FKArchiver Note: This story may contain adult topics. From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:57:57 1996 Date: Wed, 27 Nov 1996 23:06:04 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (1/26) Thanks and praise to some Dark Angels without whose help this story would not be: to Lisa P. and Bill T. for helping me remember the past; to Ron K. for background information, for being my beta reader, and putting up with my "annoying" ways; and to JamieMR for teaching me the right way to post (I hope I make you proud; i.e. I hope I don't screw up.). Thanks to Fred Mollin and GNP Crescendo for the music (hard to get the write mood without it). SOME OF THE SEGS ARE REALLY BIG FILES. PLEASE LET ME KNOW -- e-mail privately -- RIGHT AWAY IF YOUR BROWSER HAS PROBLEMS and I can chop them in half or something. Standard disclaimers: Nick, Natalie, Janette, Lacroix, and Reese belong to Jim Parriott, Barney Cohen, and I guess SonyTristar. I have only borrowed them for a short time and promise to return them tired but well-fed and undamaged. This is a Christine origins story and she belongs to me. It is definitely a LaCroix love story and perhaps a bit of a Nick the cop story, as well. Takes place after Last Knight with feeble attempts to explain how Nick and Nat got out of that one alive. Includes: gratuitous *French* (without the proper accent marks and cedillas, which I don't know how to do on e-mail. ;-) *Pour commencer*... [To begin ...] + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 *Chapitre* [Chapter] 1 She didn't like it. None of it. Not one bit. Everything was wrong about it. Even the smell in the air. Fear. That was it! She was scared out of her mind. But Randy's fear excited him. The adrenaline rush was just another "drug" to him. How had she ever come to this? How had she gotten in so deep? She sat cross-legged in the middle of the bed, the Beretta within easy reach, while Randy paced the floor like an impatient bridegroom. This was the part she was convinced that Randy lived for. He couldn't have chosen a better "business" for putting himself on the edge, dancing with death, as he called it. He had been dealing in drugs since high school, and he didn't care what anyone thought about it. He lived for the danger of the deal, the big buy or the big sell, when he would meet the big boys and make like a little mouse roaring. He never thought about little kids dying of overdoses, of crack babies or heroin babies screaming through agonizing withdrawal pains. He was always looking for the big score, and he hoped tonight would be the one. Slap. Slap. Slap. Randy kept time to his pacing by whipping the Glock against the palm of his hand. She knew he was going over every detail in his mind. Every contingency. He had been talking about it for days. She was amazed at how someone who was usually so strung out on Pills or Blow could formulate enough of a plan for a drug deal of this magnitude. And she was one of his contingencies: his partner had gotten himself arrested for DUI last night, so here she was to back him up. She hadn't wanted to do it, but he had "convinced" her, and none too gently. She had the bruises to show for it. "Here's the deal, Christine," he had told her. "You hide in the closet with the Beretta and cover my back, just in case." The closet door had wooden louvers, the kind where she could see out but no one could see in. That was one reason he said he always chose this flop for his "business meetings." That and the fact that if anything went wrong, nobody would notice the gunfire. Not in this neighborhood. People down here had a full time job just staying alive. And if this deal went wrong, there would be a blood bath tonight. A quarter of a million dollars worth of pure China white. Christine didn't even want to think about where he had gotten the stuff. He had never done a deal this huge, and she had never ever done anything like this before. She was scared shitless. If they all came out of this alive it would be a miracle. She couldn't imagine how she had been so stupid, how she had agreed to this. This was big. This was really scary. This wasn't fun any more. She could have walked away. Randy didn't own her, after all. And he certainly didn't make her life a paradise. The sad fact was that she was here tonight because she was scared of him. Scared to leave him and scared to stay. Scared to be on her own. Scared to start over again, and tired of starting over again and again. She had met Randy just a few months ago and thought he was fun and exciting. She knew he smoked a little pot or rock and he occasionally did some blow, but it was nothing she hadn't seen before. Her mother did all that stuff, even the needles, and Christine hated her for it. Not only the dope, but what she did to get the dope. And sometimes, what she had made Christine do. Randy suddenly stopped pacing and stood still as a statue. Christine could hear footsteps outside in the hallway. Without a word, Randy got her up off the bed, handed her the Beretta and pushed her into the closet. He pressed his index finger to his lips in a gesture for her to be quiet, then he shut the closet door. From inside the closet, Christine could see that he slipped the Glock into the back waist of his pants as he walked to the door. *()*()*()*() Detective Nicholas Knight leaned against the wall in the interrogation room at the 96th precinct while the other guys either sat or smoked or milled about. He and these four other officers had been waiting for ten minutes for the guys from Special Affairs to finish briefing Captain Joe Reese on the plans for the drug bust they hoped would go down tonight. SA had been tracking drug traffic into Toronto for the last year and they were certain they had the names of all the major players. An informant plea-bargaining his way off a DUI charge had told them that tonight would be the night when all their evidence and suspects would be in one place at one time, and SA intended to do everything possible to haul in all the fish, both big and small. Waiting was not a new experience for Nick, but it was one which he found distasteful nevertheless. Especially now. Idle time gave him too much opportunity to think about the recent loss of his partner, Tracy Vetter. Internal Affairs had found him without blame in her death, but he could not forgive himself. If only he had tried harder and been able to control Dawkins, the escaped inmate who had gone berserk in the precinct, taken an officer's sidearm, and holed up in the locker room. Nick knew the guy, had arrested him, and so he felt he had an edge in getting him to give himself up. In addition, he could use his vampiric powers if he had to, overpower the guy with his preternatural strength or mesmerize him and control his mind. He had begun to do just that when Tracy walked into Dawkins' line of vision and all hell had broken loose. Tracy had taken two bullets that night and given her life in exchange. After nearly 800 years as a vampire, Nick found this particular incarnation of himself becoming more and more difficult. He had lost two partners in the last year, and no one was willing to partner with him now. The other officers had always known there was something "different" about Knight, they just couldn't quite put it into words. And now it seemed he was a jinx as well. The unspoken message was clear: stay away if you want to live. That was all right with Nick. It had always been difficult working closely with mortals. Long hours spent together with nothing to do but wait and watch for the suspect to make a move. People talked. About their family, friends, loves, hates, their past. Idle talk to pass the time. Nick could never quite share in that. How could he talk about his mortal life that ended during the reign of the child-king, Louis IX of France, or his mortal family that had been dead as long. Or even more difficult to discuss his vampire family: his relationship with Lacroix, his Master, the one who made him; or Janette, his former sister and lover, now his "daughter". Better to play the part of The Good Listener and say he didn't have any family of his own. Just then, Reese and the guys from Special Affairs came into the room. "Okay, everybody, listen up," Reese intoned. "This is the game plan. You guys are going to observe -- that's right, I said OB-SERVE -- the suspects and provide back-up As Needed. You Will Not move in unless requested by these officers. These are Officers Morales and Patranella from Special Affairs. You will be assisting their task force tonight and we hope to bring down a major drug cartel that has been moving into this area. Officer Morales?" "Thank you, Capt. Reese," Morales began to go over the details of the impending raid. Nick was half-heartedly listening because this Morales reminded him of someone, and he was trying to remember who that was. The officer was about six feet tall, with swarthy good looks, and a little scar across one cheek. He could have easily passed for a priest or a hit man. He was just one of those exceptionally good-looking Latinos that have a face anyone could love and trust. But his eyes told tales of the horrors he had seen. Nick could relate to that. *Pas de probleme.* [No problem] And in nearly 800 years of "living", Nick often found people who Reminded Him of Someone. "Any questions?" Morales finished up his briefing. Since there were none, the officers all headed for their cars and were soon on their way to a cheap hotel in the red-light district. All five of the officers from the 96th piled into one car. Nick was uncomfortable with the crowded condition; he really didn't like being this close to mortals. He was used to driving himself in the spaciousness of his '62 Cadillac convertible, but they couldn't go in like a parade. Even though the October night was cool (nothing new for Toronto), Nick felt that he was about to break into a sweat. Luckily he was near the window, and rolled it down a little to get some air. <> he thought, <> They parked a block away from the hotel and got out of the car. They proceeded to take up their positions: on the corner, across the street, in the alley on either side of the hotel. They were all in radio contact with each other and the Special Affairs team. Nothing to do now but wait. *()*()*()*() + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Well, I hope you'll stay tuned for the other 20-some-odd parts (and believe me some are odder than others). Compliments and praise will be gratefully accepted. Flames will burn right through me -- but then after a pint or two of innocent blood, I'm sure I'll get over it. ;-) -CousinCP- From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:06 1996 Date: Wed, 27 Nov 1996 23:09:45 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (2/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 2 Two knocks. Then one more. <> Christine thought, slightly amused. She felt like she would start= giggling if she didn't take a deep breath and get control of herself. Randy= opened the door. Two men walked in, one short and sleazy looking, wearing a= cheap polyester suit and carrying a briefcase. He had his hair slicked back= like some kind of refugee from a Godfather movie. The other guy was BIG,= and that was an understatement. Professional-wrestler-big, Sasquatch-big,= and just about as strong-looking too. He was so beefy that he seemed to= have no neck. He was wearing a turtleneck sweater nevertheless and jeans= that looked uncomfortably tight. He could barely put his arms down because= they and his chest were so powerfully built and the sweater was so tight.= His hair, if there was any, was cropped very short. Christine really had a= bad feeling about this, now even more than before. <<"Tiny" and "Big= Mack">> Christine's thoughts dubbed them, and again she had to suppress a= giggle. They were exchanging words now, but Christine really couldn't hear. She= strained to hear them, but she began to hear a high-pitched whistling noise= in her ears. And a pounding kind of noise. She finally realized the= pounding was her heart, and she began to be afraid that she would faint.= She had never fainted before, but maybe these were some of the symptoms.= Her breathing was ragged and she felt the blood rush to her cheeks.= Suddenly she realized she had not been paying attention to the transaction= in the room and she tried to focus her attention on that. Randy had brought= out the gym bag with the dope in it and "Tiny" was checking the quality of= the drugs with a test tube and chemicals, just like you see on TV. The= briefcase was sitting on the bed, open, and Christine could see money= inside it. "Big Mack" stood by, his arms folded across his massive chest.= Seeing this scene and thinking of those ridiculous names she had created= for the thugs, Christine was once again almost overcome with the desire to= laugh out loud. This was how she handled intense terror. Potentially deadly= in this situation. "Tiny" gave a smile of approval to Randy and then he gave "Big Mack" a nod. *()*()*()*() Standing guard in the alley below, Detective Knight knew that the drug deal= was going down. He had scanned the entire building and focused his= vampire-heightened hearing in on the room where the suspects were= transacting their business. He wondered why Special Affairs had not moved= in yet. Surely they had seen their suspects enter the building? Unless= perhaps these individuals were not THE suspects, and just happened to show= up and crash the party. Anyway, if the officers didn't make a move soon,= they would miss the dance.=20 *()*()*()*() "Tiny" put away the drug-testing gear and was chatting Randy up about= coming to work for "the Big Boss". "It's tough bein' out on your own, kid,"= "Tiny" was saying. "Yeah, we got it real good. Pension plan, dental,= vacation time, the whole nine! I'm tellin' ya', workin' for the Big Boss -= it can't be beat! And I can get ya' in, man, a good word from me..." and on= and on he went. Christine thought <> = But Randy was listening, and now he had his back to "Big Mack" and the= money. Just as that happened, "Big Mack" pulled up what must have been a= false bottom to the=20briefcase, pulled out a pistol, and shot Randy in the= back of the head. In the alley below, Nick heard the gunshot. He was instantly in the air,= flying toward the window of the hotel room. When Christine saw that Randy was shot, she went wild. She screamed at the= top of her lungs "NNNOOOOOOOO" and kicked open the closet door. Still= screaming, she shot "Big Mack" three times squarely in the chest before he= even knew what had happened. He dropped to his knees and then crumpled like= a rag doll, dead before he collapsed. "Tiny" went for his weapon, and just= as he did Christine saw someone come crashing in through the window. The= guy went straight for "Tiny", and "Tiny" shot at him. Christine couldn't= figure how "Tiny" could have missed at such close range, but the man kept= advancing. He grabbed "Tiny" and threw him hard against the wall.=20 Then the window-crasher turned to Christine and she couldn't believe what= she saw. His eyes were yellowish-gold-colored and he had. . .fangs in his= mouth like in some Dracula movie. Christine just stood there, holding the= Beretta on the creature, but she was too shocked to move. He took a step= toward Christine and he said, "Drop the gun." He held out his hand to her= and took another step. "You can put the gun down now," he said, and this= time Christine could *feel* his voice inside her head. She could hear her= own heartbeat and she could tell it was slowing down after the shock of the= killing. And she thought she could hear his heartbeat, too. "Put the gun= down," he said=20softly, and again Christine could feel his voice not only= in her head but in her heart and, so it seemed, in every part of her. She= felt like *he* was slowing her heart down. More than anything she wanted to= put the gun down, but something paralyzed her. He took another step closer= to her. His eyes held hers. All she could see was his eyes. All she could= hear was their heartbeats and his voice, "You're okay now. You can put the= gun down. You don't want to hurt anyone any more." Nick took the gun out of Christine's hand. She still held her arms out, as= if unable to move them. She kept looking in his eyes. He was still= manifested as his vampire-self because of being shot by the small goon when= he came in through the window. In another minute or so he would recover= from the shock and be back to normal, the beast back at rest. But now he= must take care of the girl, make her forget. He stared deep into her eyes= and felt their hearts beat in sync. He brought up his hypnotic powers to= wipe the girl's memory. "You never saw me this way," he said. Christine stared into those yellow-gold eyes. She could lose herself in= those eyes. She heard him repeat, "Forget. Forget what you saw. You never= saw me this way." Then she blinked and took a breath. "What the hell *are*= you?" she asked, and she took a step back. *()*()*()*() Nick knew then he had a problem. Or two. He could hear the cops coming up= the stairs and he knew he had to do something fast. He punched Christine in= the jaw and she fell unconscious to the floor. With all his will, he put= the beast in him down so that the officers would not see his vampire-self.= Just then, Morales and the others came crashing through the door. "Knight?= What the hell are you doing in here? I thought I told you guys to Stay Back= unless we called you in!" "There are your dealers, Morales," Nick said. "And this is your witness.= She is unconscious and she needs a hospital. I think I had better get her= there ASAP, don't you?" Nick stared hard into the officer's eyes. He knew= he didn't dare use his hypnotic powers now with all these cops in here all= pumped up and alert, all eyes on him.=20 Morales blinked first. "Okay, get her out of here. But stay with her and= call me when she wakes up. We'll need a statement from her about what= happened here tonight, and anything else she can tell us. And I'll need a= statement from you, Knight!" Nick picked up the girl in his arms and got the keys to the car they had= brought from the officer who had driven. <> he thought as he= loaded the girl into the car. <> He headed for his loft. He needed some time to think about this,= and maybe some help, too.=20 *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:09 1996 Date: Wed, 27 Nov 1996 23:25:25 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (3/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 3 The elevator clattered to a stop at the top floor and Nick struggled to open the door with the girl in his arms. He deposited her on the sofa and then tore his coat off and threw it across a chair at the dining table. He had worked up a bit of a sweat with all the exertion and excitement, and he headed for the refrigerator to get himself a drink. He wiped the blood-sweat from his brow with the back of his hand, and as he tasted the cold, bottled cow's blood, he struggled not to retch. <> he thought to himself, looking at the bottle with disgust, <> He poured a glass of the swill and went to the desk, where he sat and turned on the laptop computer. He took another drink while waiting for the machine to boot up, and he glanced at the girl on the sofa. Just when had he decided to stop drinking human blood? And why? At times like this he couldn't remember. After all the excitement tonight, being shot, and now with the girl here, his mind went back to the old days. He was happy as a vampire once. Killing, feeding, without remorse. When had his mortal conscience returned to madden him with its annoying insistence that feeding on mortals was wrong? Did the lion feel remorse when it fed on the gazelle? Probably not. It was hungry, it fed, end of story. And here he was with a warm human in the room and he was trying to gag down cold cow's blood. Go figure! The flashing cursor caught his attention, drawing him out of his musings, and he proceeded to log on to the internet. He had to send a message to his Master, asking for help with the situation at hand. He imagined what LaCroix might say: <> But that's not what he wanted to do. He was done with killing. There had to be another solution. He accessed his e-mail program and addressed a message to LaCroix. The message was short, but it was all that was necessary in times of extreme need: L, I need your help. N. He clicked the Send button and then sat staring at the screen, as if hoping that an answer would come immediately. He knew his Master was traveling, and had been gone for several weeks already. LaCroix could be impulsive sometimes, packing up and taking off for an Adventure, an Explore, to Parts Unknown. He also knew that LaCroix, keen on this new technology, routinely checked messages every few days. Nick started to mentally formulate the plan that would take him until such time as his Master would contact him. Just then he heard the girl moving on the sofa, regaining consciousness. He walked over to stand where she could see him as she woke up. Christine woke with a start. Memories of the events came flooding back to her as she opened her eyes and saw the vampire standing there beside her. But he didn't look like a vampire now. He looked normal. Blond, blue eyes, not her type but kind of cute after all. Maybe she hadn't seen what she thought she saw. But then she thought of the recent vampire films she had seen, and all the books she had read about them. Vampires could look normal, right? Then the pain in her jaw reminded her of what he had done. "Owww!" she moaned, rubbing her chin with both hands, as if checking to see that it was still properly attached. "I'm sorry I had to do that," Nick explained. "There didn't seem to be any other way..." "No problem," she responded, somewhat sarcastically. "My name is Nick. Nick Knight, Metro Police." "And you're a vampire," she added. So she had remembered after all. He knew it was true, but he could hope... "Yes, I am." She looked up at him, still holding her jaw in her hands, tears welling up in her eyes, "I always knew it," she whispered. Nick was puzzled by this response. He had encountered many mortals in his 800 years who had reacted in many ways to the news that vampires existed. Of course, most of them were facing imminent death when they learned this particular facet of nature, but NEVER had he seen such a reaction. "So your kind really does exist!" A single tear ran down one cheek, and she continued to look up at him, as if in watching she could observe and understand everything that made him what he was. She smiled a poignant little half-smile. <> Nick told himself. <> *()*()*()*() "We need to talk about what happened at the hotel tonight," Nick said, sitting in the chair beside the sofa. Then he realized he didn't even know her name yet, so he asked. "Christine," she replied, still staring at him. He was beginning to be uncomfortable with all this scrutiny. <> he thought. "Christine what?" "Patterson." "Christine, did you have any personal belongings with you at that hotel? Any clothes, papers, anything?" She blinked once or twice, trying to focus on what he was saying. She just looked at him, puzzled, and shook her head. "What about any identification, did you have a purse? A drivers license? Anything you might have left at the crime scene that they can use to ID you?" "No, my ID is here, in my pocket," she said, checking for it. "I didn't have a purse." "Have you ever been arrested?" "No, why?" "Good, that means you don't have a record. No fingerprints on file for that reason. Have you ever been fingerprinted for any reason?" "No." "Good," Nick said, somewhat distracted. "Good." "Why?" Christine was uncomfortable with this line of questioning. She wondered what he was getting at. "Well," Nick looked at her again, his attention returned to the conversation, "procedure is that they will take prints from the entire room. We left the gun you used, so we know they will have your prints. But if they can't match them up with anything it makes it a lot easier." "Easier for what?" she asked, afraid of the answer. "For you to disappear." Christine felt her heart sink. "Oh. So you mean to kill me." "No," he half whispered, wrinkling his brow slightly, "it is not my plan to kill you." "Yeah," she countered, her disbelief apparent in her voice. "Right. But you can't make me forget either. You tried in that hotel room, didn't you, and you couldn't do it. Forget what I saw, I mean. You...what you really are. " He stared at her blankly. "And I can't know about that, can I?" She said slowly, trying to keep her voice from quavering. "No, you can't," his voice was barely audible and he had averted his eyes. Then he did look at her, and continued, "But I'm working on that." She nodded, turning away, and moved to the edge of the sofa. After a moment he asked, "What about your partner? Did he have any ID that might give away an address?" She made a sound that told her distaste with his description of Randy. "My *partner*. No, I don't think so. I hadn't been with him long. We hadn't lived in that place long. It wasn't like it was his domicile or anything, just a room. Not the hotel, I mean, we had a room somewhere else." "Good. I'm sorry about him, by the way, but you made your choices." She stared daggers at him. "I MADE NO CHOICE. I was there but I didn't want to be. He made me do it. I know that sounds lame, but it's true. He knocked me around and threatened to do worse. I just didn't have the strength. I knew it was stupid and I knew it was wrong, but I did it anyway. How stupid! He got what he deserved. Maybe I deserve the same." Nick quietly listened as Christine continued. "I was going through a bad patch when I met him, and it's just kind of gone down hill since then. Out of money, no job, no place to live. He took me in for certain ... considerations. And look at me now: first, drug dealers nearly killed me; then, I had to kill one of them; now a vampire is holding me prisoner while he works on a solution to this little 'problem' of what to do with someone whose mind he can't erase. I'd say I'm pretty well screwed, wouldn't you Nick? But you know what? It's okay! Because now I know something that nobody else on the face of the planet knows. I know that vampires really, truly exist. And if I have to die for that knowledge -- if that's the price I have to pay -- so be it. Maybe it's worth it!" She smiled smugly, a cat-that-ate-the-canary kind of smile. Nick admired her spirit at a time like this. Then her face went serious, "I tell you what, Nick, you let me go, and give me bus fare, and I will leave this place and never look back. And I will never, ever tell what I know. I swear it. You have my word. And that is one thing on which you can rely." He looked into her eyes and her mind and he knew she meant what she said. "It's not that simple," he countered. "There are other vampires who would know that you know and they would not allow you to live. You could endanger all of us. No mortal must know about us." She got up and walked to stand in front of the fireplace, nodding slightly, rhythmically. She was silent for a time. Then she turned to face him, a look of triumph on her face. "Then make me into what you are! That will solve everything." He had half expected this proffered solution, dreaded it in fact. "I can't do that, Christine. I won't do it. You don't have the vaguest idea what it all means." "Then you could teach me," she suggested, not about to give up without exploring the possibility. "I HATE this so-called-life I am living," Nick countered, distaste apparent on his face. "Always in darkness, afraid someone will discover the truth. I have to lie to everyone about everything regarding who I am and where I came from. No one can know about my friends, family, any of it. And the killing...." his voice trailed off and he turned away from her. "I will NOT inflict this life upon any living being. EVER." "But the killing is just a part of what you are," she submitted. He turned on her suddenly, nostrils flared and eyes glaring. He took a step towards her and she was afraid he meant to strike at her. "You know NOTHING about it! How DARE you presume to understand ANYTHING about how I feel. About what this life is. It is worse than hell, and there is NO escape. To kill just to live? To prolong this eternal misery? No! I decided long ago that I would not take another mortal life. And I will not take yours, just to 'fix' this situation. There HAS to be another way." He turned and walked away from her and stood looking out the windows. She knew this was not the time to press him further. Maybe later, or tomorrow... After a minute or so he went to the desk to retrieve his glass and then to the kitchen to pour himself another "special". Christine tentatively went towards the kitchen and sat at the dining table. "Is there enough of that for me to have a glass, please?" He swung his head to her, horror on his face. "WHAT???" He nearly screamed it at her. She was taken aback by his reaction. "I'm over 21. I was just asking for maybe a little glass of the wine." <> he thought to himself <> He relaxed his stance a bit and replied, "I'm sorry for shouting. And it's not wine." She gave him a puzzled/blank look, then it seemed to register in her mind that this might be something that only vampires would drink. "Oh. Okay, then I guess it must be..." as her voice trailed off, her eyes met his. She could see the pain in his eyes. He really was in terrible turmoil over *what* he was. She could see that now. She felt his pain, and she was confused by it as well. She had known lots of people who hated what they were. It seemed to be a common affliction with just about everyone Christine came into contact with, even herself from time to time. But someone like him, who had all that power--who could be anything, do anything, go anywhere. (At least if half the legends were true...) He walked to the desk and sat. No one spoke for a very long time. Then finally Christine went to stand near him. When he turned to look at her, she asked, "Is there any way you could go and get my things from the place where I was living? I would like to shower and change clothes, if that's okay. If these other vampires should come to kill me, I would at least like to die ... clean. I don't know why that's suddenly important." "I think I understand. But don't worry, there's no way the Enforcers could have found out about all this already. Just give me the address and I'll go get your stuff. I have to go back to the precinct and switch cars. And report you missing. I'm afraid I'll have to lock you in until I return. The apartment is secure; you won't be able to find a way out." "I understand. I just hope there's not a fire in the building while you're gone. But then, if there is I guess that will solve Our Little Problem, won't it?" "I'm sure you'll be okay," Nick replied, ignoring her sarcasm, but he knew she was right. "Yeah. I'm sure I will." But she didn't sound too sure. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:12 1996 Date: Wed, 27 Nov 1996 23:33:21 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (4/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 4 "What do you mean she got away?!?!?!!" Morales was on his feet and in Nick's face as soon as the words were out of Nick's mouth. They were in Reese's office at the precinct, where Nick had just begun his story of the "disappearance" of Christine. "Just what I said, Morales. I stopped in traffic. She was unconscious, I thought. Next thing I knew, she was out the car door and running down the street. Before I could pull the car over out of the way and give chase, she had just disappeared. I tried every alley, back-tracked, did everything I could, but she was just gone." Morales was fuming. His hands were balled up in fists and Nick knew he wanted desperately to throw a punch or twenty. Morales was so angry he couldn't speak. His lips were edged in white and Nick thought the man might stroke out right there, he was so pissed. Reese broke the silence, "Nick, go get with the sketch artist and put together a composite of this girl. Then put out an all-points on her. She is bound to turn up. Somebody will see her." Nick left and Morales slammed the door behind him. It didn't take preternatural vampiric hearing to know what was being shouted about, cussed, and discussed in that office after Nick left. As he went to find the sketch artist, heads were turning to watch him go. Puzzled looks followed him. Everybody knew what had happened in the raid tonight, but the grapevine hadn't yet spread how Knight had lost an unconscious perp on his way to take her to hospital for care and observation. <> Nick thought to himself. <> He knew it was almost unheard of to fire a cop, but he knew that sometimes they were asked to transfer. This career of his had become difficult, but HE wanted to be the one to decide when to leave it. He was beginning to wonder if he would still have that chance. *()*()*()*() After Nick finished with the sketch artist, he went to the address Christine had given him to retrieve her things. He packed up everything that looked like it was hers, which wasn't much. Clothes, personal hygiene items, and one or two items he couldn't be sure about ownership. There was a "Guns-n-Stuff" magazine and one badly worn, obviously well-used paperback book: Anne Rice's *Interview with the Vampire*! <> Nick's thoughts were racing. He loaded everything into a tote bag he found in the room and, taking one last look around, he walked out. Driving back to the loft, his mind was racing. The only answer to this dilemma that kept nagging at him was the one he would not accept. ((Kill her and be done.)) <> he answered the voice in his head. <> He was almost back at the loft and then realized he had probably better get some food for the girl, since he had nothing in the apartment. So he stopped at a grocery, where he walked the aisles, uncertain about exactly what he was looking for. He finally made a few selections, then paid and drove home. As he turned the key to enable the elevator to return to the loft, he realized he was in something of a daze. Only then did he recognize how powerless he was feeling. He didn't know what to say to her or what to do. And she had asked him to bring her across! <> he resolved. <> Oh well, for now he decided to just play it by ear. Maybe she would be asleep. After all, it was nearly 4 in the morning. *()*()*()*() Christine had been dozing in front of the small fire she had built in the fireplace when the sound of the elevator roused her. She had exhausted herself after checking every door, every window, any possible exit from this place. There was none. Unless she wanted to jump out a window, and it looked like about a five floor drop. She could find no way out. She had paced and cussed and even cried a little out of anger and frustration. She couldn't begin to take in all that had happened to her tonight. She had no idea how this night would affect the rest of her life, if indeed there *was* a "rest" of her life. She resolved not to give up on life, though. Maybe she could fake losing her memories of vampires. But no, they could read her mind, couldn't they? Damn! As she became fully awake to the sound of the elevator grinding and groaning its way up to this floor, her heart started to race. Who would it be? Was it the Enforcers Nick had spoken of? Was this the end for her? Her growing fear suddenly gave way to some new emotion. Something very new for her. She determined to stand and face whatever awaited her on the other side of that door, to meet her fate. She wasn't afraid, not nearly like she thought she should be, and she didn't really know why. She had been living an uncertain existence for so long, it just didn't seem to matter if it was about to end. She was Tired of Being a Victim. Nick opened the door to find Christine standing there facing him. He thought that perhaps she meant to run for the door, to slip past him and disappear into the night, to fulfill the lie he had told Morales and Reese. He was surprised to see her breathe a sigh of relief when she recognized him and saw that he was alone. Then she turned and walked back toward the fireplace. "I brought your things," he said, following after her, "at least all I could tell for sure was yours, and some other things I wasn't sure about." "Thank you. Did you get my book? The Anne Rice?" Then she added, a bit sarcastically, "I mean ... it looks like I might need to do a little quick research..." Nick was continually amazed at the girl's spunk. In a situation like this, many other mortals would be quivering piles of jelly. But not this girl! "Yes, but I figured the "Guns-n-Stuff" magazine wasn't yours, so I left it." Christine laughed out loud. Nick liked the way it sounded. He *really* liked the way it sounded. She walked over to where he was holding out the tote bag to her and she quickly rummaged through it. She removed a couple of shirts and threw them on the fire. Nick looked at her, surprise registering on his face. "They were Randy's," she explained. Then she re-packed the bag. She kept out the book, holding it in her hand. "I LOVE this book. It's the only book I own any more. I've read it a dozen times... So tell me, have you read it?" "Of course I have," he answered. She looked at him questioningly. He proceeded to answer her before she asked. "She romanticizes things a very great deal, but she is sometimes -- repeat, SomeTimes -- technically fairly close to accurate." Then he added, "On some things." Christine smiled an I-thought-so smile and clutched the book to her chest. She took a deep breath. "Now, I think I'd like to get that shower and maybe get some sleep. Unless ... you've decided to let me go?" "I don't think so. By the way, I picked up a few food items for you, in case you're hungry," he held the bag out to her. "Thanks, that was thoughtful," she smiled at him, and appeared to want to say something else. But she didn't, she just took the grocery bag from his hand and headed upstairs. "Christine," Nick called to her. When she turned to listen to him, she saw a serious look on his face and she was immediately struck with concern. "We have to talk tomorrow. I need to know some things about what happened in that hotel room tonight. Police business, you know." "Sure," she said, though she had a slight frown and a faraway look on her face. "I'm not sure I'll be able to help much, though. I really didn't know much about it." "And...I guess you know I can't let you have the run of the apartment when I'm asleep. I'll have to lock you in the guest room. It's better for us both that way, believe me." She smiled a tentative smile back at him, "I understand. You can't have me staking you while you sleep, now can you," she quipped, but he didn't smile. Then she added hopefully, "Or is that one of the myths that isn't exactly close to accurate?" "No, that one is right on the money," he replied, with a serious look on his face. And Christine knew instantly that this particular topic was no laughing matter. *()*()*()*() Nick followed Christine upstairs, got her some clean sheets and towels, then bade her good night as he locked her in the guest room. The room was small but luckily it had a private bath; otherwise, he guessed he would have had to give her his room. And just as luckily, he had installed a dead-bolt on the door that locked from the outside. It could also be unlocked from the inside with a key, but he was sure there was no key or wires, paper clips, hairpins, or any such implements the girl might use to pick the lock. He really didn't know anything about her. Maybe she was a thief, and maybe she could pick the lock with something he wouldn't suspect could be used. Luckily, he had a lock on his bedroom door, too. There was a slide bolt inside the room that would enable the girl to lock herself in. Not an adequate deterrent for a determined vampire, but when he had installed it Nick suspected it would likely never be needed. He had never had to contain a mortal in his apartment before and never thought he would. And yet here it was, just the situation he least expected. He waited a while, listening for her to lock the door, but she did not. It didn't really surprise him. Nick went downstairs to check his e-mail, have another glass of the "special", and just generally prowl around the apartment to consider the situation. Nothing on e-mail, no brilliant revelations about the solution to this or any other problem. He punched the button on the remote that raised the window shades and watched the sky. Sometimes this gave him a sense of peace. From his window, he could see the clouds in the night sky reflecting the lights of the city. It was delicious to see light and clouds in the sky, even if it was false light. He sat and pondered the night's events and what tomorrow would bring until he noticed the sky tinge with pink -- the coming of the dawn. He always flirted with disaster watching the sun come up, but he loved to do so. It made him feel that he was almost like any other person who worked the night shift: go to work in the dark, come home as the sun is rising. The difference with him was he couldn't let the sun touch him. No stopping off for breakfast with friends before going home to bed. He could fool himself only just so much, then reality took over. For 768 years he had not been able to stand in the light of day without suffering pain and burns. The pain didn't last long once he got out of the sun, and the burns would be healed within hours, but the pain in his heart and the sense of loss were not nearly so easily relieved. He pressed the button on the remote to close the shades when the light in the sky changed from pink to the grey that came just before the sun was fully risen. The pain in his eyes from that amount of light burned into his brain, and he found it most *desagreable* [disagreeable]. It was just another reminder that no miracle had happened tonight to make him mortal again. *Au contraire* [Quite the contrary] -- given tonight's events he had additional burdens. He prowled the room, pacing back and forth, checked e-mail again -- still nothing there -- got another glass of the "special". It seemed that he was especially "hungry" tonight, and he suspected it was because there was a mortal nearby. That was always ... difficult. And yet, wasn't there a time...? He had a vague recollection of something, couldn't quite bring it into focus. Another woman? Here, in this apartment? Why couldn't he remember? He could almost smell her perfume, almost ... see an outline of her face, but not quite. It was too far out of range for him to grasp it. But there was something... There were always memories. After so many years... Maybe that's all it was. Yes, that must be it. *()*()*()*() + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Hope I'm not annoying too many of you guys. I'm trying to get all these e-mail bugs worked out. Let me know PRIVATELY if it is too awful when it "comes across" -- CousinCp "Is this the fun part?" From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:16 1996 Date: Thu, 28 Nov 1996 19:41:42 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (5/26) This segment contains a brief Last Knight flashback. Thanks to the author; no copyright infringement is intended. I hope you like it so far; thanks for staying with me ^^..^^ + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + + Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 5 Nick had trouble getting to sleep and then he woke up at one in the afternoon. He listened at the guest room door but heard no movement. He slipped a note under the door telling Christine to knock when she woke and he would unlock the room. He thought it best that he book off work so he could interrogate Christine. He knew that it would look suspicious if he suddenly knew too much about Randy's side of the operation, but he had to decide what to do about the murders. Too many unsolveds looks bad in any police precinct. And last night there were one or two in that hotel room. Nick felt certain that the little guy he had slammed against the wall must have died -- regrettable, but he had lost control from the shock of being shot. It might be inferred that the big man had killed the smaller man, and the gun powder on the big man's hands and the prints on his weapon would undoubtedly show that he had shot Randy. But neither of the other two had fired a weapon. And then there was the weapon with Christine's prints on it -- the weapon that had killed the big man, as ballistics would show. Nick knew he had done the right thing leaving the Beretta at the scene. Three dead men and one unconscious girl could NOT have disposed of a murder weapon. No, he had to leave it there. But if Christine's memory of Nick could be successfully erased, he intended to bring her in for the murder. Maybe it had been self defense, temporary insanity, whatever. He was still a cop and she *had* killed the man. That was the law. (Unless they both had to answer to a higher law, if her memory could *not* be erased.) It was nearly six before he heard her knocking. When he went up to unlock the door, he could hear her heartbeat as he reached the top of the stairs. The closer he got to the room, the louder it was. This is how he remembered it with mortals, the sound of their beating hearts, pumping that glorious elixir ... He felt his own heartbeat quicken and knew he must get control of himself. It would become increasingly more difficult to have a mortal this near him, but he had little choice. With an effort of will, he slowed his heart again to its normal rate of just a few beats per minute. Then he unlocked her door. Her scent assailed him like a slap in the face. She smelled of springtime and sunshine, of peaches, and of warm, rich blood. It overwhelmed him, and he had to say a quick "good afternoon" and then move away. She was puzzled at why he greeted her so abruptly, but she followed him downstairs. She found him in the kitchen, pouring himself another glass of that liquid that she surmised must certainly be blood. She saw him take a deep drink then a deep breath, then he looked at her and gave a slight smile. She noticed his eyes were lightly flecked with gold. So! She had aroused him somehow. "Good afternoon to you, too," she smiled at him warmly. "I have no idea what time it is, but I feel so rested. I don't believe I have ever spent the night in such a nice place." "It's just after five," he replied, matter-of-factly, ignoring the compliment. Her face registered surprise. "I know you wanted to talk. I'm sorry if I kept you waiting long." "No problem," he brushed it aside, "I had some things to do. That passed the time. Besides, I've had a lot to think about. To try and sort out." He took another drink then noticed her watching him. "Are you hungry?" he asked. "No, not at all, thank you. The care package you brought me is holding out nicely. What wonderful selections, too. Brie, French bread, fruit! I haven't eaten so well in ages. I'm afraid you're spoiling me." She smiled at him sweetly. He was captivated by the way the light danced in her eyes. <> The voice in his head was full of all kinds of annoying advice. He still did not mean to kill her but it was getting hard to be so near her. And it hadn't even been 24 hours yet! Where was LaCroix? They sat down to talk about what little Christine knew of Randy's drug dealing. She answered all Nick's questions as best she could, and whenever she said she didn't know, Nick scanned her thoughts to determine that she was in fact telling him the truth. He had to call Christine on a couple of things, but he chalked it up to her innocence or embarrassment more than anything else. He believed that she was truly remorseful that she had been in that hotel room. She was not proud of her association with Randy, and it pained her to have to lay it all out in front of Nick, whom she hardly knew. Nick had always found that the ability to read a mortals' thoughts was an invaluable tool for a detective. Every suspect proclaimed his/her innocence; but Nick could determine whether or not they were guilty by simply probing their thoughts. That way, he knew whether to continue looking for evidence to convict them by traditional means. On a few occasions, though, he had "convinced" a suspect to make a full confession, if the evidence was impossible to obtain. He figured he was right about 99% of the time. During the questioning, Christine felt more and more that she could tell Nick anything. She trusted him somehow. Ironic, since he was her jailer and possibly meant to kill her. But as they continued to talk, she was impressed with the feeling that he somehow understood why she did some of the things she did. Maybe he understood more than she did, and she wanted to know more about him. Whenever she would ask him something about himself that somehow remotely touched on the topic at hand, he would try to politely but quickly answer. After all, they were supposed to be talking about *her* situation and her relationship with Randy and anything she could tell him that might help in the investigation. He was not inclined to tell her his story, though that is exactly what she wanted to hear. Why tell her more, and then have that much more to erase from her mind? The little shreds he told her of his life held her rapt attention. He was somewhat flattered that someone could find him so interesting. He had not experienced anything like it since ... he couldn't remember when. But there was that something again, that cloudy memory of someone sitting there on the sofa, just as Christine was now. And she had also been listening intently, or laughing softly, or throwing popcorn at him and they were both laughing. Who was she? Why couldn't he remember? *()*()*()*() At about ten, Nick called in to talk to Reese, to see if he was badly needed for anything, and to check up on the progress of the investigation. Reese confirmed Nick's suspicions about the death of the small man, and he also told Nick that Morales was on the war-path. It was probably a good night for Nick to have booked off work. Since the drug bust had gone down all wrong, Morales and his people had to start all over again, building their case, gathering evidence. That meant that a year's worth of work was gone, "pissed away", as Morales had put it, by what he had called "that cowboy detective." Reese also told Nick that the M.E. had finished the work-ups on the three men from the hotel room. It appeared that the smallest man had died of internal injuries, as a result of being slammed hard against a wall. The M.E. was fairly certain that only the larger of the two hooligans would have had the bodily strength to have done that, even though no one could really figure why he would have chosen that moment to kill his partner. Prints and powder on the big man's hands indicated that he had fired the weapon that killed the tall skinny one, one Randall Potts, and ballistics had confirmed. Potts's prints and another set of unidentified prints were on the weapon that had killed the big man. Since there was no powder residue on Potts' hands, they were attributing the murder to the Jane Doe who had escaped from the crime scene. They were issuing a warrant for her arrest that would be tagged onto the all-points bulletin with the artist composite Nick had helped construct. They had run her prints through local channels, FBI and even Interpol, but found no matches. That meant that evidently she had no prior arrests and had never even been fingerprinted. She would be hard to find, there was no doubt. But Reese didn't like it when someone got away with murder on "his watch" and Nick knew that Reese was enough of a bulldog to not let this one go. Nick thought as he hung up <> *()*()*()*() After he talked to Reese, Nick was reluctant to tell Christine what he had learned, so he decided that now would be as good a time as any to make his "grocery" run. He asked Christine if there was anything she needed, and she asked for a couple of things. He locked up the apartment, backed the Caddy out, and headed down toward the stockyards. He loved driving like this, in the open air, with the top down and the wind in his hair. It was a little like flying, but it took less effort and less concentration. Besides, he loved the roar of that old engine, the feel of the machine. It gave him a chance to escape and think, and he had a lot to think about. [Flashback] [1996, Toronto, at the Raven] The place was deserted. Odd to see it this way, it was always so "lively." Nick walked over to the bar and saw a marble bust in LaCroix's likeness and he was instantly alarmed. He suspected what this might mean. He began to search for the elder vampire and found him in one of the back rooms, packing a trunk. So it was true. He had decided to move on. LaCroix had told Nick that it was time for them *both* to leave Toronto, that they had both "worn out their welcome" here. This was always a dangerous thing for a vampire to do, to stay past his time. Nick had protested. Too many loose ends. It was just after Tracy was killed, there were questions he had to answer. He couldn't leave now. "I'll be at your loft later tonight and I will have your answer then," LaCroix had ignored his protests. "And then I *will* be leaving, with you or without you." [Present] [Nick parked at the lakeshore, laying on the hood of the Caddy, hands laced behind his head, staring at the midnight sky.] <> Nick thought <> He couldn't remember his Master coming by the loft that night, though he knew he must have. Nick knew he would not have gotten out of that confrontation just because LaCroix changed his mind. LaCroix *never* changed his mind about demanding an answer from his protege on the most - or the least - delicate topics. So why hadn't LaCroix come to the loft that night for the discussion Nick knew would have ensued? All Nick could remember was going in to work the next night (or what he thought was the very next night) and being confronted by Reese about 'where had he been for the last 2 days?' and 'why hadn't he called in or let somebody know?' Nick had been shocked about the missing time and had said so. He quickly came up with some story about a terrible fever, flu, or alien abduction. He 'really couldn't account for the time' and he was 'so terribly sorry' and 'why hadn't someone called?' Reese countered that they had called, lots of times, but never got an answer. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:20 1996 Date: Thu, 28 Nov 1996 19:41:47 -0600 From: Carolyn Price To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (6/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 6 [Flashback] [A few weeks before, Reese's office] "Look, Nick, I was worried about you," Reese said with a concerned look on his face. "I mean all you've been through lately... I know how it feels to lose a partner. But it doesn't help anything when you take off like that. I'm gonna let it slide this time, but you've got to work with me on this. I need you here, and I know you need to work a few things out, but it's gonna be OK, you know?" Nick just nodded. He felt that somehow this was greatly over-simplifying. Things *didn't* always turn out okay. "And Nick, there's something else," Reese's expression changed to one of complete seriousness. "I know she's a friend of yours, but I don't think you've heard yet. "Heard what, Cap?" "I want you to know that she's okay. She's in the hospital still, but she's going to be just fine." "Who?" Nick was completely at a loss. "Natalie. There's no easy way to say this, so here goes. She attempted suicide, but a neighbor found her and rushed her to emergency. She's got a long road ahead of her, but she's in good spirits and she's coming along just fine." "Natalie who?" Nick didn't recognize the name. Reese looked at him uncomprehending. He couldn't believe this man, who he at times suspected was having a fling with Natalie, could be reacting this way. Maybe it *was* alien abduction! "Natalie Lambert, you know, the Medical Examiner on our watch. You know, NATALIE!" "Oh, Dr. Lambert," Nick replied, a blank look on his face as if he hardly recognized the name. [Present] [Nick's loft, 2.30 a.m.] Christine sat at the desk, exploring the files and data on the laptop. She had booted it up on a whim, out of boredom, thinking that if Nick had stored his password she could surf the net to help pass time. Maybe even check his e-mail? Or send an urgent message for help? To whom? She really didn't have any friends in Toronto; at least no one she could turn to for help. Somewhere in the process, she had decided to hack into his database and spreadsheet files to find out what she could about him. Interesting how much information a vampire could store about his life, his business, all kinds of things he probably wasn't supposed to keep records of. But here it all was -- assets, solicitors, names and addresses (though she couldn't tell who was vampires and who wasn't), and on and on. Hell, she had even found something that looked like a novel or memoirs, hard to tell which. Just then she heard the elevator and quickly turned off the laptop so he wouldn't know she had been "playing." She sat on the sofa and picked up the book she had found in the workshop, where he stored his paintings and supplies. It was a very old-looking book with lots of historical perspective on ancient artwork. It had a musty old smell to it. All the pictures were in black and white, but they were quite good, considering. The copyright on the book was pre-1920 and the text was in French. She understood only about half of it, but it was still interesting. As Nick opened the door, Christine jumped up and ran to him with a big smile on her face. "Hi, honey, how was your day?" Now Nick was the one to laugh out loud. She cracked him up! Now she was laughing with him. It felt really good to be with someone, to not be alone all the time. If only... "I got your tea and the other things," he told her, "and I decided that you might like a nice warm meal. So I stopped at this place I know in Chinatown and brought you an order of Moo Goo Gai Pan. I hope you like it." He was loaded down with that and several "special" bottles. "Moo Goo at three in the morning? Wow, you must have some kind of connections." "Well, let's just say the owner of the place owed me a favor. He wasn't happy about opening his kitchen at this time of night, but he got a kick out of me talking to him in his native tongue. That was, of course, after he had been smiling at me while cursing me in Chinese, thinking I didn't understand." Then they had another laugh. Christine made a pot of tea to go with her dinner, and Nick even had a cup with her, to be sociable. "I thought vampires couldn't drink anything but blood," Christine questioned him, curious about his tea drinking. "That's just another of those myths. Actually, we *can* drink just about any liquid. Now whether we *like* it or not is another matter. And then there are some Purists who refuse to take anything but blood, just on general principles. Christine smiled at him quietly for a minute and ate a little of the chicken and veggies. It was delicious; she had been hungry and hadn't realized how much so. "You know, I can't remember when the last time was I had a hot meal. Thank you for this, it's wonderful." <> Nick thought. Again he found himself staring into her eyes, hearing her heartbeat, drinking in the scent of her, reveling in being close to her, wanting her ... desperately. <> He rose from the table and walked around the room, apparently not sure of his direction. He stood and looked out the windows a while, then he went to the desk. He sat and booted up the laptop, then logged on to check his e-mail. Just as he feared, nothing from LaCroix. <> he consoled himself. <> A week! *Mon Dieu*! [My God!] He knew now that he couldn't last that long. If only he could contact Janette! Anyone he could trust, just so he wouldn't have to be alone around the girl and endure this constant temptation. But Janette did not want him to know where she was. She had told LaCroix, of that he was sure. But the Master had kept Janette's confidence and not told Nick where she was, even though technically Nick was Janette's master now. Old loyalties ran deep among his kind. Suddenly Nick had an idea to contact Aristotle. Though he would certainly not tell Nick where Janette was -- if he knew her whereabouts -- perhaps he would relay Nick's message. Nick quickly wrote the e-mail to the ancient vampire who had helped so many others of the Community. And he added a note that the computer genius's services might be needed soon on another matter. He felt a sense of relief as he clicked on the Send button, trusting that now surely something was bound to happen. *()*()*()*() The next night, Nick again booked off work. He made his excuses to Reese that he really must have picked up some kind of flu bug. The reality was that, though Nick found it difficult to be near the girl, he knew he had to protect her. If LaCroix came and found her alone in the loft, he might kill her without waiting for an explanation. And then there were the Enforcers. If they had learned about this (though that was doubtful), there could really be trouble. Nick had told no one of the Community about the girl, not that he had close ties with any of them any more. The only way the Enforcers would likely know was if they had been watching that night, or if some other vampire had seen and relayed the news. But they did have the most uncanny ability to know things they had no apparent way of knowing. Reese sounded annoyed at having one of his best detectives out of pocket again, especially in the aftermath of this Special Affairs debacle. Plus, there seemed to be suddenly a wave of homicides to contend with -- three already in the last 12 hours. But what could he do? He told Nick to get better real soon and then he rang off. Just then Morales walked into his office. "Knight calling in sick again?" Morales asked, sarcastically. Reese just looked at him. Morales was hard as nails and he wouldn't budge an inch. And he seemed to hate Nick Knight. Reese guessed he really couldn't blame Morales for his feelings about Nick; anybody who had cost him a year's work wouldn't be on his list of favorite people either. "Maybe I should stop by and take him some chicken soup or something," Morales suggested, a glitter in his eyes. "Maybe you should just forget it, Morales." Reese wanted to keep those two as far apart as possible. "No, really, think about it, Reese," Morales continued. "Your golden boy wrecks my investigation, then he takes off with the only living witness. Next thing we know she 'just disappears' as he put it, and then he doesn't show up for work the next two shifts. Sounds to me like he might have decided she was too cute to go to jail. Maybe someone should pay him a surprise visit. Or should I say *them*?" Reese felt his blood pressure go up a notch or two. "You just watch what you're saying, mister! I know Nick Knight and he's a real straight arrow. I've never known him to do anything even remotely outside the law. There is no way he would harbor a fugitive for any reason, let alone 'cute'!" Morales could see the fire flashing in Reese's eyes. He knew Knight had this man fooled, but Morales wasn't about to give up on his suspicion. Morales had a sixth sense about some things, and on more than one occasion trusting his "gut" as he put it had saved his life and the lives of others. He knew there was something not quite right about this whole situation, and he intended to investigate. "Sorry, Captain, I'm sure you're right" Morales said humbly. Then he walked out of Reese's office thinking <> *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:25 1996 Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 21:49:22 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (7/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 7 After Nick hung up with Reese, he sat for a few minutes, trying to figure out his next move. He was getting extremely restless just hanging around the apartment. He wasn't used to so much inactivity. He looked over at the girl, who was content with some old book or other that she had found. He actually didn't have too many books any more, and those he did have he had read more than once. But they were all new to her, and she seemed to love to read. At least she was quiet for now. For nearly two days and nights she had been questioning him about one thing or another dealing with The Truth About Vampires. He had tried at first to avoid her questions, believing that the more she knew the more there would be to erase. But he soon came to realize she had seen perhaps every vampire film and read many vampire novels -- even supposed documentaries and non-fiction accounts. If, after erasing her memories, she did remember some of the facts and events he related to her, she would undoubtedly just think it was all part of the vast pool of knowledge she already had about "his kind." So, he humored her by telling her about himself: his childhood, his friends and family, his first love, his first time in battle, and finally his fall from grace, as he put it. He took an odd pleasure in telling her his story. He cast his memory back to such time as he had last told his story to anyone else. That was probably 300 years ago, and it was to another vampire. A human could not really relate to tales of times and places from over a few decades ago, much less over 76 decades ago! She watched and listened to every nuance of every story he told her. He was amused by the way her eyes would light up or she would gasp with shock at some of the scarey parts. And she asked some very probing questions that really made him think. It was quite cathartic telling her his story. He began to rethink some of the ideas he had held for such a long time. Why WAS this so, or why DID that matter? Her perspective was quite refreshing and although he would never admit it to her, he was enjoying this story-telling more than anything he had in a very long time. It also helped keep his mind off how drawn he was to her. Having her near, being with her every waking moment was more than many vampires would have been able to bear. He knew that the fact that he had not taken human blood in so long was having a definite influence on their relationship. Could he call it that? Did they have a "relationship?" Association was perhaps a better word for it. He could NOT allow himself to become attached to her. After all, her future was decided. Either her memory would be erased and she would go to jail for the shooting, or (if her memory could not be erased) she would have to either be killed or brought across. He found the latter two options unfortunate and yet he knew it was unavoidable. He was bound by the Code, as were all vampires, that a mortal must not be allowed to know of their existence. There were exceptions, of course, but they were discreetly kept very secret. There was Tracy who knew about Vachon and Screed, and then there was also ... someone else ... but right now he couldn't remember who. "What is your earliest memory?" She had closed the book and laid it on the sofa beside her. <> Nick thought, smiling quietly to himself. "Oh, I don't know. What's yours?" He realized he hardly knew anything about her. He hadn't wanted to know much about her before this, but he suddenly found himself curious. He had wanted to keep his distance, not see her as a person, and certainly not as a friend. It would only make it more difficult to do what would eventually have to be done. "I remember stairs. I was looking down a long staircase and I was afraid I would fall." She had a faraway look in her eyes, as if trying to recall it all. "I was about 2 years old, I learned later. We lived in upstairs quarters at the time. I think I was standing at the top of the stairs, holding my dad's hand, and he was going to help me down the stairs. Or maybe keep me from going down them, I don't know." She turned to look at him and smiled slightly. "I'm still afraid of stairs." She got up from the sofa and walked over to the fireplace before continuing. "My dad was a test pilot with the Air Force. We moved around a lot because they always needed him to go somewhere and fly some new plane." She paused then, and Nick noticed there were tears in her eyes. "He died when I was 7." She went to the windows and looked out for a long while. Nick rather regretted that his question had caused her pain. She turned to face him, the tears were replaced by a slight smile. "He was my whole world. And my mom adored him, too." She began to move around the apartment, searching for the words, then she continued, "I was born in Abilene, Texas. Right in the buckle of the bible belt, as they call it. Shortly after I was born, my dad pulled his first test flight at Nellis AFB in Nevada. We were usually at his duty station for a year or less. We were at Hill in Utah, Edwards in California, Wright-Patterson in Ohio, and of course Andrews in Washington and Langley in Virginia. It made it kind of hard to pack up and move my mom and me every year or so, but they consoled themselves by saying he was doing something he loved, we were always together, I wasn't in school yet, those kinds of arguments. "But then I had to start school and it made things a little more awkward to move every 6 or 8 months. I had to start a new school, try and make new friends, and make up for differences in lessons. I didn't really learn to read until I was in third grade." She smiled because Nick had a look of amazement on his face. "I know, I guess I'm making up for lost time now. I love to read, and I always find myself reading something. My favorite job ever was working in a bookstore. I got to read anything and everything, and the owner was a very wise, well-educated, very kind old man who could talk at length about just about anything. He was like the grandfather I never had... But I digress." She came and sat on the coffee table, facing Nick. Their knees were almost touching. "I didn't understand why my mom was crying that day when the men came from the base to tell us about the accident. One of them picked me up in his arms and told me everything was going to be okay. I squirmed and told him to put me down, I wasn't a baby. And why was my mom crying? "By that time she was screaming and calling the men all kinds of names: liars and murderers and other names I had never heard before. When one of the men tried to calm her down by putting a hand on her shoulder, she slapped him hard across the face. I remember he looked very surprised and then very angry by her reaction. I think he was the man in charge because he was the one who had done all the talking. He just muttered another 'sorry' and walked out of the house. By then a couple of other women neighbors of ours had come over and were trying to quiet my mother. I remember the man who had picked me up asked me if I was big enough to tell him where the coffee was and to help him make coffee. I remember thinking what a jerk he was, talking to me that way! I may have been little, but I was not a little kid, you know?" She was quiet for a time, looking at her hands resting on her crossed knees. "The worst of it was after the funeral. We were told that my dad's accident had been the result of an unauthorized maneuver. The crash was his fault, and that meant that our benefits would not be forthcoming. My mom had some kind of collapse when she heard the news. She was put in the hospital and I had to stay with the lady next door. After a few days my mom got to come home, but she looked awful and she would always cry. The man who had picked me up -- his name was Tom, I think -- came to visit us often after that. And then other men would come by to visit, some for an hour or two, sometimes one of them would be there when I got up in the morning. I was confused by all this of course, but I was only 7 and I didn't know what was going on. I only knew that it was wrong. "We lived in base housing, and since my dad was dead we had to move out. Tom helped us move and he hung around the new place a lot more than he had hung around before. The other men also still came by, when Tom wasn't there. They would call on the phone and I would tell them if he was there or not. Like I said, I was only 7." She offered that almost as a shield. Then she looked Nick straight in the eyes and continued, "I didn't know how bad things were. But that was only the beginning." The rest of her story of her mother's disgrace included rumors and accusations from neighbors and finally the need to move around a lot. Her mother started to drink to help dull the pain of her loss and the fact that since she had no marketable skills she had found it necessary to turn to prostitution. They moved a lot, gradually working their way north for no particular reason as far as Christine knew. Some man would generally try to pimp for her mother but she would not allow it. 'Why should I suffer through all this and some SOB I hardly even know gets all the money? I can protect myself.' The drinking escalated into drug abuse, mostly pills, to help her 'get by.' Christine was saddened by all this, but the worst was yet to come. The men that her mother brought home began to look upon Christine as an added "bonus" once she began to "blossom" into a young woman. That was when the real terror began, for both of them were living in the hell then. "Several times over the years she would end up in treatment for the drinking and she OD'd a couple of times on booze and pills ... I hated her for what she was doing to herself -- to both of us! I used to think she didn't know about what they were doing to me. But she knew and she didn't stop it. I hated her for that! I know she knew because I told her about it. When I was really young, they would threaten me, but when I got older and braver I told her. The only thing she ever did to protect me was to get me on the pill and to tell me to make sure they used condoms. Some mother, eh?" For years, she held hopes that her mother would realize what she was doing to them both and clean up her act. Finally Christine realized she had to save herself since she couldn't save her mother. She got a job as soon as she could to try and save a little money. Her mother always got some of it, but Christine was able to hide quite a bit, too. She resolved to finish high school, then get the hell out of there, which she did. Her voice was getting raspy. Nick could see that she was exhausting herself with remembering and telling this private horror. He put his hand tentatively on her hands, which were clasping her knees tightly against her chest now. "It's okay," he looked her straight in the eyes. "You don't have to go on. You can stop now." Tears welled up in her eyes and her lips began to quiver and tremble. She burst into a wailing, moaning cry. Her sobs wracked her body and she collapsed, burying her face against her knees. Nick felt her pain, and knew he had caused it to resurface by asking her to tell her story. He delicately began to rub her back, which caused her to cry even louder. Who knew how long since someone had shown her such kindness as to try and console her? He almost felt he wanted to cry with her, for childhoods ruined, for innocence lost. And then she was in his arms. It was sudden and completely unexpected. She was clinging to him as if he would disappear if she let go. He began to brush her hair out of her face, to dry her tears, speaking soft gentle words to console her. And then she kissed him, passionately and with desperate longing. He responded with equal passion. His kisses sent little electric shocks up and down her body. Her kisses became more insistent and he matched her intensity. A part of her brain knew that all she wanted was to mask the pain, to make it go away. A larger part of her motivation had nothing to do with that particular organ. She was running her hands through his hair, across his strong shoulders, exploring his face and neck with her kisses. She bit at him playfully on the ear lobes then the neck. He uttered a low, guttural moan something akin to a lion's purr. She began to unbutton his shirt and cover his chest with her kisses. She playfully pulled at the fine hairs on his chest with her lips, as she pulled the shirt down off his shoulders. Nick's head spun from the nearness of her, the beating of her heart, her scent, her touch. How long had it been since a mortal woman had touched him this way with warm, supple hands? He couldn't think. He wanted to lose himself, to give in to the nearness of her, her willingness, to take her. Just then he felt he was beginning to manifest into the vampire-self, and he pulled himself away. It was gut-wrenching for him, but his intellect kicked in just in time to prevent him from doing something that he really didn't want to do. He pushed her away and headed for the roof, through the skylight. His abrupt departure left Christine reeling and she nearly fell over. He had moved so fast that it took her a second to figure out where he was. She looked up and saw him closing the skylight, and the draft that came wailing through the apartment was a welcome cooling breeze. She saw his fangs and she thought she could see that his eyes were glazed with gold. So, she hadn't repulsed him after all. When he jumped away she thought it was out of disgust. <> she thought to herself. <> She had surprised herself that she would feel such passion for this man who was her captor and who "really wasn't her type," as she remembered thinking only a couple of nights ago. But look where "her type" had gotten her. Her type seemed to be losers, slackers, and drunks who used her for sex and a punching bag. Maybe it was time she changed her type. But then she went and stood in front of the fire, laughing at her thoughts. "So now 'my type' is a vampire?" she spoke softly to herself, shaking her head. "That's just great. That's perfect!" *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:28 1996 Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 21:49:28 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (8/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 8 It was just at that moment that Morales pulled up outside Nick's apartment. He sat in his car for a minute or so, just observing. He knew that Knight lived on the top floor and he could see that lights were on up there. He could not, however, detect any movement from his vantage point. He could only have seen someone if they were standing at the windows. He had never met Knight before the raid a few nights ago, but he had heard a little about him, both before and since then. Seems Knight was a bit of a loose cannon, a lone wolf. Sometimes a little of that was a good thing, but too much of it makes for a dangerous kind of cop, taking risks and, in Knight's case, losing partners. Morales had tried to piece together everything that had happened the night of the raid, and he came to the same conclusion every time. There was something not normal about Knight's presence in that room. How had he gotten there? Evidence showed that he had come in through the window. Interesting because there was no fire escape near that room, no balcony or ledge, and it was not accessible via the roof. How the hell had he gone crashing in through that window? It just didn't make sense. And why was he in there anyway? It was the "why" that made Morales want to find out all the answers. And then there was the business with the girl. Morales *knew* there was something that just didn't play about Knight's story of the girl's disappearance. Knight had been too eager to get the girl away from the crime scene. Maybe he knew her and was trying to protect her. Or maybe she had seen something she wasn't supposed to see. Something about our good detective that he couldn't afford to let her tell about. For all anyone knew, Knight might have killed the girl and disposed of the body where no one would ever find it. Some homicide cops sometimes got the idea that they could pull off the "perfect crime"; maybe our Nicky boy was one of those nut cases. Reese thought he walked on water, but Morales knew that everyone had a dark side. He had seen it too many times. Morales got out of his car and went over to the entry. He punched the button to buzz Knight's intercom and got no reply. He waited a few seconds, then punched it again, twice. If the guy was really sick, maybe he was in the can. Morales decided to give it a few more tries. If no one was at home, it wouldn't matter if he buzzed until it short-circuited. *()*()*()*() Christine heard an ugly buzzing noise and it startled her. She didn't know what it was and couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. If it was some kind of door bell, she knew she wasn't about to answer it. "Nick, I need you!" she shouted as loud as she could. Her shout wasn't really necessary, though, Nick had seen Morales pull up and had already heard in his thoughts what he was plotting and planning. Nick was in through the sky light almost before Christine finished shouting to him, and he was over at the intercom in a flash. "Yeah, who is it?" Nick answered the buzz, and he sounded all out of breath. "It's Morales. I came to see how you are. Heard you were really down with this flu." "Well, I appreciate your concern, but you wouldn't want this crud I've got. It's miserable and I might be contagious." "Knight, can't I come up? Just for a minute. We need to clear the air, you and I." Nick hated to let him in, but knew his refusal would be too suspicious. "Sure, come on up." Then Nick turned to Christine. "Gather all your things from this room and go up to your room until this guy leaves. Do it now!" "Is he an Enforcer?" "No, he's just a suspicious cop." Christine did as she was told. From the landing, she took one last look around the room and could see no evidence that she had been there. She ran up the stairs just as she heard the elevator grinding its way to a stop. *()*()*()*() Morales slid the elevator door open and tentatively stepped into the room. Nick judged that by the expression on his face Morales must be feeling a little like he had just stepped through the looking glass. "What a place! It's huge in here!" "Thanks," Nick replied, not exactly certain that was a compliment, "I like it here. Plenty of room for all my toys." Morales looked around at the baby grand, the motorcycle in the corner. <> he thought to himself. "Come in," Nick invited him. "Sit down." He was reluctant to offer Morales anything to make him feel more welcome. He really didn't want the man to stay long. Morales sat quietly for a few seconds, fidgeting slightly as if he was uncertain how to begin. "Say, I hear you have an old '62 Cadillac convertible." "Yes, that's right." "My grandfather used to have one of those when he was in his second childhood. He got it in '82 and it was really just a hulk then. Everybody thought he was crazy, but he restored it completely. Really cherry when he was done with it! They all ate their words then. What about yours? How long have you had it?" <> Nick thought. <> Nick faked a really loud sneeze then a couple of coughs. "I've had it for about 10 years. Bought it fully restored. I'm not into working on cars." //Sniff, sniff, hack.// Morales looked at him with a little disgust over all the sneezing and hacking, then he continued, "Bet you get a lot of girls who want to 'go for a ride,' eh? My 'buelito said he did." "Not really." //Hack, hack, sneeze, sniff.// "Man, that really sounds bad! Are you taking anything for it?" "No, what can you take, you know? I'll be okay in a day or two. Just have to ride it out. Get lots of rest, as they say. In fact, I was half way napping when you buzzed. I wasn't sure I heard the buzz at first." "I guess that explains why it took you so long to answer," Morales smiled. <> he thought to himself, and of course Nick "heard" it. "But then again, look at how big this place is," Morales said, and he got up and started to walk around. "Mind if I have a look around?" Nick ignored the question, but stood and walked with Morales. He had every intention of keeping Morales downstairs and 'on task.' "You said we need to clear the air. Is there something you need to tell me or ask me?" Morales kept walking around supposedly just innocently inspecting the real estate, but Nick knew that he was searching for evidence that the girl was here. "Are there bedrooms upstairs?" "Yes and it's a real mess up there. The maid hasn't been in two weeks and what with me sick I haven't picked up at all. There are two bedrooms and two baths, actually quite small. The place was definitely built for living downstairs and just sleeping upstairs." By this time, Morales had worked his way to the foot of the stairs. Nick kept trying to get between him and the stairs, to turn him around, but he seemed determined to go up there. "Look," Nick said, perhaps a little more loudly than prudent, "you said we needed to talk. Can we please talk. I feel like *merde* [shit] and I need to get some rest." Morales turned to look at him. His expression was hard to read, but Nick heard all too clearly what he was thinking. ((You sorry SOB! I KNOW she's here!)) "Sure," he said at last. "Please," Nick said, gesturing to the sofa. Morales reluctantly went and sat. He had been determined to have a look upstairs, but without an invitation or a warrant he knew it was impossible. He opened up to Nick about his suspicions on the why and how of Nick being in the hotel room. He even laid out his suspicions about the girl. Nick was actually quite surprised that the man would open up and tell everything that he had been thinking. They talked for some time, Nick offering explanations and answers to all Morales' questions. Once or twice, Nick tried a little light hypnosis when Morales wasn't believing the answer. Then Nick tried spell-binding him, an old technique he hadn't used in decades, whereby he would confuse Morales by scrambling his thoughts. He tried taking the questions Morales was presenting and his supposed answers and twisting it all around so that Morales didn't even believe his own deductions any more. He felt he was having limited success with Morales; all this mental posturing seemed to make him uncomfortable and even more suspicious, so Nick finally resigned himself to simply answering the good detective's questions as best he could. When Morales left a little while later, Nick knew that nothing had been settled between them. Morales was very nearly as suspicious as before he arrived here, perhaps even a little more so in different ways, especially since he hadn't been able to see the entire apartment. *()*()*()*() Nick watched Morales drive away before going upstairs to tell Christine that he was gone. As he started for upstairs, he stopped himself. Remembering what had occurred just before Morales arrived, Nick was a little concerned about just where he and Christine stood now. He knew she wanted him to bring her across, and she might be playing him toward that end. If she knew she had the power over him to make him lose control, she might try it again. No, she *would* try it again. He would have to be especially careful now. Nick called up the stairs to Christine, "He is gone now. It's okay for you to come down if you like. I'm going out for a while. Do you hear me?" ((Yes, I hear you.)) Nick heard her speak in his head more than in his ears. She "sounded" a little sad or angry, or maybe a bit of both. Nick knew that the best thing for him to do right now was to stay away from her. He felt vulnerable and he also felt that she was using him. Either way, he didn't like it. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:30 1996 Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 21:49:33 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (9/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 9 Christine had locked herself in her room and had been sitting by the door, on the chance that she might be able to hear the conversation downstairs. She could hear none of it! She didn't know the circumstances of this cop or why he should have to clear the air with Nick as he put it. Maybe it had something to do with her. Nick had never really told her how he had accounted for her disappearance. Maybe they weren't buying his story. Maybe... Too many maybes! She pulled her knees up against her chest, leaning her back against the door. Her thoughts drifted back to earlier tonight, before this cop arrived, before she had scared Nick off. She had wanted him to make love to her. She wanted him to make her a vampire. She suddenly found herself wanting that more than anything she had wanted before. But he had refused absolutely. She started going over in her mind all the conflicting myths and legends about vampire love-making. Could he or couldn't he? There was one sure way to find out which (if any) of the legends were true. But what if making love to a vampire meant that she would get killed in the process? Would it be worth it? <> she thought wickedly, and then quietly laughed to herself. She had never known a man yet who was worth dying for. She still couldn't understand why he had pulled away from her. Maybe he wasn't attracted to *her* but instead was just feeling the effects of being drawn to the blood of living prey. Maybes again! But hadn't he said he resolved to never take another life? Didn't he exist solely on that bottled cow's blood? And wouldn't that have been a reason for him to pull away to his attraction for her blood? How strong was a vampire's resolve when it came to choosing between cold bovine blood and warm, living, breathing, human female blood, with perhaps a little sex thrown in to make it even more interesting? She believed that if she played it right, she could convince him to at least not kill her and at most to make her into a vampire. To her, it would be the epitome of power and strength. They had the ability to walk among their prey unnoticed. They could do whatever they wanted: build fortunes, destroy enemies, affect the future of mankind. Such power she had always dreamed of possessing. Who wouldn't want it? And so what if it meant giving up daylight and capuccino? The main reason she invested so much time in exploring all the old legends about vampires was that she had always believed that such creatures really existed. She had always hoped one day to meet one. Now she was living with the proof! But there must be others! She hoped that Nick's master would come soon, or perhaps even the Enforcers. That might be too much danger to wish for, but she longed to see other vampires and learn what she could about them. She knew they couldn't all be as nice as Nick, but still she wanted desperately to know all she could about them. And besides, his being nice also meant he was weak, at least in her opinion. He was not your typical vampire, according to the legends. If he was so determined not to make her into a vampire, maybe one of the others would. Should she want him for her master if he was weak and had so much self-doubt and hatred for what he was? There must be others who were stronger and more confident. But then she had a rather scarey thought: what if the others would instantly kill her without waiting to hear Nick's explanation of events or his wishes that her memory be erased? And what if they could erase her memory? Then would Nick let her go? <> she suddenly thought. <> She suddenly felt physically ill. <> *()*()*()*() Lacroix came soaring in over the Toronto skyline with a sense of homecoming and perhaps even a little sense of foreboding. He had not meant to return here so soon. It was his intention to stay away from Nicholas for at least a year, perhaps more. When he received the e-mail asking for help, however, he did not hesitate to answer the call. He had been in New Orleans, had meant to stay there until after All Hallows Eve. New Orleans was so festive at that time of year, in its own way, and he hadn't been there in decades. But when one of the brood was in need, he always came to their aid. On that they knew they could depend. However difficult he may have made their lives -- with good cause, of course -- he was always a solicitous father to all his children. And Nicholas was especially dear to him and always had been. He landed softly on Nicholas' roof and instantly knew there was a mortal in the apartment. His anger made his head spin; he thought at first that it might be Natalie and that somehow all his work was undone. But then upon listening to her thoughts -- indeed, it was a woman -- he knew it was not Natalie. He picked up the snippets of her thoughts that he needed to construct the story of why she was there. The drug deal...the man she had killed...her resistance...Nick's belief that he (Lacroix) could erase her memories. She had asked Nicholas to bring her across and he had, of course, refused her. Fascinating! Predictable. Just then he saw her walking down the stairs. He couldn't get a good look at her from up on the roof, but he decided he would wait a while and watch her and "listen" to her thoughts. She stopped to turn on the stereo on her way to the kitchen. The soft jazz rather interfered with Lacroix's concentration, but not nearly so much as when she began to sway gently to the music. She danced very smoothly. Very smoothly indeed. Now she was moving to the kitchen and making a pot of tea. He realized then how cold he was. It was always cold flying so fast as he had tonight. He had not meant to rush and so had taken two nights to fly to Toronto from New Orleans. It takes a great deal of energy to fly so far in one night, and even one so old and powerful as he must stop to feed and rest. The farther north he flew, the colder it was, of course. He could see the fire blazing cheerily in the fireplace and he longed to warm himself by it. He lifted the pane on the skylight and dropped soundlessly into the apartment. *()*()*()*() Christine felt a sudden draft and she shivered. She took her mug of nice hot tea and started for the work room to find another of Nick's old books. She almost didn't see the man standing by the fireplace, but when she did, she dropped her tea. The mug shattered as it hit the floor and some of the hot tea splashed her pant legs. She really didn't notice it, though; she was captivated by the man. He was standing there silhouetted against the firelight. He was dressed all in black: long black overcoat, black shirt and pants, black shoes. The coat appeared to be lightly dusted with ice or snow, and a little steam was beginning to rise from it as the heat from the fire evaporated the moisture. His hair was a very light brown and very short in a military crew-cut style. He was about 6ft2 and appeared to be very well built. His face was pale and the skin appeared smooth as ivory. His eyes! He had the most captivating crystal blue eyes she had ever seen, very expressive brows and full, sensual lips. He was without a doubt the most remarkable-looking man she had ever seen in her life. "Good evening," he half-whispered. His voice was smooth and low, very resonant. Christine was awe-struck. She couldn't speak and she couldn't seem to move, either. <> He curled one corner of his lips into a slight sneer. "Certainly not!" It was just as if he was responding to her unspoken question. <> Christine could only think it, as she still had not regained her speech. "Actually, it is considered rude to read one's thoughts without permission. And so, if you like, I will discontinue to do so." "If you please, sir. That would be ... very considerate of you." Lacroix thought that her voice sounded like little tinkling bells--not that it was high-pitched (quite the contrary), but it was extremely musical. And he was impressed by the way she had addressed him. How melodic a voice and how stunning a woman! As she had been taking him in, so had he been studying every detail of her. She was without a doubt the most remarkable-looking mortal woman he had seen in centuries. Hardly more than a girl, actually. Her form and bearing were straight and strong. She stood about 5ft4 with a well-rounded figure. She had shoulder length dark-brown hair peppered with strands of gold. Her hair was straight and smooth, and she wore it down, the way he liked it. She was wearing jeans, a knit shirt, - a henley, he believed they were called - and sneakers. He could not say she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen, but she was without a doubt strikingly handsome. Her heart-shaped face was a bit angular, but it would have been softened by putting on a few pounds. Her deep-set eyes were an intriguing color of green-grey, which he could not recall ever having seen before. Her lips were full and perhaps a little pouty, but delightfully so, and though he suspected she wore no paint on them, they were somewhat ruby-colored. "You must be Lacroix. My name is Christine." She saw him frown ever so slightly and a little shockwave went through her. She had insulted or angered him somehow. Talk about first impressions! She had already screwed this up. "Please, let me take your coat. It looks wet." She walked towards him slowly and he showed no signs of being offended by these overtures. In fact, he slipped off the coat and handed it to her. It was very cold and wet. "Is there something I can get you to help you warm yourself?" She noticed one corner of his lips curve ever so slightly as if to smile. "I mean, perhaps you could find some dry clothes in Nick's room." She hadn't meant to suggest herself as the thing to warm him. "Thank you for your concern. I am fine." Again, that quiet, resounding voice, and such an alluring accent. Christine really hoped she could get him talking. She would love to hear him all night long. "Do you ever take wine? We have a wonderful Cabernet Sauvignon that's about 50 years old. It's very smooth." Lacroix was more than a little concerned at how she said "we have," as if she and Nicholas had set up housekeeping together. Could it be they were lovers? He had not read that in her thoughts. Surely that was not the case, he would have sensed it. Or seen some evidence of it. No, he did not believe -- did not want to believe -- it was true. "Perhaps a small glass," he replied, "if you warm it for me slightly." She smiled and turned from him to go to the kitchen. Some moments can surely be frozen in time in our memories. That moment when she smiled was one such for the ancient vampire. Even after she was in the kitchen, he could still "see" her standing there smiling at him, with the light dancing in her eyes. He knew it was a moment he would never forget. He was the consummate observer, after all, always watching for actions and reactions in everyone. He would observe unseen, sometimes for many nights. He had done this before making himself known to Janette, to Nicholas, and many others. And yet here he was only moments after first setting eyes on this girl, making light conversation with her and having her fetch him a glass of wine. It suited his mood to do this, and so he did it. She was different, this one. Something about her touched his heart. This was a sensation which he had not felt in a very very long time. And yet the game was different with her. She knew who and what he was and was not repelled by it. She was polite and respectful, and he admired that. This would be interesting. She returned with his wine, then excused herself to go mop up the spilled tea and pick up the broken mug. She returned with a little glass of the wine for herself. He noticed that she had cut herself slightly, presumably on the broken mug. He could smell the blood and it drew him to her. "You've cut yourself," he said, and he held out his hand to her. "It's nothing. Just clumsy." She held up her cut finger, thinking nothing of it. He took her hand in his and drew it towards his lips, as if to kiss it better. Then, realizing he was being a bit forward, he asked, "May I?" "Yes," was all she could manage in a breathy whisper. He put the cut finger in his mouth and sucked, tasting her blood. <> he thought. He closed his eyes to savor the moment. Christine thought she would swoon or ... something. This simple gesture was quite possibly the most erotic thing she had ever experienced! She felt that she was being drawn into him. She felt hot and cold all over. Wave after delicious wave of arousal washed over her. She wanted this to go on forever, wanted it to go farther, but it was all over already! He had withdrawn her digit from his mouth, given it one last sensual lick of his tongue. He gave her a slight smile, and went to sit in the armchair. She glanced down at her hand and noticed the cut was healed. She was left standing there by the fire, swaying uncertainly and her head was reeling from the encounter. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:34 1996 Date: Fri, 29 Nov 1996 21:49:40 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (10a/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 10a After a few moments, she realized she wasn't breathing. She took a deep breath and the pulse started pounding at her temples, making her a little more dizzy than she already was. She took a step or two towards the sofa and Lacroix turned his head to watch her. "May I sit with you?" she asked him tentatively. He answered by gesturing her towards the sofa. She sat in the middle, not meaning to be too forward or too distant by taking either end. She was afraid she was doing all the wrong things, violating every protocol. She didn't know the rules to this encounter, but she decided to just put on her best manners and do the best she could. If she screwed up too badly, it could mean her life -- or rather, her death! He raised his glass to her as if in a silent toast. To her health? She hoped so, and so she raised her glass in return. "Tell me how it is that you came to be here, Christine." He had of course read quite a bit of it in her thoughts, but there were gaps he needed to have filled in. Besides, he found her somewhat intriguing and her company would undoubtedly be a welcome distraction. She decided to start her story the night before the drug deal, to explain how she came to be involved. She wasn't sure how much he had read in her thoughts and how much would interest him. She tried to stick straight to the facts and be very concise. This man might have an eternity, but she felt certain he wouldn't want her to waste his time. She glanced at him from time to time as she was speaking and his eyes were always on her. She felt a little disconcerted by this because she couldn't read his expression. He seemed neither bored nor particularly interested by her story, so far as she could tell. His eyes moved over her, watching even her slightest movement. Occasionally he took a sip of his wine. Looking at him rattled her concentration because she found him so exotic-looking, and so beautiful. She wondered where he came from. His accent sounded British, and though she wasn't very good at determining nationalities, she didn't really believe that was it. His skin looked smooth and very pale. Unlike hers and that of most other people, it appeared there were no flaws and no scars on his face or his hands. She wanted very much to touch his face, just to see what it felt like. She remembered the touch of his hands -- so smooth and cold. His eyes! Oh, his eyes -- remarkably clear and icy blue like sparkling crystal pools in winter. She could sense a powerful presence about him and she found it very compelling. She told him everything -- about Randy, about the man she killed, about asking Nicholas to make her into a vampire and his absolute refusal. She told him of Nicholas' hopes that he would be able to erase her mind. Then she told him her fear that Nick meant to take her to jail for killing the man if the erasure was successful. "Please, sir, don't do that to me." She scooted across the sofa to get closer to him. Don't take this knowledge from me *and* allow him to put me in jail. I would rather die. I have been looking for your kind all my life, believing that you existed. And now through this tragic series of blunders I have found you! And the knowledge of your existence threatens my life. I would rather die with that knowledge than to lose it and my freedom. " She felt very bold to do it, but she reached out and put her hand on his knee. He raised one eyebrow slightly but said nothing, so she left it there. "I want YOU to make me into a vampire. I can sense your power, and I know now how weak Nick is. I know I was wrong to ask him. If it does not suit you to make me a vampire, then feed on me and let me die. But I want YOU to do it." He registered no reaction whatsoever to this reasoning. He just watched her, looking straight into her eyes. "Please, if you would, read my thoughts about this. I am sincere in my desire to become like you." Again, no reaction. Her heart beat faster. She was getting scared that he meant to kill her, that perhaps he saw that as a better answer to the dilemma. <> she thought as she took a deep breath to try and calm herself, <> He read all this in her thoughts. He continued to look at her for another few moments, then he rose from the chair and went to stand by the fire again. He stood there watching her still, and she tried to stay calm. "You think you know what I am," he spoke finally, in a half-whisper. "A vampire," she replied hopefully. He scoffed, "Hmmmph. So it is, but do you know what that means?" She stared at him, a puzzled look on her face. She lowered her eyes, "The legends say..." "I don't care what the legends say!" His voice boomed. "I *know* what the legends say. What do YOU say it means?" She looked deep into his eyes, her lips slightly parted with shock at his tone. He appeared to be very angry, his nostrils were flared and his crystal blue eyes were glassy. And yet somehow she found the courage to answer him. "It means you have the power," she whispered, paused, then continued. "Power ... that I would kill or die for." He raised one brow and slowly countered, "Yes, but would you sell your soul for it?" "What is a soul?" she smirked. "I don't believe I have one. Or if I do I would gladly sell or trade it for another. The one I have is totally fucked up." He knew she believed this was the truth. Her pain was in her heart and her thoughts like a living thing. He felt he could almost reach out and hold it in the palm of his hand. <> he thought. And in this notion, he felt amazement of himself. Could it be ... did he ... was he beginning to ... care ... for this creature?!? He took a deep breath, held his shoulders a little straighter and raised his chin, to make himself appear as tall and stern as possible. "I do not like that word!" his voice boomed, changing the subject. "You will NOT use that word with me." She lowered her head and her eyes, and timidly replied, "Yes, sir. Forgive me, please." <> he thought. <> *()*()*()*() Christine sat cowering on the sofa for a moment, on the verge of tears. She believed she had said and done everything wrong. Surely he meant to kill her, maybe right now. She was so scared, so confused. He was so beautiful and powerful. How could he hate her so much? In her experience, most men liked her. Even if she didn't want them to. Especially then! But, of course, he was not like most men. The "men in her experience" were mostly customers of her mother. They had raped her. Her mother couldn't save her. Wouldn't stop them. Why wouldn't she stop them? Christine had been too young to stop them herself. Too weak. Too helpless. She never would admit that she herself was a prostitute. She never asked for it. Never received any money. She knew her mother did, though. She remembered one man in particular, leaving the apartment, handing her mother a hundred dollar bill. "I almost forgot," he had said, looking straight at Christine. "Here's for the extra." Then he winked at Christine, blew her a kiss and left. This bastard had beaten her and badly used her. Then he had the nerve to wink! Christine had run to the bathroom and thrown up. It made her sick to her stomach to see what he thought she was. She had jumped in the shower and scrubbed herself for a very long time. She had never felt so filthy. She was only 14 at the time. She had run away after that. But she came back a few days later. Where can you run to when you're 14! Her mother had cried with joy to see her, had promised her that things would change. ((We'll leave this town. I'll get sober, get a job. Things will be better. You'll see.)) That night it had been another man and another party, and all the plans had disappeared in whatever they were smoking. She determined then that she would use sex as a sort of weapon. She couldn't change the game so she would change the rules. Tease and tantalize and make them beg. Cry and plead with them not to hurt her, like in some melodrama. They loved it. The drama of it. Some of them enjoyed the pain more than the sex. Turn them away and they only wanted her more. Would sacrifice anything to have her. And she would use their desire to cause them more pain. She had learned a lot in the process. Not to particularly love or hate men, just how to manipulate them to get what she wanted. She decided she would try this on the vampire. She got up slowly from the sofa and started slinking over to where Lacroix was standing. She would do what she could to arouse his interest in her sexually, if that was possible with a vampire. She was treading unknown ground in that regard, but he had been a man once, after all. She knew that talking had gotten her nowhere. She would try this now. Lacroix sensed what her intentions were and he felt both anticipation and disappointment. This approach by her was regrettably predictable. He had hoped she would be more creative. But then, he hoped it would be interesting to see just how creative she could make this approach. She walked straight to him and stopped about a foot away. She looked up into his eyes and she saw him looking down at her with no expression whatsoever on his face. This was unsettling, but it did not discourage her. She knew already that he was very reserved. Like a powder keg. But given the right spark... She slowly reached out her hands and placed them softly on his arms just below the elbows and felt the muscles under the silk shirt. Walking her fingers slowly up his arms, lightly pinching and tracing each muscle, firmly gripping his shoulder and massaging the muscles there. Across the trapezius, feeling tension there, and now massaging more deeply. Lacroix winced slightly and drew in his breath when she hit a particularly tight muscle there and another one at the base of his skull. He was enjoying the way this felt, even the painful part. It was a delicious kind of hurt and he made a mental note to let her give him a real massage later. She walked slowly around behind him and worked her hands down his spine, pressing in with her thumbs to deeply massage the muscles there and in the small of his back. He was quite muscular, which surprised her. She wasn't sure why it was so surprising. Why shouldn't a vampire be so powerfully built? It was always difficult to tell exactly how muscular a man was while he still had his shirt on. She took her time exploring his back. She was enjoying this more than she thought she would! The only man she had ever given a massage was old Mr. Beauchamp, to relieve his arthiritis. And, at 80, he was no comparison. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:36 1996 Date: Sat, 30 Nov 1996 20:53:30 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (10b/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 10b This chapter contains some heavy petting. I think it's still PG-13, but consider yourself alerted. (And have fun ;-) He turned to face her suddenly, apparently impatient. Perhaps he didn't like it! It could be he had a different idea about what she should be massaging. Once again, his expression was impossible for her to read. He grabbed her firmly at the waist and drew her to him. It sent shivers up and down her body. She closed her eyes and sharply drew in her breath. Then she opened her eyes and smiled at him. He gave the slightest of smiles in return. She moved her hands across his chest, lightly working his deltoids and pectorals. His chest was very powerful. He watched every move she made and occasionally she would look up at his face and his eyes would meet hers. His hands were moving up her sides, gripping and kneading along her ribs. Painful tickles increasing her desire. Moving her hands to the back of his neck, at the base of the skull. He closed his eyes to savor the sensation. Then, suddenly, she pulled his head down slightly and reached up and kissed him on one corner of his mouth. He drew his head back and opened his eyes, startled by her action. She was looking up at him with an inviting look in her eyes, and she was breathing quickly and shallowly, caressing his cheeks now with both her hands, pressing her body tightly to him. He decided to let her have her way with him -- for now. He smiled quickly and it was just as quickly gone. He kissed her softly on one corner of her mouth, mimicking her kiss. She smiled slightly, glad to have his unspoken permission to continue. She was enjoying touching him, being allowed to feel his smooth face, slightly cool, a tiny wrinkle or two. She could detect no trace of beard. Most men had a little whiskers, even right after shaving. Then she reminded herself again he was not "most men". With her fingertips she lightly traced every contour of his face. She applied pressure at some points: the temple, where the jaw hinges, on the brow bones above the eyes, at the tops of his ears. She appeared to be quite familiar with pressure points that relieve stress, and Lacroix found this sensory experience very relaxing and yet on another level very stimulating. Occasionally she would kiss him lightly on the cheek, on the eyelids, on the ear, and he would return her kisses. He was firmly rubbing her back from trapezius to waist, occasionally kneading the muscles here and there, mimicking her technique. He did not intend to make love to her tonight. He was enjoying this, but he did not want it to get out of hand. Since he would not take over the role of the aggressor, Christine decided to get a little more aggressive in her approach. Besides, she was getting turned on. This was also an unusual sensation for her, but one she found very appealing. She had never had anyone appear so disinterested in her love-making before. She had often wished this were the case, but now she wanted him to want her, and he was still very aloof. Christine raised up on her tiptoes because he was so tall, nibbling first one earlobe and then the other. His reaction was neutral. This was maddening for her! Lacroix actually was enjoying this intensely. He sensed the girl's confusion and frustration and that added to the pleasure he was feeling at her touch. He was determined not to react just to see what her next tactic would be. Christine whispering in his ear now, "Don't you want me?" Tickling inside his ear with her tongue. Rapid breathing, breathy whispers, meant to entice. These sensations were really beginning to move Lacroix as well. He had not done this sort of thing in so long ... well, he couldn't remember how long it had been. He was having a little trouble thinking at all because he was enjoying her love-making so much. He was delighted that she could move him so and he knew he might have a challenge to control himself if she continued to stimulate him in this manner. Then, quite unexpectedly, she put her hand on the back of his head and pulled it hard towards her and bit him on the neck! Lacroix gasped! This was so sudden and unexpected he couldn't control his reaction. The neck is quite understandably one of the vampire's most erogenous zones, and this touched him to the core. He pulled his head up and he was breathing hard. He looked into her eyes, he swallowed hard, and gave her the faintest of smiles. Christine was delighted to have finally hit the mark, so to speak. His reaction caused an equal reaction in her. She smiled broadly back at him. She sensed that he felt some surprise at his own reaction, and she was thrilled by that. She tried to bite him again, but he wouldn't allow it this time. "No," he whispered firmly, and shook his head. She thought that perhaps he meant it wasn't time for this yet, that maybe the foreplay wasn't over. Again, not knowing the rules, learning them as she went along, was proving to be more than a little stressful for Christine, but she knew she was equal to the challenge. Pulling him closer, resting her cheek against his chest, moving her hands down his back, pulling him tightly to her. Just at that moment she kissed him hard on the lips. He returned her kiss and her embrace with equal pressure. He was in spite of himself enjoying this playfulness more than he thought he would. Christine continued kissing his lips, licking at them, trying to part them so she could explore his mouth with her tongue. She didn't generally kiss on the lips, especially french-kiss, but she was so turned on by his touch and her desire to arouse him that she was pulling out all the stops. She also moved her hands down onto his buttocks and pulled him firmly towards her. Lacroix was going beyond feeling playful. This girl was taking his breath away. She made him feel things he hadn't felt in decades -- no, centuries. He generally did not allow himself to be with a mortal in this way. He had let himself forget how seductive they could be. He wondered now, when it was that he had made such a stupid decision. As Christine kneaded his butt and pulled him closer to her, she rocked her hips a little, rubbing against him to stimulate him to take more action. She wanted him now so desperately that she felt her heart would explode. She was having trouble getting her breath, and her head was spinning. She had never been so turned on before with all her clothes on. And only once or twice with no clothes on! She was breathing hard, her whole body writhing and she kissed him again long and hard on the lips. She pulled his tongue into her mouth, sucking on it playfully. Exploring his mouth with her tongue. Tickling the roof of his mouth, the gums behind his front teeth. She thought she felt the sharpness of his fangs, and when she touched them she heard him utter a low, growling moan. She pressed her tongue hard onto one of the fangs, trying to pierce it so she could give him a little of her blood. That would undoubtedly excite him more. She couldn't tell if it worked, but she couldn't taste blood. She couldn't concentrate on any one thing right now. Her brain just wouldn't work, she was too intent on making him want her. And he just ... didn't ... seem to get the hint! She had never had to work so hard to arouse a man's desire. Usually it was quite the opposite; do it and be done, just to get away from them. She thought she would die from desire if he didn't get busy real soon, so she tried one last thing. She reached her hand down to caress his genitals. He drew away from her and quickly grabbed her hand away. "DO NOT ... do that!" he said, breathing hard. Then he gently caressed her face and whispered. "Don't ever touch me there. I know you don't understand, just ... don't do it." Christine was so shocked she wanted to cry. She wrinkled up her brow in confusion. She was breathing hard and making little moaning noises. She didn't know what to say. "But ... well ... I'm so sorry. I didn't ... mean ... Tell me what to do. I want to please you, and I want you ... so ... so much. She was caressing his face again, kissing his lips, trying to explore there with her tongue again. He drew back from her. He moved his eyes across her face, trying to cool her passions. He grabbed both her hands and held them at his chest. He had not wanted it to go this far. He had gotten carried away and careless. He bent down and kissed her gently on the neck and she gasped loudly, pulling him close to her again by reflex. He kissed each hand, taking a step back from her, setting a distance. "I never meant to insult, sir, to do anything wrong," she apologized, so afraid that she had again made a terrible blunder with him that she wouldn't be able to repair. "Please forgive me if I..." He put his index finger lightly against her lips to quiet her, much as Randy had done, it occurred to her with a sense of *deja vu*. He looked deeply into her eyes and said, "There is much you do not know, *ma chere*" [my dear] And then he smiled a little half-smile at her. <> he added in his thoughts. Christine was still visibly upset and he could see tears forming in her eyes. He lightly pinched her chin between his thumb and the side of his index finger, and raised her head. She would not look into his eyes, and he could sense that she felt shame for whatever she had done wrong. "You have done nothing wrong, Christine," he said, cupping her jaw in the palm of his hand, rubbing her cheek gently with his thumb. She then turned her eyes to look into his. He gave her as tender a look as he could at that moment, and a slight smile. "You simply do not understand ... yet." She closed her eyes tight and a tear escaped from under each eyelid. "Teach me, please," she pleaded silently, looking up into his eyes, hers brimming with tears. He kissed her firmly in the space between her eyebrows and then he walked her back to the sofa and sat her down. *()*()*()*() From pricec@CONNECTI.COMMon Dec 9 16:58:38 1996 Date: Sat, 30 Nov 1996 20:53:35 -0600 From: CousinCp To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: Since April (11/26) Since April by Carolyn Price (c) Oct. 1996 Chapitre 11 As Nick pulled the Caddy into the garage, he sensed that Lacroix was nearby. He hurried to take the elevator up to the loft, afraid of what he might find when he arrived. As he opened the elevator door, he saw Lacroix standing by the fire and Christine seated on the sofa. He felt instantly relieved. They both turned to look at him as he entered the room. He sensed t