From v4s@FKFANFIC.COM Mon May 25 21:24:47 1998 Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 02:41:39 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Sounds of Silence (1/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Sounds of Silence" "Air" Date: May 20, 1998 Author: Libby Singleton Alpha Readers: Wendy Rigney, Michele Alexander, Beth Washington, John Folden Beta Readers: Marci Cheeseman, Wendy Rigney, Valerie Gilson, Angie Lotto Sandra Gray, Jean Simon Part 1 of 9 The Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season is a project whereby a group of Forever Knight fans are putting together a series of stories continuing from where Last Knight left off. Participation is open to all. For more information, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Comments should be sent to the author or to the FKV4S-L mailing list. This story will be available in its entirety 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 Elizabeth (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- SOUNDS OF SILENCE Although the garage was enclosed and the calendar claimed it was late April, a chill cut through Rachel as she watched Bethany tune the radio. Static distorted sounds of oldies, country, and pop mixed with the steady putting of the 1959 Cadillac's engine. Rachel jammed her hands into her pockets, fidgeting from foot to foot, partially from nervousness, partially in an attempt to get warm. The car was her father's pride and joy. He'd found it, abandoned and rusting away to nothing, during a drive in the country. At first he'd worked on it in the carport, eventually having a special garage built in the backyard. Rachel loved to watch him tinker with the engine as he whistled bits and pieces of tunes from musicals. Now all she could see when she looked at the vehicle was it's color -- black, like the hearse at her uncle's funeral. "I've got it!" Bethany exclaimed, scooting out of the car. <<...So how can you truly believe that Spring is just around the corner when the land is covered with bleak ice and polluted snow....>> Rachel's green eyes met Bethany's blue ones as the latter locked the car door. In seemingly surreal slow motion, Bethany swung the door shut, leaving them on the outside. The radio was loud enough that the Nightcrawler could still clearly be heard. Rachel took Bethany's offered hand, squeezing it tightly. The two sat, embracing, on the concrete against the newly repainted black Caddy. <<...And when the snow is gone and the so-called hope of renewal is upon us, remember that reaching for that tempting bud of a forming rose could cause the unwary to slip...>> "Do you think th...that way we...feel, what we are, is wrong, Beth?" Bethany shrugged. "I don't see how love can be wrong, but that's what everyone says." "I just keep thinking about what Denny said when he saw us -- threatening to tell Mom and Dad, the kids at school...." Rachel's voice trailed off. "It doesn't matter now. Let them talk about us. Let them say whatever they want. We won't know." Rachel pulled Bethany closer, using one finger to turn her head so that they stared deeply into each others eyes. She leaned forward, her lips brushing Bethany's cheek. "Do you think it'll take long? And...and you're sure this won't hurt?" "It shouldn't take too long," Bethany whispered. "From what I've heard, we'll just kinda go to sleep. Then, you know, we won't wake up." She momentarily fell silent. "Oh, Rachel...." "Yeah?" "Happy birthday." <<...for if your life is already a mess, dear listeners, what makes you think a simple change of seasons will correct matters? Will the greening of the grass and the sprouting of your flower garden really bless you with a change of fate?...>> They huddled together quietly, listening to the Nightcrawler. Rachel felt Bethany run her fingers through the curls of her hair. She shifted, trying to get comfortable. Her stomach began to feel queasy; her head began to throb mercilessly. Despite her agony, Rachel said nothing at first, chalking it up to nerves. Then, reaching the breaking point, she felt her eyes tearing from the pain. "Beth, I feel sick...." Bethany didn't respond. Rachel tried to nudge her. The other girl fell forward, limp and unconscious. "Wake up! Bethy, wake up!" She shook Bethany with all the force she could manage, but the effort was in vain. Using the car's door handle to steady herself, Rachel stood. She tried to open the car door, wanting to turn off the engine. Spying the keys inside the car, she vaguely remembered suggesting they lock it to make sure they followed through with their plans. No amount of pounding and kicking in her weakened state could break the window. Although her thoughts were becoming fuzzy and disorientated, the sight of the garage door spurred her into action. Halfway there, she slumped to the floor. Managing to crawl the rest of the way, she tried to open the door. "Oh, my God! Help me! Unlock the door!" Sobbing and choking, she slid down becoming a lump on the floor. "Help us...please...." <<...Does the chirping of the sweet little birds truly cheer you up, or do you simply yearn for the continuation of winter's silence?>> *** <<...Who has time to stop and smell the flowers when the entire family, or office for that matter, is at each other's throat after months of indoor isolation?>> "What a way to spend an evening," Adam murmured. "Yeah," Nick agreed. He glanced out the open garage door where six people stood -- two mothers, two fathers, bundled against the cold and all in shock. Denny, Rachel Belle's red-haired twin brother, stood slightly apart, aloof and stiff. Still pinned to his jacket was a large button reading, "It's my 16th birthday." Nick could tell the boy fought to keep his emotions in check, but his trembling chin betrayed him. The sixth person he recognized from other crime scenes was reporter Juanita Wallis, who had turned out to be a neighbor of the Belles. She appeared as upset as the others, yet jotted notes down on her pad whenever something caught her attention. <<...The little ones are no better behaved than their elders, not yet having the experience to understand the short passage of time that ends one season and begins another...>> Adam sighed, quite audibly. "I guess I should go talk to the family a bit more. Get it over with." As Adam approached the family, Nick turned to glance at Natalie. She knelt over the body of Bethany Spivey. The girl, dressed totally in black, had a very Goth look about her, especially when compared to the wool skirt and frilly blouse which Rachel Belle wore. Nick could smell the girl's blood, but the odor was corrupted and foul. It had flowed from her nose and mouth, pooling slightly around her lifeless form. Natalie looked up when she noticed her audience. Although she didn't smile, she seemed almost relieved by his intrusion into her work. Yet as soon as their eyes met, Natalie turned her attention back to the body. The unsureness of what to say or how to react caused a knot to form in Nick's stomach. Although there'd been an understanding formed about her having helped Vachon, Nick couldn't help feeling nervous. Should he act as if none of the events of the past year happened, or proceed with caution leaving her to make the further moves towards reconciliation? <<...Remember as you watch the grass green and the trees bud with leaves, that in a few months, all the new growth will fade as winter comes once again....>> "Definitely carbon monoxide poisoning," Natalie finally said. "The paleness of the skin, the bruising around the mouth, bleeding from all orifices; all very typical." "It smells awful." "Probably because blood cells prefer carbon monoxide to oxygen. That's how it kills. It isn't a pleasant way to die; nausea and severe headache. That's why you find a bottle of aspirin or other painkiller nearby in so many cases." Accepting Nick's offered hand, Natalie stood. "My preliminary guess is that we have a double suicide on our hands." Nick shook his head. "Doesn't look that way to me. The Belle girl was found against the door. It looks like she'd been trying to get out. I'd suspect a murder/suicide, only the garage door was locked from the *outside*. We're looking for evidence to see if the girls were forced in here." <<...The gloom, the doom; the broken limbs and black outs; the cold and inconvenience. Rest assured, it will all come again....>> "Can I help do something? Move Rachel somewhere not so cold?" Nick turned to find a tall, muscular man standing behind him. From the tone of his voice and the man's loose, fidgety stance, he could tell there was something different, perhaps slow, about him. The man's eyes were puffy and red from crying, yet he wore a slight but friendly grin. Nick smiled. "No, thanks, the police need to do that." "My name's Craig Applegate. I work for Mr. and Mrs. Belle. I do all sorts of things for them. Handy work, Mrs. Belle calls it." "Well, right now there's nothing you can do for us," Natalie said. "Why don't you go back to the Belles? I'm sure they need you to comfort them and be strong right now. Plus, maybe Detective Sakai may have some questions for you in a little while." "Oh, okay! I can answer questions. Bye!" After Craig left, Natalie raised both eyebrows. "Poor guy. I'm not sure he really knows what's going on. He was directing the police cars when I got here, showing everyone where to park. Didn't he find the body?" "My understanding is that he heard the radio coming from behind the locked door, and went to get the Belles." <<...After all, is it not said that there is a season for all things under the sun? A time to be born, a time to die... A truly vicious cycle, wouldn't you say?>> "Shut up!" Denny shouted, storming into the garage followed by his father. Before anyone had a chance to react, the boy grabbed a tire iron from a shelf and headed for the passenger side of the Cadillac. Natalie quickly ducked beside the car as Nick leapt onto the hood. He didn't dare use vampiric speed with so many witnesses, so his dive for the man's arm came too late. The sound of the Nightcrawler ended as Nick slid off the car and to the ground, the sound of breaking glass obscuring all else. As soon as it was mortally safe, he raised his head to find Mr. Nathan Belle tightly gripping his son by the arm. "It's *that* creep's fault!" Denny announced. "I told Rachel he was no good. I kept telling her not to listen to him! All he does is depress people by making good things sound bad!" Nathan wrapped his arms around Denny, hushing him quietly. A thin stream of blood dripped from a small cut on the teen's face. "I understand you're upset," Nick said soothingly. "But placing the blame this early..." "Have you ever listened to the Nightcrawler, cop?" "Denny!" Nathan scolded. "It's okay," Nick assured them. "I've listened to him on occasion." "Then you know what he's like! Saying really...dark sounding stuff," Nathan said. Tears were beginning to pool around his lower eyelids. He sniffed. "It's like he's luring people to him, *making* them listen. It's not right!" >>>----------> "Would you care to explain?" he asked, gesturing toward the notepad Nick had torn from his hand a moment earlier. "Explain what?" Nick replied. Turning around, he flipped the tablet closed, tossing it on his desk. The shutters were partially opened, and he could see mortals loitering around the saloon across the dry, dusty street. Normally, he found the establishment to be too brutal and loud for his tastes. Now he wished he could be in the midst of the crowd, singing bawdy songs and playing poker. Although it'd only been a few years since he'd last mingled solely with mortals during the Civil War, he missed their constant companionship terribly. Of course, his current company always wore thin quickly, he thought. A firm hand clamped down on his shoulder, spinning him back to face his master. LaCroix's forehead and nose wrinkled in fury. Never a good sign. "I'm in *no* mood for your games." "I...I'm not trying to...." "I allowed you to use this room in *my* home, even helped equip this as a newspaper office for your amusement believing your latest folly might bring a little culture to this hell hole." Finding himself unable to meet LaCroix's eyes, Nick focused instead on the first issue, framed and mounted on the wall. "You said I was doing a commendable job!" "Printing fiction and news from back East is one thing, purposely riling the townspeople to riot is quite another. Do you really intend to print an editorial condemning the recent lynchings?" Mustering his nerve, he shifted his gaze to meet his master face to face. "A group of men has taken the law into their own hands, LaCroix! Even here there's an established system of justice and a sheriff! Innocent men could very well die at the hands of the vigilantes." "And why should you care if a mortal dies, innocent or not?" LaCroix growled. "There's plenty more arriving daily. At least enough to suit our needs. I forbid you to publish the editorial." "You can forbid me nothing," Nicholas spat. "I can, as you know all too well, and I will. Those are my final words on the subject." When Nicholas opened his mouth to protest, LaCroix raised a finger in warning. He took the tablet from the desk, ripped the entire pad in two, then tossed it into the fireplace. The blaze brightened as the paper burned. "Now, the matter is closed," LaCroix said calmly. "Change into presentable clothing. There is a visiting singer Janette wishes to see at this town's excuse for an opera house and you will join us." As soon as LaCroix left the room, Nicholas grabbed the box containing his type and flung it to the floor. Tiny blocks with raised letters scattered throughout the room. The temptation to simply leave was becoming increasingly unbearable. However, the time did not feel right. This part of the land remained sparsely populated despite the rush western to the alleged utopia of California and the surrounding territories. At least Janette still offered some amount of pleasant companionship. Sighing, Nick made his way to the stairwell leading to his upper floor bedroom. Perhaps a night of musical entertainment would give him time to re-compose the editorial in his head. <----------<<< "We've got to do something, Dad!" Denny's shrill, sob wracked voice snapped Nick back to the reality of the present. "We've got to get the Nightcrawler off the air!" Denny demaded. "You may feel differently in a few days." Nick mentally cringed at the thought of a mortal going head to head with LaCroix. "You're in shock." "No!" Denny snapped, glaring directly at the detective. His eyes were full of tears and fury. "I won't. If they didn't kill themselves because of some stupid thing he said, then he's made somebody else do it! We've get to get the Nightcrawler kicked off the air!" Drawing in a deep, if unneeded breath, Nick exchanged a glance with Natalie. Her expression warned him he'd best do something. He agreed, but wondered what. (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 Mon May 25 21:24:53 1998 Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 02:41:51 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Sounds of Silence (2/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Sounds of Silence" "Air" Date: May 20, 1998 Author: Libby Singleton Part 2 of 9 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1998 Elizabeth (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- SOUNDS OF SILENCE "Did you see anyone outside the garage?" Adam asked. Craig shifted nervously in his interrogation room seat, seeming to focus on anything but the questions. Adam's patience was beginning to wear thin. Unfortunately, the more his frustration level increased, the more upset and distracted Craig seemed. Adding to the problem was Adam's own inability to keep his mind on the interview. Visions of the Belle's living room filled with 'Happy Birthday' balloons kept drifting into his thoughts. He'd noticed a pile of gifts with Rachel's name on the tags. "Craig, are you listening? Did you see anyone anywhere near the garage?" "No," he murmured, immediately becoming interested in a stain on the floor. Adam started chewing on his tongue. He almost envied Nick and his assignment of middle-of-the-night checks on a list of the victim's acquaintances. At least when the potential suspects' parents calmed down, his partner was likely to be offered coffee, maybe a snack from leftovers. All that food wasted on Mister Forever Dieting Nick Knight. Rubbing his forehead, Adam forced his mind back to the questioning. "Okay. Good enough for now," he muttered to himself. "What did you find when you passed the garage?" he added more loudly. Sniffing back tears, the handyman turned his head toward the wall. "Why are there numbers painted there? Denny and Rachel had numbers on their walls a long time ago, when they were little. Now they are sixteen...." "That's great, Craig, but I need to know what you saw around the garage." "Rachel's dead. I saw her dead in the garage," he said softly, as if revealing his deepest, darkest secret. Adam bit his tongue, drumming his fingers on the table. Mentally, he cursed Nick. "Okay, what did you see *before* you saw Rachel dead? What did you see outside the garage before Mr. Belle opened the door?" "Oh," Craig said. "You mean like I saw the door was locked?" He leaned forward, eyes wide and eager to please. Yet he continuously rubbed his trembling hands together. "Exactly! And why did you go get Mr. Belle?" "Because I could hear the radio. That Nightcrawler guy who's always sounding mean to people. That's what Denny says. Denny and I, we're friends." Craig started to rock rhythmically. A single tear spilled from his eyes, tracing a path down to his upper lip. "Rachel shouldn't listen to the Nightcrawler. He's a bad man." "Good, good...." Adam nodded, then added quickly, "About the radio, not about the Nightcrawler being bad. Now, why did the radio being on give you reason to go get Mr. Belle?" "Because you can run the car battery down if the radio is on. I didn't know Rachel and Bethy was in there. I didn't! I didn't! I didn't!" Craig stood suddenly, knocking his chair over backwards. The crash echoed through the room as Adam signaled the uniforms to stay back. He moved to Craig's side. "Shhh, it's okay," he said soothingly, rubbing Craig's back. "I don't have anything else to ask you right now. You're going to be okay." Wiping his nose with the back of his hand, Craig nodded. "But I can help. I want to help." "I know you do, and you have," Adam assured him. "This is simply all I have to ask you right now. We'll call the Belles to come get you.... Or would you rather someone take you home in a police car? Would you like that?" Craig nodded, sniffling loudly. "Yeah." Adam helped Craig put his coat on, then gladly escorted him from the room. The hallway was decorated with Easter eggs and bunnies. Craig stopped and pointed to the wall, giggling. Even Adam had to smile. A forgotten paper snowflake from Christmas was tucked between two bunnies in bonnets. Craig reached out, gently touching it before quickly pulling his hand away. "Rachel likes the snow, but Denny says he's ready for Spring." Patting the taller man's shoulder, Adam sighed. "Me, too." *** "My diagnosis stands, Nick, carbon monoxide poisoning, pure and simple." Natalie pulled off her gloves, placing them in the nearly full biohazard disposal unit attached to the wall. "Naturally, I'll have to wait for some tests, but I didn't see any obvious signs of drug or alcohol abuse. As for whether or not it was murder, your guess is as good as mine." Exhausted, she slumped down in the chair at her desk, staring across the room where Nick was leaning against the refrigerator. Forehead wrinkled in concentration, he thumbed through the diary found in Bethany's coat pocket. Or perhaps Nick was simply trying to avoid her. His appearance at the morgue rather surprised her considering his reaction to their recent disagreement over Vachon. Nick knew Natalie could have easily called her preliminary findings in to the precinct and had the diary sent by messenger. However, his visit, so far, seemed to be nothing but business. "The clearest fingerprints on the car's door handles were Bethany's," Nat continued. "Naturally, she could have been trying to unlock the door, realizing they were in danger.... Nick, am I talking to myself here or are you listening?" "I'm listening." He didn't look up from the diary. "Okay...." she muttered. Maybe a direct question would lure him into a conversation. "Weren't you going to interview a list of people the other victim's brother recommended?" "Yeah. All were home with their families. I guess it's too cold even for the most rebellious teenager to sneak out the window." A sly, almost shy smile formed on Nick's face. "Sneak out the window? You said that as if you've had experience." He shrugged. "Some traditions are age old." "Did LaCroix ever catch you?" "When I was *mortal*, Nat!" Nick said, followed by a slight smile. "Sorry. I guess I've been spending too much time around Vachon and picked up some of his wit," she said. "What about Bethany's diary? Anything there?" "Not really," Nick muttered, glaring at her. "Although she did seem to have an obsession with some anti-law-and- order heavy metal and rap groups. A couple of phrases here and there indicate she was becoming sexually aware. There's also mention of her playing some sort of live action vampire game." "All things a lot of teens do without such drastic results, while others who are 'into' none of those hobbies end up in trouble." "Yeah, but there's way too many young people getting themselves killed -- if not by others, then by their own hands." Nick approached Natalie, slamming the slender book down on her desk. "I can't understand why when they have so much life ahead, whether it's by suicide or murder." Picking up the diary, Natalie ran her hands over the smooth, brightly colored journal. A chill cut as she remembered another suicide, that of her friend Laura Haynes. "The same goes for anyone, not just the young, not just the mortal. What you...I mean your kind wanted to do to Vachon was murder in *my* eyes." "Was it?" Nick remained silent while her words sank in. Nat felt as if she could know ahead of time how much time would pass before he leaned against the wall, staring down at his shoes. "Anyway, is that why you're here? The possibility this was a double suicide?" He looked at her, communicating his uneasiness nonverbally before speaking. "This is different. Two young girls.... I've had nearly 800 years, Nat. They didn't have two decades." "Life often isn't fair Nick, especially to mortals, although it seems you guys have your moments." "I know. But there's more. Denny Belle is blaming the Nightcrawler. Perhaps there's a connection...." "Don't be ridiculous," Nat interjected. "Sure, he's hardly the most uplifting choice to waste a few hours with, but anyone who'd kill themselves because of something he said over the radio already had problems. We both know suicidal individuals will twist anyone's words to justify their actions. There's certainly worse hobbies LaCroix could be doing. You, of all people, should know that." Nick's stance loosened, but his expression remained uncertain. "You're right." He looked toward the door. "I really need to get back to the station. Adam should be finished questioning the family by now." "Let me know if he's found out anything. I'm going to *try* to head out early so don't hesitate to call me at home." "Aren't you going somewhere with Westwood after work?" Nick asked. Natalie stared at him in disbelief wondering where that question had come from. Nick stared back, unblinking. "He happens to be in Vancouver at some conference. We're friends, not joined at the hip." "What about Vachon's treatments?" "I don't have to check on him *every* night, Nick. He is a big boy who follows his doctor's orders." "Oh," Nick replied softly, looking away in embarrassment. "I'll be sure to let you know if Adam's found anything." Nick blinked a few times. "While...while I'm calling you at home, why don't you be thinking about something we could do next Saturday night. That is, if you're off and don't have other plans." "It's nice of you to ask me, but we've been buried with the dead here and with everything else, I'm really looking forward to spending a quiet evening alone. You know, catch up on a few chores, read a book, pretend vampires don't exist. I'll take a rain check." His eyes drifted to the floor. "Yeah. I understand." He left without saying good-bye. *** "I'm a material girl..." Adam sang softly to himself. Snatching another cookie from the heaping plate placed strategically between his desk and Nick's, he dunked the cat shaped snack head first into his latte. "Living in a material world..." "Change the station, okay?" Nick begged. "Loosen up! You won't eat one of Kelly's cookies -- and they're her special sugar cookies -- now you want to switch the station from classic rock to the Nightcrawler?" "This is *not* classic rock!" Nick snapped, leaning forward. "The Greatful Dead, now *they're* classic rock." "Your age is showing." Adam bit the soggy head off the cat. Nick blinked a couple of times. "Why do you say that?" "Let's just say you sometimes act like Mozart is contemporary!" Studying the remains of his cookie, Adam finally sat it down on his napkin. "Maybe a dozen is enough for one night." "Maybe." Nick began playing with the radio dial. <<...Are your spring flowers sprouting, or do you stare in anguish at frozen, barren ground?>> Adam forcefully pushed Nick's hand away, then turned off the radio. "Sorry, I'm not in the mood for that crap tonight." "Don't blame you," Nick mumbled, handing him a report. "Your signature will close out the Murphy and Camier case." "Man, that's one I won't get out of my head soon. For- hire assassins in a lovers' spat? Too bad that Mac guy got caught in the crossfire," Adam muttered, drumming his fingers on the desk. "You know, something else I can't seem to shake is the Nightcrawler's monologue from last night. Those two girls dead, and he's prattling on in the background. Would you believe I dreamed the Nightcrawler was the Easter Bunny?" Nick blinked. "The Easter Bunny?" "Yeah, would've been funny except he hopped up to that garage door and locked it. First real nightmare I've had in months." Sipping his latte, Adam grimaced. "It's getting kinda cold," he explained. "Anyway, I keep thinking Craig might know more than he realizes. Too bad I can't seem to get through to him." Breaking off one of the cat cookie's icing covered paws, he popped it in his mouth. "I'll be one happy puppy when Saturday gets here. I haven't had a Saturday off in a while." "Got big plans?" Nick asked. "Nah, the soon-to-be old lady's on call. I think I'll just spend my birthday with a cold one and some videos." "Saturday's your birthday? I don't remember you mentioning it before." "It really isn't that big a deal for me." Adam leaned back in his chair, hands behind his head. "And Kelly's got to work. Oh, well. Won't hurt me to wait a night for my birthday dinner." "Why not have a party?" Adam looked up at the ceiling. "I'm a little old to be throwing birthday parties for myself." "What if..." Over his partner's shoulder, Nick spotted Reese walking towards them. A few flakes of melting snow were visible on the shoulder of the Captain's heavy coat as he stomped across the office. He looked frazzled and tired. "Would you believe it's snowing -- in *April*? Damn El Nino! I'd sure as hell like to arrest Jack Frost," Reese grumbled. "Could either of you give me a jumpstart? Damn battery's dead in the van." "I'll do it," Adam offered, slipping into his coat. "I need some fresh air anyway." He immediately followed Reese. "Sure," Nick called after him. Reaching across his desk, he ran his finger through the icing on Adam's cookie remains. He brought the finger up to his mouth, wanting to taste it. Finally, he snatched a napkin, wiping off the gooey mess in frustration. He started to grab the phone, then stopped, hand dangling over the receiver. He rubbed his fingers together. Nat had hardly seemed receptive to him in her office. Still, this wasn't a favor for him, exactly, but one for Adam. Finally, in a swift motion so that he wouldn't change his mind, he brought the receiver to his ear and dialed. "Nat? It's me. Yeah, I know you're busy but Adam's birthday is next Saturday and I wanted to do something special. Maybe a surprise party next Saturday since he's off too." "That's sweet," Nat admitted, though there was a dubious tone to her voice. "But are you sure he'd appreciate it? I don't remember him mentioning his birthday before. Some of us are rather sensitive about the passage of years." Glancing around him to make sure no one was easesdropping, Nick cupped his hand over the receiver and his mouth. "He'll love it, Nat," he whispered. "I'm going to plan everything as my gift. I just wanted to see if you could make it." "Oh, well, I've gone this long without a quiet night to myself, so missing another won't kill me. Especially for such a fantastic reason," Nat said. "I really am swamped, but I'm sure I can squeeze out the time to help you make the arrangements." "I want to do this myself," Nick explained. "I'll keep your offer in mind in case I need a kickstart. Twentieth Century birthday parties are hardly my specialties. I know I'll need a guest list, and entertainment. Maybe I could get a band, one that plays classic rock or..." Nick glanced up to find Adam towards the men's room. "Adam's back. Gotta go." He quickly hung up the phone. After making sure Adam was still gone, Nick grabbed the phone book. Maybe he could go ahead and book the band. Of course, his loft was too small for dancing, not to mention the poor acoustics. He'd have to rent the proper facilities. "Rentals," he muttered to himself as he thumbed through the advertisements. "Did you say something?" Adam asked. Startled, Nick involuntarily jumped, but managed to quickly close the phone book. "Oh, just talking to myself. It's been a long night." (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 Mon May 25 21:25:02 1998 Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 02:41:58 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@LISTS.PSU.EDU Subject: V4S: Sounds of Silence (3/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Sounds of Silence" "Air" Date: May 20, 1998 Author: Libby Singleton Part 3 of 9 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1998 Elizabeth (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- SOUNDS OF SILENCE Nick hesitated at the morgue's door. Natalie sat at her desk, head bowed low over a stack of paperwork. Despite the unruliness of her hair and her laboratory clothing, she really was beautiful. Perhaps, he considered, it'd be best to leave her to her work. A glance at the notebook in his right hand convinced him otherwise. She had offered to help and Adam's party planning was going nowhere quickly. Besides, he reasoned, all he needed was some quick advice. "Are you here early, or staying late?" Nick asked, stepping into the room. He hoped he sounded more at ease than he felt. Natalie looked up. There were bags under her bloodshot eyes and she didn't smile. "To tell you the truth, even I've lost track." Clearing a stack of manila folders from a chair next to her desk, she nodded toward it. "Business or pleasure?" "Huh?" "Your visit." "Oh, a little of both," Nick said, sitting down. He held out a catalog of decorated birthday cakes. "Ran into a snag with the cakes. I don't really understand what is appropriate. Most of these cakes look like they're for children. And I can't even start to guess what some of these flavors are: Death by Chocolate, Blue Banana, Simply Vanilla..." "In my opinion, you can never go wrong when chocolate is a main ingredient." Nat randomly opened the catalog. Nick noticed it fell open to a page containing bat-shaped offerings meant for Halloween parties. She glanced up from the page, staring at Nick. "What?" "Nothing." Quickly flipping the pages, she fell on a less amusing soccer game scenario. "I'm thinking of grilled chicken as the main dish...." "Chicken? I really think you'd be better off sticking with refreshments than a full meal. Cake, ice cream, some munchies like peanuts and chips." "Oh," Nick mumbled disappointedly. He removed a notebook from his jacket pocket and scribbled 'peanuts, chips.' This project was becoming more complex than he'd first imagined. "Definitely gourmet coffee...." Before Natalie could suggest sodas and punch might be more in order, Grace entered the room. "You'll *never* believe what I just saw on that television they've put in the break room. One of the families of those girls who died after being locked in the garage, well, they're claiming it was a suicide attempt caused by obsession with that Nightcrawler guy on CERK! Nick, don't you know him?" "Sort of," Nick murmured, trying to act as relaxed as possible despite the sudden tightening of his muscles. "What are they saying?" "That the Nightcrawler is trying to lure people into some sort of bizarre cult!" Grace exclaimed. "They're even planning to start a campaign to get him off the air; 'Kickoff the Nightcrawler' or something like that. The father was going on about picketing the station." Nick's notepad slipped from his hands, falling to the floor. "Are you all right?" Grace asked. "You look awfully pale." "He's fine," Natalie said quickly. "Just tired, like me." *** Juanita Wallis, reporter for the Toronto Weekly News tabloid, rang the Belles' doorbell, juggling the casserole in the crook of one arm. Part of her wanted to stay away, let the family mourn; the reporter instinct, however, overwhelmed any hesitancy. It'd been months since she'd been featured on the front page, and this was her chance. The deadline for the next issue was only days away, so she'd have to work fast. Denny answered the door. His eyes were red, his face puffy. Only his apathetic gaze acknowledged her presence. "I brought a casserole," Juanita said. "You're probably overrun with food right now, but this will freeze well." She thrust the dish toward Denny. He shrugged, then took the dish. Behind the boy, Juanita saw his father step out of the living room. "Ah! I thought I heard your voice, Juanita! You're just the person we wanted to see," Nathan said in a tone almost too cheerful for the circumstances. "Don't just stand there, son, invite her in." When Denny merely shrugged again, Nathan brushed past him. "You'll have to excuse him. As you can imagine, he's in a bit of shock." He turned to his son. "Take it to the kitchen. Go ahead, please, son." As Denny obeyed, Nathan led Juanita into the living room. A computer generated banner reading "Happy 16th Birthday Denny and Rachel" still hung on one wall. Otherwise the room appeared professionally decorated, although it still felt homey. Juanita nodded at Mary Belle, then chose a comfortable looking overstuffed chair beside an inviting fire. "If there's anything I can do, please let me know," Juanita said. "There is something," Mary confirmed expectantly. "Oh?" Nathan sat down beside his wife on the sofa, taking her hand in his. "Our girl is gone. There's nothing we can do about that now. However, as you saw, our Denny is extremely upset. He's quite sure his sister committed suicide because of the Nightcrawler." "Really?" Juanita asked, tilting her head to the side slightly. "I thought I overheard one of the detectives say the garage door had been locked on the outside -- as if someone had locked them in there, trapping them inside." "I...I don't really know what to think any more...." Nathan stood abruptly, opening a cabinet to reveal a well- stocked bar. He looked at Juanita questioningly. "Just a cola please." "Denny gave me notebooks he found in the attic while doing a little spying on his sister a while back," Nathan continued as he prepared the drinks. "They were full of Nightcrawler monologues; some in Bethany's handwriting, a few in Rachel's. Wouldn't bother me so much but they appeared to be obsessed with finding the true meaning behind the man's words. Have you ever listened to him? I don't mean having his program in the background as you drive about, but really, truly listened?" He handed her the glass. "Not really." She took a sip of her drink, than sat the glass down on the end table next to her chair. The drink was diet. She hated diet sodas. "Neither had we until last night," Mary admitted. "Such dark words, as if there's a deceitful undercurrent to them. It...it's almost like he's not talking to his audience, but luring them into his grasp, maybe even hypnotizing them." "Don't get us wrong," Nathan interjected. "We're all for freedom of speech. It's the most precious thing we've got, but it has to be used responsibly." "Being a member of the press, I certainly agree, but where do I come in?" "I've done some homework on this Nightcrawler. Asked around the social circles, if you know what I mean," he explained. "His real name is Lucien LaCroix, but that's about all I could discover with my meager investigative skills. The man seems to be a member of no civic organizations, no churches...In fact, there's no indication he contributes anything worthwhile to this community." "So you want me to do some research on the Nightcrawler?" "In part," Mary said. "What we want you to do," Nathan broke in, "is to help us get this monstrosity off the air! I called CERK's management this morning, and they brushed me off. They don't seem to care that one of their personalities is driving our young to...to..." He choked, then swallowed. Mary stood and began rubbing his shoulders. "We thought you could help us with a story explaining what we're doing and why," Mary explained. "It won't bring our daughter back, but it will give Denny something to focus on; make him feel his sister's death was not in vain." "What about the other girl's parents?" "The Spiveys have a large family. Five surviving children," Nathan said. "They're suffering terribly. The younger kids are crushed and need extra attention. We have their support. They'll do what they can, but really can't spare the resources. Mary and I, well, for us money is no problem. We're already planning protests and advertising, not only in the media, including your paper, but with flyers and posters." "What we hope you'll do is give us a little publicity," Mary said. "A story explaining what we're doing and why." Inwardly, Juanita smiled. A few advertisements directly connected with something she wrote would almost guarantee front page placement of her story; journalistic code against such practices or not. Integrity was not in the Toronto Weekly News' employee handbook. Outwardly, she strove to remain serious and professional. "You do realize all I can do is write the truth about the situation? But I don't think that'll be any problem. Do you have time for me to interview you now? Take a few notes and perhaps talk to Denny and even Craig?" "Of course," Nathan said. "Do you have your notebook with you?" *** "Sure you don't want to look at my pictures, Denny?" Craig asked. "There's some of your sister." "Sssshhhh! Shut up, dummy, I'm trying to hear what they're saying!" Denny snapped. He sat on the floor of Craig's bedroom, which was located on the opposite side of the kitchen from the living room. He hugged his legs, his chin resting on his knees. If he pressed his ear to the bedroom door, and the conversation became loud enough, he'd be able to hear. As it stood at the moment, the words were nothing but a quiet buzz. "Guess they're talking about Rachel and Bethy," Craig remarked. "Oh, look, here's one of Rachel and you when..." "Would you stop! Rachel's dead! Can't you get that through your head?" Denny stood, spinning to face Craig. "I know that, Denny.I didn't mean to make you upset Don't...Don't worry, they'll catch the person who did it!" "Yeah." Denny whispered. "And that person will go to jail!" Denny covered his face with his hands. "The police *will* catch the killer." Denny raised his head, then his hand. "Shut up!" Craig flinched backwards. Denny froze, his arm still in the air. With horror, he realized what he was about to do. >From what his mother once told him, Craig's life prior to meeting her had been one of ridicule, abandonment, and abuse. Instead of striking Craig's face, Denny brought his hand down into the pile of photographs in the man's lap. The pictures, loose and unframed, flew through the air, drifting to the floor like falling leaves. "What do you know about anything?" Denny asked through clinched teeth. He bit his bottom lip, trying to keep the tears from coming. "Stay here and leave me alone. At least for now. Okay?" "Okay," Craig replied softly, cautiously, his voice unsteady. With as composed an expression as Denny could manage, he left the room, walked through the kitchen and past the living room door toward his own room. "Denny, are you okay?" his mother asked. "Let him be for now," he heard his dad say before he shut his bedroom door, locking it behind him. Falling face first onto the bed, Denny dug his pillow out from underneath the cover. Burying his face it in, he began to sob. "Rachel..." *** As soon as Nick stepped into the loft, he kicked his shoes off and trod across the floor in stockinged feet. When he tossed his coat across a dining room chair, he noticed the table was not as he left it. There was a pot of shamrocks, a bowl of brightly decorated eggs, a paper hat reading 'Happy New Year,' and in the center a miniature Christmas tree encircled with blinking white lights. Beneath the tree was a gift decorated with the items from "The Twelve Days of Christmas." Attached to the top of the gift was a small, pastel blue card with "Happy Birthday" printed on it. Nick started to pick up the card, then opted to open the gift first. Memories of last Christmas drifted into his mind: he'd received numerous mystery gifts from a mysterious giver. Taking the paper off carefully, more to delay the inevitable than to keep it intact, he studied the white box. There were no markings to indicate a store. Finally, he slipped the box's top off. The necklace was beautiful. He ran his fingers along the gold chain, watching the tiny gold medallions sway, hitting against one another. Each of the medallions was carved in a unique, intricate design. He remembered seeing one very similar to it on a Balkan Gypsy. She'd been dark, beautiful and mysterious. Yet their parting had been painful; she'd sent him away in anger, shouting that she never wanted to see him again. Forcing away the unpleasant memory, he sat the gift on the table and picked up the card. "Happy holidays -- all the holidays that we've been unable to share, and they've been many. I haven't forgotten you, Father," Nick read silently. "Is there something we need to discuss?" LaCroix asked jovially from behind him. "Your decorating indicates no small amount of confusion over which holiday is next on the calendar." Caught unawares, Nick spun, slipping the card into his front trouser pocket. In a way, it was a good sign his master had been able to sneak in without Nick sensing him. Yet at the same time, it was unnerving. Snatching the necklace from the table, Nick held it out on his palm. "By chance, is this from you?" "No, although the workmanship is worthy of one of my gifts, is it not?" LaCroix replied, staring at the necklace. For a moment, he seemed distant, hesitant, then looked directly into Nick's eyes. "A return of your secret gift giver, perhaps." "Maybe." Nick pulled a chair away from the table and sat down. "It's strange I should get gifts now, without a holiday any time soon." "It's strange that you received the gifts in the first place," LaCroix pointed out. "And you still have no inkling as to whom this person is?" "No," Nick murmured. He sat quietly, waiting for his master to reveal the nature of his visit. LaCroix merely began studying the items on the table, giving no hint as to an explanation. Deciding he could stand the silence no more, he spoke. "I'm almost glad you dropped by. I wanted to talk to you." LaCroix looked up from fingering a shamrock, both eyebrows raised. "Indeed?" "Two teenage girls died last night. Could be a suicide. They...they were listening to the Nightcrawler at the time they died." "Really? A shame, as it admittedly was not one of my better efforts." LaCroix leaned against the edge of the table. "That's not what I'm talking about!" Nick snapped, then caught his tone. LaCroix would love to start an argument -- as usual -- and Nick was not in the mood. "This could get rather nasty. Apparently, the father has money, and important friends. He might make trouble." "And a mortal's 'trouble' is supposed to concern me? Honestly, Nicholas. That is almost laughable." Nick stood, facing his master eye-to-eye. "Broadcast licenses can be revoked, LaCroix. And even a campaign to get you off the air could draw attention to you. The Enforcers...." LaCroix raised a hand to silence him. "The Enforcers do not frown on this sort of pastime as long as we don't overstay our welcome. There are certainly those of our kind with more public exposure than the Nightcrawler. I do believe you are only happy when you have something inconsequential to worry about. Now, the dawn nears, isn't it time for all good little boys to be in bed?" "Yes, but I seem to have a visitor at the moment." Reaching out with one hand, LaCroix used a single finger to slightly lift one of the Christmas tree's tiny bulbs. "So you do." Bringing his thumb down, he squeezed until the bulb shattered. The entire tree went dark. "So you do." (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 Mon May 25 21:25:13 1998 Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 02:42:17 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Sounds of Silence (4/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Sounds of Silence" "Air" Date: May 20, 1998 Author: Libby Singleton Part 4 of 9 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1998 Elizabeth (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- SOUNDS OF SILENCE Vachon sensed the vampire hovering above him. At the moment he really didn't care if the presence turned out to be friend or foe. He remained sitting on the cold, sloshy, snow covered ground, taking another swig of doctor-ordered O positive blood from the bottle. "Natalie said you'd moved into Screed's place. When you weren't there, I thought you might be here," Nick said. Although he sounded confidently friendly, Vachon heard a hint of distrust. Large brown eyes met blue ones. The breeze off the lake would have felt bitterly cold to a mortal. To Vachon, it felt refreshing as it seemed to blow away his bitterness at the detective. "Yeah. Don't know if I can stay there after all. I keep expecting Screed to pop in and chew me out for crashing his abode, for being a couch warmer." Vachon stood, tilting the bottle upside down. The remaining drops fell to the ground. "Thought I'd visit him a while in his new place." Vachon reached down, rubbing a handful of mud and snow between his fingers. "Never have gotten used to losing mortal friends, but Screed...Urs...somehow they're worse. You expect them to live forever. There's another of my crew, my former crew, out there somewhere. Maybe. I'm almost afraid to look for him, for Bourbon, you know?" "Afraid? Why?" Vachon laughed, shaking his head at Nick's naivete. "Don't you get it, Knight? The rules have changed. There's a disease that can kill us. It killed Screed, didn't it?" He slammed the bottle to the grave hard enough to cause the glass to shatter. Nick jumped back a few steps. "Then a child, a little girl, ripped Urs to shreds. Nat thinks Divia's possession of me could have been caused by some sort of bacteria. Isn't it just supposed to be the sun, flame, decapitation, and wooden stakes? What else is out there?" "You're afraid Bourbon's dead too." Vachon nodded, then shook his head, chuckling. "Screed and Bourbon didn't exactly part on good terms. The ol' droog wouldn't like me standing on his grave 'choakin' n' moanin' about Bourbon's fate. I know you didn't much care for Screed either." "That's not true." Smiling, Vachon met Nick's eyes again. Reaching out, he lighting brushed the detective's arm with his hand. "Hey, it's okay. Screed was carouche. In the end though, you tried to help. Tha's wot counts, ay?" The last sentence was spoken in a imitation of Screed's thick accent, at least as close as Vachon could come. "I've got something for you," Nick said. He retrieved a small frame from his coat's inside packet. Curious, Vachon took the frame. It contained a picture of Screed. Amazed, he stared at the familiar bald-headed vampire who grinned at the camera mischievously. "Where'd you get this?" "Don't really know. I've apparently got a secret friend of some sort," Nick explained. "A...Christmas present that was left at my loft along with some other stuff. I...I didn't think you'd have anything of his left." Vachon silently studied the picture. His thoughts drifted to adventures shared with his friend. Good times, bad times. Didn't really matter -- in a way he'd enjoyed them all. "I've got to run or I'll be late to work," Nick said, before taking to the sky. "Thanks, Knight," Vachon replied, not really caring if he was heard. *** The activity around the radio station attracted LaCroix's attention while still airborne. Landing in an alley a few blocks away, he continued toward the building on foot. There were a number of mortals, perhaps a dozen, blocking the front entrance. About half carried signs while all seemed to be chanting, "Kickoff the Nightcrawler." Amused, but hardly enthralled, he proceeded to simply walk through the line when his path was blocked by a picket sign welding woman. "You, sir, are you the Nightcrawler?" "Among other things." He stepped to the side. So did she. "Your nightly sermons are warping the minds of Toronto's young! This can not be allowed. We are demanding your resignation from this station." "Then you are sure to be disappointed." He stared deeply into the protestor's eyes. "Now, you will allow me to pass." "I will allow you to pass." A glance in the direction of the rest of the picketers encouraged them to keep their distance. As he stepped through the line, another woman, this one carrying a notebook and pen instead of a sign, approached. "Juanita Wallis, Toronto Weekly News. I need to ask you a few questions." "You do?" The woman was dark-haired with blue eyes. Although not nearly as petite, the way she held her head reminded him of Janette. He stopped, turning toward her. "Is it true you are using your program for personal gain?" "Are you using your position for personal gain, my dear? Gain such as housing and food?" Juanita smiled quite charmingly, blushing. "Are you aware that the deaths of two teenagers are being blamed on your show?" "I have been blamed for many things through the years, my dear. Now if you'll excuse me, I do have a show to do." He brushed passed her and into the building, locking the door behind him. She began banging on the safety glass. "Mr.La-Cruks! Please, I only want to get the truth!" LaCroix entered the sound booth without bothering to look back. "Such games these mortals play," he muttered to himself. *** The light snow gave the night a magical feeling that seemed to lift Nick's spirit despite the girls' deaths and the deepening, worrisome mystery of his gift giver. Not wanting to return to the darkness of his earlier depression, Nick didn't dare switch on CERK. Instead, he drove to work serenaded by the sounds of the city; traffic, shouts, and general hubbub, focusing his mind on the task of steering the Caddy. He found it a refreshing change of pace. Pulling into the parking lot, he spied a small figure bundled in a woman's ski jacket, scarf and knitted red hat. She seemed to hesitate as he stepped out of the Caddy, so he walked toward her, smiling. "Can I help you?" "My...my friend Rachel, she died and I wanted to talk to the policeman who's doing the investigation." Nick extended his hand. "I'm Nick Knight, one of the detectives assigned to the case." A green mittened hand weakly gripped his hand. "Let's go inside. I'm sure we can find some hot chocolate for you." "No!" she said emphatically. "This...this has to be off the record. If my parents found out, well, I'd be in big trouble. See, I know everyone thinks it's a suicide, but I don't think so." "Why?" The girl looked at the top of her snow-covered boots, shaking her head slowly. "This cousin of mine, he's gay. I heard my Mom say she'd kill me if...if I turned out...that way. Rachel and Bethany, they were starting to think maybe they were in love, you know, with each other." She raised her head, tears streaming down her face. "I told her she needed to tell her parents, or at least the school counselor. She was scared though, scared of going to hell and what her parents would do. Maybe she took my advice and told them. That'd make all this my fault if...if her parents...." The girl broke down into heart-wrenching tears. Nick pulled her close. "Maybe you should talk to someone about this, go to *your* parents. Your mother was probably just using a figure of speech." "Oh, you don't understand how my parents, and Rachel's parents, are! I mean, they are blaming this Nightcrawler guy for stuff he says on the radio. They won't listen to anybody and I know they wouldn't believe me. They're already picketing the station." She paused, swallowing. "It's tearing the neighborhood apart. The Spivey kids are so upset they won't even come outside to play. I don't like all the fighting, and I heard that they might do even worse stuff, like try to disable the station from broadcasting. Maybe a bomb or something." "Your parents or the Belles?" She shook her head. "Neither, some other folks.That's why there's so much fighting. Some are saying that Mr.Belle isn't being tough enough." >>>----------> Crawling around on the floor was hardly the most dignified of positions, but it made the task of finding all the type much easier. In fact, Nicholas would not have minded it in the least except for LaCroix looming over him. "Such a mess! See what trouble your temper and unwillingness to yield to reason has brought upon you?" LaCroix said jovially. "Down on your hands and knees like a common scrub woman." "Here, Nicolas, I'll help," Janette said defiantly. She knelt on the floor, the hoop of her skirt bunching her skirt's material around her knees. LaCroix reacted with a raised eyebrow and amused smirk. "You'll only encourage him. As for you, Nicholas, I trust you will abide by my order and replace your editorial with a less...reactionary topic." With a nod of his head to Janette, he left the room, heading into the back of his house. "You are replacing the editorial, aren't you, Nicolas?" "I haven't decided. Taking the law into..." A knock at the door interrupted Nick's intended speech. "I'll get it," he muttered, using his desk to pull himself to his feet. "Probably someone dropping off their article." As soon as he opened the door, a scruffy looking man Nick recognized as Bill Frasier frantically entered. "Please," he said, grasping Nick by the shoulder, "you've got to stop them!" "Stop who?" "The vigilantes, they've got a rope around Fresco Frank and are leading him out of town! They're about to string him up!" "How quaint," Janette said. "Sorry, ma'am, didn't see you." Bill snatched the hat off his head, wild eyes focusing back on Nick. "They're saying Fresco made off with a hog...." He gripped the rim of his hat so hard in trembling hands his knuckles were white. Nick could hear his blood rushing too swiftly through his veins. Beads of clear, salty sweat trailed down the mortal's forehead. "I know for a fact he's innocent." "How?" Nick asked. "You know my family's not doing so good this year. I...I had to feed 'em somehow, but I can't let an innocent man hang for what I've done. Please, the sheriff'll kill me on the spot. If you're there, well, I hear tell you're good at talking sense into folks. If I kin only go before a fair judge, give myself a chance to explain, I'll turn myself in." "Let me get my horse. Wait for me outside." Nick turned to Janette as the mortal left, slamming the door behind him. "I'll be back before dawn. Don't worry." "Worry? I'm coming along, Nicolas." She grinned. "This could prove most entertaining and rewarding." "Janette! No! I'm going to save a life, not take one.... Please." "Oh, whatever has gotten into you. You used to be so much more...fun." She traced a finger down his cheek, then ran it across his lips before kissing him. "I'll distract LaCroix while you go about your play, but you *will* owe me when you return." Nick smiled, placing his lips once again against hers as they embraced. "I look forward to the repayment." <----------<<< "So some of your neighbors are saying they might plant a bomb?" Nick asked. "Are you sure?" The girl shrugged. "I think that's just talk, you know. Heard it from some kids. But things are getting bad, and it's all so stupid. Like people saying heavy metal songs have backward masking. I don't think it's true somebody would kill 'cause of some jerk on the radio. I'm worried someone did something horrible and if they did... You know." "I know," Nick said gently. "I can promise you we're looking into every possible avenue to find out what really happened. There shouldn't be a problem in me keeping this conversation off the record, but you should at least tell me how to contact you in case I have any more questions." "My name's Tara Miller," she mumbled, followed by her phone number. "That's my private line. Mom and Dad don't ever answer it. "Thanks," he said sincerely. Unbuttoning his coat, he reached into the inner pocket to retrieve a business card. "Be sure to call me if you hear anything about what happened to Rachel and Bethany, or if you hear any more talk about blowing up CERK." "I will. Thank you, sir." "Thank you, Tara. Can I give you a ride home?" "No, that's okay. I can walk. I'm not supposed to get into cars with boys." Nick thought, waving to Tara as she headed toward the sidewalk. The very thought made him feel unexplainably young despite the graveness of their conversation. Seeing Adam's car enter the parking lot, he bent down and gathered a handful of snow, forming it into a ball. The snow was extremely slushy, but packed together beautifully. He hid the snowball behind his back, then leaned against the Caddy as he waited for his target. (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 Mon May 25 21:25:24 1998 Date: Wed, 20 May 1998 02:42:27 -0400 From: Virtual Fourth Season To: FKFIC-L@lists.psu.edu Subject: V4S: Sounds of Silence (5/9) Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #14 Episode Title: "Sounds of Silence" "Air" Date: May 20, 1998 Author: Libby Singleton Part 5 of 9 This story is based on characters and situations created by James Parriott and Barney Cohen and owned by Sony/TriStar. No infringement is intended. Copyright 1998 Elizabeth (Libby) Singleton -------------------------- SOUNDS OF SILENCE Reese didn't like this at all, basing an accusation on some off-the-record kid in a parking lot. Yet every lead needed to be followed, and all-in-all, he knew Nick had done the right thing. Trying to convince the Belles of that, however, would be out of the question. "I demand to know *who* would dare say we murdered our own daughter!" Nathan demanded, on the verge of breaking down. "We aren't saying anyone did, Mr.Belle," Nick said. "I simply want to know if Rachel had recently divulged any shocking news to either of you." "She announced she didn't want to go to college," Mary offered. "No doubt Bethany's influence. Don't get me wrong, we've been friends with the Spiveys for years. It's just that their daughter was a little wild. But Rachel didn't argue when I explained how important higher education is." "Mary, dear, we really shouldn't be talking to these men until we get a lawyer if we're suspects...." "You're not being accused of anything at this point," Reese said. He paused, rubbing his forehead to give him time to think. "We all know how important it is to cover every base, and that's what we're doing. You've been more than helpful by cooperating with the investigation, something I hope you will continue until we discover the truth." Reese's and Nathan's eyes locked, man to man, father to father. The Captain had learned early in his career that sometimes wordless exchanges could gather more information than a verbal exchange ever could. Nathan raised his hands to the table, clasping them together in front of him. "Then stop beating around the bush and let me know exactly what you're asking." Reese nodded slightly at Nick. The detective looked mildly surprised but jumped in with no hesitation. "Had your daughter recently discussed her sexual orientation, specifically homosexuality, with you?" "What?" Mary cried out, raising slightly from her chair. Eyes squeezed shut, Nathan still managed to find and touch his wife's arm, lowering her back down. "My daughter was *not* gay. Wh...who is saying that?" "Let's just call it a rumor," Nick said softly. "We've already spoken with Mrs. Spivey, and she believes it is possible." "It is *not*!" "Nathan," Mary whispered hoarsely, "I heard on the news that many...gay teens kill themselves. It would explain a lot of things. She never talked about having boyfriends, never...swooned over hot young stars." "Mary!" "Please!" Mary snapped, "Does it make any difference, especially now, Nathan? It's just horrible a young person would think something like...like...this is the end of the world, that everyone hates them for it. She was my daughter, our daughter, and I cannot hate her." Nathan glared at his wife in silence, then squeezed her shoulder. "It's hard for me to admit, but you're right," Nathan said, his tone nearly matching his wife's. "I may not agree with the sin...." "Sin?!?" Mary said, jerking from her husband's touch. "How can you say that?" "Now is not the time, dear," Nathan said evenly. "I really don't think you should be forced to listen to this." He took Mary's arm, starting to lead her from the room. Again, Mary pulled free, turning to Reese. "Please, Captain, if this turns out to be true, let us know. I'd hate to think we've failed as parents to the point our own daughter felt she couldn't come to us and be accepted with love no matter what. Her brother *must* know that no matter what he is or does, he is still part of the family." *** <> Pushing her wheeled chair away from the computer, Juanita rolled across the room, slamming her palm down on the tape player's off switch. She only had three days until her deadline. "Damnation!" she shouted, the word echoing through her house. The cassettes of the previous night's Nightcrawler program had not provided the inspiration she needed. Picking up the phone, she hit the speed-dial button. She hated paying a college student for research assistance. It wasn't the money, it was just that it was something she preferred to do herself. However, the looming deadline gave her little leeway for personal ethics. "Ted, it's Juanita. What have you got for me.... I already *know* his name's Lucien LaCroix.... The Raven's been closed for months.... He was never even named as a suspect in that case.... Damn, I don't need a story about how he saved a girl's life! I need dirt, Ted! The sort of thing that'll give this Kickoff the Nightcrawler campaign validity! ... That's *old* news; every paper in this province has the facts, I want a new angle.... Never mind, I'll simply do it myself." Juanita slammed the phone down. The kid had no clue, no understanding of what investigative reporting meant. *** "Why do you keep walking up and down the hallway all the time, Denny?" Craig asked, leaning against the wall. "Go away." Craig ran his bare foot over the top of the tan shag carpet, studying the resulting designs. "I don't think you really want me to." "Yes, I do!" Denny barked. "You need to talk about Rachel, you know. It's good to talk. It always makes me feel better." Stopping in his tracks, Denny spun around to face Craig. His face was all read and wrinkled in anger, but Craig didn't flinch. "Nothing is going to make me feel better! *Nothing*! Rachel's dead, damn it!" "You'll feel better when they catch the person who locked the door and put them in jail." Denny blinked a few times, the anger fading to despair. "Yeah, but what if it was an accident? What if...the murderer didn't mean to kill them? What if he thought it was just going to be a stupid joke? Would he go to jail *then*? Should he?" Craig straightened up, shrugging. "Gosh, I dunno...." "I know you don't know! How *could* you know anything? You'll just never understand." Denny stomped down the hall, slamming his bedroom door behind him with such force the walls vibrated. Rubbing the back of his right hand across his mouth, Craig trying his best to understand. Jokes were supposed to be funny, but he knew they weren't always. People sometimes played what they said were jokes on him, yet they seemed mean. He remembered one time when he'd fallen asleep on the sofa with his tennis shoes on. Denny had snuck in and tied his laces together. When Craig got up, he'd fallen and had to go to the doctor's for x-rays on his arm. Denny had kept yelling it was a joke, but he still got a spanking from his Dad.... The memory of Denny insisting it was "just a joke" flashed again through Craig's mind. Then he realized he did, indeed, understand. Now the question was, should he tell on Denny? *** "The Party Park?" Nat blew a puff of air upwards to try to move a stray lock of hair falling in front of her eyes. She never looked up at Nick, concentrating instead on the autopsy at hand, or beneath her hands in this case. "I've never heard of it." "Some new place. Just opened a few weeks ago," Nick said. "Plenty of space. They'll have staff on hand as late as we want. They specialize in birthdays, said they could even provide refreshments." He shrugged and sat down on the edge of her desk. Picking up a mechanical pencil, he started clicking it, staring at the lead. "Besides it was the only place not already booked. Saturday is a busy night." "Would you please stop clicking that pencil?" "Huh?" Natalie resisted the urge to yank it from him with her blood covered hands. "The one you are holding.... Sorry, it's getting on my nerves. As for the party, sure you don't want my help? I'd really kind of enjoy helping." "I know, but it's my...present...to Adam." "Why'd you do that?" Nat asked. "Do what?" "Hesitate over the word 'present.' You said it funny, like it bothered you." "Why would the word bother me?" Shrugging, Nat said, "I dunno. You seem to be doing a bang up job with the party so far," Nat said. "Thanks." Nick smiled. "There is one thing...I'm trying to decide on games to plan. Would charades be appropriate?" "Now you may be going a little overboard, Nick. Charades doesn't require any set up, if it happens, it happens. People might just be in a mood to mingle and enjoy a drink or two. You can handle it." "You sure?" Nick asked. "I don't want to screw anything up. This is something I *really* want to do for Adam. There's so many details to take care of for this size a crowd...." Natalie looked up. "Wait a minute, how many people have you invited?" Nick looked at the ceiling. "Everyone in the precinct who's off plus their families. Grace and some of the others from here. Some friends of..." "I thought this was supposed to be a simple party. Why don't you rent some movies and have Adam over to your place?" "But I've already invited everyone!" Nick protested."I've...I've even hired a model to carry the birthday cake in!" "It was just a suggestion," Nat pointed out. "Wait a minute, a model?" "Sure. I know it's sometimes done at parties, and thought it'd be fun for Adam." Natalie raised her eyebrows. "Might be, unless....You didn't hire a *nude* model, did you?" "No!" Nick denied forcefully, the shock of the accusation showing cleary on his face. "She'll be dressed as a birthday candle." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.