From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMFri Dec 13 01:28:32 1996 Date: Fri, 13 Dec 1996 01:23:07 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: V4S: Of One Mind (1/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #4 Episode Title: "Of One Mind" "Air" Date: December 12, 1996 Author: Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Leslie GrantSmith, Mel Moser Beta Readers: Sara Orel, Amanda P. Sridasome, Rebecca M'Kenna, Sarah Baker , Soulseeker Part 1 of 9 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 12/14/96 by writing to V4S04@fkfanfic.com, or 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 1996 Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein -------------------------- OF ONE MIND It was late, and no one could be seen in the cold darkness of the November Toronto night. But if someone had happened by, they would have heard a gasping sound. Had they stopped to listen, they might have realized that it was not so much the sound of someone breathing as the sound of someone struggling to breathe. They might also have heard another person's breathing, not labored but just as distinct in the otherwise quiet night, might have heard their breath rising to a crescendo as the victim's breath quieted, then stopped. But no one happened by. So no one saw the trunk of a car open, or saw anyone put something into it and drive, listening to a soft rendition of "Music of the Night," humming quietly. No one saw the car pull to a stop amidst rustling leaves, or heard the soft thud. No one saw the car pull out, or heard the driver singing happily to himself. **** Nick Knight took a deep breath of cold Toronto air and paused as he caught a whiff of something, something old, blood long stale and dry. As he and Adam walked the short distance from the Caddie to the crime scene, he was quickly overwhelmed by the smell of new death, a young woman from the looks of her. The small private park seemed to be filled with joggers, homeless, lovers out for an evening walk, trying to appear as though they weren't staring, uniformed police trying to keep them off the crime scene. Somewhere in the distance, a street band played. As they got close, Adam quickened his step and Nick shook his head. Detective Sakai was still young and green enough to be excited by it all, no matter how sickening it was. Nick had long ago outgrown his "Oh boy, another challenge" phase and graduated to "Let's get another killer off the streets and be done with it," so he was content to let his partner hurry on ahead to check with the uniformed officer. Besides, the sooner they finished, the sooner they could get out of the cold. Nick half-listened as Adam asked the officers on the scene the traditional, "What've we got?" What they had was obvious. From the looks of the leaves that unceremoniously graced her hair and clothes, the woman splayed out had apparently been rolled, possibly out of a car. But there was no blood on the ground, and angry red marks on her neck suggested strangulation. "If she'd lived," Natalie Lambert said as Nick crouched to look at the victim's neck, "she'd have a hell of a sore throat." Nick looked up at her, surprised. It wasn't that she'd been exactly unfriendly to him lately -- in fact she hadn't. It was just that she'd limited their conversations to strictly business, whether it was police work or a new protein shake formula. "Definitely strangulation then?" He tried to keep it light, hoping to prolong this level of communication. "Yes, and almost definitely not here." She motioned to the orderlies to get the body ready to move. "She doesn't look like she was strangled in that position," Adam said, startling Nick. He'd just gotten used to Tracy's voice instead of Schanke's. "No," Natalie continued, "the lividity suggests that after death and probably at the actual time of death -- which was about 6 hours ago, by the way -- she was lying on her back, not her side as she is here." Adam stood and approached the uniformed officers. "Has anyone started taking statements?" No one had, and he took out his notebook and began. Something bothered Nick. This was a fairly "bloodless" death. Nothing accounted for the scent he'd picked up on the way in. He stood and looked around. Officers were carefully combing the area for clues under the watchful eyes of Forensics. He turned to Natalie. "Was there another body? Anything...bloody?" Natalie winced slightly when Nick mentioned blood. "No, nothing else. Well, at least not yet. The Forensics team hasn't finished their search." Nick nodded, not wanting to push the mention of blood. She'd been much better about it since the trip to visit her family, but still... Despite the extensive search, he doubted they'd find anything on this murder but tire tracks. "Thanks." Nick wanted to stay and talk to her, but the scent of blood was overwhelming him and he tried to look as if he were meandering, even though he was sure where he wanted to go. He wandered over to a stand of trees where he was sure he'd first smelled it, but saw nothing. Nothing but a pile of leaves. Carefully he brushed away some of them -- the rain had matted them together a few nights ago, he supposed -- and saw a twisted hand. He grimaced, wishing he'd been wrong, and called Forensics and the photographers. Adam was there before he finished speaking. "What is it?" "Another victim, apparently. Somewhat less recent, from the looks of it." An older man approached the scene flanked by two officers. He squinted and shook his head in disbelief. "This is terrible, just terrible," he said. He turned to the younger man who accompanied him. "I knew something like this was bound to happen. This is just the sort of thing I've been complaining about." Nick turned to him, but before he could ask, Adam jumped in. "And you would be ...?" The man looked disoriented for a moment, moved to straighten his tie and realized that he wasn't wearing one. To Nick, he did look as if he'd been dragged out of bed -- reasonable, given the hour. "Mather. Harold Mather. I own this property. This is my nephew, Albert." Adam raised an eyebrow and smiled despite himself. "I'm Detective Sakai, this is Detective Knight. You own McGovern Park?" "Yes, I _do_," he said, then sighed. "Well, I manage the estate of my sister, whose husband owned it before their ...untimely deaths." Nick saw the look of confusion on Adam's face. "McGovern park is privately held property leased to the city for a dollar a year, first by David McGovern, and now his estate, which I understand you will be inheriting as soon as all of the legal hurdles are cleared, isn't that right, Mister Mather?" The man nodded. "Yes, that's right. To be honest, I may just _give_ this property to the city. It's much more trouble than it's worth. The neighborhood's been declining steadily in the years David owned it, but Christine loved it so. She used to perform in the amphitheater when she was younger." Albert looked at him with disgust and stalked over to a marble statue of Christine McGovern. He looked sadly up at it. She stood, arms beckoning to the crowd, showing the signs of growing vandalism. Graffiti adorned her chest and feet, as well as her pedestal, and four of her fingers were missing. Nick looked at Mather, really looked at him, trying to discern the source of pain etched into his face beneath all the anger. Was it the death of his sister -- a has-been actress when she and her husband were killed in a car accident? Or the two new bodies on "his" property? Or was it something else entirely? "Mr. Mather, did you get a look at the other body?" "Yes, I did. Why?" He squinted at Nick, tired, guarded, suspicious. "Did you recognize the victim?" Nick heard Mather's heart rate increase and tried not to smile. "Should I?" he finally asked. "This is your property, I was just wondering if she was someone you knew." Mather glared at him. "No, Detective Knight, it is _not_ someone I know. I've only been in town since the accident, and I've been so busy trying to put Christine and David's affairs in order I've barely had time to meet our neighbors, let alone socialize." Adam tore his gaze from Albert, who was now staring, mesmerized, at the first body. "What about their son, does he know either of them?" Mather looked confused. "They had no children. Oh, you mean Albert! No, Albert is my brother's son, from Europe. He's only recently come to Canada." He turned to look for the young man, finally spotting him watching with rapt attention as the orderlies prepared the first victim for transport. "Albert, come away from there." Nick was used to Mather's pseudoaristocratic type. He could see that they were rapidly approaching the level of annoyance where he would clam up completely. If that happened, they weren't going to get anywhere with him unless they brought him in. They had no reason to do that -- yet -- so instead he motioned for the uniformed officers to move him and his nephew off the crime scene. "Pleasant guy," Adam offered. "Sure was agitated." "Yes, but the question is 'Why?'" Meanwhile, Forensics had cleared away the leaves, but the body -- another young woman, apparently -- was covered with grime and her throat was too dirty to offer any clues as to whether she, too, had been strangled. But there was blood in her hair. He gently pulled Natalie aside. Natalie stiffened slightly when he took her arm, then recovered. "I smell gunpowder," he whispered. "Thanks," she said as she moved quickly away from him and towards the newly discovered body. Nick sighed to himself as he watched her. He knew that he would have to wait patiently if he ever expected her to be ready to let him back into her inner circle. Natalie bent down. Turning the partially decayed body over, she began to closely examine the remains. "She looks as if she's pretty young, possibly still in her teens." Natalie brushed aside a patch of bright red hair. "There appears to be a bullet entrance wound here by the base of the neck and an exit wound in the left cheek, and there are several more bullet wounds on the rest of the body." "So we're looking at two different killers, most likely." Nick sighed. How many other bodies had been found in this area over the years? It wasn't particularly well lit, and foot traffic was at a minimum. They'd only been clued in to the first body because a jogger's dog had dragged him over. Adam's head popped into Nick's field of vision. "She was shot in the head and the body was face down. Do you think it was a gang killing?" Natalie examined the body thoughtfully. "Given the condition of the victim, I can't say much more until I check her out at the lab." Nick thought about it for a minute. "Gang related is certainly a possibility. A hit maybe?" Adam shrugged. "Could be." Natalie looked at the thin sweater and jeans on the corpse. "Well, there couldn't be more difference in the way they're dressed, at least. This one is wearing discount specials, but Jane Doe Number One's dress is ," she exaggerated. "Definitely not a blue light special. She couldn't have paid less than $500.00 for it if it were on sale." "Looks like we should be looking for a missing socialite," Adam said, but Nick was distracted by the sight and sound of flashbulbs at the first body. He heard the photographer introduce himself as working for the _National Intruder_. "Looks like someone already is," he said, and remembered... >>>>>> The smell of burned flash powder was almost overwhelming as Nick huddled with the rest of the reporters trying to get a look at the grisly find the police were trying to cordon off. As much as it could have helped his fledgling career as a reporter with the Cleveland Star, he found himself hoping that this wouldn't be another "Torso Murder." There had been seven discovered since the first in 1935. Nick had been assigned to the story almost by default. There was hardly a reporter in town who wasn't working on it. But his curiousity had been piqued after hearing one particular detail about the bodies: no blood. It certainly wasn't inconceivable that another vampire was in town. After all, hadn't Nick and LaCroix come to Cleveland because it was known as a haven for those who needed to, in the vernacular of the time "lie low for a while?" Who was to say that they were the only vampires in town? Of course, it wasn't as though he could have ignored the situation, particularly as a reporter. For three years every paper in town had been glued to the story, no matter how much time elapsed between bodies. It made good copy, even if it was, in Nick's opinion, revolting. Why did people feel the need to read about such...depravity? A policeman lifted a rotting burlap sack and fell back with a cry as the bottom gave way and decayed body parts spilled out onto the rocks. The reporters gathered could only speculate, but Nick knew from experience that a body that badly decomposed was unlikely to be less than a year old. The skull sat unceremoniously among the large rocks under the bridge, as though waiting for one of those shouting reporters to direct a question towards it. "Detective! Detective!" He found himself shouting, trying to get the investigator's attention, but he was drowned out by every other reporter in the city trying to do the same thing. Not that he expected to get much out of Inspector Mayfield. He had come to the conclusion early on that Mayfield was dirty, and he knew that even if there turned out to be no link to the vampire community, he would still be chasing after the story behind that corruption. It just made trying to get information on the killer that much more difficult. Back in the corner, huddled next to the bridge supports, he caught sight of something...a boy. He was probably about 14 years old, but this was the Depression. Everyone seemed a lot older. Nick disentangled himself from the crowd of reporters and worked his way over to the boy. He sat down on the cold ground next to him. "Hi." The boy didn't look up. "The cops told me not to talk to you." "Now why would they say that when they don't even know me?" When he got no response, he added, "or is it because I'm a newspaperman?" "Beat it, bloodsucker." That particular slang for reporters had taken a while to work its way into Nick's vocabulary. Apparently the "kindly stranger" approach wasn't going to cut it. This kid looked like he'd "sell his grandmother for a buck" as they said. What else would he sell? "There's a fiver in it for you." But as soon as the words left his mouth he knew he wasn't going to leave with this story. Detective Mayfield was three steps away. Nick let the Detective pull him to his feet and stare into his eyes. "Scram...before somebody decides to take _your_ head off." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMFri Dec 13 01:28:40 1996 Date: Fri, 13 Dec 1996 01:23:15 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: V4S: Of One Mind (2/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #4 Episode Title: "Of One Mind" "Air" Date: December 12, 1996 Author: Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein Part 2 of 9 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 1996 Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein -------------------------- OF ONE MIND Natalie finished sifting through the hair of the body she was examining. "Not so much as a carpet fiber," she mumbled. She turned her attention back to the victim and began to inspect the bruising on her neck. She turned the tape recorder back on. "Dark purple and red discoloration evident on the victim's neck, suggesting a level of extreme violence. Markings indicate that the killer continued to strangle the victim after death." Natalie worked her way down to the victim's fingernails. "Damn!" She lifted her magnifier off and threw it down. "Nothing! This is not going to be my day." Aside from some powder tattooing from the gunshot wound on the skull near the occipital lobe, the other body had given up very little information as well. Natalie picked up the coffee she had been nursing all evening and leaned against the wall. Since getting back from her vacation, she had managed to catch up on most of her backlogged cases. She was beginning to take control of her life again, and it felt good. The only thing she still felt uncertain about was Nick. The coldness she felt towards him when he touched her arm bothered her. She knew that now that she was beginning to manage her pain, she would have to sort out her feelings about him and deal with them. She sighed and turned back to her latest "customer." This would have to wait until later. She couldn't afford to get behind in her work again. An hour later, she picked up her casebook and began working on her notes. She had only written about five lines before she sighed, rubbing her forehead with her hand. What was wrong with her? She couldn't concentrate today. She picked up her coffee cup and sipped from it, then put it down in disgust. Nothing tasted worse than cold coffee. It was just then that the door opened. She tensed and dropped the notes she had been reviewing as Thomas Westwood entered. "Goodness, so jumpy! I'm sorry, I didn't mean to startle you." He looked around and spotted the body on the table, but if he was trying to be unobtrusive, it wasn't working. "I just came by to ask how business was." Nat had swung around to face him, her lips pursed, then smiled. "Are you sure you want to know?" He looked curiously at her for a moment. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't." She laughed. "In that case, it stinks, happy?" "And this makes you happy, does it?" He challenged her. She stared at him. She could like him. There was something about him that dared her, that seemed to say he felt life was just a game and it was her move. She liked the thought of having some kind of control. She knew she needed it. "I suppose you never lose it?" she shot back at him. "Lose what?" "Your cool." He laughed. It didn't look as though it came easily to him. "I lose my cool all the time. I just try to do it when nobody else is around." She laughed again. It felt good. "Well, up until you walked in, nobody else was around." "Then don't stop on my account. What's bugging you?" He pulled over a chair and sat down, looking her straight in the eye. She looked at him as if he had two heads. "It's really rather personal. Besides, you don't need to be burdened with my problems." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a business card. It still said "Vancouver Police Department," but he pointed to the word "Psychologist." "See this? It gives me a license to pry into other people's business." She raised an eyebrow at him. "I see. And that makes you a professional busybody?" "More like a professional shoulder. And I assure you, I'm very good at it." She stared at him again. It was tempting. But how could she talk to him about Nick? Especially given his quest to validate the existence of vampires? No, she needed to talk to someone, but Westwood was definitely the wrong person. "I appreciate the offer, but I really can't. I don't think anyone can help me. I need to work things out on my own." "No one should be alone, Natalie, especially when they have a problem that needs to be worked out. Believe me, I know." "I know we've talked about this before, Thomas, but at this point, I really do need to stand alone and deal with things. I can't depend on someone else all the time. Not anymore. I _need_ to think for myself. I know that you understand." "I do, and I admire you for it. But," he patted his shoulder, "the offer is open. Whenever you want it, I'll be there." She put her hand on his shoulder. "Thanks. Don't worry, I'll remember the offer. I'm sure I'll need it somewhere down the line." She smiled warmly at him. "You got it." He looked over at the body lying on the slab. "Have you found anything interesting yet?" "No, and it's getting more frustrating all the time. Whoever did this thought it through well enough to cover himself. The body's been washed clean, not much in the way of clues. So far just the decedent's age and cause of death. The nails look like they were manicured before she was dumped. The other victim's body is too decayed, the only evidence I have is that she was shot several times after she was dead. She had fifteen bullet wounds, but the one in her head was the cause of death. It punctured the brain." He nodded and got serious. "You know, I'm a whole lot more accurate if people call me while the crime scene is still pristine. How do they expect me to do an accurate profile when they've already..." He trailed off and sighed. "I'm sorry. It's just hard to work like this." "You sound as if you expected to find something specific. Did you?" "That depends. What kind of linkages have you found between the two victims?" "None. Why, should there be any? It looks as if the two had nothing in common except the site." "Well, the 'why' is exactly what I'm trying to figure out. And it's a lot harder to do when everything's been bagged and tagged and is completely out of context." "I'm sorry no one thought to call you. I guess we're just not used to having you on staff yet. I'll try and make sure the next time that you're notified right away." He smiled. "Thanks." He walked over to the table and looked at the victim. "Not exactly a street person. Any idea as to the socioeconomic status of the two of them? Age? Hair color? Anything off the bat?" "Dress style is completely different, and there's about a fifteen year difference in their ages. As for hair color, one was a graying brunette, the other a flaming redhead." He nodded, thinking about it. "So age isn't the factor, and probably not social status either." He thought for another moment. "Who's the detective on this case?" "Detective Knight's handling one, and his partner the other." He looked confused for a moment, then sighed. "So they're handling them as two separate cases." "Is there any reason they shouldn't?" She paused, studying his expression. "Now I'm sure you've got something specific on your mind. What are you going for here?" "I'm fairly certain that these two cases are related. Possibly the same killer." He held a hand up as she began to protest. "I know, the MO seems different and that's not usual for a serial killer. But there's something about this case that is just screaming at me." She shook her head. "No offense Thomas, but everywhere you look you see vampires or serial killers. You need more rest." He didn't take it as lightly as she had hoped he would. "I'm not crazy, Natalie, and I'm not seeing vampires here. This is what I do for a living, and I'm telling you, these two victims are related!" He stood up and walked around the table, almost entranced. "It's just a matter of figuring out what it is that the killer wants, what kind of needs he's trying to fulfill." He stopped and stared at her with a look more intense than anything she had ever seen on a mortal. "It's a matter of getting into the killer's head, of understanding how he thinks." She put a reassuring hand on his arm and smiled as she spoke confidentially to him. "If I were you, I'd drop it, because frankly, if you don't, and Captain Reese gets wind of this, he'll be what's screaming at you. Reese wants this wrapped up as quickly and as neatly as possible. You're opening a real can of worms here. Unless you can prove without a trace of doubt that a serial killer did this, then let it go." "And if I can't prove it, this guy's going to walk. Because it _is_ a serial killer, Natalie. I know it. I can feel it. It's too important to just let it go." She moved closer to him, her hand stayed on his arm. "Trust me, Thomas, you don't want to get inside the mind of a killer." She trembled as she remembered sharing Nick's thoughts. She felt lost inside her own body. "If you could, the feel of death would haunt you the rest of your life. You could never escape it." He looked hard at her, silent, and for a moment she was glad she couldn't get into his head. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMFri Dec 13 01:28:53 1996 Date: Fri, 13 Dec 1996 01:23:24 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: V4S: Of One Mind (3/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #4 Episode Title: "Of One Mind" "Air" Date: December 12, 1996 Author: Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein Part 3 of 9 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 1996 Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein -------------------------- OF ONE MIND Reese added a stack of case files to the smaller of two piles on Nick's desk. "This is the last of them. Any luck?" Both detectives looked up from the files they were examining. "Well," Nick said, putting his current file on the larger stack, "we're batting .500, so to speak." Adam held up a file. "Mine's Mrs. Diane Foster, prominent citizen, and up until today, missing. That was easy." "Of the Montreal Fosters?" Reese asked. He shook his head sadly. "That's _not_ going to make this any easier." "The hard part is going to be telling _Mr._ Foster," Nick added. "We were hoping to get an ID on the other victim, maybe know whether the two murders were related before we told him, but so far no luck." He flipped quickly through the files. "Doesn't look like she's in here, either. Not that it's going to be easy to tell, as decomposed as she was." "Well, keep plugging at it. Any time now I expect to get an irate call from Harold Mather asking if we've got anything." Reese retreated to his office. "What, does he have the social register memorized?" Adam asked under his breath. Nick leaned back in his chair. "You're new to office politics. You'd be surprised at the people he knows. Anyway, it looks like you're the lucky one." "Why? This means I've got to tell the husband his wife is dead. You're the lucky one." "I get to be wondering whose parents are still waiting for their teenager to come home. Not much of a trade-off." He took a closer look at the files. "So let's recap. These are all of the outstanding missing persons cases at the probable time of death, and she's not here. So she's either from out of town, or nobody cared enough to report her missing." Nick sighed. "We'll have to run a computer check on out of town cases." He wrote up a request and handed it off to Miller, who hurried past. "In the meantime, we have some unfortunate news to break to Mr. Foster." **** Natalie looked up as she heard a knock at her laboratory door. A hand appeared in the doorway, holding a cardboard tray with a bag and what appeared to be two cups of coffee. "May I enter?" came a disembodied voice, "I come bearing gifts." Natalie chuckled. "Only if that's not from the cafeteria." Westwood pretended to look hurt as he entered the room. "Do I look that uncouth? They're from Santini's." He looked uncomfortable for a moment. "I'm sorry for getting so... weird yesterday." Natalie shrugged. "Don't worry about it. Around here it's bound to happen occasionally." "Thanks." He smiled and looked around the room. "So... I know you're not supposed to eat in here. How about if we go somewhere and sit down?" Natalie studied him for a moment, realizing that he had something on his mind. She was glad that he felt able to confide in her. She'd almost forgotten what it was like to have social contact with a man other than Nick. She smiled. "Sure. There's a bench right outside. Let me grab my coat. I could use a break right now." "You do realize, of course, that it's winter out there." He looked a little dubious. "It's a little chilly, but at least it doesn't smell like formaldehyde." He couldn't argue with that, so with his free hand he helped her on with her coat. Natalie looked up and smiled at him as she put her arm through the sleeve. *This could cause office gossip,* she sighed to herself, *but what the hell.* She didn't owe Nick anything anymore. Not really. They were quiet as they left the building. Natalie noticed a few raised eyebrows, but otherwise her co-workers said nothing. Thomas headed for the most secluded bench, despite the fact that it was probably getting the brunt of the late November winds -- which was, she was sure, why there was no one else around, and probably exactly why he chose it. "A bit isolated, but cozy," teased Natalie as she brushed a bit of snow off the bench with a gloved hand and sat down. Westwood looked embarrassed for a moment as he placed the tray between them. "I'm sorry, I...just don't want someone to happen by and hear...anything. Um...maybe you'd better start with the sticky buns while they're still hot -- which should be about 5 minutes." He smiled uneasily. Natalie slipped a glove off and sniffed as she opened the bag. "Mmmm, cinnamon." Pulling a roll out, she sank her teeth into it appreciatively and savored it. "They're nice and gooey too," she said between bites, "just the way I like them." Westwood reached for one of the steaming cups. "Enjoy." He watched her closely. She realized that since she'd met him, she'd never eaten anything when he was around. His stare was unnerving, but after a few moments, he seemed satisfied that she was, truly, enjoying the pastry, and relaxed. Natalie licked her lips. "OK, now tell me why I've been bribed." He nearly choked on a mouthful of coffee. "Bribed? No, I didn't mean -- I just...I needed to talk to someone." Again, he looked embarrassed. When _was_ the last time he had really felt comfortable talking to someone? "Relax, Thomas, I was only joking. I'm flattered that you chose me. I may not be a professional shoulder, but I am interested, and I do care." "Well, I'm glad, because to be honest, a professional shoulder would probably want to enter me into long-term treatment." He sighed. "What you said yesterday, about seeing vampires and serial killers wherever I look? I was thinking about it all day and I'm beginning to think you're right. But out of the very few people I've mentioned Serena to, you're the only one who hasn't laughed in my face. Not yet, anyway." "Look, I won't laugh, but you have to promise not to get too carried away with all this. On the off chance that you might be right, it could be very dangerous for you. I mean, if there were vampires," she added, trying to sound light, "they probably wouldn't take kindly to someone trying to expose them." She might as well have flipped an "on" switch. He became suddenly animated. "Of course not. They'd do anything they could to avoid exposure. And killing humans would mean nothing to them to keep their secret. In that respect they're _exactly_ alike." She looked at him, confused. "Sorry. All this time that I've been looking for Serena, I've been trying to estimate her psychology based on her personality as I knew her, and vampires as these mythical creatures. Too much Bram Stoker, I think. Anyway, when you said that yesterday, it was like...I don't know, like the proverbial light bulb went on. "Vampires aren't these mystical creatures that can't be understood by 'mere' humans. They're living -- well, you know what I mean -- breathing, former people. And these people are predators. In that respect, they're _exactly_ like serial killers." She started to protest, but he held a hand up. He was clearly on a roll. "I mean, let's look at this for a moment. What do we know about serial killers? We know that for the most part, they fit into society perfectly, with very little leakage to give them away. Serena certainly did that. They're careful about everything they do, so as not to give themselves away." "But serial killers leave clues to lead investigators to them. They _want_ to get caught." "Well, not exactly," he emphasized, but it was obviously not meant as an affront. "There's more to it than that. They do leave clues, but actually what's going on is that they have no respect for those who are pursuing them. It's more than just a desire to be caught. It's taunting the police, whom they think will never figure it out." He leaned forward as he grew more intent. He was obviously in his element. "Take the Green River Killer. That's my favorite case. He went so far as to call one of the investigating officers wives and taunt her about her husband's inability to capture him. No one knows how many he's killed, and he's still out there somewhere. He may be killing even as we speak. He can because he feels safe, that he's protected somehow. Serial killers feel that they're 'above' the laws of society, that laws are just an inconvenience that keeps them from being able to do what they feel they have a right to do. And their victims, they're just inanimate objects, necessary 'props' that allow the killer to have the experience, if you will." Natalie was stunned. She'd never thought of it that way, but he was right. The thought of being used by Nick for her emotions was not easy to deal with, but there it was. Someone had finally laid the cards out before her and she had to face the truth. Could she never be more to Nick than a means to satisfy his hunger? Had their whole relationship been based on Nick's needs, *his* desires? If she had been honest with herself, she'd have realized long ago that she was the one making all the sacrifices while Nick selfishly stood by and let her -- hadn't she? Had he been draining her of her self respect, her humanity, and her love, all the while that they had been searching for a cure? In the end, he had almost succeeded in draining her of her very life. But she had survived, and she couldn't imagine ever again letting him close enough to hurt her that deeply. Westwood stopped suddenly, seeing the look on her face. "Oh, Natalie, I am _so_ sorry. I...I didn't mean to..." "To what? You didn't mean to what?" Natalie knew she sounded defensive. He took a deep breath. "I didn't mean to open up painful memories for you. I thought you didn't believe it was a vampire who'd attacked you, so...I didn't think, period, and I'm sorry." Nat blinked as she realized what he thought she was thinking. "No. No, it's not that. I was just thinking about something I thought I knew. You don't have to apologize. You didn't say anything wrong." He sighed and tried to smile. "Well, that would be a first, I think. Let's start this all over again, OK? So what would you like to talk about now that we've finished these great sticky buns and entered into the awkward 'coffee' phase?" "How about something safe, like this latest case? How can I help?" "Do you always retreat into your work to feel safe?" He was smiling. "In case you didn't notice, I just offered to help you." He was unfazed. "Fair enough. I don't suppose you've got an ID on either of the victims, or preferably both, that we can use to help establish a link?" Natalie sighed. "Well, Nick and Adam managed to ID one of them, but I don't have anything much in the way of clues, let alone an idea. I wish I did. But whoever killed those women was pretty meticulous. The only thing I can safely conclude is that he transported the bodies from the murder scenes and that he had enough time to cover his tracks." "Then you agree that it's one killer." She shook her head. "I can't agree or disagree. There's simply not enough to go on. But if you feel that strongly about it, you should talk to Nick and Adam." "I thought about it, but without anything but location to go on, after that Poison Ivy case, they're likely to think I'm trying to horn in on their investigation, stretching things...seeing serial killers wherever I look." "And we both know _that's_ not true," she smirked. "Come on in with me, I've got some tests that should be ready just about now. Maybe it'll give you something to go on." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMFri Dec 13 01:28:58 1996 Date: Fri, 13 Dec 1996 01:23:30 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: V4S: Of One Mind (4/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #4 Episode Title: "Of One Mind" "Air" Date: December 12, 1996 Author: Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein Part 4 of 9 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 1996 Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein -------------------------- OF ONE MIND When Nick and Adam returned to the station, Reese was waiting for them. "Where the hell have you two been? I've got Mather crawling up my back and down again." "We notified Mr. Foster," Adam said. Reese didn't look any less disgusted. "Well, you could have told me. But at least the two of you were together. That's an improvement. Any leads?" Adam cleared his throat. "Uh...not yet, sir. Her husband didn't have any idea what happened. She went to a planning meeting for a benefit series and never came home." Reese motioned them towards his office. Sure enough, Harold Mather was already seated. He stood and shook their hands as they entered, offering perfunctory greetings, as did his nephew. "Mr. Mather," Reese said as he settled back in his chair, "I understand you've already met Detectives Knight and Sakai." Mather frowned. "Yes, I met them the night the bodies were found. I wasn't impressed." "I was," Albert said. "I thought it was fascinating." "You would." Mather glared at him and turned back to Reese. "My nephew seems to be overly interested in police science. He thinks everything is one of those tawdry American documdramas." Nick tried to suppress a smile and jumped into the conversation before Adam could say anything they'd both regret. Not being the hothead of the pair was an interesting experience. "Mr. Mather, we've identified the more recent of the victims as Diane Foster. She was a neighbor of yours, wasn't she?" "Yes, but I only met her once, and that was quite recently. I took my nephew to a small party of theirs so that he could get acquainted with a few people. We didn't socialize with the Fosters. They were new money," he said, as though it were obvious. "But at the crime scene you said you didn't recognize her," Adam said. "It's not somewhere I would expect to see her, and she certainly didn't look the same as she did at the party. Besides, I only saw her for a short time that evening. You can't expect her to have made that much of an impression after only an hour." "Still, how many years was she friends with your sister? Surely you had _some_ contact with her." "As I told you last night, Detective, I've only recently arrived back in town. And I'm not in the habit of gawking at dead bodies," he added with palpable distaste. "One of those women was very badly dressed," Albert added with enthusiasm. "I'm sure she was one of those people that you're always complaining about, Uncle Harold." He looked to Nick for approval. Mather was becoming visibly agitated, growing more irritated by the moment. "Enough of this. I didn't come down here to be interrogated. I came to find out what you're doing about the riffraff in _my_ park. I put up with the police ignoring them because they supposedly weren't doing anything illegal, and look where it's led." "We don't know if the street people in the park had anything to do with this, Mr. Mather," Nick said. "In fact, it looks as though the bodies were dumped in the park after being killed somewhere else. We have no justification for bringing people in just because they frequent the park." "They don't just frequent it, Detective. They live there, and something must be done about it. They've even defaced my sister's statue. It's a disgrace I tell you!" He pounded Reese's desk for emphasis. "I don't care what justification you use, but I want the place cleaned up." Reese stood before things could get any more out of hand. "Mr. Mather, we appreciate your coming down, and we'll let you know if we find anything. We are looking into it." He stepped to the door of his office and motioned for officers to escort Mr. Mather back to his car. When the sounds of Mather's complaining had subsided, Reese shook his head. "Somehow I can't see Diane Foster strolling casually through McGovern park waiting to get strangled by a derelict. Why is it it's always the street people who get blamed?" Nick turned to go. "Because they're defenseless." >>>>>> Nick waited in the shadows for the sound of the police cars he knew would be arriving soon. He'd been prepared to wait outside the precinct all night hoping for a clue as to what the police were planning, but it had been unnecessary. A leak from the office of Cleveland's Safety Director had alerted the press that they were going to stage a raid in the Flats. "Much more effective publicity that way," Nick murmured to himself as the night was suddenly turned to day by the floodlights turned on the makeshift shanty town from carefully positioned fire engines. Before even he could react dozens of police officers stormed the cardboard and metal shacks, turning out the mostly sleeping inhabitants. Protected from notice by the confusion, Nick was instantly beside one of the "residents," who stumbled dazedly from his home, a gash on his head. Nick helped him steady himself only to dive to the ground a moment later to keep from getting his head taken off by a police ax handle. Now that prohibition was over, he supposed, the police needed some outlet for their hostility besides breaking down beer vats and homemade stills. Nick decided sense was the better part of valor and while the officer was distracted, he grabbed the man and ran with him. In his own investigation of the "town" he had noted six separate exits and they headed towards one of them. As they reached it they found themselves in the hands of more police officers, this time being arrested. "Please," the man cried, "I just got a job today! If I go to jail I'll get fired!" Nick allowed himself to be arrested and sat down in the police wagon next to the distraught man. Comparatively, it was quiet in the van. "How long have you been here?" he asked quietly. The man looked up at him, confused. "Two days. Rode the rails in from Pittsburgh. Just got a job today," he repeated. "What do you think they're looking for?" Nick asked, trying, as he had been for days, to find out what information the target community had. Every vampire was acutely aware of anything that might endanger him or her. He was sure it was the same for the hobos. They had to know something. "I don't know," the man said, still shaking his head. "The Butcher, I guess. They told me about him when I got here. But I don't know...I just don't know how anybody could do that. Why would anybody do that?" Nick looked at him, taking in every nuance of his expression. This man truly didn't understand the killer. Did any of these people? For a moment, he saw the man and the others that were being rounded up into the van as the killer did: helpless prey. He'd tried for centuries to keep himself from looking at mortals that way. But he was beginning to think the only way to get to the bottom of this mystery would be to see it from the killer's point of view. Several hours and 64 arrests later, Mayfield finally returned to Central Station. Nick had been in no hurry to be released. Yellow journalism was not yet dead in Cleveland, and what better place for him to get story ideas for tomorrow's edition than here? He'd already spoken to many of those hapless men with whom he shared a cell by then, and was surprised when an officer called him by name. "Albrecht!" Nick stood and followed the officer to an interrogation room, where Mayfield was waiting for him, arms folded across his chest. "What do you think you're doing in there?" Nick smiled. "I thought I was being arrested, but maybe I was misinformed." The Detective motioned for him to sit, and he did. "Albrecht. I understand that you're just doing your job. But you have to understand that I'm just doing mine. We all are. We're trying to catch a killer here." "Then why are you wasting your time rounding up 64 people who clearly have enough to worry about just getting by from day to day, let alone kill someone and carve up their body?" Mayfield remained calm. "Think about this, Albrecht. This is the Flats, Kingsbury Run, the Roaring Third. You can walk into a club and get a prostitute, directions to a bath house, anything the slightest bit illegal, and nobody will blink. Why wouldn't we start here? This guy is killing these hobos because he knows we can't even track who they are, let alone who he is. If nothing else, the next time a hand turns up, we may be able to identify its fingerprints." "Why are you telling me this?" "I have two reasons, Albrecht. One, you're a member of the press, and when you go home tonight to work on your , I expect you to take public safety into account. And two, if I catch you talking to these people again, I'm going to charge you with obstruction of justice, is that clear?" He stood and looked down at Nick. "This is a police matter, Albrecht. It is none of your concern." Abruptly he walked out, and as Nick was escorted from the station, he heard the morning's plans to search and burn the shanty town to the ground. >>>>>> "Yo, Nick, he's talking to you." Nick shook himself out of his reverie and realized that Adam was trying to tell him something. He followed Sakai's gaze and saw Westwood standing there, waiting for an answer of some sort. "I'm sorry, what?" Westwood looked as though he could hardly contain himself. "I said that I've got a lead on your Jane Doe." Nick picked up a pencil and tapped it on his desk. "Great, what?" "Dr. Lambert analyzed what was left of her stomach contents after all this time. She found traces of champagne, caviar, pate, not the kind of thing you would expect considering how she was dressed. So she checked into it, and sure enough, the clothes weren't even the right size for the body. Those weren't her clothes. Plus she'd had cosmetic surgery to reshape her nose and chin, and that's not something you pick up at the Free Clinic." Both detectives waited for something more. "So that's the link!" Westwood finally said. "They were both upper class women! Plus I did a little digging, and right around the time of death there was a planning meeting for a benefit kick off party and they served the exact same things that Jane Doe ate." Nick stared at Westwood, took a deep breath, turned to put his feet up on his desk while he played with the pencil. Abruptly, the pencil snapped and he put his feet back on the floor. "That doesn't mean she was at the party. She could just be another suburban teenage runaway who found herself on the wrong side of the socioeconomic scale." "Then how do you explain the stomach contents?" Westwood challenged. "I can't. Yet. But that still doesn't mean there's a connection between the two victims. One was young, one was older. One was, you're saying, re-dressed in new clothes prior to being disposed of, one was wearing what she'd left home in. And most importantly, and I'm sure I don't have to point this out to a man with your vast experience in multiple murders, one was shot, and one was strangled!" Adam chimed in. "That's right, serial killers don't change their MO, right?" Westwood sighed, rubbed his eyes, and pulled over a chair, then sat in it as he leaned forward over the detectives' desks. "Look. Basically everything you're saying is true. But you have to look at the overall picture here. "It's not a serial killer's MO that doesn't change. In fact, it does change quite frequently to accommodate things that he learns on previous kills. What doesn't change is the underlying fantasy that he's trying to fulfill." "You'll have to excuse me, Dr. Westwood," Adam said, "but we didn't do much with behavioral sciences down at the 68th. What kind of fantasy?" Westwood took that as encouragement and smiled. "Every serial killer and/or serial rapist has a fantasy that they're trying to fulfill with each kill. Call it a need. They need to get a certain experience out of each kill. It's a need that they can't satisfy, no matter what. No matter how good each kill is, as soon as it's done, they feel this...this hunger growing inside them, and they have to satisfy it." Nick shifted in his chair, picked up another pencil, put it down again, carefully. "So the question is, what experience is this guy trying to get out of his victims?" Reese, grumbling on his way back to his office from the water cooler, had stopped to listen and Nick turned his attention to him. "Captain, what do you think of all this psychobabble? We're chasing shadows here, right?" Reese looked at Nick as though he'd suggested cutting open a pig to read its entrails. "What are you talking about, Nick? This is solid stuff. I want you to get on this. We don't pay this guy so you can ignore him." Nick tried not to look too pained. "OK, so what do you suggest?" he asked, forcing himself to make eye contact with Westwood. "Wait a minute," Adam said, "you said you thought Jane Doe was at a meeting to plan a benefit, right?" "Yes, why?" "Foster said his wife never came home from a planning meeting for a benefit." "The Toronto Play House?" "Yes, that's it! And the benefit itself is tomorrow night. You think he'll try again?" "Whoa, hang on," Nick said. "There's still the MO issue. It's one thing to learn from your mistakes, but that's a pretty big change in between." Westwood turned to face Nick, who forced himself not to look away. "The killer is trying to accomplish something, and in doing so, he's getting closer and closer to his victims. The first one was shot. That's something he could do from a distance. The second was strangled, but that appears to be the only contact. The next victim may be abducted and held for a time, or she may be stabbed, or sexually assaulted in addition to being murdered. With only two victims it's hard to extrapolate accurately." By now Reese had taken a seat and was listening with rapt attention. "Can you predict who the next victim will be?" He shook his head. "Not accurately. I could take the obvious and say it'll be a woman, but even that's sketchy. I still haven't worked out quite what this guy's going for. But I'll just bet it'll be at that benefit tomorrow. Or at least it'll start there." Reese stood. "It's settled then. You two drag out your tuxedos and make arrangements to be at that party." And before Nick could argue, he was back in his office, and the door closed behind him. He looked at Adam and shook his head. "You've got the phone numbers, make the calls." Westwood looked distinctly too happy about it. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@FKFANFIC.COMFri Dec 13 01:29:05 1996 Date: Fri, 13 Dec 1996 01:23:37 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: Multiple recipients of list FKFIC-L Subject: V4S: Of One Mind (5/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #4 Episode Title: "Of One Mind" "Air" Date: December 12, 1996 Author: Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein Part 5 of 9 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 1996 Sorcha O'Faolain and TJ Goldstein -------------------------- OF ONE MIND Nick noted with pleasure the amount of discomfort Westwood's tuxedo was apparently causing him. In his eight centuries he'd worn thousands of different styles of clothing, and honestly, a part of him was happy to get into a tux again. Most of his long life had been spent fitting in with the aristocracy. He was good at it. For the most part, it was comfortable. Westwood, apparently, had no such advantage. He skulked around the grounds, looking as though he wanted to tear off his white bowtie and hang it in the trees. Occasionally he would meander inside to warm up, trying to be inconspicuous as he studied Toronto's elite. Nick would have preferred to be inside as well, but Adam had insisted that he could handle it. Besides, Nick had rationalized, eventually the killer would have to bring his prey outside to leave with her, and there was a much greater chance of Nick hearing a struggle out here, where just a few people milled about, than inside amongst the music and conversation. **** Adam, meanwhile, was beginning to wonder if he should have insisted on bringing another couple of officers. Mrs. Millhouse had been understanding -- Mrs. Foster's death had been a blow to all involved -- but she had insisted that three "interlopers" would be quite enough, thank you. Adam had acquiesced, but it had never occurred to him how many people would be at the benefit. He mingled with the crowd, making a minimum of conversation -- he'd thought to read through descriptions of the theater's upcoming season so at least he could speak intelligently on that -- but his eyes never stopped moving. He'd have felt a lot better if he at least knew what he was looking for. Something caught his attention and he spun around, trying to make sure his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. A man, fortyish, moderate build, danced with a young lady who could have been his teenage daughter. Had that been a gun under his jacket? Adam worked his way around the dance floor. He tried to get a better look without looking suspicious. Westwood had said the killer would probably stab or assault his next victim. But the gun could just as easily be used to quietly force her into a vehicle. He opened his mouth to quietly radio Nick and closed it again. The man was staring at him. Adam stared back at him, sure that if he looked away, even for a moment, the man would draw that gun and someone would die. Did the man know he was a cop? Adam stood stone still, trying to remember what his training said about a situation like this. For a moment all he could hear was Reese's hockey analogies about being a hotshot. Then the moment broke, and the man began to reach into his jacket. Adam launched himself across the short distance and within moments, the two of them were on the floor. He was sure he'd heard the man shout "Freeze!" at the same moment he had. A moment after that each was holding a gun and a wrist. Adam had his knee on the man's chest. "Metro police, drop the gun," he said, catching his breath. The man smiled, and did as requested. "Why didn't you say so?" Adam dragged the man to his feet, trying not to feel the stares of the assembled patrons. They bored through his body like diamond drills. But before he could give any further instructions, the man spoke again. "Officer, if you'll reach into the left hand pocket of my jacket you'll find my badge." Adam stared at him, then reached in and fished out the leather wallet that held the badge and identification card. Captain Andrew Wallace of the 14th Precinct. Adam tried not to wince too noticeably. "I'm...I'm sorry, Captain." Wallace tried not to smile too much. "OK, folks, that's enough of a distraction. You all came here to enjoy yourselves, you just go right back to it." He motioned for Adam to follow him to the side of the room. "Captain, I --" "It's all right, we're all a little jumpy. Who are you?" "I'm Detective Sakai of the ninety-sixth." "That's Reese's precinct." "Yes, sir." "I see his detectives are getting younger all the time. You'll have to excuse me, Sakai, but after what happened to Diane, the way you were looking at my daughter was making me very nervous. I was actually reaching for my badge." He finished brushing the dirt off his tuxedo. "Mrs. Millhouse naturally consulted me after you called her, but as I said, I wasn't expecting someone so ..." "I'm thirty, sir," Adam sighed. "Of course you are, son. So how about you go back to doing your job and let me go back to enjoying my party, eh?" He walked away without waiting for an answer and Adam turned to see Albert standing there. "Mr. Mather. Good evening." "Good evening, Detective. Do you like the theater, or do you just have to be here?" The young man sipped his drink, trying not to make a face as he did so. "A little bit of both," Adam said. "I'll see you around." He went to the bar and cursed himself once more for agreeing to Mrs. Millhouse's limit of three officers. *What did you think,* he asked silently, *that you could do it all yourself?* He ordered a club soda and looked out over the crowd as he sipped at it. "I have _got_ to do something about this overdeveloped sense of responsibility," he muttered. **** Nick watched as the party gradually picked up again. A brutal murderer was probably among them, but it didn't stop the celebration. People who were determined to enjoy themselves would do so, it seemed, no matter what dangers lurked in the shadows. He thought back to the Roaring Third... >>>>>> Nick was surprised to see LaCroix among those who partied at Dirty Moe's. Not that LaCroix was partying, exactly. He sat alone at a table for now. While men and women danced -- or in some cases staggered -- across the tiny dancefloor, LaCroix sat at a small booth in the corner, the burning candle throwing light and shadow across his face. Periodically his gaze would shift from this waitress to that drunken laborer to the woman trying to get her companion to go home. "Isn't this a little downscale for you?" "Nicholas. I was looking for you. I understand that you were arrested tonight." "And you care because...?" "It is the sort of thing that can cause...difficulties. You know that." "Everything is fine." Nick sat down opposite LaCroix. "What do you know about these killings," he said simply. It was not a question. "Nothing. Why should I?" "Whoever's doing this is draining the bodies. And they're a consummate predator. Naturally I thought of you." LaCroix gave a contemptuous smile. "I don't play with my food, Nicholas." "Then you've nothing to do with them." LaCroix leaned forward, his lips almost brushing Nick's ear. "I should be angry that you even suspected it." Nick forced himself not to shudder. "I should think that you'd consider it a compliment." "A compliment? When I dispose of a body, I do it neatly. I do not leave clues -- or body parts -- lying around." Nick sat back. "Then perhaps you can give me some insight." "Are you asking me for help?" Nick thought for a moment, then turned away. "No, of course not. Just...I'd like to put an end to this, and I'm beginning to think that in order to do that I need to understand why someone would do this. This man is a killer. You are an obvious choice." LaCroix's hand shot out and grabbed Nicholas' wrist. "These are human matters. Why do you trouble yourself?" It was a moment before he answered. "This man, this killer. It's not random, as they would have us believe. He kills for sport, as we do." He paused, and seeing no reaction, changed tactics. "If they investigate this correctly, their methods may lead to one of us. Perhaps not you or I, but someone else who takes refuge here for a time." His eyes narrowed. "It's one of us, isn't it." LaCroix did not release his grip. "No, Nicholas, it is not. Whoever is committing these murders is merely a very clever lunatic. We have nothing in common." "Nothing but a thirst for killing, for the thrill, the experience." LaCroix released his grip and leaned back. The smile returned to his face. "A mortal could never appreciate that experience the way we do." Nick said nothing for a time. Then, "Whoever is doing this is obviously feeding off the fears of his victims, and savoring their pain. Isn't that what we do?" "He may enjoy fear and pain, but he will never know the pleasure of sharing it intimately as we do. Again, no mortal could." "This man is not typical of humanity." "We have seen this before, Nicholas, and it is getting worse, not better. The more humans there are, the more of these creatures exist." He turned back to his drink. "Besides, why should we bother when the bottled variety is becoming so readily available?" "Whoever is doing this seems to be obsessed with his own sense of power over his victims. He's reveling in the fact that he can kill at will, that no one has any idea who he is. He works in the shadows, where he can hide himself from the rest of humanity." LaCroix's smile grew. "It seems to me, Nicholas, that you already have an understanding of this...killer. Perhaps there's hope for you yet." >>>>>> Nick snapped back to the present to see Westwood staring at him. "I'm sorry, did you say something?" Westwood smiled. "No. Just enjoying the party." "You were staring at me." "I'm sorry, it's a hobby of mine. I like to observe people. This is the second time I've noticed you having an out of body experience." He smiled. "Do you have these fugues often?" Nick clenched his jaw. "I was thinking about the case. Trying to understand why someone would do this. I'm sure you can understand that." "Yes, the killer. Now there's a fascinating person. What do you make of him?" "I'd be more interested to hear your educated opinion." "He's a predator, pure and simple. Most serial killers are. It's almost the definition of a serial killer -- a predator who lusts after his victims' pain and fear. Someone who can never be satisfied, no matter how many he kills." He sat back in the latticework bench. "Kind of like a cop who can't be satisfied no matter how many killers he catches. You can understand that, can't you, detective?" Nick stared at him, Westwood's heartbeat echoing suddenly in his ears. "Every cop can understand that." "Every cop can understand what?" Adam asked. Nick spun around to look at him. "Never mind, we've gotta take off, there's been another murder." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.