
NEWBIE ALERT! Do not check your set. Any problems you may be 
experiencing are almost certainly due to the fact that I am a klewless 
newbie. Kind words and support are welcome, unconstructive criticism 
and insensitive commentary will make me cry.

Datclaimer: Any resemblance of the characters portrayed herein to any 
actual persons living, dead, undead or fictional would be really cool, 
because that's the whole point, isn't it?

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 1 - Opening Act

I flicked the switch and the area outside the bar was illuminated by a 
warm and (hopefully) welcoming circle of light. I stepped ourside into 
the crisp autumn evening and looked up at the large stained-glass 
window above the door. The lettering glowed clear and bright and the 
little bejeweled box with its wide open lid was unmistakable.

Pandora's Box was officially open for business.

I felt a presence beside me and caught a glimpse of a pale face 
surrounded by darkness. I tipped my head politely.

"Bon soir, Monsieur LaCroix." I said as he stepped into the light.

"Bon soir, Madame Fontaine," He replied in his perfectly unplaceable 
accent. "It is time to open your little box, then?"

"Yes. I hope you received your invitation?"

"Indeed. It was most thoughtful of you to include me."

"The other guests won't be arriving for a little while yet, but you 
are welcome to come inside and take a drink by the fire."

"Thank you, no. I was just on the way to my own establishment. I shall 
drop by later in the evening, perhaps?"

"Certainly. Pandora's Box is always open to good neighbors." I could 
feel his silent laughter and it sent shivers up my spine.

"How delightful. Until then, Madame." And he melted into the night. I 
stepped quickly back into the warm security of the bar and repressed 
the urge to cross myself.

"Who was that, Viv?" Robert asked. I felt better knowing that he had 
been looking out for me, though I suspected that there was little the 
burly doorman could have done to dissuade Monsieur LaCroix from any 
course of action.

"The owner of the Raven, LaCroix."

"That's one damn spooky sonovabitch." Silently I agreed with him, but 
gave him a disapproving look anyway. "Sorry ma'am."

Several people had called me crazy for opening a bar so close to the 
immensely popular Raven Club. But the price had been right, the 
location otherwise excellent and the building itself was perfect. I 
had also visited the Raven while scouting the area, and I knew the 
moment I walked in the door that there would be little competition 
between our establishments.

I don't use chains in any of *my* decorating.

I walked slowly towards the bar and reviewed the worn-looking wooden 
tables in front of the small stage and the overstuffed couch and 
chairs around the gas-fueled fireplace. Yes, I thought to myself as I 
slid onto a padded stool and brushed my hands along the warm wood of 
the bar, the Raven attracts a rather different sort of clientele than 
I hope to.

The door opened and my guests began to arrive. They were friends and 
family and ex-collegues, all of whom greeted me with some variation of 
'What on earth made you quit your practice to open a bar? In 
*Toronto*?' I laughed and said that one of my patients had given it to 
me as a gift for curing his drinking problem. I think some of them 
even believed me.

"Vivette, cherie!" I tried not to cringe when I heard that voice and 
saw my sister swooping down on me. "When are you going to realize your 
folly and move back to Montreal where you belong?"

"Bon soir, Sylvie." I smiled through gritted teeth as she made 
elaborate kissing motions in the air around my face. I tried not to 
cough as her perfume burned in my throat. "How are Edward and the 
children?"

"Oh!" She exclaimed with a wide sweeping gesture that caused several 
adjacent people to duck. "Dreadful, absolutely dreadful! The children 
have finally gone away to school, which is a blessing, but Edward! Oh 
Vivienne, this time I am sure he is having an affair!" She clapped her 
hand to her mouth and stared at me with horrified eyes. "Oh, cherie, I 
am so sorry! I did not mean to open wounds that are still so fresh and 
painful to you!"

No, I thought, you'd much rather wait until they are almost healed, 
rip them apart with your sharp little manicured nails and season 
liberally with salt and vinegar.

"It's all right, Sylvie," I said patiently. "Jean-Paul and I parted on 
good terms. I'm fine, really."

"Ah, ma petite, you are so brave." She sniffed. Then her eyes lit up. 
"Isn't that Dr. Douceur? I must say hello! Au revoir, cherie, we will 
talk later, I promise."

"Not if I see you first." I murmured as she sailed off across the 
room. A much more welcome kiss was dropped on my cheek by an old and 
dear friend and I was able to regain the pleasure that my sister could 
steal from any occasion.

I was a wonderful evening, especially since Sylvie was kept so busy 
trying to flirt with all the male doctors. It was such a lively, happy 
crowd that several people wandered in off the street to see what the 
fun was about and stayed to enjoy the party. Some even used the phone 
to call up their friends and invite them over. I saw the beginnings of 
a good, solid customer base and started to think that this foolish, 
crazy, impossible venture might just work.

Things began to quiet down around two o'clock and I felt the need for 
a few moments to myself. There were clusters of people chatting by the 
fire and messing with the piano as I retreated into the little kitchen 
area to pour myself a cup of coffee and turn on the radio.

~~~
"Oh Man," A familiar voice whispered to me around the soft laughter 
and tinkle of piano keys. "'Oh Man, thou feeble tenant of an hour. 
Debased by slavery, or corrupt by power. Who knows thee well must quit 
thee with disgust; degraded mass of animated dust! Thy love is lust, 
thy friendship all a cheat, thy smiles hypocrisy, thy word deceit.' 
Byron," The Nightcrawler sighed. "A man after my own cold heart. He 
understood the vile darkness that pervades the human soul because he 
knew his own, so well."
~~~

I shook my head and smiled as I stirred cream into my coffee. I viewed 
the elegant nihilism of the Nightcrawler as something of a 
professional challenge. He preached despair to the haunted masses and 
the smooth seductive logic of his sermons spoke to the fear that lies 
coiled in the bravest hearts.

I brushed off the shadow of his words and rejoined the love and 
laughter out in the bar.

I kissed the last of my friends good-bye as they rolled their eyes 
once again at my inexplicable career move and wished me luck anyway. 
Emile and Florence were in the back washing up and Robert had gone 
outside to dump the trash when I looked up to find LaCroix regarding 
me from across the bar.

"Monsieur!" I exclaimed somewhat reproachfully. "You are certainly 
very, ah..."

"Sneaky?" He offered.

"Unanticipated." I modified.

"But I have my invitation." He laid the card upon the bar.

"Of course, though as you can see, you are a bit late for the party." 
He waved a negligent hand.

"I came for the place, not the people." He looked about with a 
disinterested series of glances that took in and processed every 
detail. I saw him pause as he noticed my psychiatrist's certification 
tacked up next to our liquor license. "So this is Pandora's Box? The 
source of all the ills and torments that plague mankind." He looked at 
me in polite challenge. I smiled.

"Oh yes, I expect to find them all here sooner or later, it is a bar 
in a large city, after all. But there was something else in that box 
if you recall." His lips curled into something that really couldn't be 
mistaken for a smile.

"Hope. Some would call that the worst plague of all. 'For the House 
Hope is built on sand; bring wine, for the fabric of life is as weak 
as the wind.' Which reminds me..." He pulled a dusty bottle from the 
pocket of his coat and handed it to me. I brushed the label clear and 
a warm glow of wonder suffused me as I registered the vintage.

"Monsieur LaCroix," I inclined my head. "It is a magnificent gift and 
I accept it with all the graciousness in which it was given."

"Always a good policy." He murmured, and I thought I could detect some 
brief flicker of amusement in his expression.

"I will save this for a truly memorable occasion, but I should like to 
give you a taste of the best that I have to offer, if you are so 
inclined?" Our eyes connected and I felt pinned by the intensity of 
his stare. My heartbeat sounded loud in my ears and I struggled to 
breathe. Then he looked away and I leaned helplessly against the 
counter as my knees refused to function properly.

"I...think not." He replied in his cool, ironic voice. "I must be on 
my way. Good night, Madame, I look forward to our continued 
acquaintance." And he was gone. Robert walked in as I was pouring 
myself a restorative scotch with shaking hands.

"Hey, was that LaCroix?"

"Yes." I replied, downing the scotch in one gulp. "Damn spooky 
sonovabitch."

"Uh huh."

Late the following night I turned on the radio to listen to the 
Nightcrawler.

~~~
"'It is natural to man to indulge in the illusion of hope. We are apt 
to shut our eyes against a painful truth and listen to the song of 
that siren, till she transforms us into beasts.' And so, mes enfants, 
beware the cup of Circe when she offers it to you with her sweet smile 
full of good will and sympathy. There is no salvation in hope, there 
is only self-delusion and betrayal."
~~~

I think he was talking to me.

End Part One


Hardened Veteran Alert! This is my second posting and since my first 
went so well, except for a few typos (boy, you think you've caught 
them all...) I'm feeling pretty cocky. Kind words and support are 
still welcome, but if anyone feels obliged to try and puncture my 
bubble of sunny optimism, well, you're just a big meanie.

kathleenwendytonijean - thanks for being so sweet to Pandora on her 
first day at school. May your kindness be returned to you a hundred 
fold.

D'otherclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They just 
wandered into my brain one day and took over. If anything, I guess I 
belong to them.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 2 - A Trace of Light

It was a quiet night in the bar, the hum of the crowd was low and 
subdued. Leaning back into a stretch, I decided to take a break. I 
slipped into the little kitchen area and clicked on the radio. I was 
almost embarrassed at what a furtive little behaviour this had become. 
The Nightcrawler's soft, hypnotic tones slithered around me and I 
shivered with the thrill of their cold touch.

~~~
"It is a beautiful night, my children," He whispered. "The darkness is 
so clear and cold, one could shatter it with a careless word. And yet 
there is a strength in its remorseless swallowing of the light. It is 
a strength derived from fear. Your fear. But lean in close, my little 
ones and take the night into yourselves as you listen to one who 
understands the essence of darkness. 'Learn to reverence the night and 
to put away the vulgar fear of it, for, with the banishment of night 
from the experience of man, there vanishes as well a religious 
emotion, a poetic mood, which gives depth to the adventure of 
humanity.'"
~~~

The soft strains of a nocturne coelesced from his words and I turned 
off the radio with a sigh of appreciation. That spooky sonovabitch 
sure knew how to set a mood. I walked back behind the bar in time to 
see the door open.

She was new. Not just to Pandora's but to bars in general. I could tell 
by the way she hesitated, looking around uncertainly before striding 
with sudden decisiveness straight to the bar, that this was not part of 
her regular routine. I waved Emile off and stepped over to the young 
woman myself. I noted her lovely blond hair, cut into a severe pageboy 
and the plain straight lines of the suit under her utilitarian 
trenchcoat. This was someone who desperately wanted to be taken 
seriously, and seemed to find it hard going.

"Bon soir, mademoiselle. Welcome to Pandora's. My name is Vivien, may 
I get you something?"

"Oh, yeah...I mean no, ah, I don't know just yet, thanks." Her tones 
were broadly Canadian.

"Whenever you're ready. I'll give you fair warning, though, we don't 
serve mixed drinks. My papa always said 'if you can't drink it 
straight, you shouldn't be drinking at all.'"

"I know all about opinionated fathers, believe me."

Ah, I thought, resentment towards an overbearing parent. He probably 
*still* treats her like daddy's little girl who keeps trying and 
failing to win his approval. I watched her grind her knuckles together 
and decided that it was some new pain, not an old, dulled one that had 
led her here tonight.

"We have some excellent beer on tap, if you're off-duty tonight."

"What? Oh, yeah, a beer sounds great. But how'd you know I was a cop?" 
I smiled as I maneuvered the glass under the tap and engineered the 
perfect head.

"I know people pretty well." I said and gestured to her clothes. "You 
might as well be wearing a uniform. Besides, I caught a glimpse of 
your gun." I slid the beer across to her. "Detective, right? Newly 
promoted?"

"Geez, maybe you should be carrying this gun and badge instead of me. 
You'd be great interviewing suspects."

"No thanks," I laughed. "I had enough of that for one lifetime." I 
pointed up at the document hanging next to the liquor license.

"You were a shrink? Really? What made you quit and open a bar?"

"Actually, the two occupations aren't all that different. I see a lot 
of the same sort of people."

"I'll bet." She snorted.

"But when troubled people come in here, they're usually at a turning 
point. They've come here to escape, or think things through or drown 
their sorrows. And at a time like that, it may only take a friendly 
face or a kind word to set them back on track, before their lives are 
completely derailed. I'd seen enough train wrecks in my office. I 
needed to get out and walk the rails for a while."

"Train wrecks." The young detective echoed quietly.

"I'm sorry," I said, touching her tightly clenched hand. "Did I dredge 
up something unpleasant?" She shook her head stiffly and tried to take 
a casual sip of her beer.

"It was a long time ago. When I was young, I saw a friend of mine 
killed by a train." She let out her breath in a gusty sigh. "It's not 
something that usually gets to me like this."

"But tonight, something's pulling your guard down." I suggested.

"Yeah, you could say that," She said roughly. "And I don't like 
letting my guard down. It's a good way to get killed."

"Or hurt." I added gently.

"Sometimes I wonder which is worse."

"Well, hurts can heal. Death, not so much." I meant it lightly, but 
she gave me a sharp glance that made me wonder what she knew that put 
into question the finality of death. "You've seen a lot." I remarked 
as curiosity wrestled with concern. She answered with a dry laugh.

"Seeing isn't the problem. Feeling is." She glanced around the bar, 
but I could tell she was seeing another place, looking for someone who 
wasn't there.

"Feelings can't be brushed aside, ignored, drowned or shoved into a 
closet." I told her. "They have to be dragged out of the darkness into 
the light, otherwise they just sit there, waiting to spring out at you 
when you least expect it."

"Because they can." There was an edge of hilarity in her voice. Then 
she was suddenly very serious. "But Doc, there are some things that 
have lived in darkness too long and can't bear the light. It destroys 
them."

I thought of the voice of the Nightcrawler extolling us to embrace the 
darkness, both within and without. I looked at this straight young 
scion of justice with her sun-burnished hair and her bright, cloudless 
eyes and wondered what possible connection they could have to one 
another. What was it about this town? Maybe it's in the water.

Or in the blood, a voice seemed to whisper to me.

"Blood." I repeated under my breath.

"What?" She looked into my face with wide, surprised eyes. "What did 
you say?" I regarded her thoughtfully, noting how pale she had become.

"Nothing." I said with a carefully negligent shrug. "So, the thing 
that's pulling your guard down, does he have a name?"

"That obvious, is it?"

"Not to someone who doesn't know what to look for, no."

"Oh, that's right, you do this professionally." Her tone was rather 
snide, so I decided to prove my point.

"Well, here you are on your night off, talking with a middle-aged 
female publican instead of steaming up the inside of an all-night 
movie theater." I saw her tell-tale blush, and I knew that she was 
thinking about the really dark seats at the back of the theater, the 
ones without the irritating armrests in between them. "You find him 
compelling and fascinating." I watched her muscles tense and her mouth 
tighten unhappily. "But you are fighting against it. You don't 
understand how you could feel this strongly about someone who is so 
different from what you thought you always wanted. This attraction 
threatens everything you've worked for because there would never be a 
place in your carefully constructed life for him. To be with him you 
would have to do the unthinkable; let go, release the death-grip 
you've established on the path of your life, dive straight into the 
eye of the maelstrom with no guarantee that you would come out whole 
on the other side."

She stared at me for a long moment and then reached for her beer.

"Wow, you are good." She said after taking a large swallow. "So tell 
me Doc, what's the prognosis?" I smiled ruefully.

"Well, in most of these cases, those involved usually perish out on 
the moors somewhere, languishing in one another's arms."

"Hmmm, I've never been much for languishing."

"No, you didn't strike me as someone who would be." We both smiled, 
but hers faded quickly.

"He lives from moment to moment. No responsibilities, no commitments, 
no goals, no dreams, no direction whatsoever. Whenever things get too 
complicated her just...moves on. We are so completely wrong for each 
other." She groaned. "He breaks all the rules that I've built my life 
around, regularly. He sees nothing wrong about it."

"He lives by his own rules, not yours." She looked at me irritably.

"They're not just *my* rules, they're everyone's."

"*Everyone*, hmm? And which rules would those be? The Ten 
Commandments? The Municipal Code? The Golden Rule?"

"No...I mean yes, sort of," She replied in confusion. "You know, the 
way people are supposed to behave."

"The *right* way as opposed to the *wrong* way?" She tipped her chin 
up defiantly.

"Yeah. Do Unto Others...might doesn't make right...and...and 
everything else." I sighed.

"Sets of conditions that allow us to live together in a society 
without destroying ourselves or taking undue advantage of each other." 
She nodded hesitantly and I leaned in more closely. "The rules of a 
society are a covenant between the members of that society. What 
happens if someone is not a member?"

"You mean like a...an outcast?" I shrugged

"If you like. Does he help make the rules?"

"No."

"Is he protected by any of them?"

"I guess not."

"So if he breaks them, is he guilty? Should he be punished?" She 
opened her mouth to reply, but then looked down and stared at the 
dregs of her beer.

"He's a predator." She whispered finally. "He preys on the people that 
I am sworn to protect. Neither of us has a choice. Neither of us can 
change who we are. That's why I'm here." Now it was my turn to be 
speechless. The misery emanating from her was palpable.

"Detective," I breathed gustily. "Let's get ourselves some coffee and 
go sit by the fire. It looks like it's going to be a long night."

~~~
"We are all drawn towards danger," The Nightcrawler's whisper carried 
deep into the stillness. "There is a richness in risk that lends luster 
to otherwise drab and colorless lives. At the moment when fate becomes 
uncertain and the blood is racing through your veins at speeds unfelt 
at any other time, everything achieves an extraordinary clarity and 
that which once seemed mundane, becomes exquisitely precious. But what 
of the risk itself? 'Who will pity a snake charmer bitten by a serpent, 
or any who go near wild beasts?' Words to remember before you venture 
into the lion's den. The lion will kill without compunction, without 
remorse. For that is his nature, and it is you who are trespassing."
~~~

End Part Two


Mea Culpa: In my first two posts, I neglected to reference the sources 
of some of the quotes I used. (Bad author, naughty, wicked author). So 
for those of you with the sweet nectar of forgiveness in your veins 
whose saintly patience allows you to bear with me...

Part 1 - LC: 'The House of Hope is built on sand...'  - Hafiz
    LC: 'It is natural to man to indulge...' - P. Henry
Part 2 - LC: 'Learn to reverence the night...' - H. Beston
    LC: 'Who will pity a snake charmer...' - Ecclesiastes

I promise to mend my profligate ways henceforth.

Kind words, chocolate bunnies and smilies are, as always, eagerly 
solicited.

Misclaimer: I think some of these characters are mine, but honestly, 
the lines are starting to blur. I mean, I *thought* Emile was mine, 
until I saw 'Baby Baby'. Pretty spooky, huh?

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 3 - Shadow Play

It was a busy night, which may explain why I didn't notice him enter 
the bar and slip into the 'privacy booth' tucked into the corner 
against the fireplace wall. When I finally realized that something 
substantial had been added to the shadows that habitually lurked 
there, I had to stare fixedly before I could piece him out of the 
darkness. From the loose fall of dark hair against his black leather 
jacket, the stubble that shaded his jaw and the smudged recesses of 
his eyes, I got the impression that he was more than just a part of 
the surrounding shadows; they were also a part of him.

Florence failed to notice him at all and walked past him several 
times. Instead of flagging her down, he seemed content to sit and 
watch the movements of my customers. The fine hairs at the back of my 
neck rose, but I bided my time.

A cluster of young women entered, laughing, and I could almost see his 
ears prick forward. One of the women was tall with short blond hair. 
She stepped up to the bar and before I could blink, a dark form 
materialized a few seats away. I saw her straighten as if someone had 
tapped her on the shoulder and she began to turn towards the strange 
young man's intense gaze.

"Mademoiselle?" I placed my hand gently on her arm. She looked at me 
blankly. "Oh, pardonnez-moi, I thought you were someone I had met 
before."

"What? I'm sorry, did you say something?"

"Yes, may I get you a drink?"

"Oh, just a glass of white wine, thanks."

"Of course." I poured the young woman her drink and strolled down the 
bar to look into a pair of large, quizzical brown eyes. "Monsieur," I 
said pleasantly. "This may indeed be a 'watering hole', but they," I 
indicated the women at the bar. "Are not gazelles. They are my guests 
and as such, I feel the responsibility of a host towards them." He 
blinked a few times as if processing me and my comments and then he 
smiled. I locked my knees against the quiver that ran through them. 
Merde, I thought, but he was distractingly beautiful.

"But they do have strong slender legs and long graceful necks." He 
pointed out. I gave him as stern a look as I could manage in the face 
of his appalling charm and he nodded his acquiescence. "But this is 
your house. I'll abide by your rules." I felt myself relax and smiled 
warmly at him.

"Merci, monsieur, I hope you will stay and pass the evening with us?" 
He mulled that over for a moment, but shook his head.

"Mmm, no, I don't think so. Perhaps another time." He rose to leave 
and I placed my hand over his. So cold!

"Yes, please, come again. If you ever need a refuge, or even just a 
touch of warmth on a cold night, the door will be open to you." He 
became very still, like a statue carved of alabaster and obsidian. 
Then he softened and stirred slightly.

"Thank you." He replied quietly and was gone. I sighed and tried to 
shake off the soft net of shadows that seemed to have been tossed over 
my heart. But the bar was crowded and there was laughter to join in 
with and smiles to return, so for a time, the shadows were chased 
away.

I closed the door behind Robert and turned the key in the lock with a 
sigh. I was very tired, but I knew I wouldn't be able to go to sleep 
just yet, so I made myself a cup of tea, curled up in a chair and 
stared pensively into the fire. Perhaps I slipped into a light doze or 
a sort of waking dream, since the soft strains of the guitar drifting 
from the other side of the room slipped so naturally into the threads 
of my bittersweet mood that I was not at all frightened. I listened to 
the poignant voice of the guitar until I felt an answering sob rise in 
my throat and tears overflowed my eyes and dripped into my tea.

"I'm sorry," He said, suddenly standing next to my chair. "I didn't 
mean to make you sad."

"No no no," I sniffed. "You just helped something out that was already 
there." I smiled a watery smile at him. "That was very beautiful, what 
is it called?" He shrugged and leaned the guitar against the table as 
he slid bonelessly onto the couch.

"I don't think it has a name. I learned it from an old friend of mine 
a very long time ago." I stared at him as he fiddled idly with a 
guitar pick and marveled at the endless incongruities that I saw.

"I'm glad you decided to come back."

"I thought about what you said." He looked out through the frosted 
windows. "It gets cold out there sometimes."

And cold inside too, I thought. I reached over and lifted the guitar 
onto my lap.

"Then let's keep the chill at bay, for 'Where there's music there can 
be no evil.'"

"Cervantes." He noted with a pleased glint. "Do you really believe 
that?"

"Well, for a brief time in this one small space, I think we can prove 
him right."

~~~
"'The world is fleeting; all things pass away; Or is it we that pass 
and they that stay?'(1)" The words of the Nightcrawler curled like 
dusky streamers of smoke into the air. "It doesn't really matter which 
is true, now does it, mes enfants? No matter how tightly you try to 
hold on to the moment, it is torn from your grasp by a force that no 
mortal strength can withstand. But take comfort in this; though all 
else may pass away, *I* will remain. For I am the Nightcrawler, and I 
am here for you. Always."

(1) Lucian (Honest! Leave it to LaCroix to quote himself)

End Part Three


Bashful Acknowledgment: The reader response to "Pandora's Box" has 
been really wonderful (aww gee guys, shucks). Your kind words help 
sustain my fragile little newbie ego, and make me want to work harder 
than ever to improve my writing. FK fans are truly the nicest and 
bestest folk on the 'net.

Re-claimer: Eenie meenie miney moe, catch a vampire by the toe, if he 
bites you let him go, 'cause he belongs to J. Parri-O.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 4 - In Comes the Night

The police were thoughtfully low-key about their entrance, so I was 
probably one of only three people in the room who realized that the 
authorities were threading their way towards the bar. I sent a 
querying look at the tall blond detective while she was still several 
feet away and received a very slight shake of her head in return. 
Forewarned, I regarded her with a complete lack of recognition when 
they approached me.

"Ms. Fontaine?" Her partner addressed me, flipping his badge open 
discreetly. "This is Detective Vetter and I'm Detective Knight; Metro 
Homicide."

"Ah, les Chevaliers de la nuit. And you are investigating the death of 
that poor girl?" Detective Knight stared at me wordlessly for a few 
moments, then seemed to snap back into himself.

"Yes, that's right. We'd like to ask you some question."

"Of course." I glanced over at the 'privacy booth' where I was pretty 
sure the dark young musician had been sitting only moments ago and saw 
that it was now deserted. "Follow me, please." I slid into one seat 
while they took the other. The acoustics of that booth were amazing; 
the sounds of the bar faded to a dull murmur and the faintest whisper 
spoken across the table could be clearly heard. "So how can I help 
you, detectives?" Detective Vetter pulled an envelope from her pocket 
and removed a picture.

"Do you recognize this woman?" She asked, handing it to me. It was a 
picture of the murder scene and I winced slightly as I examined the 
face of the young blond woman to whom I had handed a glass of white 
wine the night before.

"I am afraid so, yes. She was a customer."

"A regular?"

"Not at Pandora's. Last night was the first time I had seen her. She 
came in around ten o'clock with three or four other women."

"Do you happen to know when she left?" I shook my head.

"No I do not. It was a busy night. The doorman, Robert, would probably 
know."

"All right, we'll check with him. Was there anyone strange hanging 
around the bar last night? Anyone who appeared especially interested 
in her?" I shrugged.

"She was a pretty girl. I am sure many of the patrons expressed more 
than a passing interest in her."

"But no one struck you as particularly intense or peculiar?"

"Not that I could say, no. Emile or Florence might remember something, 
however." They looked at each other and nodded.

"Thank you, Ms. Fontaine." Detective Knight said as they both stood 
up. "We'd like to talk to the rest of your staff now, if that would be 
all right?"

"Of course. One at a time, though? So we can keep things moving?" I 
asked.

"Certainly." He replied. I signaled Emile to come over.

"Emile, could you take over for Robert and ask him to come over here, 
please?"

"Of course, Madame."

"Oh," I said as he walked away. "Detective Vetter, if I could have a 
moment?"

"Go ahead and start Nick, I'll be right there." We stepped over 
towards the couch. "What is it, Doc?"

"There was a young man here last night. Leather jacket, long dark 
hair, rather scruffy looking. Plays the guitar like an angel and has a 
smile that could ignite heaven itself."

"Vachon." She whispered. Her skin paled and her eyes widened in 
horror. "Oh no, not the girl. He didn't!" I placed my hand on her arm.

"No, I do not believe so. We made an agreement, he and I, and whatever 
else he is, I don't think he takes such things lightly."

"I...hope you're right."

"He left before she did, but he came back after closing. It's possible 
that he might have seen something." She looked grim.

"I'll find out."

"Detective," I said as she started to turn. "It was not him. Before 
you go and confront him, believe that, please."

"It might not have been him this time. But someday, it will be." I 
stood before the fire and felt very cold.

~~~
"'Nothing Mortal is enduring, and there is nothing sweet which does 
not presently end in bitterness.'"(1) Advised the voice in the dark. 
"There is no laughter which will not dissolve into tears, no love that 
will not congeal into hatred. Fires that burn hottest, fall into cold 
ashes all the sooner. Listen to your kindly old Uncle Nightcrawler, 
for he knows what is best. Hoard your meager, mortal fuel; do not 
waste it in the futile pursuit of happiness. The angry red embers of 
ire, vengeance and cruelty require very little to sustain them. 
Encourage such sparks as these and you will have a comfortable blaze 
to warm yourself by for all the cold nights to come."
~~~

(1) Petrarch

End Part Four


I, (DEFENDANT'S NAME) do solemnly swear that this is the true and 
lawful "Part 5" and that any other "Part 5" heretofore transmitted was 
in fact an incorrectly labeled "Part 4". I, (DEFENDANT'S NAME) do 
hereby assume full and total responsibility for any and all instances 
of pain and suffering that may have resulted from my negligence.

Baggage Claimer: "Uh, Knight Flight airlines? Yeah, I seem to have 
lost a large steamer trunk. Description of the contents? Well, ah, 
he's about six-one, short blond hair, icy blue stare. No authorization 
for live cargo? Oh, hey, no problem there, sir. Uh huh? I see...you'll 
let me know? Well, I certainly hope it's soon, for your sake."

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 5 - Word Play

"I understand you had a visit from Toronto's finest earlier this 
evening."

The cool whisper brushed past my ear and I spun around with a startled 
gasp. LaCroix lounged against the bar wearing his usual ensemble of 
neck-to-toe black and superior little smile.

"You are extremely...well-informed, Monsieur LaCroix." I said as I 
stepped closer.

"And you are the consummate diplomat, Madame Fontaine. You always try 
to put things the nicest way possible. So, I presume they were here to 
investigate the untimely passing of the young woman found in your 
alley?"

"Why such interest, Monsieur? Did you have some connection with the 
victim? Or do you have a fascination with murder in general?"

"I never knew the girl and murder, in general, does not particularly 
interest me. No, I have a slight connection with the police force. 
Personal, you understand."

"Avec les chevaliers de la nuit, Monsieur?" His reaction was similar 
to that of Detective Knight, but I was unprepared for the sudden 
clamping of his hand around my wrist; as cold, hard and unyielding as 
an iron manacle.

"What did you say?" He hissed.

"The detective, his name was Knight, it was merely a play on words." I 
tried to remain calm, but I felt the tremor in my voice. He released 
his grip and I rubbed my wrist absently.

"Be careful how you play, Madame. Words can be dangerous."

"So can silence, Monsieur." He laughed and I let myself relax a 
little. A very little.

"I like the way you think. I wonder, do you listen to the radio, late 
at night?"

"I enjoy your show very much, Monsieur. You have a...unique 
perspective on the human condition."

"Yes, that is a very good way to put it. But I am most gratified that 
you take the time to hear my musings and ponderings. It is reassuring 
to know that my voice does not wander through the night like an 
orphan, homeless and friendless. Speaking of which, it is almost time 
for my next installment. Bon soir, Madame. It has been, as always, a 
pleasure."

"Indeed, Monsieur." I murmured as he turned and glided swiftly through 
the crowd and back into the darkness. I signaled to Emile that I was 
taking a break and poured myself a cup of coffee in the kitchen.

"Thank you." A voice said into my ear. My cup clattered onto the 
counter, spilling half of its contents, mostly on me.

"Ahh! Drat! You...Vachon, is it? Hand me a towel, would you?"

"Sorry." He didn't sound very sorry, but he did pass me a towel.

"What are you thanking me for?" I asked as I tried to blot the coffee 
from my clothing.

"For telling Tracy that I didn't do it."

"The murder? You heard that? Where were you?" He blinked at me, trying 
to decide which question to answer, if any, I suppose.

"I was around, here and there."

"Eavesdropping?" He shrugged

"My name came up. Why are you so sure I didn't do it?"

"Did you?"

"No."

"Well then." He blinked at me again.

"Well then what?"

"Well then I had good reason to be sure you didn't kill that girl." He 
shook his head, rather like a puppy whose ears were being tickled. It 
was adorable.

"You make my head hurt."

"That's why they call us shrinks." I explained as I took his arm and 
led him up the stairs to my apartment. His eyebrows lifted up very 
high.

"You shrink heads?"

"Nope. We make you think so hard your brains swell up and it *feels* 
like you skull is shrinking." I unlocked the door and pulled him 
inside.

"I don't believe you." He said after a frowning pause. "Why are we 
here?"

"I didn't want anyone downstairs to see you who might remember you 
from last night."

"They wouldn't." Now it was my turn to blink.

"See you, or remember you?"

"Either."

"Uh huh. Well, no need to take any chances. The fire escape is over 
there, close the window on your way out. 'Bye."

"Wait."

"What?"

"Where are you going? Where am I going?"

"I'm going to listen to the radio. You are going to let Detective 
Vetter find you so you can tell her what you saw last night so she can 
solve this murder and everyone will know what a good cop she is."

"Oh," He gave a little nod. "Okay."

~~~
"I am in a playful mood this evening, my children," Chortled the 
Nightcrawler. "so why don't we play a little game? You like games, 
don't you? Of course you do, we all do. So, why don't you pretend that 
you understand everything that I am saying. The double meanings, the 
harsh ironies and the dark undertones, you know them all. You know me 
so well, don't you?  Listening night after night while I pour my soul 
into your little upturned ears," The voice dropped to a chilling 
whisper. "So if you know what I'm thinking, why aren't you running in 
blind terror, or cowering in mindless fear? Tag, you're IT."
~~~

End Part Five


There are plenty of bars
The whole world 'round
Where the beer is served cold
And good company can be found.

'Cheers' up in Boston
Has its measure of fame
It's nice to find a place
Where everyone knows your name.

Callahan's Crosstime Saloon
Serves folks from many suns
And the atmosphere is great
If you don't choke upon the puns.

But somewhere in Toronto
A few streets above the docks
There's a warm light shining
That leads to Pandora's Box

Open the door and come on in
Leave your troubles behind
And if you prefer B-neg to beer
Use a straw, they won't mind.



Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 6 - Social Graces

I was under the bar looking for something when I heard a vaguely 
familiar voice above me.

"Dr. Fontaine?" My head hit the edge of the counter.

"Merde." I hissed.

"I'm very sorry, are you all right?" Detective Knight apologized with 
a sweet look of concern on his face. "I certainly didn't mean to 
startle you."

"That's okay," I sighed, rubbing my injured scalp. "I really should be 
getting used to all of you by now."

"All of who?" He asked in confusion. "Have more police come by?"

"Police? No, I meant..." I wondered what I *had* meant. "I mean, I 
seem to be easily startled these days." I smiled wanly and he nodded 
sympathetically. He really was a very attractive man, I thought, and 
my smile broadened. "Is there something I can do for you, Detective? 
Are you still investigating the murder? I thought I heard on the radio 
that a suspect had been taken into custody, the girl's ex-boyfriend?"

"That's right, my partner got a lead from a witness and the boyfriend 
confessed when we brought him in."

"So you're not here about the case?"

"Actually, it's my night off. I mentioned your name to a friend of 
mine and she really wanted to meet you." He turned slightly and 
indicated a woman with a tumbling wealth of honey-brown hair sitting 
at one of the tables. She lifted a hand and smiled at us.

"Purely a social call? Why that's wonderful, Detective. Much more 
pleasant than a murder investigation."

"Call me Nick."

"Certainly, Nick and I would be delighted to meet your friend." The 
woman rose as we approached the table and held out her hand.

"Dr. Fontaine?" She almost gushed. "This is a real pleasure for me. 
I've read all your articles. The one about society's position on 
justified versus unjustified killing was especially fascinating." Nick 
cleared his throat rather uncomfortably.

"Dr. Fontaine, this is Dr. Natalie Lambert, our chief medical 
examiner."

"Oh, please, both of you call me Vivien," I said, gesturing them to 
sit. "I don't hold much with titles these days."

"I could hardly believe it when Nick told me that you had opened a 
bar. The last I heard, you had a successful private practice in 
Montreal. What made you leave?"

"Nat." Nick admonished.

"No, really, it's all right. You're hardly the first to wonder at my 
motives or even my state of mind. I know I've questioned them at times 
myself." I looked carefully at both of them and received the 
impression of a deep bond of understanding between them, but there was 
also a curious sense of uneasy restraint. "Well, since you are also a 
detective, Dr. Lambert..."

"Natalie."

"Natalie. Perhaps you can figure it out. You say you've read my 
articles. Are you in the habit of perusing psychology journals?"

"Well, no, but you wrote about the people on the fringes of society, 
eccentrics, criminals, psychopaths," She looked over at Nick who 
seemed disquieted by her words. "Our clientele, you might say."

"So you favor articles on sociology over psychology?"

"Actually, I thought you were writing a series of philosophical 
treatises concerning the exclusionary properties of society and the 
resulting alienation of nonconformist personalities." I beamed at her 
in delight.

"Natalie, may I buy you a drink?"

"Glenlivet '71." She replied immediately and I relayed her request to 
Florence.

"Nick? Anything for you?"

"No thank you. I don't indulge in...spirits."

"Nick prefers to watch other people having fun rather than risking it 
himself." Natalie explained. "But that doesn't explain why you decided 
to open a bar in Toronto."

"Maybe it does, Nat," Nick chimed in, looking at me with disconcerting 
intensity. "What better place to observe the natural interaction of 
various levels of society?" I looked at him silently. "Ah," He 
exclaimed softly, raising his chin with a little smile. "Not just 
observe?" He gestured around the room and the people. "Your office? 
Your...clients?" Florence returned and deposited Natalie's scotch. 
"And your prescribed medication?"

"Ohh, don't knock it, Nick." Natalie breathed after a reverential sip.

"Yes, I know." I smiled. "But how many troubled souls head for a 
coffee house at two in the morning?"

"I see your point," he acknowledged. "But still..."

"My staff and I are very responsible. We keep a close eye on our 
patrons. It's one of the reasons I don't serve mixed drinks, it's too 
easy to lose track that way."

"Oh, ease up, Nick," Natalie advised. "Look, she's even got a 
license." Nick looked up at my psychiatrist's certification tacked up 
over the bar and smiled.

"Well, as long as everything's all nice and legal."

"Absolutely, Nick," I assured him. "I may sympathize with the outcast 
and the disenfranchised, but I understand quite well the necessity of 
a well-ordered social system. I just believe that everyone has a 
deeply-rooted desire to belong, and the knowledge that you are being 
excluded from the society that you desperately crave, because you are 
viewed as somehow different, is the source of a great deal of pain."

"Yes," Nick replied softly. "It is."

"Are you familiar with the work of Edward Hopper?" I asked him.

"Nighthawks." He smiled.

"Exactly. A darkened city, deserted and alien, except for one warm, 
well-lit place." I placed my hands flat on the table between us. "This 
is my place. My island of light. What happens outside doesn't matter. 
Everyone is welcome here." Nick stared at me for a long moment, and 
then he smiled. It felt like the sun had come out from behind a dark 
cloud.

"Thank you." He said and turned to look at Natalie. "C'mon Nat, I'd 
better get some food into you before that scotch goes to your head."

"Mmmm, no problem there, scotch this good goes straight to your 
fingers and toes. Mine are tingling already." Nick looked at me and 
rolled his eyes.

"I'd better get back to work myself. It's one of the downsides to 
owning your own place; it's almost impossible to get the boss off your 
back. I do hope you'll both come back soon." I stood up and shook 
their hands. "Oh Nick, such cold hands!" I saw them exchange a quick 
glance and Nick shrugged.

"Poor circulation, I guess." He replied. Natalie choked a bit.

"Well, you know what they say, 'Cold hands, warm heart.'" I offered.

"Oh, really? I don't think I've heard that one. Come on Natalie, we'd 
better get to Michelino's before they close. I hear they serve a 
wonderful spaghetti marinara."

"Uh, right Nick, sure. Thanks Vivien, I'll be back, I promise. And not 
just for the scotch!"

I saw them to the door and waved as they drove off in an incredible 
monstrosity of a car.

"I think cars are sexier with fins, don't you?" A voice breathed in my 
ear. I sighed.

"Bon soir, Monsieur Vachon."

"You knew it was me?" he sounded terribly disappointed.

"No, I guess I'm just getting used to Toronto and 
its...peculiarities."

~~~
"'The sweetest memory is that which involves something which one 
should not have done; the bitterest, that which involves something 
which one should not have done, and which one did not do.'(1) The 
Nightcrawler breathed into the deep stillness. "Which means that you 
should let nothing stand in the way of your desires. Not your 
conscience, not the law and certainly not the approval of society. 
Society does not have to live with a bellyful of cold regret, as you 
do. Indulge yourself; live out your darkest fantasies, for if you do 
not, all those delicious perversions and imaginative depravities will 
molder in the grave with you. And where's the fun in that?"
~~~

(1) G. Nathan

End Part Six


Vampires du jour: Today we have a fine assortment of hunky vampires to 
choose from; Vachon begins the evening with a delightful guitar solo, 
followed by a special Nunkies moment and the meal is topped off with a 
Nunks/Nick confrontation.

Enjoy.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson
Setting: FK Season 3

Part 7 - A Musical Interlude

Vachon had gotten to know the regular house band, and tonight they 
convinced him to join them on stage. For a while they kept up with 
him, but one by one, the other instruments fell silent, until there 
was only the young man and his guitar. I watched as they crept down 
off of the stage to stand entranced with the rest of the audience 
while Vachon entered the soul of the guitar and let is speak for him 
with a voice that could set all of heaven to weeping.

"He's quite good, isn't he?" The cool ironic voice snapped me rudely 
from my state of blissful contemplation.

"He is astonishing," I whispered huskily, reaching for a tissue. "I 
wonder that you are unmoved. Do you not appreciate music, Monsieur 
LaCroix?"

"Oh yes, above all else, I appreciate...music." He reached over with 
languid grace and picked up my hand, caressing it with his long pale 
fingers. "Even now I hear the song of the blood dancing through your 
veins in an exultant sarabande. Your heart beats the time and every 
cell in your body responds with glorious, symphonic precision." He 
raised my hand to his lips as I watched in helpless fascination. "Each 
living creature is an instrument precisely tuned towards its own 
survival." He stared at my hand as he brushed his fingers across the 
back and along the sensitive palm, sending shivers running up my 
shoulder and down my spine. "So you see, my dear, with such charms as 
yours before me, the vibrations of wire and nylon stretched over a 
wooden box fall somewhat flat against my ears."

The hard edge of the bar pressed against my midriff as I leaned into 
his pull. If I looked into his eyes, I knew I would be lost. 
Irresistibly my eyes were drawn up towards his face. Suddenly he 
stiffened and turned his head. I felt the bond between us snap and I 
pulled my hand free from his loose grasp.

"Nicholas," LaCroix said lightly, though I could sense the razors 
edging his voice. "what a pleasant surprise."

"Really?" Nick replied as he slipped onto the stool next to LaCroix 
without looking at him. "Funny, I get the feeling that you don't 
really mean that." He crossed his arms along the bar and leaned 
towards me with a lovely smile that seemed to chase away the chill 
instilled by LaCroix's touch. "How are you this evening, Vivien? Looks 
like quite a crowd." LaCroix raised his eyebrows.

"Vivien, is it? My, aren't we chummy."

"Vivien is a friend, yes." There was a note of hard implacability in 
Nick's voice. I gathered my shaken wits and decided to try and deflect 
some of the daggers these two were tossing at one another.

"You are acquainted?" I asked breathlessly.

"Oh, Nicholas and I have known one another for *ages*, haven't we? In 
a roundabout way, we're actually family. Nicholas regards me as his--"

"Uncle." Nick finished quickly. I looked back and forth between them, 
appalled by the dark heavy chains that seemed to bind them, 
inextricably one to the other.

"Monsieur LaCroix and I were just discussing various forms of 
music...ah appreciation, Nick. Do you enjoy music?"

"Certainly," he smiled. "I love Beethoven, especially the piano 
sonatas."

"Germans." LaCroix sneered. "Sturm und Drang und Angst. No subtlety, 
less sophistication."

"You're still bitter about your first campaign in Gaul."

"That wasn't my fault!"

"That's not what the senate decided."

"This is becoming tedious and pointless. Good night, Nicholas." He 
fixed me with his ice-pale eyes. "Perhaps another time, ma chere 
Madame." I think we both breathed a sigh of relief once the door had 
closed behind Monsieur LaCroix.

"How is Natalie?"

"Fine. She had to work tonight."

"And how are you?"

"Fine."

"And how are you and Natal--"

"Fine." I heard the iron door slam down and grinned cheerfully at him.

"Good, glad to hear it," The toughest nuts always have the sweetest 
kernels, I thought to myself. "So Nick, tell me more about Beethoven."

He knew an awful lot about Beethoven. It almost seemed as if he'd 
known the guy. I wonder...?

Nah.

But...

Nahhhh.

~~~
"'And the night shall be filled with music, and the cares that infest 
the day, shall fold their tents like Arabs and as silently steal 
away.'(1) And what cares infested your day, mes enfants?  Let them go, 
they are only real beneath the harsh glare of the unforgiving sun. Let 
the cool brush of night peel your worries from you as a shake sheds its 
skin. Let me enfold you in my cloak of shadows and together we shall 
fly into the heart of darkness and abide there forever."
~~~

(1) Longfellow

End Part Seven


Musing/Pondering: When asked to select the loneliest FK character, I 
suppose a lot of people would opt for Nick. His struggle to regain his 
mortality leaves him suspended between two worlds, unable to truly 
belong to either. Others would point to LaCroix, who seems to yearn 
for companionship in his glacial solitude. I, however, would choose 
Natalie. There are so many things that she can speak to no one about, 
and I think she, of all the characters in FK, could really use a 
friend.

Myclaimer: "Oh mummy look what I found! can I keep them, please? I'll 
take such good care of them, I promise." "Now dear, someone probably 
lost them and is terribly worried about them." "But mummy, they were 
so hungry and lonely, I just know that nobody else really wants them." 
"Well dear, I guess we'll just have to wait and see. They are rather 
cute though, aren't they?"

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3, slightly after 'Fever'

Part 8 - Tete a Tete

"That was quite a set you played, Vachon." He hunched over the bar 
like a gargoyle perched on a church. An incredibly handsome gargoyle.

"Yeah, well, I guess I got a little lost in my memories," he grimaced 
ruefully. "I don't usually let them run away with me like that." He 
seemed restless, tapping his fingers together as if looking for 
something to hold. "You don't have cocktail umbrellas, do you?"

"I don't serve cocktails."

"That would explain it then. Hmmm," he frowned. I just watched 
happily, probably with an idiotic grin on my face. "I need to go find 
some. See ya later." He brushed past someone as he was getting up. 
"Oh, hi Dr. Lambert."

"Hello Vachon, how're you feeling?"

"In the pink again, thanks."

"Any time." She sat down at the bar in front of me.

"You know each other?" I asked, gesturing at the space that Vachon had 
vacated.

"We have some common...acquaintances." I shook my head.

"And I thought Toronto was such a large town."

"Well, Toronto may appear to be a big city, but it's really a jumble 
of small, tightly-knit communities."

"And you and Vachon both belong to one of them?" I said skeptically.

"Not...exactly. Let's just say that I do housecalls. Has Nick been 
here?" She asked quickly to forestall my next question.

"Yes. He left about twenty minutes ago. We had a fascinating 
discussion about Beethoven."

"Oh, good old Ludwig," she rolled her head back with a smile. "Did he 
tell you the one about the music lessons with lonely Viennese countess 
and her two extremely attractive daughters?"

"When the count came back a day earlier than expected?"

"And Ludwig tried to escape in the harp case!"

"But the servants dropped him!"

"Those marble steps must have been so cold!" We both burst into 
giggles.

"Oh, Natalie, it's so nice to see you here. Nick said you were working 
tonight."

"Yeah, I finished up early on one of his cases, so I thought I'd see 
if he were here and give him the run-down. I guess I'll catch him at 
home."

"But since you're here...?" I held up a bottle of amber liquid.

"Ohhh, absolutely." It was nearly closing time, so I poured for us 
both.

"Here's to doctors' orders," we clinked our glasses together. "The 
fireplace?" I suggested and we moved to the conversation area. Natalie 
stared thoughtfully into the fire, sipping her drink.

"Nick has a fireplace like this one."

"You two spend a lot of time together outside of work?" She glanced at 
me out of the corners of her eyes and smiled.

"Why Vivien, are you prying?"

"Absolutely," I grinned. "I always thought I could tell a lot about a 
person just by talking to them, but your chevalier has me stumped."

"My what?"

"Chevalier. It's french for knight."

"Yes, I know." She shook her head in disbelief. "Well, you may have 
picked up more about Nick than you know."

"But you won't tell me what?" She just shrugged. "How about what is 
going on between the two of you? You're obviously fond of one another, 
but I sense some reservations." Natalie thought a long moment before 
answering.

"Nick, well..." she hesitated. "Nick has a lot of...issues that he's 
trying to deal with."

"Family issues?" She looked at me in surprise.

"Family? What makes you say that?"

"When Nick was here tonight, he had a rather pointed encounter with 
his, um, Uncle."

"Uncle? Nick doesn't have an--oh my, you mean LaCroix?" I nodded. 
"Wow. Nick, LaCroix and Vachon all in one evening. I'm surprised the 
place is still standing," She looked away. "You're partially right, 
though, LaCroix represents a part of Nick's past that he's trying to 
escape from."

"And LaCroix won't let him go?"

"Well, that's the simple way of looking at it."

"Nick doesn't want to go." I stated flatly. Natalie let her hair fall 
forward, obscuring her face.

"I used to believe that he wanted to be free, and I tried to help..."

"But he always found a reason to give up, didn't he? Falling back on 
the path of least resistance." She nodded silently. I thought about 
what I knew about Nick, and put some pieces together. They didn't 
quite make a quilt, but I decided to toss it out anyway. "Is Nick 
gay?" A spray of really good scotch hit the fire, setting off a lovely 
explosion of blue flame. Natalie turned to me, sputtering.

"What!?" She choked. Nope, I thought, definitely several squares shy 
of a bedspread, but I decided to keep going with it anyway.

"Gay, you know, Nick and LaCroix sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S--"

"Yes," she interrupted me hurriedly, an amazing expression of horror 
and hilarity on her face. "I know what you mean, but that's not...Nick 
isn't...he never...well, I don't know for certain, I suppose he might 
have...but...but LaCroix? No, absolutely...Oh God, I hope not. Eww." 
She sat thinking for several minutes, cringing occasionally. "Well, 
whatever went on between Nick and LaCroix in that way," I saw another 
shudder run through her. "it's not the main issue now. Believe me. 
Nick..." She took a deep breath. "Nick likes women, it's just that he 
has a lot of health problems. That's really the main thing I've been 
trying to work on with him."

"You've been treating him medically?" I asked in disbelief. "No 
offense Natalie, but is that really the best thing for Nick?"

"Oh, believe me, he's tried other doctors," She ran a hand through her 
thick hair. "Some treated him like a lab rat, others nearly killed 
him. I'm surprised that he's still willing to let me try, albeit 
reluctantly."

"So, he can't have a normal physical relationship?"

"That's about the size of it, yes."

"But you love him and you would do anything for him?" Her lip 
trembled.

"Almost...anything." She looked up and I saw the tears brimming in her 
eyes. "He has the most beautiful soul I have ever seen," She said in a 
shaking voice. "No matter what he says. I've seen it, shining out his 
eyes, fighting through the darkness of an endless night."

~~~
"I am thinking of burdens tonight, my children." Mused the 
Nightcrawler. "Do you remember Marley's Ghost from 'A Christmas 
Carol'? He clinked and clanked around Scrooge's house, weighed down 
with the 'chains he had forged in life'. We all do that, don't we? 
Link by link; lock by lock we wind ourselves around with chains of 
guilt and regret and disappointment until we can scarcely stir a 
single step. Now I ask you, is that any way to live? Chained by 
remorse for what we have done in the past and frozen by fear for what 
we may do in the future? Ridiculous. Come to me and I will give you 
the strength to break free of your chains. Come and the Nightcrawler 
will set you free."
~~~

End Part Eight


Apologia: I received a message today from a delightful reader who said 
some very nice things about Pandora's Box and then suggested that I 
might want to tighten up the plot a bit. <Sigh> I was afraid this was 
going to come up. For you see, there really *isn't* much of a plot. 
Oh, there's a beginning, middle and an end (oh yes, there will be a 
definitive ending to this thing) character development, discoveries, 
revelations, accusations, confrontations. But not a whole lot of 
driving, focused, meaningful plotting. I guess you could say I'm just 
cruising around with the top down, enjoying the cool night wind on my 
face and smiling up at the stars.

Would you like to go for a spin? Well, hop on in and we'll see what 
this baby can do.

Thisclaimer: Uh, boss, d'ya 'member that caddy we towed in? Yeah, 
dat's right, mint green, size of an aircraft carrier. Well, we put it 
in the compactor jus' like you tol' us to. But you ain't gonna believe 
what happened...

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - Late December

Part 9 - Dead of Winter

~~~
"Winter Solstice," crooned the Nightcrawler. "when the sun barely 
ventures above the horizon before relinquishing the field of battle to 
the cold, crushing grip of the long winter night." A deep sigh of 
pleasure rustled through the air. "I love this time, don't you? In 
man's distant savage past, he feared that the days would continue to 
dwindle, until night reigned supreme and the sun was vanquished 
utterly. To forestall this disaster, primitive man did everything he 
could think of to entice the sun to return, to strengthen its hold 
upon the world. Lives were sacrificed to this goal, the blood of the 
victims burned to give both life and heat to the failing sun." The 
Nightcrawler chortled. "A waste of precious resources, perhaps, but a 
lovely, poetic gesture, nonetheless. And what will you do to bring 
back the light? Who would you willingly see sacrificed upon the alter 
of your desires?"
~~~

I clicked the radio off with a shudder, looking out through the 
windows into the darkness that suddenly felt oppressive and filled 
with menace. Shaking my head at such ridiculous sentiments, I marveled 
again at the Nightcrawler's ability to warp the world into such dark 
and twisted shapes. I wondered with some trepidation, what effect his 
words had on those whose minds were already filled with images of fear 
and hatred. The door was flung open and Detective Vetter strode into 
the room, scanning it quickly. I stepped out from behind the bar and 
she walked over to meet me.

"Where is he?" I knew exactly who she meant, of course.

"He went looking for cocktail umbrellas days ago," I replied. "has 
something happened?" She looked harried, worried and more than a 
little bit frightened.

"Yes," she replied tersely. "I've got to find him."

"Is there anything--"

"No," she broke in abruptly, then dropped her head with a sigh. "I'm 
sorry Doc, there's nothing anyone can do on this one, I'm not sure if 
there's anything I can do. I've just got to find him, that's all."

"All right," I nodded. "what should I do if he shows up?"

"Call me. Keep him here if you can, but don't push him, whatever you 
do." Her fear was contagious and I felt my own heartbeat grow faster.

"Are you sure you can't--"

"No. Just be careful, okay?"

"You too."

"A little late for that, I'm afraid." She replied with a humorless 
grin and she was gone.

I was incredibly jumpy for the rest of the evening. Emile stopped 
handing me glassware after I dropped a tray when someone wearing a 
black leather jacket walked through the door. Nothing happened all 
night, however, and I felt completely worn out by the time I closed up 
the bar, slipped into bed and turned out the light.

A cold gust of air whipping through the room jerked me awake from a 
sound sleep. A dark figure stood motionless by the open window.

"Vachon?" I croaked. He stumbled towards the bed and I caught a 
glimpse of his face in the moonlight. "Oh, Javier," I cried softly. 
"what has happened?" He fell to his knees beside me and lay his head 
on the coverlet. I placed my hand on his soft dark hair and felt the 
shudders that ran through him. We stayed that way for several moments 
while I stroked his head and made soothing noises in my throat. 
Finally the tremors stopped and he breathed a deep sigh.

"Why did I come here?"

"Because you had nowhere else to go?" I answered quietly. He laughed 
mirthlessly.

"Nowhere else? I have the entire world. I can go anywhere."

"You can 'run' anywhere, Vachon, but you don't always get anywhere." 
He rose in a single blurred motion.

"Words," he spat. "don't play your word games with me." I slipped out 
of bed and pulled my robe on against the chill pervading the room.

"Then use your words, Javier, tell me why you are standing in my 
bedroom on the longest, coldest night of the year while a young woman 
is out searching the streets of Toronto for you?" His head turned and 
his eyes captured mine.

"She was here?"

"Of course, and she seemed desperately worried about you." He shook 
his head

"She knows I can take care of myself, it's what I do best, after all."

"Then why was she so concerned?" He looked away.

"Because she is a foolish, stubborn, blind little girl who refuses to 
see what I am."

"She knows what you are." A low, threatening growl rippled through the 
room.

"Oh no, Vivien, if she really knew what I am, she would run at the 
very sight of me," he fought to keep his voice under control. "and so 
would you."

"She knows there are risks, and she has decided to accept them."

"How?" His pain brought tears to my eyes. "How can you trust me? I 
don't." I walked over and stood very close to him.

"Some things are worth risking everything for." I said and wrapped my 
arms around him. He remained dangerously still for a moment and then 
he brought his arms up and leaned into my embrace.

"You don't know," he whispered roughly. "you can't possibly know." I 
shrugged.

"I know that life without love, without hope, without belief is no 
life worth living. Give her that. Let her trust you. Try to trust 
yourself."

"Words." He sighed gustily.

"But good ones." I replied. He laughed weakly and held me tighter.

"All right," he said finally. "I'll go find her."

"Good boy. Close the window on your way out."

"Always."

I yawned mightily and slipped back into bed as he made his way onto 
the fire escape. Just before he shut the window, I thought I heard him 
swear in Spanish; something like "damn mortals."

How strange, I thought, and promptly fell asleep.

End Part Nine


Question: Does anyone have any idea what Vachon might have done in 
Part 9 that was so shocking? Feel free to send me suggestions, and if 
I like one, I'll write it, promise.

Declaimer: "Hey, Jimmy, I'll trade ya a Natalie for a LaCroix." "No 
way! I already got two Natalie's. Tell ya what, you can have my 
LaCroix *and* a Tracy for two Nick's and a Schanke." "You gotta be 
nuts! D'ya know how much a Schank is worth?" "Well, okay, how about a 
Nick and a Vachon for just your LaCroix?" "Cool, I need a Vachon."

<Sigh> Don't we all?

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - New Year's Eve

Part 10 - A Cup of Kindness

"Vivienne, ma petite!" I groaned inwardly, but turned to greet my 
sister with a smile.

"Sylvie, what a surprise. I was sure that you couldn't possibly make 
it tonight." She pushed her way through the crowded bar and enveloped 
me in a cloud of strong perfume and chinchilla fur.

"You know that I would make any sacrifice for you, cherie. But to be 
truthful, Edward had to fly to Europe yesterday and the children have 
all gone skiing. So now it is just us, isn't that wonderful?"

"Well, there are a few other people here, actually."

"Indeed there are! Though of course, it is New Year's Eve. Still, I am 
so surprised to see how well you are doing in your new occupation. 
Perhaps you have found your true calling?" She smiled, showing all of 
her white, pointy teeth.

"oh Sylvie," I chuckled. "in a strange way I think I have missed you. 
Come, may I get you a glass of champagne?"

"Absolutement!" You know how long, tedious trips leave me parched!"

"And you know just how much I appreciate everything you go through for 
my sake, Sylvie."

"But what are sisters for?" And we clinked our flutes together, for 
once in perfect agreement. I saw her eyes wander past me as we drank 
and I steeled myself for the inevitable. "Ahh, Viviette! Who is that 
exquisitely disdainful creature standing at the end of the bar?" I 
turned to locate the unfortunate victim that Sylvie had targeted and 
nearly choked on my champagne.

"No no, Sylvie, not that one, anyone but him."

"Really, cherie, you are being ridiculous, I must know who he is. Ah! 
I have caught his eye!"

"Oh no." I groaned as LaCroix emerged from the crowd beside us and 
raised my sister's hand to his lips.

"And what embodiment of grace deigns to walk among us tonight?"

"Monsieur LaCroix," I grated. "may I introduce my sister, Sylvie 
Beaumond?"

"Enchante, Mademoiselle. And I do mean that, I am quite bewitched."

For once I think my sister was honestly speechless. "Do excuse us, 
Madame Fontaine, I think Mademoiselle Beaumond would like to sit down. 
Wouldn't you, ma chere?" Sylvie managed to nod and he led her away.

"But..." I protested weakly to the air where they had been. I stood 
frozen for a moment in hesitation. If anyone deserved...no, I told 
myself sternly, she was family after all. Once decided, I moved 
quickly.

"Nick," he looked up from his conversation with Natalie, laughter 
still shining from his face and I winced at my intrusion. "Ah, 
LaCroix..." A grim expression chased away all traces of joy and I 
cursed myself again.

"What has he done now?"

"Nothing, yet. It's just my sister...she's rather predatory when it 
comes to men."

"Well, she's certainly met her match with LaCroix." And he strode off.

"I'm sorry, Natalie, I had no intention of breaking into your 
evening." She shook her head and smiled a little sadly.

"That's all right. It's par for the course for me and Nick. You should 
go and take care of your sister, I'll be fine."

"Are you sure?"

"Just send him back when you've finished with him, I've got plans for 
tonight."

I walked over to the 'privacy booth' where Nick was confronting 
LaCroix and slipped quietly into the space where I knew I could hear 
their words.

"LaCroix, I am growing tired of this endless game we are playing."

"Oh, but Nicholas, it is not a game, it is a dance."

"Then stop stepping on my toes."

"Perhaps you need to take a closer look at precisely who is leading 
whom."

"It is you who chase me, LaCroix. Wherever I go, you are always just a 
step behind, like an unwanted shadow."

"Really? And here I had the distinct impression that I was always one 
step ahead of you. No wonder your toes are sore, we seem to be 
listening to two completely different pieces of music. Tell me, 
Nicholas, what pale, insipid mortal tune has you dancing like a 
trained bear, muzzled and chained by your own misguided assent?"

"Just leave the woman alone." Nick growled.

"Of course, you had only to ask. But who then, shall take her place? 
Some faceless, nameless stranger perhaps? Someone else's daughter, 
sister or dearest friend? Would that allow you to sleep the dreamless 
sleep of innocence?" He got up from the table with a laugh. "Good 
night, Nicholas and...pleasant dreams."

I moved in closer to retrieve Sylvie, but I stopped when I saw the 
look on Nick's face. I placed my hand on his arm.

"Oh Nick." I said sorrowfully. He turned to me after a moment and 
tried to smile.

"He's my demon, Vivien. Don't feel bad."

"Natalie wants you back. And Nick, thank you. If you ever need 
anything--" He started to shake his head, but I put my hand against 
his cheek and brought his eyes in line with my own. "Anything, Nick. 
Anything at all."

"You don't---"

"I do." He stared at me for a long moment and I saw the light come 
back into his face.

"Yeah. Thanks." He leaned over and kissed the corner of my mouth. 
"Better get back, I guess." He left and I reached over to touch 
Sylvie.

"Yes cherie, what is it?" She asked in a muzzy voice.

"You are terribly tired, aren't you Sylvie? Perhaps you would like to 
lie down for a while."

"Oh yes, so very tired." She started to tip over gently.

"No no, not yet, let's get you upstairs first." I helped her up out of 
the booth and staggered through the room and up the stairs. Huffing 
breathlessly, I let her collapse gracelessly onto the bed.

"Do you let all your overindulgent customers sleep it off in here?" A 
voice asked from the corner. "It must get quite crowded on busy 
nights."

"Vachon," I sighed. "you could've helped me with her."

"You were doing okay."

"Chivalry *is* dead."

"No, that's Knight's department."

"He already earned his merit badge tonight."

"His what?"

"Merit badge? Weren't you ever in the Boy Scouts?" I looked over at 
him; scuffed, unshaven, uncombed--about as far from clean and reverent 
as possible. "No, I don't suppose you were." I straightened Sylvie up 
a bit and wrapped the chinchillas around her snugly. Motioning Vachon 
out of the room, I shut the door quietly behind us. "So, to what do I 
owe the pleasure?"

"I'm meeting Stace downstairs tonight."

"And you can't use the front door because...?"

"Windows are more fun?" He suggested. I sighed and tried not to smile. 
He saw my struggle and started poking at my ribs mercilessly until I 
lapsed into a helpless fit of giggles and nearly fell down the stairs. 
He grabbed me just in time and wrapped his arms around me. I melted 
into his embrace and we just stood resting against each other for a 
long, contented moment. "Raspberries," he murmured against my hair and 
I felt him draw a deep breath. "Black raspberries and...chocolate? 
Mmmmm, you smell good."

"You smell like mothballs."

"I do not!"

"Wanna bet?" He looked down at me with a pouting frown and I grinned 
up at him. "Gotcha." I declared, poking him in the ribs. Laughing, we 
descended the stairs together.

~~~
"All around the city tonight crowds of people are celebrating the 
death of the old year with desperate abandon. The past year is 
reviewed and discarded like yesterday's newspaper while the new year 
is hailed as a fresh start, where all the evils, disappointments and 
sins of the last year are no longer relevant. We stride forth into the 
future with bright scrubbed souls and the very best of intentions.

"Now really, who are we kidding? What makes today any different than 
any other? We do not shuck off our burdens just because we buy a new 
calendar. We are no better, no brighter, no cleaner just because we 
have rinsed our memories clear with champagne.

There is one important significance to this day, however. Happy 
Birthday, Nicholas. And many, many returns of the day."
~~~

End Part Ten


Intro: This is a short little installment, but I wanted Vivien and 
Natalie to spend some quality time together. Nat's still beating 
around the bush concerning her *unique* knowledge, but you just know 
she's dying to tell somebody.

Thanks to everyone who has sent in ideas for the Part 9 - Vachon/Tracy 
tangent. The pot is 'percolating', as it were.

Jumpclaimer: Mine, all of it, every little bit. Finders keepers; 
losers weepers. I don't care if you were "coming right back", it's 
mine now. Hey, you snooze you lose. Mine mine mine mine mine. Nyah.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - Fireside

Part 11 - The High Cost of Living

Natalie and I were sitting by the fire, mellowed by its warmth and the 
happy tingle of the very, very fine scotch that I had acquired the 
other day.

"All right," I offered. "your turn, ask me something." Natalie swirled 
her scotch thoughtfully.

"Would you want to live forever?" She asked rather abruptly.

"Huh? Are we talking eternal decrepitude here or--"

"No no, youth, beauty, health, fitness, the whole shebang."

"Sounds like the classic deal with the devil." I chuckled. "So what's 
the catch?" She glanced away and took a quick swallow of her drink.

"Does there have to be a catch?"

"Oh, c'mon, there's always a catch."

"All right, let's say that science comes up with a miracle pill that 
will keep you alive and vibrant forever. But you have to take a pill 
every day. And for every pill, someone else, a stranger has to die."

"I think I saw this episode on the 'Twilight Zone'."

"But would you do it?"

"At that price? Of course not."

"But think of what you could accomplish! With all the time in the 
world to learn and the knowledge of centuries of experience to draw 
from?"

"At the expense of ten thousand...a hundred thousand other lives? Any 
one of which might be just as important as my own, brief though it may 
be?"

"What if only bad people had to die, really evil people, or terminally 
ill people who already want to die? You could be giving meaning to 
lives that otherwise would be wasted."

"'Every man's death diminishes me'," I quoted John Dunne. "After so 
many deaths, there would be nothing left of me, no matter how many 
wonderful things I accomplished. Besides, the only true way to measure 
the worth of a life is to live it. No one has the right to pass that 
judgment on anyone else."

"Fine," she said shortly, "No one has to die, but you would have to 
give up something you really really loved, like...scotch and 
chocolates."

"No scotch and chocolate? What would be the point of living at all?"

"Natalie sighed. "You're really making this difficult. All right, you 
can have your scotch and chocolate, nobody gets hurt and you get to 
drop ten years and ten pounds. Would you want it?"

"No."

"But why not?" She exclaimed in exasperation.

"Well, what would be the point? How would I ever feel motivated enough 
to *do* anything. After all, there would always be 'plenty of time'. I 
would probably perish from sheer ennui."

"But...but," she sputtered. "Do you *want* to die?"

"Of course not, I just think that the knowledge that of our inevitable 
deaths spurs us on to achieve, to make our lives count for something 
before we die. Without that, I think life would lose most of what 
makes it worth living."

"All right," she offered carefully. "what if everything that mortals 
desire, everything that makes life worth living for you and me, what 
if those wants, needs, lusts, desires and hopes were all concentrated 
into a single all-encompasing hunger? And the satiation of this hunger 
was the most blissful sensation of complete fulfillment that can be 
imagined. Again the hunger would arise and again the sense of utter 
fulfillment as it is quenched. Would you take it?"

"What price do we place on our humanity?" I whispered after a very 
long moment. "Natalie, what you have just described to me sounds like 
the most frightening vision of Hell that could be imagined." The color 
drained from her face.

"Why do you say that?" The tension made her voice jump unevenly.

"Human life exists as a series of stages," I replied slowly, staring 
into the heart of the fire. "built one on top of the other. We are all 
building from the same helpless infantile existence towards the same 
inevitability. This great, undeniable connection allows us to look at 
one another and *know* that we are the same. If I were to kick the 
boxes out from under my own feet, I would lose this connection. I 
would never again be able to reach out to another human being and say, 
'it's all right, I understand.' Because I would not."

I looked over at Natalie and I thought I saw a small ripple as 
something splashed into her scotch.

"And do you think," She said in a rough whisper. "That humanity so 
lost...could ever be regained?"

"I would hope that we all retain the memory of that connection, no 
matter how deeply we bury it." I shrugged. "Perhaps it lies there, 
quiet and still, like a chrysalis waiting for the warm touch of the 
sun to awaken the bright-winged creature within."

She looked up at me then, eyes luminous with hope and unshed tears. 
She started to say something, but her face crumpled and I opened my 
arms and held her as she cried.

~~~
"'Every tiny part of us cries out against the idea of dying and hopes 
to live forever.'"(1) Rustled the Nightcrawler's words in the dark 
corners of the night. "And I say to you, my children, anything is 
possible. Listen to my words, let them lead you to me, like 
breadcrumbs through the dark forest. Come to me and I will lift the 
fear of death from you."
~~~

(1) Ugo Betti

End Part Eleven


Correction: The quote in Part 11; 'Every man's death diminishes me' 
would be from the poem by John Donne, not John Dunne. Shows me to be 
in such a rush to press the 'send' button, huh?

Preclaimer: Being the clever girl that I am, I built myself a time 
machine and went back in time so I could register all these wonderful 
characters under my own name. Then I went further back and invested in 
technology stocks. Hmmm, come to think, AtA & LK could use some 
revisions...

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - February 14

Part 12 - Hearts of Stone

~~~
"Will you be mine?" Inquired the Nightcrawler. "Will you surrender all 
that you are and all that you might become just to have me whisper in 
your ear 'I love you'?" He laughed; a dry, whispering sound. "A poor 
pathetic statement on the nature of love and our sad, desperate need 
for it. Very well, if that is what will make you happy; I. Love. You." 
He paused for a long heartbeat and you could hear his smile. "Now, you 
are Mine."
~~~

They were everywhere. Scattered across the bar and on the tables, 
hanging from the ceiling in long tangled strands, even twined in my 
hair. Vachon took one look around and smiled.

I could hear the little sighs of pleasure around the room from the 
women who saw that smile.

"Cocktail umbrellas," he cried gleefully. "you got me cocktail 
umbrellas." He pulled me close, kissed me soundly on the mouth and 
gently extricated an umbrella from my hair.

"Happy Valentine's Day, Vachon." I gasped. His look of joy dimmed 
suddenly.

"But I didn't get you anything." He mourned. I pressed a hand against 
my still tingling lips.

"Oh, believe me, you did just fine." I was rewarded by the rekindling 
of his delighted smile.

"I know just the thing." He strode towards the stage, pulling me, 
unresisting along. Seating me with great courtesy at the front table, 
he picked up a guitar and folded himself onto a stool. His hair fell 
over his face in a concealing curtain as he bent over to check the 
tuning, and when he straightened, his expression had undergone a sea 
change. The flip, frivolous boy had been replaced by a strange, exotic 
creature of ice and onyx. The noise in the bar decreased to a soft 
murmur as people caught sight of him and fell silent.

His fingers drifted across the strings in casual mastery and slowly 
the voice of the guitar swelled to fill the room, gathering us all 
into its spell. His voice, both husky and sweet, floated out along the 
strands of sound, weaving together a lovely tapestry.

"They say a heart of stone will never break 
That one such as I shall never fall
But they never looked into your eyes of fire 
And felt the power of your silent call

Hearts of stone
Forever locked in ice
Hearts of fire
Must pay the price

I will bring you flowers from the valley of night 
That only bloom when the moon is full
I will pluck the brightest star from its velvet nest 
And place in your hand a priceless jewel

Hearts of stone
Build a seamless wall
Hearts of air
Make the castle fall

My eyes were dry through endless years 
And cheeks unstreaked remained
But now my tears would change the sea 
>From blue to blood-red stained

Hearts of stone
Bestow immortal life
Hearts of flesh
Pierced by every knife

A heart of stone may never break
But does that really matter
When touched by love as strong as yours 
A heart of stone can shatter."

Vachon ran his fingers down the strings in one final, haunting chord 
and fell silent. When I was able, I stepped up on the stage and placed 
a hand on his hair. He leaned his head into my waist and looked up at 
me with a little smile.

"Have you ever sung that for--"

"So she can melt into my arms and look at me with eyes filled with 
adoration and surrender?" He laughed and strummed discordantly. "I 
don't think so, Viv." He put the guitar down and I followed him to a 
table. "We have three choices. I could pretend to be what she wants, 
for a while. And a great lot of good that would do either of us. 
Number two; she could dump everything she believes in, everything that 
makes her who she is and join me in my world."

"And hate you for the rest of her life."

"And hate me for the rest of my life." He agreed. "I'll take blond 
women who despise Vachon for 400, Alex." He curled his lip. "No, I 
don't think so."

"And the third option?"

"Why, we can be great good chums who eventually part ways and send 
each other Christmas cards every decade or so."

"Those sound like rather limited options." He stared at me with a face 
hard and unyielding as marble and golden sparks rising in his eyes.

"That's all there are, believe me," he growled. "I've tried everything 
else at one time or another."

"Yeah, you do strike me as a 'been there, done that *twice*, once with 
hot fudge'(1) kinda guy." He snorted and the dangerous glint in his 
eyes receded. I leaned in closer and held a golden cocktail umbrella 
out to him as if it contained something as precious as hope. "You may 
have tried everything else, but you have never tried them with Tracy."

"This isn't a school project, Vivien," he said very softly. "it isn't 
something I can tinker around with. This is Tracy's life. If something 
breaks, I can't just start over."

"No, you can't. Life is precious, something to be cherished, but most 
of all, it is to be lived." I offered him the umbrella again. "No 
matter what has come before, you can't know what possibilities lie 
between Tracy and you. Yes, be careful. Yes, be aware of the dangers. 
But don't run from the future because of the past. Learn from it." His 
eyes bored into mine until I felt myself begin to tremble. Then, 
without looking away, he plucked the umbrella gently from between my 
fingers. He dropped his eyes finally and I blinked in relief. When I 
looked up, he was gone. On the table below the level of his face, I 
noticed a small splash of red.

~~~
"Have you ever looked on death, mes petits? Have you ever reached 
inside a moldering corpse and felt the cold, still lump of flesh that 
was once a living, beating heart? Look closely at death, my children. 
Learn to recognize its foul, slick stench. For this is the price of 
love; and its ultimate, inevitable reward."
~~~

(1) I found this in a War Quotes List and absolutely loved it. I have 
no idea whose it is, but if anyone knows, I will be happy to add an 
acknowledgment

End Part Twelve


Mild Cautioning: In this episode there are some horribly 
self-indulgent instances of neck-nibbling that I simply couldn't 
resist including, and for which I refuse to apologize. I doubt that 
I'll offend anyone's tender sensibilities, it's hardly JADFE material, 
more's the pity. All I can suggest is that you slip into a warm frothy 
tub, pour yourself a flute of champagne (or alternate nonalcoholic 
sparkling beverage) dip some strawberries in chocolate sauce and let 
your mind wander.

Works for me.

Deesclaimer: <THUNK> "I, Viscountess Amoretta d'Indulgencia, do hereby 
claim this alternative reality and all that lies within as mine own, 
to do with as I please." <Ahem> "Yes, Nick, what is it?" "Well, ma'am, 
it's just that we already happen to be a subsidiary of Tristar 
Entertainment. I'm afraid that your claim is invalid." "Hmmm, I had 
not foreseen such a development. Very well, we shall put it to a vote. 
How many of you would prefer to languish in the desolate wasteland of 
cancellation that your current Masters have bequeathed to you? And how 
many of you would rather thrive under my benevolent dictatorship? I 
promise thoughtful monologues, intriguing conversations and character 
development without end. Well, what's it to be?"

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Year 3 - Cold & Flu season

Part 13 - The Raveled Sleeve of Care

~~~
"The Earth is cold and desolate, all life stilled beneath the great 
smothering weight of snow and ice that denies us access to the air and 
light above. Can you feel the breath being crushed out of you, my 
child? Do you feel your eyes straining for any hint of light in the 
endless darkness? Do not bother. Surrender to it, empty your lungs of 
the cold, frigid air that causes you such pain. Reach out your hand, 
and I will take it in my own. For I am there in the darkness with you. 
I *am* the darkness, without and within."
~~~

His voice swirled around me in a thick heavy fog that weighed down my 
limbs and filled me with a cold, aching despair. I felt a painful 
grinding pressure and saw that the fog had solidified into a huge pale 
serpent slowly crushing the life out of me. I opened my mouth to 
scream, but my voice was cut off by a pair of cold white hands wrapped 
around my throat. I saw the serpent's face then, laughing at me, and I 
saw the long sharp fangs before they plunged into my neck.

"NO!" I cried, sitting up suddenly with my hands flying to my throat.

"Shhh, Vivien, it's all right. You're okay." I stared without 
recognition at the face before me. Everything seemed blurry and I 
tried to blink the world back into focus, but a huge wave of pain 
crashed through my head and I fell back with a groan.

"N...Natalie?" I managed to croak. "What is wrong with me?"

"You're sick, Vivien, just go back to sleep. Don't worry, we'll be 
here."

"LaCroix, he was in my dream. He bit me."

"Oh dear," she chuckled. "well, try to dream about nicer men biting 
you. I can think of a few."

"Oui, moi aussi." I murmured and fell back into the darkness.

I felt his presence before his hands closed upon my shoulders; so 
strong and yet so gentle. I let my head fall back against his chest 
and savored the thrill that ran through me at his touch. He pulled my 
hair back away from my neck and caressed my bared flesh with his 
knowing finger tips. My pulse beat impatiently against the prison of 
my throat and he bent forward to kiss my burning flesh, first with his 
cooling breath and then his soothing lips. I whimpered softly in my 
need, and he nodded slightly as I felt his teeth brush across my skin. 
Wrapping his arms around me, he picked me up and laid me gently upon 
the ground. He crouched over me like a golden-eyed panther and I 
pushed aside the long dark hair that obscured his lovely pale 
features.

"I burn, Javier." I whispered.

"Then pour your heat into me, cara." I cried out in exquisite agony as 
he buried his fangs into my neck. Sobbing, I wrapped myself around him 
as he drained the suffocating heat from me and replaced it with 
blessed coolness.

"So cold, so cold." I chattered. Gentle hands tucked the blankets 
around me and I huddled into them gratefully.

"I think your fever has broken." Nick said softly. "That's good. Rest 
now."

"Yes," I muttered. "rest."

I was flying. The night air whipping past me was cold, but I did not 
feel any discomfort. The city unrolled beneath me like a vast carpet 
strewn with precious jewels. I felt a great joy and delight welling up 
inside of me and I laughed as I soared effortlessly through the sky. 
Then I saw a figure standing on the roof of a building, silhouetted 
against the light shining from below. He wore his solitude like a 
cloak, shielding himself against the world and the pain it caused him. 
I landed silently on the roof and began walking towards him.

"Who's there?" He asked.

"C'est moi." I replied.

"Go away."

"I do not wish to."

"Go!" He ordered in a rippling growl. "I don't want to hurt you."

"You won't hurt me."

"I hurt everyone I care for," he snarled. "why should you be any 
different?"

"Because," I said, drawing his hands into mine and gazing into eyes 
that glowed with the same fire that burned inside of me. "you cannot 
hurt me." I unfastened the clasp at my neck and heard his harsh intake 
of breath as my cloak slipped to the ground, leaving my throat pale and 
bare before him. "You can only help me." I lifted his hands and placed 
them on my shoulders. "Help me, Nicholas, and let me help you, please?" 
I ran my hand up along the sweet strong column of his neck and I felt 
him shiver as he lifted his chin for me. I traced a line of soft kisses 
up under his jaw and then pressed my teeth gently against his smooth 
cool skin. He sighed as his flesh parted beneath my sharp fangs and I 
drew his sweet, dark anguished soul into myself. A growl rippled 
through his chest, and I braced myself as he plunged his own teeth into 
my neck. Our circle was complete and we drew forth the pain from each 
other, leaving only love and healing behind.

"Oh." I sighed as I looked up into the darkened room and recognized 
the smell of new snow wafting in from the open window.

"Sorry." Said a voice from the shadows and the window was slid shut.

"Vachon?" I asked, trying to remember something about golden-eyed 
panthers with sharp teeth. "Is that you?"

"Yep. Just checking in. Trace had to step out for a bit. You sound a 
lot better." I sat up experimentally and breathed in relief when my 
head didn't explode.

"I feel a lot better. Were you here before? I don't remember."

"In and out. Natalie and Florence took the bulk of the shifts. Nick 
and Trace came by when they could."

"Nick."

"Yeah, he was pretty worried for a little while. We all were."

"I remember Nick. He helped me. You did, too."

"Yeah, well, you did most of the work yourself. Oops, there's Trace, 
gotta go. See ya downstairs soon." A cool kiss landed on my forehead 
and with a rustle of curtains, he was gone.

~~~
"'I talk of dreams; which are the children of an idle brain, begot of 
nothing but vain fantasy'(1). And yet," mused the Nightcrawler.
"dreams can sometimes express more of truth than what the eye sees and 
the hand holds. We like to fool ourselves, reject unpleasant or 
inexplicable realities. But they stay with us, like ghosts, stalking 
us as we sleep, haunting out dreams until we wake to the sound of our 
own screams and wonder; where does the dream end, and reality begin?" 
~~~

(1) Shakespeare

End Part Thirteen

Note: For those interested, I have indeed managed to write a 
Tracy/Vachon story extension of 'Pandora's Box' Part 9, called 'The 
Winter of Our Discontent', so look for it on your shelves soon.


Thanks again to everyone who's been writing in. You're my heart, my 
soul and my inspiration. You're my everything.

Demclaimer: "Weeell now, I've been aworkin' this claim fer as long as 
I kin 'member and ain't no durn 'big city types' gonna cum 'long and 
say I don't got no right to mine this here story line. So ya'll jes' 
git a goin' now, lessen ya'll 'ud like a pocket full o' buckshot, 
y'hear?"

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - Late winter/early spring

Part 14 - Blood Will Tell

It was my first night back at work since my illness, and something was 
really bothering me, something inside my head. Perhaps the fever had 
burned new pathways in my brain that led to small pockets of knowledge 
that I had been shutting away in the dark closets of my mind.

Well, the closets were open now, and the skeletons had come tumbling 
out into unidentifiable piles of bone and cobweb.

More than anything I wanted to sit quietly and sort through those 
piles and try to make sense out of them. It was terribly distracting 
and I think both Emile and Florence had to work pretty hard to cover 
up all the mistakes that I was making.

It was with incredible relief that I said goodnight to Robert and 
leaned my head against the door as I turned the key in the lock. I had 
the silence and the solitude that I had craved, but I was still unable 
to make any sense of the thoughts that were drifting and bumping 
aimlessly around my head. All I could capture were some vague, 
dreamlike images: A pale serpent, poised to strike; A golden-eyed 
panther crouched above me; A black-winged bird soaring over a city at 
night.

They all meant something, and they were connected somehow, but I just 
couldn't seem to understand. Frustrated, I stomped back into the 
kitchen and turned on the radio to try and drown out the noise in my 
head.

~~~
"'There's moaning somewhere in the dark, I want to know what it may 
be. 'Tis in my ear my blood that moans--my blood, forsooth. Yet not so 
strangely moans my blood, my blood is tranquil like the night. I think 
a heart must moan somewhere.'(1) Is it your heart that moans, my 
child? Your blood crying out to me through the darkness?" Inquired the 
Nightcrawler. "I can hear the tears in your blood, I can feel the 
pain. Everything you've ever known or felt is in your blood. Do not 
look for truth in words, words can lie. If you look for truth, look to 
the blood. Blood will tell."
~~~

I turned off the radio. "What was it with this town?" I had thought 
the first night Tracy Vetter entered the bar. "Maybe it's something in 
the water."

"Or in the blood." A cold mocking voice seemed to echo through my 
skull.

"The blood," I murmured. "the answer is in the blood." Quickly I 
unlocked the store room and started looking through the new stock.

I found the crates behind a supply of unspectacular burgundies. Emile 
had hidden them well, but I had caught a glimpse of them when they 
were delivered and now I understood why Emile had volunteered to order 
and inventory the stock.

I pulled out one of the dark green bottles and carried it with me to 
the couch. I poured a glass of the deep ruby liquid and sat 
contemplating it for a very long time. I put all my pieces together 
and admired the stark simple beauty of the pattern.

The fire flickered suddenly as a draft of air blew across it. I looked 
at the mirror above the mantle and smiled at his reflection.

"Nick," I said pleasantly, "come and have a drink with me by the 
fire."

"I don't--" I held up the glass and he was at my side in an instant, 
taking it gently from my fingers. He tore his eyes away from the blood 
and looked at me with an expression that broke my heart.

"Nick, it's all right," I said gently, "please don't look at me that 
way."

"How can you say that, knowing what I am?"

"Because you haven't changed. You are still the Nick that Natalie 
loves and sheds tears for, you are still the man who came to sit with 
me when I was sick."

"I am not a man. I am a monster. I have killed more people that you 
will know in your entire lifetime."

"Will you kill me?"

"No, of course not!"

"Why not?"

"I don't do that anymore." With a snarl he flung the glass into the 
fire. Then he looked at me and I heard the beat of my own heart loud 
in my ears. "You must forget about all of this." His voice echoed low 
and powerful and I ached to do whatever he asked of me.

"Why don't you kill any more?" I asked softly and he turned away with 
a sound of frustration.

"I am *really* losing my touch." I got up with a shaky little laugh.

"I wouldn't say that." I selected two more glasses and fetched the 
bottle that LaCroix had given me that first night.

"I think this qualifies as a special occasion," I murmured as I poured 
two glasses, one from each bottle, "Nick, please, come and sit down. I 
won't bite, I promise." He gave me a withering glance.

"That's not funny." He groused, but he took the glass from me, drained 
it in one quick swallow and sat down to pour himself another. "Emile 
always did know where to get the good stuff." He remarked ruefully.

"You've known each other before?"

"In Paris, many years ago." A look of pained regret suffused his face 
and he stared moodily into the fire.

"How long...?"

"Nearly eight hundred years." I silently mouthed the words.

"Then you really did know Beethoven?" His mouth quirked in a little 
smile.

"I was not the best of students, and he was not a very patient 
teacher," he remarked, "but I was able to communicate with him when 
his hearing finally went, and I think that gave him some measure of 
comfort."

"Incroyable," I breathed, "what a gift you have been given, Nicholas." 
He rose in a single blurred motion.

"It is no gift!" he roared at me, "it is a curse! A vile monstrous 
burden that I would do anything to have lifted from me!" Something 
else clicked into place.

"Natalie. She has been trying to help you." His rage disappeared as 
quickly as it had come.

"Yes," he said wearily, "she's identified the infectious agent that 
creates us, but she hasn't been able to find a cure."

"So your affliction is biological in nature?"

"Apparently."

"You are not convinced?" He ran a hand through his already tousled 
blond hair.

"I don't know. I want to believe her, that it could be something as 
simple as a virus, transmitted through the blood. But I know that 
there is so much more to it. There is a beast that prowls inside of 
me, something beyond the understanding of science."

"La Bete Sauvage." I murmured.

"Oui, exactement." He agreed. "Look, Vivien, you could be in a lot of 
danger, knowing what you do."

"Ignorance is strictly enforced?" He nodded grimly. "What about 
Natalie? And surely Tracy--"

"Tracy knows only about Vachon, her safety is his responsibility. I 
made that quite clear to him."

"You mean she doesn't know about--"

"No."

"But--"

"It's for her own safety, Vivien. And her peace of mind, believe me." 
I glared at him.

"You really *are* from the middle ages, aren't you?" He just raised 
his eyebrows in a particularly infuriating fashion. "All right," I 
sighed, "Vachon obviously isn't going to rat on me." Nick coughed 
suddenly. "What?"

"Nothing, just don't use that term around him, okay? He's got some 
unhappy associations."

"Okaaaay. What about Emile?"

"Turn a blind eye towards his special stock and the clientele that he 
serves it to. He'll figure out that you know eventually, but he won't 
make an issue of it if you don't."

I didn't really want to say the last name, but I needed to know where 
I stood.

"LaCroix?" Nick's face tightened up

"We have...an arrangement, he and I. I've made it quite clear that you 
are under my protection, but he's unpredictable, and very dangerous. 
Don't ever forget that."

"No," I whispered, "I don't think I ever will." I looked up at him. 
"You are bound to him, somehow. I saw it when you two were together."

"He is my Master. He made me. The bond between us was centuries in the 
forging."

"But you're trying to sever that link."

"He doesn't appreciate my efforts."

"Has he come between you and what you seek?"

"Always." Countless years of pain and hopes destroyed flowed through 
his voice.

"Oh, Nick," I reached out and he took my hand in his cool, firm grip. 
"Natalie was right, I can see the light of your soul shining through 
the darkness," I touched his face and looked into his eyes which had 
suddenly become vulnerable and strangely young. "It is a beautiful 
soul, Nick. So very beautiful."

(1) R. Dehmel

End Part Fourteen


Mountainclaimer: "Pant pant, uuummmph." <grab> "Ooph." <grunt, scrape> 
"Damn, broke another nail." <clamber, pull, heave> "Errrrrgumph! Whew! 
Pant, pant." <drip, drip> "Wow, this is really high up. Hey, I can see 
my house from here. Cool." "Hello there. My, you certainly are sweaty, 
aren't you?" "Whoa, how'd you get up here?" "*I* flew." "Oh, then you 
must belong to that other guy, hunh?"

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - March

Part 15 - His Master's Voice

~~~
"I am indulging in a fit of nostalgia tonight, my little ones." The 
Nightcrawler murmured. "Thinking fondly of the days when lives were 
cheap and unexplained deaths were commonplace. It is ironic, is it 
not, in these times of overpopulation, when the earth groans beneath 
its burden of seething humanity, that society suddly demands an 
accounting for the disposition of each little life.

Oh, one can still get away with murder, but it just isn't as fun as it 
used to be."
~~~

Nick had been coming by after closing with some regularity now, and I 
wasn't sure if it was for the taste of Emile's forbidden stock, or to 
pour out to me the poisons eating away at his heart. Whatever the 
case, I indulged him with no little fascination. But when I began to 
review some of his confessions with the eye of a psychiatrist, he was 
quick to shy away.

"Look, Vivien," Nick said as he jumped up and began pacing about 
rather agitatedly. "I appreciate your concern and your acceptance 
touches me very deeply, but I really don't think that your approach is 
the way to go."

"I see. And what approach would that be?"

"Well, viewing vampirism as if it were a psychological disorder, or 
even a physical addiction. I already tried following the alcoholic's 
anonymous regimen, and it really backfired."

I tried to imagine a 12-step program for vampires and shook my head in 
disbelief.

"I even when to see Dr. Freud in Vienna to try out his theory of 
psychoanalysis, but that didn't work out well at all."

"Freud?" I choked. "You tried to explain your problem to Freud?"

"I didn't get very far. He tried to hypnotize me, but..."

"You turned the tables on him?"

"I didn't *mean* to..."

I couldn't help myself any longer. I took one look at Nick's downcast 
expression and burst out laughing. He looked hurt at first, but faced 
with my fit of helpless giggles, his own lips actually began to twitch 
a bit.

"Oh, Nick," I gasped, wiping the tears from my eyes, "I'm sorry, I 
don't mean to make light of your difficulties, but the idea of what 
old Sigmund would have made of you...it's just too horrifying. Look, I 
wouldn't even pretend to try and apply current models of psychology to 
try and 'cure' you, it would be a joke. But--" I forestalled his next 
comment. "Even I can see that you have been displaying classic 
avoidence tactics and instinctive rejection patterns."

"Are you trying to tell me that I don't really *want* to be cured?" 
His voice was dangerously soft and I chose my words cautiously.

"You spent several hundred years feeding the beast within you, 
encouraging it to grow strong and powerful. Do you honestly think that 
you can simply close your eyes to such a great part of yourself and 
expect it to just let you destroy yourself?"

"Destroy myself? No, I only want to destroy the evil within me."

I looked at him with sadness.

"Can you be so sure of the difference?" I murmured. "Oh Nick, you are 
immortal. You wish to become mortal. You *want* to die. The only 
difference between that and walking out into the sunlight tomorrow is 
thirty or forty years. Every part of yourself is going to fight 
against that. Good or evil."

He shook his head vehemently.

"I have been evil, I have done evil. I *will* pay for my sins."

"You did as you were taught. You killed to survive. Now you have 
discovered alternatives. Don't torment yourself with memories of a 
morality that had no bearing on what you had become."

"What are you saying? Do you expect me to release my bestial nature 
after battling to restrain it for a hundred years?"

"I expect nothing. But perhaps, just perhaps, you should consider 
embracing that dark part of yourself; try to understand it, instead of 
endlessly fighting against it."

"Are you telling me to give up?" He hissed. "You sound just like 
LaCroix." I sighed.

"Well, aside from Monsieur LaCroix's endearing penchant for using just 
enough truth in his arguments to keep you spinning like a top, he also 
understands the proper usage of reverse psychology."

"You mean he tells me to do things, knowing that I'll do just the 
opposite?" I raised my eyebrows at him. "All right, yes, that is a 
game he would enjoy playing. But I won't surrender to my vampire 
nature. It's too dangerous."

"Absolutely," I agreed, "but whether you like it or not, it's part of 
you, and right now you have precious little control over it."

"How does one gain control over something so strong and 
unpredictable?" He mused.

"How does LaCroix control you?" His head snapped around quickly and I 
froze at the golden glow shining from his eyes.

"He doesn't control me!" He growled.

"Doesn't he?" I whispered. "Why has he followed you all these years? 
Who is he speaking to every night, through the darkness? And why do 
you always find yourself listening to him? Listening for your Master's 
voice?"

I found myself flung to the ground, tossed aside by a snarling wind 
that whipped past me and out through the door. I guess I should have 
been glad that he didn't go straight through the window instead, in 
his haste to escape my hurtful words, but all I could do was drop my 
head into my shaking hands and cry.

~~~
"'Obsessed by a fairy tale, we spend our lives searching for a magic 
door, and a lost kingdom of peace.'(1)" The crushed velvet voice of 
the Nightcrawler enfolded the silence. "We spend the few precious 
moments of our lives striving frantically for something that never 
was, a lie, a mirage, a falsehood perpetrated by the desperate need to 
believe that there must be more to this existence. And so I ask, must 
there always be something more? Are your lives so terribly bleak and 
empty?" He clucked sympathetically. "What a shame."
~~~

(1) O'Neill

End Part Fifteen


Well, as some of you may have noticed, I finally put a limit on the 
number of episodes in this series. I was rather hoping that I could 
squeeze out another bit and end with a nice round number, but I guess 
it wasn't meant to be. I never claimed to be in control of this thing 
anyway.

For those of you who've hung in since the beginning, it's been one 
helluva ride, and it's not over yet.

Please make sure the bar is fastened securely across your laps and 
keep hands and all other extremities inside the car.

Thankyou.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - Ides of March

Part 16 - The Forests of the Night

Everyone else was gone and I had turned on the radio to keep me 
company while I put away the last load of glassware. The voice of the 
Nightcrawler was cold comfort indeed, but for once his bleak 
observations suited the mood of my thoughts perfectly.

~~~
"'The great epochs of our life come when we gain the courage to 
rechristen our evil as what is best in us.'(1) For what is evil but 
the strength to move beyond our limitations, whether self-imposed or 
imposed upon us by the expectations of others? Our greatest weakness 
lies in the inability to face the consequences of our deeds. Any 
action by itself is neither good nor evil, it is the outcome by which 
we are judged. And which of you, pray, would care to impose your 
judgment upon me?" He held the air and squeezed it for a moment. "I 
thought not."
~~~

I felt a dark presence behind me and gooseflesh rippled across my 
skin. I turned slowly and swallowed painfully when I saw the glowing 
eyes and the snarl that revealed his sharp killer's teeth.

"Hello, Nick." I forced my voice to remain steady.

"I thought you should see what is was you were asking of me." He rasped 
harshly. "Here is the beast that you wish me to embrace." Carefully I 
put down the glass I was holding and walked out from behind the 
counter. His hot gaze followed my steps, measuring each breath, 
counting every heartbeat. I stopped when I was only a few feet from him 
and looked up into his contorted face. I could see the battle that 
raged in him as he fought desperately to control the urge to sink his 
teeth into my unprotected throat.

"What are you feeling?"

"Hunger." Came the agonized response. Involuntarily his hand rose and 
curled around my neck. "The blood in you sings to me, a siren's song. 
Undeniable. Irresistible."

"But you resist. Why?" He leaned over me, drawing in my scent as he 
pressed my head to one side. "Nick!" I said firmly. "Who am I?" His 
face whipped away.

"Vivien," he whispered. "I don't want to kill you."

"Why?" I asked again.

"Because it is wrong."

"No." I took his face between my hands and forced him to look at me. 
"Why won't you kill me?"

"Because I don't have the right."

"No. Nick, why?"

"Because..." His eyes dimmed.

"Why?"

"Because...I love you." He said, his blue eyes alight with wonder. 
Laughing a little hysterically, I embraced him tightly.

"Oh, Nick. I love you too."

"What just happened?" He asked shakily as we staggered over to the 
couch. "I didn't kill you."

"Yeah, I noticed."

He stared at me in disbelief. "Don't you understand how close you 
came?" I nodded and he started getting angry. "Do you realized what 
would have happened if I had killed you? How that would have made me 
feel?"

"I would much rather know how you were feeling when you decided not to 
kill me."

His anger disappeared into a thoughtful frown as he tried haltingly to 
explain. "At first, all I felt was hunger and the all-consuming desire 
to feed." He shook his head against a return of those feelings. "Then 
I heard your voice and I knew that I couldn't."

"Couldn't what?"

"I couldn't take your life."

"Why?"

He picked up my hand and held it gently. "Because it means too much to 
me."

I squeezed his hands and smiled. "So you can control the beast."

He looked grim. "It's not something that I suggest you test 
frequently, Vivien."

"I'd rather not, believe me." I replied fervently. "But knowing that 
you can, you should try to understand exactly how."

He leaned forward in agitation. "This is not the way to a cure, Viv, 
and that's what I'm looking for."

"Is that so?" I said gently. "And why are you so sure that what you 
are looking for is out there, somewhere? You have been alive for 
nearly eight hundred years and yet you continue to turn to mortals for 
your salvation. Mortals who know nothing of your condition, who have 
only a few brief years to try and understand it before time snuffs us 
out and you must begin all over again." He got up and stood before the 
fire with is back to me. "Why must the responsibility for your cure 
rest with us? You accepted your fate when you allowed LaCroix to bring 
you across, yet you refuse to consider the possibility that the key to 
what you seek may reside with you as well."

"Shall I click my heels together three times and say there's nothing 
like mortality, there's nothing like mortality, there's nothing like 
mortality?" The bitterness in his voice was appalling, and I had to 
shut my eyes against his pain.

"I has taken you decades to come this far. If you insist on paying for 
the misdeeds of your past, how long do you feel it should take? 
Another seven hundred years? More? How many years to repay the sins of 
ten murderous lifetimes?"

He looked at me with desolate eyes. "An eternity."

"Then how long will it take you to forgive yourself?"

"Forever." He whispered brokenly.

"Then stay and greet the dawn with me, because you will never allow 
yourself to become mortal and simply walk away from your sins."

"What are you saying?"

I stood up and pressed my hand against his chest. "You are punishing 
yourself. You can imagine no greater punishment that this existence. 
You will never allow yourself to be free of it, until you break free 
of your guilt."

"But, LaCroix..."

"Has told you something similar?" I grimaced wryly. "LaCroix may have 
his own agenda concerning you, but I doubt it includes immediate 
immolation or an eternity of self-damnation. I think he may have your 
best interests at heart, in his own twisted fashion."

He turned away and raked a shaking hand through his hair. "What you 
say...I can't...I'm not..."

I wrapped a comforting arm around him and squeezed gently. "Go home, 
Nick. Think over a few things and come back when you feel like talking 
about it. I'll listen, I promise."

~~~
"'Tyger, tyger burning bright in the forests of the night; what 
immortal hand or eye could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant 
deeps or skies burnt the fire of thine eyes?'(2) All that you are was 
forged in the heart of a purifying flame; the weak, useless fragments 
of your brief mortality stripped away and consumed in that glorious 
conflagration. And yet you wish to extinguish that fire and return to 
the dark, shivering state from whence you came." The Nightcrawler 
drawled in disbelief. "I can't understand that at all. Do you truly 
understand it yourself? I certainly hope so, because it could turn out 
to be rather important when all is said and done."
~~~

(1) Nietzsche
(2) Blake

End Part Sixteen


Someclaimer: "Honey, put your toys away, it's time to come inside." 
"Aw Mom, just a little longer, please?" "Now sweetie, it's starting to 
get dark..." "But Mom, I only have a little bit more to do, and then 
I'll be finished." "Well, all right, two more episodes after this one, 
and then it's time for bed. Don't forget to put everything back in the 
box when you're finished, okay?" "Okay Mom."


Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - April (the cruelest month)

Part 17 - Sins of the Father

I think it was the silence that woke me. There was an unfamiliar 
weight to it, as if the lack of sound was due, not to the mere absence 
of any noise but the active suppression of it.

"You are awake, good." The cold precision of that voice washed over me 
like a bucket of icy water and I snapped on the light with a gasp.

"LaCroix! What are you doing here?"

"Why, taking my turn, of course." He explained from the shadows of the 
easy chair in which he reclined. "You are the unofficial counselor for 
the vampire community of greater Toronto, are you not?"

I sat up straighter and pulled the blanket up around my shoulders. "Do 
you find yourself in need of counseling, Monsieur?"

He leaned forward with menacing speed and I pressed myself back 
against the headboard, trying to remember how to breath.

"You play such very dangerous games, Madame Fontaine," he remarked 
with quiet intensity. "I would very much like to know why. Is it for 
the kick you get?"

"I am no daredevil, Monsieur. I do not relish the feeling of fear."

"Curiosity, then. You are fascinated by the abnormal and the 
freakish."

"It is true that we learn the most about ourselves by examining 
extremes and that which falls outside common understanding."

He smiled a little and got up from the chair. "Again I must applaud 
your ability to transform ugly truths into acceptable objects of 
polite conversation."

"Monsieur, please, it is late. Why have you come here tonight?"

He clasped his hands behind his back and pursed his lips thoughtfully. 
"Why, now that you mention it, there was something that has been on my 
mind recently. It seems that you have been inflicting a great deal of 
pain on someone very close to me."

"Nick. You can feel his turmoil? You are so tightly bound to one 
another?"

"Dear Nicholas, yes. You have become quite the confidante, I see. He 
has told you a great deal." He sat down on the foot of the bed.

"Some, yes. Other things I guessed."

"How perceptive of you. And this qualifies you to try and treat his 
'affliction'? You are very presumptive, Madame." He was leaning quite 
close to me now.

I slipped out of the bed and went to stand by the window. "No one can 
treat Nick but Nick." I replied. "I am trying to help him see that."

"Ahhh," he breathed as he rose and moved behind me. "You believe that 
he must face the truth about himself in order to find the strength to 
determine his own fate."

"Yes."

"No!" He snarled and twisted me around to face him. "The truth would 
destroy him!"

"It is you who are doing that!" I cried, frightened beyond belief by 
the cold, remorseless fire in his eyes. "You with your truthful lies, 
your torments and deceptions!"

"Oh no," he hissed. "I am his salvation!"

We stood there frozen in an endless moment, our faces only inches 
apart while my mind raced almost as quickly as my heart.

"You." I breathed finally with dawning realization. "You are the focus 
of his hate. He blames you for what he is, instead of himself. You have 
made yourself his whipping boy, to spare him the lash of his guilt."

His grip loosened and the fire receded from his eyes. "Very good, 
Madame. I can almost see why Nicholas turns to you, however 
ill-advised that choice may be for the both of you."

"But he must acknowledge the truth. Otherwise he will remain torn 
between the two halves of himself forever, neither one thing nor the 
other."

LaCroix released me and walked back to the chair. "Nicholas has always 
been something of a slow study. Impulsive, idealistic. 'Act in haste, 
repent for Eternity' might as well be emblazoned on his family crest. 
His enthusiasm knows no bounds, until the inevitable disillusionment 
sets in and he turns to destroy the very thing that he revered only 
moments before. I have seen the cycle repeat itself more times than 
even I can remember."

"And do you find it diverting?"

"It breaks my heart!" He growled harshly. "No one wants Nicholas to 
embrace his true nature more than I. No one has thrown lesson after 
lesson at him in an attempt to help him face the truth about himself 
as I have. No one feels his pain as I do, Madame. Certainly not you."

"It has been so long. Are you so sure that yours is the only way?"

"Nicholas was a crusading knight. However disenchanted he became with 
the church and its 'Holy Cause', his belief in sin and divine 
punishment remained. The full weight of his guilt would crush him. He 
must first be led away from his reliance on an inconsequential system 
of morality. There is no other way. And if I may be blunt, you don't 
have the time. I do."

"You wish to reshape him in your own image?"

He laughed at me. "'Few sons, indeed, are like their fathers. 
Generally they are worse; but just a few are better.'(1) If Nicholas 
survives the battle with the remnants of his mortal conscience, he 
will be infinitely greater than I. He could be such a creature as the 
world has never seen. He will be able to move between the worlds of 
sunlight and darkness as easily as I cross this room."

And he was gone, leaving only cold shadows and shattered nerves behind 
him.

(1) Homer

End Part Seventeen


Natclaimer: "What do you think you're doing?" 
Moi: "What, is there something wrong?"
Nat: "Yes there's something wrong! Every time I appear, all I do is 
drink scotch and burst into tears. You're writing me like a 
self-pitying, hysterical lush."
Moi: "Well, it's been a tough season for you, between Nick's 
backsliding and your own never-ending series of personal crises..." 
Nat: "That's no excuse. I'm supposed to be the tough, brainy, 
independent love interest. What happened to developing *those* 
character traits?"
Moi: "Gee, I'm sorry if I've been unfair to you, Nat. You know how 
much I respect and admire your intelligence and your strength. I guess 
I was afraid that all that toughness and independence came at a pretty 
high price, and I wanted to give you a chance to let out some of the 
anguish I knew you must have been feeling."
Nat: <sniff> "I...I guess things have been kinda rough lately. <dabs 
at eyes> I'm sorry if I snapped at you. It's just...just..." <bursts 
into tears>
Moi: <cradling her gently> "Shhh, it's okay. Oh honey, don't worry, 
it'll all work itself out. Everything is going to be fine, you'll see"

But of course, I knew that it wasn't. Damn, I hate being the writer 
sometimes.

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com>
Setting: FK Season 3 - Hovering around the vicinity of 'Ashes'

Part 18 - Curtain Calls

"You've been making some pretty big waves, Viv," remarked a familiar 
husky voice from behind me. "Or so I've heard."

"Vachon," I smiled and turned to give him a hug. "It's been a while. I 
was beginning to wonder."

"Wonder what?"

"If you had decided to leave, or..." My throat caught suddenly.

"Or taken more drastic, irreversible action?" His dark eyes stared 
into mine and I searched for signs of the remorseless killer that I 
now knew him to be.

I saw only Vachon; scruffy and charming as always. I shook my head at 
what 'always' meant with regards to him.

"I'm sorry," I murmured. "I know little of what you are, but I should 
never have doubted who you are."

He blinked in surprise. I don't think he was used to apologies. He 
reached into his jacket and pulled out a golden cocktail umbrella, 
somewhat battered, and handed it to me. I twirled it between my 
fingers and looked at him with a question in my eyes that I already 
knew the answer to.

"It isn't the right time, for either of us," he acknowledged. "At 
first she accepted what I was with astonishing ease, but little by 
little, she began to turn away from the parts that she didn't want to 
see, like doors slamming between us."

"No windows that you could slip through?"

"There are always windows," he affirmed with a little smile. "But 
that's not what I wanted. Not with Tracy." I nodded.

"Yes, I can see that. So, what's it to be?"

"I'll look after her, make sure she's safe and be her contact to the 
dark world of the 'strange and supernatural'. Eventually I'll be able 
to move on and she can tell her grandchildren stories about her tame 
vampire."

"You don't look so tame to me."

"Ahh, you should have seen me in the early days. I'm a pussycat by 
comparison."

"Miss them, do you?"

He shrugged. "Some things, maybe. Others..." he looked around and shook 
his head. "There are always compensations." He looked at me piercingly. 
"You're one of them, Viv." He reached out and cupped my jaw gently. His 
kiss was cool and lingering and I felt it to the soles of my feet.

"Oh, Javier," I sighed. "Find me again someday."

"Who can say, querida? In a world where such as I can be, everything 
is possible."

"Au revoir, mon ami de les ombres." I whispered into the emptiness 
where he had been.

~~~
"'We are things of a day. What are we? What are we not? The shadow of 
a dream is man, no more.'(1)"
~~~

"Scotch." Said Natalie. "Better make that a double." I served her and 
waited until she had taken the first gulp and eased into the seat with 
a shudder. I realized then that I should have given more thought to 
how Nick's current struggle would affect her.

"Natalie..." I began.

"Time." She muttered and looked up at me with wide eyes. "There just 
isn't enough time. It's like trying to flatten a penny with a glacier 
instead of placing it on the railroad track."

"Natalie," I reached out and gripped her arm. "Please don't do 
anything foolish. Try and wait a little longer."

"I can't. I'm empty. I don't have anything else to give. He's taken 
all I have, he may as well take the rest."

"You can't mean that."

"Oh, yes. Don't you see? There's a chance. It happened once, it can 
happen again. We've got to try. It's our last hope."

"Natalie, please, there must be another way."

She wrapped her hands around the glass of scotch and said clearly and 
distinctly. "Perhaps there is. But I want it to be me. Can you 
understand that?"

"Yes," I said roughly after several moments. "Yes I can. I only hope 
that it's the right thing."

"It is for me. It's the only thing left for me."

I reached out and gathered her close. "All right." I whispered into 
her hair. "Everything is going to be all right. He loves you. Just 
remember that, no matter what happens, he loves you."

~~~
"'Life is strewn with so many dangers, and can be the source of so 
many misfortunes, that death is not the greatest of them.'(2) But it 
is, inevitably, the last. So do try to be careful out there."
~~~

(1) Pindar
(2) Napoleon I

End Part Eighteen


Lastclaimer: <Creak> Drat, where's that darn flashlight? Ah, here it 
is <click> Wow, it sure is gloomy in here, <cough> and no one's dusted 
in a while, either. <Tiptoe> All right, here's the box. Okay guys, in 
you go. Maybe I could just keep one you? <sigh> No no, they're not 
mine, I have to put them back. <Clunk, snick, tiptoe> Well, there we 
go, all back, just like I found them. I wonder if anyone even noticed 
they were missing? <Creak, thunk, ker-snickt>

Series Title: Pandora's Box
Creation Date: 4/15/97
Author: Erika Wilson <WILSONE1@Westat.com> 
Setting: FK Season 3 - Post-LK

Part 19 - Last Words

~~~
"'When the night was dark above me and the stars with clouds were 
stilled, on his quest the phoenix vanished--and his words are 
unfulfilled'(1)."
~~~

I turned the key in the lock and stood outside where the light through 
the window had once cast its glow on the sidewalk. Now there was only 
darkness. I bowed my head and remembered all that was lost.

~~~
"'Let the stars go out, let the sun withdraw his rays. He was our star 
and our sun'(2)."
~~~

I leaned against the cold brick wall and tears fell down my cheeks in 
rivulets that seemed to freeze against my skin. Gone. They were all 
gone. I didn't want to believe it. I didn't want to believe that I 
might have been part of the cause.

~~~
"'In the dead night-time I begin my song, when two alone awake, my 
pain and I. Beneath my skin my bones are turned to dust. My weak eyes 
fall, for they have wept too long'(3)."
~~~

"Yes, weep." The cold voice ordered me from out of the darkness. "For 
there is something of yours in all of this. And something of mine. We 
are none of us blameless."

I looked up into his pale, still face and marveled at the changes I 
saw there. Pain and sorrow from a loss so great that not even the 
armor of two millennia was enough to shield him from it. "Was there 
nothing...?"

"Some words that could have been said? Some deed that might have been 
done?" He shook his head. "I do not know. The possibility that there 
might have been will be my companion for some length of time, I fear." 
He looked at measuringly. "I can take that burden from you, if you 
like. It would be for the best, really."

I was astonished at his offer and wondered if I could be mistaking 
expedience for solicitude. "Thank you, no. I prefer to live with the 
pain. It helps me know that I'm alive."

"And he always accused me of being twisted." He murmured. "Very well, 
Madame. I hope I don't need to remind you to keep your memories to 
yourself. Otherwise you may not live long enough to enjoy your pain."

I nodded, unable to speak past my suddenly dry throat.

"Then I shall take my leave of you. Oh, and do give my regards to your 
delectable sister." He smiled and disappeared with a sudden rush of 
air.

Like the Cheshire cat, the impression of his smile seemed to linger 
and I shivered uncontrollably.

~~~
"'Down, down, down into the darkness of the grave. Gently they go, the 
beautiful, the tender, the kind; quietly they go, the intelligent, the 
witty, the brave. I know, but I do not approve. And I am not 
resigned.'(4)"
~~~

"No," I whispered. "I am not resigned." I remembered Vachon's words:

'In a world where such as I can be, everything is possible.'

"Yes," I murmured. "Everything *is* possible." I turned from the 
darkened building and felt the warm glow of hope flicker faintly 
within me.


FIN

(1) C. Bialik
(2) Ibid.
(3) Ibid.
(4) Millay


Smelling salts, cold compresses, strong shoulders wearily solicited by 
Erika <WILSONE1@Westat.com>