SPOILER/CAVEAT/DISCLAIMERS  The original Forever Knight
characters were created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and
are owned by Sony/TriStar/Paragon Films.  I have only borrowed
them for my tale and hope I am returning them no worse for wear.
No profit is intended to be made from this story.  All rights
reserved.  All new characters belong to me.  This story
continers spoilers for episodes For I Have Sinned, Only The
Lonely and I Will Repay.  However, it takes place *before* (and
therefore instead of) Be My Valentine.

NOTE  Some parts of this story contain mild violence.  Part 32
is ADULT, M/F, Nick/Natalie, and will be posted only under an
Adult header.  If such material offends you, please do not read
it!  This portion of the story is meant for Adults only and will
not be send out on the N/N Loop.  If you wish you receive it,
please send an age statement and the request.

Beta read as close to perfection as we can get by  Angela
Brown, Jeanine Hornby and Jen Nelson.  Editor, enhancer and
contributor extraordinaire  Barbara Erickson.

Special Thanks to Anik Duclos for the French translation of "Un
Acte de Foi" which means "Leap of Faith."

Note to Nick and Nat Packers  To my friends on the N/N Packers
Loop--this is the story that was known during its infancy as
"Nothing is Sacred Except Godzilla."  Hope you enjoy it.

The latter parts of this story contain words with various accent
marks.  Although they appear in the original text which will be
archived on Mel's site and the version that will go through the
N/N Packers loop, they were eliminated from the main fanfic loop
which cannot handle such marks.  Sorry!
----------------------------------------------------------------
For Bernhardt, because writing has let me dream once
again...I miss you.



                            Un Acte de Foi

                                  by

                           Mary Lou Manzie

                                 with

                           Barbara Erickson




    She knew she had made a mistake.  Trusting him.  That was a
big mistake, and now she was paying for it--with her life.



     "Where's Knight?" Don Schanke bellowed as he pushed his
way into the squad room at the 96th precinct.

     No answer.

     "Has anybody seen him tonight?" the irritated police
officer continued.

     Still no answer.

     Making his way to the duty officer, a slight panic hit
him.  'Knight's never late,' he thought.  '*I'm* the one who's
always late.  Wonder what's up?'

     "Isn't Knight supposed to be on tonight?" Schanke asked
the duty officer, Charlie O'Brien.

     "Yeah, Schank.  He's a half hour late and Cohen's been
asking about him, too.  Whatever it is, it'd better be a good
one, or he'll be pulling traffic duty Sunday mornings for a
month, sun allergy or no sun allergy!  Cohen doesn't have a lot
of patience when it comes to not being on time," Officer O'Brien
chuckled.  "Say, Don, how *was* traffic duty last weekend?"

     "Don't go there, Charlie.  Let's just say that St.
John's never had a smoother exit from the eleven o'clock mass or
the nine o'clock mass...or the twelve-thirty mass, either," the
homicide detective answered.

     Captain Amanda Cohen walked out of her office and
inventoried the precinct.  "Schanke, in my office!" she
commanded.  "And where's your partner?"  Her voice was more than
irritated.

     "Captain!  He's just on his way in," he lied as he, too,
surveyed the room, hoping to see his blond-haired partner rush
through the door.

     As he turned to enter the captain's office, he stopped
suddenly as Nick appeared at the office door.  'Now where the
hell did he come from?  He wasn't there a second ago!' Schanke
thought.

     Nick Knight put his hand on the dark-haired detective's
shoulder.  "Thanks for covering for me, Schank.  I'm a little
late," he said in a low voice meant only for his partner to
hear.  "Captain, you wanted to see us?" Nick asked, directing
his attention to Amanda Cohen.

     "Oh, Knight, you're here.  Sit down, both of you," she
stated as she gestured to the two chairs positioned in front of
her desk.  "We've got a bad one over at Coronation Park.
Joggers found a body about half an hour ago.  No I.D. and little
else to go on for now.  The uniforms have the area secured, and
I need *you* two gentlemen on the case right away.  Despite your
short time here at the 96th, you have one of the highest success
rates in the precinct, which is why I waited until Knight showed
up," she shot the vampire an irritated glance, "rather than
assigning another team to the case.  Get over there.  I'm sure I
don't have to remind you about how much pressure we'll get from
the mayor on this one.  The park was reopened just last month
after being closed for renovations *including* security lighting
and now this.  Great.  Just great!"

     "We're on it, Captain," Schanke said as he rose from his
chair.  Both detectives headed straight for the parking lot in
silence.  As they reached the Caddy, Schanke started, "So, Mr.
Always-On-Time, where were you?"

     Nick avoided looking directly at the officer.  "It was
just some personal business, Schank.  Sorry," he mumbled.

     "I thought that was *my* line, Knight!  Don't tell me
*I'm* going to be covering for *you!*" the rotund man chattered
in delight.

     "We need to get over to Coronation Park, Schank.  Can
you just let it go this time?" Nick asked.

     "Sure, Nick. Anything for my partner!" he began. "We'll
just file that one under 'you-owe-me,'" he crowed.


     They could see the amber glow of the security lights
from several blocks away.  They had encountered hundreds of
crime scenes in their years of police work, yet each one
inwardly steeled himself before exiting the car.  They had work
to do; and they were good at it.

     Nick let his field of vision take in the entire park.
Flashing lights from police vehicles, barricades to keep the
curious at bay, news reporters...and the coroner's car.  He
settled on that.  It belonged to Jack Bower.

     "You talk to the uniforms, Schank.  I'll take the
coroner," Nick said.

     "Why not?  You *always* take the coroner," Schanke
grinned.

     Making his way through the crowd, Nick picked out the
white coat of Dr. Jack Bower, the coroner from South.  "Dr.
Bower, what do we have?"

     "Oh, how are you, Knight?" Dr. Bower began.  "Don't
know, really.  Just got here.  It's not my usual turf, you
know."

     "Well, yes, I thought Dr. Lambert would be here," Nick
replied, trying not to give away his concern through his voice.

     "Seems she'd booked off already tonight, and they
couldn't reach her at home.  They just told me to get over here
and didn't give me any more of an explanation," Dr. Bower
continued, as he approached the body with Nick in tow.

     Don Schanke has been conversing with the uniformed
officers who were interviewing possible witnesses when he saw
his partner advance with Dr. Bower.  Before he could ask what
Bower was doing in their region, Nick and the coroner brushed
past him toward the body which had been covered temporarily with
a plastic tarp.

     Nick knelt down beside the corpse, and his hand started
to draw the covering from it.  He stopped.

     Something was telling him not to look.

     He noticed Dr. Bower staring at him.  Nick slowly
continued to pull down the protective sheet revealing a woman
clothed in a sweatsuit, face down in the grass, her mass of
auburn curls matted with blood.

     Nick's trembling hand reached to turn the body over when
he felt Jack Bower grip his arm.  "Detective!  You're not
wearing gloves.  Let me do this," Dr. Bower barked.

     Nick stood straight up and looked away.   Dr. Bower
could see that Knight had lost what little color was in his
face.  As he turned the body over, he noted the blond
detective's gaze return to the remains.  The look on Knight's
face would make even the greatest skeptic believe he'd seen a
ghost.

     Don Schanke approached the scene slowly, studying his
partner's uncharacteristic behavior.  When he saw the body, he
understood.  The deceased resembled Dr. Lambert--a fact that
finally explained a great deal about the inner workings of one
Nick Knight.



     Natalie felt her body slip from Nick's passionate
embrace.  As her head gently touched the pillow, she glanced up
to see his face sculpted into a beautiful smile, a smile meant
only for her.  "I love you, Nick,"  she whispered.

     "I love you, too, Natalie," Nick replied, kissing her
hair and brushing her lips with his. "Sleep now."  Nick cuddled
close to Nat, enveloping her again with his arms.

     Natalie's eyes closed for what seemed like just a
moment, when she was suddenly awakened by a three-year-old
vaulting onto the bed, bouncing up and down on her hands and
knees, gleefully shouting, "Cancakes, mummy and daddy, cancakes
for breffast!" in time to her bounces.

     Natalie's eyes opened to reveal a blonde, curly haired
little girl peering into her face.  With a start, Nat moved away
from the child.  "Who are you?  How did you get in here?" she
demanded.

     The child's face suddenly collapsed into fear and she
started to cry.  Natalie instinctively reached out to touch the
youngster, only to have the child's image disappear in front of
her eyes.  "*NO!* Don't go!  Who *are* you?!" Natalie called
out.  As she sharply inhaled, she felt a familiar hand wrestle
her shoulder.

     "Nat!  Nat, wake up!"  It was Nick's reassuring voice.
"Nat, you're having a bad dream.  Please, wake up," he
continued.

     Natalie Lambert opened her eyes to see a wall of green
tile and stainless steel gurneys.  She quickly sat straight up,
trying to focus not only her vision but her brain as well.
Caught in that moment, not knowing what was real and what was
fantasy, she suddenly looked over to see Nick kneeling beside
her.  "Where...where am I?" she managed to blurt out.

     "You're in the back office at the coroner's building,
Nat.  You had a bad dream."  Nick's voice was filled with
compassion.  "Are you going to be all right?"

     "Oh...oh, Nick.  It was such a quiet night that I booked
off but decided to catch up on some paperwork back here.  I must
have put my head down for a moment and drifted off to sleep.
I'm so embarrassed!  Did anybody miss me?"  Natalie tried to
laugh, all the while fighting to keep the wistful images of Nick
and the child from being explained away as 'just a dream.'

     "I came down to see about the results of the Pearson
autopsy," he lied.  "Schanke and I just finished the prelims on
a new one at Coronation Park..."

     "What?" Natalie began with a start.  "Why wasn't I
notified--"

     "Jack Bower was covering.  He said that you'd booked
off, and they couldn't reach you at home.  I thought I'd stop in
and pick up the Pearson report on my way back to the precinct.
I heard you repeating something."  He looked into her eyes with
concern.   "You sounded so frightened and desperate.  I've never
heard you like that before, not even after Roger."  He placed
his hand on hers.  "Tell me about your dream," he insisted.

     Natalie almost jumped up from her chair, barely avoiding
bumping into Nick.  "No, Nick.  It's nothing, really.  The new
guy filling in for Grace must have thought I'd gone home, and he
doesn't know to check back here!" she reasoned.  "I'll have to
call Jack and apologize."  Her voice regained its professional
timbre, and Nick was shut out.  "I can print out the Pearson
information for you right now.  Hold on a minute."

     The printer whirred to life on the other side of the
room, releasing them both to focus on its song rather than each
other.  Natalie stared at the paper spewing from the machine,
all the while trying to allow those recent ethereal images to
exist in her conscious mind.

     "Here you go."  She gathered the papers and turned to
offer them to Nick, who had joined her at the printer.  She
allowed her eyes to glance into his.  His face mirrored
questions she could not answer, and she looked away.

     Nick reached out to take the report from her, but his
hand continued upward instead, embracing her shoulder, drawing
her near.  "I was just worried about you, Nat.  Perhaps you
should go home and get some rest.  I know you've been working
too hard since Johnson's been on vacation."

     "Oh, no.  You're not getting out of your doctor's visit
that easily!"  Nat's poise returned.  "Don't we have an
appointment at your place after work for a protein shake
delivery, check-up and a movie?"  She forced the doctor back
into her voice and her eyes as she looked up at him and thumped
his chest with her index finger.

     Nick relaxed his grasp.  His friend was back; Natalie
was back.  "I'll be off at 3.  See you at 330?"  He smiled.

     For a brief second Natalie allowed her mind to drift
back to the dream image of his smile after their lovemaking.
"Yes...yes, 330.  I'll run home first to feed Sidney, and I'll
be there at 330.  Your choice of movie this time, isn't it?"

     Nick's brain decided one of those romantic tear-jerkers
would be the order of the evening.  He did so love to comfort
her when she let her emotions become entangled with the plot, as
she always seemed to do.  "Yes, my choice this time!  I'll
surprise you."

     She turned and watched him exit her office, then called
out after him, "No more Godzilla movies!  He must have eaten all
the North American cities of any interest by now anyway!"

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

     Nick continued down the corridor towards the exit when
he was practically flattened by Don Schanke.  "Nick, did you
pick up the Pearson autopsy report?  And what was that about
Godzilla?" he queried.

     Nick held up the report to answer his partner.  "Oh,
it's nothing, Schank.  Nat's just coming over later to watch a
video, and I get to choose it this time."  As he finished
speaking, Nick realized he had just made a horrible, horrible
mistake.

     "*This* time?  Are you two becoming an item?  Should I
book a hall?  What gives with you and our fair Medical Examiner,
the Lady Natalie?"  Schanke feigned a British accent, his voice
exuding all the calm of a shark in a feeding frenzy.

     "Stow it, Schank.  You know we're just good friends."
Nick was bound to continue this mantra even if it meant
hypnotizing his partner.

     "*'Just good friends.'*  Sure, Knight!  And I'm the
Pope!" Schanke scoffed, all the while remembering the look on
Nick's face as he uncovered the body at Coronation Park.

     "If you're done hammering me, can we go and pick up a
warrant to search Joe Garnett's apartment?  The Pearson autopsy
results show the killer used two different sharp instruments to
stab the victim, and I'm betting we'll find a match at his
place."  Nick wanted to bring his partner back to the business
of police work.

     "Whatever you say, Nick.  And do you want to go by way
of Prince Street so you can pick up a video for you and your
'good friend' later?" Schanke ribbed.

     Nick raised the report as if to swat his partner, but
merely sharpened his voice in mock irritation instead. "Out!"

     As they exited the building and walked to the Caddy,
Nick smiled to himself and thought, 'If you only knew, Schank.
If you only knew....'


     Natalie turned the key to her apartment and listened
carefully as an inquisitive 'meow' emanated from the other side
of the door.  "Hi, Sid, Mum's back," she said, as she opened the
door and glanced down at her cat.  Her mind immediately raced
back to the dream image of the little girl's inquisitive
expression.  The girl had called her 'mummy.'  'Now, where oh
where did that come from?' she wondered, as the images finally
began to recede more into dream than reality.

     Feeling refreshed after a quick shower, Natalie went
into her kitchen to make Nick's allotment of protein shakes.  As
she prepared the vile mixture, her mind wandered back to her
dream.  Making love with Nick *was* something she had longed
for, but she had never before dreamed of a child, *their* child.

     Natalie could not pinpoint the exact moment in time when
she realized she was in love with Nick, just as she could not
remember the exact moment she had decided to become a doctor or
*knew* she was no longer a child--it was just something that
happened and became such an integral part of her being, she no
longer existed apart from it.

     So many times she tried to express her love with words.
So many times words failed her.  It seemed that each time they
began to get close, to finally reach out for each other,
something would always happen to pull them apart.  Perhaps their
worlds simply could not exist in the same time and space.
Perhaps *they* could not, either.

     Natalie's scientific mind would not allow doubt to hold
sway this evening.  'We have to find a cure, Nick,' she thought.
'A cure for you.  A cure for *us.*'

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

     Nick surveyed the loft, anticipating Natalie's arrival.
Romantic movie.  Popcorn.  Roaring fire.  Soft lights.  Yes, all
was ready.

     As he pulled a bottle of blood from the refrigerator
and poured himself a glass, his mind stopped short.  'What am I
doing?  I'm setting myself up.  I'm setting us *both* up.'

     Nick allowed himself to think about the way this evening
with Natalie would end.  He would comfort her during and after
the movie, she would look up into his face, her eyes shining
with tears, her mouth poised to kiss him passionately, and he
would...he would...fail her again.  He wanted to hold her, to
kiss her and become one with her, but his bloodlust would arise,
causing his fangs to descend and his eyes to glow golden as the
beast sought out her life's blood.  Not realizing the beast was
battling for control, Natalie would press against him, trying to
capture his lips, but he would respond by planting a platonic
kiss on her forehead and quickly disentangling himself from her.
Natalie would feel hurt and rejected.  He would feel impotent
and incomplete.  But she would be safe, safe from *him.*

     The scene played itself over and over in Nick's mind
always beginning passionately; always ending sadly.  He knew he
loved Natalie.  He had perhaps loved her from the first time
they met in the morgue.  But loving her meant protecting her
from himself and from the evil in him.  He was a fool to ever
have allowed her to get even *this* close.

     He should break it off.  He should push her away so she
could regain a life of her own, a mortal life where she could
love a mortal man.  He had let many other mortals slip through
his fingers to safety.  Why was it so difficult with Natalie?
Was it her love for him that beckoned every time he came near
her?  The goodness and faith that radiated from her inner self?
Or was it the cure her scientific research represented?  Could
it be his selfish quest that stopped him?

     As he swallowed the blood, Nick heard the lift
engage.  Natalie's beautiful face shone as the door opened, and
she came towards him carrying her medical bag and the protein
shakes.  She was smiling that loving and knowing smile of hers.
'No,' he thought, 'I cannot leave her.  At least not tonight.'

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

     The evening did not go as Nick envisioned. *He* saw to
that.  While Natalie examined him, he held his body rigid,
quickly raising a silent barrier between them.  She immediately
detected a change in Nick's demeanor from the concern he had
shown her earlier in the morgue.  Nat's mind lapsed into its
old, familiar explanations 'we are just friends; he thinks of
me as a sister; I'm crazy to think it's anything else.'  Her own
expectations of the evening crumbled.

     Natalie forced a weak smile to her lips.  "So, what's
the movie?"  She wondered if he could sense her disappointment.

     Nick tried not to wince.  "Oh, it's Ladyhawke.  Have you
seen it?"

     "Uh, no, I haven't," Natalie lied.  "What's it about?"

     "The clerk said it's a sort of mythic tale from the
middle ages but with modern music.  I know you like Rutger
Hauer," Nick explained, trying not to reveal his dismay for not
having a second, 'safer' choice available.  'Where's Godzilla
when I really need him?' Nick thought.

     "Let me get the popcorn ready.  Go ahead and crank up
the VCR," Nat's voice was straining with feigned cheerfulness.

     Fifteen minutes later, Nat plopped herself at one end of
the couch, a glass of juice in one hand and the bowl of popcorn
in the other.  Seated at the opposite end of the couch and
wishing it were at least a meter longer, Nick picked up the
remote and pushed 'play.'

     As the movie progressed, each looked straight ahead at
the television screen.  Nick tried to keep his eyes focused on
the set, but he could not stop them from wandering in Natalie's
direction every few minutes.  '*I* know how it feels to love
someone so much it hurts,' thought Nick as he mirrored the pain
on Navarre's face.  'At least he's told her he loves her.  I
can't even do that for the harm it will bring her.'  Nick
glanced at Natalie for a long second.  Was it a tear he saw
staining her cheek?  He quickly turned his eyes back to the
television.

     By the beginning of the second hour, Natalie's emotions
had betrayed her, and tears softly escaped her eyes.  'Just what
I needed!  A movie about lovers kept apart by the forces of
evil.  Well, at least Isabeau *knew* Navarre loved her.  And for
them, there *was* a cure,' Natalie thought as she tried
unsuccessfully not to look for Nick's reaction to the film.

     A furtive glance showed Nat that Nick's eyes were
staring straight ahead until she noted, with a strange sense of
reassurance, his quick sidewards glimpse in her direction.
'He's checking on me,' she surmised.  'Maybe there's hope for us
yet.  Maybe I'm more than a sister to him.'

     When the movie ended, Nick picked up the remote and hit
the rewind button.  He feared he would lose himself in her eyes,
so he gave Natalie time to dry her tears before he faced her.

     Natalie promised herself she would not sink into
weepiness in front of Nick.  Their situation would *not* break
her.

     "Well, good movie, Nick," Natalie's voice did not expose
her hidden feelings of pain and love for Nick.  "Sure beats
Godzilla!" she continued, as she forced every ounce of gaiety
she could muster into her voice.

     "Oh, I was afraid you might think the story was a little
too magical or something," Nick's voice dissolved in his throat
as he tried to look at her.  He saw the trail of fresh tears she
had tried to erase, and he heard her disguise her pain with a
cheery voice.  He would not embarrass her with a scene.

     "Before I go, I meant to ask if you could pick me up at
the free clinic tomorrow night?  I'm volunteering, but my car
will be in the shop.  You still have the night off, don't you?"
Natalie was happy she could steer the conversation to a safer
topic.

     Nick was also glad for the change in subject.  "Yes.
Sure, I'll pick you up."

     "Could you make it about 830?  That'll give me time to
get some of the younger kids vaccinated, too."  Natalie smiled
inwardly as she thought about spending time with young, living
patients.  Volunteering at the free clinic always seemed to
renew her spirit.

     "830 it is.  See you then," Nick replied.

     Natalie returned her glass and popcorn bowl to the sink.
"I'll just take care of these first," she stated.

     "No, you must be tired.  I'll get them," Nick said,
looking for a way to gently ease her out of the loft before his
resolve failed him.

     Nat picked up her medical bag and pointed to the
refrigerator.  "There are enough protein shakes for a week.
*Don't* forget them!"

     Nick allowed himself to relax for a second, hoping that
the unspoken tension between them was beginning to wane.  "I
*can't* forget them, Nat, you won't let me!" Nick chuckled.

     "Good, at least I've trained you well.  Goodnight,
Nick," Natalie shot him a look that defied description.

     "Goodnight, Nat," said Nick, as he stopped himself from
pulling her into his arms and enfolding her in his embrace.

     As she exited the lift and walked to her car, Natalie's
emotions reigned over her once again.  The tears streamed down
her cheeks, bitter and hot.  'I can't go on much longer, Nick.
Will there ever be a future for us?  I *need* to find that
cure.'  Natalie's mind wandered back to her dream, to the image
of Nick's face after their lovemaking.

     Nick followed Natalie's heartbeat as she left the loft
and found her car.  She was crying again.  He *knew* it, and it
was his fault, as usual.  "I'm sorry, Nat," he whispered.
"There has to be a way for us.  There *has* to be a cure that
will let us be together."  Nick's cold and ancient heart gave
one loud and mighty thump as he thought about how wonderful
mortal life with Natalie would be.


    The next evening at the Free Clinic in Toronto found Natalie
looking down into tear-filled eyes.  "Robert, my name is
Natalie.  Can you say 'Natalie?'"

     "Mmm uh," mumbled a very distracted four-year-old,
shaking his head in the negative.  Robert's eyes were like
saucers as Natalie gently laid her hand on his shoulder and
softly patted him as he sat on the examining table, his shirt
off and his mother by his side.

     "I bet you can say it if you try real hard. *Natalie,*"
Nat continued with a look of encouragement on her face.

     "Na...Naaa...Nannalie," Robert slowly and deliberately
replied, looking down at the floor, then up to his mother whose
smiling face seemed to urge her son to try again.

     "That's better!  You're almost there!  Na*t*alie," Nat
responded with reassurance.

     "Naa...Natalie," Robert almost whispered to the floor,
then sheepishly brought his eyes upwards to meet hers.  His
tears had finally subsided and were being replaced by the hint
of a smile.

     "You did it!  Very good!" Natalie cheered.  "Now,
Robert, I need your help.  Do you think you can help me?"  Nat's
eyes focused on the child.

     Robert's head slowly nodded in the affirmative while his
mother gave him a gentle squeeze on the shoulder.

     "I need to give you some medicine so you'll be safe.
And I need to give it to you in your arm.  Which hand do you use
to draw with?"  Natalie waited patiently for the youngster to
point to his right hand.  "Okay, your right hand!  Now, here's
the part where I need your help.  Can you hold my friend's hand
while I give him some medicine, too?"

     Robert looked at Natalie and then glanced around the
room, finally giving his mother a questioning stare.

     "Oh, you're wondering where my friend is, are you?"
Natalie piped in.  "Well, he's right here," she continued, as
she pulled a ten-inch-tall teddy bear from the kangaroo pockets
of her white lab coat and offered it to the child.

     Robert's eyes softened as he reached out to accept the
bear.  The boy looked sympathetically at the toy.  "Is he
getting 'menicine,' too?" he asked.

     "Yes," replied Natalie, "and in the same arm as you are.
Will you hold his hand so he won't be scared?" Natalie continued
and thought to herself how much easier it was to give
vaccinations since the arrival of the large shipment of teddy
bears.  Funny.  An anonymous donor sent them along with a
generous check about a week after she had been to the 96th and
mentioned the cutbacks the clinic had suffered to its Children's
Outreach programs.

     She cast a quick glance at the silent blond detective
who waited across the hallway for her to finish with her final
patient of the evening.  'Yeah, very funny,' she thought, trying
to repress a smile.

     Robert held the bear tightly in his grasp as Natalie
gave an 'injection' to the bear.  "What a brave bear he is with
you here, Robert!" she exclaimed.  "Now, I'm going to give you
the medicine, too.  Hold Mr. Bear tight," her voice was
reassuring as she swabbed Robert's left upper arm with alcohol
and quickly administered the injection, hardly removing her eyes
from his stare.

     Robert held his breath, then let out a brief yelp when
he felt the first prick of the needle.  Natalie did not give him
time to react further.  "That's it!  All done," she concluded.
"What a brave pair!"

     Robert looked down at the bear sadly, then raised it
towards Natalie.  "Oh, no, Robert," she started.  "I think two
such courageous fellows as you need to stick together.  Can the
bear come to your house to live?"  Her face radiated warmth.

     "You mean I can keep him?" Robert asked loudly.
"Always?" he continued, his eyes growing large with disbelief.

     Natalie glanced at Robert's mother whose face was
beaming.  "If it's okay with Mom, yes, you can keep him always,"
Natalie nodded in the affirmative.

     Robert's mother gave her son a silent signal that the
bear was his and said, "Now, Robert, thank Dr. Lambert."

     Robert squirmed with delight.  "Thank you, Doctor
Na*t*alie," Robert responded, hugging the bear to his chest.  He
paused and said, "I'll call him Dr. Bear!"

     "You're welcome, Robert," Natalie said, helping the
child put his arms through his shirt and unconsciously buttoning
it for him.  "You take care of Dr. Bear and your mom, will you?"

     Robert smiled broadly and nodded his head as Natalie
eased him down from the table.  Her hand rested gently on his
shoulder for a long moment.  A cloud of regret passed over her
face noticed only by Nick, still waiting quietly across the
hallway.

     "See you for your annual check-up in six months!"
Natalie called to Robert as he sped down the corridor, followed
closely by his mother.  Nat glanced in Nick's direction, her
gaze settling on his eyes which were brimming with pain.  It was
the pain of knowing that he would never be a father; never have
a child to hold, to love, to cherish, to spoil.  Just as *she*
knew the same fate awaited her as long as she loved him.

     Nick memorized the vision of Natalie interacting with
the child. '*This* is what she deserves--a child of her own, a
child to love, a child to mother--things I can never give her.
Children bring light to the world--a light that will never
penetrate my life, not as long as darkness rules my soul.'  For
the umpteenth time, Nick told himself that Natalie should not be
deprived of this important part of mortal life. *He* should not
deprive her of it by loving her, by allowing her to love him.

     Their eyes met, and, for a brief eternity, each could
feel the others thoughts.

     Natalie crossed the room and stood beside Nick, gently
taking his hand in hers.  "Nick...don't...," she began, staring
deeply into his eyes, "don't do this to yourself."  She wanted
to scream, 'Don't do this to *us,*' but her reluctance to be the
first to admit her love kept the words imprisoned in her heart.

     Nick squeezed her hand.  "It's okay, Nat.  It's just
that you should always be around kids.  I don't often see you
with children--you're a natural," he finished and forced a weak
smile to his lips.

     He continued to hold her hand for longer than he had
intended.  It felt so right.  It felt so *human.*

     Reluctantly he asked, "Are you ready to pick up your
car?"

     The mood was broken.

     Feeling that an important moment had been lost, Nat
replied, "Sure, I'll just get my coat and my bag.  Be back in a
minute."  She released his hand and walked away.  She returned
with her things and followed him to the Caddy.

     They drove in silence, a lifetime of words sitting
unspoken between them.

     When they arrived at the garage, Natalie stepped inside
to settle the bill with the mechanic and retrieve her keys.  "Do
you want me to follow you home to make sure the car's okay?"
Nick asked as he followed her into the building.

     "No.  Thanks anyway, Nick," Natalie responded.  "As long
as it starts, I'll be fine and the garage is still open for
another hour.  See you tomorrow?"  The words almost caught in
her throat.

     "Yeah.  I'm on tomorrow, and I'll be following up the
evidence on the Coronation Park case."  Nick's police officer's
voice was taking over.  "Goodnight, Nat."

     Natalie paid the mechanic and headed to her car as Nick
slowly drove away.  She started the engine, but sat alone for
several minutes trying to find a reason to go home, when all she
really wanted to do was be with Nick.



     Nick's hand went instinctively to the knob of the car
radio as he eased the Caddy into traffic.

     "Good evening, gentle listeners.  This is the
Nightcrawler," began the velvet tones of LaCroix's monologue.
"Tonight's topic is nature and what happens to those who forget
its power.

     "Inside every animal that man tries to domesticate lies
the soul of a wild beast--a soul that will *always* default to
its true nature.  How many wild animals are destroyed every year
because their foolish owners do not recognize or respect the
beast inside them?  These creatures may seem like household
pets, but they will rise to their true beastly capacities when
angered, caged or challenged.  You see, you simply cannot play
house with a killer."

     "It reminds me of the old children's rhyme about the
lady and the crocodile.  You remember, don't you?  The woman
wanted to travel down the Nile and the crocodile offered to
transport her on his back.  Even though she should have known he
was a killing beast, she trusted him because he appeared so
docile, so 'civilized.'  But...

     'At the end of the ride,
     The lady was inside.
     And the smile was on the crocodile.'

    "So pay close attention to the true nature of the
wild beasts of the universe and do not expect to 'play house'
with them.  They are what they are.  And they will destroy any
who try to keep them from their killing instincts.

    "I await your calls, my pets.  The Nightcrawler is watching
out for *you.*"  The sounds of "Born to Be Wild" filtered from
the radio as LaCroix's monologue concluded.

    LaCroix whispered to the empty studio, "I watch over *all*
that is mine, Nicholas."



     Nick's hand snapped the dial to 'off.'   Even without
LaCroix's warning, Nick recognized the danger he posed to
Natalie.  He was a killer with a killer's instincts, and he
*would* default to that if he ever let his control slip.  How he
could ever resolve his love for her and his fear for her safety,
he did not know.



     Four evenings later, Natalie hurried through the doors
of the morgue.  In the rush of the moment, she tossed her purse
on top of her desk, causing it to spew its contents.  Kleenex,
paper clips, checkbook, lipstick and grocery receipts all
tumbled out.  Feeling exasperated, Natalie flung her coat over
the items which defined her everyday life.

     "Whoa, slow down, girl," Grace chuckled. "Where's the
fire?"

     "Oh, Grace, I don't know what happened, but I overslept
and have been running behind since I opened my eyes!" cried
Natalie, trying to catch her breath.  "Tell me it's going to be
a slow night, and I'll relax!"  Natalie collapsed into her desk
chair.

     "Well, I'm not sure about the slow night, but our
fearless leader has been attempting to reach you, and he wants
you to phone him as soon as you arrive.  He called twenty
minutes ago and you just missed his second try," Grace
continued.  "I can only imagine what he wants."

     "Malone called for me twice?" Nat questioned.  "I guess
we can rule out a promotion or the Nobel prize for medicine, eh?
But, I wonder..."

     The doors of the morgue burst open, startling both
women.  "Dr. Malone, I was just about to return your call,"
Natalie began, rising quickly to her feet surveying the
irritated countenance of Dr. Edwin Malone, the city's Chief
Coroner.

     "Dr. Lambert, ah, Natalie, I'm glad I finally found
you," he said.  Dr. Malone was about to comment on the fact that
he had needed to come down to the morgue in person in order to
find his youngest medical examiner, but stopped short,
remembering she worked the night shift voluntarily and spent
many of her days off in the morgue finishing paperwork and
generally trying to keep up with the never ceasing pace of
forensic pathology.

     Dr. Malone's expression softened as he continued. "We
have a bit of an emergency on our hands, and I was hoping you
could help us out.  Jack Bower, from South, was supposed to
attend a regional coroner's conference in Québec City in two
days.  Unfortunately, his wife has taken ill, and he won't be
able to leave.  I know it's very short notice, but I'd like you
to go in his place.  It's only for five days, and the city
really needs to have a representative there.  We're hosting next
year, and you know how it'll be if we don't have one of our best
in attendance."  He was hoping that his compliment, although
certainly true, would snag her attention.

     "Are you sure about this, Dr. Malone?  I have a number
of cases backed up as it is." Natalie did not quite know why she
was making excuses.  A week in old Québec sounded like heaven,
even if most of her time would probably be filled with meetings
and seminars.

     "Yes, I'm quite sure!  Unfortunately, I need your answer
right away."  Dr. Malone's voice was insistent.

     Natalie answered quickly.  "I'll just have to make
arrangements for my cat," she started, not sure why she was
bringing up this detail to her boss.

     "I'll be glad to take care of Sidney for you, Dr.
Lambert," Grace answered forcefully, leaving no doubt as to her
thoughts on the subject.

     "Well, I guess it's a 'yes' then, Dr. Malone.  Do you
have all the details of the conference?" Natalie asked.

     "I'll have my secretary send you Jack's registration
packet and hotel reservation information through the interoffice
mail."  Dr. Malone looked pleased.  "I know you'll represent the
department well, Dr. Lambert.  Check with her tomorrow if you
have any other questions."  He turned to leave, but remembered,
"Do you have a list of your pending cases, so I can arrange for
someone to cover for you?"

     "Yes, it's right here." Natalie's eyes turned to examine
the top of her desk when she remembered the file was probably
sitting *under* the contents of her purse.  She quickly moved
her coat and began to brush aside the lipstick and tissues, when
her eye caught the slight glint of a small silver frame which
had also escaped in the confusion.  It was the photograph that
Vera had taken of Nick and her at last year's Christmas party.
The one where Nick was smiling at her in a way that always made
her heart skip a beat--the one she loved to look at for hours.

     Casually slipping the photo into her middle desk drawer
and hoping neither Grace nor Dr. Malone saw her actions or the
slight blush which appeared on her cheeks, Natalie found the
manila folder she sought and handed it to her boss.  "There are
currently five cases pending including the Woodard case the 96th
is working on.  That's the one where the victim was found in
Coronation Park," Natalie's voice exuded professionalism.

     "Great!  I'll let you know who will be filling in for
you tomorrow, and you can notify your staff," Dr. Malone
concluded as he reached to shake her hand.  "I'll be looking
forward to a full report from you on the conference when you
return next week."

     Natalie returned Dr. Malone's handshake.  "Thank you.
I'll see you when I get back."

     As Dr. Malone exited the morgue, Natalie turned to
Grace.  "You were kind of anxious to take care of Sidney, Grace.
Did you know about this or has Sidney finally worked his cat
magic on you?" Natalie queried.

     Grace raised both her hands as if under arrest.  "No!
I'm innocent!  I don't know a thing about it.  But I *do* think
you deserve a break, especially at the city's expense, after all
the o.t. you've put in since Johnson's been on vacation.  And if
that means Sidney and I get to spend some 'quality time'
together, so be it."  Grace's face reflected her concern for her
friend and her satisfaction that perhaps *finally* Natalie might
have some fun, or at least a few days to relax.  "Just be sure
to pack that little birthday gift we all got you."  Grace smiled
slyly.

     "Birthday gift...oh, Grace!" Natalie's face turned
crimson as she remembered the black lace teddy the staff had
presented to her last summer for her birthday.  The one that sat
untouched by human or vampire hands in her bottom dresser
drawer.

     "You might want to ask some special someone to go along,
you know," Grace said, searching Natalie's face for any telltale
sign that a certain blond homicide detective might be in the
picture.  'When are those two ever going to stop pussy-footing
around and admit they're crazy about each other?' she wondered
to herself.

     "Grace, we're just good...wait a minute," Natalie
started, then caught herself.  "I don't know *who* you mean!"

     Grace raised her hand to silence her boss.  "Yeah, Dr.
Lambert, and *I'm* Whitney Houston!"

     Natalie looked back, trying hard not to acknowledge that
she knew *exactly* what and whom Grace meant.  "We'd both better
get to work, or I'll never get out of here in two days!"

     Natalie's mind flashed to the unused lingerie in the
bottom of her dresser drawer.  Her toes curled slightly as she
quietly opened her desk drawer and sneaked a quick glance at the
photograph one more time, an action not lost on Grace's
hawk-like peripheral vision.


     "Hey, Nick, let's make a quick stop at the Kaffee
Klatch.  I could use some caffeine to keep me awake, and nature
is calling my name."  Don glanced at his partner, who
slowed the Caddy and eased it into the parking lot of Schanke's
favorite donut and sandwich joint.  "Thanks," he started, "I'll
be right there.  You grab us a table."

     Before Nick could offer a protest, Schanke was out of
the car and bursting through the door, tipping an imaginary hat
to the proprietor and Julie, the regular waitress.  "Two coffees
for my partner and me, Julie.  And I'll take one of those eclair
things," he said, not stopping as he made his way to the
restroom at the back of the establishment.

     "Still on that diet, I see, Schank!" cried Julie in
response.  "Good evening, Detective Knight," she continued.
"Can I get you anything besides coffee?"

     "No thanks, Julie.  Coffee's fine," replied Nick,
seating himself at a booth near the door.  He smiled as she
quickly brought two steaming cups to the table, along with a
chocolate eclair for Schanke.

     Nick raised the mug to his lips, enjoying the warmth
that emanated from the ceramic container and inhaling the steam
from the coffee.  He touched the liquid to his lips briefly, not
only for Julie's benefit, but to try just a taste for humanity's
sake.  'Ugh!' he thought as he cringed at the flavor.  'How can
they stand this stuff!  It's more bitter than cow.'

     Julie cast him an understanding look from across the
counter.  "You might want to sweeten that up tonight, Detective.
It's a little strong.  Your partner never even tries it without
at least three sugars!"

     "Thanks, I'll do that."  Nick gave her a quick nod of
his head.  As he reached for the sugar packets, Nick slowly
surveyed the restaurant.  The normalcy of it all affronted his
vampire senses.  Three booths over from where he sat, two
elderly gentlemen were engaged in an animated conversation about
each other's golf handicaps.  As Nick zeroed in on their words,
he realized they knew each other well.  With a familiarity born
from years of friendship, they also discussed each other's aches
and pains, doctor's appointments, the stock market.  Seated at
the counter were three middle-aged women, laughing and giggling
over some shared joke.  'Tourists,' thought Nick, faintly amused
by their antics.  'Probably Americans.'

     Across the aisle was a young man who appeared to be waiting
for someone.  Nick could see the quiet anticipation in his face
broaden into a deep smile as the shop door opened to a beautiful
woman carrying a small child.

     Her face brightened as she spied her husband, who
jumped up to greet her with a quick kiss to the cheek and
another one to the baby's forehead.  As the couple passed his
table, the woman caught Nick's attention for a moment and smiled
at him briefly.  Nick redirected his efforts to the coffee, but
stole another quick glance at the young wife and mother whose
warmth and knowing green eyes reminded him of another young
woman...

>>>---->


France, the village of Dampierre, about twenty miles outside of
Paris, 1822.  (Note  Nicolas is pronounced 'Nicola.')

     "Nicolas, you sly dog, how is it the gods are so kind to
you and so harsh to me?" cried Gaspar L'Heureux, slapping the
back of his guest lightly, all the while cursing his ill luck
under his breath.

     "The gods have nothing to do with it, my dear Gaspar.  It
is skill, my friend, not luck that rewards me!"  Nicolas
collected his winnings and pushed his chair away from
the gaming table, preparing to leave.

     "But you cannot depart until I have had a chance to even
the score," the young man exclaimed, allowing his emotions
to be more evident than he had intended.

     The look on his companion's face revealed more than mild
desperation, and Nicolas paused to consider another hand of
cards, before tucking his winnings inside his jacket.  "Gaspar,
we must away!  It is late and I promised your father we would
return to the manor before morn."  He placed a compassionate
hand on the boy's shoulder.  "And you will have another
opportunity to regain your losses, I assure you," he laughed.

     Startled from his gloom, Gaspar flinched at Nicolas' grasp,
but quickly glanced about the room and smiled, not wanting to
display his despair to the others.  "Of course, you are right!
There is always tomorrow," he declared, as if saying the words
aloud would grant him the good fortune he so fervently sought.

     Swathed in darkness, the men mounted their steeds and
silently rode the short distance to the manor.  Nicolas slowed
his horse as they approached the outbuildings.  Gaspar grabbed
the reins quickly and stopped the animal.  "Nicolas, go ahead
and take your rest.  I will make certain your mount is delivered
to the groomsman."

     "Come, Gaspar, your father will be worried.  Go on to
the main house and put his mind at ease," Nicolas replied.

     "No, you are our welcomed guest.  My father would demand
nothing less.  Go, your bed awaits you," the raven-haired youth
insisted, glancing nervously about the courtyard.

     Nicolas dismounted and walked slowly toward the
black-lacquered main door of the manor's guest house.
Putting his hand on the latch, he turned to bid Gaspar
goodnight, only to find the young man already afoot, leading
both horses to the stable.

     Approaching the study on the first floor, Nicolas heard the
stirring of the servants at the rear of the house.  A red-faced,
kerchiefed matron peaked her head out the kitchen door and
smiled as she recognized him.  "It is only I, Mme. LeBeau," he
assured her.

     "Ah, good evening to you then, Master Nicolas.  Can I bring
you a dram of spirits to ease your way to slumber?" she asked, a
sleepy yawn in her voice.

     "No, I had no wish to disturb you or the others," he began.
"I only thought I might borrow a book from your master's shelf."

     "The master has left strict orders that we are to see to
your every need, good sir.  I am certain he would not
begrudge anything you ask," she replied.  "I will withdraw if
you have no need of me then."

     "I am fine and will retire soon, but thank you," he said,
turning to inspect the leather-bound tomes housed before him.

     The good family L'Heureux and their servants had made
Nicolas feel extremely welcome during his short stay at the
manor.  A mutual acquaintance in Paris had introduced them,
seeming to find in him a possible benefactor for the family who
had fallen on hard times after the Revolution and the demise of
Bonaparte, all the while promising Nicolas the opportunity to
increase his holdings in the area at a bargain price.  Nicolas
was well aware that generations-old family lands were being lost
to debt and wild-eyed speculation.

     But somehow this family reminded him strangely of his own.
His elder brother and father were lost to fever in the Holy
Land, leaving his mother to fend for herself.  Before Nicolas
had attained manhood, their noble uncle, who was the landed son,
had decreed Nicolas would better serve the family as a knight
and dedicated him in service to another lord.  This gesture,
while magnanimous on the surface, also assured the uncle that no
son of Clair and Andre would challenge the rights of his own
heirs.  After all, the crusades were far away and so many
young men, eager to do their duty, left, never to return.

     Politics and land always seemed to share the same bed,
regardless of the century.  This time was no different.

     Nicolas found Jacques L'Heureux, master of the manor, to be
a bright and interesting man, if ill-equipped to supervise the
running of a large estate.  So many things had changed since the
Revolution.  Estates, handed down through time, could no longer
survive solely on family fortunes, and were being lost following
the fall of the monarchy.  They had to be run profitably or they
would be lost to debt, as threatened this one.  L'Heureux had
never been educated in the agricultural aspects of manor life,
and hard times prevented paying wages to a suitable manager.  He
was a man better suited to finance, but without the economic
resources to advance in the newly emerging marketplaces of
Europe.

     Not certain how to refine his own economic plans, but
knowing he would not put this family's lands in peril, Nicolas
had decided to stay on as a guest to learn as much as he could
about the manor's problems and potential for profit.

     Picking up a volume from the shelf, the vampire ascended
the stairs to his bedroom, assessing his need to feed before the
coming day.  Without his master's knowledge, he had begun to
consume animal blood to reduce the number of humans his
monstrous appetite demanded.  It was about 200a.m.  There was
yet enough time to scan the nearby forest before the first light
of day.  Opening the balcony door carefully, Nicolas prepared
for flight, but noticed a rustling in the shadows below.
Obscured by the line of low trees separating the formal
gardens from the outbuildings, a figure darted swiftly
across the outer courtyard, stopping nervously in the shadows of
statues cast by a silver half-moon before continuing towards the
stables.

     'Who would be sneaking about the grounds this time of
night?' Nicolas wondered, and watched with concern as the figure
entered the stable door.  'Someone planning to steal one of
L'Heureux's fine steeds?'  He flew over and landed softly on the
ground close to the place where the intruder had gained entry.
Stepping cautiously, he neared the door and extended his
preternatural hearing.  The faint rustle of straw and the sound
of soft feminine laughter coming from the hay loft told Nicolas
he need not trouble himself over the welfare of his host's
thoroughbreds.  Smiling to himself, he rose toward the moon and
took flight.



     Sated, the beast withdrew his fangs from the doe, carefully
wiping his sullied hands on its still-warm hide.  The ancient
sun's rays approached.  He could feel rather than see them, and
he took once again to the sky.


Dampierre, 1822 (continued)

     Landing on the balcony, Nicolas silently entered his
bedroom and prepared for sleep, but from some far-off room in
the house, the muffled sound of sobbing assailed his vampire
ears.  He drew his dressing gown around him and donned a robe
before following the weeping to its source.  A glass-ensconced
candle lighted his way through the house, now darkened and still
but for the forlorn cries heard only by him and the yet
unidentified soul who uttered them.

     Nicolas quickly determined that the sounds did not emanate
from the second floor, so he proceeded to the main living area
on the first.  He walked briskly from salon to study to dining
room before entering the kitchen.  His senses caught a quick
stab of breath as he opened the door.  It was not the
candlelight but his heightened vision that revealed the figure
huddled close in the corner of the pantry, rocking back and fro
as if trying in vain to find comfort.

     He approached slowly, letting the candlelight announce his
nearness, and was met with deep green eyes and a look not so
much of terror but of resignation at being discovered disturbing
the master's guest, and preparing for the bitter consequences
of that fact.

     They stared at each other in silence for several moments,
before Nicolas offered his hand to help her stand.  She shook
her head fiercely, ignoring his assistance and bringing herself
suddenly to an upright position.  "I...I'm so sorry for
disturbing you, Master Nicolas," she began.  "I have taken you
from your bed.  Please, I beg you return and forget about me!"

     "Do not trouble yourself, child.  You have not disturbed
me.  I was reading and had not yet taken to sleep when I heard
your cries," he responded, gently reaching to smooth the wisps
of chestnut hair, loosened in grief and now punctuating her
otherwise flawless countenance, back into her kerchief.  He
smiled sweetly to comfort her.  "You are Violette, the
chambermaid?"

     She turned her gaze toward to floor in shame at his
recognition.  "Yes, sir, the tormentor of your rest has that
name."

     He smiled reassuringly at her, "I told you I was not at my
sleep, Violette.  You have done nothing wrong.  But tell me what
vexes you that I should find you at this hour sobbing and
forlorn."

     She looked at him in wonder and found in his iris-blue eyes
the conviction he could help.  She wanted to unburden herself,
but the difference in their stations prevented her.

     Nicolas could see the problem and, even though centuries
had passed and democracy had now risen on two continents, he
wondered if the gulf of birth could ever be bridged.  "Wait
here for my return."  It was a command, and he knew she would
obey.

     Returning to the salon, he snatched up a bottle of brandy
and two glasses, then wound his way again to the kitchen.  He
motioned for her to join him at the small table beside the
cookfire and pulled up a chair for her and another for himself,
pouring the amber liquor into each glass.  "Your master
was distressed that I had not partaken of his fine vintage, so
here is my chance to return to his good graces.  Join me
now."

     Violette slowly brought the drink to her mouth and tried a
small taste.  After the initial warmth passed her tongue, she
took a long sip and then another, adjusting her gaze to Nicolas
who held his glass in mid-air, watching her carefully.

     He touched the glass to his lips for a moment.  "Now
that we have shared a glass as equals, tell me what causes this
grief to one so young," he said soothingly, placing an
encouraging hand over hers.

     "I--I cannot speak of it, Master Nicolas.  Not even to one
so kind as you," she said, her voice slightly dreamy from the
alcohol.

     "Violette, I am friend to this manor and everyone in it.
If there is aught that vexes you, it vexes me as well," he
stated, certain his logic would convince her of his sincerity.
"I assure you of my steadfast character, and will not repeat
your cares to another, unless you wish it of me."  He gave her
hand a final gentle caress.

     Her armor pierced, she found herself unable to stop the
stream of fresh tears that flowed down her reddened cheeks.
Nicolas drew a linen cloth from the pocket of his robe and
handed it to her.  "Now, tell me what causes you this pain,"
he instructed.

     "I do not know how to couch the words which will surely
affront you, kind sir, but with my heart I tell you that I have
committed a most grievous sin against both God and man," she
began, clarity returning to her deep green eyes and acceptance
of her guilt to her countenance.

     The vampire hid a smile at her confession.  How could one
so young and innocent commit any sin?  "You will find in me one
who greatly understands the frailties of mankind.  There is
nothing you have done I have neither heard of nor seen before."
His voice was gentle and sincere.  "Now begin."

     "Although my station does not permit such a thing, I am in
love with one who is my better," she said in a monotone,
never raising her gaze from the tabletop.  "I swear to you I did
not intend for this to be," she raised her eyes to him as her
voice took on a troubled tone, "but, God forgive me, he has my
heart and my soul and I confess my--my body as well."  Her
head dropped to her chest as if prepared to accept her penance
at his hand.

     Nicolas could not repress a smile as he realized the object
of her affection was none other than his young gaming friend.
"And does Gaspar share this love of yours?" he asked, sure that
he now knew the source of the laughter he had overheard earlier
in the stables.

     Terror found its home in her eyes as she searched his
face for the key he had used to unlock her innermost secrets.
"Bu--but how could you know, Master Nicolas?  Have I somehow
betrayed him?" she asked in dismay.

     "No, Violette.  You have done nothing to reveal your
secret.  I but noticed the way Gaspar seemed anxious to take
himself alone to the stables this evening after our return from
the gaming house."  He brushed aside a tear from her cheek.
"And a man would have to be half-blind not to see the beauty of
face and of spirit housed in you, regardless of your
birth."

     He decided to assess her character before continuing.  "I
find Gaspar to be a fine young man, but you know him better than
I.  Tell me, what are his intentions toward you, that I might
know his mettle."

     "That is the source of my grief, sir."  Her voice broke as
she continued, "As you must know, the manor is in sore need of
finances, and even we servants are aware the account books are
almost bare.  Many of the servants have been let go, and those
who have remained have done so in loyalty to the family, as the
rate of pay has had to be greatly reduced.

     "Gaspar and I have known each other since our tender years,
when first I came to service here.  My own family were guildsmen
and merchants whose fortunes were lost after the Revolution.  My
dear older brother saw duty in Napoleon's army before being
sacrificed in battle.  He was our family's last hope to regain
our former station in life, through bounty and lands meted out
in victory.  With Napoleon's defeat, I was pressed into service
to support my parents, and willingly I went, for I am a
devoted daughter as Gaspar is a devoted son.

     "Gaspar and I found love and desire for each other in those
ways in which we are alike, not those of birth and of station
which separate us."  She paused collecting her courage before
continuing.  "We had planned to marry in secret and present the
fait accompli to his parents before they could object, for
surely they would.  He told me he would stand with me, but
whether here at the manor or away at some far-off land, we would
be together.  Until..." she stopped, her lower lip quivering in
grief and uncertainty.

     Nicolas again covered her small hand with his own.  "Go on,
Violette," he encouraged.

     "This night Gaspar told me that his parents have promised
him as husband to the oldest daughter of the family Sorbier.
Their family were merchants, not unlike my own, but they won
Napoleon's favor during the war by supplying the armies and
were well paid before his coffers ran dry.  Now they are
speculators in Paris who have money, but no lands with which to
assure their place in society.  By betrothing their daughter to
Gaspar, they take for themselves his family name, and his
father assures himself the finances to keep the manor intact.

     "This news has sent me to grief and despair, and thus you
found me," she concluded.

     "When is the marriage to happen, Violette?" he asked.

     "The betrothal will be announced at the parish church
Sunday, as is required, and repeated the following two Sundays.
The marriage will take place the week after," she replied.

     "So soon?" he demanded.

     "Yes.  Gaspar believes his parents are driven to this.
Claudette, his sister, has but twelve years, far too young to
marry.  Perhaps in time she would find a husband to work the
manor and bring it again to profit, but if the manor does not
receive money very soon, all will be lost.  They do not want to
allow him too much time to regret their decision for his future.
So we two are in despair.  He told me he has even tried his luck
at the gaming tables to amass a fortune which would prevent the
need for such a match, but to no avail," she whispered
forlornly.

     Nicolas considered Gaspar's behavior at the gaming house
and now realized the enormity of the young man's situation.  "I
will speak to Gaspar," he offered, "and together we may find
another way."

     "Oh, no!" she raised her voice in consternation.  "No, you
must promise you will not mention my weakness to Gaspar.  He
grieves as it is, and I must not be the source of any more
unhappiness to him," she pleaded.

     "Only if you command it of me, Violette," he answered.
"For I believe there may yet be time to intercede with his
parents on your behalf."

     "Your kindness to one of my station is more than I
deserve.  It would distress me more to know that you have been
inconvenienced or troubled because of my sin," she stated.

     "Your sin?" he repeated.

     "Yes, my sin in loving one better than I and allowing that
love to bring him into conflict with his own duty and station."
She raised the glass once again and finished its contents.  "I
know my place and I must be resigned to it, even as I beg God's
forgiveness," she concluded submissively.

     Nicolas looked on her with renewed admiration for her
devotion and courage.  "I will do or not as you desire, dear
child, but know that you have but to ask and I will, as best I
can, fulfill any task you require of me."

     He paused and looked through the nearby window towards the
brightening sky.  "I must away to my bed now, as should you,
before either one of us pray explain that which has passed
between us."

     He rose, grabbed the bottle and turned to the door.
"Master Nicolas," her soft voice called from the table.  "Thank
you for being my confessor.  I pray the new parish priest is as
kind when he doles out my penance."

     "As do I, Violette.  As do I," he replied as he exited the
kitchen and returned to his bedchamber.


<----<<<


     "Man, oh man, I *knew* I couldn't leave you for even a
minute," Schanke complained as he slid into the booth, glancing
over at his partner before popping half the chocolate eclair
into his mouth followed quickly with a slug of coffee.

     "What?  What did you say, Schank?" Nick was jerked back to
the present and looked over at his partner who was shaking his
head from side to side.

     Schanke waited until he had finished chewing and
swallowing the pastry.  "Exactly!  What *did* I say?  And how
could you know when you were somewhere out there just to the
left of the Twilight Zone?  What's with you, Knight?"

     Nick considered his partner for a moment then glanced again
quickly at the young mother with the deep green eyes.  "It's
nothing, Schank, nothing."


     Natalie surveyed her apartment one last time before
heading to the door.  Grace had stopped by earlier to pick up
Sidney.  There was nothing left to do except to leave.

     Her eyes settled on the telephone.  She should call Nick
and tell him she was going.

     'To hell with Nick,' she thought.  'To hell with
vampires.  To hell with everything.'  She was going away for
almost a week, and she was going to enjoy herself--as much as it
would be possible to enjoy oneself at a coroner's conference.
Not exactly romance central.  'And besides, he hasn't called me
in several days.  He hasn't even stopped by the morgue to pick
up reports.  He's sent Schanke to do it.  Coward.  Immortal
creatures who have little cause to fear us 'inferior' humans?
Yeah, right.  Cowards.'

     Her hand moved to pick up the phone.  'NO!' she shouted
to herself silently.  'I'm *not* going to be the maintenance
worker for this relationship.  Who am I kidding?  What
relationship?  NO!'

     The slam of the door echoed from the apartment walls.

     Natalie eased her car into traffic on the 401 and headed
northeast towards Québec.  It would be almost a ten hour drive
and she could have flown, but she had always liked driving.  It
gave her time to think.  Maybe that was the last thing she
needed right now.  Or maybe it was *exactly* what she needed.

     A few hours into the trip, Natalie's thoughts returned
to her dream of Nick and the child-- their daughter, she was
sure of it now.  Chalk up another 'a dream is a wish your heart
makes.'  Her scientific mind told her she was no closer to a
cure than she had been months ago, except that she knew a few
things that had *not* worked.  She was still convinced that
weaning Nick off blood and gradually introducing food were parts
of the process, but maybe they would only work if his metabolism
had already undergone an essential change.  But what change?
She still did not know and was running out of ideas of where to
look.

     And then there was her heart.  Natalie loved Nick, but
she also loved his quest--his journey to return to humanity.
How could she not?  It was so much a fundamental part of his
personality.  It dictated almost everything he did, thought,
experienced, felt.  And since the vampire was a part of the
journey, she let herself think for a tiny moment that perhaps,
underneath it all, she loved the vampire as well as the man.

     'No.  Couldn't be...could it?'  She allowed reason to
resume center stage in this conversation with herself.  'We can
only be together if we find a cure.  There is no other way; he'd
surely kill me otherwise. At least he certainly doesn't think
there is any other way.

     'But what do you *really* want, Lambert?'  She sighed.
'I want to be with Nick emotionally, physically, spiritually.
And I'm willing to take the vampire along with the man.'  There,
she said it.  Well, at least *thought* it.

     Natalie shook her head, unconsciously trying to clear
the conflicting emotions from her brain.  She admitted she loved
Nick and wanted desperately to be with him body and soul.  But
did he love her?  Ah, now that was another issue.

     She thought back to their times together--just the two
of them--in the loft, in her office, in his car.  He was always
the consummate gentleman.  He had had a lot of practice in eight
hundred years.  Their friendship had evolved over
time--tentative and professional at first, then a little more
daring, with gentle hugs and squeezes, a light kiss on the
forehead, a touch of his hand on her hair.  She silently
compared the concern he had shown her when she was having that
dream--no, nightmare--in the morgue with the stiff, "hands-off"
attitude he had assumed when she was examining him in the loft
later the same evening.

     It made perfect sense.  He had been a killer in the
past, and he was convinced the vampire would harm her.  He had
told her as much many times before.

     'So, Lambert, what's the answer?' she wondered, as she
toyed with the wilted bowl of greens that passed for a chef
salad at the diner where she had decided to stop for lunch.  She
let her breath out slowly.  'Do we *really* know we can't be
together, or is it Nick's fear?  Maybe Nick needs to be reminded
that he's the most human man I've ever known and that I *do*
trust him not only with my life but my soul as well.  Sounds
like a job for a faith healer.'  Natalie chuckled out loud at
the thought of Nick and Jimmy Swaggart in the same room.  Not in
this lifetime!  "Faith," she said to no one but herself.  "Maybe
faith is the key."

     After stopping the second time for gasoline, Natalie's
journey to Québec continued uneventfully.  She thought of Nick
and daydreamed of their being together.  She *knew* they were
better together than apart.  But how to persuade Nick to have
faith in himself, to have faith in *them?*

     Nat had still drawn no conclusions when she realized she
was nearing the city of Québec.  She focused her mind on the
task of finding the hotel.  It was easy to navigate to the Grand
Allee and from there find the Québec Hilton which stood at the
corner of Boulevard René Lévesque and Avenue Dufferin.

     She pulled the car into the service area and stepped
out, gingerly stretching muscles cramped from the long drive.
Handing her keys to the parking attendant and finding a bellman
to help with her suitcase, she proceeded to the lobby.

     The desk clerk was congenial and efficient.  After
inspecting the reservation information Natalie presented from
the city of Toronto, he placed the plastic credit-card type key
to room 2204 in Natalie's hand.  "Have a successful conference,
Dr. Lambert.  And be sure to make time to explore the old city!"
he stated, and seemed to actually mean it.

     "Thank you," replied Nat.  "You wouldn't have any
brochures or city maps showing the sights, would you?" she
asked.

     "Yes, right around the corner at the concierge desk.
And he will answer any questions you may have about directions,
reservations and so forth," the clerk answered.

     The bellman waited patiently as Natalie inspected the
brochure display.  She quickly picked out several interesting
and colorful items, determined to study them in detail after she
had settled in.

     A few minutes later, the bellman ushered Natalie into
her room.  It was typical of a big city hotel.  The color scheme
was beige and mauve with teal accents.  The room was of moderate
size and seemed comfortable, but the selling point was the view.
The room was positioned to offer an expansive view of the St.
Lawrence as well as the Citadel and some of the old city
including the Hotel Frontenac, the signature building of the
entire metropolis.  Natalie turned her glance to the bellman who
had placed her suitcase on the luggage rack near the closet.
She opened her purse to find an appropriate tip and handed him a
few loonies, thanking him.  "Enjoy your stay, Doctor," he
responded as he exited.

     Natalie's attention returned momentarily to the view,
but it was interrupted by the loud ring of the telephone.
"Yes?" she asked.

     "Natalie, it's Marie LeClerc!   I just saw the
registration roster and found your name.  I didn't know you were
going to be here," a woman's voice stated eagerly.

     "Marie!!" Natalie almost shouted, astonished to be
speaking with a former colleague from her internship.  "I
haven't even picked up my registration packet yet!  And I'm a
last minute substitute.  Where are you?"

     "I'm in room 1829.  Would you like to have dinner
together tonight?" Marie asked.

     "I just arrived and am in serious need of some
freshening up, but if you could wait a little while, I'd love
to."  Natalie decided that getting together with her old
acquaintance would at least assure that the conference would not
be a total loss.

     "Of course, I completely understand," replied Marie.
"Want to meet me in about an hour at the Le Caucus restaurant
downstairs?  Will that give you enough time?"

     "Yes, that'll be perfect.  See you then.  I can't wait
to catch up!" concluded Natalie as she hung up the phone.


     Don Schanke tapped his pencil on the desk as he glanced
over at his partner for the eighth time in fifteen minutes.

     "What?" Nick sighed, and the tapping finally ceased.  He
looked across the desk with irritation after surveying the
latest interviews on the Woodard case.

     "So, don't you have something to tell your ol' partner,
partner?" Schanke asked, holding his gaze steady on Nick's face,
daring the blond detective to feign ignorance this time.

     "No," was Nick's simple answer.

     "No?!" Schanke replied.

     "No," came the answer, curtly this time.

     "I don't understand you, Knight!  Five nights ago, you
admit you're having a 'video' date with the city's hottest
medical examiner, but ever since, I can't get you to even look
in the direction of the coroner's building, much less go over
there and pick up any reports.  I don't think I've heard you
call over there either, and I know you must have that number all
but engraved on your brain for all the times you've called it in
the past.  What's up with you two?"  Schanke's face reflected
both challenge and concern.

     Nick conjured up the mask that he had perfected during
the nearly eight hundred years of his existence.  The mask that
hid his feelings from the outside world.  The mask that forever
separated him from mortals, and the entanglements that could
only snare him in their trap.

     "There's nothing to tell, Schank," he lied, as he forced
a weak smile to his lips.  "Nat and I watched a video together
and then she went home.  End of story.  We've both been busy
lately...you know that."  Nick intended to say nothing more on
the subject.

     "End of story?  Then how come Fitzroy over in vice told
me he was at the free clinic the next evening checking out a
lead, that he saw you and Nat there holding hands, but Nat
looked like she was going to cry?"  Schanke hesitated, knowing
he had never gotten quite this personal with Nick before.

     "Let it go, Schank.  Everything's okay, honest," Nick's
mind desperately tried to find an explanation Schanke would buy
without having to resort to 'influencing' his partner's mind.
It had been several days since he had seen or talked to Natalie,
and he missed her so much he almost ached.  He wanted her so
badly, yet with that want came fear that the vampire would harm
her.  Maybe it was time to see her again--to test his control
again.  At least with Schanke along, Natalie should be safe.
"And to prove it, let's go over and pick up that new fiber scan
Grace is working on for the Woodard case.  We've got to come up
with something soon or the mayor and Cohen will have our hides."
Nick was all business now, hoping to distract his partner from
this uncomfortable line of thought.

     Nick tried to hide his disappointment as he and Schanke
entered the morgue, and he realized he could not distinguish
Natalie's familiar heartbeat.  Perhaps she was in the cold room
down the hall.  His attention settled on Grace, who sat at her
desk, deeply immersed in a report.

     "Hi, Grace," Nick began, trying to sound chipper.  "I
guess Nat's down the hall.  I'll just go and say hello."

     Before the Balthazar woman could look up from her work,
Nick was out the door.  "Oh, hi, Schank.  Detective Knight's not
going to find Dr. Lambert unless he's planning on taking a
really long walk," she began.

     "What's up, Grace?" Schanke asked.  "Natalie's not
here?"

     "Umm.  I'm surprised she didn't tell you two, well, tell
Detective Knight at least.  She's gone to a conference in Québec
City for five days.  Malone came in here a couple of nights ago
and asked her to go in Jack Bower's place.  His wife got sick,
so he couldn't go.  Natalie left this morning,"  Grace
concluded.

     "Ahh, Grace.  Can I ask you something?" Schanke began,
lowering his voice to a hush and glancing nervously in the
general direction Nick had taken out the door.  "Has Natalie
seemed all right to you lately?  I mean, has she seemed
distracted or anything?"

     "What are you getting at, Don?" Grace started.  "Do you
mean is there something up between Dr. Lambert and her 'just
good friend,' your beloved partner?..."

     At that moment, Nick quickly entered the room again,
staring at Grace.  "Does Nat have the night off, Grace?  I
couldn't find her anywhere."

     "It seems Natalie's at a conference in Québec, Nick.
Grace just filled me in,"  Schanke began, fixing his stare on
Nick's face, looking for...what?  A sign?  A crack in that
unflappable Nick Knight facade?  "How long did you say she'd be
gone, Grace?" Schanke asked, never letting his eyes leave Nick's
face.

     "Five days, Detective Schanke.  She left this morning,
and I don't expect to see her in here until next Monday night."
Grace's voice was smooth but had just a tinge of 'got'cha'
spiced in for Nick's benefit.

     For a microsecond, caught like a deer in the headlights
of an oncoming car--no, with these two, it would be an oncoming
train--Nick let disappointment flash across his face.  Almost as
quickly, the eight hundred year old mask slipped back into
place.  "That--that's really wonderful to hear, Grace.  Natalie
works so hard and she gets so little time off.  I--I hope she
has a good time," he stammered.

     "Anyway, Schank and I are here to pick up that fiber
scan you were working on for the Coronation Park case.  Is it
done?"  Nick Knight, Metro homicide detective spoke those words,
not Nicolas de Brabant, lonely crusader who deeply loved one
Natalie Lambert, medical examiner.

     Grace, too, was scanning Nick's face, trying to find a
reason not to hit him square on the cranium with a heavy blunt
object.  For all the pain he had apparently caused Natalie,
which resulted in her leaving without even telling him, for the
blush that had come over her boss' face when Grace had mentioned
the lace teddy and for the fact that Grace had guessed it was
being saved for the eyes of a certain blond cop who was, as most
men, clueless.

     "No, Detective, I'm just finishing it now.  It'll be a
few more minutes.  Do you want to wait or should I call you when
it's done?"  Grace could hide her true feelings, too.

     Nick knew he needed to get out of there *now.* "Just
give us a call, would you, Grace?  I'm headed back to the
office," Nick responded as he turned to exit the office.

     Schanke looked at his partner and then back down to
where Grace was sitting.  "Well, if it'll only be a few minutes,
I'll wait for it, Grace," Schanke reasoned.  "No use starting
something new...,"  his voice trailed off.

     Nick glared in his direction even as his body almost
cleared the doorway.  "Have it your way, Schank.  I'll see you
back at the precinct."

     As the whoosh of the automatic door closer was followed
by the secure latch of the throw bolt hitting the striker plate,
the heavy-set woman resumed, "And what was that you were saying
about *Natalie* being distracted, Schanke?"

     "Man, oh man, Grace.  What is it with those two?  Anybody
with half a brain can see they've got it bad for each other.
Sometimes I think I should carry a fire extinguisher just to
hose Nick down after he's been in here.  But then he acts so
cool about it all--never tells you anything, never lets you in
or makes a slip--except about the video date thing--" Schanke
took a quick breath.

     "*What* video date thing?" Grace asked, somewhat
surprised.

     "Oh, it was a week or so ago.  Nick, as usual, was
panting like a puppy dog to come over here and pick up that
first autopsy report on the Pearson case.  I came in after he'd
gotten it from Natalie.  He let something slip about it being
his turn to pick out the video *this time.* Well, you know I
couldn't let that one pass, so I ragged on him a little, and I
think I actually saw him smile," Schanke's voice slowed.

     "And..?" the technician asked expectantly.

     "That's just it...*and* nothing--nada!   He had the next
night off and when I saw him two nights later, he's Mr. Cool
again." Schanke shook his head.

     "Well, I can tell you--" Grace started.

     "Wait, Grace, there's more!" Schanke interrupted.
"Fitzroy in vice told me he was following up a lead over at the
free clinic where Natalie volunteers and he saw them holding
hands!" Schanke looked down at Grace for her reaction.

     "Holding hands?  Well, at least that's a start," Grace
sighed.

     "No!  Fitzroy said Natalie looked like she was going to
cry and Nick had that--you know--that 'lost in space' look he
gets.  Ever since then he's been avoiding coming over here.  I
don't even think he's called," concluded Schanke.

     "No, I can tell you he hasn't, Don," the woman agreed.
"Although Malone's offer of the Québec conference came out of
the blue, Natalie seemed to agree to it awfully quick.  She
doesn't usually do things on the spur of the moment, you know.
And to answer your first question, yes, she's seemed more than a
little distracted lately."

     "I could understand it, if it were only that same old,
'just good friends' crap they've been shoveling out for the past
two years," the dark haired detective continued.  "But
something's eating at the both of them.  I thought Nick was
going to faint when he first saw the Woodard woman's body at the
crime scene.  You know her hair color was similar to Natalie's
and her build about the same, too.  He just got this
look--almost desperate, I'd call it, even after he realized it
wasn't Nat."  Schanke probed Grace's countenance for an answer.

     "It goes both ways, Schanke, I can tell you," Grace said
as she took in a large breath.  Before she continued, she
hastily surveyed the office, making sure they were completely
alone, a gesture not lost on Schanke.

     "What is it, Grace?  Is there something else I should
know?" Schanke lowered his voice and imitated her survey of
their surroundings.

     Grace's posture straightened in her chair, as she looked
right into his eyes and said in her most professional voice,
"Detective Schanke, the fiber scan report on the Woodard case is
finished, but you'll have to *sign* for it."

     Schanke was caught off guard.  "Of course, I always do.
What's the big deal?"

     The technician pursed her lips and stared at the
homicide detective once again.  "You have to *sign* for it,
Detective, and I don't have a pen, do you?"

     "Grace," he whined.  "Of course I have--"

     She was in overdrive now.  "Oh, you don't have a pen,
Detective?  I think you can find one in Dr. Lambert's desk."
Grace drew Schanke's eyes from hers to Natalie's center drawer
and back again.

     The light bulb finally went on.

     "Oh, yeah, sure, Grace.  No, I don't have a pen.  How
stupid of me.  You say I'll find one here?" Schanke looked
around nervously, as he walked over to Natalie's desk and slid
the center drawer open, looking for what, he did not know.

     Schanke glanced quickly at the contents of the desk
drawer and just as quickly back at Grace, trying desperately to
understand what it was he was supposed to find.  Grace's
countenance seemed to urge him on and her right hand made a
gesture in mid air, imploring him to open the drawer wider.  The
glint of a silver frame caught his eye the second time he looked
down.

     "I think I found one I can use, Grace.  It's under
this...,"  Schanke stopped short as his hand moved to right the
small silver frame which was face down at the back of the
drawer.  He turned the frame over and stared for several
seconds.  Even an old married man like Donald Schanke could see
that the look his partner was directing to a similarly smitten
medical examiner meant they felt more for each other than 'just
good friends' would.  He looked over at Grace and once more at
the photograph, before turning it face down once again and
replacing it, almost reverently, at the back of the drawer.

     As he closed the drawer, Schanke let out a deep sigh and
looked once again at Grace.  She beckoned him to come back to
her workstation. "Look, Don, I don't want you to think I go
around trashing through my boss' desk," she began in soft tones.
"The other night when Malone asked Natalie to go to the Quebec
conference, it slipped out of her purse.   She must have swept
it into the desk, because I saw her gazing at it later with a
look that would break your heart.  I've know Natalie for almost
three years now and, like most people, she has her ups and
downs, but she has seemed so sad lately, I just had to see if I
could find out why," she finished, staring into Don Schanke's
confused face, willing him to have an answer.

     "I don't know.  Nick's always been the silent type, but
he's been especially hard to read lately," the balding detective
said.  "Maybe they're at some kind of crossroad in their
'non-relationship.'  You know, maybe it's the old 'c' word you
women love so much."

     "'C' word?" Grace questioned.

     "Commitment!  And I can't see my partner letting himself
get cornered into that one--not even for Natalie," he concluded.

     "Maybe he needs a little...help," Natalie's friend and
co-worker mused, considering the myriad of possibilities
suddenly opening to her.

     "Help?  Like what kind of help?"

     "Oh, I don't know...Maybe a little competition for
Natalie's affections, or maybe...,"  Grace's voice trailed off
as her mind continued to sift through the alternatives.

     "Or maybe they could accidentally end up stranded
together someplace where they couldn't just run away from each
other!"  Metro's finest was on a roll now.

     "Uh, I think I *like* it.  Give me details!"  Grace
smiled broadly.

     "Myra and I have a place about 3 hours north of here.
It's rather remote.  What if they both happened to be invited
the same weekend?"  Schanke had an expectant look on his face.

     "As long as they don't know the other is invited too?"
Grace asked.

     "Absolutely!  Myra's great at this stuff.  She'll love
it."  Schanke seemed to relax a little.  "I'll get working on it
as soon as my shift is over.  Can I count on you to coordinate
Natalie's part?"

     Grace raised her hand as if to take the Girl Guide's
oath.  "Anything you need, detective.  I'm a sucker for a happy
ending."

     "And I'm a sucker for a good conspiracy!" the dark
haired police officer laughed as he shook her hand and picked up
the Woodard report.


     Natalie walked to the entrance of Le Caucus, scanning
the restaurant for Marie LeClerc.  "Natalie!  Over here!" she
heard an enthusiastic voice cry from across the room.

     Smiling, Natalie proceeded towards Marie's table and
gave her friend a big hug, then seated herself.  "You look so
good!  How long has it been?  Seven years?" Natalie exclaimed.

     "Closer to eight, I think, but who's counting?" the
ash-blonde woman replied.  Marie was beautifully attired in an
aubergine-colored suit and a beige silk blouse.  She beamed at
Natalie.  "I heard you're setting the forensics world on fire
out there in Toronto, girl!  I want to hear all about it!"

     "No.  I want to hear about *you,* Marie.  Tell me
everything!" Natalie begged.

     "Okay, I'll go first, but then it's your turn!" Marie
began.  "After my residency, I took a job with the Montreal
police department.  I pulled the usual nobody-else-wants-it duty
all the rookies get, but I was lucky enough to be involved in a
couple of high profile cases.  The Police Commissioner's office
noticed me, and I got assigned to several task forces overseeing
protocols and such.  They even sent me to an few international
conferences sponsored by Interpol.  That's what saved me in the
end."

     "What do you mean?" Natalie questioned.

     "Well, after I married Derek---"

     "You're married?  I didn't know!" Natalie almost
shouted.

     "Yes, we've been married for seven years now.  I met
Derek at one of the Commissioner's parties.  He's a banker.  I
rag on him sometimes for being a stuffed shirt, but, what can I
say?  I love him.  And he's a good dad, too.  We have two
kids...well, two and a half... ." She stopped, gently patting
her abdomen with her right hand.

     "Oh, Marie.  When are you due?" Natalie asked, battling
conflicting emotions.  She was happy about her friend's good
fortune both in her work and her family life, but Natalie also
felt a pang of jealousy accompanied by a rather large dollop of
regret--regret for not being able to have a child as long as she
loved Nick, yet resignation that the choice was hers.  It had
always been her choice to love him, and, by loving him,
accepting the limitations of that love.  A choice she had never
really lamented--at least not until recently.

     "In January.  I'm about five months along now.  That's
what I wanted to tell you was so great.  Being on those task
forces for the Police Commissioner has made it possible for me
to still be active but only work two or three days a week.  I've
got the best of both worlds--family and interesting work.  I
guess I'm really blessed," Marie concluded with a smile that
left her dreamy-eyed as she thought about the family she adored
and the work that helped to make her whole.

     "Now, tell me about Natalie Lambert, Toronto's youngest
Medical Examiner!  I want to hear it all," the attractive woman
exclaimed, placing her hand over Natalie's.

     Nat thought for a moment.  'I work the graveyard shift,
the most male attention I get is from my cat and I'm in love
with an 800-year-old vampire who thinks he's dead and doesn't
dare love me for fear he'll kill me.'  "Well, I've been in
Toronto for several years now, and I think they've finally
accepted a female M. E.  Actually, my work with Metro P. D. has
been challenging, to say the least.  We have at least two or
three cases a week that require extensive forensic work, so that
keeps me on my toes and up on the latest technology.  That's one
of the reasons I was glad to be able to attend the
conference--thought I might pick up something new.  I have some
great techs working with me, too, and third shift isn't all that
bad--"

     "You're still working graveyard?  What's wrong with
them?" Marie exclaimed.

     "Actually, I rotate some shifts, but I really prefer the
late night."  Natalie paused.  "You meet an interesting mix of
people that way!"

     "Doesn't your social life suffer?" Natalie's colleague
asked gently.

     'It's the only social life I have,' Nat thought.  "Well,
there really isn't much time for--" Natalie continued.

     "Don't give me that, Nat!" Marie interrupted.  "Look at
you, you're young, attractive, you've always had a great sense
of humor.  Is there something wrong with the male population of
Toronto?"

     Nat chuckled.  "No.  It's just who's got the time, you
know."

     Marie considered her friend for several moments.  "Nat,
Derek and I know some really great guys in Montreal.  I'd be
glad to have you come for a weekend and fix you up."

     Natalie's eyes widened.  "Oh, Marie, no, please...I
mean, thanks, but I'm fine, really!"  Natalie's mind raced to
change the subject.  The thought of being her friend's pet
fix-up project was just too much.  She decided a little bit of
honesty might do the trick.  "Actually, there is someone, not a
relationship really--we have a few problems.  It's
complicated---"

     "It seems to me you never could do anything 'the easy
way.'  Do you want to talk about it?" Marie asked curiously.

     Natalie tried to suppress a sigh.  "Thanks, but no.
It's okay, really.  Listen, you haven't told me enough about
Derek and your kids.  How old are they?  Did you bring any
pictures?"

     The evening continued as Marie related the stories of
her family and work.  The women laughed as they fondly recalled
their internship--the hard work but also the practical jokes and
the people they had met.  It had been an important time for them
both.  They had finally been given the opportunity to use their
years of training, and each had learned that their chosen
profession was, in fact, a good 'fit.'

     Natalie's face projected a smile.  She was genuinely
grateful for the time with her old friend, but, as the evening
wore on, she felt an ever-increasing uneasiness in the pit of
her stomach.  Marie's seemingly idyllic life was causing her to
question the course she had chosen for herself.  Wistful images
of the blonde child from her dream danced across her mind, and
she began to wonder what kind of happiness and fulfillment she
would ever find in her life.  For the first time since she
offered to help Nick regain his mortality, Natalie felt her
faith might not be enough to see them through the adversity they
faced.

     It was almost ten when Natalie looked at her watch.
"Oh, Marie, I can't believe the time.  I'd really love to keep
talking, but I've got to get some sleep before the opening
session tomorrow!  Will you forgive me for being a party pooper
and going to bed?"

     "Of course, Nat.  It's my fault.  I forgot about your
long trip.  Look, I'm speaking tomorrow morning, but let's try
to get together for a breakfast or lunch or something before you
return to Toronto, shall we?" Marie asked.

     "Sounds great!  You know my room number.  Just let me
know when you want to get together."  Natalie rose from her
chair then gently placed her hand over her friends.  "I'm so
glad we got together!  It *has* been too long," she concluded.

               *********

     The first day and a half of the conference were
busy but uneventful.  Natalie was present for the opening
sessions and selected a number of workshops to attend, focusing
primarily on recent innovations in genetic matching.  She also
renewed several old acquaintances from across Canada and even
managed to deflect the unsolicited attentions of an assistant
coroner from Vancouver.

     The afternoon of the second day was a free period, and
Natalie took the opportunity to explore old Québec on
foot.  She began her trek by heading to the Chateau
Frontenac, the hotel which dominated the Québec skyline.
Constructed in 1893, it was but one of many buildings in the
city patterned after French medieval architecture.  The
turrets and verdigris roofs resembled pictures she had
seen of European castles.  She wondered if Nick had
ever been here, and if it reminded him of his native Belgium.

     Natalie's next stop was the Place d'Armes, once a
military parade ground.  At the center of a small park was the
Monument to the Faith, a memorial to the arrival of the
Recollets monks from France in 1615.  Near the park she viewed
the famous statue of Samuel de Champlain who founded the Quebec
province in 1609.

     Walking along the rue St. Jean, Natalie spent time window
shopping at some of the city's famous boutiques.  They showed a
culture and sophistication considered 'European' by many
foreigners, but which was, in fact, purely Québeçois.  She
stopped at Aux Anciens Canadiens, a restaurant housed in one of
the city's oldest buildings where she enjoyed a steaming bowl of
onion soup gratinee and a glass of white wine.

     A few paces away was the Dufferin Terrasse, a boardwalk
promenade paralleling the St. Lawrence River and lined with
green and white topped gazebos, looking much as it must have a
hundred years prior.  Natalie smiled wistfully as her mind
traveled back in time, transposing today's women in mini skirts
and men in dungarees into ladies with parasols and gentlemen
with top hats and canes taking long strolls on a sunny
afternoon.

     As she drank in her surroundings, the crystal blue
heavens provided a soft background for the dazzling colors of
autumn which sparkled like precious gems against the horizon.
Natalie was almost lost in the beauty of the place and the life
that emanated from it, until she looked around once again and
made a startling observation--she was the only person on the
terrace who was alone.  Lovers walked hand-in-hand, children
played tag at the gazebos, businessmen sauntered deep in
conversation, couples laughed and talked together.

     And Natalie was the only one completely and totally
alone.

     She shuddered as the realization hit her.  And why
exactly *was* she alone?  Easy answer--vampires and sunlight
don't mix.  But there was more to it than that.  Nick was not
with her because Natalie had not asked him to be and had not, in
fact, even told him she was attending the conference.  She
winced as she pondered the hurt and disappointment she knew she
would see in his eyes when she returned.  He would be
oh-so-understanding, but, yes, he would be hurt that she left
without even calling him.

     Natalie's afternoon adventure ended abruptly as she
exited the terrace and headed back to the hotel.  She needed to
find a reason to keep going, a reason to keep pushing herself to
find a cure for Nick which would allow them to be together.  A
reason which would explain the emptiness and slight jealousy she
felt when she thought about Marie's life.  A reason she could
not remain the only person alone on the Dufferin Terrasse that
autumn afternoon.

     She needed to find her faith once again.


The offices of Ontario Accounting, Ltd., Toronto

     "So what you're saying, Ms. Watson, is that a woman doesn't
show up for work for three days, yet no one becomes suspicious
until payday when she doesn't pick up her check?" Don Schanke
asked incredulously, as he leaned forward in his chair.

     "Well, yes," Monica Watson replied, trying to find the
proper words to express herself.  "We worked together here at
the firm and had lunch together sometimes, but Alberta wasn't
the kind of person who confided in many people, at least not
from what I saw."  The young woman's voice trailed off into a
near-whisper.

     "You don't know where she came from, if she had relatives
nearby, or even if she had a boyfriend?"  Schanke paused to
allow Monica time to answer but was met again with silence.
"And how long did you say you'd worked with her?"

     Monica's body stiffened, and her eyes shot daggers in
Schanke's direction.  "Three years, Detective, three years!"
She stopped short before continuing, "But wasn't *I* the one who
reported her missing?  And if I hadn't, would you have even
identified her body by now, or would she just be another Jane
Doe to you?"  Her anger peaked, then ebbed back into sorrow as
her body relaxed and she slumped into her chair.

     "We're sorry, Ms. Watson," Nick consoled.  "We need to
know everything we can about your friend in order to find her
killer and bring him or her to justice.  Anything you know might
help us, but so far, her life seems like a closed book.  Are you
certain there's nothing else?"

     "No," she asserted.  "Well, only that she had just started
taking some night classes at the university.  She'd seemed a bit
more distracted than usual over the past few weeks, but I'd
thought it was because she was tired from studying."

     "Did she ever talk about the classes or anybody she might
have met at school?"  Nick's voice remained gentle.

     "Uh, no, not really.  I even asked her if there were any
'keepers' in her classes.  You know, I was just kidding her a
bit."  She looked directly at Nick, then at Schanke, seeking
affirmation.  They nodded for her to continue.  "She didn't
mention anybody's name in particular, but I did get the
impression she liked one of her professors."

     "Liked?" Schanke repeated.

     "Yes, 'liked,' as in 'thought he was interesting' or
something," the brunette mused.  "She said she thought she'd
like to take some other classes with one of her profs.  She
never mentioned his name or anything, just that his classes
seemed interesting.  She never talked about her personal life,
really."  Monica Watson was feeling exasperated.  "We were just
friends at work, you know, not very close."

     Nick stared intently at the young woman before repeating,
"Just friends?"

     Don Schanke turned to consider his partner.  'Just
friends,' he thought, 'how many times has Knight used *that*
phrase lately?'

     "More like casual acquaintances, actually.  I don't know
what you expect me to tell you, officers," Monica concluded,
turning her attention from Schanke to Nick.

     Nick pulled out his card and placed it in front of her on
the desk.  "If you think of anything else, we'd appreciate a
call.  Even the smallest detail could be critical."  Nick paused
as he and Schanke both stood to leave.  "Thanks for your time."

     As the officers headed for the door, Monica called,
"Detective Knight, I really *am* trying to help.  I guess you
work with someone for years and think you know them, but in the
important ways, you don't."

     Nick agreed softly, "You're right, Ms. Watson,
sometimes you *don't* really know your friends at all."  Don
Schanke cocked his head slightly, finally recognizing the
current underlying Knight's observations.

     "I feel so useless," she concluded.

     Nick considered the woman's sincerity, "You *have* helped
us, and we *will* find her killer.  We'll be in touch."  He
turned to follow his partner down the hallway and out into the
parking lot.

     Sliding behind the wheel of the Caddy., Nick started the
car and drove away.  "What do you make of that?" Schanke asked.

     "What do I make of what?"

     "Somebody you work with doesn't show up for three days and
nobody does anything, nobody calls, nada?  Doesn't make sense to
me," Schanke pondered.

     A pall seemed to fall over Nick.  For several moments he
appeared deep in thought.  Schanke was silent for a while before
deciding the blond-haired detective's attention had drifted.
"You in there, Knight?" he asked.

     "Just because you know someone from work," Nick began to
speak slowly and deliberately, "doesn't necessarily make you
friends, Schank.  It doesn't mean you know them.  It doesn't
mean they owe you any explanation about their lives."

     Schanke realized he might have only one chance to push his
partner into admitting his feelings for Natalie.  "Yeah, but
she had to tell *somebody* about her life.  About what she
wanted out of it, her dreams, her hopes.  She disappears for
three days and nobody notices?  I just don't buy it!"

     "Maybe she decided to go somewhere on the spur of the
moment.  Maybe she *did* tell somebody--somebody we haven't
talked to yet."  Nick never took his eyes off the road, even
though his focus was somewhere else.  "Maybe Monica just wasn't
the friend she thought she was."

     Schanke thought his partner had retreated back into silence
until Nick asked plaintively, "But how could she do that, go
off and not even tell her---her best friend?"

     There was definitely something in Nick's voice that took
Schanke very far away from the body they'd found in Coronation
Park.  A little closer to Quebec City, he hoped.

     "Monica herself said she wasn't that much of a
friend," the dark-haired detective coached.

     "Of *course* she was her fr---" Nick snapped as his eyes
left the road to glare at his partner.  In that moment, he
realized that the 800-year-old mask had slipped out of place
once again.  And Nicolas de Brabant wasn't sure whether
or not he had the strength to reposition it this time.

     The rotund police officer tried to read his elusive
cohort's face.  "We're not talking Monica Watson and Alberta
Woodard here, are we?"

     With an honesty he had not intended to express, Nick
answered softly, "No...no, I guess we're not."

     "Natalie's due back this weekend.  Why don't you call her?
Maybe you two need to talk or something," Schanke suggested.

     Nick resumed his silence.  Almost as if exerting
a life of its own, the centuries-old mask of indifference found
its home once again.  Finally he replied, "I'm sorry, Schank.
You're right, my mind was somewhere else.  Let's get back to the
case."

     "I'm sure Nat meant to let you know she was going.  She'll
come back, Nick---" his partner started.

     "Enough, Don!  Let it go," Nick nearly shouted before he
caught himself.  "It'll be okay.  Just let it go," he pleaded
almost in a whisper.

     "All right.  But call her, okay?" Schanke implored.

     "Sure," Nick lied.  "Sure."

*****

     A scant hour later, Nick's shift was over, and he drove
straight to the loft.  As the sliding door of the lift offered
him entry, he strode directly to the refrigerator and removed a
green-colored bottle.  Pulling the cork out with one hand, he
upended the bottle into his mouth with the other.

     As he took his third gulp, his eyes fell upon the
refrigerator's other contents, a couple of plastic containers of
Natalie's most recent protein mix.  He abruptly stopped
drinking, recorked the blood and placed it back on the shelf
from which it had come.  His hand grasped one of the plastic
containers, and he removed it, holding it up toward the light
for inspection.

     Grabbing a mug from the drainboard, Nick directed himself
to the couch and proceeded to empty the vile mixture into its
new receptacle.  He paused before bringing it to his lips,
glancing around the room.  Could it be that his own home felt
gloomy without the possibility of Natalie dropping in?  He
lifted the vessel in toast to no one in particular.  "To
mortality," he whispered and took two swallows of the protein
shake.

     He sank back, allowing the soft leather couch to embrace
his tired body.  'Why did she leave without even telling me?'
Nick asked himself.  'I thought we were friends.'  He pondered
this for a short while.  'Maybe she just needed to get
away...away from the job, away from...*me,*' he realized with
consternation, dismayed by the pain the thought brought him.  He
considered his actions of the past few days, the unspoken
distance he had been placing between the two of them, both
physical and emotional.  'Why should I be surprised she didn't
say anything?  Isn't this what I wanted?  To give Natalie a
chance at a normal life, with a husband and children who love
her?'

     Nick sighed, 'Yes, but *I* want to be the one to share it
with her, something I can only do as a mortal.'

     He raised the mug to his lips with renewed enthusiasm.  "To
mortality, Natalie--for me and for us," he said before finishing
off the contents in one final gulp.


     The last morning of the conference dawned with Natalie
sipping coffee and nibbling on fresh fruit in her room.  Her
attention was drawn to the expansive view of the St. Lawrence
and its swirling, dark waters as she sat at a small table in
front of the window.  Shaking her head slightly to bring her
focus back to the day ahead, she fingered through her
information packet, and found the agenda.  She had nothing
scheduled until an early afternoon workshop at 100 p.m.

     As she rose from the table to begin dressing, her hand
brushed against the coffee cup, knocking it over and spilling
the small amount of fluid left in it onto the table top.
"Clumsy!" she breathed to herself as she grabbed
napkins and began to mop up the liquid.  She moved the
conference packet aside and immediately saw the colorful
brochures she had picked up from the concierge desk the day she
registered.  After finishing the clean-up, she sat back down and
inspected the forgotten folios.  Her eyes rested on a beautiful
blue folder with a photograph of a large church and the
inscription, "Sainte-Anne-de-Beaupré" printed on the cover.
"Yes, of course.  St. Anne's is here!" she whispered.

     Remembrances of visits long ago captured in family stories,
preserved by her grandmother, raced into her head.  Turning the
brochure over, she noted that Beaupré was only thirty-five
kilometers from the city, barely twenty minutes by car.  She
looked again at the morning's conference agenda and made a
decision--she would visit the basilica and be back in time for
the afternoon sessions.

     Natalie dressed in her conference wardrobe but decided on
comfortable shoes.  She secured directions from the concierge
and was delighted to learn that the road leading to Beaupre was
only two blocks from the hotel.

     With the river on her right, she drove east on route 138,
passing through the city's industrial section as she left
Québec.  A few minutes outside the city, Natalie noticed that
the riverbed was wider here, and there was a distinct precipice
rising to the left of the road.

     Natalie passed small homes, souvenir shops, motels and
restaurants.  There was nothing here to suggest a religious
shrine would soon appear.  However, as she entered the town of
Beaupre, she looked ahead in anticipation and saw the tall
spires of the shrine's twin towers looming before her.
She turned left into the parking lot and stopped the car.

     She didn't know what she had expected, but this wasn't it!
The church seemed to be almost sandwiched between the CN
passenger rail line bordering the building's southern facade and
the abrupt precipice of land to its north.  The front of the
structure faced nearby shops.

     Natalie left her car and crossed the tracks, directing
herself to the front of the church for a better, head-on view.
A bitter, bone-chilling wind whipped off the St. Lawrence, in
stark contrast to the warm breezes she remembered from her
stroll on the Dufferin Terrasse a few days earlier.  She stopped
at the small park in front of the church and turned to face St.
Anne's entrance.  The gleaming grey-white stones rose above her
as if in praise to a higher power, the New World's
interpretation of a Gothic cathedral.

     There were twenty-five steps leading to the main entry, and
Natalie took each one of them slowly and deliberately,
remembering her grandmother's stories of a pilgrimage long ago.
The outer vestibule led to the interior doors, which she entered
silently.  The vision that greeted her both humbled and
fortified her spirit.  The building was laid out in the shape of
a cross, typical of neo-Gothic architecture, its towering walls
covered with mosaics, inscriptions and pictures.  The church's
main altar lay directly ahead at the center of the structure,
flanked by side chapels.

     Natalie took a few steps and entered, but her attention was
immediately captured by two huge columns at either side of the
center walkway leading to the main altar.  She remembered their
names from her grandmother's stories--The Pillars of Hope.  Each
was festooned with the outward signs of miracles attributed to
this place.  Crutches, braces and other devices to aid the
afflicted were attached to the columns--some looking decades
old and some almost sparkling new.  Each represented a story of
faith and hope left by its former owner.  Some had letters or
photographs attached.  Her eyes settled on a pair of crutches
that could only have belonged to a child.  She moved closer to
inspect them and saw a recent-looking photograph of a young boy,
perhaps eight or nine years old.  The youngster had straight
blond hair and deep blue eyes and was holding a skateboard above
his head, almost in triumph.  Natalie smiled to herself and was
looking away, when the realization hit her that the child
resembled Nick.  She held her breath as she slowly focused again
on the photograph and wondered, 'Would *our* son look like
this?'

     A little reluctantly, she left the photograph behind and
proceeded down the center of the structure, looking upwards and
trying to translate the various words written on the upper
walls.  Above the convergence point of the cross, she saw
four tall figures with the words, 'Justice,' 'Travail,'
'Gentleness' and 'Temperance' written in French above them.  The
figures appeared angelic, with strong faces and an almost New
World look of modernity, as if in contrast to the edifice's
European counterparts.

     To the left was the chapel to St. Anne and, before it, a
statue of the saint placed on a pedestal, high above mortal
gaze.  The statue depicted a matronly woman holding a beautiful
child.  Natalie had never been particularly devout, but there
was something about the vision of a grandmother and grandchild
that she found comforting.  Across the crosswalk was a shrine to
the Holy Family.  In fact, the entire building seemed to be
devoted to families, with many of the chapel inscriptions
written in honor of the early families who settled the province.

     Family.  She wanted a family of her own one day.  A family
with Nick, but only a miracle could make that happen.

     Steeling herself back to reality, Natalie proceeded to
visit all the chapels ringing the main altar, stopping to read
the dedications and absorb the peace of the place.  She was
not really certain what she had expected to find here.  The
architecture was stunning and the artwork impressive, but she
felt small, overwhelmed by the dimension of man's monument to
God.

     And she was discouraged.  Why had she come here?  The
cathedral was certainly beautiful, but had she expected
something more?

     A direction?  An answer?

     A cure?

     With a vague sense of disappointment, she glanced at her
watch and discovered it was only 930.  'Oh, well,' she thought,
'at least there's still time for a little sight-seeing.' She
crossed in front of the main altar, pausing to bow her head in
its direction, and walked toward the exit which she figured
would take her to the parking lot.  Opening the simple inner
door, she followed the stairs downward to a landing and the door
outside, but she noticed the stairs proceeded down one more
flight.  She decided to follow them.

     At the bottom of the stairs she opened a doorway and
stepped through it.  The vision she beheld was one she had never
expected.  A vast chapel lay before her, decorated only with
simple, rough-hewn wooden benches.  As she walked a few more
paces inside, she looked up to see that the ceiling was no more
than fifteen feet in height and colored the most beautiful shade
of light blue she thought she had ever seen.  It immediately
reminded her of the blue of the Québec sky at midday.  The
multi-domed ceiling was outlined with blue, green and gold
mosaic tiles, offset with supporting pillars.  Each pillar bore
a different mosaic depicting God's gifts to earth--among them
birds, flowers, butterflies, mushrooms and strawberries.

     The entire room enjoyed an intimate scale, in contrast to
the main cathedral which seemed to make you want to look up and
experience how small you were when compared to the greatness of
God.  This room, however, felt more like the hand of a gentle
parent, softly patting and comforting a cherished child.

     Natalie's attention was soon drawn to her right, and she
gazed, almost mesmerized by a white and gold statue of St. Anne
and the child.  This depiction was on a human scale and stood
barely above the heads of the faithful.  Rows of devotional
candles flickered on both sides of the statue.  At its feet was
a railing with a kneeler.  Embedded in the railing was a small
oval box outlined in silver and studded with the faces of five
angels.  A glass cover revealed a small relic of the saint.

     She approached the box, feeling it beckon in invitation to
touch it--to pray, to dare, to hope for the impossible.

     And she did.

     Resting her hand on the glass face of the box, Natalie
uttered a small prayer.  "Please, help me find a cure for him."
She paused.  "Help him in his struggle to come back to God.
Help *us* be together."

     A tear slid unnoticed from her eye, followed by a
second and a third.  Natalie pushed some coins through the
offering slot and took a match stick to light a candle.  As she
held the flame to the wick, she whispered, "Forgive him.  He's
truly sorry for what he has done, and he *is* a good man.  Help
him see that."  Plunging the stick into a side container of
sand, she took a long breath and turned to leave, but instead
found herself walking to a nearby wooden bench.  She sat down,
placed her hands on the railing in front of her, closed her eyes
and rested her head on her hands.



(still in the chapel at St. Anne's)

     A few moments later she looked up but saw only a sea
of black.  Continuing upward, she settled her gaze on the face
of a man with white hair, pale eyes and almost translucent skin.
Startled, she began to speak, "I...I'm sorry, I didn't..."

     The man looked deeply into her eyes, but she felt
he was looking directly into her soul as well.  "You are
troubled.  May I help you?"  His voice was steady and calm, an
anchor in a sea of turmoil.

     He was a priest.  His black cassock was graced with a
white v-shaped collar, and he spoke with a distinctive French
accent.  But it was his eyes which caught her attention.  Eyes
that exuded warmth yet also seemed to mask a lifetime of regret.
She knew that look all too well.

     "Father..Father?" Natalie stammered.

     "François.  Father François, my child," he responded.

     "Father François, I didn't mean to disturb anyone.  I
thought I was alone.  I didn't see you.  I was just leaving..."
Her voice trailed off softly.

     "What is your name?" he asked, his eyes never leaving her
face.

     "Natalie.  Natalie Lambert," she murmured.

     "May I sit down, Natalie?" he questioned, glancing at the
bench in front of her.

     "Yes, yes, of course, Father," she replied with a nod.

     His eyes mirrored comfort as he spoke.  "I am permitted to
help those with special needs, and I sensed you might need
someone to talk with,"  He stopped, making certain she was
following his words.  "Was I wrong?"  His voice and his face
were kindness personified.

     Natalie raised her face to his as another tear slid
unchecked down her cheek.  "No, you're not wrong, Father."

     He gently reached to brush away her tear with his
fingertips.  "Tell me what troubles you, child."

     Every instinct told Natalie to get up, to leave the church
and this stranger asking to be allowed admittance to her inner
world.  But the calm and benevolence of his manner seemed to
reassure and encourage her.  Something inside her told she could
trust this man.

     "I have a friend," she began slowly, pausing occasionally
to choose her words carefully, "a friend who has come to mean as
much to me as my own life.  This friend made a terrible mistake
many years ago.  He had been involved in a military conflict in
a land far from his home.  Before that he had lived his life in
an ordered world of faith, but became disillusioned by the
atrocities of war, a near fatal injury, and a lengthy internment
as a prisoner of war.  His faith was shaken to the point he
doubted everything he had ever believed in.  In a moment of
weakness, he was seduced into following a life of evil."

     For several moments, there was silence.  Natalie wondered
if she had said too much, had somehow betrayed Nick's secret.
Yet just saying the words allowed her a small sense of control
over them.

     The priest touched his hand lightly to hers.  "There is
more to the story," he prodded.  It was more a statement than a
question.

     "He abandoned his beliefs and, for a while, even reveled in
the darkness that surrounded him, but I think his faith was
never completely lost."  She paused again, taking in a deep
breath.

     He looked at her intently.  "To relinquish one's faith is
to forfeit one's link to God.  Without it, we are truly alone in
a sea of darkness."

     "But you see, Father, he has regretted his actions for more
years than I have known him.  He somehow thinks he lost his soul
when he doubted his faith.  Yet, even though a part of him seems
to think he cannot be forgiven, he has tried over and over again
to atone for the wrongs he has committed.  He has been
alone in his struggle, and I don't know how he has retained his
sanity through it all," she concluded.

     "Alone--until now?" he questioned.

     "When I met him, I offered to help.  Somewhere along the
way, I fell in love with him.  I think he cares for me too.
But his past won't allow us to have a future together, and I am
beginning to despair for us both," Natalie finished, glancing
down towards the floor.

     The priest considered the young woman before him for
several moments before replying.  "To pray and hope for another
is a truly selfless act, and, in you, I see a soul full of love
for your friend.  But I wonder, my child, is it *his* faith or
your own that you are seeking?"

     His words slapped her.

     'How dare he say that?' she thought.  Without looking up,
she set her jaw in an effort to close the portal she had opened
to her inner self.  She felt her face flush crimson as her eyes
slowly rose to focus again on the priest, steeling herself
against the recrimination she expected.

     But instead of contempt, she saw only compassion written
across his features.

     Natalie heard herself begin to speak, but it felt almost
as if another person were forming the words.  "I thought I had
faith enough for us both.  That I could be strong enough for us
both until he finally realized what I have always believed..."
Her voice faltered.

     Father François' gentle gaze never left her as he placed
his other hand on hers.  "And what was that, Natalie?"

     She swallowed.  "That he never lost his faith entirely nor
the part of God that I believe lives in all of us.  That he had
somehow fallen into a deep pit, but that the regret he feels and
each act of atonement he performs lift him nearer to the
top, closer to regaining the light.  That all he needs..."  She
struggled to put her feelings into words, but they would not
come out of their own accord.

     "That all he needs is a helping hand, a Samaritan to pull
him up those last few paces over the edge.  A friend to show him
that he *has* faith...faith even from the abyss?"  The priest
had seemed to capture her thoughts and translate them into the
words she could not manage to utter.

     "Yes," she whispered.  She felt frightened yet almost
relieved, as if this man had deciphered the secrets she kept in
her heart.

     Silence filled the space between them, each retreating into
their inner selves.

     "Natalie," Father François finally stated softly, "you must
know that faith is something each person can find only for
himself.  You cannot have it *for* another--you can only
demonstrate your own faith with your actions, your words...your
very life.  You can model it, but you cannot replenish it where
none exists on its own.

     "If you truly believe that your friend has even a small
vestige of goodness left, illustrate your own for him and dare
him to rediscover his.  Reveal your faith by believing in him,
in the soul that still lives within him.  By loving him and
reassuring him that *he* can love and be loved.

     "And remember, my dear child, sometimes we seek in others
those qualities which we fear are lacking in ourselves."  His
fingertips gently stroked the tops of her hands.  "Of this,
I assure you, I am quite certain."  He paused.  "Nurture your
own faith, and it will show you the way."

     Natalie looked intently into the priest's light blue eyes
and somehow knew he was speaking from the weight of experience.
Just as she knew he had seen the flicker of doubt that had
recently begun to sputter in her heart.  Her mind urged her to
be silent, but her heart needed one more answer.  "Father, I'm
afraid...I'm afraid I'm not strong enough, that *my* faith isn't
strong enough..." her voice trailed off.

     The priest considered her for a moment, sighed and smiled.
"You have all the strength that you need, all the faith that you
need, all the love that you need.  Surely this is why you came
here--to redefine these gifts and hone them into the instrument
that will bring you what you truly seek."  He paused again.  "To
help your friend, you must try to understand him without judging
him.  If he is truly ready to take the final steps back to the
light, his faith will once again be revealed to him."

     Natalie's face softened into a smile.  "May I talk with you
again?"

     "I will be here, but you have all that you need with you.
Go now and do what your heart instructs," he finished, giving
her hand one final caress.

     Natalie looked to her right and for several long moments
concentrated on the candle she had lit and the prayers she had
uttered before it.  When she glanced back, she was alone.  She
scanned the room quickly and was surprised not to see the
priest, nor to have heard him exit.

     She shrugged herself back into the present and, blessing
herself at a font by the door, left the church and returned to
her car.

     Thoughts and images flooded her consciousness as she
drove back to the hotel, closer and closer to the difficult
task she must attempt.  Only by exercising her own faltering
hope could she help the man she loved regain the faith he had
forsaken so long ago.


     Another shift.  Another night spent going through the
countless motions of the job.  Another night without Natalie.

     'So this is what it would be like,' he reflected as he
drove to work.  'Endless hours defending the law, endless nights
solving crimes, endless weeks atoning for past transgressions,
an endless life without her light.  What makes *her* so
different?  Over eight hundred years spent with every type of
personality spawned by the human condition, and it all comes
down to one woman.  One feisty, intelligent, compassionate,
persistent, loving, exasperating woman.  A woman who has been my
only source of joy, my only reason for hope in this chapter of
my seemingly endless "life."'

     Nick attempted to drive the thoughts of Natalie from his
head as he parked the Caddy and entered the precinct to begin
his next shift.  'I should leave, give her the chance to
experience all the joys and challenges of a normal, mortal
life.'  Yet, his heart ached at the thought of never seeing her
again.  He could *not* imagine an existence without her, without
her laughter, without her tears.  But, as much as he longed for
it, he knew they could not share a normal life together.  'We
can't even risk a relationship.  It's a dance between a moth and
a flame.  We're drawn together, yet it can only end when the
moth is destroyed or flies away to safety.

     'This is the ultimate irony.  I finally love someone more
than my own existence, yet we can never be together in the way I
want to be.  What was it they said in 'Ladyhawke?'  'Always
together, endlessly apart.'  A most appropriate and bitter
description.

     'Schanke's right about one thing--I need to talk with her,
to finally tell her that I cannot risk her life anymore while we
wait to find a cure.  If nothing else, I can give her peace by
leaving.'  Yet, could he do it?  *Could* he walk away and give
Natalie a chance at a normal life, or was it even too late for
that?

     "I just don't know," he mumbled in a near whisper, not
realizing he had spoken aloud as he slumped into the chair
behind his desk.

     "You just don't know what, Knight?" asked his partner,
looking up from a stack of unfinished reports.

     Nick snapped his head in the general direction of Don
Schanke's desk.  "Uh, nothing, Schank, it's nothing,"
he managed to get out.  "Just thinking out loud."  He tried a
smile to hide his discomfort.

     "Well, you might want to keep it to yourself for a
while, Nicky boy, and brush up on your Managerial Accounting and
Operational Procedures instead.  I called the Dean's office and
they told me Alberta Woodard's two professors are both teaching
tonight.  Maybe we'll get lucky this time!" the balding
detective enthused.

     Nick consciously tried to shake away some of the gloom that
had settled over him.  He knew that if Natalie were here, she
would have sensed his depression and not let him go until she
had made him smile, even if she had had to resort to bad jokes
or a poke in the ribs to do it.  And he and Schanke were at
a critical point in their case.  He needed to concentrate on the
job at hand.  "Yeah," he replied, "you can fill me in on the two
of them on the way over."

     The detectives rose as one and exited the precinct.
Once inside the Caddy, Schanke began, "Say, partner, I have kind
of a big favor to ask you."

     "