Walk on By
 
by Susan M. Garrett
 
Natalie walked down the steps of the precinct station, the
careful smile still in place.  It was easier this way.  It <had>
to be easier.  Too much, too soon was always a danger.
Take things slow, that was the answer.  There was still too
much left to do, in so many ways.
 
It was still early evening and she fell into step with the
other pedestrian traffic--a few other precinct employees
coming off shift and heading for their cars, couples who
had just parked and were heading downtown for dinner,
and people going wherever it was people went that time of
night.  Not much of a crowd, but enough.  She was glad of
the company, knowing that she could use any edge she
could find, any help she could get.
 
Because Nick couldn't help her--not just now.  Oh, he
might have if he'd known and he would have known if he'd
thought about it, but Nick being Nick and all things being
equal he was still too wrapped up with the events of the
previous evening to even consider what might and might
not be true.  He was content to accept what he thought she
said.  It was easier that way.
 
Not knowing was always easier.
 
So she stared straight ahead, the smile still in place,
glancing only occasionally to the side, concentrating on the
ride home and picking up Sidney on the way --he'd be
annoyed that she'd left him overnight at the groomer, but at
least he'd be less mangy.
 
When she saw him, she didn't even blink.  She expected to
see him--it only made sense.  Like father, like son, wasn't
that how it went?  They were so predictable at times . . . .
 
Her smile never wavered.  In fact, she met his eyes for a
brief second, brushing past that penetrating, challenging
stare with a complete lack of recognition, the gaze of a
stranger.  It helped that she was ready for him.
 
Natalie doubted her heartbeat changed its rhythm.  Her
stride remained constant.  She swept by LaCroix as if he
were just another pedestrian on an errand.  Ignoring him
would have given away the game, but the studied
indifference of a passerby, the glance and nothing more,
was the one thing that would save her.
 
It took no more than a second.  She was suddenly
conscious of the air around her as she moved, the hardness
of the concrete sidewalk beneath her shoes.  Everything
seemed very sharp and brilliant, as if the world had been
outlined with heavy black edges to accentuate the reality of
the moment.
 
Once before, she'd felt this way.  Once before she'd
brushed past a vampire, knowing that she was being
watched.  She'd turned and challenged him, her ego and her
curiosity having gotten the better of her.  But that had been
Nick.
 
And this was LaCroix.
 
So she kept walking.  Perhaps her heart did beat a little
faster, as the distance between them increased.  Her steps
might have quickened just a bit, her mouth grew dry--
somehow, she knew that he hadn't moved.  LaCroix was
still standing there.
 
But he hadn't come after her, either.
 
Natalie fished in her purse for her car keys and unlocked
the car door.  On auto-pilot, she performed the motions
independent of thought and yet utterly and completely
aware of every sound and feeling, from the click of the key
as it fit into the ignition, to the tickle of the keychain again
her hand as she wrapped her fingers around the steering
wheel.
 
He was still there as she passed, raising his eyes to look at
her as she drove away.  Again, there was no more than a
casual glance--she was the epitome of the careful driver
intent on not incurring the city's wrath by mowing down
pedestrians in her path.
 
After two blocks, Natalie dared to take a deep breath.
Another traffic light sand she managed a sigh, her hands
shaking slightly as she gripped the wheel to pin herself to
the place and time.
 
There was still the chance that he'd follow her home, that
he'd be waiting for her, but she doubted it.  She was only a
mortal, not worth his time--which was something of an
insult, considering just how much time he had.  Yet Natalie
was almost certain that LaCroix would leave her alone.
 
The taste of the drug with which he'd spiked the
champagne still lingered on her tongue, no matter how
frequently she'd rinsed out her mouth or brushed her teeth.
It was a side-effect that would be gone by the morning, but
it was a reminder of how careful she had to be.  Almost
wasn't good enough--would never be good enough.  She
have to be on her guard now, even more than before.  She
had to prepare for the next time.
 
And there <would> be a next time.  Because she owed
him.
 
For drugging her.  For forcing her to let herself be seduced
into near oblivion, counting on the fact that Nick would
find her, Nick would save her.  For the slightest of doubts
that Nick would know, or that he'd be too late.  For
making Nick say all that he'd said, in hard words that
chilled her flesh and her soul.  For giving her no option but
to play the pawn, to be silent and still as Nick pawed at
her, his breath cold on her cheek, his lips soft against her
skin, his teeth sharp and frightening as they grazed her
neck.  For making Nick believe that what they'd begun had
been taken from her.  For preventing her from slapping him
for his arrogance and the unfairness of it all.  For
preventing her from throwing her arms around Nick's neck
and returning that fierce and desperate hug when he
thought he'd saved her, saved them both . . . .
 
For making her realize that she'd take Nick any way she
could get him, no matter what the cost.
 
A bitter smile settled on her lips as Natalie drove home.
Yes, she owed LaCroix.  There'd be another time, another
chance--she had no doubt of that.  They'd meet again.
 
Until then, she'd bide her time and let them think they'd
taken her memory.  Back to being friends, or just a bit
more than friends, but not too much more.  Back to
walking that fine, nonexistent line that defined 'him' and
'her,' but not 'them.'  Back to being almost safe and almost
happy.
 
It was easier that way.  Wasn't it?
 
And by the time she'd pulled into the parking lot, she'd
almost decided that it was.
 
********************************************
The End
 
SusanG2522@aol.com