From: Dorothy Elggren To: "'fkarchiver@FKFANFIC.COM'" Subject: Archival Story - Shadows and Ghosts Date: Fri, 11 Jul 1997 23:28:37 -0600 Date: Mon, 7 Jul 1997 17:18:12 -0600 From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Shadows and Ghosts - Part 1of 4 This story is the result of reality and the world of Forever Knight colliding. Over a year ago, a neighbor and friend lost her husband of over 40 years. As a close friend I've watched her deal with anger and rage at his leaving her behind. There has been denial, hopelessness, fear, and confusion as she tried to figure out who she is without him and what to do with her life. So.... over and over I've contemplated how Janette would feel if Nick is truly dead. We are not talking a mere 40 or so years, but 800 years of continuity between them, no matter how the relationship ebbed and flowed. If LK truly ended in Nick and Nat's death. What would she do, how would she react, what effect would it have on her life, and her view of life? How much of Nick's guilt would bleed over into her life, given the events of Human Factor? And so this story finally emerged. It is Janette's viewpoint. It may not be reality, or even rational, but then emotional perception of events seldom are. It is ironic that Last Knight recently aired again, but then that's life. Since I don't get Sci-Fi (snarl) this is merely coincidence that I'm posting it now. Oh... you may want to have a hankie handy. It was a hard story to write, it may be hard to read. As always these guys aren't mine. WE know who owns them and we really wish they would take better care of them... Shadows and Ghosts - Part 1 copyright 1997 by Dorothy Elggren The street was crowded even for this late at night, people danced about exuberantly, anticipating the Super Bowl to be played the next day. Throngs of merrymakers ebbed and flowed, spilling into the street. Laughter accented the night's sounds. She sat alone at the tiny table, one of many that fronted the club, slowly sipping her drink, watching the crowds. Around her, the music throbbed, but she was oblivious--an island of solitude in the midst of celebration. Perhaps, she thought, she should have left town until all of *this* was over. But she'd had commitments. A wry smile briefly crossed her face at that. Commitments. Of a kind she would never have imagined a few years ago. The clock from a nearby church struck the hour--2 a.m. Only here, she mused, in this city, were the nights teeming with such ribald, raw life. She liked New Orleans. It suited her. Very much. Suddenly her eyes were riveted on the man a few feet away from of her, walking past, chatting with friends. His burnished-gold hair glinted under the neon lights. The way he turned his head, the way he walked. She knew it couldn't be, but... She stood abruptly, anxious, knowing it could not be, but... Suddenly she couldn't see him anywhere in the tidal wave of people. She had to know. She had to! She threaded her way through the tables and onto the street, catching a brief glint of gold. It couldn't be, it couldn't be, it couldn't be... She repeated it with every hurried step as she pushed through the crowd, trying to catch up. Everything conspired against her attempt to reach him. A beefy man suddenly fell into her path laughing, his breath so heavily laden with alcohol, he made her step back. "Hi there, honey," he leered as he grabbed her, "whaa d' ya say...owww!" He jumped back rubbing the arm she had wrenched, staring in puzzlement as she moved past him, oblivious to his advances. Frantically she looked for him. He was gone! No, there he was. She shoved her way through, hurrying. Reaching out, she grabbed his shoulder. "Nicolas...," she said. He turned and looked at her, puzzled. Janette looked into the startled blue eyes of a stranger. He looked so much like him, but...it wasn't him. "I'm sorry," she said, grief-stricken. "I thought you were someone else." A smile crossed his face. "That's okay." He looked at the petite woman, with her hair falling softly down around her shoulders, and felt a sudden attraction. "Maybe," he asked hopefully, "I could be his substitute?" Janette shook her head regretfully, tears suddenly making her eyes darkly luminous in the neon-lit night. "No. No, I don't think so, I'm sorry, I..." "Are you all right?" Nicolas' double asked, doubtfully. Janette willed a smile onto her face. "Yes, I'm fine. I'm sorry to bother you." "No, please...don't go," he said his hand quietly touching her sleeve. She looked down at it, feeling foolish. She knew it couldn't be him, and yet, after all this time, she still would see his face in the crowd. She still looked for him. "Can I get you a drink or something? You really look pale..." Janette looked up into his kind face, and relented. He looked so much like her Nicolas. "I have a table at that club over there--Nightwind," she said as she pointed. Then she smiled briefly. "Or at least, I had one when I left so suddenly, thinking you were...," Janette stopped suddenly, feeling bereft. He smiled and finished the sentence, "thinking I was...Nee-co-lah." He said the syllables carefully, copying her enunciation--the sound an odd echo, muted by his southern accent. "I'm not, but maybe for tonight, I can be his stand-in." With that he took her elbow and guided her back towards Nightwind's discordant music. "I'm Rob Stewart," he said in his soft southern accent. "From Enterprise, Alabama. And you are?" Janette smiled kindly upon him as they arrived back at her table, surprisingly still empty, with her wine glass perched in lonely state upon it. "Janette," she said. "Janette de Brabant," as she signaled the waiter. She wondered if it was fate that his name should be Rob. Robert... "Are you here for the game?" he asked as they sat. Janette laughed. "Non. I have very little interest in football, it makes time seem like an eternity, but I presume you are?" "Yeah, sort of. My friends. Oh." He turned and looked back at the street. Shrugging he looked back at her. "My friends," Rob said, "decided we should come, and so here we are. We were just seeing the sights. I doubt they even noticed I'm not with them anymore." He grinned suddenly. "There's a lot more to see here than there is in Enterprise, that's for sure. All we have is a statue to the boll-weevil, and an army base." Janette stared at him, seeing suddenly another face, another set of eyes. "I guess you live around here then?" Rob asked, stopping her from sinking into her memories. "Yes. I've lived in New Orleans for a little over three years, now. It is a very interesting city--very french. I feel very much at home." The waiter stopped at their table. Rob looked at him. "Could I have a beer, please?" He looked at Janette enquiringly. "I'm fine," she said softly, looking down at her drink of blood-cut wine. He watched her face for a moment. Shadows seemed to play across it. Infinite sadness seeped from her. "Let me help," he said impulsively. "Tell me about Nee-co-lah. It might help to talk about it." Janette looked up surprised as his perceptive kindness. This stranger with his face so much like Nicolas'. She stared into his gentle eyes, the color of sun-drenched bluebells, and looked at his wavy gold-dusted hair and saw Nicolas looking out at her... "How badly do you want me?" Memories tumbled in flashes of color and sound, blocking out the present...The knight, drinking deeply of his ale had looked up and met her eyes--and been riveted at her teasing, seductive query... "How badly do you want me?" In that moment he had been lost, made her captive--she just hadn't known until much, much later, that she too had been made a captive that night so long ago. He had been so beautiful. He had always been beautiful, no matter how angry, dirty, frustrated, wicked, happy, sad, or depressed. Light lived behind his eyes. The light that LaCroix had never, ever been able to extinguish... "Janette?" Rob asked, as she stared into him, through him, seeing ghosts that left haunted shadows on her pale, luminous face. "I've a good shoulder to cry on, and I am sincere about this. I don't know why, but when I looked into your face, I...I felt I had to help you. Is that crazy?" "No...," Janette whispered. She focused on him. She would talk to him. For tonight, he was Nicolas, this stranger who took pity on her, and if anyone could understand, it would be Nicolas. Tonight he would be her confessor, and she would tear the burden from her heart and let him absolve her... "Yes...it would help to talk. I've never talked about it...I've never been able to..." She blinked back tears that formed, rebellious tears that seemed to ignore that decades-old order that she would not, NOTNOTNOT cry. "I was so angry with him, with Nicolas. He saved my life when I did not want it saved--not at that price. I did not want it. I wanted to be the person I had so unexpectedly become over a very fateful six months. It was if all the hardness of my soul had melted and a beautiful, fresh rose grew inside of me. To save my life, he had to kill it--and I let him. It was not all his fault. I chose it, too. Rather than die, I chose it, too..." Janette looked at Rob's troubled face, as he tried to follow her odd narrative. She smiled, her dimple suddenly radiant on her face. "I know you do not understand, but it is the only way I can talk about this--without touching upon some things that are best left unsaid--to anyone." "It's okay, if I don't understand, as long as it lets you remove that heavy burden I think you are carrying," Rob/Nicolas said, as he reached out and covered her hand with his. Janette looked down at his strong hand, and suddenly saw Nicolas' hand covering hers, felt him straining to kiss her on that night when she had seduced him into darkness. "Brave Knight. Brave Crusader Conquerer. Are you ready to be conquered?" "Yes!" LaCroix had held her mind tightly that night. It was the only time she had ever, ever been able to seduce a mortal so completely, thoroughly, and not kill him--until... because of LaCroix. They had both wanted him, from the moment they saw him. So filled with that something, that undefinable something that was Nicolas... In the flickering darkness of the candlelit chamber, she'd stripped away his cloak, sword, and mortality. His kisses had been honey-sweet, his touch, the gentle-strong touch of his hands, his body under hers, the desire in his eyes, had stolen her heart. "Brave Crusader. Strong, good, defender of the cross, who are you really?" Janette looked at Rob. "I knew him most of my life. I loved him, and hated him, and loved him. But I don't know if I ever knew who he really was. I knew him intimately, and yet...I never understood what he wanted and needed most." Janette suddenly gripped her glass and took a drank deep, needing it, wanting it, just to survive the intense emotions battering the fortress of her mind and heart. "I took something from him the night we met. His humanity. His soul. His redemption. And he searched to find them for the rest of his life in one way or another. And I don't know even now if he found what he sought. And...God forgive me...I never got a chance to say goodbye. I never got to say I loved him, and I forgave him. I was so angry...I miss him so..." Janette's voice, usually so smooth, so suave, broke and cracked with sorrow and grief. Pain racked her and tore her apart on the tiny island she shared with her confessor in the middle of the sea of teeming, celebrating, humanity. Rob slid his chair around, and quietly put his arm around her as her facade crumbled, and Janette faced the unalterable truth. "He's dead, isn't he?" Rob asked in a whisper, that thundered in her ears. Janette stared at him. Seeing Nicolas, with his infinite compassion spanning the gap between them. "Yes..." End Part 1 I can't hold back the tide, neither can you. -- Janette, A More Permanent Hell Date: Mon, 7 Jul 1997 17:20:28 -0600 From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Shadows and Ghosts - Part 2 of 4 Shadows and Ghosts - Part 2 copyright 1997 by Dorothy Elggren She remembered with searing clarity the moment. She had been shopping, building her new wardrobe, so very different from what she'd previously worn. The Janette she had become with Robert had not completely disappeared when Nicolas had brought her back across. She felt softer, gentler, more compassionate than passionate, and her attire was changing to match. That particular night, she had been contemplating buying a soft pastel blue skirt when the first intimation of disaster had pealed in her mind. Nicolas' pain had been building all night. She had pointedly ignored it, putting up brick walls against him. It was bad enough he'd brought her back over, but couldn't he keep his pathetic, depressing emotions to himself? And then the hammer-blow of pain had brought her literally to her knees. She had gasped and buckled at the pain radiating from him. The clerk had been at her side anxiously asking if she needed help. Janette, so caught up in his pain, could hardly comprehend what she was saying. Then it had receded, as if the tide was slowly flowing out again. She stood and shakily made her way to her car, the skirt forgotten as the pain came and went like waves breaking upon the rocky shore. Sitting in her car, Janette wondered what he had done now that caused such guilt and pain to flow from his shore to hers--and what she should do about it. She was still angry. Why couldn't he leave her alone, leave her in peace--maybe in 50 or 100 years she would be able to talk to him without wanting to break his legs, but not now. Not now... White lightning shot through her, an excruciating bolt of pain. She'd cried out, screaming his name, but it echoed oddly in her head as suddenly there was nothing there. Nothing. Nothing but an echoing silence, as if she'd dropped a pebble into a deep well; she listened but never heard it reach the bottom. He was gone, the link snapped, completely. There was no pain. There was no emotion, only an eerie stillness. Incredulous she sat there in stunned, shocked, unbelieving silence. "Nicolas...," she whimpered. A sudden pain forced itself into her throat. She couldn't swallow. Her breath suddenly came in shallow gasps, and her eyes filled with tears, that spilled over and ran unchecked down her face. "No. Please, no. Nicolas..." She sent the cry out, but there was no link to carry it, and it battered the inside of her skull. Janette began to weep inconsolably. Leaning on the steering wheel, she wept and felt her heart shatter and break into a thousand fragments. "Janette?" Rob asked anxiously. She looked at him from a great distance, caught up in the memory. "Yes," she said at last, "he's dead. And I wasn't there to stop it." Janette was silent. Rob gulped his beer, wondering if he wasn't in over his head. Her pain seemed to fill the air. It crackled around them, yet no one else noticed. He looked at her petite frame, dark purple-blue eyes, and full lips. He wondered about the unknown Nicolas. How could he have not wanted her. Rob wanted her, and he didn't even know her. As if she read his thoughts, Janette said quietly, "From the moment I saw him, I wanted him. I wanted him more than I had ever wanted anything before..." Janette had stood looking down at Nicolas' still, white face, as he lay there, unconscious, his hair strewn about him. He was dying--leaving his mortal life behind. LaCroix waited restlessly at her elbow--waiting to call Nicolas back. Janette felt desire twist within her and moved forward, compelled. She leaned down and slowly kissed his still, soft lips. Stepping back, she'd stared at his face, and felt a hunger only he could satisfy... "Oh I want him..." LaCroix cut his wrist and held it over Nicholas' mouth. "Come back to me, Nicholas!" he demanded, and Nicolas had suddenly reached out with fury, grabbed the proffered wrist and drank deeply the rich, dark nectar of his blood. Janette held Nicolas' other hand to her breast as he drank his fill. Sated, he let LaCroix' wrist go and pulled Janette to him, kissing her with new-found passion. Of all the nights they had spent in each other's arms, that one stood out. Everything so new, so exciting. Nicolas' exploring his new powers with exuberance--free of any guilt or despair. He'd loved her and loved her, until the dawn had crept into the sky. Then he'd slept in her arms, spent. When he woke, LaCroix brought him his first meal, and he'd taken the first step into despair. "...and Nicolas wanted me. Enough to sacrifice his family, his way of life, everything. LaCroix offered him the gift, and he took it. Not until too late, did he think to ask the price. In the end, the price was too high, and he could not pay it." Rob looked at her, puzzled at the dark tone her narrative was taking. "Who is LaCroix?" he asked, and on it's heels, "what price?" Janette reached over and clasped his hand. "LaCroix is...LaCroix," she shrugged. "I suppose you could say he played father to us both for many years. On his terms. I know Nick felt he was a slave, caught, trapped in LaCroix' grasp. And I...I suppose I had traded one master for another. Nicolas was not happy, he felt betrayed...and they fought all the time." She looked intently at Rob and stroked his hand softly, fascinated with the warmth and the beating, fluttering pulse within. "The price, I suppose, was his soul." "I want to go back!" "It's much too late for that, now." "You've made me a murderer!" "I made you a God!" She had overheard that particular conversation between LaCroix and Nicolas, only hours after he first killed. No, Janette thought, Nicolas had not wanted it, once he fully understood. Once he had killed. Janette looked up at the full moon rising, promising light and life. "And yet," she said looking at Rob, "he was happy at times. We were happy. I remember a night in springtime. The cherry blossoms were so thick, the air heavy and sweet with their perfume, and a full moon's light made the world glow. It was the first time he told me that he loved me. No one had ever told me they loved me before. No one...." Petals drifted down around them in the silver-tinted light. Nicolas, laughing, swung Janette around and around. "It's a beautiful night tonight. You are beautiful, Janette. He fetched up against a tree with Janette in his arms. Petals fluttered down and kissed them as they dropped like soft spring snow around them. He stared into her eyes, his arms tightening. "I love you, Janette. I love you so very, very much. Without you..." Words were inadequate for his needs and he found her lips with his and kissed her with a gentle passion. Janette, laughing, leaned back against his arms and spread her arms wide. "Do you hear that? Nicolas loves me," She shouted, feeling a joyous rapture spill into her heart. He held her close, staring into her eyes. "Do you really love me, Nicolas?" she whispered, now quiet, unable to really believe anyone could love her. "Oh, yes..." His heart-felt answer made her feel whole, and she kissed him fiercely. They sank down onto a bed of cherry petals as he made love to her, as no one but Nicolas could. "In the end, though, I was frightened by his love. It was so powerful, so consuming. I felt smothered." "I couldn't accept the depth of his feeling for me, I wasn't used to that." "And I was the one who ran away. I told myself I wanted to grow, to be different, that I was bored. But I was afraid of all that love. I destroyed his love. I threw it all away." "Did you really think that we could share all of eternity? Do not think that this is easy, Nicolas, Or that I am without pain, But it is enough. It is time for me to go." "It is not like I never saw him again, or that we didn't share moments and memories after that, but it was not the same. He held his heart aloof, and he walked alone," Janette murmured. "That was his choice, then," Rob said, "not yours. He made his choices, too, didn't he?" "She was a victim!" "So was I. So were you. So was every vampire in the beginning. Seduced by one thing or another. Ignorant of the consequences." "I don't know...," Janette whispered, finally facing the heart of the matter. Reality intruded on their solitary island fortress. "Would you like anything else?" the waiter asked. Rob jerked back startled. He'd never heard or noticed his approach. He had been too engrossed in Janette's story. In surprise, he realized he'd emptied his glass, and so had Janette. "Uh, yeah, that would be great. Another beer, please. Janette?" he asked. "Yes," she said, "I'll have another of the ... house special." The waiter nodded and disappeared. "What do you mean," Rob asked, "you don't know? Do you feel responsible for the choices that led to his death? Did he commit suicide?" Janette stared at him as if he spoke a foreign language that could not be interpreted, or understood. For a moment, only the noisy crowd around them could be heard like a distant babble. But before she could answer, the waiter reappeared with their drinks, and placed them down. Janette stared at the blood-wine in front of her in despair. It was the blood, the hunger, and the killing Nicolas had run from, but could never hide from; never escape. In the end, he must have been so weary of fighting, so tired... She looked at Rob. "After I left, I think he turned inward, and began to brood upon his fate, his choices, and how much he hated the life he had. At first he threw himself into it and embraced it. You might say it was his wicked period. He was reckless and dangerous..." "Oh, LaCroix! Where's your sense of adventure?" "He challenged everything that LaCroix had taught him. He was a devil. But then he began to change and he was filled with so much remorse and self-hatred. He couldn't see the good in himself, only the evil. While I was there, he could find balance, but when I left, I think he lost his balance, and then eventually..." "You can't blame yourself for his choices, Janette!" "Can't I? If I had stayed, we might both have been happy. I wouldn't be here alone, facing eternity without him, and he wouldn't be dead!" "You don't know that. No one can see the future. No one can ever know what will cause people to commit suicide." Rob looked at her quizzically, his expression so much like Nicolas', that her heart broke. She shook her head. "Nicolas was always so naive. He always believed it was possible because he wanted it. And when it wasn't, he could never accept it..." "Oh, Nicolas, you are so naive. You are such an eternal boy!" "He was not like Romeo, you know, though--endlessly in a downward spiral," Janette said thoughtfully, as she sipped her drink. "He had his moments. In fact, I think he was very happy when he thought LaCroix was dead. I think he had hope during that time. He believed he was winning." Janette sighed and leaned her head on her hands. "Why did he think LaCroix was dead?" Rob asked, curious. This whole story was curious. Something about it set him on edge. He wondered if he had entered the Twilight Zone. Janette laughed, mirthlessly. "Because he killed him. Nicolas went after him and killed him. Or so he thought. LaCroix is very hard to kill. He just waited until Nicolas was content and then he came back--he tried to destroy Nicolas' life. He didn't succeed, either. So I suppose they were even. And they left it alone for a while..." End Part 2 You don't have any idea what it's like trying to live with this kind of guilt. And living with that guilt is payment enough. -- Lt. Drake, Can't Run, Can't Hide Date: Mon, 7 Jul 1997 17:22:05 -0600 From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Shadows and Ghosts - Part 3 of 4 Shadows and Ghosts - Part 3 copyright 1997 by Dorothy Elggren Rob just shook his head. It was becoming more bizarre by the moment. He didn't think he wanted to know how LaCroix had escaped. It was probably better he didn't know. "But after LaCroix returned," Janette continued, "things slowly spun out of control. Even so, it was during that time that he forgave me for leaving him. It was so unexpected. He showed up at my club and left the painting there on the bar..." "Painting?" Rob asked before he could help himself. "Yes. I had a painting commissioned, and I wanted it when I left him. Nicolas was very angry; he wouldn't let me take it." "Nessuno negoziare, the painting is mine!" "Very well. As a memento. When I see Leonardo, I'll commission another." "I unwrapped it, and I was overwhelmed. I turned around and he was standing there watching me, looking so shy and unsure of what I would do. In that moment I loved him all over again..." "Friends?" "Maybe more..." Janette close her eyes and remembered the moment. His look, his surprise at her words. How he had tentatively and then hungrily kissed her when she came into his arms. A night of passion, love and desire, and then his guilt had begun to fester. His love for Natalie stood between them. He was always so honorable, so concerned with doing the right thing--when he didn't seem to know what the right thing was. So very Nicolas... "I would always go when he called. Whenever he needed me. I don't think he realized that. Sometimes he was so blind..." "Nicolas..." "I wasn't sure you would come." "We all have our needs...and it's been so long." "Even when he needed me, he couldn't stay, he always denied what he was, what he needed. He denied himself happiness, because happiness required him to be at peace with himself." "I like it when you need me." "I'm sorry I used you." "And I you. We have needs, Nicolas, just as mortals do." "I shouldn't have!" "Are you saying that you didn't want to?" "No. It's not that. It's just that I have to fight so hard to control it. I HAVE to control it!" "Not with me. Never with me." "And I was wrong. I thought I could get him back. I thought that his need for me, his desire, his love would overcome any obstacle. But I was wrong. And I lost him..." "Look. The light is coming. Come and sleep the day with me. Can it not be like it was for just a brief time?" "I can't." Janette remembered how he had fled, and yet, he had come back, too needy to stay away. But eventually the idyll had been over. He found his control and went back to his mortal life, his mortal job, and Natalie--his mortal hope. "For all his knowledge, he never understood women," Janette said sadly, staring into her drink, "not me, and certainly not Natalie..." "Natalie?" Rob asked startled. "Who is Natalie?" Janette shook her head, regret in her eyes. "Natalie was...his last love, his hope, and I suppose his heart. He pinned all his hope and faith in her and her abilities. He believed she could help him find a way out. But there was no way out, and when he fell, he pulled her down, too. She was his last victim. When she died--he had nothing left to hope in--and he chose death. He chose to follow her, rather than go on..." Janette choked on the words, her throat suddenly closing down, and tears once again threatening. "Damn him! He knew better!" "And what if we take these lives seriously?" "Then we get hurt, Nicolas. You know that. We get hurt." "He knew what would happen! He knew!" she whispered as her face crumpled, and she struggled for supremacy over her wayward emotions. Rob struggled to keep up with the revelations that fell like rain. "He killed her? Did I understand that? He killed Natalie?" Janette tilted her head and looked at Rob, and saw in his incredulous eyes, Nicolas' disbelief and denial, too. "Yes, he killed her. He loved her, and that doomed her. Loving Nicolas put her at great risk. I did not know what had happened for a very long time. I didn't want to know, but eventually LaCroix' path crossed mine, and he told me. Natalie wanted more than Nicolas could give. More than was safe, and out of love for her, he tried. And failed. And Natalie died--Nicolas' choice. He could have saved her--but he believed that would be more damning than dying. LaCroix found Nick weeping over her, his heart broken, his will destroyed. He told LaCroix that she had faith in him. Faith. Foolish Nicolas, foolish Natalie. Faith!" Janette spat the words out angrily in her pain. "He believed her when she told him that they would be together. In his eyes, the only way they could be together was in death! So Nicolas asked LaCroix to kill him, and nothing LaCroix could say, none of his words could change his mind. And LaCroix is very...persuasive." Rob stared, suddenly pale at this tale of darkness and death. Realizing his mouth was open, he shut it and swallowed. The story's darkness had suddenly become deadly and frightening. Janette was talking calmly about murder and carnage as if it were an every day occurrence. Timidly he asked, "What did he do, then?" Janette looked at him, anger sparking her eyes. "He killed him. LaCroix killed him! What do you think? Nicolas forgave LaCroix for all the pain he'd caused him, and told him that he was--had been his best friend. LaCroix thought Nicolas believed he was the devil. Nicolas could have said anything else, done anything else, and LaCroix would merely have told him to grow up and move on. But when he finally gave LaCroix what he had wanted--desired from him since they met, LaCroix could not deny him. Nicolas found his humanity--after all this time. He found his humanity through faith!" Janette spoke brokenly through the tears in her voice. "In a way, Natalie did succeed. She helped him find his lost faith and humanity. Those precious gems I took from him the night I seduced him, and gave him to LaCroix!" Rob stared at her, his eyes wide, whether in fear or surprise, Janette didn't know, nor did she care. The dam had broken, and all her pent up anger spilled out, gushing into the break. "LaCroix killed him. In the end, he could not deny his beloved Nicolas. He could not bear to see him suffer any longer, so he let him go, he gave him his freedom and the peace he has sought for so very long. And neither of us has ever recovered." Before her, Rob blurred and became Nicolas. Her Nicolas. She stared at him and whispered, "Oh, Nicolas, it's just like you. Just like you. You never found a way to enjoy the good parts, or get past the hunger. You always disagreed with everything. And nothing we could do could ever, ever hold you. You sought the light you lost that night. I told you once that only the richness of the night and the darkness of your soul would satisfy you. I was wrong. Only the light could ease your pain and sorrow and give you joy. Does the light truly make you happy? Does it? I hope it was worth it! Because without you, the light has gone out of my life. You were my light. My only light. And you know what? You were LaCroix', too. He is not the same old bastard anymore. You finally won. You broke his heart." Rob swallowed convulsively as she stared deep into his soul. He felt pinned--stuck, like a bug in molasses--under her steady gaze. His heartbeat thrummed in his head, and he felt odd, almost as if he were floating buoyantly in a sea of swirling blood. He felt afraid of the death he saw in her eyes. Janette suddenly saw Rob staring in horror at her, as Nicolas faded from view. She closed her eyes briefly in sorrow, and then pressing into his mind, she whispered, "Close your eyes, Rob, and listen to me..." Rob closed his eyes, slowly, his face going slack. "I'm sorry," Janette said softly, "that you had to hear all this. You will forget this. All of it. You will remember instead that we enjoyed a couple of drinks and a dance. And then I had to go. Rob, go back to your life among the living. Go and enjoy it. Enjoy it for yourself, and for Nicolas...and me" She paused and looked at him. "You do look so very much like Nicolas. Thank you for being him, for giving me a chance to say to him what I have been unable to say." She paused again, and then with tears in her eyes. "I love you, Nicolas." She looked down at her drink, and abruptly finished it. Placing money on the table, she gave Rob one last command. "You will wait thirty seconds and then open your eyes and return to your friends." Rising, she swiftly left the club's sidewalk cafe, and was already out of view when Rob slowly opened his eyes. He looked around puzzled for a moment, not sure what had happened, then with a shrug rose and left, in search of his friends. ***** Fists clenched, she walked down the sidewalk. "Fool," she said. Tears threatened to overwhelm her yet again. She struggled for composure, and knew she had to get out of this crowd. Her throat suddenly felt as if a large rock had taken up residence there. The weight in her heart was too much too bear. After all this time, it still was too much to bear... She took the first side street she came to, and began to run, into the darkness, into the quiet, away from her thoughts. A few blocks later she fetched up against an ornate iron railing fence. She grasped it and leaned her head against the cold iron bars and let the tears fall unchecked down her cheeks. The iron slowly bent in her hand, deforming to her will. Realizing what she was doing, Janette pushed it back and stepped away uncertainly. The bar canted slightly, but Janette left it alone as she looked through the railing and saw she was at the Chuch of the Madelaine. Staring at the open door, she slowly wiped her tears away, and then inexorably, felt herself drawn into the church. She stood in the doorway, fighting the panic that the cross, all the religious faith concentrated here caused, and then finally, firmly she stepped into the candlelit church and slowly walked past the baptistry and sat quietly in the last pew. She hadn't been in a church in over a thousand years, and even now the panic ebbed and flowed around her, but she quelled it. In niches around her, candles burned before saints. A women knelt in front of one, murmuring quietly over her prayers. Along the walls were paintings--one at each of the twelve stations of the cross. A man, no, a priest, stood in meditation before one. Nicolas had always held onto his religion, somewhere in his heart, through every century. He never had been able to purge himself of his belief. He'd always felt damned because of what he was. She had never understood. And yet that was what had been the best of him, too. That light shining within her fallen Knight. It had always attracted her, her and LaCroix. End Part 3 This truth is simply the truth. It must be confronted. It must be accepted. -- The Guide, Near Death Date: Mon, 7 Jul 1997 17:25:03 -0600 From: Dorothy Elggren Subject: Shadows and Ghosts - Part 4 of 4 Shadows and Ghosts - Part 4 copyright 1997 by Dorothy Elggren She stared at her hands, twisting knots in her skirt, and remembered once again the light behind his eyes. So many images. They crowded around her, the good times, the bad. So many... She closed her eyes and caught at one particular image--when Lucy Preston had brought memories of Sylvaine to the surface. "It's going to haunt you until you talk about it." "My whole life haunts me." At first he had refused, then he had come to the Raven to talk to her. He had let it all come tumbling out... "I killed her for betraying my fantasy." "She was only a human woman, Nick." "I needed her to be more than that, and in the end, I condemned her to be less." They had been interrupted, but later he had finished the tale at the loft. He had been so sad, so very sad and quiet as he admitted to placing Sylvaine on a pedestal of purity, and then killing her for loving evil. She could still feel his devastation, what he'd felt when LaCroix had tricked him. It was perhaps the best summary there was in her memories of Nicolas' tortured life. "I never knew exactly what had happened. I only knew that it was then you withdrew from us, that you stopped killing." "In a strange way, he did me a big favor." "How?" "He made me realized the complete hypocrisy of killing only the guilty. There is no distinction between guilty and innocent blood. The truth is, we are the guilty, they are the innocent. He stopped me from killing. In fact, he stopped me from killing, all together." "So it was LaCroix and his little joke that backfired. But then again, I suppose you got your revenge." "Oh yes! I got my revenge." The duality of his nature. The killer and the knight. They could not, would not, merge. They had existed in an uneasy truce for almost 800 years. But the knight with his faith had finally won. "Don't you see that I have to try. I can't be this anymore. I can't." The words echoed in her mind. Odd she couldn't remember exactly when he'd said them. Perhaps because he'd said them so many, many times. In the end, it was true. He couldn't be a vampire anymore. "Poor Nicolas, tortured by a soul he hasn't got." Janette slowly looked up at the altar at the front of the church. She stared at the candles burning there, and shuddered with fear--and longing. "Nicolas," she whispered, "are you happy, now? Have you finally found the peace you sought for so long, and never found?" There was no answer. Only stillness. Janette closed her eyes once more, and felt tears leaking out. She wiped them away, grateful that in the candlelit darkness, no one would notice their color. She wept quietly, finally accepting that he was gone. Nicolas was dead, and had been for forty-two years. She wished she could have prevented it, with all her heart, but she had left, to try and stop the fissures in her shell from developing into a full-fledged case of guilt like Nicolas'. Instead she had run head-long into her fate in Montreal. She had found love with Robert, and with his death, she had found mortality--an unlooked for gift. The ultimate irony. She had gained, without trying, what Nicolas had searched for over the course of eight centuries. And he had taken it away from her. Nicolas. Her lover, her brother, her son, her friend, her enemy--and last of all, her master. He had taken away that mortality because he could not bear to live without her. Another irony, that. Deep bitter irony. Because of it, she had left full of anger and rage. And while she was gone, trying to come to terms with this latest twist of fate, Nicolas had slipped away. Slipped over the edge, slipped out of view... Gone. So much irony. She stared back at more choices she had made because of his death. She had brooded for a long time over the fact that more than anything he had needed a good psychiatrist to help him work through it. There were none that a screwed up vampire, such as Nicolas, or herself, for that matter could go to. One thing led to another. Like winter followed fall, and night the day. The path had beckoned her, becoming a shining light calling to her. She had finally, fearfully used her powers to gain entrance into the best school. She studied, worked, and struggled and at last became a psychiatrist--a very good one, too. Something she could never have imagined before Montreal, before Nicolas' death. "You chase me like a shadow, Nicolas," Janette thought. She had changed so very much--because of Nicolas. Compassion was her passion now. She ran a small clinic here in New Orleans; had done so now, for three years. Before that, she had run her clinic for ten years in Vancouver. The clinic served the poor, mortal poor, during the early evening. Later in the night, it served another clientele. She had been amazed at how many of her own kind there were who came. There were many who needed help for as many reason as there were vampires. They were not immune to the diseases of the soul and mind. And she had helped all of them. But until now, she had never helped herself. "and you haunt me like a ghost," Because she had never accepted he was dead. "I hate you," Janette whispered. Gone. "And I love you...," Forever... "and I miss you most..." Slowly, inexorably, she rose, walked painfully to the front. Before the statue of Jesus, she knelt and wept for the choices he had made. She wept for her own choices that had led to his fate. Unsteadily she reached out, picked up a candle and lit it; carefully she placed it down in front of the statue among the other candles, among the hundred flickering, faithful lights. Looking into the face of Nicolas' God, she whispered, "Take care of him. Let him find peace...for both of us." She stood, and stared at Jesus' compassionate face. "Tell him..." tears blocked her voice for long moments, "tell him I'm helping others deal with their pain, their problems with being vampires. Someday I may even find LaCroix at my door. He, too, is in pain." Janette paused, then said wryly, "I'm also helping mortals, you know. It gives me a lot of perspective, and it feels good." She paused again for a long time before painfully admitting, "and...I'm searching for a cure. I don't live in Nicolas' darkness and despair, but I *liked* being mortal, and I'm ready to move on, something I don't believe I can do as a vampire, anymore. There is a reason for death, after all, it pushes you to be become something--to grow, to live so very fully...ironic, isn't it?" She smiled, a bitter-sweet smile, into Jesus' face. She hoped this night's events would eventually bring peace to her aching heart. It was time. It was past time. "Goodbye, Nicolas. It's finally time to say goodbye and move on. Goodbye, my love. Sleep well." Janette turned and walked steadily out of the church and into the street, pausing for a moment as she found her composure. The priest watched her curiously, as she stood framed in the doorway, etched, oddly in light and dark. He had hoped she would come to him. She had seemed to be in such need. Perhaps in time, she would be back. Janette turned and walked down the street, back into her life. The life she had made for herself because Nicolas was gone. Fin. How can you be so sure your God will be waiting for you on the other side? Faith. Pure, simple Faith. Take this to remember me by. To remember that the faith you've lost is always there to regain. -- Nick and Joan of Arc, For I Have Sinned ------------------------------------------------------------------ Comments are appreciated, savoured, and enjoyed at delggren@es.com. Heck, I don't even mind a critic or two... Final Note: This story was highly influenced by the Trisha Yearwood's "On a Bus to St. Cloud. I listened to it over and over as I was working on another story that is really, really, trying to get done, but it's turned into an opus (dang it!). For a long time I couldn't determine whether it was Natalie or Janette's song. It turned out to be Janette's.