From v4s@fkfanfic.com Sun Mar 29 00:14:56 1998 Date: Sat, 28 Mar 1998 11:13:06 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 1 (01/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #13 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 27, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich Beth Washington, Bryan Kieft, Mel Moser Beta Readers: Marci Cheeseman, , Sandra Gray, Jean Simon, Wendy Rigney, Laurie Schlagel, Valerie Gilson, Angie Lasher Historical Consultant: Valerie Gilson Continuity: Alexandra C. Wyn Bleddyn Part 1 of 15 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 1998 Stephanie S. Babbitt -------------------------- PRESUMED DEAD Howling winds mixed with freezing rain had rendered the Toronto night particularly inhospitable, and LaCroix lost no time slipping through the door of the CERK radio broadcast station. With surreal grace, the ancient vampire moved almost silently down the hall and entered the dark, tiny broadcast booth. Glancing at the clock, he adjusted the control sliders with sure fingers and switched on his microphone, already intent on the message he would give to his audience. "Bon soir, mes amis. This is your friend, your confidante, your father, your teacher--the Nightcrawler. Many of you are doubtless snuggled safely at home in your nests on this bitter night. What images keep you company as you wait for the storm to pass? What specters await to torment you from the depths of the shadows outside your windows? What dreams lie shattered before you like an icicle fallen to the pavement? The Nightcrawler knows." *** Near the lake, a pair of young men jogged awkwardly down a dirt path, bundled so heavily against the elements that their bodies were almost shapeless. In spite of the mufflers covering their faces, the outraged voice of the sturdier runner still could be heard above the wind, even from as far away as the deck of a tugboat moored on the choppy water. "Damn you anyway, Chris, and your bloody clients, too. First you work late and get us off to a slow start, then they're breaking up the sidewalk in the park--how the hell are they going to pour new concrete in this weather?--and who knows how long we'll be off that trail, now. And this path! It was bad enough when we ran it in the daytime, but now? Look at this mess of weeds, wouldya? Rocks everywhere, and roots sticking up--a man could get himself hurt out here, trying to run in the bloody dark...." "Elk, would you for God's sake shut up? Conserve your breath or something," Chris retorted. He frowned, pressing a hand against his ear to better hear the Nightcrawler's monologue, which he was following through the headphones tucked underneath his foul-weather hood. "When a dream comes to naught, or when something is lost to us, it often gains a new importance, a pernicious significance." The voice paused briefly, then continued with a patronizing tone: "As they say, you never know the value of what you have until it is gone." Another pause; Chris could almost hear the smile that mocked the simplicity of such adages. Then the tone changed again, gaining the sinister note that Chris and his other young friends enjoyed, the one that had given them gooseflesh in their teens. "Yet, legends are filled with tales of unpleasant fates befalling those who wish too intently to recover something-- or some*one*--that they have allowed to slip away." Straining to hear the Nightcrawler's words, Chris nearly lost his footing when his friend stumbled into him. Elk's indignant, scatological descriptions of the root in the path that had tripped him effectively drowned out the CERK signal. Grinning, Chris pulled the muffler from his mouth and asked, "You okay, man?" Elk glared at him. "No, I'm not okay, you bloody oaf. I've wrenched my ankle. This is just great, I'll tell you. And here I'm on for extra hours tomorrow, too. I'll bet it's going to swell like a--" Chris interrupted. "Just walk it off a minute. You'll be fine." Pulling off a glove, he reached inside his jacket to turn up the volume on his Walkman. The Nightcrawler's voice flowed easily now, rich with the tone of the seasoned orator. "A particularly interesting fable, one that counsels against both hastiness and regret, is the legend of the monkey's paw." A pause; Chris waited. "A couple, given three wishes on a magical monkey's paw, wishes first for sudden wealth. Their wish is granted in the person of a courier, who arrives to tell them that their only son has been killed in a grisly accident, thereby providing them with a death benefit." In an effort to get away from Elk's stream-of- consciousness cursing, Chris headed on up the path. With both hands, he pressed the headphones closer to his ears through his hood. "The couple, devastated by the consequences of their hasty decision, wishes their son alive again. Soon enough, they hear familiar footsteps approaching. They fling open the door to greet their child, only to discover how literally their wish has been granted. Standing before them is their son's dismembered and rotting body, newly reanimated, and the boy is rather less than satisfied with his current circumstances. The unfortunate couple find that the only way to escape their vengeful offspring is to use their third wish to return him to the grave." The sonorous voice paused again. As he listened, Chris alternately walked and jogged in aimless circles to prevent cramps. He trotted several meters up a slight grade, only to find the wind even more stinging at the top. As he turned to go back, something off the path caught his eye. "Hey, Elk," he called out, pointing downhill to a spot between them. "What the hell is that?" Elk looked up from his ankle, which he had been rubbing. With some irritation, he snapped, "How should I know? What are you talking about?" Chris stepped into the stalks of winter-killed overgrowth lining the path, and he promptly disappeared from Elk's sight. Still muttering, Elk limped over to find Chris squatting in a clearing, examining an oddly-shaped mound of packed dirt. Chris glanced up as his friend approached. "Elk, would you look at this?" he demanded. "It looks like somebody buried something here." Elk peered over Chris's shoulder, unimpressed. "It'd have to be a bloody big something from the size of that mess," he said. "What, do you think you've found pirate treasure or some such?" He lifted his leg and rotated the sore ankle. Chris grinned. "Get real. This hasn't been here *that* long. See? There's a lot less overgrowth right here." Elk bounced on tiptoe a few times. "Probably somebody just dumped some trash awhile back," he observed absently. "Yeah, I guess," Chris conceded. As he shifted his weight to stand up, something caught his eye--a glimmer in the light of the full moon, shining briefly through a gap in the scudding clouds. Leaning forward, he brushed the dirt away to reveal a delicate golden chain. Elk peered over Chris's shoulder. "Hey, John Silver, there's your buried treasure!" he crowed, jabbing his friend playfully in the back. "Maybe you can recycle that junk for a half a cent." Chris closed awkward, gloved fingers on the chain. "I don't know, man, this looks real," he said, tugging gently. At first, the chain stuck, but the dirt eventually yielded, and Chris pulled forth a burnished gold cross attached to the chain. He stood up and turned to face Elk, prize in hand. "Look at this, willya?" he demanded, triumphant. Elk was unimpressed. "It's broken, genius. See? No clasp." He gestured with a mitten at the end of the chain, where the links were clearly twisted apart. "Like I said, somebody must've dumped some trash." He began to jog in place, favoring his injured ankle only slightly. Chris nodded, looking vaguely disappointed. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess so," he agreed. "C'mon, man, let's go," demanded Elk. "It's freezing out here, especially when you're standing around like a bloody idiot." Chris nodded slightly. Closing his hand on the cross and chain, he stepped away from the disturbed earth and pulled the muffler back over his face. He adjusted the earphones again to find he'd missed little of the Nightcrawler's monologue. "Such misfortune, legend would teach us, is the consequence of wishing the lost returned, wishing the past undone. And yet, we studiously ignore these warnings of legend to wonder what might have been. We turn our eyes from our tomorrows with their endless promise to vex ourselves with the opportunity passed, the treasured item missing, the presence lost to us." A veteran of very little regret in his youth, Chris lost interest. Seeing that his buddy had already set out jogging again, he broke into a trot to catch up. A few meters up the trail, he glanced back at the disturbed ground one last time. To his astonishment, he thought he saw something move. He stopped in his tracks and squinted to see better. At first, it seemed his eyes might be playing tricks on him. Maybe he was seeing lights reflected off the lake? But no, dirt clods were definitely rolling from the top of the mound to the bottom, and the whole thing appeared to be quivering. "What the hell?" he mumbled. Staring through puffs of his own breath, he wondered how he'd missed recognizing the pile of dirt as an animal's burrow. He took a step closer as something thin and white poked out from one end of the mound and began squirming. Chris squinted hard to see better, but then his eyes widened in stricken disbelief as he recognized... ...a human hand. With a shout of horror, Chris turned tail and ran up the path, gaining fast on Elk. He heard a sound like the wind rushing up behind him, then a bright light exploded in his head as a blow from behind sent him tumbling down the path, into blackness. Elk heard a sharp cry, and he looked over his shoulder to see Chris's body roll once, then come to rest face-down on the trail. He stopped and turned around, trying to see what Chris had tripped over; then, he chanced to look up. His shout of surprise and fear changed to a shriek of agony as the ground beneath his feet quickly turned black with his blood. *** In the broadcast booth at CERK, LaCroix continued his monologue, his voice somber. "Like fools, we wish for different choices, and we berate ourselves with hindsight, only occasionally considering how unpleasant our present might be, were our wishes granted." He paused again, tracing the long fingers of his right hand over an object even older than himself. Even in the booth's dim light, Divia's ancient cameo shone, revealing how carefully it had been kept over the centuries. "What cherished fragment of your past waits on your doorstep to horrify you with its return, mes amis? The Nightcrawler is listening." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@fkfanfic.com Sun Mar 29 00:15:03 1998 Date: Sat, 28 Mar 1998 11:18:44 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 1 (02/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #13 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 27, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 2 of 15 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 1998 Stephanie S. Babbitt -------------------------- PRESUMED DEAD Nick sat silently behind the wheel of the Caddy, pondering the meaning of the Nightcrawler's monologue as an eerie string piece began to play. The message itself was nothing new; LaCroix had conveyed to Nick often and forcefully that wishing for the past was death to a vampire, with the endless purgatory of tomorrows stretched out ahead. Yet, for Nick, regret was as constant a companion as the need for blood which he so despised. If only he could, he would go back in time and restore every person he'd ever harmed, starting with... The police radio squawked to life, interrupting Nick's train of thought and dispatching 81-Kilo to a double homicide at the lakefront. Adam reached down to retrieve the police warning light from atop the drive shaft and positioned it on the dashboard automatically, scarcely looking up from the magazine in his lap. He flicked on his police-issue flashlight to get some steady light on his reading matter, squinting against the rotating bulbs twelve inches from his face. Nick lapsed back into thought. A murder scene meant a medical examiner, and likely as not, that would be Natalie. He knew it was bad form to be glad of a new homicide, but his cool heart beat a little faster nonetheless. It had been several days since he'd seen Natalie last--several days too many, as far as he was concerned, particularly now that they had made progress toward mending their shattered friendship. He was busy practicing in his head what he might say to her; he wanted to sound friendly and familiar without seeming anxious or pushy. He could hear Adam speaking aloud, but paid no attention until his partner stopped talking and looked at him quizzically. "Sorry--you said something?" Nick asked distantly. Adam's mouth quirked slightly. "You sure can be a zoner sometimes," he said. "I just asked if you knew anything about choosing gifts for women." Taken slightly aback, Nick stared at Adam for a moment before responding, careful to insert a cavalier note in his voice. "I imagine it depends on the woman. Who'd you have in mind?" Adam sighed. "Oh, I managed to piss off Kelly yesterday." He cast an exasperated look skyward. "Do *you* know--or care--what your best friends' middle names are? Of course you don't! But apparently, that's crucial when you're getting a wedding bulletin printed. Anyway, I thought I might get something nice for our anniversary." He gestured at the magazine in his lap. Nick realized on closer inspection that it was a jewelry catalog. "I thought maybe a pin, or some earrings...." Adam tapered off, flipping pages. "A pin sounds nice. Wait a minute, what anniversary? The wedding isn't for weeks yet, is it?" Nick frowned, trying to remember what Adam might have said recently about wedding plans. Adam laughed. "Oh no, it's nothing that major. Believe me, I'll be taking enough time off after the wedding for a decent honeymoon. Even *you* will notice I'm missing." Nick cast his partner a perfunctory and slightly guilty smile. He didn't pay enough attention to Adam, he knew, but after losing two partners in a year, it was so hard to get involved again.... Adam continued, "No, this is just a little ritual of ours. Every month, on the anniversary of the day we met, we have a little celebration." He paused, looking slightly embarrassed. "I know it's syrupy, but it's important to her, especially now that my schedule's so bizarre and we can't spend as much time together. Anyway, I thought since I made her mad, it might be in my best interest to invest in a little special remembrance this month." Nick nodded absently. Kelly and Adam were already far from his mind as he imagined what gifts he might give Natalie, should she ever accept a gift from him again. "Ever had a serious girlfriend, Knight?" asked Adam, turning the catalog to get a better look at a pair of sapphire stud earrings. Nick cast Adam a sharp look, swerving the car slightly but bringing it quickly back into the lane. Adam looked up to see what Nick had dodged, then shrugged and peered back at his catalog. "I guess your allergies play hell with your social life, huh," he said. "I mean, you work nights, and you can't go out in the day--doesn't give you much opportunity to associate with the fairer sex." Nick scowled at the road. "No, I don't really have time to date," he said tersely. "I can't imagine what it must be like, being so restricted," Adam continued, turning the page to examine bracelets. "Have you always had this condition? You never said." Nick, sensing that Adam's questions were more polite than prying, replied carefully, "No, not really. I didn't have much of a problem until, oh, my twenties. I had a pretty normal childhood, actually." He glanced at Adam to assess his reaction. Nose still buried in the catalog, Adam nodded. "That's totally weird," he murmured. "Do they think it's a result of some kind of environmental exposure, or what?" Unseen to Adam, Nick smiled outright. "Actually, it kind of runs in the family," he said, a mischievous light in his eyes. "I guess you could say I got it from my father." "Man, that bites," said Adam automatically. "In a word, yes," Nick replied quietly. He pulled the Cadillac to a stop amid a jumble of police cruisers, ambulances, and press vehicles. Adam folded the catalog over neatly and placed it on the seat, then followed Nick to the center of activity on the scene. Attendants were already loading a bagged body into one of the ambulances, and Natalie stood near another still form, scribbling on a clipboard. She was wearing her winter dress coat, and Nick noticed that her hair was carefully styled. His curiosity turned to frowning suspicion as he recognized Thomas Westwood a few feet away, also very sharply dressed. Just where, he wondered, had the two of them been that required such elegant attire? The expression on Nick's face stopped Adam for a moment, but he focused quickly on Natalie and moved to her side. "Hello, Natalie," he said. "What've you got here?" She glanced up at him and smiled pleasantly, though she looked a little bleary. She waited briefly for Nick to draw abreast of them, then began her report, her voice clipped and professional. "As I expect you heard, this is a double murder. Cause of death was definitely exsanguination as a result of gross bodily injury, but it's hard to tell just yet *what* the murder weapon was. That guy," she said, gesturing over her shoulder at the ambulance, "was so completely torn apart that I wasn't sure at first how many bodies I was dealing with." She paused, shaking her head slightly. "The weapon might have been some sort of power tool--a pruning saw, maybe?" Adam squatted down beside the corpse, pulling on the latex gloves offered him by one of the forensics techs. "What about this one?" he asked. "Well, as you can see, this one's head is practically torn off, but there's no other obvious bodily damage," Natalie said. "It's like the killer was interrupted. The other guy apparently put up a hell of a fight, but this one didn't struggle much, if at all. I'll have to get them back to the lab, though, before I can tell you anything definitive." Adam reached down toward the corpse, then pulled his hand back before actually touching it. "May I?" he asked Natalie. "What? Oh, sure. I'm through with the basis stuff and they've taken the pictures--do whatever you need to," she replied, attention focused back on the clipboard. Adam nodded, then reached under the corpse's neck to turn the face to the light. He pulled his hand back quickly, blackened with half-frozen blood. Uttering a sound of disgust, he stood up, holding his soiled hand away from himself. Natalie glanced up to see the mess scant inches from her face. Her eyes widened, then she closed them quickly and turned away, swaying slightly. Nick was by her side instantly, a supportive hand under her arm. "Nat?" he asked, his voice deep with concern. "Are you okay?" Natalie nodded and pulled away from Nick's grasp, opening her eyes. "I'm fine," she said, a little too insistently. "It's just that I haven't eaten today--I got beeped on the way to dinner--and these bloody scenes are a little rough on an empty stomach. I'm sure you know the feeling," she said, an arch meaning clear in her voice. Stung, Nick turned his eyes away from Natalie back to Adam. Carefully peeling off the soiled gloves, the young detective was still intently eyeing the corpse. "Natalie," Adam said, nodding at the body, "what's that in his hand?" "It's a chain of some sort," she replied, returning her attention to her notes. "We didn't bag it yet because we wanted to leave it there for the photos. Go ahead and check it." Nick gently pushed his way between Natalie and Adam to crouch beside the body. He signaled for a forensics technician to bring gloves and an evidence bag. Nick slipped on a glove, then carefully opened the stiffening fingers to reveal a cross on a delicate link chain. His reaction was so slight that only Natalie noticed. "It's a necklace," Nick said for Adam's benefit. Using a cloth, he lifted the chain by one end, careful not to touch the religious icon itself. He dropped the jewelry in the evidence bag, sealed it, then handed the lot to Adam. Adam examined the bag closely. "The chain's broken," he observed. "Think he pulled it off the killer?" Nick didn't really hear his partner's question. He was trying to remember--he had seen a cross and chain just like these somewhere, not too long ago. It had been around someone's neck, but he couldn't remember whose it was. He frowned. Adam nudged his partner with an elbow. "Knight?" Nick quickly returned his attention to Adam. "It's possible. Forensics might be able to tell us more." A sudden shout from behind them diverted the detectives' attention. "Hey, Knight, Sakai!" called another forensics technician. "Get a load of this!" Nick and Adam left Natalie's side to wade their way through prickly overgrowth toward the clearing where the gloved young man beckoned. Westwood followed close behind them. As they reached the clearing, Nick's sensitive nose caught two scents--freshly turned dirt, and the sharp odor of old blood. The second, he realized, was so faint that it would be indiscernible to the mortals present. The young technician indicated an area of dirt scattered around a shallow pit. "Looks like maybe the perp was planning on burying these guys," he said. "What do you think?" Westwood knelt by the depression in the earth, careless of his good pants. "It looks like a grave all right, but it's mostly filled in," he observed. "We'd better get a team in here to excavate and see if there's any more bodies." As Westwood idly picked up a handful of dirt and sifted it between gloved fingers, warning bells went off in Nick's head. He squatted down at the opposite end of the pit from Westwood to examine the turned dirt more closely. A tiny scrap of bloodied, torn fabric caught his eye. Nick picked it up surreptitiously, careful to avoid Westwood's gaze. A quick glance told him that the blood was old and dry, and that the fabric had been buried long enough for decomposition to have progressed significantly. He lifted it to his nose for an instant, but that was all he needed to recognize the scent: vampire blood. Slipping the scrap into his pocket, Nick stood up. He glanced toward Natalie only to see her looking pointedly in his direction and gesturing for him to join her. When he reached her side, she spoke quickly and under her breath. "Nick," she said urgently, "there's some things about this case that I think we should discuss at your *earliest* possible convenience." She raised her voice to a more normal level and added, "I'm going to get back to the lab with these guys and see what more I can figure out there. I should have a report for you soon." Westwood came up beside Natalie and put an arm around her shoulder. Nick turned his head away briefly to compose his expression, not wanting to reveal to Natalie the protective jealousy that flared inside him whenever Westwood got too close. "Wait, Natalie," said the psychiatrist. Don't you want to go get that dinner first? That is, if you still have an appetite?" Natalie's eyes caught Nick's for just an instant before she turned to Westwood. "I don't know, Thomas. I mean, I feel bad about canceling, but we've probably missed most of the lecture, and I really should get into the lab with these...." Westwood rubbed her shoulder gently. "Aw, c'mon, Natalie," he insisted. "You work too hard as it is. And it's not like these guys are going to *go* anywhere if you take an hour to get a decent meal." She paused for a moment, looking torn. Then a decisive expression crossed her face. "You're absolutely right," she said, causing Nick's heart to sink to the region of his kneecaps. "I'll do a better job if I'm not half starved." Westwood smiled broadly. Nick found himself entertaining an odd desire to punch out every single one of those perfectly straight teeth. "And no talking about this case over dinner, either, Doctor Lambert," Westwood insisted. "You're going to enjoy your meal if I have to force you to eat it." "You know me too well, don't you, Thomas," murmured Natalie with an almost flirtatious smile. Nick's hands clenched into fists, but his poker-faced expression did not change. "That's it then. Dinner, and *no* shop talk, from either of us," said Westwood, putting a hand behind Natalie's back to guide her to his car. *** Nick had telephoned the morgue at least five times to see if Natalie had returned from dinner. It drove him half- crazy to know that she was out with Westwood on what appeared for all intents and purposes to be a *date*. Nick remembered with uncomfortable clarity how upset Natalie had been with him when he had questioned her relationship with Roger Jamison; she would be even less likely to tolerate his disapproval of Westwood. Still, Nick could not deny the possessive nature of his feelings toward Natalie. He was responsible for her, more now than ever. Mixed with his feelings of proprietary concern was more than a little frustration that she would willingly spend her free time with a man who could be considered a threat to the Community. When he dropped the phone into the cradle after the latest attempt, he discovered his partner peering quizzically across their desktops at him. Nick caught Adam's eyes in an almost malevolent stare until the younger man broke the gaze. "You know, she's not going to have any results on this case tonight," Adam observed carefully, staring pointedly at the missing-persons roster on his desk. "What's your hurry, anyway? We don't even know who they are yet." Nick took a deep breath before responding, carefully regulating his voice to sound professionally cool. "There's just something about this case that doesn't add up," he replied. "I think Natalie might have some useful information before the formal report is ready." "I think what really doesn't add up to you is her being out with Thomas Westwood," said Adam. "You *really* don't like him, do you?" Nick shot his partner a withering look, and Adam broke into a victorious grin. Looking away, Nick composed his features and forced an answering smile. "I guess I'm just one of those people that takes a while to get used to someone new," he replied, trying to sound casual. "As you recall, I wasn't particularly enamored with you the first time we met, either." Adam nodded, remembering Nick's displeasure at his unexpected presence in the loft. "Well, you had a valid reason--you thought *I* was a burglar," he said. "But then, maybe you think Westwood is intruding on your territory as well?" He shot Nick a sly grin that made him look like a churlish sixteen-year-old instead of the young professional he actually was. Before Nick could think up a response that matched Adam's joking tone, the phone on his desk rang. He grabbed it, a little too fast, then forced himself to raise it to his ear at a more natural speed. "Knight," he said gruffly. Only a few seconds passed before he jumped to his feet, saying, "Be right there." He grabbed his jacket as he was hanging up the phone, and he was out the door before Adam could comment. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@fkfanfic.com Sun Mar 29 00:15:09 1998 Date: Sat, 28 Mar 1998 11:07:26 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 1 (03/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #13 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 27, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 3 of 15 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 1998 Stephanie S. Babbitt -------------------------- PRESUMED DEAD When Nick strode into the morgue, he found Natalie sitting at her microscope. Behind her, on the slab, rested one of the black body bags. Nick cleared his throat, careful not to startle Natalie. "You wanted to see me?" he asked. Natalie looked up at him. He could see a tense weariness in her face that said she hadn't yet recovered from her reaction at the gory crime scene. "Yeah," she replied, easing off the stool and walking toward the slab. "There's something entirely too familiar about the circumstances of this murder," she said. "I wondered if you had, uh, *heard* anything in your circles." Nick looked back at her, puzzled. "No...." he replied, thinking to himself that he hadn't even had a conversation outside of work in several days. "Familiar? How?" Natalie reached out, putting a hand on the body bag. "This is the victim that was already bagged when you got there tonight," she said. "The last time I saw dismemberment on this scale in combination with this little blood, the killer was one of *you*." She spoke the word "you" as though it were an insult. "It was Urs's body, remember?" For a moment, Nick saw in his mind a perfectly clear image of Urs's mutilated body on the floor of his loft's elevator. He grimaced. "Of course I remember," he replied tersely. "But you know Divia made that kill, and she's been destroyed." Natalie's response was quick and forceful. "Are you *sure*? She managed to revive once. Could she have done it again?" "No," said Nick, very firmly. "I saw LaCroix burn her body. And besides, if she were alive, he'd have sensed her --and warned me." "Right," said Natalie, looking decidedly unconvinced. "It doesn't reassure me that this guy's friend bears a remarkable resemblance to the grave robber who wound up in the Raven's beer cooler, either--which is to say, they both had their heads ripped off by brute force. It's too similar." For a moment, she stared hard at Nick, as though she believed he was holding something back, but he held her gaze in silence. She broke the stare first, then reached down and unzipped the body bag for Nick's inspection. He looked inside and grimaced. "I'm pretty well convinced that no mortal inflicted injuries this brutal," she finally ventured. "Did Divia have a friend, maybe? Or a creation of her own that was brutal enough to kill in the same way she did?" Nick remained silent. Natalie closed the body bag, then turned away and leaned on the edge of the slab. More to herself than to Nick, she wondered, "Could she have trained someone to be that vicious? Or could she have found someone who had a mean streak to start with?" She looked up at Nick. "How do vampires choose the people they'll bring across, anyway?" How do they choose? Unbidden, Nick's mind drifted back over two hundred years. >>>----------> Paris was an interesting place to be in the early 1790s. The atmosphere was dynamic, almost chaotic--but that was a good environment for vampires. The more turbulent the mortals' affairs, the less vampires were likely to be noticed. Nicholas, LaCroix, and Janette walked down a street at the outskirts of the city, dressed in clothes that were adequately fashionable, yet rather understated. As they passed a cobbler's shop, Janette looked with longing at the woman's shoe beginning to take shape on the craftsman's table. Indicating her outfit with an expression of disdain, she pouted, "I'm almost embarrassed to appear in public wearing these dingy skirts. And this cap--simply disgraceful!" LaCroix smiled indulgently. "Yes, but in these times, it is better not to appear *too* affluent," he said. "The despised draw attention, and it is far easier for us to feed freely if we are *discreet*. At the mention of feeding, Janette's expression brightened. Coyly, she replied, "Of course. And where shall we dine tonight?" Nicholas's jaw tightened. He took Janette's hand firmly, tucking it into the crook of his arm, and they wandered on through the crowded street. Soon, they passed a tavern with windows and doors open to the outside. LaCroix slowed and stopped, peering in one of the windows. Nicholas and Janette were several steps down the walk before they realized LaCroix was no longer beside them. Looking back to see what was keeping him, Janette recognized the predatory glint in her master's eye. Smiling conspiratorially, she tugged at Nick's arm to draw him back. Concealing himself in the shadows, LaCroix placed a hand against the window frame and looked inside. As Nicholas and Janette drew up beside him, they saw that his attention was focused on a black-haired man with brilliant blue eyes, dressed in simple garb. Sitting at a table by himself with a mug in his hand, the man looked distinctly unhappy. As they watched, another man approached and slapped the black-haired man jovially on the shoulder. "Theodore!" cried the newcomer. "Whatever are you doing here? Why are you not tending your flock?" Theodore's entire form seemed to slump with dejection. Softly, he replied, "I'm thinking of giving up the priesthood." When his friend didn't respond, Theodore continued. "These times are just too treacherous. Everything I believed--everything!--I now doubt. How can I affirm the mercy of a just God and lead others in that belief when I see the cruelty that surrounds us all now? And yet, even though I doubt, I find it impossible to declare loyalty to my government before my Lord." He sighed deeply, as if a great weight pressed on his chest, and his voice quavered when he spoke again. "How am I to reconcile myself to these choices?" The second man was clearly uncomfortable, glancing around as if he were worried that others were listening. "Ah...to be sure, my friend," he said perfunctorily. "You'll do what you must." He patted Theodore's shoulder as if it were contaminated, then turned and left quickly. Theodore followed the other man's departure with a look of abject misery. He drained his mug, then stood slowly. Taking his hat from the table, he moved a bit unsteadily toward the door. At the window, LaCroix smiled and touched a finger to his mouth in delicious anticipation. Licking her own lips excitedly, Janette slipped around the corner to hide in the deep shadows between the buildings, pulling Nicholas with her. "Perhaps he will save some for us," she whispered, peering back around the corner to observe LaCroix with golden eyes. No sooner had Theodore stepped outside the tavern than LaCroix had him in a deathgrip, one hand clamped relentlessly over the mouth, the head pushed unnaturally to one side to expose the precious veins in the neck. The vampire yanked his struggling victim into the shadows, where Janette stood eagerly with hands clasped beneath her chin. Nicholas merely leaned against the wall, arms crossed, waiting for the inevitable to play itself out. With a deep, rumbling growl, LaCroix reared back and sank his fangs deep into the mortal's neck. A moment later, though, he released the bite. Eyes alight, Janette reached forward to take the body, but something in the older vampire's expression stayed her hand. As LaCroix eyed his unconscious victim, a slow smile of delicious anticipation spread over his face, and Nicholas felt an odd thrill through the link with his master. "This one is rare, indeed," whispered LaCroix. "Come. See for yourselves." He indicated the trail of blood trickling from twin wounds. Nicholas shook his head slightly and looked away, but Janette moved forward obediently, wiping two fingers in the blood and lifting them to her mouth. Through their connection, Nicholas felt another tingle of deep pleasure. "He is a man of powerful desires," Janette said softly, her brows rising as if she recognized something familiar. "The darkness is there, but he represses it." "Yes," whispered LaCroix, drawing the word out with a hiss as he cradled Theodore's limp body in the crook of one arm. "It is the fear of his own darkness that drives him to serve his God, yet he finds God to be an inadequate master." With a smile that showed a flash of white fangs even in the darkness, Janette leaned back toward the body, this time licking the oozing blood from the neck as she held LaCroix's eyes with her own. Pulling away, she turned suddenly to Nicholas and kissed him full on the mouth. Too startled to protest, Nicholas accepted the kiss only to find the taste of the victim's blood dancing on his own tongue. He grimaced and pulled away, but glimpses of Theodore's life assaulted him anyway. As if the emotions were his own, Nicholas felt both the strong pull of the darkness and the overwhelming fear of its embrace. For a moment, he was a child still in dresses, standing beside a slaughtered calf, receiving a beating for having slathered himself in the animal's blood. He was an adolescent, pounding frantically against the body of a cheap whore, driven by a need greater than reason in spite of her cries of pain. He was a young priest conducting a funeral, reassuring the deceased's relatives that God's will reigned supreme even as he fought the scream of his own soul to rebel against that will. He was watching, simultaneously horrified and fascinated, as ordinary men from his own parish, now become a frenzied mob, beat the life out of an old man who had denounced the new revolution. Through it all was the same thread of terror: the realization of a desperate, dark passion that would not be subdued with any amount of righteousness or piety. The intensity of the fear was heightened by the realization that his prayers to God to harness that passion were going unheeded, just as were the prayers of thousands to control the madness in France before it obliterated the country in a sea of blood. Nicholas shook his head slightly to clear it, and LaCroix chuckled softly. "Can you feel his promise, Nicholas?" he asked, his tone uncharacteristically pleasant in contrast to the golden eyes. "He requires only a master with the power and the will to guide him in order to reach his...considerable...potential." LaCroix slowly ran a long finger down his victim's cheek as the body began to twitch with the seizures of oncoming death. "You will never embrace the light again, young one," he hissed, shifting his grip so that Theodore's head tipped back awkwardly, mouth agape. "But you shall find a far greater bliss in seizing the night." LaCroix bit down again--this time into his own wrist. <----------<<< Natalie interrupted Nick's reverie. "Nick?" she prodded impatiently. "Can you at least do a little checking on this one? I mean, in the last year alone, I've seen reincarnated vampires, multiple-personality vampires, virally infected vampires, and vampires cut to ribbons by other vampires--none of which fits into the rules of vampirism as I knew them before. I'm not willing at this point to say that *anything* is impossible where you guys are concerned. And if that patricidal little fiend is still out there, I don't know about you, but I think I'm going to get the hell out of Dodge for awhile." Nick didn't respond. He just stared at Natalie, wondering what the implications for her would be if Divia *had* somehow survived. He couldn't imagine that it was possible, but then, he'd once thought LaCroix was dead, too.... Natalie sighed in exasperation. "That's all I wanted to say, Nick," she said. "Will you please check it out?" Nick snapped back to the present. "Yeah, sure," he said, somewhat absently. "I'll talk to LaCroix." He made no move to leave; he only stood, hands clasped as though he were playing with an invisible ring on his right hand. "Why are you staring at me?" she asked, perplexed. "Did I just grow a third eye or something?" "No," he replied quickly. "I was just wondering whether... wondering if...." She waited, then finally prompted him with a raised eyebrow. "If?" "I was just wondering if you had a nice dinner," Nick finally managed. Natalie's face immediately grew suspicious, but she responded politely. "Yes, I did," she said. "Thomas and I were supposed to go to a dinner lecture featuring a forensic anthropologist--she specializes in reconstructing old crime scenes using skeletal evidence. Turns out we missed most of the lecture, thanks to our friends here," she indicated the body bag, "but it was interesting nonetheless." Nick's relief was visible. "So it was only a professional type of thing," he said before he thought. Natalie stared at him long and hard. "Thomas is my friend," she said finally, firmly. "What we do together, professionally or otherwise, is *none* of your business. But this case *is* your business--perhaps yours more than anyone else's, including mine. I suggest you get busy trying to solve it." Her last words were accompanied by the high-pitched report of her beeper. She tipped it up to read it, and her face fell as she muttered, "Oh, great. Another one." She turned and walked into the next room to make a call, effectively dismissing him. Nick stood and watched her go, angry with himself for rubbing her the wrong way yet again. He wanted to follow her, but he knew it would be pointless. "Damn!" he finally snarled, smacking the steel examining table with his hand. At that moment, his cell phone rang. He yanked it from his pocket and snapped it open, barking "Knight!" into the mouthpiece. "Yeah, it's Adam," came his partner's voice. "You'd better get back here. There's another body, same M.O. as the joggers. Want to pick me up, or should I meet you at the scene?" Nick took a deep breath. "Hang on. I'll be right there," he said, then slapped the phone closed without so much as a goodbye. As he shoved it into his coat, his fingers found the bloodied scrap of fabric from the crime scene. For a moment, he thought about bagging it as evidence for Natalie. Instead, he turned and walked wordlessly out the door. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@fkfanfic.com Sun Mar 29 00:15:14 1998 Date: Sat, 28 Mar 1998 11:20:00 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 1 (04/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #13 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 27, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 4 of 15 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 1998 Stephanie S. Babbitt -------------------------- PRESUMED DEAD Joe Reese strode through the precinct toward his office, directing a contemptuous stare at the water cooler en route. He paused at Adam Sakai's desk as the young detective set his telephone receiver back into its cradle with a puzzled expression on his face. "Where's your partner?" asked Reese. "On the way here from the morgue," said Adam absently. "What's the matter, Detective?" asked Reese, leaning heavily on Adam's desk. "You look like you just saw a ghost." "I just got the *weirdest* phone call," Adam replied, shaking his head slowly. "It was somebody asking to speak to Detective Vetter." Reese pursed his lips and scowled. "Who was it?" he demanded. "I don't know," said Adam. "I think it was a guy, but the voice was really hoarse and funny-sounding. At first I was a little surprised--I mean, we quit getting calls for her months ago, right? But I tried to be professional. I gave him the official speech about Detective Vetter being killed in the line of duty, and asked him if he wanted to speak to the cap--uh, to you." Reese's face twisted at the mention of Tracy's untimely death. "What did he say?" he queried. "That's the weird part," said Adam. "He was real quiet for a second, then there was this *sound*, kind of like a scream but not exactly. It was the weirdest damned thing I've ever heard. At first, it was a howling sort of noise, then it changed to--well, you know how it sounds when you pull apart two cars that have wrecked and gotten tangled up together? Then there was a lot of static, and the line went dead." "Think we should analyze the incoming calls tape?" asked Reese, looking unconvinced. Adam shrugged. "I don't know. It wasn't a threat or anything. It was probably just some sicko prank, you think?" "Probably," Reese agreed. "We'll log it and stick it in the files. One more piece of paperwork won't bust the works, right?" He smiled perfunctorily and gripped Sakai's shoulder as he turned to head into his office. At that moment, Nick strode into the precinct, still angry with himself for annoying Natalie. Recognizing the look on his face, his co-workers parted silently before him, giving him plenty of room. He drew up abruptly beside Adam. "Ready to go?" asked Nick impatiently. Adam looked up at Nick, surprised. "Oh. Yeah," he said, standing up to get his coat. *** The latest victim lay in an alley away from the center of town. From what Nick could tell on first inspection, the body was a woman's, but there was very little left of her to identify. Her clothes were shredded. She was missing a hand; she was practically scalped; and nearly every inch of her body was criss-crossed with deep slash marks. Bone jutted out in several places. "Jeez," muttered Adam. "It looks like Freddy Krueger did this." Nick swallowed hard and squatted by the body. "I think she was killed somewhere else and dumped here," he observed, carefully lifting the remaining hand. "See? No blood pooled here." Adam nodded, but didn't reply. Nick glanced up to see that his partner looked just a little green at the gills. He turned his face away so Adam wouldn't see him smirk, then composed himself to ask, "Who found the body?" Adam focused his attention on Nick. "Don't know yet. The report came in by anonymous tip." Anonymous tip.... Nick stopped short, remembering the call that had alerted the police to the presence of a body in the Raven. "Divia?" he muttered. "Hmmm?" said Adam absently as he watched Natalie pull up with a technician in the coroner's van. "Um, I said, was the tipster a man or a woman?" Nick said quickly. "I don't know," said Adam, "but they've probably got it on tape. We can check when we get back to the precinct." "Good God," said Natalie as she approached the body. "This is worse than the first two. No I.D., I gather?" "Afraid not," said Adam. "I guess we'd better start checking against the missing persons lists." The young detective turned to question the odd assortment of hookers and junkies that had gathered like vultures on the scene. Nick moved to join him, but Natalie put a hand on his arm, sending a shiver through his entire body. He turned quickly to face her. "I think you'd better check with your sources, Nick," she said seriously. "Now." Tipping her head for emphasis, she stared hard into his eyes, then released his arm to turn back to her work. Nick stood silently, trying to shake off the feelings that always churned within him whenever his eyes met Natalie's. For distraction, he looked back down at the pitiful corpse at his feet. His expression changed as something caught his attention-- something on the woman's skin, something shiny. On closer inspection, he discovered that much of the woman's body was sprinkled with fragmented glass, as was the ground around her. He carefully lifted one of her shoulders to confirm his suspicion--there was no glass underneath the body. A forensics technician squatted down beside Nick and began collecting samples of the glass fragments. The police photographer began popping off one picture after another, nearly blinding Nick with his flash. Nick stood up and turned his back to the photographer, looking around to see if he could find a source for the bits of glass. Of the few windows facing the alley, none was broken. There were no dumpsters near the body, nor were there any cars. Puzzled, Nick turned around to see a dilapidated telephone booth at the end of the alley. He walked toward it. As he got closer, he could see that one of the booth's privacy shields had been ripped free and dashed against the ground with tremendous force, causing the spray of glass that dusted the body and the alleyway. Glass crunched beneath his shoes as he reached the booth, closely followed by another forensics tech. Nick noted with some concern that the shield had been twisted off the booth's superstructure by brute strength and that the entire telephone apparatus had been ripped loose as well. While the locals had apparently spirited away the coins and recyclable pieces, the bulk of the device lay at his feet. He glanced toward the rooftops with trepidation, as if he expected to see something there. The sound of tires crushing glass brought his attention back to ground level, and he recognized the captain and Westwood pulling up in Westwood's car. Nick found himself wishing spitefully that the glass would cause a flat. Before he could enjoy that fantasy, however, he heard Adam calling from the other end of the alley: "Knight! You planning on spending the night here? We've got leads to follow, you know!" With an exasperated sigh, Nick walked quickly down the alley to the Caddy. He passed by the body again just as Westwood drew up beside it--and Natalie. He heard Westwood's amazed whistle and a muttered "Jesus Christ." Nick flinched and got into the Caddy, slamming the door so hard the mirrors rattled. He pulled out into the street with a screech of tires. As Nick peeled away, Natalie suddenly froze in place, pen positioned over her clipboard. Without moving her body at all, she rolled her eyes upward to peer around the alley. Westwood looked up from where he was kneeling beside the corpse. "What's the matter, Natalie?" he asked. She glanced down at him, shoulders still tense. "I know this is going to sound really paranoid," she said, "but I just get the weirdest feeling that somebody's watching me." Westwood didn't laugh; he didn't even smile. "I think this case is giving us all the creeps," he replied. "Maybe so," she said halfheartedly, putting away her pen. As she walked back toward the van, she glanced up at the night sky and shivered. *** The next day, Natalie still felt vaguely unsettled. Try as she might, she couldn't shake the strange sensation that someone was watching her every move. She had catnapped on the couch during the daylight hours, all her curtains open to allow sunshine to bathe her apartment. She had decided to leave for work early to make sure she completed the commute before the sun went down. Now, she paced restlessly around the morgue, eyes burning from weariness, trying to focus her thoughts before beginning the full autopsy on the previous night's third victim. No sooner had she put a fresh tape in her recorder and snapped on sterile gloves than Westwood walked into the morgue. "Hi, Natalie!" he called cheerfully. "How's the work going on this case?" "Oh, hi, Thomas," she replied. "Just getting started on this one. Want to stand in on it?" "Uh, thanks, no," he replied. "I'm trying to pull together some information so I can provide Reese with a full psych profile on this maniac." "Mm-hm," Natalie murmured absently as she checked her tray of surgical tools. "Listen, Nat," he said, getting her full attention. Not too many people called her by that nickname. "Can we talk for a second before you get started?" She was taken slightly aback, but she recovered quickly. "Sure," she said, stripping off the gloves. "Pull up a chair." She rolled her desk chair out and indicated a second chair across the room with a gesture and a broad smile. Westwood turned the chair backwards and sat astride it, folding his arms across the chair's back. He fidgeted uncomfortably. Natalie waited quietly for a several seconds, then finally giggled. "This is a *fascinating* conversation, Thomas," she teased. He sighed. "I'm just trying to find the best way ask you this," he said, somewhat awkwardly. Natalie frowned slightly, and her heart began to beat just a little too fast. Westwood wasn't the most talkative of men, but the hesitation was strange. Ask her *what*? His manner reminded her more than anything of a geeky boy she'd known in school who once had asked her to be his girlfriend, tripping over his words the whole while, and her uneasiness grew. "Natalie, I've got to ask you this," he said finally. "Do you really think it's possible that a human being is committing these murders? I mean, look at the sheer viciousness of the injuries. Think of the strength that must be required to cause this type of bodily damage. It's not normal. In fact, it's way outside the parameters of anything I've ever seen before." Dragging her thoughts back from the kid in school, Natalie stared blankly at Westwood for a long moment. Then the implications of what he was saying sank in, and she felt the muscles along her shoulders tense up. She stammered for a moment before she found words. "I- -uh, well--I've certainly been *assuming* that the murderer was a human being," she lied. "I mean, sure, the case is strange as hell, but there's a lot of really disturbed people out there. Maybe the killer is on drugs--meth or PCP or something--that make him violent and unnaturally strong." She overly exaggerated the emphasis on the word, "him," but it passed Westwood's notice. "Or maybe..." "Nat, *think* about this," he interrupted, looking miserable. "Not only are the victims practically bloodless and torn to shreds, but we have yet to find so much as a footprint. How could a person move a heavy body around like that without leaving footprints? And in spite of all that struggling, the only blood you've found has been the victims', right?" Natalie nodded, her mind going at warp speed in an effort to figure out an explanation that would satisfy her frustratingly curious colleague. He got out of his chair and walked to her, taking her hands in his and pulling her to her feet. She tensed slightly, but he didn't notice. "C'mon, Natalie," he pleaded, looking into her eyes with urgency. "Anybody else would call me crazy, but I *know* you know what I'm talking about." He squeezed her hands as if for emphasis. She looked pointedly at the sheet-covered body on the slab to break his gaze and decided the best defense was a counterattack. "So, tell me, Thomas," she said, rather more coldly than she intended. "Exactly whom--or should I say what?--do you think is responsible for this? The bogeyman?" She nodded toward the body and pulled her hands loose from his grasp, crossing her arms defensively. He didn't respond, and she heard him sigh. "You're not going to help me on this, are you?" he asked sadly. She looked back at his face, startled at the depth of the disappointment in his eyes. "You've run theories like this one by me before," she said, trying to impart some gentleness in her voice. "I'm sorry if I seem like I'm being difficult, but I'm a *scientist*, Thomas. If I don't see some hard, empirical evidence, I just can't buy the hypothesis." He looked at her sharply, then stood up. "The empirical evidence is right in front of you, Natalie," he insisted, gesturing widely at the body on the slab. "I don't know why you're refusing to see it for what it is, particularly given that you almost ended up like..." He cut himself off abruptly as her eyes widened in shock, but she remained silent. Finally, Westwood shook his head in resignation. "I've got to go," he said, rather curtly. "Call me when you're done with the autopsy and let me know what you find, okay?" "Of course," she said, as though surprised that he'd remind her. "Later, then," he said as he strode out the door. Natalie stood like a statue until she was sure he was out of hearing range, then she grabbed for the telephone. She counted the rings anxiously, only to be rewarded with, "Nick Knight. I'm either in bed..." Frustrated, she banged the phone down. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. From v4s@fkfanfic.com Sun Mar 29 00:15:18 1998 Date: Sat, 28 Mar 1998 11:21:22 -0500 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: fkfic-l@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 1 (05/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #13 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 27, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 5 of 15 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 1998 Stephanie S. Babbitt -------------------------- PRESUMED DEAD Nick pulled off his sunglasses as he walked through the door of the precinct just after sunset. Tucking the glasses into his inside coat pocket, he approached his desk, only to be met halfway across the room by Joe Reese. "You're early tonight," Reese observed. "Yeah," Nick said. "I wanted to get busy on that slasher case." "I wish you could," said Reese, "but there's another call I need you to check out as soon as Sakai gets here." "Not another... ?" Nick began, concern written on his face. "No, no, not that," Reese interrupted. "This is probably just some nut case calling with the DTs or something, but some guy said he saw a man being burned alive." Before Nick could ask any more questions, Adam walked up behind Reese. "I know, I know," said Adam. "I heard the dispatch call. Come on, Nick, let's check it out." *** "I swear, I'm not drunk," insisted the long-haired young man for the fourth time since Nick and Adam's arrival. He shifted uncomfortably from foot to foot, unlaced sneakers worrying the dirt. Nick smiled reassuringly. "It's okay," he said. "Just tell us what you saw." The young fellow wrung his hands nervously. "Well, I was out playing Frisbee with Tango," he said, indicating an impatient, furry dog tied to a sapling behind them. "We were in that open lot beside the apartments--the one with the big street lamp over there. I had just called Tango to come in when I heard this awful scream." He shivered. "It was the godawfullest thing I ever heard in my life." Nick and Adam cast glances at one another as their witness rubbed his bare arms and shivered again. "I put Tango's leash on him real quick and ran to the top of the hill. Then I saw them." He paused again, chewing at his lower lip like a child. "Them?" prompted Adam. "Yeah. It was two people. I couldn't see them very well, but I think they were guys. They were dressed in dark clothes." He rubbed the shin of one leg with the other foot, leaving a track of mud on his fashionably ripped jeans. "They were fighting, but not like a fist fight. It looked more like the way animals fight. One kept kind of, well, pouncing on the other one, like they show the big cats doing on TV, y'know? And every time he pounced, the other one would scream again, but it kept getting weaker. Listen, I swear, I haven't been drinking, okay?" "It's okay. We believe you," said Nick. "What happened next?" "I was about to run and call the police. I mean, all of this happened in just a few seconds. You wouldn't believe how fast the one guy could move. But before I could go, the guy that was screaming fell down and kind of rolled around moaning, like somebody does when you kick 'em in the 'nads, y'know?" Adam flinched involuntarily, and Nick concentrated hard to keep from grinning at his partner's discomfiture. "And?" he queried. The young man looked down, his face drawn. "I thought the other guy was just gonna walk away--I mean, it looked like he won the fight, right? But he didn't walk away. He set the guy on the ground on fire. I don't know how he did it--one second everything was quiet, and the next second, before you could blink hardly, the guy on the ground is totally in flames and screaming bloody murder. I mean, he went up like he was soaked in gasoline or something. I stared at him for a second, then looked back up, and the other guy was gone. Just gone. I don't know how he got away so fast. Listen, I swear..." "What did you do then?" Adam interrupted. "I took Tango and ran over to where the guy was on the ground to see if I could help," the witness continued shakily. "But when we got to where I'd seen him, there wasn't anybody there. All that was there was burned-up cloth and some ashes, and this really gross smell. Tango growled, and I realized that other guy could still be around, so I ran back here and called you guys. Look, I know it sounds crazy, but I *swear* I'm sober." "Would you show us the place where you saw the fight?" Nick asked. "Sure, right over here," said the young man, untying his dog. He led them across the street to a parking lot next to a dry cleaner's shop and pointed to a spot in a dark corner, out of range of the streetlight. Wisps of smoke still rose from a small heap. "Mmph," Adam huffed. "You weren't kidding about the smell." Nick and Adam approached the smoldering pile carefully while the young man waited. They both crouched beside it. Nick reached into his pocket and took out a retractable pointer, which he used to probe around the debris. "It looks like a bunch of clothes," Adam observed. "That, and a whole lot of ashes." Like Nick, he pulled a pointer from his pocket and used it to draw an item apart. "What's this?" he muttered. "Oh, I get it. Leather. No wonder it smells so bad." He grasped the arm of a badly scorched jacket and lifted it up. "Take a look," Adam continued. "It's all cut up, like somebody sliced it with a blade, but there's no blood on it, so it must have already been like that." He turned to catch the light. "These are nice, clean marks--razor blade, probably. Is cutting up jackets the new rage or something? What's the matter with intact garments, anyway?" Adam didn't notice that Nick had grown suddenly quiet and serious. As his partner examined the jacket, Nick pulled a silver hoop earring from beneath the ashes. He slipped his pen through the loop and lifted it to the beam of the streetlight for examination. The earring, meant for pierced ears, sported a tiny silver skull with sparkling topaz eyes. With a startled look of recognition, Nick slipped the earring into his pocket before Adam could see. Both detectives stood up, and Nick walked rapidly back to the witness. "Those aren't human remains," said Nick. "There'd be bones there, plus the smell would be much worse, if you can imagine that." He smiled reassuringly at the young man, who had opened his mouth to protest. "I think your victim was probably an effigy--the whole thing was likely an elaborate act to scare somebody. A display of gang prowess, perhaps?" Adam looked perplexed for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and nodded agreement. The young man, however, remained unconvinced. "But, but I *know* I saw--I heard...." he began. Nick caught the young man's eyes and held them intently while also grasping his shoulder. The witness stopped protesting and looked at Nick, slightly slack-jawed. "It was dark, and you couldn't see well," said Nick, slowly and persuasively. "The fight was probably staged." "Staged," echoed the young man in a whisper. At their feet, the dog growled softly and slipped between his master and Nick. "Your eyes very likely played a trick on you," Nick continued. "You saw what they wanted you to see." The young man nodded. The dog's hackles rose, and the growling intensified. Nick broke the stare abruptly, and the young man sagged visibly. "Here's my card," said Nick. "You'll call us if you see or hear anything else, won't you?" "Sure," replied the young man, taking the card automatically. He stared blankly at the two detectives as they turned to leave. "Looks like it's gonna be one of those nights, huh?" said Adam. "And the full moon was *last* night. You'd think they'd have it out of their systems by now." *** Nick stopped the Caddy in front of the precinct. "Listen," he said to Adam. "Why don't you go in and tell Reese about what we found back there. I just want to check in with an informant. I won't be long." Adam looked a little perturbed, but nodded his agreement. "If you're longer than 45 minutes, though, I'm putting out an APB," he said, half-seriously. "We've got enough follow-up interviews to keep us busy till next month, plus Reese always looks at me like I'm playing hooky when I'm not attached to your hip." "Right," said Nick, smiling ingratiatingly. Adam got out of the Caddy and slammed the door. As Nick drove around the corner, he glanced back to see his partner shaking his head. Once out of Adam's view, Nick pulled the Caddy into a parking lot and took to the air. *** Nick paused outside the door of LaCroix's apartment. He raised his fist to knock, then dropped it uncertainly. LaCroix would, of course, know that one of his children was outside the door; knocking was redundant. Still, Nick was reluctant to forego that mortal custom, so he raised his hand again and rapped sharply. "Entrez vous," came the soft voice from inside. Nick turned the knob and entered the room to find LaCroix clad in a fine smoking jacket over oriental-style silk pajama bottoms. The elder vampire sat in a simple yet distinctive armchair with a wineglass in his hand, watching through the open French doors to the balcony as the cold night wind stirred the air. LaCroix looked up at Nick and smiled serenely. "Nicholas," he said by way of greeting. "I'm here on business, LaCroix," Nick replied tersely. LaCroix held the smile with a look of tired patience. "Then I suppose you will decline my offer of refreshment," he said, indicating the wineglass in his hand with a slight nod. Pointedly ignoring that statement, Nick launched into his inquiry. "LaCroix, I'm investigating some related murders. There's some circumstances about the evidence that points to the killer being one of us." LaCroix's smile changed to an almost gleeful smirk. "And this is a problem?" he asked contemptuously. "The bodies were mutilated and left out in the open," Nick continued, exasperated. "Mutilation is the easiest, if laziest, way to disguise a kill. Surely even you remember that, Nicholas," said LaCroix languidly, taking a sip from his wineglass. "LaCroix, the condition of these bodies goes far beyond simple disguise," Nick said sharply. "There's a viciousness about it, almost a madness. Whoever is doing this clearly is out of control." LaCroix glanced back out the window, then returned his disinterested gaze to Nick. "Nearly all vampires lose control on occasion, Nicholas," he said. "What you've just described sounds to me like first hunger--an extreme case, perhaps, but not unheard of, certainly. I can't imagine why you're making such an issue of it." Setting the glass down, he stood up and turned his back on his son, brushing a silk curtain aside to observe the stars. Nick's face darkened with frustration. "I'm making an issue of it because the kills are exactly like Divia's," he blurted. LaCroix froze for a moment, then spun back around, his eyes the color of cold steel. "How dare you make such an implication?" he snarled. "*You* put the stake through her heart. You saw what I did with her body." LaCroix moved in so close that Nick could feel his master's breath. "I know you don't always trust me, Nicholas, but to have you imply that I was deficient in my duty, especially in this instance, is absolutely intolerable." "I'm looking for answers, not assigning blame," Nick said, refusing to match LaCroix's annoyed tone. "It's just that the similarities are uncanny. It's so obvious that Natalie--a mortal--made the connection in the first place." At the mention of Natalie's name, LaCroix's eyes showed a spark of surprise. He took a step back and tipped his head slightly to one side, waiting to hear more. "I told her it was categorically impossible for Divia to be alive," Nick continued, "but the fact remains, someone in the Community is imitating her, even to the point of reporting a slaughtered body by anonymous tip." LaCroix turned slowly away from Nick, raising a long finger to his lips in thought. "As distasteful as that may be, Nicholas," he observed, "unless the bodies leave unmistakable evidence of the existence of vampires, then there *is* no problem, at least from the Community's standpoint. I certainly would prefer that the individual in question should choose another role model, but otherwise, the behavior is not my concern." "Actually, I think it is," replied Nick, pulling the earring from his pocket. "LaCroix," he said urgently, holding it out, "do you recognize this?" LaCroix briefly examined the earring without taking it. "I suppose I might have seen it at some point," he observed with disinterest, "though I'm not particularly given to following trends in fashion jewelry. I tend to prefer more classic styles." Nick rolled his eyes. "LaCroix, this earring belonged to one of your bouncers, didn't it? The one with the Mohawk hairdo and the eyepatch?" LaCroix checked the earring again, and a faint hint of recognition crossed his features. "Yes, Nicholas, I believe you could be right," he said. "Tark has rather an infantile fascination with pirate legends." "You mean 'had,'" said Nick with disgust, tossing the earring to LaCroix, who caught it with a snakelike dart of his hand. "He's dead." LaCroix said nothing. He merely waited, one eyebrow poised in question. "I'm almost certain that another vampire killed him," said Nick, his voice dark, "and I think it's the same one that made the sloppy kills yesterday. The slashing is identical." LaCroix remained impassive, his face carefully composed. "We both know that bodily injury short of decapitation is not sufficient to kill a vampire, Nicholas," he observed. "How was Tark destroyed?" Nick drew close to LaCroix; blue eyes met and locked. "There was a witness, a mortal," said Nick, his voice keen. "What he described was a death by torture. The final cause of death, though, was fire. The killer wounded Tark repeatedly until he was too weak to fight, then burned him alive." Nick paused and looked away, bracing himself for his master's response to the question he knew he had to ask. "You're absolutely *sure* that Divia is dead?" The older vampire looked angry again for a moment, then his features became subdued. "I'm *quite* certain, Nicholas," he replied softly, fingertips tented beneath his chin. "However, since you seem reluctant to believe me..." With fluid grace, he stood and walked with a determined air toward one of his many bookshelves. He reached out and drew forth a small, elegantly carved jade jewelry case, which he handed to Nick. "Open it carefully," he cautioned. Nick took the box and popped the lid open with a gentle touch. Inside was nothing but a pinch of dust. Nick stared for a moment, then realized with a start that he was looking at vampire ashes. He lifted his eyes to LaCroix's face with wonder. LaCroix's expression was calm but firm, and his eyes were cold. "I never make the same mistake twice, Nicholas," he said firmly, with a sinister undertone. "Divia *cannot* regenerate. I kept these apart to be absolutely certain." He reached out and plucked the box from Nick's hand, snapping it shut and returning it to the bookshelf. Nick stood dumbly for a moment, then closed his hand and brought it to his face, rubbing his chin with his fist. "How can it be, then?" he asked out loud, more to himself than LaCroix. "She didn't bring anyone else across while she was here, did she?" He turned bright eyes to his master. LaCroix was firm. "No. I would sense the connection." He walked slowly toward the window, his expression unusually pensive. "We can thank whatever gods may be that she was too preoccupied with my destruction to further propagate her madness." "Could she have trained another in her ways?" Nick asked. Eyebrows arched against his pale forehead, LaCroix thought for a moment, then shook his head. "I suppose it is possible. But think of the rather...questionable success you've had with your own progeny. It takes *time*, Nicholas, to impart that sort of knowledge, even when your pupil is apt and eager." Nick looked away, remembering. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.