Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:20:58 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (1 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers: The following is an unauthorized derivative work of fiction, based on the characters and premise of the television show "Forever Knight". "Forever Knight" is created by James D. Parriott and Barney Cohen, and owned by Sony-Tristar. Warnings: The events in the following story take place during the events of "Last Knight". A timeline is provided following the last part of the story (Part 7 of 6). If you're looking for Nick or Nat, they're off acting on a different set. Contact: Please send all comments, flames, etc. to bfbell@dorsai.org. Brenda ---------- The Best Revenge by Brenda Faith Bell Copyright 1997 I. It was quiet, except for the small beeps and gurgles of the usual respirators and monitors - which was to say, it was hardly quiet at all. For one who could hear a heartbeat a block away, it was deafeningly loud. He persisted, guided by the sound of a heartbeat and the feel of a soul that he best knew through the link with his son. "Ah, Nicholas," he smiled as he stepped past the nurse's station guarding Intensive Care. Slowly, deliberately, he felt for the bed in which she was lying, in which she needed his care... He felt another heartbeat - a human heartbeat. *His* heartbeat. *He* would not be fooled by disguises, nor coerced into "forgetting". Just as *he* had not forgotten that little matter at the Raven. Which, when it came down to it, was why it was Time To Move On. All that was left was... revenge. And, Fortuna, *this* revenge had fallen so sweetly into his hands - revenge that was not really a revenge, when it came down to it - it was doing the "Old Man" a favor... Lacroix smiled. "Revenge," Janette had said, "is the best revenge." He swept his tongue across his upper canines in anticipation... It had started innocently enough with the disappearance of the Commissioner's daughter from just outside the Raven. Never mind that it happened while she was undercover. Never mind that she found - and almost single-handedly apprehended - the serial killer. Never mind that the entire 96th Precinct tore itself apart looking for her. It was enough that, for thirty-six hours, Daddy couldn't contact His Little Girl. It was enough to send every investigator in town into the Raven, looking for something - anything - with which to shut it down. Of course they couldn't - Janette and Don Constantine had seen to that. The right words, whispered in the right ears, at the right time, and with the appropriate lubrication, insured that the Raven's permits - and indeed, its actual condition - was in fine, safe, and legal working order. It was then that the "war" began... Lacroix cocked an eyebrow, remembering. War. A war of wits, it was, this time... and the vampire had had nearly two millennia in which to hone his... The week after Metro had finally cleared the Raven, Lacroix was back defending it - this time, on charges of promoting lewd behavior and prostitution. Trumped-up charges, to be sure - but in the wake of the "Ellen Simmons" debacle, even Constantine urged the Master to pay the fine and to ignore the injustice: if anything, the charges would draw more clients, both Mortal and Immortal... Which it had, much to the Commissioner's chagrin... but neither he nor Lacroix could let matters rest. When the Nightcrawler discussed poetic justice, the Commissioner had the Better Business Bureau investigate the Raven's business practices. When Lacroix ridiculed those obsessed with dieting, Vetter had the Health Department inspect the Raven's kitchen - an ordeal that tested even Lacroix's considerable hypnotic powers. And so it went - right up to the night the 96th Precinct's star detective was shot in the head. Sensing his son's trauma through the blood link, Lacroix flew directly to the hospital, taking the higher altitudes as much to avoid obstacles of navigation as to avoid detection. He landed right by the emergency entrance, walked through the door, inquired where he might find Nicholas, and was abruptly stopped by five uniformed policemen - and Commissioner Vetter. "And just where do you think *you're* going?" Vetter asked. "I was notified Detective Knight was injured. Being his next-of-kin, I came as quickly as possible." "You? Knight's next-of-kin? Who do you think you're trying to fool?" "I assure you, Commissioner, that I am not trying to fool anyone." Lacroix indicated the cellphone hanging from Vetter's belt. "Take that *toy* and verify it with Department records, if you wish. Meanwhile, it is essential that Nick be attended to only by his *personal* physician, who is en route even as we speak." He turned around to see the young Coroner flash her ID and make her way into the patient area, carrying a medical bag. Before Vetter could respond, the vampire slid into the doctor's slipstream and disappeared. Lacroix barely noticed the elder Vetter's heartbeat speed slightly as he rose from the chair in his daughter's room. When he appeared at the door, he clearly looked twenty years older than Lacroix had ever seen him look. "So frail, these mortals are", the vampire thought, ducking into the nearest alcove, behind the broken man, and into the dying woman's room. A swift glance at the chart and the monitors confirmed what he already knew: the Commissioner's daughter would not survive the night. He would not be surprised if her father were being bombarded with DNRs and organ donation forms even now. There was no time for elaborate planning; he would have to act immediately. He reached out with his mind, felt the young detective's strong presence, her will to live, and asked it a question. As the answer reassured him, Lacroix reassured *her*, and firmly clasped her hand in token of a promise he would soon deliver. He then reached out, both *with* her and with his vampiric senses, and found *him*. Letting go Tracy's hand, he took on the persona of the Nightcrawler, and projected into his mind: "How *is* your daughter," Commissioner? he taunted. "*Would* you want her to live, trapped in her own mind, surrounded by kilograms of flesh that will never respond to her command, while she wastes away for years, using up your life's savings - her vegetative state eating at you, gnawing at your gut, until either you, or she, finally succumbs? Would you rather she die young, needlessly, because you could not protect her from *everything*, and leave you bereft of family, fighting yourself daily as you think of what might have been were she *not* a police officer, The Top Cop's Little Girl, the aspiring young detective who only wanted to step outside your immense shadow? Or would you rather consider another alternative - *any* alternative - that would keep your beloved daughter alive and in control of herself? How much is your daughter's life worth to you, Commissioner? To what lengths would you go to save her? Think about it, Commissioner... but don't think too long. Which do *you* prefer for your child?" Lacroix released the mental links and replaced the barriers, leaving the troubled man to his troubled thoughts. Lacroix didn't need an answer to know Vetter's reaction. He would return soon enough. Now, it was time to go to work. Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:21:14 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (2 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers and warnings in Part 1. II. The chain of events was sudden - too sudden - when it happened. The transferee - the shot - Nick - the eyes, the fangs, that, since Vachon's self-immolation, she'd never expected to see again. And here they were, on her partner. No wonder he was "allergic" to sunlight - no wonder she'd never seen him eat anything... she could've kicked herself for not figuring it out sooner, but she felt nauseous, gooey, and wet, and her mind was starting to go fuzzy. "You could have trusted me, Nick," her mind screamed, not quite sure if her thoughts made it to her lips or not. Her partner - her *vampire* partner - attacked the fugitive, rendered him harmless, and returned as her legs buckled under her. She was scared, and she hurt like hell. "You could... have... trusted me," she stammered before collapsing in his arms. For some unknown reason, she felt safe there... The last thing she remembered was wondering if Natalie knew about Nick - and if she didn't, should she tell her? Then a vague sense of rolling motions, needles, and mumbled voices. Nick's presence skittered briefly along the edges of her mind, before it was yanked away into the darkness. She had no sense of time as she was pulled away, pulled apart... The next few minutes? hours? days? were a blank abyss she didn't think she would ever recover... Even now, she felt totally disconnected from the world, floating somewhere... Flashing lights, bright lights, the sensation of traveling through time and space... something telling her *give in to it, let it happen*... the lights of the night city rushing by her, the feeling of flying... the strong foreboding that if she were to relax her mind just a bit, she would never return. She so wanted to return. No, she *needed* to return. She needed to let Nick know that it was not his fault... needed to convince her father that Nick had done everything he could to protect her... needed to protect innocents from the likes of Dawkins, even at the risk of her own life. Which was - though how she sensed it, she couldn't tell - slowly slipping away... "If only..." she thought. "If only I could be like Nick... like Vachon... Able to capture the bad guys without getting killed in the process... Able to live for the moment, able to save the world, to..." Somewhere, from someplace out of the blue, she felt it. Felt *him*. A presence like Vachon's, but stronger than Nick's, pulling her, pulling at her. She felt the strength of his cool hand on hers, willing her to respond - no, *compelling* her to respond. "Don't give in to it," she thought, fighting. *His* hand shot back a surge of encouragement, a ray of hope... a focus. She focused what strength remained on the imperious presence that cut through the dark vacuum enveloping her mind. "Father?" she questioned. But her father had been there, and left, hadn't he? He'd left her alone... left her alone to die... Alone. Left her to *him*. Whoever, whatever *he* was, he was strong, almost godlike. She traced his question back out her hand and onto his. Then it hit her: *he* was one of *them*. A vampire, far older than any she had ever known... and he was offering *her* the very thing she'd wanted. *Life.* Tracy measured a sigh of relief, and thought *him* the answer. In an eye's blink, she felt comforted, renewed, and safe. Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:21:29 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (3 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers and warnings in Part 1. ------ III. It was just past eleven when the phone rang, knocking him out of the beginnings of a sound sleep. He yawned, rolled over, and lifted the receiver, prepared to bawl out the subordinate who dared to disturb him at this hour. "This better be good, or I'll have your badge!" he bellowed into the mouthpiece. "Commissioner, this is Joe Reese, and this is *not* a social call. It's your daughter, sir." Blunt, and to the point. Good. The captain wasn't afraid to state his case. "What happened?" he responded. "We had a transferee go wild on us. She took a couple of bullets trying to stop him. We've sent a uniform over to bring you to the hospital." The Commissioner fished yesterday's pants from the back of the chair, putting them on as he cradled the receiver between his neck and his shoulder. "I'll be ready as soon as it arrives. Meet you there." He replaced the receiver with one hand while zipping his fly with the other. He pulled a fresh shirt from the closet, a pair of socks from the dresser, donning them as he started towards the door. He arrived there just as the patrol car pulled up. The ride to the hospital was quiet; the young patrolman didn't know anything more than what Reese had already told Vetter, and appeared to be uneasy at the prospect of making small talk with the chair of the Police Commission. The car pulled up to the emergency entrance, depositing the Commissioner into guards and policemen trying to control a rush of reporters. From the back of the crowd, Reese stepped forward to escort the boss to an office where the patient advocate and the attending physician waited to brief him on his daughter's condition. The doctor hemmed and hawed a bit, unused to saying the words his job now demanded. "Give it to me straight, Doctor," Vetter offered. "There's nothing more we can do." There, he said it. Vetter sagged in his chair. "According to the paramedic's report," the doctor continued, "she took two bullets to the abdomen, and hit her head against the cinder block wall in the men's locker room. There was extensive blood loss; she arrived onsite too much in shock to operate. According to our X-rays, the bullets lodged in her spine; there's also evidence of substantial brain trauma. In short - even if we could remove the bullets and treat the brain injury, she'd probably remain in a vegetative state most of the rest of her life." "It's your decision, Commissioner Vetter," the patient advocate added. "If you wish, our staff can try to treat your daughter. Or, you can release her. We'll make her as comfortable as we can, either way." Vetter grabbed onto the arms of his chair for support. His daughter, his one and only child, was dying. Whether by blood loss and trauma, or by being paralyzed - or worse - for the rest of her natural life. Either way, her life on the police force was over. Of that, her father was certain. He steeled himself for what would happen next. "May I see my daughter first?" he demanded. "Of course, Commissioner. She's in room 5304." Nothing could have prepared him for what he saw. Not years of visiting other policemen in the same situation, not watching his brother slowly die of heart failure, not burying his father, dead of a gunshot wound at thirty-seven. His blonde baby lie still on a bed, covered by an oxygen mask, surrounded by monitors, and worried with intravenous tubes. Her head was swathed in bandages, her abdomen distended by the sterile packing used to arrest the external bleeding. Her eyes were sunken and bruised, and bore no sign of independent life that he could determine. He collapsed in a chair by her side and cried. He was still crying when the patient advocate found him, a half hour later. "Sir," she said, handing him a box of tissues. "I'm sorry, but we haven't been able to locate your daughter's mother, and time is running out. We need to know what you wish us to do for Tracy." Vetter looked back on his daughter's face. Even as he watched, she seemed to grow paler and more withdrawn. "I can't let her go," he murmured. "I can't let my baby go. "I wish there were another choice," he said, composing himself. "I wish there were something I could do to take it all back. To make her live again, really live. I owe her at least that much." The patient advocate patted the father's shaking hand. "I know, sir," she said. "We all do." She glanced at his tear-reddened face. "If you'd like, I'll keep watch while you wash up." "Thank you," he smiled weakly. "I think I will," he said, rising from his chair. Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:21:44 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (4 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers and warnings in Part 1. ------ IV. If anything, the nightmare escalated. Still feeling his tears beneath the cold water wash, Vetter felt something like a cold vise grip around his heart as he entered his daughter's room. Gone was the helpful patient advocate; instead, *he* was there, holding his daughter's hand as if they were old friends. Vetter exploded. "What are *you* doing here?!" he demanded. He moved to remove the intruder's hand from his dying daughter. "And what do you think you're doing to Tracy?!" he yelled. "Nurse! Security!" The white-haired man lifted the girl's hand to his lips, kissing it gently before replacing it on the bed. Then he put his finger to his lips, a sign for quiet. "Do you wish to wake the dead - or the dying?" he asked. "Or do you wish, perhaps, to join them? "'Tis no matter, Commissioner Vetter - they will not hear you. The simple truth is, there is nobody around - except you and me. And of course, your daughter - but in what state, and for how long?" The vise tightened around Vetter's heart. "What do you want, Lacroix?" he asked. "Your freedom? That I drop the investigation? I cannot do that; the matter is out of my hands." Which indeed, it was. The disappearance of the homeless from Toronto's streets was no great burden in itself. That the homeless *individuals* dropped off the census, never to appear again, was another matter entirely. When recent construction in York turned up a dozen of their half-decayed bodies, missing almost all their blood, suspicions of foul play began mounting. When the most recent raid on the Raven exposed several wine glasses caked with dried human blood, it didn't take much genius to put two and two together... Vetter was forced to call in the Crown. "I did not come here to beg for mercy, Commissioner." Lacroix's tone was calm and even for one who would soon be investigated by every federal regulatory and investigatory agency in Canada. "I came to offer to your daughter what small hope I can." Vetter was puzzled. "Hope?" he asked. Lacroix flickered an eyebrow. "Hope," he confirmed. "Your child is, no doubt, as precious to you as mine are to me. More precious than the sun, the moon, and the stars... more precious than life itself. Is that not so, Commissioner?" The man nodded weakly. "What would you be willing to give for the chance that she could be whole again?" Vetter sat up on edge, suspicious. "You're up to something, Lacroix. I can sense it. What scheme do you think you can fly past me this time? And why are you dragging Tracy into it?" "My dear Commissioner!" Lacroix replied acidly, as if stung. "How terribly you underestimate my ability to forgive. I came here with hands open, to possibly offer you back your daughter's life, and here you go accusing me of setting up a scam?!" Then the tavern owner looked into police chief's eyes with that cold, eerie, calculating stare that Vetter hated so much. The room grew still, so still he could hear his heart beat beneath the cold, hard vise. He heard the icy whisper, not sure if it came from within or without. "One of my old friends, Commissioner... a very old friend... has been doing some... highly experimental work in these types of cases, and has generally met with positive results. I cannot promise you anything, but it would be... uncivilized... for me to do less than to offer this to you." "And what is the price you ask, Lacroix?" "The price? When we are talking about the life of our children, Commissioner... there is no price... no bill that can be invoiced, nor price paid, for the most precious gift we can give them. But you are right: there is a cost involved, one you might not be willing to pay." "She is *dying*, Lacroix," Vetter screened between clenched teeth. "What is the cost?" "You must release her completely. To all the world, you must give her up for dead. For indeed, although she may live, in order for her to do so, she must be as dead to you." "Let me get this: your price for saving her... is my abandoning her?" "Not abandoning her, Commissioner. Giving her every consideration you can, at the single point in time when you can make the most difference in her life." "How will I know if this... *treatment*... has worked? And when will I be able to visit her?" "I will let you know, Commissioner, how the treatment goes. But you will not visit her unless and until *I* allow you to do so. That is * my* price... and that is for *your* safety, and hers - not for my own. My friend's treatment is not entirely without its risks: some of his patients have had... spells... during their convalescence which have caused them to attack those closest to them; others have suffered some amnesia as a result of delays in getting treatment. Tracy *will* be well cared for until she is strong enough and emotionally healed enough to care for herself. At that time, it will be *her* choice as to where she goes, to whom she speaks, and how she makes her living. That much, at least, I can grant you." "So she might still choose to return home at that time." "She may choose to return to Toronto, but she will not be able to return as your daughter. To all the world, you will have buried her." Vetter nodded, taking it all in. "Of all the run-ins we've had, Lacroix, this one really takes the cake! Do you expect me to acquiesce so easily?" Lacroix shook his head slightly. "No, Commissioner. I expect you to allow this because you are a parent, and like any parent, you wish above all for your child to live." Vetter finally nodded. "You leave me no choice," he said. "She's barely begun her life; I can't stand by and watch her just... die, without making every attempt I can to save her. Have your friend do what he can." He walked over to the bed, clasped his daughter's hand, and kissed her gently on the forehead. "Take care, Precious," he whispered. "And remember, I'll always love you." Reluctantly, he let go her hand, and walked out the door. Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:22:00 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (5 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU kmuller@ix.netcom.comDisclaimers and warnings in Part 1. ------ V. She sensed, rather than felt, the second presence. The broken one,=20 the one who called her "Precious" when he was whole, and she was=20 whole, and... Just as quickly, she lost the memory. For the first=20 time she could remember, she sensed a profound sadness from that=20 presence.=20 As quickly as he had come, he left. She felt once again alone in the=20 void, swiftly being pulled towards a dark singularity... What seemed like an eternity later, *he* appeared. The vampire. The=20 one who promised her life. She sensed his cool hand upon her warm=20 one, felt his *presence* calling for her, searching for her,=20 steadying her against the strong tides. She felt his strength and=20 allowed herself to be embraced by it... A flurry of damp air drew past the palm of her hand, and she knew=20 *he* had kissed it there before letting it go. She felt somehow sad=20 at its removal, yet puzzled that his mental presence remained. Cool hands brushed away at her head and neck, deftly removing=20 prickly intrusions she had not known existed. A gentle touch here,=20 a soft murmur there, and a quiet where she'd not heard noise.=20 Through the chaotic, flashy, noisy reality that surrounded her, she=20 felt *him* calming her, guiding her, cocooning her... Then it happened. A hard prick on her neck, and a vacuuming feeling,=20 like that of blood being drawn. As the vacuum increased, she could=20 feel the weight lifting from her belly and her back as the sawdust=20 in her brain was swept away. The loud noises ceased; the flashing=20 lights subsided. An alert calm possessed her, transforming into=20 euphoria as cool, ocean waves swept over every corner of her=20 consciousness. She felt more alive, more aware, than she had ever=20 felt before. She submerged herself into the water, became one with=20 the water, tasted the water... ...and found herself viewing the ruins of Pompeii...=20 well, not the ruins, exactly, Pompeii as it must have=20 been when it was brand new, and she saw it through=20 the eyes of a conquering general, almost omnipotent...=20 a small girl, *his* little girl, flew towards her as=20 he stepped out from his chariot... she saw the girl=20 bloom into adolescence, a pretty young thing, struck=20 ill by a strange disease, and miraculously cured...=20 she felt the girl attack *him*, felt him *change*,=20 saw him become what he *was*, what she was becoming...=20 she felt his shame at what he felt was an incestuous=20 relationship, and remembered *his* pain at a father=20 who cared little for *him* except that he live up=20 to his expectations, and submit to a father's=20 sexual urges... ...she felt the centuries fly by as *he* lived through=20 Roman Egypt, traveled North Africa... he spent time=20 as an Ottoman prince, an Arabian trader, a Hun... *he*=20 loved the luxuries of peace, but followed humanity's=20 wars as a connoisseur of human foibles, a gourmand,=20 preferring to pick and choose the finest of meals for=20 his refined palate, on occasion, making a companion=20 for himself, but usually preferring to just hunt, feed,=20 and move on... ...he moved like this through Eastern Europe for a=20 spell, until the common folk grew too knowing of his=20 weaknesses, and moved West, into an emerging culture=20 of fine art, finer clothing, and the corruption of a=20 religion into an intolerant evil that now served its=20 clergy more than its Deity, into a society that=20 considered its women little more than bargaining tokens=20 and walking wombs...=20 She knew *his* many names, the many guises by which he=20 moved throughout Europe - and later, the world - the many=20 people he had tasted, had devoured, had brought into=20 *his* reality - *their* reality... the many he'd had=20 to destroy, as would a breeder of fish, or of cattle,=20 and the few who survived and thrived. Among his children,=20 she saw the two who always stood out: a dark-haired=20 French woman, once of noble birth, and a blond Flemish=20 Crusader, a younger son who had been lured by the=20 Frenchwoman's charms... She recognized the woman as the=20 Qu=E9becoise friend of her partner... then it dawned on her=20 that the Crusader was none other than Nicholas Knight=20 himself. She smiled at the irony of his current guise,=20 and understood his deference in questioning the strange,=20 bleached-blond Nightcrawler during a recent series of=20 murders... She felt *his* surprise, and his anguish, at=20 having to kill his blood daughter, his vampire mother,=20 again - almost two thousand years after he'd thought her=20 dead...=20 "Enough!" she heard, as the ocean was taken from her lips, her head=20 raised above the water. "It is time to wake up, now." She felt=20 dazed, and slightly confused, as if trying to awake from a terrible=20 nightmare encased in the deepest sleep. Her arms and legs tingled=20 as she fought to gain control of them, forcing her into an=20 increasingly *conscious* state of mind. She wriggled the toes of one=20 foot, then the other, then both, trying to work feeling back into=20 them. She brought her hands to her face, almost too quickly, then=20 felt them restrained and slowed as she created fists with which to=20 remove sleep from her eyes. She yawned, and felt long canines extend=20 from her upper jaw. Finally, she opened her eyes. In the red and=20 black tones of darkness, she saw *his* face. The face of the one who=20 stayed by her and guided her through this perilous path, through=20 the Valley of the Shadow of Death. In place of the harsh, cold,=20 creepy mien she had known when human, a solicitous expression of=20 concern appeared on *his* marble-sculptured face, and she knew him=20 for what he *was*, and what he would be. The pains of *her* short=20 human life were finally resolved, compartmentalized, overcome, and=20 packed away. Of his many names, she chose the one that suited the=20 calm, strong, comforting presence he had been, and would always be.=20 "Father," she said. Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com=09 http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:22:17 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (6 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers and warnings in Part 1. ------ VI. For a moment Lacroix stood there, confused. Never, in two thousand years, had any but Divia ever called him that - but Divia had spoken to him only in Latin, their native tongue. This blonde apparition, his newborn, reborn, child, spoke in Canadian English. Though he doubted even an Ancient could survive being staked and burned, and its ashes securely distributed to many unconnected, unconnectable, places, he had made one near-fatal mistake where Divia was concerned, and did not much care to make another. Silence, however, would make *this* one turn. And he did not want the woman who was once Commissioner Vetter's daughter turning against him. He looked into her eyes, and saw reflected adoring thanks, the tribute offered a personal hero... and a warmth he had never before seen in a fledgling's golden eyes. He reached out through the blood link, and felt only thanks and gratitude. He searched for remnants of her mortal life, and found only cloudy emptiness and confusion. He concluded that *Tracy's* head wound must have caused a similar amnesia to that which Nicholas had had. Whatever she had been, was - no more. While he felt a momentary twinge of regret for what had been lost, he knew she would regain her memories in time. Until then, whatever Vetter might say, might try to take back, might try to do, the "woman" lying on the bed was no longer his - and when that time came, it would be too late. His revenge was more complete than he had dared. He looked deeply into the fledgling's eyes. There was nothing for him to fear, everything for him to comfort, and everything to look forward to. He took her hand between his two, and modulated his voice into one of parental calm. "Yes, my child," he answered. *****finis***** Please watch for the companion timeline to this piece, posted as Part 7 of 6. Additional development of the premise reserved for future stories (if I ever get the time to write them ;) Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/ Date: Mon, 7 Apr 1997 13:22:40 -0400 Reply-To: "Brenda F. Bell" Sender: Forever Knight TV show stories From: "Brenda F. Bell" Subject: Fiction: The Best Revenge (7 of 6) To: FKFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU Disclaimers and warnings in Part 1. ------ The Best Revenge: Timeline The following timeline is reconstructed based on the clocks in the Precinct and the Morgue, and the solar angle at the time of the final pre-dawn (raised-stake) sequence of "Last Knight", presuming a 6AM sunrise in mid-April, based on the clothing worn. 10:20 Dawkins goes wild. (Clock in precinct: main room) Nick beeped. He flies to precinct (aerial shots); Tracy may have brought his car there earlier. 10:25 Tracy shot (Clock behind Dawkins in men's locker room) 10:45 - 11:00 Tracy arrives at the hospital (story: Vetter is alerted) 11:15 - 11:30 Tracy wheeled into hospital room (no surgery has been performed; if there had been any, she would have been in the operating room for at least four hours, which is contradicted by later time checks) 11:25 - 11:40 Reese leaves Tracy's room. 11:30 - 11:50 Nat enters Tracy's room as Nick prepares to bring Tracy across 11:40 - 12:00 Nat and Nick leave Tracy's room (story: commissioner Vetter enters Tracy's room) 12:00 - 12:30 Nick arrives at the Raven 12:10 - 12:50 Nick leaves the Raven (story: Lacroix flies to hospital) 12:30 (story: Lacroix arrives at hospital) 12:40 (story: Commissioner Vetter leaves Tracy's room; Lacroix enters it) 1:00 (story: Vetter returns, is made offer) 1:10 (story: pact is made) 1:15 (story: Lacroix starts bringing Tracy across) 1:55 Tracy "dies" (clock in Morgue. See 11:15 entry for time-check analysis.) (Treatment of this reserved for future story development.) 2:10 Nat arrives at Nick's loft 2:15 Nick arrives at his loft 2:50? Nick and Nat start getting intimate (Treatment of "What happens to Tracy?" reserved for future story development.) 4:00? Lacroix arrives at Nick's loft. 4:20? Natalie dies (according to Lacroix) 5:00 Nick asks Lacroix to kill him. 5:30 Stake is raised Brenda F. Bell bfbell@dorsai.org arachne@webwarren.com http://www.dorsai.org/~bfbell/ http://www.castle.net/~n2kye/ http://www.webwarren.com/