From: Teleri Subject: Possession, 1 of 1 This is *it,* I promise. I've frittered enough time away, and nearly missed several meetings! (Ack!) As it is, though, a heartfelt thanks to Monica, who transcribed the Canadian scenes from DK Part 2 and made me wonder... until inspiration struck, in the grocery store. Don't let that happen to you when you're holding a 3 kg bag of washing soap. No Natalie, no death, and *no children.* ________________________________________________________________________ Possession Copyright 1995 T.Beaty Comments to: vxurnm01@reading.ac.uk Possession She watched the blond man disappear through the door, something tugging at her heart. She wished . . . she wished he would. . . . Janette shook her head and laughed at her foolishness, tossing her head to let the loose hair swing in a bold gesture. The strands floated like silk across her neck, soft as a lover's caress, a lover's kiss. . . . She frowned at herself and turned back to the bar, upset at her wonderings. At her foolishness. She glanced around the club, noting the emptying corners, the uncrowded dance floor. She checked her watch. Ah, nearly closing time. Good. She took one of the empty seats at the bar, feeling her muscles pull tightly around her bones. She concentrated, trying to push the tension out and down through her chair, to relax. Right. Alma appeared beside her. "Why don't you do something about it?" She raised an eyebrow in question. "Hmm? About what?" "Him." Alma nodded towards the door. "Nick." "And what should I do?" Janette tapped the bar with one manicured finger. "If he's that much of a problem, cut him out. It's not like you'll really feel anything. You'll get over him, right?" Miklos slid a full glass in front of Janette, and she nodded gratefully at the bartender. He nodded back, eyes unreadable, and leaned casually against the wall, facing her. His expression betrayed nothing. She took a sip. "I would, in time." "So why don't you?" Janette stared at her glass, watching the faint light refract from the surface of the deep red liquid. "You wouldn't understand, Alma." "Why do you stick with him, anyway? For the memories? For the past?" She smiled sadly, wistfully. "No," she said softly. "If it were for the past, he would have gone long ago." "You want him, don't you." She told herself firmly not to react. She didn't turn towards him, but moved her face slightly, tilting it in his direction, acknowledging his presence. "He is quite handsome. As are the others." "Yes." His hands came to rest on her shoulders, settling with the weight of a large bird of prey. "But he is the one you want." She shrugged. "He is a Crusader Knight, you know. Just returned." "Indeed." "His name is Nicholas." "Of?" He laughed. "Will it really matter?" She shook her head, slowly, her eyes still on the group of young men in the centre of the hall. They laughed at some joke, their heads tilting, great roars of sound bursting from their throats. She watched them, fascinated. The light gleamed off the bits of armour they'd yet to take off, the firelight glinting off the shining metal and their leader's golden hair. She turned to look at Lacroix, catching herself before she could flinch at the sight of his eyes. He didn't look at her, staring only at the young knight, eyes intent upon that one's figure. Lacroix's eyes were golden, flickering with all the hues of the fire in the hearth. "Men never matter," she said. He laughed, and she shivered at the sound, the throatiness that gently scraped at her skin. He smiled at her. "You amuse me, Janette." His smile widened. "And, because you amuse me so well, I will allow you to amuse yourself. With him." She cocked her head. "I did not realize I needed your permission to take someone," she said archly. The hands were heavier on her shoulders, grinding her down to her bones. "He's mine, Janette," Lacroix said, still staring at the young man. "Be careful you do not kill him in your games. He's mine." She heard him come in the door, slowly, hesitantly, as if unsure of what he'd find. She opened her eyes and watched him blink, walk forward, and stumble. She didn't move from her place by the window, where she was wreathed by the shadows that cloaked the land outside. His head turned from side to side, and she knew he'd sensed her. Even without knowing how, he knew she was there. "Janette?" "You'll get used to it," she said, turning back to the view. He came to stand behind her, and she could feel him, waiting. There, at her back, where, if she closed her eyes, she could feel something--not the golden vitality that had crowned him as a human, but something still more comforting than the implacable presence of Lacroix. "Get used to what?" "Seeing in the night. Your mind does not accept what your eyes see. We all go through it. We all become accustomed to it quickly." "What if I do not want to learn this thing?" She shrugged. "You will, whether you wish to or not." There was silence, and then she heard him shift from one foot to another. "I do not wish to," he said quietly. She said nothing. What was there to say? She felt his forehead touch the back of her neck, his hands creep up to clasp her about the waist. He held on to her tightly, rubbing his head against her skin, as though to rub off some pain. "Take me back," he whispered, his breath skimming along her flesh, tickling it. "Take me back, Janette. Please." She closed her eyes. "I . . . cannot." "Please, Janette, I beg you." "It is too late for that." He lifted his head, though his hands remained about her waist. "So Lacroix told me." "Do not go against his wishes, Nicholas. He is your master now." "My master?" His tone was half-amused, half unbelieving. "There was a time I called no man master, save my king and my God." "Now you need pay respects to none." "Save Lacroix, of course." She nodded curtly. He let her go and came to stand beside her, to stare at the night outside. "He owns me now." "He owns us both." "And yet you led me into this knowingly. You knew what would happen to me, and still you allowed it." "I had no choice," she said evenly. He smiled, sad and lost all at once. "Neither did I." The knowledge whispered to her, as always, waking her from her troubled sleep. The sun, poised on the edge between the two worlds, would soon rise from the netherworld and unfurl its rays over the land, chasing the darkness before it. She sighed. Then she frowned. The bed beside her was empty, no body sprawled across the sheets. Fear shot through her. Lacroix would never forgive her for losing Nicholas so soon! A new vampire, hungry, alone-- As she rose in a flurry of sheets, she realized that no, she was not alone in the room. Nicholas was still in the room. She blinked and opened her mouth, to call him back to the bed-- His sudden scream made her fight her way from under the covers, heedless of her nudity. She was across the room in an eyeblink, but she feared even that was too long. She darted carefully in the shadows, accompanied by his screams. Hurry. Hurry. She made her way to the heavy wooden shutters and slammed them shut, dropping the bar across it with a loud thump. She turned to Nicholas, taken aback by the sounds coming from his throat, raw and fear-filled. His fingers tore at his face. She grabbed his hands, pulling them away with an effort. "Shhh," she soothed. "Nicholas, let me see--" She bit back her words when she saw the burns. His eyes stared wildly at her, through her, and she knew he was blind, that he saw nothing. She touched his face carefully. "Quiet, Nicholas. They will heal in little time. You did no permanent damage, despite your best efforts." He writhed on the floor. "It hurts!" "I thought I told you about the sunlight! It kills, Nicholas! Did you think I was joking last night? What do you think you were doing?" Anger flooded through her. What was the fool trying to do, kill himself? No! She would not let him. He could not leave her, he was here because of her. He was here to join her. He was hers. Her nails bit into his skin. Mine, she thought. You may not leave me. Mine. Nicholas quieted on the floor, and his face turned towards her, sightless eyes gazing at nothing. "I wanted to see the sunrise," he said softly, and she froze, hand going to her mouth. "I wanted to see the sun. I've seen it so many times before, you know. But . . . I don't remember it. I never really saw it." His head drooped to his chest. "I want to see the sun again." "Oh, Nicholas. . . . You cannot." She shook her head, forgetting that he couldn't see. "I wanted to see the sun. Last night . . . you took something from me, you and Lacroix. I could feel it go, but I didn't know what it was. I still don't. I know something's missing, but I cannot tell what it is." His face turned towards her. "Is this what being a vampire is like, Janette? This . . . loss? Will I feel like this forever? You and Lacroix, you promised me everthing . . . but I can no longer feel anything. You've taken that part of me away." "You are better now," she urged, frightened by his words. By his instant understanding of the truth she had struggled with so long, had hidden between Lacroix's riddles of words and the half-truths they lived by. "You have merely lost your mortality." "My mortality." He smiled bitterly. "My humanity, you mean." "You will not die," she insisted, ignoring the cold flagstones that pressed into her bare flesh. "I already did." His voice was sad and lost. "Who am I now, Janette?" "You are Nicholas." "And who is he? No longer Nicholas of Brabant, for he was mortal. No longer son to my father or my mother. No longer Crusader Knight. No longer *man.*" "You are a vampire. Is that not enough?" "You tell me, Janette. Who were you, before? Did you have another name? Live another life, perhaps? Of course. Tell me, Janette, who did you leave behind? What life? What other person--" "Dead." Her voice was flat and cutting. "She is dead." "As I am." He looked down, sightless eyes staring. "And now, all I had, all I was--gone. I am Lacroix's. Nothing else. Not lover, not son, not friend. I am simply . . . Lacroix's." She kissed him then, leaning forward to stop the breath, the heart, the forbidden words. She thrust her tongue into his mouth and swallowed all the sounds, all the memories, all the pain. It was better that he should not say the words. Better. She kissed him and stole away the words. And later, when he cried tears that streamed down his burnt face, she stole those too. "My lady?" She blinked, eyelids fluttering against some surface. Her cheek was pressed against something smooth and cool. She raised her head. Miklos nodded at her, wiping down the clean glasses. She looked around. "We've closed," he said. "It's late." "Alma?" Her mouth was dry. He stopped and, bending down, set her unfinished glass in front of her. "You obviously weren't interested in talking. I suggested she help lock up." His face suggested cool disinterest. "Dreams?" "Memories." She took a healthy swallow. "Good ones?" "In the past. Where they belong." "Where you can forget." "No." She smiled humourlessly. "Not us." He tilted his head at her. "Where you can forgive, then." "Sometimes you can't." She traced the rim of her glass with a finger. "And sometimes . . . you shouldn't." "It hurts to hold onto it, though." "Sometimes it's all you have." She shrugged. "It still hurts, though." "We are responsible for our own actions," she said slowly, "but sometimes we have to accept that the consequences are not . . . of our choosing." Miklos watched her, eyes calm. "You should tell him that." "Who?" "Nick." She stammered, her mouth opening and closing. He shrugged and picked up another glass. "We have to make our own choices," he said. His eyes were still on her. "Eventually." He set the last glass down with a sharp click and raised one eyebrow. "I'm finished here. Need anything else?" His hand settled gently over hers. She stared at his hand. What would her life be, without Nicholas? Without his voice, his touch? No love, no laughter, without him. Without his golden beauty to keep back the darkness, to stand beside her in the night. Without him, there would only be the night. There would only be Lacroix. Who would wipe her tears away? Janette looked up at Miklos, gently sliding her hand out from under his. "No, thank you." She smiled, a sad, sweet smile. No tears. She owed them to Nicholas. She could give him back that one thing, that thing that was hers to give. "I'll be fine." Miklos nodded and left, and she remained, alone in the bar, sipping at her drink, feeling the rising of the sun outside. There were no tears. =========================================================================