From v4s@FKFANFIC.COM Sat Apr 25 13:54:07 1998 Date: Sat, 25 Apr 1998 11:12:46 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 2 (06/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 23, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 6 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 Natalie drove like a maniac, tires squealing as she took corners. "Damn!" she muttered as she zoomed through a stop sign. "If I had to get *some* vampire characteristics, why the hell couldn't one of them have been flight?" Her car bumped haphazardly over the curb as she turned into the apartment complex, leaving a muddy gash in the neat landscaping. She pulled crookedly into a parking space and leaped out, not even taking time to turn off the headlights. Frantically, she ran up the steps and flung herself against the door to her apartment, only to find it still locked. She'd have broken it down were it within her strength, but she was forced to scramble in her purse for the keys. Hands trembling almost convulsively, she scrabbled at the lock, casting out her senses as best she could to try to determine who--or what--was in her apartment. She couldn't sense Nick at all, and her search for Vachon was inconclusive at best. Finally the lock clicked, and she threw the door open, calling out, "Vachon! Nick? Where are you?" Dropping her purse on the floor, she ran toward the living room, heedless of her own safety. She stopped in the doorway to take stock, and what she saw propelled her heart into her throat so savagely that she nearly choked. Vachon was propped against the splintered remnants of the end table. Though grievously wounded, he rolled golden eyes in her direction, proving he was still alive. On the other side of the room lay a body, facing away from her, a leg from the ruined table shoved through the chest and protruding out the back. Tousled, wavy golden hair contrasted with the familiar long, black trenchcoat. "NICK!" Natalie screamed, her chest contracting with hideous fear. She scrambled across the room, dodging overturned furniture and glass from the picture window, which was completely caved in. She dropped to her knees beside the fallen vampire. "Oh, my God. Oh, my God, this is all my fault," she whimpered desperately as she struggled to turn the body over. "Nick," she pleaded, "don't die on me, please!" Though impeded by the stake, she finally succeeded in rolling the body partway onto its back. The head lolled toward her, and her eyes widened in surprise. An unfamiliar face stared back at her. She slumped to the floor, suddenly drained of energy. "Who...?" she whispered to herself, frowning. A sound from across the room diverted her attention. Vachon was struggling to get to his feet, but he fell, too weak to stand. Twice more, he tried to rise, and twice more he fell. His incoherent grunts gradually dissolved into demonic laughter, and Natalie realized with a shock that he was in the grip of the madness. She scrambled to her feet to run for her life, but something about his condition stayed her. She took a step closer to look him over. His black hair was matted with blood, and she realized that he must have been hit over the head with something very heavy. His right arm was clearly broken. He turned slightly to one side, and she saw a huge, gaping wound that extended from his left shoulder to just below his belt line; the blood loss from that was severe as well. A twitch of motion caught her attention, and she realized with dismay that she had seen the contraction of his heart beneath exposed ribs. Vachon turned his head and directed poorly focused eyes, still shining golden, toward her. His lips curled in a snarl over fangs, then his head lolled awkwardly back against the wall. Natalie stared for a moment, then her brows slowly drew together, skepticism tempering the revelation in her face. "Is it possible?" she whispered to herself. "These injuries can contain you, even when you're like this?" Scarcely believing, she walked a slow arc around Vachon's prone form, the heels of her pumps gritting fragments of shattered marble from the top of the end table into the hardwood floor. "Amazing," she murmured, leaning forward to peer into Vachon's face, careful to stay safely out of reach. "And of course, if you don't feed, you won't heal." She drew a deep breath and let it out in a rush. "That's the answer, then," she said softly. She took a backward step and caught her ankle against something. Looking down, she saw the handle and part of the blade of a machete protruding from beneath her overturned couch. Her eyes widened. "He must have been after your head," she muttered, looking back at Vachon and automatically matching his chest wound to the weapon with a practiced eye. "Good thing you dodged." She then turned her attention to the dead body, kneeling beside it again to evaluate it further. Pulling away the black coat, she found the shirt nearly ripped away and the chest replete with the telltale slash marks. She grimaced, realizing that Vachon had inflicted many of them *after* driving home the impromptu stake. What appeared to be a frenzied bite mark extended from just below the ear almost to the collarbone. Despite the ruination of the dead vampire's body, very little blood seeped from the wounds. Slipping into medical-examiner autopilot, Natalie frowned in concentration and looked from place to place around the room, trying to reconstruct the fight. "Vachon must have hit you the second you came through that window," she said quietly to the corpse as she stared unhappily at a head-shaped depression in her wallboard next to the yawning hole where the window had been. "Obviously, your blood set him off. I know B+ blood will do it, but what is it about vampire blood? Hell, you don't even *have* a blood type, per se." With a mighty heave, she pulled the body toward herself. The protruding end of the stake snagged on the floor, but momentum finally carried the body over and onto its side, facing her. As the vampire's coat flap hit the hardwood, she heard a sharp clank. A quick examination of the pocket yielded a silver whiskey flask in a handsome leather case. She uncapped the flask, wondering what a vampire might want with whiskey, and sniffed at it. Her expression changed, and she turned her head away. "Blood," she said. "Of course." She screwed the lid back on the flask and held it out, examining it. "But surely Vachon couldn't smell the blood through this flask, could he? Even if it was straight Type B, which I doubt, how would he know?" She shook the flask. "There's probably less than 150 milliliters left in here, anyway," she mused. "What was there to smell?" Glancing again at the corpse, she noted with some regret the exquisite green eyes that stared past her, seeing nothing. As she reached automatically to close them, a spot of dried blood at the corner of the dead vampire's mouth drew her attention. What was it Nick had said once, the time they were trying to catch a human pretending to be a vampire? Something about vampires' blood characteristics changing when they fed? "Oh, my God," she murmured as realization dawned. "Any vampire who *drinks* type B blood will have the scent." She rubbed her eyes, then glanced over at Vachon with a worried expression. "And I imagine that includes almost any vampire who's fed recently from bottled stock." She let the flask drop with a thump, feeling overwhelmed. Nick, at least, was probably safe for Vachon to be around, but any other vampire they encountered was likely to trigger an attack, and that wasn't going to make their lives any easier. She sighed and rolled her eyes, considering the implications, then glanced down at the body beside her. "You poor fool," she said, touching the stake with her fingertips. "Whatever possessed you to come here?" The question died on her lips as a dreadful thought came to her. "Wait a second. *How* did you know to come here?" she said slowly, her eyes widening. "And how many others know what you know?" She glanced down at the whiskey flask beside her and saw a piece of paper protruding from the leather case. Snatching the paper, she unfolded it rapidly to find her own address written there in elegant script. A funny taste of bile rose in her throat. She looked out the window almost frantically, then looked at her watch. Three hours, at least, till sunrise.... They were sitting ducks, and she was powerless to protect them. A loud groan attracted her attention, and she looked toward Vachon, newly afraid. One eye opened slowly and evaluated her while the other, swollen and caked with blood from the head wound, remained shut. Vampire and mortal stared at one another for several seconds, then Natalie realized with relief that the iris of the open eye was brown. She relaxed slightly. "Javier?" she said quietly. The open eye roamed around the room, taking in the ruined window, the upset furniture, the blood spatters. "Hey, Doc," said Vachon thickly, his mouth forming a wide, stupid grin. "Musta been *some* party." He began to giggle drunkenly, but his mirthful expression vanished as he reached for his head with his broken arm. "Owwwww," he moaned, slumping back against the table as the arm fell, useless, to his side. Natalie took a few steps toward him, still being certain to stay out of range of a quick grab. "How do you feel?" she asked, her voice carefully professional. "You don' wanna know," he slurred. "My head--my arm..." He trailed off, testing his bloodied, split lower lip with the tip of his tongue. "What th' hell hit me?" "I was hoping you could tell me," she replied, finally feeling safe enough to kneel down beside him. "Let me see your arm." He tried to hold the arm out, but winced; at the same time, he retched violently. Groaning, he clutched at his head with his left hand. "Gonna die," he whispered. Natalie smiled. "No, you're not," she reassured him. "This will pass. It always does, remember?" He started to shake his head, but grimaced in pain. "No," he said quietly, his eyes squeezed shut. "Hope you're right." "Of course I'm right," she said cheerfully. "I'm the doctor!" Disregarding the cynical, one-eyed stare he directed at her in response, she smiled. "I'm going to have to set this arm," she said gently, "and then I'll give you some blood to help you heal. Okay?" He didn't reply; he merely held out the arm and leaned his head against the wall as though he could no longer support it. Natalie set about her task. The one unit of blood was all she had in the house, but after drinking it, Vachon was able to open his other eye and sit up. By the dim light of a small lamp with a towel draped over the shade, Natalie snipped thick black hair away from the wounds on his head and chest and cleaned them out. "You said on the phone that you sensed this guy coming," she mused, leaning to one side to avoid casting shadows on her work. "Do you remember?" Vachon nodded his head slightly, wincing. "I could sense him. There's a certain feeling when you're being...hunted." He gritted his teeth on the last word as she pulled a long splinter of wood out of his scalp. "Then I smelled his blood, and that was all she wrote." He flexed the fingers on his right hand, then examined the wound on his chest, which was almost closed except where it was deepest. He canted his eyes toward her. "I'll bet you thought it was Knight, didn't you?" he asked with a smirk. Natalie dropped the cotton batting she was holding into the trash and stood up abruptly. "Never mind that," she said sharply, taking a few steps away to survey the room. "We've got another problem now. This guy knew where to find you, and if he knew, other vampires likely know, too. You've got to get rid of this body before first light, then you can rest through the day while I pack some things. The second the sun goes down, we've got to get out of here." "How are you going to explain this?" said Vachon, sweeping his nearly-healed right arm out to indicate the room. "I don't know," she replied flatly. "Attempted burglary? I'll worry about that later. Right now, I think we need to worry more about getting out of here alive." She crouched by the dead body. "Will this disappear if you put it in the sun this morning?" Vachon canted his head slightly to one side, then back. "Probably," he replied. "Does this building have any flat spots on the roof? I could put it up there." "I wouldn't know," said Natalie acerbically. "I don't normally investigate the rooftop before I lease an apartment." He nodded seriously and struggled to his feet, clutching his head and swaying for a moment before standing fully upright. Leaning out the ruined window, he peered into darkness that was still impenetrable to Natalie's eyes. "Looks like the roof three buildings over should do," he said, stepping back into the room and gripping his head again as if it might burst. "Good," she said, tying the dead vampire's coat together like a straitjacket to hold the arms in place beneath the protruding stake. "That should be one less hassle to deal with." "Speaking of hassles," Vachon replied, "What's going to happen when Knight finds out you've disappeared? He's going to tear the town apart until he finds you." She swallowed hard. "What Nick does at this point doesn't matter to me at all," she said coolly, refusing to meet his eyes. "Well, Doc," he said, limping to her side of the room, "if it makes you happy, then you just go right on believing that." With difficulty, he squatted down beside her and eyed her seriously. "But I guarantee the only person you'll be fooling is yourself." *** Nick sat restlessly at his desk, tapping a pencil against the blotter. His imagination had been running wild since the previous night. Why had Natalie reacted so strongly when Adam grabbed her arm? Was she hurt, or merely frightened? Was Vachon responsible? And how could he, Nick, get close enough to her again to protect her? The look she'd given him at the hanging scene couldn't have been clearer; she still wanted nothing to do with him. "Nick?" said Adam, putting a hand on his partner's arm. Nick started so violently that he almost upset his chair; Adam likewise jumped back, surprised. "Sorry," said Nick. "I was thinking." "Obviously," replied Adam, a bit sourly. "Is everything okay?" "Oh, it's just a personal problem," said Nick with a wave of his hand. "Nothing I can't handle." The tone clearly indicated that further questions were unwelcome. "Well, then, we just got called to check out a possible homicide at the lakefront," said Adam, carefully businesslike. "Oh, no," said Nick softly. "Not another...?" "No," replied Adam quickly. "This one's probably a drowning, but they want us out there just in case." Even before Adam finished speaking, Nick grabbed his coat off the rack and took off at a swift stride, forcing his partner to trot to catch up. "What's the rush?" said Adam, a little breathless, as he hurried around to the passenger side of the Caddy. "The body is going to be just as dead whether we get there in ten minutes or fifteen." Nick didn't answer, and Adam scrambled to get in the car as the Caddy's huge engine roared to life. As Nick put the car in gear, he noticed Adam watching him with a sideways grin and a knowing look. "I get it now," said Adam. "A dead body means the M.E.'s got to report to the scene...." "*Don't* start," Nick warned, pulling out of the lot. "Me? Wouldn't dream of it," replied Adam, his grin widening. Nick covered the kilometers to the lakefront far faster than the relatively low urgency of the situation warranted, but Adam remained silent, the knowing smirk plastered as if permanently across his face. Upon arriving, Nick practically sprang from the car, leaving Adam scurrying to catch up with him again. Nick hurried to the spot where the body lay, only to feel his heart sink when he spotted a coroner from a different jurisdiction making notes on a clipboard. "Excuse me," he said abruptly to the young man, "but do you know why Dr. Lambert didn't respond to this call?" The coroner looked up at him, and Nick recognized one of Natalie's former interns, a young Oriental pathologist. "Detective Knight, isn't it?" said the young man, smiling and extending a hand. "Dr. Lambert took a few days off for some sort of family emergency. I'm covering for her on this shift. Is there something I can help you with?" Nick carefully composed his features to hide his disappointment and concern as his partner drew alongside him. "Doctor, this is my partner, Detective Sakai," he said, his tone totally professional. "Could you give us a rundown of the situation here?" He indicated the corpse with a nod. "Well, this one's a little odd," replied the coroner. "A fisherman found him tangled up in the dock here. The body's been in the water for several days, which makes it a little hard to evaluate...." He glanced at Adam's face, which was twisted with revulsion. "Pretty gruesome, isn't it, Detective?" he said empathetically. "Exposure to water --even cold water like this--markedly accelerates decomposition, plus the fish and carrion birds don't help things. Sorry about the odor, but there's not much we can do about that." Adam nodded in agreement, rubbing a hand beneath his nose. "Anyway," said the coroner, "I would have said probable drowning, except that there's several deep cuts on the torso. They're hard to define, thanks to the predators, but you can see a mark or two on the ribs." The coroner pointed with his pen to the area in question. "Likely as not, they're just propeller marks--a body's not easy for the big boats to avoid in the lake at night, *if* they see it at all--but the autopsy will help us determine whether the cuts were inflicted before or after death occurred, and whether drowning was indeed the cause of death." Adam nodded, taking in the information from a distance that kept the corpse from assaulting his sense of smell too severely. Nick, however, crouched down to take a better look at the body. Despite the bloating and disfigurement, he could tell that the cuts were anything but accidental and followed a disturbingly familiar pattern. He stood up abruptly and took a few steps away, trying to control the sickening sense of dread that was building in his gut. "Natalie," he growled, so deeply that no one else heard, "what in the hell is going 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.COM Sat Apr 25 13:54:12 1998 Date: Sat, 25 Apr 1998 11:12:53 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 2 (07/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 23, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 7 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 "I categorically refuse to believe that I have stooped to breaking and entering," groaned Natalie as she watched Vachon twist the lock off the back door to a sleazy dialysis clinic. She rubbed her arms nervously as she peered into the alley's shadows, almost expecting to be caught. "You guys are a terrible influence." Brown eyes met hers, alight with a mischievous sparkle. "This is nothing, Doc. In a few minutes you'll have larceny under your belt as well," said Vachon, pushing the door open. "But I wouldn't feel too bad about it if I were you. These places are pretty accomplished at robbery in their own right--you're just giving them a touch of their own medicine, so to speak." "I have *no* intention of keeping this stuff," she protested. "As a matter of fact, every single piece of this equipment had better be completely sanitized and seamlessly back in place by the time this clinic reopens Monday morning, or else I'll be changing cities and taking on a new identity, just like one of you." Vachon was paying little attention, staring instead at the intimidating array of machines lined up along the walls. "How much of this stuff are you going to need?" he asked incredulously. "Oh, relax," she said, a little shortly. "There's at least six full dialysis stations set up here, and we only need one." She walked slowly past the equipment, examining it. "We'll want to make sure we take one that's been properly maintained," she explained. "We don't want to get one that shows evidence of blood residues." She stooped to check one machine more closely, ignoring his deep sigh of frustration. "Doc," he said, a little annoyed, "I drink blood every day, at least when some doctor isn't forcing me to drink transmission fluid, or stuff that tastes like it, instead." She looked over her shoulder at him, and he held her gaze, his eyebrows raised. "It doesn't *matter* if the machine is clean. The patients could have TB, bubonic plague, rickets, cholera, leprosy, and mad cow disease *all at once* and it still wouldn't affect me." She glared at him and stood up. "All right then, smarty. Take this one." She pointed at the setup next to her. "You'll need the filtering unit, and this pump, and we probably ought to borrow their portable generator in case the power fails...." She pointed out one device after another in rapid-fire succession, ignoring Vachon's pained expression. She held the door for him as he carried an awkwardly balanced stack of heavy equipment into the alley. He stopped beside the open rear doors of another black coroner's van. "Does it matter which way it goes in?" he asked, his voice slightly muffled. "No, no, just make sure it's stable," she said quickly, glancing around with a guilty expression. He hoisted the stack into the cargo space and began arranging it. Natalie opened her mouth to warn him about straining his back, then turned away as she thought better of it. "How'd you manage to get this bucket for the long term, anyway?" Vachon asked with obvious disdain. He straightened to examine the interior of the van, which was even shabbier than the one he'd ridden in previously. "Well, this is the van nobody ever checks out unless all the others are being used," she said. "It's old, and the transmission shifts like a truck, plus the brakes catch. It's enough to give you whiplash, and it has a nasty tendency to unbalance the gurneys." She grinned, a little sheepishly. "I remember once, one of the techs was driving it and forgot, and it jammed into second going around a corner. The gurney broke loose, banged into the wall, and broke a bunch of bones in the corpse's face, which was *not* easy to explain to the family, given that the victim had died peacefully in her bed from an overdose of painkillers." She shook her head, remembering. "Anyway, Keith was more than happy to let me have it." Vachon had stopped arranging equipment to stare at her. "Sometimes I think you live the *weirdest* existence of anybody I ever met in my life," he said finally, turning back to shove a heavy component toward the center of the van. "Hey, just look at the company I keep. What did you expect?" she retorted, pretending to be annoyed, but giving herself away with a smile. "Go get the generator so we can get the hell out of here." A few minutes later, the impromptu burgling crew was headed down the highway at a good clip, with Vachon at the wheel, muttering disparaging things about the van's acceleration and handling. "This is so weird," said Natalie, looking over her shoulder to see if they were being followed. "I feel sort of like Bonnie and Clyde. Don't you?" "Nah," said Vachon lightly. When Natalie cast him a curious look, he added, "They're dead." "Right," said Natalie, rolling her eyes. "So now you've that you've got Frankenstein's laboratory in the back of this van, how are you planning to use it on me?" he asked, leaning forward to peer up at the sky through the van's dirty windshield. "Well," she replied, "the whole point of dialysis is to filter poisons from the blood. That's what I'm going to use it for." "But Doc," he protested, "you can't poison a vampire even if you try. What's the point of filtering out something that can't do any damage to begin with?" "If you'd stop acting like such a know-it-all and let me finish..." Natalie retorted, crossing her arms and pretending to be insulted. Vachon stared over at her side of the van for a moment, then let go of the wheel and held up both hands in a gesture of surrender. Immediately, the out-of-alignment vehicle began veering across the lane and into oncoming traffic. Vachon grabbed the wheel again and pulled the van sharply back into his own lane as Natalie clutched at the door to keep from sliding out of her seat. He cast a sideways look at her, somewhat abashed. "Are you quite finished?" she asked. He nodded silently and returned his attention to the road. "Okay, then," she said. "It looks like there's three separate things happening with you, but they all seem to tie back to Divia's bite, just like you thought. Have you ever heard of botulism?" "Is that something to do with spoiled food?" he asked. "I think I've heard the word, though obviously it didn't concern *me* very much." "The term actually refers to a species of bacteria," said Natalie. "Most people who get botulism poisoning do get it from improperly prepared food, but under the right circumstances, the bacteria can also enter the body through an open wound." "Poisoning?" Vachon asked, his tone skeptical. "The bacteria are poisonous?" "Well, not exactly," she replied quickly. "The bacterial infection itself doesn't affect the system much, but the toxins the bacteria produce as a byproduct have some really unpleasant side effects--oh, like paralysis and death." Vachon glanced at Natalie briefly before returning his eyes to the road. "And I suppose you're going to tell me that I've got bloodsucking vampire botulism bacteria in my system?" Natalie stifled a grin. "Not quite," she said. "I was using that as an example. But what you've got does seem to work a lot like botulism." She took a deep breath, choosing her words carefully. "Apparently, LaCroix's little darling was harboring a really bizarre strain of bacteria," she continued. "It doesn't look or act like any identifiable species on record. As a matter of fact, the first time I studied one of your post-seizure blood samples under the microscope, I thought I was imagining things." She shook her head, remembering. "I guess it's a strain that either had been extinct for thousands of years, or else it was unique to her system. But either way, it seems she passed a dose on to you when she bit you." "But if this is just an infection, why does it cause the psychotic episodes?" asked Vachon, frowning. "I'm getting there! Be patient," teased Natalie, giving Vachon a friendly shove in the shoulder. He nodded silently. "It looks like the bacteria lie dormant most of the time, in very low densities," she explained, her voice shifting back into doctor mode. "I can't find even so much as one specimen in any of your so-called 'normal' blood samples, so I'm guessing that they collect in one of your organs, possibly even the brain. But when I isolated a few of the bacteria from one of your post-seizure samples and fed them a dose of the proteins and antigens in B+ blood, voila!--a bacterial free-for-all. It's actually sort of fun to study them on a slide. They reproduce so fast that they cram each other right out of the field of vision. It's a lot like watching popcorn pop--from two inches away." Vachon digested the information, nodding almost imperceptibly. "Why B+ blood?" he asked next. "I'm not sure," said Natalie. "It could be that those proteins are their preferred nourishment by nature, or it could be that B+ was the first blood you drank after over six months' abstinence, and they responded to that. Maybe it even has something to do with Divia's original blood type-- or with yours. In this case, though, the 'why' isn't so important as the 'how'." Vachon nodded, easily accepting. "So they multiply whenever I drink B+ blood. Why does that have such awful side effects?" "It's like botulism, remember? It's not the bacteria itself; it's the *byproduct* of the bacteria--the poison-- that causes the spells you have," she replied confidently. "Okay, okay, so it's the byproduct, then," said Vachon, growing impatient. "But why does the *byproduct* cause such bizarre symptoms?" "I don't know that for sure, but I *do* know that it's unlike any other substance I've ever studied," she said. "It has a strange molecular structure, to begin with. It's similar in a lot of ways to the alcohol byproduct of yeast, but it's far, far more poisonous. Just for a test, I introduced it to a variety of living human cells--skin, hair, blood, and bone--and in each case, the poison was almost instantaneously lethal, no matter how small a dosage I used." She shook her head slightly. "I guess I'm extremely lucky that you didn't *bite* me that day in the van and transmit the bacteria to me, or I'd probably be dead. I'm also lucky that you keep your nails clean." She smiled in response to the nonplused look he shot her. "At any rate, I think that the poison acts on you much the same way an intensely hallucinogenic drug would act on a mortal." "But if these bacteria are in my body all the time, presumably making this--this byproduct, then why do I have these seizures?" he persisted. "Why does something like drinking a certain type of blood make such a huge difference?" "Well, first of all, Vachon, you've got to realize that, ideally, I would spend months--years, maybe!--on a study like this," she said. "I don't know every little detail yet, but here's what I *think* happens, in a nutshell. You drink Type B+ blood. The dormant bacteria wake up, so to speak, ingest the blood proteins, and reproduce maniacally. The megabillions of resulting bacteria then excrete the hallucinogenic byproduct, and next thing you know, you're off in a different reality." Vachon turned to stare at her for a moment before returning his attention to the road. "So I drink the blood, then the bacteria pump out the wacky juice, and I get smashed," he said. "That explains why I don't remember, but why does it make me so violent? I mean, you know I'm not ordinarily a conscientious objector or anything, but this is just completely uncharacteristic." "That part I have to chalk up to the vampire gray zone," Natalie replied, somewhat subdued. "Why do you see Divia's visions and act out her fantasies, even after all this time? I have no idea. It ranks right up there with why you can read somebody's thoughts or memories in his blood. There's no logical, scientific explanation for it, at least not in my realm of experience. And frankly, that drives me nuts. For now, I just have to swallow hard and skip over it." Vachon nodded in silent agreement. "So we know what causes the hallucinations: the poison. And we know what produces the poison: the bacteria. That's two parts of the puzzle. The third one is this: why does the *smell* of B+ blood set you off?" "True," said Vachon, nodding. "I'd forgotten that part." "This, unfortunately, is almost pure speculation," sighed Natalie. "There's still so much medical science *doesn't* know about the olfactory center of the human brain--let alone the *vampire* brain! One thing we do know, though, is that certain odors can produce unconscious chemical responses in the body. It's the basis of aromatherapy." When he looked at her strangely, she added, "You know, like those squatty, weird-smelling candles you see now? Stress relief, health booster, that sort of thing?" He pursed his lips for a moment, then shrugged noncommittally. "Okay, then," she continued. "My guess is that your brain triggers some sort of chemical response when you smell B+ blood. The dormant bacteria recognize the chemical signal and respond by getting excited. Excitement implies activity; activity implies a metabolic increase; and increased metabolism usually results in increased production of byproducts." "So the first thing the bugs do when they wake up is dump a dose of their poison into my system? Is that what you're saying?" asked Vachon. Natalie nodded. "I think the first dose of the byproduct not only produces the initial hallucinatory response, but also inspires a violent craving for more of the poison. Your body answers that craving by ingesting the blood that will allow the production of that poison. It's the bacteria's way of making sure it gets fed, I guess." "And as my body uses up the blood I drank, and the bacteria calm down and go back to sleep..." Vachon began softly. "...the hallucinogenic effect wears off, and you come to with the vampire equivalent of a nasty hangover," finished Natalie triumphantly. "But wait a minute, Doc. That sounds pretty self- perpetuating," said Vachon. "As long as even a few of the bacteria survive, I'm going to have these fits every single time I smell B+ blood. This could go on forever, couldn't it?" "Yes, it could," she replied quickly. "That's why we have to kill off all the bacteria. What we're going to do should trick them into committing suicide, more or less." "Trick them?" He looked at her with a facetious grin. "What are you going to do, hypnotize them?" She rolled her eyes. "Do you want to be serious, or shall I just leave you on Nick's doorstep with a pint of B+ blood?" He smiled and shook his head. "Sorry. I just can't imagine how you plan on tricking a bunch of microscopic bugs." "Well, first, I'm going to stimulate your system with the *scent* of B+ blood," she explained. "That should get the bacteria out of dormancy, but if you don't actually *ingest* any blood, they won't have enough nutrients to reproduce. After an hour or so, we'll expose you to the scent again. If we do it enough times and in rapid enough succession, the bacteria, hopefully, will eventually die of starvation, or exhaustion, or both. At the very least, the procedure might weaken them enough to allow your immune system to defeat them." Vachon cast her another quizzical look and let off the gas to make a sharp curve. The van dropped out of high gear with a lurch, and both vampire and mortal started in surprise. Vachon scowled and coaxed the van back up to cruising speed. "Piece of junk," he observed. "And what do you mean, 'hopefully'? That doesn't sound very definitive to me." Natalie looked at him uneasily. "Unfortunately, it's not," she replied. "But it's looking like the only option we have, other than locking you in a cage for however long it takes the bacteria to die out of your system naturally, which could take years. Antibiotics don't work; I tried them in the lab. Even if the drugs did work in your body, this strain seems immune to every major category of antibiotic on the market." Vachon nodded sagely. "You still haven't told me what the torture setup in the back is for," he said. Natalie looked out the window for a moment before responding. "It's got two functions," she said softly. "The first is to drain enough blood from your body to weaken you before we start; the second is to remove the poison from your system more quickly than you could metabolize it." She sighed. "It should help to minimize your discomfort during the procedure, but the main purpose is to keep you from killing me before we're through." He stared at her for a moment from beneath raised brows, then returned his attention to the road without further comment. They drove on in silence, with Natalie peering anxiously into the big rear-view mirrors every so often to be sure they weren't being followed. (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 Sat Apr 25 13:54:23 1998 Date: Sat, 25 Apr 1998 11:13:00 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 2 (08/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 23, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 8 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 Vachon walked up to the passenger side of the van and tapped lightly on the window with a knuckle. Natalie's anxious face peered out, and she opened the window just a crack. "You can quit slumping down in the seat now," said Vachon cheerfully. "I've got the room key, and I promise nobody's watching you." "I know, I know," Natalie whispered, "but what if somebody I knew saw me here? I would just *die* of embarrassment. I mean, really, Vachon, did you *have* to pick a flophouse?" "If anybody you know sees you, they have just as much reason to be embarrassed as you," Vachon reminded her casually. "Besides, how many people do you really know that hang around places like this?" "Just get in the van and get me out of here," pleaded Natalie, slumping back down in the seat. Vachon walked unhurriedly around the van and climbed in as Natalie muttered something under her breath about his having picked a fine time to forego vampire speed. He shot her an impish grin as he put the still-running van in gear and coaxed it forward, the transmission rattling like marbles in a coffee can. "You aren't very appreciative, you know that?" he teased. "Just look. You specified a place out of the way where people wouldn't pay much attention to tenants keeping weird hours or to strange noises coming from the rooms. I guarantee you, this place meets all your requirements." His eyes positively sparkled with amusement as Natalie glared at him. "So how come you're so familiar with this...this environment, hmm?" she demanded. "And how can you be sure the others won't track us down here?" "Relax," he replied. "I've never been to this particular motel before, if that's what you're implying, but when you're on the run, it's good to find places where people mind their own business and leave you alone to mind yours. You get so you can pick them out pretty easily. And the others won't find us here because I've been careful not to leave a trail." He backed the van up to a door numbered 105 on the side of the motel away from the street. The parking lot was virtually deserted in both directions. "Now, this heap we're driving might have attracted attention and made us noticeable, especially with that Coroner's Office stuff printed on the side," he continued, his voice becoming progressively less serious, "but the black shoe polish worked nicely, and amazingly enough, I saw at least two junkers pass by on the street out front that look even sorrier than this." He raised his eyebrows and shot her a cheerful smirk, and she found herself smiling back. "Okay, then, if this is where we're going to set up shop, let's get on with it," she said. Opening the van's door, she climbed out, stretching to relieve the tension in her neck muscles, then hurried around to unlock the back so they could unload the dialysis equipment. Suddenly, the door two rooms down swung open with a squeal of bad hinges. Natalie almost dived headfirst into the van to hide, but Vachon instantly appeared behind her, holding her arm to steady her. A young woman dressed in garish lime-green hot pants and high-heeled, patent-leather boots that reached her thighs pulled the door shut behind her and dropped a key into her tiny shoulder bag. She turned to look at Vachon and Natalie, sharp eyes checking them over from beneath exaggerated geisha-style eyeliner. She took a step toward them. "Hey, mister," she said, addressing Vachon and ignoring Natalie completely. "You look like a fella who likes to party, and what you've got there looks pretty tame. Why don't you trade up for a girl who knows what she's doing? I could show you some *real* adventure." She leaned to one side in an unnaturally widespread stance and tossed her hair over one shoulder to reveal a dragon tattoo curling its way from between her breasts up to her neck. "Thanks, but I like to make my own adventures," said Vachon in a dark, compelling voice that sent bugs' feet crawling up Natalie's spine. The hooker cast Natalie another glance, this one openly disdainful, then set out at a brisk pace toward the front of the motel, her heels clicking smartly against the pavement. Natalie stood as if rooted, her mouth open, unaware that Vachon had released her arm. Finally she turned to Vachon, only to see him leaning against the van and grinning at her. "She...she thought I was..." Natalie started to sputter. "Yep," replied Vachon easily, "and now you see why nobody will pay any attention if they hear screaming-- they'll just think you're doing a good job." Natalie blushed to the hairline as she realized what Vachon was suggesting. Wordlessly, she grabbed a box of tubing out of the van and scurried into the room, hearing his laughter behind her. *** Nick knocked several times on the door to Natalie's apartment before using the key, even though he couldn't hear a sound within. While he was concerned on the one hand about not finding her at home so late at night, on the other hand he was vaguely relieved, knowing that she probably would not have appreciated his visit. The first thing that struck him as he opened the door was the temperature. Natalie's apartment was as cold as the morgue locker, and as quiet. With his senses at full alert, he began a slow walk through the rooms. He heard no heartbeats, not even Sidney's, and the only lights burning were the ones he knew that Natalie kept on automatic timers. In his life as a cop, Nick had visited many dwellings that bore a similar signature, the signs of a place vacated rapidly and desperately in the attempt to avoid police--or any other pursuer. He stepped into the darkened living room to be greeted by a blast of frigid air. His eyes widened as he took in the sight of the demolished picture window. Splintered wood jutted out at bizarre angles, and pink insulation trickled into the apartment as though the walls themselves were bleeding. His jaw hardened with the realization, immediate and horrifying, that the destruction was the work of a vampire. Hurrying to the window, he leaned out, exploring the night with his preternatural senses. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary until an odd scorched scent came to him on the wind. Instantly, he was airborne, scanning around Natalie's apartment complex. It took him only seconds to discover the remains on the roof three buildings away. A few tattered garments lay under a dusting of snow with a wooden table leg tangled among them. The clothes were neither Vachon's size nor his style, and Nick realized with a sinking feeling of dread that other vampires were engaged in the hunt for the Spaniard after all. Driven by a new, frantic desperation, Nick rushed back to Natalie's apartment. Drawing on both detective's instinct and vampire sensitivity, he began moving carefully from one room to another, noting each detail, trying to determine from the clues what exactly had happened and whether Natalie had been involved. He could almost sense her methodical, organized touch in the hasty, if incomplete, cleanup of the glass and debris from the living room. The most likely conclusion was that she was alive and not seriously harmed; Nick felt the tightness in his chest loosen slightly with the realization. He walked into the kitchen, which was impeccably neat, as was Natalie's tendency. The pilot light on the stove was off, and the microwave, toaster, and breadmaker were unplugged. Sidney's food and water dishes sat in the drying rack by the sink, empty and freshly washed. Clearly, Natalie had no intention of returning this night, or any time soon, for that matter. As he stood there, scowling slightly, a distinctive scent caught his attention, and he spun around, nostrils dilated. Blood. Where was it? More importantly, *whose* was it? He made his way to Natalie's trash compactor and jerked it open, plunging his hand in without regard to the unpleasant nature of its contents. He removed a plastic grocery-store bag that had been folded carefully to conceal whatever was inside. Tearing away the flimsy plastic, he found an empty blood bag, labeled type O-. Upper lip curled over shining fangs, he sniffed at the bag. It was old blood, lifeless, soulless blood, and it yielded no secrets. Nick jammed the bag back into the compactor and slapped it shut. He stood with a hand on the kitchen table, bright eyes darting around the apartment, nerves on edge. Surely Natalie had left *some* clue as to her whereabouts, some hint that would lead him to her! A door ajar in the hallway caught his eye, and he strode toward it. He recognized her washer/dryer closet and pulled the door all the way open. The dryer's timer was stopped with ten minutes to go; apparently she had emptied the dryer before the cycle was finished, likely in a hurry. Nick knelt and opened the dryer's door to scan the interior. He spotted a couple of forgotten items snagged on a paddle far in the back of the drum, and he reached inside to pull them out. The first garment turned out to be a pair of ladies' underwear, plain nylon trimmed with lace. Nick quickly dropped the lingerie back into the dryer, his face twisted with a mix of embarrassment and profound sadness. Almost guiltily, he examined the second item, a gray athletic sock. Nick frowned slightly. When did Natalie ever wear sporting gear? Then realization dawned, and his upper lip curled with animosity. It was a man's sock, the type worn under heavy boots. The sock was Vachon's. Nick was on his feet again in an eyeblink. Like a driven man, he sped through the apartment, opening closet doors and riffling through drawers, heedless of the mess he was making. He entered Natalie's bedroom, noting perfunctorily that the bed was neatly made, and hurried into her bathroom. He jerked open the medicine cabinet to find everything she would have used on a daily basis gone: toothbrush and toothpaste, dental floss, deodorant--all missing. He glanced down at the countertop and saw a disposable razor lying there...and sprinkled around the sink, tiny bits of hair. Black, coarse hair--beard hair. The realization swept through Nick like a cold wave, as akin to nausea as a vampire could experience. "He was hiding *here*," Nick muttered, kicking himself mentally. All the time he'd spent vacillating, trying to decide whether to proceed with the hunt, the Spaniard had been as close as this, close enough to... A clear plastic bag in the wastebasket caught Nick's eye, and he bent to inspect it, only to see wound dressings --bloodied bandages and surgical tape--neatly folded up inside. He grabbed the bag and ripped it apart with such urgency that its contents scattered around the bathroom. Snatching up the closest scrap of cotton dressing, he held it to his nose and sniffed. This time, there was no mistaking. The blood was old and dried, but it was definitely Natalie's. For a moment, he was utterly lost in the scent, overcome with memories of the night at his loft and the taste of this same blood, hot, fresh, and practically bursting with ecstatic sensations. Then the implications of what he held in his hand came to him. He looked up at his own reflection in the mirror, too upset to notice that his eyes were completely hazed over in vampire gold. "I will find you, Javier Vachon," Nick growled under his breath. "You will answer for the harm you've done to her, if I have to hunt you across continents and through centuries." He looked briefly at the bloodied bandage in his hand, then closed his fist, crumpling the fibers into a tiny ball. Glancing back at the mirror, he noted both yellow eyes and descended fangs with dark satisfaction. "You will pay, conquistador. You *will* pay." With a hellish roar, Nick disappeared from the apartment in a wild rush of air. A moment later, Natalie's abandoned home was again as silent as death, with the mangled living-room window yawning open to the dawning sky. (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 Sat Apr 25 13:54:30 1998 Date: Sat, 25 Apr 1998 11:13:06 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 2 (09/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 23, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 9 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 Natalie dropped to a sitting position on the edge of the double bed closest to the window. "This is the rattiest place I've ever been in my life, and I think I can safely include any number of crime scenes in that assessment," she said, shivering with distaste as she glanced around the shabby room. "You didn't look around too carefully when you came down to Screed's place, did you?" replied Vachon lightly from where he lay stretched out on the other bed, feet crossed and arms folded behind his head. "Actually, though, by my standards, this place is luxurious. There's curtains to keep out the sun, running water, electricity..." Natalie cut him off with an exasperated glance, then looked at her watch. "We'd better get started. I want to have you prepped by sunrise. Go take a shower or something while I get set up--it will keep you out of my way." His smile widened, but he nonetheless complied, sitting up and swinging his legs over the side of the bed. "As milady wishes," he said, standing and executing an exaggerated bow before disappearing into the mildewy- smelling bathroom. Natalie waited until she could hear water running before preparing the room and the equipment she would need, methodically double-checking every detail. She tried not to dwell on her memories of Vachon as a red-eyed demon, even though she knew she would soon be face-to-face with that same persona for hours on end; she also tried to stop imagining the potential consequences if her plans to protect herself failed. This escapade, she knew, could easily cost both their lives, especially if the other vampires caught up with them. When Vachon emerged from the bathroom, wearing only jeans and a towel around his shoulders, she was all business, ready to begin; her manner was much the same as when she started a new autopsy. "Forget putting on a shirt," she said, her tone professional and clipped. "Normal procedure is to put a needle in each arm, but I'm also putting one in your subclavian vein to speed up the throughput. I just hope the machine can handle the volume." Vachon shrugged slightly and tossed the towel back into the bathroom. "So, what do you want me to do?" he asked. Natalie looked up and paused for a moment, struck by the bizarre nature of the situation. Standing before her was a being ten times as powerful as she, a being with the capacity to kill her in an instant. He was patiently deferential, waiting for a command from her; yet he reminded her of nothing so much as a caged lion, spectacularly dangerous beneath the placid exterior. And here she was, about to open the cage. She shivered as a cold chill ran up her spine, then set her jaw in determination and pointed toward the bed he had used earlier. "Just lie down and get as comfortable as you can," she said, her voice steady. "I'm using bigger needles on you than I would on an ordinary human being, but I'll try to cause as little pain as possible." "Think I can keep the vampire under control while you're poking holes in me?" he teased, sitting on the bed and swinging his legs around. "You'd better," she said seriously, "or we're both goners." He shot her a wry grin. "You've been starving me for so long, I don't think I could fight my way out of a canvas sack right now." With a sigh, he lay back and turned both his arms vein-side up for Natalie. "That's the first thing I want when this is over with--a proper feeding." He fidgeted to get comfortable, black hair spreading across the cheap white pillowcase like spilled ink. "Vachon," she said, her tone heartfelt, "when this is over, if you're cured, I'll raid the blood bank myself for your first feast." She smiled warmly at him, then reached down to brush the hair from his face in a gentle, almost maternal gesture. "Good luck," she said, finding the words woefully inadequate, but uncertain what else she could say. "Thanks," he replied easily. "And listen. Even if it doesn't work..." His eyes caught hers, warm intensity meeting her worried expression. "Even if it doesn't, thanks for trying. Thanks--for everything." Natalie blushed slightly, feeling more than hearing the words, the vampire sense tingling somewhere deep inside her. "You're welcome," she said softly. "Now lie back and rest, and we'll get started." A few minutes later, she surveyed her handiwork. The needles and tubes were all in place and connected; the machine stood ready. Vachon lay silent, brown eyes following her every move. Taking a deep breath, Natalie switched on the dialysis pump. She noted with satisfaction that the room's lights didn't even dim, meaning that power failure shouldn't be a problem. Bluish-red fluid quickly filled the tubes, and Natalie watched carefully to be sure that the system was removing and returning blood at the proper rates without collapsing any veins. Having confirmed that everything was working as expected, she reached over and unclipped the tube from the catheter under Vachon's collarbone. She directed the tube into a bucket she'd set on the floor, and that container began filling with blood. Vachon gazed at her from beneath slightly lowered lids, starkly pale in contrast with the thick black lashes. "See you on the flip side," he said softly, with a warm smile. Natalie reached down and took his left hand in hers, careful not to dislodge the needles, holding it as it became colder and colder, even by vampire standards. As the level of fluid in the bucket rose, Vachon's eyelids drooped until the lashes formed a motionless half-moon against pasty white cheeks. Finally, Natalie lay the vampire's limp hand gently on the tacky bedspread, noting how painfully white his skin looked against the garish print. Leaning down, she slid another bucket into place beside the first one and transferred the tube. Picking up the full one, she headed for the bathroom to dump it. She set it on the sink long enough to open the lid to the toilet, and when she turned back to lift the bucket, she caught the blood scent. Diverted, she stared into the vessel. Therein, she knew, lay a veritable feast, an encyclopedia of centuries lived, a chance to experience things so far beyond her realm of knowledge as to be unimaginable. She felt the tingling in her gums above her eyeteeth, a sensation that was now familiar but not unpleasant, and she leaned a little closer. The red liquid in the bucket eddied in a slow circle, almost as if possessed with a life of its own. She frowned as she stared at it, waiting for the bloodlust to rise, preparing to let the black fog consume her long enough to fight back with the pure whiteness that was now her ally. She waited for the ache in her stomach, the shimmering in her field of vision like the heat off the roadway in summer, the very awareness of individual blood cells coursing through her own veins. She took a deep breath, and she waited. To her surprise, it didn't happen. The blood in the bucket interested her because of what it represented, but it no longer commanded her, no longer awakened something vicious deep within that beckoned with terrifying intensity. She realized with a joyous rush of relief that by accepting utterly the beast that Nick had given her, she had completely deprived it of its power. A broad smile of victory creased her face and lent a sparkle to her eyes, and she laughed at her reflection. Lifting the bucket off the countertop, she dumped it into the toilet bowl with a flourish, as though she were dumping all her fears with it, and watched it swirl away--forever. *** When Natalie returned to check on Vachon, his appearance actually startled her. He looked rather more like one of the occupants of the morgue's locker than anyone she recognized. He appeared deflated somehow, oddly pale even for his ilk, and he did not stir, even to breathe. The second bucket was nearly full. "Vachon?" she said softly, approaching the bedside. "Javier? Can you hear me?" He remained motionless. Concerned, she pulled back a limp eyelid and shone a penlight into the brown eye. The pupil contracted, albeit sluggishly, and she leaned back with a sigh of relief. "Guess we're about ready, then," she whispered, gently pushing damp curls off his forehead. She shut the dialysis unit off long enough to empty the second bucket and reconnect the tube to the catheter. When the machine again hummed to life, she walked slowly to the window and pulled back the heavy thermal-backed curtain to peer out. Brilliant morning sun shone in her face, and she flinched, momentarily blinded. As her eyes adjusted, she noted that the parking lot was completely deserted, save for the clunky van outside their own room. Satisfied that they weren't being watched, she drew back and secured the drape, and sunlight spilled into the room, forming an elongated rectangle on the floor that didn't quite reach the beds. Natalie walked slowly back to Vachon's side, softly speaking his name. He didn't respond. She knew she'd drained enough blood to kill a mortal twice over; now she would learn whether it was enough to contain a monster. She proceeded to shackle his wrists and ankles, using police-issue cuffs that she had already attached to the metal bed frame. She knew that the restraints wouldn't hold him, were he determined to kill her, but they should buy her enough time to get out the door and into the sunlight. She checked the small garden sprayer she'd brought, filled halfway with garlic juice. Like the cuffs, its purpose wasn't to fight the vampire so much as to win her the few precious seconds that she would need to save her own skin if things got out of control. Finally, feeling uncomfortable with the procedure but knowing she had little choice, she pried open Vachon's mouth and stuffed in a rubber gag, which she taped in place. "I feel like a mad scientist," she muttered, studying the room and her unresponsive patient. "Either that, or an S&M shop. Frankenstein's laboratory, indeed." Satisfied that Vachon was adequately prepared, she removed a soup-size thermos from her box of supplies. She dipped in a swab and withdrew it dripping with warm blood. Smiling uneasily at the prone form on the bed, she said softly, "Now let's see what we can do about giving you your life back." With a swift motion, she swiped the reddened cotton beneath his nose and stepped out of range, leaving a smear on his upper lip. His eyes snapped open instantaneously, glowing as gold as a cat's. He sat partway up with a muffled roar, and Natalie scurried into the spot of sunlight on the floor like a mouse racing for its hole. With trepidation, she watched the tubes she'd taped to his arms and chest to see if they would hold. The vampire rolled glowing eyes in her direction, and she shrank back. A slow, deep growl rumbled in Vachon's throat, causing the hair on the back of Natalie's neck to prickle. He strained at the handcuffs but failed to snap them. With an inhuman shriek, muffled by the gag, he fell back to the bed and began writhing. Natalie watched silently, frowning, biting so hard on her lower lip that she left marks. She could sense Vachon's turmoil in her own head and gut almost as clearly as she could see it taking place, and when he lolled his head toward her and moaned in pain, she felt tears pricking at her own eyes. She hated watching, and she wished desperately to turn away, but she knew from experience that letting her guard down, even for an instant, could easily be the last thing she ever did. Finally, after several minutes of struggling and making hideous sounds, Vachon lay still and silent once again. The insistent throbbing of the dialysis pump was the only sound in the room. Natalie sighed and looked at her watch. "It's going to be one hell of a long day," she whispered to herself. (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 Sat Apr 25 13:54:37 1998 Date: Sat, 25 Apr 1998 11:13:15 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Presumed Dead -- Part 2 (10/15) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Presumed Dead -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 23, 1998 Author: Stephanie S. Babbitt Part 10 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 paced the floor of the loft restlessly, still burning with rage after his visit to Natalie's apartment. Had the sunrise not forced him home, he would already have been hunting down the Spaniard with a vengeance; as it was, he remained, trapped and impotent, behind the metal shutters of his fortress. It didn't help matters one bit that he could sense a turmoil emanating from the link that he now recognized as Natalie's. While there was some comfort in knowing that she was still alive and close enough to be sensed, Nick was nearly mad with frustration at being unable to respond to the signal's weak call and at not knowing what was causing her distress. Each hour of the day seemed to take centuries to pass, yet Nick could no more force himself to sleep the day away than he could go for a stroll in the sun to work off the tension. Instead, he spent most of the daylight hours on the phone or logged in to his computer, often as not with a bottle of cow blood in his hand. The blood consumption would disappoint Natalie, he knew, but he would need its sustenance to sharpen his vampire senses if he was to find the rogue. Despite his concerted efforts, and to his immense frustration, his detective skills proved to be all but useless in finding Natalie and Vachon. He did learn that Natalie's car was still at the morgue; he even managed, after considerable persuasion, to wrangle information about the van she had checked out from Keith at the motor pool. As much as he wanted to, Nick knew that putting out an APB on the van would prompt a number of questions from Reese and the department that he couldn't safely answer. Instead, he pored through kilometer logs on the computer for the vehicles Natalie had checked out previously, to no avail. Each new dead end made the vampire's lust for revenge burn a little hotter in Nick's gut. It was only because of the Spaniard, a vagabond with a cockroach's annoyingly accurate instincts for running and hiding, that Natalie was in such danger. Several times, Nick had to sit back from the computer and deliberately calm himself to prevent the onset of the vampire's golden eyes from disrupting his view of the monitor screen. As the sun finally began its slow descent, Nick sensed a sudden change in the link to Natalie. Though the agitation seemed to be diminishing, a new element of frustration and exhaustion expressed itself so strongly that Nick felt almost weary by association. The corner of his mouth twitched with satisfaction as he realized the implications: Natalie was growing too tired to keep her guard up any longer. From experience, he knew that exhausted prey made mistakes and left a more obvious trail for the hunter to follow. His senses began to tingle with the delicious anticipation of the hunt, and Nick made no effort to battle down the sensations. He sat down on the couch, draining the bottle of blood in his hand before setting it down beside him, then leaned his head back against the smooth black leather, eyes closed. In his mind, he lifted into the cool night air, reaching with all his senses for the link. Which direction to fly? Where was she? Mentally, he traced slow circles around the city. Which way? He turned his senses toward the lake and found nothing. He banked east, scanning the suburbs; still nothing. North proved to be equally sterile. He took a deep breath and held it. What could Natalie see? He probed urgently with his senses toward the west, down the QEW, toward Niagara and the States--and felt a tingle. Just a tiny tingle, but enough to turn his eyes greenish-gold beneath the closed lids. As he savored the feeling, he felt a sudden change in the link that at once brought distress and intense pleasure. He knew that she had opened her mind to the link for just an instant, creating the vampiric equivalent of a closed circuit. In that instant, he knew where to find her. With a heady rush of power, Nick felt the vampire coming fully alive, unfolding throughout his own body to greet the night. He smiled slowly, victoriously, fangs showing and eyes narrowed. "Enjoy this sunset, Javier Vachon; it will be your last," he said, eyeing the darkening sky. *** Natalie stood at the shabby room's window, nervously watching the last light fade from the sky. Vachon had been manageable during the day, but she knew full well that vampires were stronger at night. Too, she was afraid to lose the protection of the bright rays that still defined, more than any other factor, her continued separation from the vampire's existence. She checked her watch. It had been thirty-seven minutes since she had last swabbed Vachon's lip with fresh blood. Soon, it would be time for the--what, fifteenth treatment? She'd lost count; she would have to check her notes, which she was carefully logging in a lab book, even though her handwriting was becoming less clear as weariness set in. Vachon was still reacting to each new dose of the B+ blood, though the episodes were becoming progressively less severe. Though the improvement was encouraging, she knew she was in for a long night nonetheless. Looking back out the window, she felt a vague uneasiness, and she shivered. The first stars appeared overhead in the cold sky even though the sun had not completely vanished. With a deep sigh, she unhooked the drape and let it fall over the window, plunging the room into total darkness. Shuffling, half-blind, across the floor, she crawled over the near bed to stand beside the humming dialysis machine. With fumbling hands, she reached over and switched on the lamp between the beds. At first, she wondered if the lamp were badly wired. Where was that odd tingling coming from? But the feeling persisted after she removed her hand from the switch. No, this was like the odd sensation she felt when she and Vachon were practicing--only different somehow. She wondered if something was wrong with the dialysis machine, and she crouched down to run her fingertips along the line of each tube to make sure none of them was kinked. Everything seemed in order, yet the feeling intensified. She straightened and stared hard at Vachon, becoming slightly angry, her eyebrows drawing together. Was he trying to play with her mind? She'd give him a dose of his own medicine, then. She reached out for Vachon's consciousness to hand over a visual representation of her annoyance. To her surprise, she got nothing--the mental equivalent of a dial tone. The vampire before her was completely unconscious. She turned away from him, frowning harder. She'd felt the tweak of the vampire sense, she was certain--but from what source? Her skin began to crawl, and she rubbed her arms to keep down the goosebumps. She walked over to the door and opened it a crack, peering both ways down the sidewalk. She sensed nothing from the rooms on either the north side or the south. West was behind her, and she could feel no threat from that direction, either. She pushed the door all the way open and stepped out on the sidewalk, resting a hand on the black coroner's van. She was looking east at a row of scraggly, naked maple trees, just beyond which hummed the traffic on the QEW. East, toward home.... She felt it then, hard and certain, clear as if she'd been dialing through static on the radio tuner only to have a station suddenly come in with ear-splitting fidelity. Someone was seeking her, reaching for her. She was being hunted. Hunted! She stepped back through the doorway and slammed the door, her heart pounding furiously. Vampires! How had they followed her and Vachon here? She stared at the prone form on the bed, wishing desperately that he could help her, but Vachon lay pale and still as death, an odd bluish-gray cast to his skin visible even in the yellow light of the bedside lamp. Who could help them? How could they escape? Natalie looked frantically around the room. The bottle of garlic juice seemed pathetic, laughable in the face of what she knew was coming. She'd packed a stake--one!--in her things, but that would hardly suffice. She glanced back at Vachon, remembering with vivid clarity the face of the beast staring at her, mad with Divia's visions, from the back of the coroner's van even as he tore gashes in her arm that still had not healed completely. She'd been lucky to escape with her life that time; only the natives' techniques he'd taught her had saved her. Gradually, as she remembered, her paralyzing fear turned to anger. By God, they wouldn't slaughter her like an animal trapped in a cage. She could fight back, even without Vachon's help. Determined, she flung the door open again and faced the direction of the threat, hoping she could throw her pursuers off the trail. She closed her eyes and visualized herself at the border to the States, as though she were going across. She imagined herself speaking to the customs agent: "No, sir, nothing to declare." She pictured the gates going up and her car moving along. To make the vision more believable, she added the element of fear, a picture of herself glancing nervously over her shoulder to excite and stimulate the beast in those who would capture her. For good measure, she added another statement: "We'll be in Buffalo soon." She solidified that image, purified it, gave it power; then she reached out for the consciousness of the one or ones who were hunting her to give them her vision. What she felt in response made her forget her defensive maneuver entirely in a wave of fresh horror. "Nick," she whispered. The hatred she felt through the link made her soul recoil, and the strength of the vengeful determination she perceived nearly blotted out her vision in a wave of oozing red. Blood. He wanted blood; his entire consciousness cried out for brutal destruction. She thought she'd felt the worst of his violence in the loft when he was pulling her life forcibly from her veins, but the monster she'd seen in those moments paled in comparison to what she felt now. With a cry, she stepped back, clutching her head blindly for a moment until the red seeped away. Still holding her head with one hand, she groped her way back through the door to stare at Vachon. She couldn't let Nick kill him; not now, when they were so close to success! For a moment, she thought of leaving Vachon in the room and speeding away in the van; it was, after all, the link with her that Nick was following. But now Nick might know exactly where Vachon was. Natalie ran over to Vachon's bedside, untaped the gag and yanked it from his mouth, and shook him urgently by the shoulders. "Vachon!" she pleaded. "Wake up, please! Javier!! Can you hear me? You've got to wake up!" Ever so slowly, the black lashes fluttered a little, revealing bloodshot brown eyes through tiny slits. Vachon lifted his head maybe a half inch from the pillow, now stained pinkish-brown with blood sweat, and tried to focus on her face. With a grimace, he closed his eyes and allowed his head to drop back with a thump. His lips moved, but Natalie could hear no sound. "Vachon, talk to me! I need your help! They're after us!" she cried desperately. "How do I block the link? Can I make us invisible? *Please*, Javier, you've got to tell me!" She shook him by the shoulders again. His eyes remained closed, though this time she heard the faintest of whispers. She leaned close to his face, well aware of the danger but too desperate to care. Finally she discerned two words murmured through dry lips: "Head...hurts." She sat back, at once frantic and frustrated, holding her hands against her temples to contain the pounding she could feel there from her pulse. She could strengthen Vachon with blood, but that would make him dangerous--and he might not be able to offer salient advice even then. She stood up and walked back to the open door, looking to the east, and the van caught her attention. As she stared at the ugly black metal, realization dawned. "Of course," she said, growing excited. "A moving target!" She turned back to look at the array of equipment surrounding Vachon, and her heart sank. How would she ever load it all without his help? Still, if they stayed put, it would be all over in less than an hour. Her former exhaustion forgotten, she scrambled into action. She snatched the bedspread and a pillow from the bed that would have been hers and threw them into the van. She rapidly clipped off the tubes leading into Vachon's body and unhooked them, leaving the needles in place. Next, she unlocked the cuffs on his wrists and ankles. Squatting beside the bed, she placed Vachon's left arm around her shoulders and hauled him to a sitting position. He groaned and reached for his head with his free right arm. "Vachon, swing your legs around," she commanded. "Put your feet on the floor." He did so, one leg at a time, his bare feet absurdly white against the red carpet. No sooner were his feet tracking in the same direction than Natalie practically jerked him to a standing position. At first, his knees buckled, and he nearly pulled her to the ground with him, but she managed to stay on her feet. She half-assisted, half-dragged the ailing vampire out the door of the room, then managed to get him to sit down on the floor in the back of the van. As soon as she removed his arm from her shoulder, he fell backward, his head making solid contact with the floor despite the bedspread. Natalie scrambled into the van and grabbed Vachon under the armpits, hauling him bodily the rest of the way inside. She shoved the pillow beneath his head and folded him burrito-like into the rumpled bedspread, then jumped out of the van to gather equipment from the room. It took her less than five minutes to load the boxes of tubes, filters, and other supplies, but those were the easy things. Too soon, she found herself staring at the heavy filtering unit and the generator. Both were on wheels, but she knew she'd never be able to lift them up into the back of the van by herself. For a moment, she contemplated leaving the equipment behind, but she had no idea how long she'd be running from Nick, or if she'd even be able to come back to this place. Frantically, she looked around, and her eye stopped at the bed from which she'd taken the spread. A rough piece of plywood protruded from beneath the cheap mattress, probably to keep the equally cheap box springs from collapsing under the strain that the usual clientele put on them. Natalie shoved the mattress onto the floor and pulled the plywood off, carrying it awkwardly outside. She propped it against the bumper of the van, making a ramp from the sidewalk. She thanked whatever luck was on her side that Vachon had parked the van in the spot immediately in front of the door to the room, or she would have been completely unable to maneuver. She raced back into the room to get the generator first. It was heavy but compact, and she could get good leverage on it. Bending low, she pushed the generator up the ramp like a bulldog and shoved it toward the front of the van, neglecting to lock the wheels in her rush. The filtering unit almost proved to be her undoing. Over a meter tall in its own right, the thing was bulky, unwieldy, and inclined to tip over at the slightest provocation. Twice, she got halfway up the ramp only to have one of her feet slip, causing her to slide all the way back down. Near tears with frustration, she finally backed up all the way into the room and got a running start. The unit rumbled up the ramp, wobbling precariously all the way, and bumped off the end of the plywood with an unsettling crunch. Natalie locked the wheels down, then raced back into the bedroom one last time to retrieve the hand and leg cuffs from the bed frame. These she used to cuff the filtering unit to rails in the wall of the van. She grabbed the plywood and threw it crookedly back onto the bed, leaving the mattress bent in half on the floor. Snatching her lab book off the table, she gave the room one last glance, then slammed the door behind her as she raced to climb into the driver's side of the van. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.