Date: Fri, 21 Mar 1997 20:46:44 -0500 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (01/10) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich , John T. Folden , Patrick McLaughlin , Leslie GrantSmith Beta Readers: Jean Simon, Stephanie Babbitt, Sharon Bhandari Historical Consultant: Sara Orel, Elizabeth Ann Lewis Continuity: Amanda Sridasome, Nancy Production Management: Amy Volpert, Dawn Steele 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 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 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- THE NATURE OF THE BEAST There was something not too distant--a voice, but not a voice, calling his name without any words... "Mind the moose, detective." "What--?" Distracted by the near-overwhelming stench of blood, Nick turned suddenly. He was jolted backward a step by the hand planted firmly on his shoulder, and found his left eye less than a half inch from a wickedly sharp antler protruding from the deer head mounted on the wall. A row of similarly-armed heads was arranged in an alternating pattern from mid-point to ceiling, a formidable honor guard standing to either side of the door. His partner, Adam Sakai, leaned on his shoulder and flicked his finger against the protruding antler. "He 'Mind the moose.'" "It's a buck, not a moose," corrected Nick, taking another step back and easily dislodging the hold his partner had on his shoulder. "Buck, moose, it's still a dead animal." Adam continued past him and peered intently through the dim light of the entryway at the spatters of blood that marked the mounted deer head in question. "What do they use this for, a hat-rack?" "It's a trophy. A hunting trophy." Nick turned to indicate the other animal heads mounted along the hallway. The Georgian Bay Associates Hunting and Trapping Club looked like an average brick street-front from outside--faux white marble columns flanked the street-level steps and supported a closed balcony on the second floor. The interior, however, seemed to be a maze of rooms and hallways, all paneled and papered to impart the feeling of a Victorian hunting club. The smell of cigarette and cigar smoke clung to the walls with the same tenacity as did the mounted animal heads and photographs. Rows upon rows of these graced the entryway in which the detectives were standing and--from a glance Nick took through doors open to either side of the entryway--just about every room, including the cloak room. The effect only grew grimmer: the haphazard spattering of red over the walls and hallways was blood, tossed from at least one discarded plastic paint bucket currently being printed and tagged by forensics not two feet away from them. During the Christmas holidays, the appearance might have been considered festive, although the speckles, drips, and splashes of crimson against green- and gold-patterned wallpaper and dark wooden paneling was anything but artistic. Every aspect of the scene bore the mark of vandalism--the only message borne by the bloody mess was that the act had been reckless. The small entry area was crowded with photographers and other forensics technicians, all trying to gather evidence and getting in one another's way. The murder scene had to be at the far end of the hall; the blood scent was even stronger in that direction. Adam was at his shoulder again. "I it's a trophy. Gross." "The hunting trophies or the blood?" "Both." Adam took a step into the hallway, walking onto the series of makeshift wooden plank ramps and platforms that protected the footprints spattered through the blood beneath them. Catching hold of a passing uniformed officer, he asked, "The body?" The officer barely paused, gestured over his shoulder to the hallway ahead of them, then continued in the opposite direction. Nick followed his partner along the balanced planks and into the hallway, which resembled a commuter traffic tunnel during the height of rush hour. They were forced to pause and press themselves back against a clean section of the wall when a uniformed officer appeared from the other direction, a number of evidence bags dangling from her clenched fist. "This is why I got into police work," muttered Adam as the officer passed. "The glamour, the gun fights, the car chases. Hey, at least we got plenty of prints." Nick glanced at the floor between the wooden planks and platforms, noting a number of clear and distinct footprints in the drying blood. "Look like sneakers." "Reese'll want us to match them to one or two sets... out of the how many million pairs of sneakers wandering around Toronto?" "If we're lucky, the perp's from out of town." They started toward the far end of the hall again, then found themselves pressed against the opposite wall as a forensics technician passed, holding more plastic specimen bags. "We've got lots of clues on this one," said Adam, with forced cheer. "And lots of blood. Animal blood." Nick casually swiped his hand against the wall, picking up a small spot of wet blood on his fingers. Turning his head in an attempt not to draw his partner's attention, he touched the blood to his lips and nearly spit it out--it was thicker and sweeter than the cow blood he was used to drinking. "Pig's blood." They paused again, allowing a forensic technician to pass them. "Pig, huh?" asked Adam, his tone of voice indicating his disbelief. "Sure it's not moose? You grow up on a farm or something?" "Something." They managed to make it another foot and a half before being held up as yet another technician passed. "Could be worse," said Adam, as they finally managed to make their way through the hall and into the central crime scene. "Could be human." "Some of it is," said Natalie's voice. Nick was glad to get out of the hallway--the bustle and heat of the mortal heartbeats around him was setting him on edge. Compounding his discomfort was the presence of so much blood, literally buckets of it. Photographs covered the walls, plated trophies and loving cups were stacked in cases, and animal heads were mounted in every conceivable nook and cranny. His eyes wandered over the continuing decor of heavy, dark, wooden Victorian furniture before he turned his attention to Natalie and the victim on the floor before her. They were located just to the right of the door, beside an antique sideboard. "This our friend?" asked Nick, moving closer and leaning over her as she knelt by the victim. The man's hair was gray where it hadn't been dotted with red from the head wound, his skin pale and wrinkled like old parchment paper-- a 'lived-in' face. The dark blue uniform wasn't official police, but close enough. "Security guard?" "Night watchman," corrected Adam. When Nick looked up at him in surprise, he gestured over his shoulder, back toward the hall. "Talked to the first patrolman on the scene while you were going one-on-one with the moose." "Buck." "Whatever." Nick turned back to see Natalie hide a quick smile and nearly smiled himself--it was good to see her smile like that again. "Gunshot?" "Head trauma. Probably from this." Her hands fitted with latex gloves, Natalie lifted a gold statuette of a hunter for their inspection. She tilted it slightly to show them the blood and hair fragments caked along the dented bottom of the award. "I'll bet you even money it matches the skull wound." "I'll take your word for it." Nick glanced up to check on the whereabouts of his partner--Adam was on the other side of the room, his notepad in hand, speaking with two uniformed officers. "They first on the scene?" he asked, nodding toward the pair Adam was interviewing. Natalie was carefully wrapping the bloodied statuette for transport back to the lab. "That's what I heard. They couldn't have gotten here much after the murder." "Body still warm?" "Yep." It was only as Natalie backed further away from the body and pushed herself up from the bloody floor that Nick saw the bear trap that had nearly severed the night watchman's leg above the ankle. Natalie must have followed the direction of his gaze, because she added, "I'm not about to touch that until we find someone who knows how it works." "It's an antique," said Nick. He dropped to one knee and leaned closer to the trap, his hand reaching out to touch it...but drew back his fingers slowly. "It's spring- loaded. Not a sign of rust--it looks well-preserved." He rose to his feet and his hand swiped the side of his slacks, as if to wipe off the taint of the trap. "Probably part of the collection," said Natalie. "An accident?" "The trap?" Natalie bit her lip for a moment, her gaze moving to the credenza alongside the body--several other statuettes and traps had fallen. "Maybe. I'd like to make a couple of trial runs, talk to some experts about these things. But that hunting trophy was no accident. From the look of things, I'd guess the watchman heard someone or chased someone in here, stepped in the trap, then was bludgeoned from behind." Nick nodded, his eyes tracing the same path hers had taken, trying to imagine what the crime scene had looked like before it had become a crime scene. "He could have been lured into the room--maybe it wasn't just the wrong place at the wrong time. No indication of premeditation?" "Nothing physical so far. I'll let you know what I find." She leaned a little closer to him, then cast a furtive look over her shoulder. "Drop by the lab, later. I've got something I want you to take a--" Before she could continue, Adam returned. "Nick, you used to work the twenty-seventh, didn't you?" "The twenty-seventh--yeah." Nick tried to meet Natalie's eyes again, but she'd looked away. He'd started his life as a Toronto police detective at the twenty-seventh precinct. That was where Schanke had been assigned as his partner. "Then maybe you weren't that far off when you called this guy a friend." Adam squatted by the head of the corpse and gestured for Nick to join him. He glanced down at his notebook and added, "The name 'Myron Sturges' ring any bells?" Nick hesitated for a moment--the name familiar. "Desk sergeant, twenty-seventh precinct, retired," added Adam. He flipped the notebook closed. "He was doing night watchman work on the side, probably augmenting his pension. The local cops knew him. When the burglar alarm went off and they didn't get a confirmation call from him right away, they headed over at a run." The man's face was turned away, spattered with blood and gore, the mouth twisted in agony and the eyes closed...but now that it was brought to his attention, Nick found he recognized the man. "That's him," agreed Nick softly. "I'd only been at the precinct for...six months? They had a party for him. I drew short straw on covering the desk since I was the new boy on the block." "They're going to want a fast-track on this one." Adam pushed himself up from the floor and walked back to Natalie. "How long before you move the body?" "It depends on how long it takes to find someone to get that--" she gestured toward the bear trap, "--off him. not playing with that thing. I like the idea of keeping five fingers on each hand. You wouldn't happen to--?" "Me?" The sharp tone in Adam's voice caught Nick's interest--when he glanced up he almost thought he saw a look of panic in his partner's eyes. "No way. Wouldn't touch one of those things with a ten-foot pole no matter how much Kelly's been talking about us taking a vacation at a hunting lodge during deer season next year." "And?" pressed Natalie. "I'm running out of ways to change the subject." Nick rose to his feet again, curious, but he wandered to one side of the room, pretending to take a closer look at the trophies and photographs while listening to the discussion behind him. There was a rattle of plastic--another forensic sample --and a sigh from Natalie. "I know what you mean. Once you see 'Bambi,' that's it, isn't it? My father and brother talked about going hunting, but they never did anything about it. I guess it's supposed to be some sort of male- bonding ritual." "Not in my family. We've got plenty of rituals and none involves guns." He heard a chuckle from Natalie. "That's probably a good thing." "Yeah, seen one too many domestics turned bad on my old beat." He snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me, anything from forensics on the Patterson house?" "So far--zilch." "Good. That means it goes back to Missing Persons, where it should have gone in the first place. Nobody, but just disappears into thin air..." Nick disregarded the small talk behind him and concentrated on the plaques and photographs on the wall. The animal heads he ignored, but he noticed that the various awards and framed photographs catalogued the history of the club from the first settlement of Canada by French trappers. The members hadn't restricted their hunting activities to the Canadian provinces, however--there were photographs of hunting parties and safaris taken in some of the remotest parts of the world. Some he recognized at a glance, like Delhi or the Amazon basin. Others he could guess by the animals held aloft or piled high in triumph--polar bear or caribou; a long, sleek black panther reduced to a mass of flesh and rotting meat drying in the sun. And then there was Africa. He drew closer to the photograph, although he could see it clearly. A little fading around the edges hadn't dimmed the triumphant expressions on the faces of the big-game hunters. The date on the photograph was 1910. There was not too much difference between these people and the ones he had known, the arrogant Englishmen dressed in khaki and confident that the sun would never set on their empire. Africa. >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Fri, 21 Mar 1997 20:46:55 -0500 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (02/10) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett 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 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- >>>> Nick held the thatch-and-wood construction door and paused, enjoying the sight of civilization after a fortnight of following LaCroix through brush and thicket. The floor was hard-packed mud, covered with woven reed matting. A small fire was burning in a stone fireplace at the left side of the main room, and various local tribal decorations were scattered about the walls. It was not unlike a small piece of England transplanted into the jungle, an oasis of humanity. He wondered if anyone had thought to bring a book he might borrow for an hour or so. Two men were seated with a woman at a table, cards forgotten at his entrance, and a third was already halfway across the room. The rifle in his hands was held at an angle, the eyes in his middle-aged but weathered face alert and alarmed at the sudden entry--a born hunter, a man who knew how to stay alive. "Where did you come from?" "Would you mind if we shared your shelter until the storm passes?" Nicholas paused to remove the traveling cloak that hung from his shoulder--hardly stylish, but a necessary concession to the possibility of finding himself without sufficient shelter at dawn--and gave the assemblage what he hoped was a non-threatening smile. "Nicholas...Kent. And this is Lucien LaCroix. We're heading toward Mombassa." LaCroix drew up beside him and gave the company a cursory glance before turning. Already annoyed at the forced delay in their journey caused by the impending storm, he whispered, "Oh, done, Nicholas. You couldn't have found anything more intolerable on such short notice?" "We'd be glad for the company," said the young man, offering his hand and all but brushing aside the wary hunter who'd first approached them. "Carlton Everleigh. The brute over there is Morgan Comstock--no manners of which to speak but knows his way across the savanna. Colonel Warrington--" "Of India, retired," said the Colonel, who had wandered to the fireplace, pipe in hand. The woman who rose from the table had short dark hair, curled at the ends, and large violet eyes. She was dressed in trousers and a bush jacket, as were the others, although her clothing was tailored to show off her physical assets. Striding forward, she took Nicholas' hand boldly. "Virginia Lawson." "Charmed." It was as Nicholas bent to kiss her hand that Everleigh added protectively, "My fiancee." Nicholas met Miss Lawson's eyes as he rose from the kiss and found them sparkling, just before she shot her fiance a look of undisguised contempt. She carried herself with an ease and self-assurance that he found refreshing, not at all similar to the society flowers he'd last seen in London. There was nothing timid about Miss Lawson. The woman was adventurous, perhaps dangerous. And very attractive. He smiled, beginning to think that the delay in their journey might be more pleasant than he'd first anticipated. Passing him, Comstock walked over to LaCroix, eyes still wary. "You can send your bearers round to the shack in the back. We've quarters for--" "We have no 'bearers.'" Nicholas would have been alarmed at the disdain in LaCroix's voice and his easy dismissal of the scout if he hadn't found himself so distracted by Miss Lawson's obvious charms. "You don't hunt without bearers?" asked Miss Lawson, watching Nicholas, but also watching LaCroix behind him. Taking the seat beside her chair, Nicholas explained, "We're not here on safari. We've just come down from Lake Victoria--the diamond mines." Everleigh seated himself across from Nicholas, suddenly interested. "Had a thought of wandering out there myself for a look. You own one of the mines?" " do," corrected LaCroix, with an easy, sardonic smile. Removing his own traveling cloak, he draped it over a chair and returned to the far side of the fireplace, a healthy distance from both the flames and the noxious smoke emanating from the Colonel's pipe. There was a silk scarf around his neck just inside the collar of the khaki jacket, and Nicholas realized, with some chagrin, that even with the dust of their journey on his boots, LaCroix was immediately the most perfectly attired gentleman in the room. Nicholas was no longer the center of Miss Lawson's attention. She turned her head and favored LaCroix with a winsome smile--Comstock wasn't the only natural hunter in the room. "Did you bring any diamonds with you? I've never seen them in the raw before." "Ginny, you know they're no better than rocks at this point," said her fiance. "I doubt if Mr. LaCroix threw them onto the trail outside that you'd be able to figure out which were the gems and which worthless pebbles." "An interesting exercise," noted LaCroix. "Although I have a suspicion Miss Lawson might surprise us all in that regard." There was a moment of tension between them, LaCroix and this young, adventurous, feminine sample of British aristocracy. Nicholas shifted uneasily in his chair as he saw the pair eyeing one another. It was like watching two predators, each trying to take the other's measure while deciding how long to watch and wait...before attacking. >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Fri, 21 Mar 1997 20:46:59 -0500 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (03/10) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett 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 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Shaking his head, Nick dispelled the vestiges of memory and forced himself back to the here and now. Adam was gone, probably checking the rest of the scene. Natalie was still standing over the body. Her face was pale, unnaturally so, and he saw her shudder and wipe the back of her hand across her mouth. Nick approached her carefully, scuffing his shoes against the hardwood floor at the edge of the carpet, alerting her to his presence. She looked up sharply, a moment of panic on her features, then her lips settled into an uneasy smile, and she glanced down at the corpse again. "I may be wrong," she began shakily, "but it looks like two sets of footprints here. There and...there." "Which means we've got two killers. Or the scenario you came up with--" Nick glanced over at the door where two uniformed officers were standing, and let his eyes scan along the room, following the victim's path. "Sturges chases someone in here, lands in the trap, then someone clubs him from behind...could be the same person he chased into the room." "Could be," admitted Natalie. "When we get comparisons on the prints, I can give you a better idea." Nick watched her as she looked over the crime scene. "Pig," he said. She blinked, then looked at him, puzzled. "What?" "The blood--it's pig." "I'll take your word for it." Her cheeks were so pale, and there was a weariness in her eyes that alarmed him. Nick raised his hand to brush her cheek, but stopped himself, the gesture only half completed. He turned so that his back was to the officers of the door, shielding Natalie from them. "Are you all right? The blood--" "I was going to ask you the same question," she admitted, with a wan smile. Natalie looked down, and he saw the reflection of the blood pooling around the corpse in her eyes. "It's a little better, now, although sometimes it sneaks up on me. When I walked up to this place, I wasn't sure that I was going to make it through the door and then...it was okay." "Good." When she met his eyes again, Nick smiled, letting her see his relief. He found something inside him warmed as she returned the smile. He wanted to know how she was doing, what she was doing, what she was thinking or feeling. He wanted to share her thoughts, not just about the case, but about other things. He wanted to be part of her life again. For a moment, he sensed that there might be a chance. If he got the words right, if he knew just what to say... What he say? "Detective?" Nick didn't turn when he heard the officer's voice, not wanting to break the moment between them, but it was gone. Natalie moved away, squatting down to examine the footprints in the combination of human and pig blood spattered across the floor. Nick turned away, letting the cop in him take over. "Yeah?" "The back door's open--it leads to an alley. We've got some spatters of blood on the door sill. Somebody thought you might--" "Somebody thought right." Nick followed the officer from the room. There traces of blood scattered across the tar pavement of the alley. Nick left the officer at the door and wandered the length of the dark alley, then out to the street beyond. This might very well be the killer's trail, the pig's blood wiping off the soles of the sneakers with each step until only an occasional scraping from a tread had fallen here or there. He swept his gaze this way and that as he walked, first one block, then two, then three. Each step took him farther away from the crime scene, but he knew that his heightened vision and sensitivity to blood was keying him in to a trail that a mortal forensics technician would have difficulty following. The spots grew further apart; the person had been running. Running to-- A public pay phone stood at the corner, the receiver hanging from it, dangling, but still without a breeze or motion to stir it. The person he was tracking was long gone, but he or she might have made a call. The cord of the receiver shifted slightly as Nick stood there. Again, he felt a light touch against his thoughts, as if his name were being called from a distance. He turned. LaCroix was standing in the gutter of the street, his gaze impassive. Nick took a step toward him. "You shouldn't be here--" "You're right." The faintest smile flickered across LaCroix's lips, then he sobered again. "You should be somewhere else as well." Nick glanced toward the direction of the alley and the club where the crime had occurred, now several blocks away. "Are you involved in this?" "No." Another flicker of amusement, as if LaCroix ever deigned to lower himself to meddle in mortal affairs. And yet he had, quite recently--Reese's daughter. The amusement faded, as if LaCroix's thoughts were mirroring Nick's. "I've found something that might interest you," said LaCroix softly. "If you have a moment--" "No." Nick took a step back, unconsciously trying to plant his heels into the cement. He glanced again toward the crime scene, knowing that he should be getting back there. "Not now." "Someone's been asking questions." "Questions?" Nick took a step forward. "What kind of questions?" "Personal questions. About you. About your life, your work." A chill ran through Nick and his breath caught momentarily. "Not...the Enforcers?" "No. Someone else in the community." Nick hesitated--he had a crime scene waiting and a partner expecting him to help gather evidence while the scene was still hot. "Can it wait until later, after shift?" "It's your decision." There was no threat, no taunt, no teasing...simple acquiescence. Nick stared at his master. He hesitated, even as LaCroix turned his back, preparing to leave. There had been a look in LaCroix's eyes, almost as if he'd questioned his own decision in coming here. That, alone, was enough to make him reconsider. "Wait!" called Nick. When LaCroix turned, his expression again so studiously impassive, Nick took another step closer. "All right. Where are you--?" LaCroix lifted into the air before he could finish his question. There was nothing to do but follow. Muttering a curse, Nick gave himself a half-hearted promise to return to the crime scene as soon as he could. He recognized their destination from the air-- Runnymeade Park, not far from the stockyards. LaCroix set down just outside an abandoned, street-front theatre, and Nick was no more than a minute behind him. As they approached, an imposing figure stepped from the shadows beneath the theatre marquee. Almost instantly, the figure disappeared back into the shadows. LaCroix opened the door and gestured Nick into the theatre with an imperious air. Nick heard a voice speaking even as they crossed the torn carpeting and ruined floorboards of the theatre lobby. He continued to follow LaCroix as they passed through a second door, walked up a once-carpeted staircase, then emerged at the back of the balcony. They were alone in the upper level. The theatre below was far from filled, but there was an impressive gathering of vampires in the seats below, mostly young. The theatre stage was dark, with the exception of two candelabrum, the flames of the candles flickering in reaction to the vampire who walked back and forth across the stage as he spoke to the crowd. "--our nature," continued the young vampire, in a firm, if not quiet, voice. "We've seen the reports, we know that donations of human blood are growin' more infrequent. Too many disasters, too many fear contagion, too many too ignorant or too ill. Stockpiles are disappearin'. Thefts are being noticed, more and more mortals have to be trusted as conduits, as brokers, as suppliers. There are those among us who go hungry, while our forbidden prey walk the streets." " been asking about you," said LaCroix, nodding toward the vampire who held center stage. "The last day or two, or so I've been told. Do you know him?" "The old ones speak of the danger of feeding freely, of the importance of upholdin' the Code," said the speaker. "Some even talk of the 'morality' of feeding our hunger with mortal lives." There was a pause as an amused titter swept through the theatre audience. "Is starvation 'moral'? Should we perish so that some petty street thief or drunkard can die of the cold or neglect or disease, when their warm blood might sustain us? We have a right to their blood. We have a right to their lives. We have a right to survive. We are the predators and are the prey." "No. I've never seen him before," answered Nick. His whisper was so soft that he could barely hear it himself. "How long has this been going on?" LaCroix answered from behind his shoulder. "Perhaps a few weeks, if that." When Nick cast him a curious glance, he added, "I been occupied with other matters, Nicholas." He sighed. "There's always a rebel in every crowd, after all. There's been unrest in the younger ones since the fever passed; the possibility of their eternal existence ending in such a sudden and unforgiving manner has proven quite a shock to some of them. Until now only one or two would listen to him, perhaps a handful at best." "It's been growing?" "Nightly. Especially with our recent difficulties at the Raven. They're frightened. They want to be comforted. They want a messiah to lead them to a promised land." Nick turned his attention back to the figure on stage. The dark hair was short, the eyes brown. His clothing was common enough for a young man in his mid-twenties--jeans and a blue cotton shirt. He might have been an actor or a model, or perhaps a politician...if he'd been mortal. "Ian Sandler," supplied LaCroix, as Nick inquired with a raised eyebrow. "He can't be older than the century." "He's charismatic." "Yes, that seems to be the problem." There was almost a glimmer of admiration in LaCroix's voice as he added, "He certainly knows his way around a mob. Someone said he was brought across during the Irish Troubles." "He trouble," agreed Nick. Leaning his hands on the back of the seat in front of him, he let his eyes sweep across the crowd. "Ask ," said Sandler to his audience. "Ask the old ones about the way it used to be--how they used to hunt, how they used to , how they used to ! Who are they to deny us our birthright, to deny us the right to hunt?" >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Fri, 21 Mar 1997 20:47:08 -0500 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (04/10) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett 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 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- >>>> "Do you enjoy hunting, Miss Lawson?" asked LaCroix, his tone like honeyed syrup. "Are you here to prevent your worthy fiance from disappearing into the bush, or did he drag you away from London society to prevent disappearance?" Comstock remained silent, seating himself on a chair by the door as the other men laughed. He wiped the barrel of his gun and Nicholas felt sharp eyes on his back. Miss Lawson was not the only member of the party to measure them, to wonder who and what they were and what their intentions might be. "I'll have you know, sir," said Everleigh proudly, "that my fiancee is the daughter of one of the board members of the Kensington branch of the Adventurer's Club. I doubt we would have sailed without her presence." "Or without her money," Comstock murmured, in a tone so low Nicholas caught the comment only because of his enhanced hearing. When he looked up, he saw that LaCroix had noted it as well. "We wouldn't have sailed at all if it had been up to Carlton," declared Miss Lawson, taking her gaze from LaCroix just long enough to shoot a disapproving glare at her fiance. "He finds hunting through gaming parlors and salons more to his taste." LaCroix moved to stand behind Miss Lawson, his fingers resting on the back of her chair. "You prefer more dangerous game? The salons and gaming parlors can provide a unique hunting ground in their own right." Miss Lawson smiled sharply and Nicholas started seeing something faintly reminiscent of his master in her smile. "Without blood, what's the point of a hunt?" "What, indeed." LaCroix grinned across at Nicholas, who didn't fail to notice that, beyond the notice of her fiance, the vampire's fingernails were drifting lightly against the flesh of the young woman's neck, dismissing her collar. "You'd be surprised at the sport one can find in such places, if one knows where to look." "We may as well have remained in London--the hunting's been here," said Miss Lawson. "We've barely seen an antelope and Comstock took that down with one shot. There was another party here several days ago and they said the region's been hunted out--nothing left worth shooting." Colonel Warrington removed his pipe from his mouth and cleared his throat noisily. "We've been considering moving in-country, to Nairobi. Of course, nothing could compare with the times I had in India. Had to shoot a rogue elephant once--it turned on its keeper and trampled most of a village before--" As the other members of the British hunting party listened to the story with polite attention, LaCroix's interest centered on Miss Lawson. It was obvious to Nicholas that she was aware of the attention, looking neither to the right nor to the left but fixing her gaze on the Colonel and ignoring LaCroix's presence utterly. Nicholas had no idea what game LaCroix might be playing, but it began to worry him. The sooner the storm either hit or passed and the danger of lightning was over, the sooner he and LaCroix would be on their way. Only then would the hunting party--and Miss Lawson--be safe. There was a commotion outside the building. Comstock was on his feet almost as quickly as Nicholas, but neither of them had reached the door before it was flung open. A dark-skinned man entered, dressed in khaki. His accent was British, but broken, as he shouted, "Mr. Everleigh, Colonel-- there's been an accident!" Nicholas followed Comstock out the door. There was a flicker of brightness in the distant sky, and dark clouds continued to skid across the moon. An instant later LaCroix was beside him, eyes raised upward and also looking at the weather. The storm might be anywhere from an hour to several hours away--distances could be deceiving in this section of the country, the horizon appearing as close as one's hand but remaining as distant as a dream. Several bearers were holding torches, lighting the area as Comstock walked around a covered litter on the ground; the cloth thrown over the vaguely human shape beneath was spotted with large, brownish stains. "What is it?" asked Miss Lawson excitedly. Comstock lifted the covering, then dropped it quickly, a flicker of disgust flashing so quickly across his features that Nicholas wasn't even certain the man had reacted. "One of the Germans." He looked up at LaCroix and Nicholas. "They passed through this morning." The dark-skinned man who had disrupted their conversation was quietly speaking with the three bearers and four tribesman who were clustered around him. "It was a lion," he explained, pushing his way to the front of the crowd and addressing Comstock. "The bearers say it was a large beast, a male, perhaps with a mate." "Did they get it?" asked Everleigh. LaCroix had wandered over to the covered pallet and nudged it with the toe of his boot. "It would appear that 'it' got 'them'." There was more conversation. Nicholas had picked up enough of the native dialects around Victoria to recognize the gravity of the situation. He recognized that LaCroix's seeming disinterest in the matter was a mask--he, too, was listening. The Germans had been well armed, but the beasts had surprised them, taken them down almost without a shot being fired. Miss Lawson glared at the bearers, her impatience obvious. "What are they saying? Where's the beast now?" "There's no need for concern, darling." Everleigh stood by Miss Lawson and placed his arm on her shoulder, which she immediately shook off. "I'm certain they made a mistake. They were German, after all." Comstock also seemed to understand the language, because he was frowning. "No," he muttered angrily, staring down at the body on the stretcher. "No, they knew what they were doing. The lions turned on them--hunted ." "Hunted ?" echoed Miss Lawson in an odd tone of voice, as if the thought appealed to her. The Colonel removed his pipe from his mouth. "That's ridiculous! I've never heard of such a--" "I have," corrected Comstock. "Once. Or twice." He looked up at the party again. "We've got to assume that one or both of these animals might have been wounded, which means they'll be doubly dangerous. We should set out at first light, track them as soon as--" "Why wait until dawn?" asked LaCroix smoothly. As the others looked at him in astonishment, he stepped back from the covered body on the litter and faced Comstock. "Why not begin the hunt now?" Nicholas gave Comstock a great deal of credit--few had ever met LaCroix's daunting gaze with such a look of challenge. "You're a bloody fool for suggesting it. The trail's easy to follow by daylight--there's less chance of losing somebody to the bush. The darkness belongs to them." "You wanted a challenge, didn't you?" LaCroix turned to face the others, pinning each of them in turn with his gaze and ending on Miss Lawson, so that his words seemed directed directly toward her. "You call yourselves hunters; put your skills to the test." "I hardly think--" sputtered Everleigh. "No." Miss Lawson stepped forward, her gaze locked with that of LaCroix. "He's right." She turned toward her fiance. "Why not? And think of the stories we can tell when we get back. We'll be the envy of our set!" "You'll get yourselves killed, why not," said Comstock sharply. He stalked past LaCroix, glanced at him-- for a moment, Nicholas feared that Comstock would spit at the ancient vampire--then walked over to Miss Lawson and Everleigh until he stood only inches before them. "Those animals have already had a taste of human flesh. They're used to our scent. With even one bad break, we wouldn't have a chance." Miss Lawson eyed him coldly. "Mr. Comstock, I hired you because I was told you knew the hunting in this area better than any man alive. I was never informed that you were also a coward." Comstock jolted forward at the taunt. Nicholas found himself shifting, ready to protect her, but Everleigh moved as if to place himself between his tracker and his fiancee. Miss Lawson pushed aside her fiance and glared. "You'll be paid in full, Mr. Comstock, whether you stay here or accompany us, but I doubt once word of this gets back to London that you'll ever be hired by any respectable British hunting party again." She paused and Nicholas thought he saw her glance shift to LaCroix as if looking for his approval, then back to the man in front of her. "Which is it to be, Mr. Comstock?" There was another flash of lightning in the western sky, followed by a low peal of thunder. Nicholas almost moved forward this time, wanting to intercede, but LaCroix placed a restraining hand on his arm and whispered, "Wait." Finally, Comstock growled, "All right. Check your arms, all of you. We'll meet here in a half hour--I should have picked up a trail by then. But I want it in writing, Lawson, that I won't be held responsible." "That will be acceptable, Mr. Comstock," said Everleigh grimly. Grasping his fiancee's arm, he escorted her back into the building, followed by the Colonel and two of the bearers. Comstock crooked a finger toward the British- speaking bearer and two others, but stopped when he found himself facing LaCroix. "You're responsible for this," he said angrily. "They'll be dead by dawn." "Very possibly a good deal sooner than that." Snarling, Comstock stalked past him, accompanied by the bearers. He shot a look at Nicholas as he passed, an accusatory glance that seemed to blame Nicholas for not having spoken sense and prevented this outcome. Nicholas turned, ready to follow Comstock, but LaCroix was at his elbow again, his hand clamped tightly on Nicholas' forearm. "We have little time, Nicholas. As the man said, perhaps you should check your weapons before we begin." Nicholas stared back at LaCroix, astounded and not altogether displeased; he'd fully expected LaCroix to demand that they leave immediately, and he had been prepared to argue against abandoning these people to the merciless jungle. "You can't mean to say that we're--?" "Staying?" LaCroix released him and then glanced up at the sky. "We should soon know what direction the storm will take. A hunt would provide a more agreeable diversion than listening to the Colonel's stories about India." Nicholas knew that LaCroix's decision to stay was anything but an altruistic gesture. "They could use our help. Two more rifles would give the hunting party a better chance of survival." "Who said anything about survival?" LaCroix gestured toward the building. "We need to feed before we continue-- what better time than this? Or circumstance, if it comes to that? We can hunt freely here, as we used to. They'd never be missed--an accident in the jungle. Their fellows will chalk it up to misadventure, and that will be the end of it." "No." Nicholas backed away. "You know I don't hunt mortals any more. I won't kill..." "That's your choice Nicholas, just as this is mine. hunt. I don't try to deny my nature." LaCroix moved quickly and was suddenly standing behind him. "I wonder," he added, in the softest of whispers, "How long it will be before you're unable to deny your own?" >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Date: Fri, 21 Mar 1997 20:47:17 -0500 Reply-To: Virtual Fourth Season Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: Virtual Fourth Season Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (05/10) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett 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 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- "You're right--he can't last," Nick said with more confidence than he felt. "His kind never do. When Sandler can't deliver, they'll walk away." "But he could do a great deal of damage before they tire of him. And you're making the assumption that he deliver what he promises." LaCroix moved to stand beside Nick, staring down at Sandler. "I should have handled him before this, before he started asking questions." Nick took a slow breath, knowing that there were certain questions he couldn't afford to have asked, particularly those that might center on Natalie. "Questions about...me?" "About ." But then LaCroix glanced over him, the corner of his mouth twisting slightly. "Or about you," he conceded. "I'd hoped you might have some idea why he--" "Ask the old ones what it was like," repeated Sandler, his voice increasing in volume. "Ask !" They were suddenly the center of attention--Sandler was pointing up at the balcony, and the small crowd of vampires had turned in their seats. "Nicholas de Brabant?" Sandler called, pretending ignorance, although it was obvious he knew exactly who Nick was. LaCroix stood his ground, eyes growing cold. "This ends now," he whispered, and he moved forward, but Nick caught LaCroix's arm, stopping him. Their eyes met...then LaCroix nodded ever so slightly, as if giving Nick permission to handle the matter. The candles wavered and several went out completely as Nick landed at the base of the stage, standing on top of the covered orchestra pit just beneath Sandler. He heard the murmur of the audience behind him--many knew of him. Many more knew that he was one of LaCroix's progeny. And few, if any, would be foolish enough to antagonize LaCroix. "Why you ask me?" asked Nick coolly, meeting Sandler's gaze. Sandler sneered. "What would you know about what's bein' denied us when deny your own nature? You're the one who lives among mortals, pretends to a mortal." "Many of us do--it's a mortal world. We do it to survive. You know why we have to keep a low profile." Nick turned toward the audience and spread his hands. "You all know what happened at the Raven a few weeks ago. That's the first hunter we've seen in a long time, and we all know why--mortals no longer believe in our existence. They don't to believe that we exist. If we started to hunt again, if the alleys and streets are clogged with bloodless corpses, they won't have a choice. They'll have to believe. And then they'll come after us." They were young, this crowd. Most had probably never been hunted before, and he sensed how badly the incident at the Raven had frightened them. Nick pointed toward a woman wearing a light parka, her hair blonde, her eyes blue but verging on gold in fear. "They'll come after you during the day, while you're resting," he warned her. He allowed his arm to sweep across the crowd, pointing at different vampires as he spoke. "With fire, with garlic, with crosses, with stakes...yes, with stakes," he said, noting the collective shudder from his audience. "That's why we don't hunt. why we obey the Code--it protects us." "The Code doesn't protect ! Where were the Enforcers when our friends were being murdered by a hunter?" countered Sandler. "Will the Code feed us as human blood supplies diminish? Will we be forced to drink the blood of livestock, to become little more than , because we're 'afraid' of the mortals? Will we be denied our life, our blood, because the elders and ancients among us have grown lazy, too comfortable among the mortals to even remember what the hunt means, how it stirs our spirits, makes us strong?" Nick felt the attention of the crowd shift to Sandler, who stretched out his hands to his audience. "We're better than mortals--faster, smarter. We fly. We heal. We ." His eyes shifted from brown, to gold, to red. "Maybe it is world. Maybe it should become world." Nick could feel the passion of the crowd; the wave of their hunger buffeted and surrounded him. Their eyes shone with flecks of red or green or gold, and he could see the fangs of many of them as they roared their approval for Sandler--and no wonder. Sandler offered what the Code denied them--they could hunt at will, take what they wanted, live as they liked, without fearing either the mortals on which they preyed or the Enforcers who upheld the Code. They wanted absolute freedom, unencumbered by responsibility for their actions or for their own lives or those of others of their kind. He realized now how wrong he'd been to try to instill sense in them by addressing their fears. They didn't want rules and regulations; they wanted escape. As the approval for Sandler thundered around him, he wondered if LaCroix might have done better. "We're vampires!" shouted Sandler. "We should live like vampires. We should like vampires." The applause and shouts were almost deafening, echoing from the rafters of the theatre. The sound lingered for a long moment, accompanied by the gusts of air stirred by the rapid movement of so many. The breeze extinguished the candles, leaving the room in a comfortable, silent darkness. Nick let his hands drop to his sides and stared around the abandoned theatre. They were gone--all of them, even Sandler. When he looked up, LaCroix was walking down the balcony aisle, clapping his hands together in solitary, ironic applause. "Well, done, Nicholas," he called. " well done. The performance of a lifetime." An instant later and LaCroix was standing on the platform beside him. "Tell, me, what you do for an encore." Frustrated and feeling utterly ineffectual, Nick stepped from the cover of the orchestra pit down to the aisle between the first row of seats and the stage. He leaned back against the rear protrusion of the orchestra pit's wall. "It won't matter. They'll obey the Code--they won't hunt. They're too frightened to risk it on their own." "How much longer will they be 'on their own'?" countered LaCroix. His gaze was fixed on the distance. "Too many of them are without masters, too many who never learned the Code, never understood why we live the way we live. They want a leader, and they think they've found it in Sandler. I'd hoped the matter could be handled quietly-- it seems I've miscalculated, both in underestimating him and in overestimating you." LaCroix squatted above him on the platform and asked, not unkindly, "Nicholas, must you always rush in where angels fear to tread?" What LaCroix thought shouldn't matter to him, not after the centuries he'd spent trying to escape from LaCroix's influence and control, but the knowledge that he'd disappointed his master made Nick uneasy. "He must have common sense. I'll meet with Sandler, talk to him, make him see reason--" "It won't work." "It to work." Nick turned to face LaCroix, looking up. "Arrange it." That was another odd thing--to make a demand of LaCroix so easily and yet still have the assurance, or some assurance, that it wouldn't be tossed back in his face. LaCroix lifted a finger to his lips, regarding him thoughtfully for a long moment, before nodding his assent. "All right." Rising to his feet, he stared down at Nick, his expression cautious. "If you decide to handle this by yourself, Nicholas, you'll have to see it through. If you fail and the killing starts, if this crowd," he waved his arms at the empty auditorium, "grows used to the taste of fear-laced, living blood, it won't stop. Are you willing to accept that much responsibility?" With ease, LaCroix jumped from the platform and stood beside Nick. "Do you even know what you're fighting? Do you remember the taste of it?" he asked, as Nick turned away. Pressing closer, he whispered, "Do you remember the fire of it? How it burns the lips, heightens the senses, expands the soul?" It was too easy to remember the glory of the hunt. Closing his eyes, Nick jerked away from LaCroix, the reluctant, "Yes--" pulled from him as if without his consent. "That's what you'll be fighting--not Sandler, not a handful of leaderless youth eager to sow their wild oats at the cost of the safety of themselves and those around them. You'll be fighting the nature of the beast, the thrill of the hunt, and the bloodlust. beast, bloodlust." He smiled as Nick turned back to him, eyes gold. " the fight you'll have to surrender, if you're going to beat Sandler. You'll never defeat him unless you accept the beast within yourself." Nick heard LaCroix softly close the theatre door behind him. He stood leaning against the platform for a long moment, until old memories of fresh blood were drowned out by the scent of warm wax still dripping from the extinguished candles. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.