe that the
rumors concerning the Master Enforcer's impending breakdown were true.  Now he
was certain that the situation was in fact worse than he had originally
believed.  He was convinced that Kaylel was a rational mind locked in the grip
of an unspeakable hatred, an abhorrence so powerful that it could shatter the
sturdiest reason and gain temporary control of the Master.  It was the
psychological makeup of a leader whose followers could both fear and despise
their master while remaining fiercely loyal to him.  It was the same anvil
upon which some of history's most notorious disasters had been forged.
     And he saw the truth of that deduction behind the Master's dark eyes:  an
aura of some internal furnace, burning white-hot with rage.  There was
certainly more to Kaylel's hatred of the High Ancient than concerns for the
future and well-being of the vampire community, if those were truly factors at
all.  Cain would have been suspicious of Kaylel's motivations even if the
Master had not just contradicted himself a moment before when he first claimed
that he did not know how the High Ancient's mind worked, and then later
attempted to tell Cain exactly what to expect of him.  Whatever the reasons,
Kaylel's hatred was a powerful thing.  For the moment; however, the Master's
control remained.
     Cain glanced into the night sky, aware that the sun would rise in another
three hours.  Toronto would already be basking in its rays.  "We will leave
for Toronto tonight once preparations have been made," he told Kaylel.
Whether or not his theory was correct, Cain could take no action at the
present time save to do as he was told.
     The Master turned away again, his eyes penetrating the fog and settling
on the rocky island where Alcatraz prison sat.  "Take whomever you will," he
whispered in the darkness.  "I will join you in one week's time."
     Again, Cain took a respectful step backward, his eyes never leaving
Kaylel's brooding form, his mind seeking to reconcile the seemingly impossible
situation that had been thrust upon him.  Kaylel had ended the conversation
through his stance, effectively dismissing his subordinate.
     The stars swayed as Cain left the ground to hurry about his preparations,
uncertain as to whether the enemy truly awaited him in far-off Toronto, or
stood beneath him on the rocky shores of San Fransisco Bay.


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Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 12/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

***

     Nick was oblivious to the hospital personnel that passed by him in the
hallway, some of whom turned to cast curious but discreet glances at the
blonde-haired man who sat quietly on one of the beige waiting room chairs, his
head resting in his hands.  They could only frown at the sight of yet another
suffering human being, a familiar specter that was ever with them in their
work at the emergency care facility of Mercy General Hospital.  They could
only frown and move on to the sick and dying, the lacerations and abrasions,
the reports and preparations, as well as the multitude of other full-time
concerns that nip at the tired heels of an emergency room staff, each
demanding their immediate and undivided attention.
     For Nick, there was only the guilt.  LaCroix could be evaded, the hunger
suppressed, lives abandoned and taken up again in an instant but the guilt
remained, his only true and constant traveling companion through all of the
dark centuries of his existence.  And though the presence of guilt itself
remained unchanged, its accusing face belonged to a state of constant flux in
which it could take the form of a lost love, a victim's scream, a broken
trust, a goal unattained, a hastily spoken word, or any of a thousand other
manifestations, each a unique blade sharpened to a razor's edge by some past
regret or betrayal; ready to strike for his heart.
     Now, guilt had a new face, one with full, smiling lips, welcoming hazel
eyes and tumbles of chestnut hair.  Guilt had a new voice as well; one that
softly said, "I trust you."
     "Detective Knight?"
     Nick was startled from his reverie by the sound of a concerned voice and
a light touch on his right shoulder.  He looked up quickly to find Dr. Turner
standing above him with much the same expression that she had worn three
months earlier when *he* had been the patient that everyone was worried about.
     Apprehension drove him to his feet.  "How is she, Doctor?"
     Leanna Turner briefly averted her eyes, carefully considering her
response.  "I won't lie to you, Detective; her situation is extremely serious.
Frankly, I'm surprised that she made it to the hospital considering the amount
of blood that she's lost."
     Nick turned away suddenly, running one shaking hand through his tangled
hair, fiercely attempting to deny the events of the past twenty-four hours.
     "We've finished the transfusion and we're moving her now," Turner
continued hesitantly.  Despite the many rewards of her profession, dealing
with the effects of tragedy on the lives of loved ones never seemed to get any
simpler.  "The real test will come within the next few hours when we'll see
whether or not Dr. Lambert's body will accept the transfusion," she continued,
"but we'll be keeping a close eye on her."
     There was a nervous silence as Nick shifted his gaze from the gray
corridor walls to the glossy, polished surface of the floor tiles upon which
he stood.  He jabbed at the floor with the toe of one shoe, steadfastly
avoiding Dr. Turner's gaze as he sought for the necessary courage to ask a
question, the answer to which his mind demanded but his heart feared.  His
voice was thin and strained when he finally spoke.  "In your opinion...what
are her chances?"
     Turner sighed, the full weight of a hectic night finally catching up with
her.  "It's so difficult to tell right now," she explained.  "I'd say
that...considering the fact that Dr. Lambert has made it this far, and barring
any ill effects from the transfusion, she stands a better chance at recovery
than just about anyone that I've ever personally known to have suffered acute
exsanguination."
     A new hope sprang into Nick Knight's eyes at those words. Turner felt a
gnawing guilt for suppressing it so quickly.  "We can be optimistic, but we
must also be realistic, Detective.  Dr. Lambert could easily survive the
experience only to suffer from one or more side-effects that commonly result
from cases of severe blood loss."
     "Brain damage," Nick whispered, reflecting upon times past when he had
worked as a doctor himself and had seen the sordid effects of various forms of
physical trauma.  He winced under the sting of his own conscience's lash,
mentally cursing himself for taking such chances with Natalie's life.  There
had been so many risks that they had never considered.
     Turner nodded.  "Yes, that is a possibility.  There is also the
possibility of shock to major organs or even immunodeficiency complications;
we just can't know at this stage."
     "I know."  Nick thrust his hands into his jacket pockets and grasped
roughly at the lining as he struggled to block a barrage of mental images in
which Natalie suffered with mental languor or painful, debilitating physical
conditions.
     <"This end is what her love has merited?">
     Nick turned away swiftly and then back again as he fought the echo of
LaCroix's accusation.  "You said that she was being moved?"
     "Yes, she'll be in the ICU at least until she regains consciousness and
we can assess her overall condition."
     "I need to see her."
     Turner smiled sympathetically but, in her opinion, what Knight actually
needed to do was go home and rest.  He was obviously very upset and fatigued.
"I'd like to be able to arrange that, Detective, but I'm afraid that it
wouldn't be a good idea for Dr. Lambert to have visitors at this point.  But
we'll be sure to call you the moment that there's any change in her
condition."
     For the first time in their conversation, Nick was now facing her fully,
and Dr. Turner anticipated the usual protests that family and friends offered
when they were not permitted access to a patient.  However, she was quite
unprepared for the sudden sensation of weightlessness that gripped her entire
body as Knight's gaze locked with her own.
     "Take me to her," he said, the words seemingly echoing from every corner
of Leanna Turner's mind until the vampiric influence entirely displaced her
professional objections to his request.  <What harm could it do?>
     "I'll take you to her."  The words came instantly, slipping through her
lips with the ease of breath as she found herself turning, and then nearly
falling as the sensation of weightlessness transformed into vertigo.
     Nick caught her by the elbow.  "Are you okay?" he asked.
     His words took a moment to register as Turner reestablished her balance
and allowed the nausea in the pit of her stomach to pass.  "I'm...I'm just
tired, I think."  She drew in a deep breath and smiled at Nick as
embarrassment crept into her facial features.  "I guess I've been working too
late," she confessed.  The detective smiled in return, slightly, and released
her, but stood close by, studying her intently as though he knew something
about her that she did not know.  It had the effect of making her distinctly
uncomfortable.  "I'll take you to see Dr. Lambert now," she said.
     Nick cocked his head to one side, still scrutinizing her.  "You're sure
that it won't be a problem?"
     Turner nodded confidently.  "I'm sure.  I'll handle everything."  She
turned away then, for some unknown reason thankful that she no longer had to
look into Nick Knight's eyes, although she could feel them on her back as she
led the way through the hospital corridors.
     Arriving at the ICU nurses' station, Dr. Turner verified that Natalie
Lambert had been taken to Room 312.  She turned to relay the information to
Nick, only to find empty air where the detective had stood but a moment
before.


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

In spite of my former announcement, The Hands of Time story parts should be
released as normal for the week.  I was supposed to be leaving town this
afternoon but car trouble dictated otherwise.

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 13/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

***

     Nick did not need Dr. Turner's confirmation to locate Natalie.  From the
moment that he and the doctor stepped into the hushed world of the Intensive
Care Unit, Nick's vampire senses had taken hold of the tenuous impressions
that now led him through the maze of rooms to the one that he sought.  He
rounded one last corner, waited somewhat impatiently as an elderly heart-
attack victim was wheeled past, and stood silently a few feet away from the
room in which Natalie lay; the latest in a seemingly endless number of lives
that he had destroyed.
     <"She lives still, Nicholas.  And while there is life, there is yet
hope.">
     Natalie Lambert did indeed have the chance at life that had seemed so
completely lost to her only a short time before, and Nick hesitated to enter
the room lest his very presence prove sufficient to deny her that renewed
chance.  His intellect warred against his heart as Nick pondered the idea of
turning away, of taking his cursed existence to some distant part of the globe
where it could no longer torment and destroy those he cared for and those who
dared to care for him.
     The contest still raged, undecided, as he realized that he was no longer
alone.  Leanna Turner had found him.
     She was clearly perplexed.  "Well, however you found it, this is the
right room," she said, pointing the metal clipboard that she held in the
direction of Natalie's room.  She then reached into her coat pocket and
retrieved a small plastic card with a dull metal clip attached to its reverse.
"You'll need this," she remarked, handing the ICU pass to Nick who glanced
briefly at it before clipping the bit of plastic to his belt.
     "There'll be nurses in occasionally to check on Dr. Lambert," Turner
said, slowly edging away from Nick.  "If you need anything, you know where to
find the nurses' station."
     "Thank you," Nick replied, noting that Turner seemed visibly
uncomfortable with him and feeling a sudden stab of guilt for having
manipulated her.  Turner nodded curtly and moved off, troubled by the nagging
feeling that there was something about Nick Knight that was simply unnerving
although she could not quite put her finger on it.
     Alone once again, Nick slowly made his way to the door of Room 312,
putting out his hand against the metal doorframe as he peered inside the room.
     Natalie lay at the center of the cramped room, pallid and unconscious,
her facial features illuminated by a single fluorescent lamp that gave her
white skin an ethereal glow.  Nick stood in the doorway for a long moment, his
eyes taking in the plastic and metal faces of the various medical instruments
that crowded Natalie's beside like vigilant bodyguards; as though anything had
the power to protect her from his darkness.
     Making his way quietly through the room, Nick approached Natalie's
bedside as one might look in on a sleeping child, fearful that the slightest
sound might somehow shatter the delicate balance that had thus far sustained
her life.  Nick's fingers came to rest upon the cool metal of the hospital
bed's support railing as his thoughts drifted to the glaring ironies of the
situation before him.  It was Natalie who had so often stood beside him the
hours of his greatest weakness; knowing, supporting and even loving him during
the times when others had abandoned him or had feared to be near him or when
he had given up on himself.  It was he who had survived the centuries, he who
had escaped death an inestimable number of times, he who had once boasted of
power beyond imagining and he who had faced enemies both mortal and immortal.
     But it was Natalie who had taught him to face the truth.
     Nick lowered the bed's support railing and carefully sat down beside
Natalie, taking her hand in his.  Her flesh was warm to the touch again, free
of the chill that had come upon her so quickly after his near-fatal kiss; and
fresh pangs of guilt stabbed at him at the sight of the bandage that was
pressed against her throat, concealing the wound that he had inflicted.  A
distant, rational part of Nick's mind succeeded in penetrating the thick
clouds of guilt that permeated the atmosphere around him, reminding him that
it would soon be necessary to explain that wound.  He would be asked to
explain about what had happened to Natalie...and Delbert Dawkins...and Tracy
Vetter.  It was very plausible that Nick Knight was about to come under the
most intense scrutiny that he had faced since the accusations leveled against
him during the Red purges of the 1950's, should the Metro Toronto Police
Department decide to heap all of its corporate indignation upon one
sacrificial lamb.
     Again, thoughts of leaving for his own good, for Natalie's good, for
everyone's good crossed rapidly through his mind.
     <"It's always been easier that way in the past.">
     But the ill-spoken words failed him as he listened to the steady beating
of Natalie's heart.  Only a short while before, that rhythmic sound had
brought him images, emotions and sensations of such as his heart had so often
longed for:  trust, acceptance, love; an indescribable combination which had
stirred to new life the dying embers of his soul.  They had shared the hidden
mysteries of their innermost secrets, an entanglement of souls from which not
even the most practiced of his Kind could emerge entirely unchanged.
     <"I won't leave you.  Whatever happens...we'll be together.">
     He had spoken the words; now it was time for him to keep the promise.
     Nick reached out with one hand to gently stroke Natalie's hair and then
her face.  When he finally found his voice, it emerged as barely a whisper in
the quiet room.  "Nat," he called out softly.  "Natalie, I'm so sorry."
     The words seemed so useless, even more so in light of the fact that
Natalie probably could not even hear them, and yet, he had devalued the spoken
word for far too long; a lesson that Natalie had taught him rather painfully
nearly six months before.  There had been so many times when she had been
close, sometimes while in the precinct, sometimes on the couch beside him in
his own home; so very many times when he would have touched her face as he did
now, so many things that he wanted to say.  Those were also the times in which
he had faced another, far older urge, the desire to take her to fulfill the
monstrous cravings of the beast that LaCroix had made within him.  To deny the
latter was also to forbid the former, and it had often soured their
relationship, driving them apart.  But Nick's practiced restraint had also
saved Natalie Lambert's life on more nights than she had ever realized.
     Now that such intimacy had passed between them in the sharing of life,
Nick felt as though something of the solid stone wall that had always existed
between them in the past had suddenly been removed.
     "Natalie, I didn't mean for this to happen," he said, his eyes once again
on the bandage at her throat.  "But it was what I feared would happen, why I
denied you for so long.  It was what I tried to explain but could never make
you understand."  He raised Natalie's hand to his lips and quickly kissed it.
"It was so hard to stop.  You can't imagine *how* hard it was to stop, to stop
taking in everything of you, to stop knowing you so fully."  He had explained
it to her once before:  that the vampire's taking of blood was the way in
which they felt life, the way in which they vicariously lived through others.
She had been intrigued by the concept, so much so that it had frightened him
at the time.  Upon reflection he had come to believe that her interest was due
more to the fact that he had finally decided to share something of his own
nature with her, an act which flew in the face of his long-standing
determination to protect Natalie from the consequences of getting too close to
him.
     "By the time I stopped..."  Nick hesitated, the familiar burning of tears
welling up within his eyes again as he recalled the moment in which he
realized what he had done.  "I thought that I'd killed you; that I'd lost
you."  Nick took both of Natalie' hands in his own, sliding his fingers
through hers.  "I've lost so much in my life, Nat.  I can't lose you too."
     He struggled with the words that had so long eluded his tongue, the words
that he feared would certainly doom any mortal woman who ever heard them.  He
smiled, thinking that she would probably laugh at him if she could see him
now; that is, if she did not hate him for nearly destroying her.
     "Nat, I've never been able to tell you this before, it's always been so
dangerous but..."
     "Nick?"
     Startled by the familiar masculine voice, Nick turned to find Joe Reese
standing in the doorway, his face a thousand times over the story of concern
and fatigue.  His eyes were on Natalie and a frown was on his lips.


Send all comments to:
Stephen Lansing
Phoenix348@aol.com

***Disclaimers can be found in Part (01/??)***

The Hands of Time (Part 14/??)
By:  Stephen Lansing

***

     "It's okay," Nick said, waving Reese into the room reluctantly although
he was careful to conceal that reluctance.  He looked up at Reese as the
captain came to stand beside him, and then back at Natalie again, squeezing
her hand.  "She's going to make it, Captain."
     The dark, looming clouds over Reese's eyes momentarily lifted.  "Yeah,
Dr. Turner says she has a real good chance."
     There was no hostility in Reese's words, no contradiction; nor was there
any conviction.  Nick involuntarily tensed.  "She'll be fine, Captain," he
said, curtly.  "She'll pull through this."
     Concern once again dominated Joe Reese's features as he placed a hand on
Nick's shoulder, certain that he had heard something in Knight's voice that he
distinctly did not like; something unstable.  "You okay, Nick?"
     "Yeah, Cap, I'm fine," Nick responded apologetically.  "I'm just tired, I
guess."  It was really so much more than that pat answer could encompass.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you."
     Reese shrugged it off.  "Hey, I understand."  He pointed at the place
where Nick sat on the side of Natalie's bed.  "I've sat there once or twice
myself, you know.  You feel that you ought to be doing something but you know
that there's nothing you can do."  He shook his head slowly.  "Being helpless
like that has got to be the most sickening feeling in the world."
     Nick nodded his head slightly but continued to stare silently at Natalie.
     Reese shifted his weight from one foot to the other.  "I suppose that
you've heard about Tracy," he said, quietly.
     Nick turned slightly, looking away from Natalie but still not at Reese.
"I heard," was all that he said, his mind's eye returning to the sight of
Tracy lying where Dawkins' bullets had struck her down.
     <"You could...have trusted me.">
     <"If she dies, it's my fault.">  More guilt.
     "I don't know, Nick," Reese sighed, "seems like this town's been falling
apart lately.  First losing Schanke and Cohen to that Vudu nut who tried
blowing up the city, then the likes of Gerald Manning on a book tour, Tracy
getting shot by Dawkins and now Natalie to...to who knows what.  Where's it
all gonna end?"  He looked curiously at the bandage on Natalie's throat.  "How
*did* this happen, Nick?"
     "I'm not sure," Nick lied.  "She was attacked, by an animal, I think."
     "And you found her?"
     Nick was surprised by the relative speed with which he devised his story,
no doubt the benefit of centuries' experience in lying to escape tight
situations.  "I found her at my apartment.  I think she'd come to tell me
about Tracy."  He did look at Reese now.  "I guess she was attacked and tried
to make it to my phone to call for help."
     Reese gave no indication that he either believed or disbelieved the
story.  "They say she lost quite a bit of blood," he said.
     "She did," Nick confirmed.  A bit of truth at last.  It made him feel no
better.
     "Strange," Reese mused aloud.  "Are you sure she wasn't robbed or," he
chose his next word carefully, out of regard for Nick, "abused?"
     "No," Nick responded immediately.  "The wound looks like a bite mark and
that's why I think it was an animal attack.  There's a lot of big dogs that
run loose down by the warehouses.  Sometimes they run in packs.  One of them
could've jumped her in the dark."
     "Makes sense, I guess," Reese said.  "If anything like this ever *can*
make sense.  At least you know that she's getting the best care possible."
His tone was less melancholy now and more official, perhaps even fatherly, as
he continued.  "It's good that you're here for her, Nick, but don't ignore
your own needs; like rest, for instance.  You can't help Natalie if you're
dead on your feet and the Good Lord knows you've been through a lot lately."
     Nick's response was cut short by the pulsing of Reese's cellular phone.
The captain excused himself for a moment and walked out into the corridor to
take the call.
     <"Don't ignore your own needs,"> Reese had said.  <If only he knew that
those needs were what put Natalie in this condition to begin with,> Nick
thought.
     Reese returned a moment later, the expression on his face one of sheer
dread.
     "Let me guess," Nick said, grimly.  "The Shooting Review Board?"
     "Worse," Reese sighed.  "Commissioner Vetter's office."
     Nick cringed.  In his turmoil of the last few hours, Nick had not stopped
to think of Tracy's family or of how her father was likely to take the news of
his daughter's death.  The look on Reese's face suggested that the captain had
thought of little else.
     "Look, Nick, I'd better get down there."  Again, Reese placed a hand on
Nick's shoulder.  "But you're right about the Shooting Review Board.  They're
going to want to see you soon and I don't know how long I can put them off."
He glanced at Natalie.  "I might be able to explain about Natalie and buy you
some time but don't count on it.  Those guys aren't known for their
compassion.  Neither is Internal Affairs.  I guess it's a luxury they feel
they can't afford in their line of work."
     The dread of facing endless questions returned once again as Nick thought
of the number of incidents in which Internal Affairs would be certain to have
his name at the top of their Most Wanted list.  Reese was making his way to
the door, his footsteps unusually heavy.
     "Nick," he said, turning bac