Date: Sat, 26 Apr 1997 01:03:31 -0400 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: If It Be Now (01/10) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #11 Episode Title: "If It Be Now" "Air" Date: April 24, 1997 Author: Libby Singleton from a story idea by Sara Orel Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich , John Folden , Leslie GrantSmith Beta Readers: Sara Orel , Sandra Gray, Stephanie Babbitt, Jean Simon , Historical Verification Group: Sara Orel, Elizabeth Ann Lewis Continuity: Sarah Baker , Amanda Sridasome Part 1 of 10 The Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season is a project whereby a group of Forever Knight fans are putting together a series of stories continuing from where Last Knight left off. Participation is open to all. For more information, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Comments should be sent to the author or to the FKV4S-L mailing list. This story will be available in its entirety as of 4/27/97 from . This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- IF IT BE NOW "Damn it all!" Virgil Smither muttered to himself, running his hand through thinning, white hair. "Jammed again. Should've stuck with typewriters." The tall, lanky man tried pulling the tray from the laser printer. It wouldn't budge. Gripping it with both hands, he tugged again, putting all his strength into the task. The tray flew free, slipping from his hands. It fell to the carpeted floor, scattering paper everywhere. After clearing the jam, Virgil bent down to retrieve a few sheets and hit his forehead on the corner of the printer stand. "Clumsy old man!" he grunted through clenched teeth. The intensity of the pain made him dizzy, so he lowered himself to the floor to keep from passing out. Hands covering his forehead, he could feel the warmth of the blood as it flowed between his fingers and into his eyes. "Jay!" he called before remembering his friend and employee wasn't home. Managing to stand, he stumbled blindly against an end table. There was a crash. "Ugly lamp anyway, good riddance," he said before accidentally kicking the coffee table. He could hear the stacks of magazines sliding to the floor. Various other items of furniture and a few vases fell victim to Virgil before he reached the bathroom. Once there, he found a washcloth in the usual spot and quickly wiped the blood from his face. The cut was long and deep, but he knew he'd live--at least for the time being, he reminded himself. Keeping the cloth pressed against the wound, he hurried back to the computer. There wasn't much time. Fortune finally blessed Virgil as the printer worked fine when he keyed the computer. As he leaned over the printer, studying the letter, a drop of his blood soiled the paper. He was tempted to print another, but would anyone really care that the suicide note was stained? After deleting his programs from the computer, Virgil glanced around at the mess, tempted at least to clean up the broken glass. What did it matter, he reminded himself, the house was no longer his problem. George, his nephew, would have Jay clean it up, bemoaning the value of the broken items. Not that George wouldn't mourn; Virgil was sure his nephew loved him. That fact, however, couldn't be helped, he thought. For once, he was going to do something for himself and himself alone. Walking down the hall leading from his den to the front door, Virgil passed family photographs along with various paintings and prints. Here and there were small tables displaying statuary. Nothing but things, really, Virgil decided. At eighty-five years of age, he'd learned there was more to life. The freedom to do what he wanted to do, for example. Freedom from his nephew's influence and bullying, as well-meant as the acts might be. Too bad such a simple desire could be so costly, he pondered. He turned out the lights and locked the front door for the last time. **** <> "Assail away," Nick said to himself, pulling up to a convenience store. The weather was too beautiful, the stars too bright, for LaCroix to upset him this night. For the first time in months, he'd even put the Caddy's top down as he drove to work. Relieved to see a copy of the evening edition of the _Toronto Star_ still in the rack, Nick began searching pockets and the Caddy's ashtray for change. He felt like stepping out on the town his next night off. He hoped Natalie would join him. Nothing fancy, just a concert or art exhibition and dinner somewhere casual. Something friends might do together. Giving up his search, Nick pulled a dollar from his wallet. Inside the store, a woman behind the counter stuck a tray of cookie dough into an industrial oven before turning to Nick. "Can I help you, sir?" "I need change, please," he said, holding out the dollar. "Quarters will do." She shrugged, smacking her gum. "I can't give out change unless you buy something. Sorry. Corporate rules." "I am buying something," Nick assured her, smiling. "A paper from the rack outside." "Doesn't count. Has to be something from the store itself." A quick visual survey around the store revealed mostly snack foods and items he couldn't use before he spotted the half-empty rack. "I'll buy a magazine," Nick said. Glancing over the meager selection, he tried to find something of interest. Most were tabloids or trucking publications. "Do you have any local entertainment magazines?" "What you see is what we've got," the clerk replied, blowing a bubble with her gum. As he thumbed through a few puzzle books, a lone travel magazine with a castle on the cover caught Nick's eye. The blurb on the cover announced an article on tips for first- time visitors intent on touring historical London. Curious to see if they listed any familiar sites, he began flipping through it. "Sir? Excuse me, sir!?" the clerk called out, pointing out the window. "Isn't that convertible yours?" Wondering if he'd left the lights on again, Nick looked. He froze in shock momentarily, the magazine slipping from his hands. Glancing at the clerk, he saw she was staring at him intently, expectantly. "Call the police!" he ordered, rushing out the door. Were the clerk not watching, Nick knew he'd easily be able to catch the thieves. Instead, he stopped his chase at the end of the parking lot. He shook his head, trying to clear away the vampire as he felt his fangs descend and his eyes change. When the attempt failed, he forced his mouth shut, careful to stand so the clerk would not see his face. A number of graphic curses in a variety of languages passed through his mind as he curled his hands into fists. His fingernails cut into the flesh of his palms. A soft growl escaped as he watched his Cadillac's tail lights fade into the distance along with the Nightcrawler's voice. <<...Just remember, my friends, these are but the trappings and the suits of woe....>> **** George Smither rang the door bell a third time before digging the house key out of his sweater's pocket. It was bad enough having to ask his uncle for money without the aggravation of waiting in the cold. Though Virgil loved him, of that he was sure, the man had grown bitter and argumentative in his old age. Perhaps the fact that George's current monetary crisis had been caused by the attempt to expand his business too quickly would sway Virgil's thinking. With the bank loan out of the way, George was sure his funeral home business would take a turn for the better. People died every day, he thought; why not take advantage of the situation? "Jay? You're suppose to answer the door," George cried out, entering the house. "Jay? Where the hell are you?" This is the final straw, George thought. What good was a general caretaker if he failed to take general care of his Uncle Virgil? What his uncle needed was a proper staff; at least a butler, a housekeeper and a medical nurse. A man of Virgil's age was simply unable to care for a home this large, much less himself. Besides, his uncle could afford to rest after what even George admitted was a lifetime of hard work. "Uncle Virgil?" George shouted, walking down the hallway, jiggling his keys noisily. "You here?" He peered into the bedroom, finally heading toward the den. "Don't tell me you're on that computer again." George froze when he saw the room. Furniture everywhere was toppled and out of place. Magazines and paper littered the floor. Seeing a dark spot on the carpet, he touched it. "Blood," he muttered to himself, his chest tightening. He followed a trail of blood to the empty bathroom, then back to the computer. The bloodstained sheet of paper on the printer caught his eye. "Oh, dear God," he muttered. "Uncle Virgil...." Frantic, George raced through the house searching for either his uncle or Jay Mavis. A ransom note George could understand. Virgil had been a businessman to be reckoned with in his day and no doubt had stepped on many toes. Developing theme parks, after all, was a dog-eat-dog proposition, much more so than running a chain of funeral homes. But a suicide didn't make sense, George told himself. Virgil had no needs, no concerns; George made sure of that. When he couldn't find Mavis, George began to put two and two together. Virgil had announced years before that most of his estate would be left to charity. Over George's protests, however, he had included a small provision for Mavis, who was well aware of the arrangement. Despite his rough, lower-class ways, Mavis had managed to weave a spell around Virgil; apparently, the old man considered the social rehabilitation of his servant to be a pet project. Why else would someone formerly as sensible as his uncle hire a dangerous ex-con? "I...I tried to warn you about that man, Uncle Virgil," George said, choking back tears of grief and anger. His hands shaking uncontrollably, still holding the keys, George reached for the phone. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Sat, 26 Apr 1997 01:03:40 -0400 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: If It Be Now (02/10) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #11 Episode Title: "If It Be Now" "Air" Date: April 24, 1997 Author: Libby Singleton from a story idea by Sara Orel Part 2 of 10 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- IF IT BE NOW "My car's been stolen! That *is* an emergency," Nick barked into the cell phone, ignoring the people moving around him in the Smither home. The woman on the other end of the line repeated her speech slowly yet politely for the third time. "I know your office is busy," he admitted, trying to control his tone. "But I really expected an officer to show up on site. I'll...try to get by to fill out the report tonight." The woman's voice remained calm as she explained the policy. "During business office hours?" Nick growled. "I can't go out in the day! I have a sun aller...!" Nick angrily shut the phone and tried to ram it into his pocket. The thrust missed, causing the phone to fall to the thick carpet. Several members of the Missing Persons team looked up from their respective tasks to stare at him. "Trouble getting the report filed?" Adam asked, approaching him from the side. Nodding, Nick retrieved his phone. "They want me to come in tomorrow morning." "You sure you don't want to book off? I'll cover for you," Adam offered. "I'm a bit shook up, that's all." "Listen, I understand," Adam said. "Take the night off, partner. We shouldn't be here anyway." "It does look like a kidnaping, doesn't it?" Nick mumbled, looking around the room. There were spots of blood everywhere, along with ample evidence of a struggle in the disarray. "Or a suicide," Adam said, handing Nick a note in an evidence bag. "Take a look at this. We found it on the computer printer." "...I cannot go on as an old man, living like an invalid," Nick read. "Therefore I am relieving my nephew of the burden of caring for me, even in death. You probably won't find my body, but be assured I rest in sweet peace. Sincerely, Virgil Smither." "Short and to the point," Adam commented. "His truck's even missing. He probably drove off somewhere to do the dirty deed." "What *is* homicide doing here?" Nick asked. "Because this *can't* be a suicide! Just look at this room!" a round, prematurely gray-haired man shouted from the doorway. He was nicely dressed in dark gray slacks, though his black sweater appeared old and slightly worn. Forcing himself around several uniformed officers, he rushed toward the detectives. The expression on his white face was a mixture of grief and rage. He trembled visibly. "My uncle would *never* kill himself! He loved life." "George Smither, the nephew," Adam whispered to Nick. Then, speaking louder, he addressed George with a gentle, sympathetic tone. "Homicide isn't usually called in unless there's a body. Missing persons should be handling this...." "In which case you'd be called in eventually! I'm just trying to save time," George exclaimed. "That's not a ransom note, it's a suicide note! Therefore he must have been murdered!" George paused in his tirade, shutting his eyes as if composing himself. "Let me warn you, if I do not get full cooperation, I'm reporting straight to the Police Commission! I have friends there...one of whom called your captain and ordered you sent here. Bad enough *I* was questioned by these...hooligans in uniform!" Nick glanced at Adam who shrugged slightly, turning casually away from George to mouth the word, "Politics." Nick silently agreed. "Don't you dare ignore me," George snapped, grabbing Adam by the shoulder. Gripping the man's arm firmly, Nick pulled him back. "Mr. Smither, we understand your concern, but perhaps it is best if you leave now and let us do our jobs," he said, his tone carefully controlled. "Keep your hands *off* me!" George said, jerking away. Nick could hear the man's rapid heartbeat and sense his rising blood pressure. George was nearing hysterics. "Looking for clues? I'll give you one--Jay Mavis!" George growled. A uniformed officer who'd been watching the exchange approached. "Excuse me, Mr. Smither, let me show you out now." "I *can* find my own way," he barked at the officer before stomping out. The officer shrugged, then followed. Adam whistled. "A real friendly guy." "He's just mad and upset," Nick said, though privately agreeing with his partner's sarcasm. "Who's Mavis?" "You *have* been out of it," Adam said, amused. "Everyone's been talking about him the entire time we've been here." "I was on the phone," Nick snapped. He immediately regretted the harshness. He smiled. "I'm sorry...I guess I wasn't listening." "That's obvious," Adam said, returning the smile smugly. "Mavis is Virgil Smither's employee. Sort of a caretaker." "We'd better run a background check." "That's taken care of. You must be slipping if I was able to beat you to the punch on that one." If possible, Adam's grin grew wider. "Mavis spent a while in the pen for armed robbery. Virgil hired him shortly after his release to take care of the place. Lives in a suite down the hall," Adam said, turning toward the door as he gestured for Nick to follow. "The guy hasn't had so much as a speeding ticket or hot check since getting out of the slammer." Mavis' rooms were comfortably, if sparsely, furnished. "Not much back here," Adam remarked, heading for a bookcase. As Nick peered into the closet, the fact Mavis had once served time for stealing raced through his mind. People had no respect for others' property anymore. Sure, he should have put the top back up, but he'd only run into the store for change. The clerk should take some blame. If she'd just given him change for that dollar when he'd asked, the Caddy would not have been stolen. At one time, the woman would have served as Nick's snack. It wasn't something he was proud of, but it was the truth nonetheless. She wasn't pretty, but the memory of her sweet blood smell threatened to cause his fangs to descend again. Running a hand down his face, Nick cleared his mind, forcing the detective to surface. A man was missing. That was a more important matter than a stolen Cadillac, he reminded himself. A pair of jeans and a couple of work shirts hung in the closet between a number of empty hangers. A shelf above was bare, as was a shoe rack. Nick lifted the lid of a plastic storage box with his toe, but there was nothing in it. The nearby dresser doors proved equally barren. "Hey, Adam," he said. "Looks like Mavis isn't living here. The only socks are unmatched singles. There's a couple of T- shirts and a pair of pajamas, but they're all worn-looking." "I may have the answer right here, buddy," Adam replied. He held out a stack of travel brochures and magazines. "The Caribbean, Florida, New York, Nova Scotia, Australia... seems he was planning to do some traveling. If you can finish in here, I want a crack at the computer." "Sure," Nick said, taking the publications. There was a copy of the same magazine he'd been glancing at in the convenience store. As he flipped it open, the pages fell on to the main article: Visiting Historical London for the First Time--what to take, where to stay, and what to see. -----@@@@----- Nicholas entered the dwelling to find LaCroix and Janette waiting by the fire in the main room. Although he had been gone for only a few hours, he hugged the woman in greeting. Taking a deep breath, he relished the familiarity of her scent. She returned the embrace, ending it with a kiss as she left his arms. "I was beginning to think you would *never* return," Janette said with a forced smile. She glanced at LaCroix before turning back to Nicholas with downcast eyes. "I was becoming concerned about your safety. The villagers are becoming suspicious of our nature." "I...I've overheard the local priest speaking of the disappearances too," Nicholas said, sensing Janette's nervousness. "Perhaps it is time we moved on," he continued, speaking directly to his master. "I've felt restless as of late anyway, bored with these surroundings. Could we return to Paris?" "So you are, indeed, seeing *and* feeling the signs we should move on. Very good," LaCroix stated, raising both eyebrows. He held out a document. "Not to Paris, however. I've already made arrangements for another location." Taking the offered paper, Nicholas quickly read it. "You've secured a dwelling in London?" "A temporary one," LaCroix emphasized. "A more suitable home will be located once we arrive." "But that's in England," Nicholas said, shoving the document back into LaCroix's hands. "Ah, so you know geography!" LaCroix snapped. "Then you are already aware that London is no farther from your precious mortal home than other places we have lived." Stepping between Nicholas and her master, Janette raised a hand to stroke LaCroix's cheek. "This is different, is it not?" Janette asked, the venomous nature of her voice contradicting the gentleness of her touch. "They are barbarians! They do not wash themselves." She spun back to Nicholas, her nose wrinkled. "They smell of filth and their blood will taste of dirt!" "Au contraire, ma petite," their master argued, running his fingers through Janette's hair. "I am told King Richard II rinses himself every day in herbed water, finishing with attar of roses. I suspect their blood will be very sweet, indeed." "And they do speak French," Nicholas considered aloud. "I...knew some of them on the way to Jerusalem. They seemed civilized enough, and friendly." "Bah!" Janette grumbled, jerking away from LaCroix's touch. "Normans all! Violent, provincial barbarians!" "Who are developing quite an impressive slate of literature, theater and music!" LaCroix stressed. "No doubt, Nicholas, a suitable artisan can be found to tutor you in painting." Though his own enthusiasm was building, Nicholas' entranced smile faded at Janette's sneer. Never could he be happy where she was not. "Perhaps Janette is right," he said, trying to think of another excuse. "The...the customs are bound to be strange to us." "Oh, Nicholas, must I face impertinence from *both* of you?" LaCroix asked. "Life will not differ *that* greatly. We are merely moving to London, not Egypt or the Orient." As LaCroix's irritation grew, Nicholas could also sense his intensifying anger. He glanced swiftly in Janette's direction, a visual warning that perhaps she should concede the verbal battle. Their master's attention, however, was now focused in his direction. "Did you not travel as a Crusader to allegedly uncivilized places to subvert the heathens?" LaCroix growled. "Pray tell, Nicholas, what is the difference?" "I had no plans to remain in those lands," Nicholas replied, trying to keep his tone even. "As we will not remain in London forever! We leave in two nights and will fly to the coast where passage by ship will be arranged. This is an urgent matter. I expect you both to be ready," LaCroix ordered. Then he was gone. Janette wrapped her arms around Nicholas's shoulders. "He is not in a good mood tonight, is he? I believe the sun would obey if he ordered it not to rise." Taking Janette's hand, he helped her sit on a wood bench by the fire. He sat down next to her, placing a comforting arm around her shoulder. "This is going to sound strange," Nicholas said. "But I *want* to go to London. It will be an adventure, something new." "You are right, Nicolas, at least about moving on," Janette admitted, snuggling against him. "Our nights are running together. We feed, then come back home to...what? LaCroix reads a book aloud. LaCroix tells us of times past. LaCroix lectures us. Talk. Talk. Talk. But London? Why not Florence or Venice?" "It won't be all *that* different, my love," Nicholas teased, caressing her neck with his fangs. "How so?" "LaCroix will still talk." -----@@@@@----- "Nick!" Adam said loudly as he entered the room, jarring Nick from his memory. "Apparently someone deleted the programs from Smither's computer. I'm going to run it in to see if the techs can recover something." "Okay," Nick said. "I'll see you later." "You sure you aren't coming?" Adam asked. "If you want a ride, you need to get moving. Everything's wrapping up here." "I miss my Caddy," Nick grumbled. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Sat, 26 Apr 1997 01:03:47 -0400 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: If It Be Now (03/10) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #11 Episode Title: "If It Be Now" "Air" Date: April 24, 1997 Author: Libby Singleton from a story idea by Sara Orel Part 3 of 10 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- IF IT BE NOW Yawning, Adam stacked the papers neatly on his desk. He took a large swallow from his cup. The unexpected cold of the coffee caused a coughing fit, forcing the liquid up his nose. The office grew quiet as he began snorting and coughing. He looked up to see that all eyes were on him. "I'm okay," he managed to choke out, eyes tearing. He covered his mouth to cough again. "Just swallowed wrong." There was a round of snickering before the noise picked up to normal levels. Adam turned back to his desk, which was cluttered with empty cups and snack wrappers along with folders and papers. He considered shoving everything into the garbage. Too bad the trash can was already full. Giving up, he reached for his coat. "Long night?" Adam turned to find Captain Reese approaching. "Yeah. Called every air and cruise line listed. No one has a record of a 'Jay Mavis' traveling anywhere." Covering his mouth, he stifled a yawn. "Excuse me...I'm supposed to meet Kelly for breakfast, but all I want to do is crawl beneath the blankets--alone." "Can't blame you," Reese grumbled. "Sleep's a rare thing for me too these days. Been trying to get the house ready for Tammy. Gotta get a ramp built, make sure the doors are wide enough for a wheelchair." He rubbed his temples, sighing. "Anyway, it seems George Smither wasn't blowing hot air when he said he's got friends on the Police Commission. Just off the phone with Commissioner Prange. He's wanting to get to the bottom of this now and doesn't give a damn that we don't have a body." "Captain, I'm really beat. Can't the day shift handle it?" Adam pleaded. "They're short-handed," Reese explained. "If it wasn't for Nick's damn sun allergy, I'd be calling him in." "Hate to say this about my own partner, but I'm glad you can't. He drove me crazy tonight," Adam admitted. "At least we managed to get the computer to the lab. The techs are saying they're backed up too. Might be a few days before we know if any of the programs can be recovered." "Typical," Reese commented. "I'll call and see if I can't get their butts in gear. What about the blood samples?" "Dr. Lambert said tomorrow night at the latest." "At least somebody's on the job," Reese said. "I want you to call the bus and taxi companies, any type of transportation you can think of. Meanwhile, I've got officers out scouring the city for Virgil. At least we're *trying* to do something." "I'll give Kelly a call, then get right on it," Adam promised with mock enthusiasm. As Reese wandered toward his office, Adam heard him mumble, "Some days it seems like we're fighting politics, not crime." Reluctantly, Adam dialed his fiancee's phone number. "Hey, Kelly, I, uhr, know this is the second time this week, but I'm gonna have to cancel breakfast. There's a big case and I've got to work late...." **** Long before LaCroix entered through the loft's skylight, he knew his son was not present. With dawn only an hour away, he set the bottle of human blood on the table. He mentally tweaked his bond with Nicholas as he retrieved a glass from the kitchen. Amused, he realized his creation was actually flying instead of traveling by mortal means. By the time he'd filled the glass, Nicholas was landing beneath the skylight. "Good morning, Nicholas. I trust you are in good humor," LaCroix remarked, not looking up. "Would you care for some refreshments?" "This is not the time to push it, LaCroix," Nicholas warned, venom in his voice. "I've had a hard night...." "I already know that, of course." LaCroix turned and leaning against the table, legs casually crossed. "You are positively radiating...dare I call it 'rage'? Most exhilarating, and quite a pleasant change from the norm, I should add." "Just leave," the younger vampire growled. "All I want is to shower, then try to get some sleep." Not only could LaCroix sense his son's mood, the fury was clearly etched on Nicholas' face. His eyes were full of fire, on the verge of shifting to yellow. His child's scowl was pronounced and menacing. Nicholas' true nature revealed itself too seldom these days. "Something has happened, hasn't it?" LaCroix said evenly, though the question was unneeded. "Sandler...." "This has nothing to do with him," Nicholas said quickly. "You haven't lost yet another partner, have you?" "No!" Nicholas roared, rushing toward his master. Eyebrows arching, LaCroix stood firm as Nicholas stopped mere inches from him. He noted the very slight trembling of his son's body. Nicholas was restraining himself, no doubt, from attempting to choke him. "That wasn't funny," Nicholas grated out. "It wasn't meant to be, I assure you," LaCroix stated. "I trust all remains well with your...relationship with the lovely Dr. Lambert." Nicholas, jaw tight, nodded, otherwise remaining uncommunicative. "Good," LaCroix said, refilling his glass. "Well, then, perhaps you have disappointed the noble Captain Reese?" The only response was an unwavering glare. "Another investigation by, what do they call it, Internal Affairs? Ah, yes! I understand...yet another office picnic you must decline due to your peculiar allergy." "Don't taunt me, LaCroix," Nicholas warned through clenched teeth. "Then you should not make it so tempting a game, Nicholas," LaCroix commented. "Do tell me what tragedy your mortal world has brought you *this* time." His son grabbed the glass from LaCroix's hand, raising it to his own mouth. The deep red liquid barely touched his lips before he paused. Though LaCroix could sense Nicholas' hunger, his very urgent need to feed, he found the glass thrust back into his own hand. Nicholas stepped away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, eyes still locked intently on the blood. "If you must know," he said softly, hesitantly, "my...Cadillac was stolen." Rolling the stem of the glass, LaCroix straightened his posture, momentarily studying Nicholas. "All this over an automobile? You normally reserve such reactions for mortal injustices and mistreated little kittens." "I don't understand myself! This...this isn't even the same kind of...*feeling* I had around Sandler, yet I'm fighting for control of my own emotions!" Nicholas said with exasperation. "It is *just* a car. I can afford any vehicle out there. Problem is, I don't want a *new* car, I like *that* one." "Ah, don't you see transportation is not the problem, Nicholas? Obsessions over automobiles is but another mortal folly," LaCroix lectured. "Your rage comes from the fact that a possession has been yanked away by a lesser being! Humiliation, as it were. Do you not feel the need for revenge--to crush the perpetrator of this crime and claim his blood as your reward?" "No!" Nick spat, the tips of his fangs visible below his upper lip. His transforming eyes met LaCroix's. "Yes," he seethed, spinning away quickly. "I nearly followed, but the clerk was watching." LaCroix moved in front of his son. He placed a hand on Nicholas' upper arm. "This reaction is nothing to be embarrassed about. We are superior to mortals. You have the detective skills to find the vehicle, and the power to punish the thief. Use them as you used your wits to defeat Sandler!" "I've left valuables behind when moving many times," Nicholas mumbled. "So have you. I'll get over it." "This is *not* the same!" LaCroix insisted. "On those occasions the loss was caused by necessity, not theft." Stepping away from the touch, Nicholas' eyes returned to normal, the tenseness caused by the vampire fading from his countenance. "I'll try to track down the car," he said almost apologetically. "But it seems so trivial." "Thievery is *not* trivial," LaCroix stated, grasping Nicholas' arm firmly. "I keep a tight grip on what is mine." Nicholas jerked away. He glowered venomously at his master. "It has been my pleasure to see you this way, Nicholas," LaCroix said, immediately launching out the skylight. Though there was the barest hint of red forming on the horizon, he traveled in the direction of his own home. **** "You Knight?" the medium-built, leisure-suited black man asked Nick. "Nick Knight, homicide," he said, extending his hand. Nick couldn't decide if the other detective was ignoring the gesture or just didn't see it as he stared at the clipboard containing the car theft paperwork. Glancing around the office, Nick was surprised to see it was even busier than his own workplace. There were more file cabinets, more loose paper, and overall a much bigger mess, though obviously organized. After a few moments of uncomfortable silence, he added, "Nice of you to take my report, Detective...I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name." "Sykes. Larceny," the man said, not looking up as he flipped a page of the paperwork. "I'm looking forward to working with you," Nick said, smiling. Hesitating, he finally removed a stack of folders from a chair, placing them neatly on the floor before sitting down. "Working with me?" the detective asked incredulously, looking up over the rim of his half-frame glasses. "You being reassigned *here* from homicide?" "Uh, no," Nick replied. "My car was stolen. Isn't that the information right there?" "Yeah, though I don't see anything indicating the car's been murdered," Sykes chuckled. "Suppose not," Nick agreed, the smile fading from his face. This guy was going to find his car? "Green, 1962 Cadillac convertible," Sykes read. "Right?" "That's it." "You actually left the top down while you went into a convenience store in *this* part of town?" Sykes asked. "A mistake," Nick said. "Everyone's entitled to at least one." "I suppose," Sykes said. "You'll get a call if we find anything." He stood, walking toward the back of the office. "Wait a minute," Nick said, jumping up. "That's it? Don't you want to ask me some questions or something? "About what? Looks like you were pretty thorough filling out the paperwork. If I need to know anything else, I'll let you know," Sykes explained. "I'll look it over more thoroughly as soon as I have time." "When you have time!?" Nick repeated. "I assumed you'd start the investigation right away. We don't get to sit around all night doing nothing in my unit...." "Of course we'll get right on it," Sykes snapped. "You just gotta realize we aren't coddled like you homicide guys. That stack you took off the chair are just my *new* cases, assigned in the last week. There's been a sudden increase in car thefts in this area. It's not like we won't look for your Caddy, but I've got bigger concerns right now than finding one particular car. There could very well be a big time chop shop operating." "Chop shop...." Nick repeated, his voice's pitch rising with panic. "Yeah, you know, they steal cars, strip them, and resell the parts on the black market," Sykes explained impatiently. "I *know* what it is." "Then you won't care if I head on to the men's room?" "Oh, sure, go ahead." Nick muttered absently. Visions of his Caddy--stripped, dismembered, and disemboweled-- flashed through his mind. "Hey, it isn't like I don't feel for you," Sykes said. "Why don't you try putting an ad in the paper, maybe some signs up around town. Never hurts." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Sat, 26 Apr 1997 01:04:04 -0400 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: If It Be Now (04/10) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #11 Episode Title: "If It Be Now" "Air" Date: April 24, 1997 Author: Libby Singleton from a story idea by Sara Orel Part 4 of 10 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- IF IT BE NOW Leaning his elbows on his office desk, George took off his glasses to wipe his eyes with a tissue. Not only was his uncle most likely dead, the bank was on his back again about a late loan payment. In a way, he could understand their position. Grief was no excuse not to settle bills. Being in the funeral home business, he certainly never took the death of a loved one for an excuse not to pay for the burial. Still, the thought of losing his business sickened him. What would his Uncle Virgil have thought? Although Virgil had provided him the start-up money, he'd always frowned on George asking for more, lecturing that a true judge of a man's business success was the ability to stand on one's own feet financially. Virgil also had once explained to his nephew that self- made money was much more important than wealth dumped in one's lap. That was why his estate was earmarked for a variety of charities, including, unfortunately, Mavis. At least the life insurance benefits would be his own, George thought, wadding the tissue up with one hand. He nervously rocked in his chair. George was ashamed to think about the insurance, but at least his uncle's death meant he'd be able to pay some of his own debt. Opening the folder containing Virgil's papers, or at least those which the police hadn't confiscated, George eyed the policy on which he was named as beneficiary. Having set up the policy when George was still a child, Virgil had wanted to make sure his nephew would have some provisions as George's parents had been far from rich. Despite Virgil's stance on financial independence for adults, he'd never bothered to cancel the policy. "A million dollars," George muttered. Once the body was found, it would be a while before the cash would be released, but perhaps he could hold the bank off a bit longer. "What's this?" he wondered aloud, glancing over a clause he hadn't previously noticed. Suicides weren't covered? Of course Uncle Virgil hadn't killed himself; of that George was sure. But what about the police? What if the body wasn't recovered? George knew that sometimes happened. The insurance company would fight any settlement in that case. "Damn," he whispered. No insurance money meant no hope. His mind raced frantically. There had to be something he could do, some way around the rules. There were always options, he thought. He shredded the tissue into smaller and smaller pieces. **** "I'm just trying to put an advertisement about the Caddy in the paper," Nick snapped loudly, diverting Natalie's attention from the body. Natalie almost welcomed the distraction. The corpse was badly burnt and fish had nibbled on the extremities. Even the seasoned officers were using the search for evidence along the shoreline as an excuse to stay far away; Nat suspected it was actually the stench. The body was only beginning to decompose, but the smell was enough to turn even her stomach. "Yeah, and then what will you do?" Adam answered Nick harshly. "Start calling all the junk yards again? Spend another hour on the phone irritating Sykes at larceny? Or maybe I should get you a phone book so you can ask everyone in the city if they've seen your damn car! I need some help here, Nick." "Nick," Natalie interrupted. She could tell by his stance there was a bit of his vampire arrogance in control. "Can you come here a second?" "Go on," Adam said, resigned. "Just remember, Reese wants this case solved. I'm really sorry about your car, but we've got work to do right now. Go see what Nat's got for us, and I'll go talk to the guy who found the body." "Take it easy, Nick," she warned. "Adam does have a point." "I was only...." "Best drop the subject for now so you'll calm down, okay?" she warned, removing a glove to rub more wintergreen beneath her nose. When she offered the container to Nick, he shook his head. "This guy's been burnt to a crisp," Natalie pointed out. "If you haven't noticed, he doesn't exactly smell like a rose." Running a finger through the gel, he dabbed it under his nose. "Thanks," he said absently, looking into the distance. Natalie followed his gaze to the nearby road. He appeared to be watching the traffic, focusing on each car as it passed. Time to bring the detective out, she thought. "As you know, a jogger found the body. It apparently washed ashore this morning," Natalie said. "Yeah," Nick muttered, still staring at the street. "'Could he have jumped in under his own power, Dr. Lambert?' Detective Nick Knight asked," she mumbled. "'No,' Dr. Lambert replied, in her always informative manner. 'My guess is he was dead before being introduced into the water.'" "Huh," Nick grunted. "The body has only been in the water a few hours at most," Natalie continued with exasperation. She zipped up the body bag. "However, he's probably been dead for at least a couple of days." "Huh," Nick repeated. "I'll have to run tests before we can identify him," she added. "Ah," Nick mumbled. "But I can tell you he's not human," she commented, standing. She stepped in front of Nick. He took no notice of her. "In fact, he's not a vampire either!" she whispered matter-of-factly. "I think...I swear...he's an alien from outer space!" "Huh," Nick muttered. After tugging off the remaining glove, Natalie gripped his upper arm, dragging him away from the body. "Nicholas Knight, snap out of it! You haven't heard a word I've said! No wonder Adam's not exactly happy with you." "Huh? Oh, I'm sorry. My mind was elsewhere, I guess," he said, smiling sheepishly. "So you're sure it's Virgil Smither?" "Hardly," Nat said, looking skyward with irritation. "God save me from mad dogs and vampires... What's with you lately anyway?" "Nothing really. Just thinking, I guess." "Just fuming over the Caddy is more like it, Nick," she said. "I'm *not* fuming," he stressed. "All I wanted to do was take a minute and place my advertisement, and Adam wouldn't...! I'm just...irritated." "Irritated?" Natalie replied. "You're barely holding your temper! How much blood have you been drinking?" Nick looked at her in shock, guilt passing across his face. "'Fess up," she said, locking her gaze on him. "Or I'm personally going to force-feed you a large order of fries *without* catsup!" Lowering his head, he began moving a rock back and forth with one foot. "Just a little," he admitted. "LaCroix didn't finish a bottle he left at the loft." "*Human* blood?!" "Only a sip before I caught myself and switched to cow blood," Nick assured her. "You know somebody stole my car. Larceny tells me it could be a chop shop!" "Excuse me, but aren't you a police officer?" Natalie asked. "In case you haven't heard, cars are stolen every day." "I know, but...." "But nothing! What makes you think you're so different from any other person in this city?" she exclaimed. Realizing what she'd said, she shrugged. "Well, you are different than some, admittedly...you can fly, for example. Hell, Nick! You know what I mean!" "I *do*, Nat. I just can't help thinking about it," he said. "The more I think about it, the more the anger builds, the stronger the anger becomes, the more the vampire emerges. I want...I want to hunt down the thieves and... and..." "Rip their throats out," she said softly. "Yeah," Nick sighed. "I think I'm obsessed." "You left the top down while you went into the store," Natalie lectured. "That car is a classic antique, a collectible. It's a wonder it wasn't stolen before now. I mean, your loft is a virtual fortress of solitude, yet you practically leave your car in front of a convenience store with a sign saying, 'Take me, I'm yours!'" "I only went in the store for a minute," Nick explained, his tone indicating he knew he was losing the argument. "I needed change." "Not only should the top have been up, you should at least have had a security system in it!" Natalie said. "I've seen Gremlins with alarms in them, for goodness sake." "It was only a car, a method of transportation mortals use," Nick said softly. "How was I supposed to know I'd miss it this much?" He smiled at her hesitantly, almost shyly. The obviousness of his embarrassment forced Natalie to return his smile. "I guess I should apologize. After all, you've owned that car for a very long time." "Since it was new," Nick said. "Bought it in New York." "If it's any comfort, most people wouldn't mind ripping the throat out of a car thief," Natalie admitted. "What you're experiencing is *definitely* a mortal reaction." "Not according to LaCroix," Nick shrugged. "He claims I'm reacting normally to being humiliated by an inferior creature." "Believe it or not, I see his point, at least in a way," she said. "Mortals feel humiliation in situations like this too; when some lowlife takes advantage of our mistakes. A moment of foolish carelessness and something we rely on for day-to-day transportation is gone. Plus, maybe there's just a bit, a little bit, of aggression you need to work out of your system after the business with Sandler... Wait a minute, did I say I could see LaCroix's point?" "Yeah," Nick nodded. "Oh, my God," she said, placing the back of her hand on her forehead. "What's wrong?" "I don't know, but something *must* be...." she said. "What?" His tone indicated he didn't know whether to laugh or to panic. "I'm beginning to see his...LaCroix's...point," Nat teased. When Nick continued to look befuddled, she added, "I'm joking, silly." "Ah, yeah, right," he said, his smile appearing forced. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Sat, 26 Apr 1997 01:04:12 -0400 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: If It Be Now (05/10) To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #11 Episode Title: "If It Be Now" "Air" Date: April 24, 1997 Author: Libby Singleton from a story idea by Sara Orel Part 5 of 10 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1997 Elizabeth Ann (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- IF IT BE NOW "Look at this! They got my ad wrong!" Nick exclaimed, shoving the paper in front of Adam's face. "Watch it, Nick!" Adam said, pushing it away. "I'm driving!" "Oh, sorry" Nick muttered, carefully folding the page. "Who in their right mind could make this kind of mistake! I don't believe it." "If you can turn your eyes away from the classifieds long enough, take a gander up ahead," Adam said. "Looks like a big bust of some kind. Drugs maybe." Diverting his eyes from the ads, Nick saw several police cars and dozens of onlookers at a warehouse a few blocks away. "That's Sykes up there!" he said. "The one with the clipboard!" "How the hell can you see that far, Nick?" Adam asked as he pulled up to a red light. Nick unbuckled his seatbelt and jumped from the car. "I'll catch up with you later!" "Nick, wait!" he heard Adam call as he ran up the sidewalk, barely able to keep within mortal speed. A uniformed officer stopped Nick when he reached the front of the crowd. "I'll have to ask you to stay back, sir." Flashing his badge, Nick managed to get past the policeman. A number of handcuffed individuals were leaning against the brick building. Evidence teams were hauling boxes out of the building, stacking them along the sidewalk. Curious, Nick peered into one, finding a set of expensive- looking chrome tire rims. "Those are car, not body parts, Mr. Homicide Detective," Sykes said from behind Nick. "Is this the chop shop?" Nick asked, turning. "Not hardly, though they were an outlet for sales," Sykes explained. "We have found some antique parts, but no sign of anything belonging to a '62 Caddy, if it makes you feel any better. At least not yet; naturally, we haven't gone through the entire inventory." "Why wasn't I called?" Nick asked. "This is a little out of your jurisdiction," Sykes replied harshly. "Bad enough you've been calling me three, four times a night! Do you see me hanging around murder sites? Do you?!" "No," Nick replied. "Maybe I'm stepping out of bounds here, I admit. Could you at least let me in on whether or not you've got any leads on the actual thief, any suspects?" "Now that's privileged information," Sykes said. "My captain would have my butt in the unemployment line if I told you. Why don't you just run along and go do your job, while I do mine. Okay?" Though surrounded by mortals, Nick observed they were all busy questioning people or examining evidence. Staring deeply into Sykes' dark eyes, Nick asked, "Is there a suspect?" "Yeah," Sykes answered. He stared back, unblinking. "One of the suspects here broke down, blabbed all over the place...." "Nick!" Adam called, pulling his car alongside a marked police vehicle. "Come on, we've got to get moving! Reese is supposed to meet us, remember?" Snapped back to his senses by Adam's voice, Nick squeezed his eyes shut. Mentally he kicked himself. Not only was this too public a location, the hypnosis was unnecessary. As obnoxious as Sykes could be, the larceny detective's reputation was top notch, as Nick had discovered through inquiries. If anyone could crack the case of the stolen Caddy, he could. "Keep up the good work," Nick said to a very puzzled- looking Sykes. "Uh, sure, thanks," Sykes said uncertainly, blinking rapidly as he emerged from under Nick's control. "They may have a lead on the chop shop," Nick explained as he opened the passenger's side door to Adam's car. "That's nice. Now let's see if we can get a lead in our *murder* investigation," Adam quipped. "Sure," Nick said, glancing once again in Sykes' direction. The larceny detective was talking with another man Nick recognized as Sykes' captain. Unable to resist the temptation, he focused his vampiric hearing, picking up the word "suspect." Although feeling a bit guilty about eavesdropping, he listened as Sykes repeated a name and address, along with preliminary plans for a raid. "Nick!" Adam snapped. "Are you getting in or not?" "Sorry," he said, climbing into the car. "Did I tell you the paper got my ad wrong?" **** Reese usually enjoyed going to investigation sites. It got him away from the paperwork and telephone. This time, however, he'd been pressured into it by Commissioner Prange. Of course, George Smither was ultimately behind the "request." The man refused to give his detectives a chance to do their job. It seemed the younger Smither considered an investigation a matter of snapping your fingers and the case was solved. At least the discovery that Jay Mavis had an apartment outside of Virgil Smither's home was something to investigate. Basically bare, the apartment held little more than a card table in the kitchen with one folding chair, a few cooking utensils, some clothing, and several opened, half unpacked, boxes lining the living room wall. Reese found Nick and Adam at the table. Nick was sitting in the chair, cell phone pressed to his ear. "That's Cad-il-lac," Nick enunciated impatiently. "Not kitty cat! I've lost a car, not a pet!" Adam knelt on the floor beside his partner, shuffling through various papers. Looking up from the scattered pages, Adam rose from his knees, handing the captain the lease to the apartment. Reese studied the document. "So Mavis signed this only a few weeks ago." "Yes, sir," Adam said. "The landlord said Mavis was in the process of moving in when he suddenly asked the front office to hold his mail for a while. Said he was taking a vacation but didn't say to where or for how long. He even prepaid his rent and utilities for a couple of months." "I see he lists Smither as his employer," Reese mumbled. "Odd he'd spend the money for his own apartment when he had such a great rent-free set up at Virgil's house." "The landlord told me Mavis once commented that having his own place was a dream since he'd been released from prison," Adam explained. "Guess I can't blame a man for that," Reese agreed. "Why would I want to run a stolen car advertisement under lost pets?" Nick grumbled into the phone. Reese wondered if the detective even realized his captain was in the room. "Is he being much help?" Reese asked. "Not really," Adam answered. "The paper screwed up his ad." "No kidding," Reese said. "Has anyone checked those boxes against the wall yet?" "Was just about to, Captain." "Get moving then," Reese urged. Sighing, he added under his breath, "It's about time I had a discussion with your partner." Nick didn't look up when Reese stood behind him. Looking over the detective's shoulder, the captain noticed he was staring at a folded page of the classified section. Reese tapped him on the shoulder. "Listen, just run it right tomorrow night," Nick said. "I don't care if the deadline *has* passed! Get it right, okay?" He slammed the phone shut, sliding it into his pocket. "Sorry about that, Captain. I thought it'd only take a second." Picking up the paper, Reese noticed Nick had circled an advertisement for a "lost green kitty cat". "That's a good one," he admitted. "However, Knight, we've got a case to work here. The quicker we get this one closed, the quicker I get Commissioner Prange off my back. He's worse than Commissioner Vetter ever was." "I'm sorry, sir," Nick said. "I wanted to get the advertisement corrected...." "When you should've been checking for evidence here, Knight," Reese chastised. "I really need everyone to have their minds on their work." "I am thinking about the case." "No, you're not," Reese stressed. "Your mind hasn't been on anything except that Cadillac since it was stolen, Nick! Even got word you interrupted a larceny investigation less than an hour ago! Their captain called me to complain." Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Adam glance in his direction briefly before scooting down to the box farthest away from the table. "Listen," he said more calmly, "you sure aren't any help to me moping around, getting in the way with your thoughts unfocused. Take the rest of the night off and at least see if you can't rent some sort of transportation." Unfolding the paper, Nick held up a car dealership advertisement. Lincolns of all things. "Know anything about these?" Nick asked. "Nice looking cars if you can afford it," Reese said. "Hear they've got real luxurious interiors." "Yeah," Nick murmured. "I wonder what the trunk space is like." "Not good, probably. They just don't make them like they used to. Try to fit a wheelchair into a trunk these days," Reese said. "I'm going to have to get a van with a lift before Tammy's released from rehab. Of course I'll shop when I'm *off* duty, Detective Knight." "I was just about to help Adam...." "You're just about to go locate an all-night car rental place," Reese ordered. "Find something to tide you over. Then report to work tomorrow night ready to work *this* case." "Really, it's okay...." "I'm not making a request, Nick," Reese said, allowing a smile to lessen the bite of his words. He reached into his pocket, "Here, you can borrow my car to shop." "No, thanks," Nick said. "I'll just take a cab." "You sure? I can ride back with Adam." "I'm sure, Captain. See you tomorrow," Nick commented. Reese watched as the detective said a brief goodbye and apology to his partner before going out the door. "Those taxis have got to be costing him a fortune." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.