X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:53:54 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (01/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich , John T. Folden , Patrick McLaughlin , Leslie GrantSmith Beta Readers: Jean Simon, Stephanie Babbitt, Sharon Bhandari Historical Consultant: Sara Orel, Elizabeth Ann Lewis Continuity: Amanda Sridasome, Nancy Production Management: Amy Volpert, Dawn Steele Part 1 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- THE NATURE OF THE BEAST There was something not too distant--a voice, but not a voice, calling his name without any words... "Mind the moose, detective." "What--?" Distracted by the near-overwhelming stench of blood, Nick turned suddenly. He was jolted backward a step by the hand planted firmly on his shoulder, and found his left eye less than a half inch from a wickedly sharp antler protruding from the deer head mounted on the wall. A row of similarly-armed heads was arranged in an alternating pattern from mid-point to ceiling, a formidable honor guard standing to either side of the door. His partner, Adam Sakai, leaned on his shoulder and flicked his finger against the protruding antler. "He 'Mind the moose.'" "It's a buck, not a moose," corrected Nick, taking another step back and easily dislodging the hold his partner had on his shoulder. "Buck, moose, it's still a dead animal." Adam continued past him and peered intently through the dim light of the entryway at the spatters of blood that marked the mounted deer head in question. "What do they use this for, a hat-rack?" "It's a trophy. A hunting trophy." Nick turned to indicate the other animal heads mounted along the hallway. The Georgian Bay Associates Hunting and Trapping Club looked like an average brick street-front from outside--faux white marble columns flanked the street-level steps and supported a closed balcony on the second floor. The interior, however, seemed to be a maze of rooms and hallways, all paneled and papered to impart the feeling of a Victorian hunting club. The smell of cigarette and cigar smoke clung to the walls with the same tenacity as did the mounted animal heads and photographs. Rows upon rows of these graced the entryway in which the detectives were standing and--from a glance Nick took through doors open to either side of the entryway--just about every room, including the cloak room. The effect only grew grimmer: the haphazard spattering of red over the walls and hallways was blood, tossed from at least one discarded plastic paint bucket currently being printed and tagged by forensics not two feet away from them. During the Christmas holidays, the appearance might have been considered festive, although the speckles, drips, and splashes of crimson against green- and gold-patterned wallpaper and dark wooden paneling was anything but artistic. Every aspect of the scene bore the mark of vandalism--the only message borne by the bloody mess was that the act had been reckless. The small entry area was crowded with photographers and other forensics technicians, all trying to gather evidence and getting in one another's way. The murder scene had to be at the far end of the hall; the blood scent was even stronger in that direction. Adam was at his shoulder again. "I it's a trophy. Gross." "The hunting trophies or the blood?" "Both." Adam took a step into the hallway, walking onto the series of makeshift wooden plank ramps and platforms that protected the footprints spattered through the blood beneath them. Catching hold of a passing uniformed officer, he asked, "The body?" The officer barely paused, gestured over his shoulder to the hallway ahead of them, then continued in the opposite direction. Nick followed his partner along the balanced planks and into the hallway, which resembled a commuter traffic tunnel during the height of rush hour. They were forced to pause and press themselves back against a clean section of the wall when a uniformed officer appeared from the other direction, a number of evidence bags dangling from her clenched fist. "This is why I got into police work," muttered Adam as the officer passed. "The glamour, the gun fights, the car chases. Hey, at least we got plenty of prints." Nick glanced at the floor between the wooden planks and platforms, noting a number of clear and distinct footprints in the drying blood. "Look like sneakers." "Reese'll want us to match them to one or two sets... out of the how many million pairs of sneakers wandering around Toronto?" "If we're lucky, the perp's from out of town." They started toward the far end of the hall again, then found themselves pressed against the opposite wall as a forensics technician passed, holding more plastic specimen bags. "We've got lots of clues on this one," said Adam, with forced cheer. "And lots of blood. Animal blood." Nick casually swiped his hand against the wall, picking up a small spot of wet blood on his fingers. Turning his head in an attempt not to draw his partner's attention, he touched the blood to his lips and nearly spit it out--it was thicker and sweeter than the cow blood he was used to drinking. "Pig's blood." They paused again, allowing a forensic technician to pass them. "Pig, huh?" asked Adam, his tone of voice indicating his disbelief. "Sure it's not moose? You grow up on a farm or something?" "Something." They managed to make it another foot and a half before being held up as yet another technician passed. "Could be worse," said Adam, as they finally managed to make their way through the hall and into the central crime scene. "Could be human." "Some of it is," said Natalie's voice. Nick was glad to get out of the hallway--the bustle and heat of the mortal heartbeats around him was setting him on edge. Compounding his discomfort was the presence of so much blood, literally buckets of it. Photographs covered the walls, plated trophies and loving cups were stacked in cases, and animal heads were mounted in every conceivable nook and cranny. His eyes wandered over the continuing decor of heavy, dark, wooden Victorian furniture before he turned his attention to Natalie and the victim on the floor before her. They were located just to the right of the door, beside an antique sideboard. "This our friend?" asked Nick, moving closer and leaning over her as she knelt by the victim. The man's hair was gray where it hadn't been dotted with red from the head wound, his skin pale and wrinkled like old parchment paper-- a 'lived-in' face. The dark blue uniform wasn't official police, but close enough. "Security guard?" "Night watchman," corrected Adam. When Nick looked up at him in surprise, he gestured over his shoulder, back toward the hall. "Talked to the first patrolman on the scene while you were going one-on-one with the moose." "Buck." "Whatever." Nick turned back to see Natalie hide a quick smile and nearly smiled himself--it was good to see her smile like that again. "Gunshot?" "Head trauma. Probably from this." Her hands fitted with latex gloves, Natalie lifted a gold statuette of a hunter for their inspection. She tilted it slightly to show them the blood and hair fragments caked along the dented bottom of the award. "I'll bet you even money it matches the skull wound." "I'll take your word for it." Nick glanced up to check on the whereabouts of his partner--Adam was on the other side of the room, his notepad in hand, speaking with two uniformed officers. "They first on the scene?" he asked, nodding toward the pair Adam was interviewing. Natalie was carefully wrapping the bloodied statuette for transport back to the lab. "That's what I heard. They couldn't have gotten here much after the murder." "Body still warm?" "Yep." It was only as Natalie backed further away from the body and pushed herself up from the bloody floor that Nick saw the bear trap that had nearly severed the night watchman's leg above the ankle. Natalie must have followed the direction of his gaze, because she added, "I'm not about to touch that until we find someone who knows how it works." "It's an antique," said Nick. He dropped to one knee and leaned closer to the trap, his hand reaching out to touch it...but drew back his fingers slowly. "It's spring- loaded. Not a sign of rust--it looks well-preserved." He rose to his feet and his hand swiped the side of his slacks, as if to wipe off the taint of the trap. "Probably part of the collection," said Natalie. "An accident?" "The trap?" Natalie bit her lip for a moment, her gaze moving to the credenza alongside the body--several other statuettes and traps had fallen. "Maybe. I'd like to make a couple of trial runs, talk to some experts about these things. But that hunting trophy was no accident. From the look of things, I'd guess the watchman heard someone or chased someone in here, stepped in the trap, then was bludgeoned from behind." Nick nodded, his eyes tracing the same path hers had taken, trying to imagine what the crime scene had looked like before it had become a crime scene. "He could have been lured into the room--maybe it wasn't just the wrong place at the wrong time. No indication of premeditation?" "Nothing physical so far. I'll let you know what I find." She leaned a little closer to him, then cast a furtive look over her shoulder. "Drop by the lab, later. I've got something I want you to take a--" Before she could continue, Adam returned. "Nick, you used to work the twenty-seventh, didn't you?" "The twenty-seventh--yeah." Nick tried to meet Natalie's eyes again, but she'd looked away. He'd started his life as a Toronto police detective at the twenty-seventh precinct. That was where Schanke had been assigned as his partner. "Then maybe you weren't that far off when you called this guy a friend." Adam squatted by the head of the corpse and gestured for Nick to join him. He glanced down at his notebook and added, "The name 'Myron Sturges' ring any bells?" Nick hesitated for a moment--the name familiar. "Desk sergeant, twenty-seventh precinct, retired," added Adam. He flipped the notebook closed. "He was doing night watchman work on the side, probably augmenting his pension. The local cops knew him. When the burglar alarm went off and they didn't get a confirmation call from him right away, they headed over at a run." The man's face was turned away, spattered with blood and gore, the mouth twisted in agony and the eyes closed...but now that it was brought to his attention, Nick found he recognized the man. "That's him," agreed Nick softly. "I'd only been at the precinct for...six months? They had a party for him. I drew short straw on covering the desk since I was the new boy on the block." "They're going to want a fast-track on this one." Adam pushed himself up from the floor and walked back to Natalie. "How long before you move the body?" "It depends on how long it takes to find someone to get that--" she gestured toward the bear trap, "--off him. not playing with that thing. I like the idea of keeping five fingers on each hand. You wouldn't happen to--?" "Me?" The sharp tone in Adam's voice caught Nick's interest--when he glanced up he almost thought he saw a look of panic in his partner's eyes. "No way. Wouldn't touch one of those things with a ten-foot pole no matter how much Kelly's been talking about us taking a vacation at a hunting lodge during deer season next year." "And?" pressed Natalie. "I'm running out of ways to change the subject." Nick rose to his feet again, curious, but he wandered to one side of the room, pretending to take a closer look at the trophies and photographs while listening to the discussion behind him. There was a rattle of plastic--another forensic sample --and a sigh from Natalie. "I know what you mean. Once you see 'Bambi,' that's it, isn't it? My father and brother talked about going hunting, but they never did anything about it. I guess it's supposed to be some sort of male- bonding ritual." "Not in my family. We've got plenty of rituals and none involves guns." He heard a chuckle from Natalie. "That's probably a good thing." "Yeah, seen one too many domestics turned bad on my old beat." He snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me, anything from forensics on the Patterson house?" "So far--zilch." "Good. That means it goes back to Missing Persons, where it should have gone in the first place. Nobody, but just disappears into thin air..." Nick disregarded the small talk behind him and concentrated on the plaques and photographs on the wall. The animal heads he ignored, but he noticed that the various awards and framed photographs catalogued the history of the club from the first settlement of Canada by French trappers. The members hadn't restricted their hunting activities to the Canadian provinces, however--there were photographs of hunting parties and safaris taken in some of the remotest parts of the world. Some he recognized at a glance, like Delhi or the Amazon basin. Others he could guess by the animals held aloft or piled high in triumph--polar bear or caribou; a long, sleek black panther reduced to a mass of flesh and rotting meat drying in the sun. And then there was Africa. He drew closer to the photograph, although he could see it clearly. A little fading around the edges hadn't dimmed the triumphant expressions on the faces of the big-game hunters. The date on the photograph was 1910. There was not too much difference between these people and the ones he had known, the arrogant Englishmen dressed in khaki and confident that the sun would never set on their empire. Africa. >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:53:56 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (02/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 2 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- >>>> Nick held the thatch-and-wood construction door and paused, enjoying the sight of civilization after a fortnight of following LaCroix through brush and thicket. The floor was hard-packed mud, covered with woven reed matting. A small fire was burning in a stone fireplace at the left side of the main room, and various local tribal decorations were scattered about the walls. It was not unlike a small piece of England transplanted into the jungle, an oasis of humanity. He wondered if anyone had thought to bring a book he might borrow for an hour or so. Two men were seated with a woman at a table, cards forgotten at his entrance, and a third was already halfway across the room. The rifle in his hands was held at an angle, the eyes in his middle-aged but weathered face alert and alarmed at the sudden entry--a born hunter, a man who knew how to stay alive. "Where did you come from?" "Would you mind if we shared your shelter until the storm passes?" Nicholas paused to remove the traveling cloak that hung from his shoulder--hardly stylish, but a necessary concession to the possibility of finding himself without sufficient shelter at dawn--and gave the assemblage what he hoped was a non-threatening smile. "Nicholas...Kent. And this is Lucien LaCroix. We're heading toward Mombassa." LaCroix drew up beside him and gave the company a cursory glance before turning. Already annoyed at the forced delay in their journey caused by the impending storm, he whispered, "Oh, done, Nicholas. You couldn't have found anything more intolerable on such short notice?" "We'd be glad for the company," said the young man, offering his hand and all but brushing aside the wary hunter who'd first approached them. "Carlton Everleigh. The brute over there is Morgan Comstock--no manners of which to speak but knows his way across the savanna. Colonel Warrington--" "Of India, retired," said the Colonel, who had wandered to the fireplace, pipe in hand. The woman who rose from the table had short dark hair, curled at the ends, and large violet eyes. She was dressed in trousers and a bush jacket, as were the others, although her clothing was tailored to show off her physical assets. Striding forward, she took Nicholas' hand boldly. "Virginia Lawson." "Charmed." It was as Nicholas bent to kiss her hand that Everleigh added protectively, "My fiancee." Nicholas met Miss Lawson's eyes as he rose from the kiss and found them sparkling, just before she shot her fiance a look of undisguised contempt. She carried herself with an ease and self-assurance that he found refreshing, not at all similar to the society flowers he'd last seen in London. There was nothing timid about Miss Lawson. The woman was adventurous, perhaps dangerous. And very attractive. He smiled, beginning to think that the delay in their journey might be more pleasant than he'd first anticipated. Passing him, Comstock walked over to LaCroix, eyes still wary. "You can send your bearers round to the shack in the back. We've quarters for--" "We have no 'bearers.'" Nicholas would have been alarmed at the disdain in LaCroix's voice and his easy dismissal of the scout if he hadn't found himself so distracted by Miss Lawson's obvious charms. "You don't hunt without bearers?" asked Miss Lawson, watching Nicholas, but also watching LaCroix behind him. Taking the seat beside her chair, Nicholas explained, "We're not here on safari. We've just come down from Lake Victoria--the diamond mines." Everleigh seated himself across from Nicholas, suddenly interested. "Had a thought of wandering out there myself for a look. You own one of the mines?" " do," corrected LaCroix, with an easy, sardonic smile. Removing his own traveling cloak, he draped it over a chair and returned to the far side of the fireplace, a healthy distance from both the flames and the noxious smoke emanating from the Colonel's pipe. There was a silk scarf around his neck just inside the collar of the khaki jacket, and Nicholas realized, with some chagrin, that even with the dust of their journey on his boots, LaCroix was immediately the most perfectly attired gentleman in the room. Nicholas was no longer the center of Miss Lawson's attention. She turned her head and favored LaCroix with a winsome smile--Comstock wasn't the only natural hunter in the room. "Did you bring any diamonds with you? I've never seen them in the raw before." "Ginny, you know they're no better than rocks at this point," said her fiance. "I doubt if Mr. LaCroix threw them onto the trail outside that you'd be able to figure out which were the gems and which worthless pebbles." "An interesting exercise," noted LaCroix. "Although I have a suspicion Miss Lawson might surprise us all in that regard." There was a moment of tension between them, LaCroix and this young, adventurous, feminine sample of British aristocracy. Nicholas shifted uneasily in his chair as he saw the pair eyeing one another. It was like watching two predators, each trying to take the other's measure while deciding how long to watch and wait...before attacking. >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:53:57 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (03/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 3 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Shaking his head, Nick dispelled the vestiges of memory and forced himself back to the here and now. Adam was gone, probably checking the rest of the scene. Natalie was still standing over the body. Her face was pale, unnaturally so, and he saw her shudder and wipe the back of her hand across her mouth. Nick approached her carefully, scuffing his shoes against the hardwood floor at the edge of the carpet, alerting her to his presence. She looked up sharply, a moment of panic on her features, then her lips settled into an uneasy smile, and she glanced down at the corpse again. "I may be wrong," she began shakily, "but it looks like two sets of footprints here. There and...there." "Which means we've got two killers. Or the scenario you came up with--" Nick glanced over at the door where two uniformed officers were standing, and let his eyes scan along the room, following the victim's path. "Sturges chases someone in here, lands in the trap, then someone clubs him from behind...could be the same person he chased into the room." "Could be," admitted Natalie. "When we get comparisons on the prints, I can give you a better idea." Nick watched her as she looked over the crime scene. "Pig," he said. She blinked, then looked at him, puzzled. "What?" "The blood--it's pig." "I'll take your word for it." Her cheeks were so pale, and there was a weariness in her eyes that alarmed him. Nick raised his hand to brush her cheek, but stopped himself, the gesture only half completed. He turned so that his back was to the officers of the door, shielding Natalie from them. "Are you all right? The blood--" "I was going to ask you the same question," she admitted, with a wan smile. Natalie looked down, and he saw the reflection of the blood pooling around the corpse in her eyes. "It's a little better, now, although sometimes it sneaks up on me. When I walked up to this place, I wasn't sure that I was going to make it through the door and then...it was okay." "Good." When she met his eyes again, Nick smiled, letting her see his relief. He found something inside him warmed as she returned the smile. He wanted to know how she was doing, what she was doing, what she was thinking or feeling. He wanted to share her thoughts, not just about the case, but about other things. He wanted to be part of her life again. For a moment, he sensed that there might be a chance. If he got the words right, if he knew just what to say... What he say? "Detective?" Nick didn't turn when he heard the officer's voice, not wanting to break the moment between them, but it was gone. Natalie moved away, squatting down to examine the footprints in the combination of human and pig blood spattered across the floor. Nick turned away, letting the cop in him take over. "Yeah?" "The back door's open--it leads to an alley. We've got some spatters of blood on the door sill. Somebody thought you might--" "Somebody thought right." Nick followed the officer from the room. There traces of blood scattered across the tar pavement of the alley. Nick left the officer at the door and wandered the length of the dark alley, then out to the street beyond. This might very well be the killer's trail, the pig's blood wiping off the soles of the sneakers with each step until only an occasional scraping from a tread had fallen here or there. He swept his gaze this way and that as he walked, first one block, then two, then three. Each step took him farther away from the crime scene, but he knew that his heightened vision and sensitivity to blood was keying him in to a trail that a mortal forensics technician would have difficulty following. The spots grew further apart; the person had been running. Running to-- A public pay phone stood at the corner, the receiver hanging from it, dangling, but still without a breeze or motion to stir it. The person he was tracking was long gone, but he or she might have made a call. The cord of the receiver shifted slightly as Nick stood there. Again, he felt a light touch against his thoughts, as if his name were being called from a distance. He turned. LaCroix was standing in the gutter of the street, his gaze impassive. Nick took a step toward him. "You shouldn't be here--" "You're right." The faintest smile flickered across LaCroix's lips, then he sobered again. "You should be somewhere else as well." Nick glanced toward the direction of the alley and the club where the crime had occurred, now several blocks away. "Are you involved in this?" "No." Another flicker of amusement, as if LaCroix ever deigned to lower himself to meddle in mortal affairs. And yet he had, quite recently--Reese's daughter. The amusement faded, as if LaCroix's thoughts were mirroring Nick's. "I've found something that might interest you," said LaCroix softly. "If you have a moment--" "No." Nick took a step back, unconsciously trying to plant his heels into the cement. He glanced again toward the crime scene, knowing that he should be getting back there. "Not now." "Someone's been asking questions." "Questions?" Nick took a step forward. "What kind of questions?" "Personal questions. About you. About your life, your work." A chill ran through Nick and his breath caught momentarily. "Not...the Enforcers?" "No. Someone else in the community." Nick hesitated--he had a crime scene waiting and a partner expecting him to help gather evidence while the scene was still hot. "Can it wait until later, after shift?" "It's your decision." There was no threat, no taunt, no teasing...simple acquiescence. Nick stared at his master. He hesitated, even as LaCroix turned his back, preparing to leave. There had been a look in LaCroix's eyes, almost as if he'd questioned his own decision in coming here. That, alone, was enough to make him reconsider. "Wait!" called Nick. When LaCroix turned, his expression again so studiously impassive, Nick took another step closer. "All right. Where are you--?" LaCroix lifted into the air before he could finish his question. There was nothing to do but follow. Muttering a curse, Nick gave himself a half-hearted promise to return to the crime scene as soon as he could. He recognized their destination from the air-- Runnymeade Park, not far from the stockyards. LaCroix set down just outside an abandoned, street-front theatre, and Nick was no more than a minute behind him. As they approached, an imposing figure stepped from the shadows beneath the theatre marquee. Almost instantly, the figure disappeared back into the shadows. LaCroix opened the door and gestured Nick into the theatre with an imperious air. Nick heard a voice speaking even as they crossed the torn carpeting and ruined floorboards of the theatre lobby. He continued to follow LaCroix as they passed through a second door, walked up a once-carpeted staircase, then emerged at the back of the balcony. They were alone in the upper level. The theatre below was far from filled, but there was an impressive gathering of vampires in the seats below, mostly young. The theatre stage was dark, with the exception of two candelabrum, the flames of the candles flickering in reaction to the vampire who walked back and forth across the stage as he spoke to the crowd. "--our nature," continued the young vampire, in a firm, if not quiet, voice. "We've seen the reports, we know that donations of human blood are growin' more infrequent. Too many disasters, too many fear contagion, too many too ignorant or too ill. Stockpiles are disappearin'. Thefts are being noticed, more and more mortals have to be trusted as conduits, as brokers, as suppliers. There are those among us who go hungry, while our forbidden prey walk the streets." " been asking about you," said LaCroix, nodding toward the vampire who held center stage. "The last day or two, or so I've been told. Do you know him?" "The old ones speak of the danger of feeding freely, of the importance of upholdin' the Code," said the speaker. "Some even talk of the 'morality' of feeding our hunger with mortal lives." There was a pause as an amused titter swept through the theatre audience. "Is starvation 'moral'? Should we perish so that some petty street thief or drunkard can die of the cold or neglect or disease, when their warm blood might sustain us? We have a right to their blood. We have a right to their lives. We have a right to survive. We are the predators and are the prey." "No. I've never seen him before," answered Nick. His whisper was so soft that he could barely hear it himself. "How long has this been going on?" LaCroix answered from behind his shoulder. "Perhaps a few weeks, if that." When Nick cast him a curious glance, he added, "I been occupied with other matters, Nicholas." He sighed. "There's always a rebel in every crowd, after all. There's been unrest in the younger ones since the fever passed; the possibility of their eternal existence ending in such a sudden and unforgiving manner has proven quite a shock to some of them. Until now only one or two would listen to him, perhaps a handful at best." "It's been growing?" "Nightly. Especially with our recent difficulties at the Raven. They're frightened. They want to be comforted. They want a messiah to lead them to a promised land." Nick turned his attention back to the figure on stage. The dark hair was short, the eyes brown. His clothing was common enough for a young man in his mid-twenties--jeans and a blue cotton shirt. He might have been an actor or a model, or perhaps a politician...if he'd been mortal. "Ian Sandler," supplied LaCroix, as Nick inquired with a raised eyebrow. "He can't be older than the century." "He's charismatic." "Yes, that seems to be the problem." There was almost a glimmer of admiration in LaCroix's voice as he added, "He certainly knows his way around a mob. Someone said he was brought across during the Irish Troubles." "He trouble," agreed Nick. Leaning his hands on the back of the seat in front of him, he let his eyes sweep across the crowd. "Ask ," said Sandler to his audience. "Ask the old ones about the way it used to be--how they used to hunt, how they used to , how they used to ! Who are they to deny us our birthright, to deny us the right to hunt?" >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:53:59 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (04/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 4 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- >>>> "Do you enjoy hunting, Miss Lawson?" asked LaCroix, his tone like honeyed syrup. "Are you here to prevent your worthy fiance from disappearing into the bush, or did he drag you away from London society to prevent disappearance?" Comstock remained silent, seating himself on a chair by the door as the other men laughed. He wiped the barrel of his gun and Nicholas felt sharp eyes on his back. Miss Lawson was not the only member of the party to measure them, to wonder who and what they were and what their intentions might be. "I'll have you know, sir," said Everleigh proudly, "that my fiancee is the daughter of one of the board members of the Kensington branch of the Adventurer's Club. I doubt we would have sailed without her presence." "Or without her money," Comstock murmured, in a tone so low Nicholas caught the comment only because of his enhanced hearing. When he looked up, he saw that LaCroix had noted it as well. "We wouldn't have sailed at all if it had been up to Carlton," declared Miss Lawson, taking her gaze from LaCroix just long enough to shoot a disapproving glare at her fiance. "He finds hunting through gaming parlors and salons more to his taste." LaCroix moved to stand behind Miss Lawson, his fingers resting on the back of her chair. "You prefer more dangerous game? The salons and gaming parlors can provide a unique hunting ground in their own right." Miss Lawson smiled sharply and Nicholas started seeing something faintly reminiscent of his master in her smile. "Without blood, what's the point of a hunt?" "What, indeed." LaCroix grinned across at Nicholas, who didn't fail to notice that, beyond the notice of her fiance, the vampire's fingernails were drifting lightly against the flesh of the young woman's neck, dismissing her collar. "You'd be surprised at the sport one can find in such places, if one knows where to look." "We may as well have remained in London--the hunting's been here," said Miss Lawson. "We've barely seen an antelope and Comstock took that down with one shot. There was another party here several days ago and they said the region's been hunted out--nothing left worth shooting." Colonel Warrington removed his pipe from his mouth and cleared his throat noisily. "We've been considering moving in-country, to Nairobi. Of course, nothing could compare with the times I had in India. Had to shoot a rogue elephant once--it turned on its keeper and trampled most of a village before--" As the other members of the British hunting party listened to the story with polite attention, LaCroix's interest centered on Miss Lawson. It was obvious to Nicholas that she was aware of the attention, looking neither to the right nor to the left but fixing her gaze on the Colonel and ignoring LaCroix's presence utterly. Nicholas had no idea what game LaCroix might be playing, but it began to worry him. The sooner the storm either hit or passed and the danger of lightning was over, the sooner he and LaCroix would be on their way. Only then would the hunting party--and Miss Lawson--be safe. There was a commotion outside the building. Comstock was on his feet almost as quickly as Nicholas, but neither of them had reached the door before it was flung open. A dark-skinned man entered, dressed in khaki. His accent was British, but broken, as he shouted, "Mr. Everleigh, Colonel-- there's been an accident!" Nicholas followed Comstock out the door. There was a flicker of brightness in the distant sky, and dark clouds continued to skid across the moon. An instant later LaCroix was beside him, eyes raised upward and also looking at the weather. The storm might be anywhere from an hour to several hours away--distances could be deceiving in this section of the country, the horizon appearing as close as one's hand but remaining as distant as a dream. Several bearers were holding torches, lighting the area as Comstock walked around a covered litter on the ground; the cloth thrown over the vaguely human shape beneath was spotted with large, brownish stains. "What is it?" asked Miss Lawson excitedly. Comstock lifted the covering, then dropped it quickly, a flicker of disgust flashing so quickly across his features that Nicholas wasn't even certain the man had reacted. "One of the Germans." He looked up at LaCroix and Nicholas. "They passed through this morning." The dark-skinned man who had disrupted their conversation was quietly speaking with the three bearers and four tribesman who were clustered around him. "It was a lion," he explained, pushing his way to the front of the crowd and addressing Comstock. "The bearers say it was a large beast, a male, perhaps with a mate." "Did they get it?" asked Everleigh. LaCroix had wandered over to the covered pallet and nudged it with the toe of his boot. "It would appear that 'it' got 'them'." There was more conversation. Nicholas had picked up enough of the native dialects around Victoria to recognize the gravity of the situation. He recognized that LaCroix's seeming disinterest in the matter was a mask--he, too, was listening. The Germans had been well armed, but the beasts had surprised them, taken them down almost without a shot being fired. Miss Lawson glared at the bearers, her impatience obvious. "What are they saying? Where's the beast now?" "There's no need for concern, darling." Everleigh stood by Miss Lawson and placed his arm on her shoulder, which she immediately shook off. "I'm certain they made a mistake. They were German, after all." Comstock also seemed to understand the language, because he was frowning. "No," he muttered angrily, staring down at the body on the stretcher. "No, they knew what they were doing. The lions turned on them--hunted ." "Hunted ?" echoed Miss Lawson in an odd tone of voice, as if the thought appealed to her. The Colonel removed his pipe from his mouth. "That's ridiculous! I've never heard of such a--" "I have," corrected Comstock. "Once. Or twice." He looked up at the party again. "We've got to assume that one or both of these animals might have been wounded, which means they'll be doubly dangerous. We should set out at first light, track them as soon as--" "Why wait until dawn?" asked LaCroix smoothly. As the others looked at him in astonishment, he stepped back from the covered body on the litter and faced Comstock. "Why not begin the hunt now?" Nicholas gave Comstock a great deal of credit--few had ever met LaCroix's daunting gaze with such a look of challenge. "You're a bloody fool for suggesting it. The trail's easy to follow by daylight--there's less chance of losing somebody to the bush. The darkness belongs to them." "You wanted a challenge, didn't you?" LaCroix turned to face the others, pinning each of them in turn with his gaze and ending on Miss Lawson, so that his words seemed directed directly toward her. "You call yourselves hunters; put your skills to the test." "I hardly think--" sputtered Everleigh. "No." Miss Lawson stepped forward, her gaze locked with that of LaCroix. "He's right." She turned toward her fiance. "Why not? And think of the stories we can tell when we get back. We'll be the envy of our set!" "You'll get yourselves killed, why not," said Comstock sharply. He stalked past LaCroix, glanced at him-- for a moment, Nicholas feared that Comstock would spit at the ancient vampire--then walked over to Miss Lawson and Everleigh until he stood only inches before them. "Those animals have already had a taste of human flesh. They're used to our scent. With even one bad break, we wouldn't have a chance." Miss Lawson eyed him coldly. "Mr. Comstock, I hired you because I was told you knew the hunting in this area better than any man alive. I was never informed that you were also a coward." Comstock jolted forward at the taunt. Nicholas found himself shifting, ready to protect her, but Everleigh moved as if to place himself between his tracker and his fiancee. Miss Lawson pushed aside her fiance and glared. "You'll be paid in full, Mr. Comstock, whether you stay here or accompany us, but I doubt once word of this gets back to London that you'll ever be hired by any respectable British hunting party again." She paused and Nicholas thought he saw her glance shift to LaCroix as if looking for his approval, then back to the man in front of her. "Which is it to be, Mr. Comstock?" There was another flash of lightning in the western sky, followed by a low peal of thunder. Nicholas almost moved forward this time, wanting to intercede, but LaCroix placed a restraining hand on his arm and whispered, "Wait." Finally, Comstock growled, "All right. Check your arms, all of you. We'll meet here in a half hour--I should have picked up a trail by then. But I want it in writing, Lawson, that I won't be held responsible." "That will be acceptable, Mr. Comstock," said Everleigh grimly. Grasping his fiancee's arm, he escorted her back into the building, followed by the Colonel and two of the bearers. Comstock crooked a finger toward the British- speaking bearer and two others, but stopped when he found himself facing LaCroix. "You're responsible for this," he said angrily. "They'll be dead by dawn." "Very possibly a good deal sooner than that." Snarling, Comstock stalked past him, accompanied by the bearers. He shot a look at Nicholas as he passed, an accusatory glance that seemed to blame Nicholas for not having spoken sense and prevented this outcome. Nicholas turned, ready to follow Comstock, but LaCroix was at his elbow again, his hand clamped tightly on Nicholas' forearm. "We have little time, Nicholas. As the man said, perhaps you should check your weapons before we begin." Nicholas stared back at LaCroix, astounded and not altogether displeased; he'd fully expected LaCroix to demand that they leave immediately, and he had been prepared to argue against abandoning these people to the merciless jungle. "You can't mean to say that we're--?" "Staying?" LaCroix released him and then glanced up at the sky. "We should soon know what direction the storm will take. A hunt would provide a more agreeable diversion than listening to the Colonel's stories about India." Nicholas knew that LaCroix's decision to stay was anything but an altruistic gesture. "They could use our help. Two more rifles would give the hunting party a better chance of survival." "Who said anything about survival?" LaCroix gestured toward the building. "We need to feed before we continue-- what better time than this? Or circumstance, if it comes to that? We can hunt freely here, as we used to. They'd never be missed--an accident in the jungle. Their fellows will chalk it up to misadventure, and that will be the end of it." "No." Nicholas backed away. "You know I don't hunt mortals any more. I won't kill..." "That's your choice Nicholas, just as this is mine. hunt. I don't try to deny my nature." LaCroix moved quickly and was suddenly standing behind him. "I wonder," he added, in the softest of whispers, "How long it will be before you're unable to deny your own?" >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:01 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (05/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 5 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- "You're right--he can't last," Nick said with more confidence than he felt. "His kind never do. When Sandler can't deliver, they'll walk away." "But he could do a great deal of damage before they tire of him. And you're making the assumption that he deliver what he promises." LaCroix moved to stand beside Nick, staring down at Sandler. "I should have handled him before this, before he started asking questions." Nick took a slow breath, knowing that there were certain questions he couldn't afford to have asked, particularly those that might center on Natalie. "Questions about...me?" "About ." But then LaCroix glanced over him, the corner of his mouth twisting slightly. "Or about you," he conceded. "I'd hoped you might have some idea why he--" "Ask the old ones what it was like," repeated Sandler, his voice increasing in volume. "Ask !" They were suddenly the center of attention--Sandler was pointing up at the balcony, and the small crowd of vampires had turned in their seats. "Nicholas de Brabant?" Sandler called, pretending ignorance, although it was obvious he knew exactly who Nick was. LaCroix stood his ground, eyes growing cold. "This ends now," he whispered, and he moved forward, but Nick caught LaCroix's arm, stopping him. Their eyes met...then LaCroix nodded ever so slightly, as if giving Nick permission to handle the matter. The candles wavered and several went out completely as Nick landed at the base of the stage, standing on top of the covered orchestra pit just beneath Sandler. He heard the murmur of the audience behind him--many knew of him. Many more knew that he was one of LaCroix's progeny. And few, if any, would be foolish enough to antagonize LaCroix. "Why you ask me?" asked Nick coolly, meeting Sandler's gaze. Sandler sneered. "What would you know about what's bein' denied us when deny your own nature? You're the one who lives among mortals, pretends to a mortal." "Many of us do--it's a mortal world. We do it to survive. You know why we have to keep a low profile." Nick turned toward the audience and spread his hands. "You all know what happened at the Raven a few weeks ago. That's the first hunter we've seen in a long time, and we all know why--mortals no longer believe in our existence. They don't to believe that we exist. If we started to hunt again, if the alleys and streets are clogged with bloodless corpses, they won't have a choice. They'll have to believe. And then they'll come after us." They were young, this crowd. Most had probably never been hunted before, and he sensed how badly the incident at the Raven had frightened them. Nick pointed toward a woman wearing a light parka, her hair blonde, her eyes blue but verging on gold in fear. "They'll come after you during the day, while you're resting," he warned her. He allowed his arm to sweep across the crowd, pointing at different vampires as he spoke. "With fire, with garlic, with crosses, with stakes...yes, with stakes," he said, noting the collective shudder from his audience. "That's why we don't hunt. why we obey the Code--it protects us." "The Code doesn't protect ! Where were the Enforcers when our friends were being murdered by a hunter?" countered Sandler. "Will the Code feed us as human blood supplies diminish? Will we be forced to drink the blood of livestock, to become little more than , because we're 'afraid' of the mortals? Will we be denied our life, our blood, because the elders and ancients among us have grown lazy, too comfortable among the mortals to even remember what the hunt means, how it stirs our spirits, makes us strong?" Nick felt the attention of the crowd shift to Sandler, who stretched out his hands to his audience. "We're better than mortals--faster, smarter. We fly. We heal. We ." His eyes shifted from brown, to gold, to red. "Maybe it is world. Maybe it should become world." Nick could feel the passion of the crowd; the wave of their hunger buffeted and surrounded him. Their eyes shone with flecks of red or green or gold, and he could see the fangs of many of them as they roared their approval for Sandler--and no wonder. Sandler offered what the Code denied them--they could hunt at will, take what they wanted, live as they liked, without fearing either the mortals on which they preyed or the Enforcers who upheld the Code. They wanted absolute freedom, unencumbered by responsibility for their actions or for their own lives or those of others of their kind. He realized now how wrong he'd been to try to instill sense in them by addressing their fears. They didn't want rules and regulations; they wanted escape. As the approval for Sandler thundered around him, he wondered if LaCroix might have done better. "We're vampires!" shouted Sandler. "We should live like vampires. We should like vampires." The applause and shouts were almost deafening, echoing from the rafters of the theatre. The sound lingered for a long moment, accompanied by the gusts of air stirred by the rapid movement of so many. The breeze extinguished the candles, leaving the room in a comfortable, silent darkness. Nick let his hands drop to his sides and stared around the abandoned theatre. They were gone--all of them, even Sandler. When he looked up, LaCroix was walking down the balcony aisle, clapping his hands together in solitary, ironic applause. "Well, done, Nicholas," he called. " well done. The performance of a lifetime." An instant later and LaCroix was standing on the platform beside him. "Tell, me, what you do for an encore." Frustrated and feeling utterly ineffectual, Nick stepped from the cover of the orchestra pit down to the aisle between the first row of seats and the stage. He leaned back against the rear protrusion of the orchestra pit's wall. "It won't matter. They'll obey the Code--they won't hunt. They're too frightened to risk it on their own." "How much longer will they be 'on their own'?" countered LaCroix. His gaze was fixed on the distance. "Too many of them are without masters, too many who never learned the Code, never understood why we live the way we live. They want a leader, and they think they've found it in Sandler. I'd hoped the matter could be handled quietly-- it seems I've miscalculated, both in underestimating him and in overestimating you." LaCroix squatted above him on the platform and asked, not unkindly, "Nicholas, must you always rush in where angels fear to tread?" What LaCroix thought shouldn't matter to him, not after the centuries he'd spent trying to escape from LaCroix's influence and control, but the knowledge that he'd disappointed his master made Nick uneasy. "He must have common sense. I'll meet with Sandler, talk to him, make him see reason--" "It won't work." "It to work." Nick turned to face LaCroix, looking up. "Arrange it." That was another odd thing--to make a demand of LaCroix so easily and yet still have the assurance, or some assurance, that it wouldn't be tossed back in his face. LaCroix lifted a finger to his lips, regarding him thoughtfully for a long moment, before nodding his assent. "All right." Rising to his feet, he stared down at Nick, his expression cautious. "If you decide to handle this by yourself, Nicholas, you'll have to see it through. If you fail and the killing starts, if this crowd," he waved his arms at the empty auditorium, "grows used to the taste of fear-laced, living blood, it won't stop. Are you willing to accept that much responsibility?" With ease, LaCroix jumped from the platform and stood beside Nick. "Do you even know what you're fighting? Do you remember the taste of it?" he asked, as Nick turned away. Pressing closer, he whispered, "Do you remember the fire of it? How it burns the lips, heightens the senses, expands the soul?" It was too easy to remember the glory of the hunt. Closing his eyes, Nick jerked away from LaCroix, the reluctant, "Yes--" pulled from him as if without his consent. "That's what you'll be fighting--not Sandler, not a handful of leaderless youth eager to sow their wild oats at the cost of the safety of themselves and those around them. You'll be fighting the nature of the beast, the thrill of the hunt, and the bloodlust. beast, bloodlust." He smiled as Nick turned back to him, eyes gold. " the fight you'll have to surrender, if you're going to beat Sandler. You'll never defeat him unless you accept the beast within yourself." Nick heard LaCroix softly close the theatre door behind him. He stood leaning against the platform for a long moment, until old memories of fresh blood were drowned out by the scent of warm wax still dripping from the extinguished candles. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:03 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (06/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 6 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Captain Reese was standing in the observation room, his back to the doorway. Nick didn't recognize the man sitting across from Adam in the observation room. "Captain." Reese turned, favored him with a grim, half-reproving look, then returned his attention to the interrogation room on the other side of the glass. "That's Edward Oprysk--he owns the Georgian Bay club." "Suspect?" "Property owner." Reese rubbed his eyes with his fingertips and Nick realized just how weary the captain looked. He'd had his own share of family problems, his daughter still recovering from the hit-and-run. "Ever do any hunting?" "Hunting?" echoed Nick. "Yeah. You--the deer--the gun--bang. Hunting." Reese sighed, then pulled a chair over to the observation window, while the interrogation droned on through the speakers. "I'm a fisherman, myself. No fancy fly-fishing. Just a boat on a lake, a rod, a worm. Never caught anything large enough to take home, although Denise wouldn't know what to do with it if I did." "Schanke...Schanke used to fish. With his wife. They used to take trips, go on vacation." "Did they?" Reese glanced back at him. "What about you?" Nick walked to the window and pressed his fingertips against it. "I've hunted," he admitted. "A long time ago." "Our Mr. Oprysk is being hunted. Turns out he's been harassed for the past few months by a group called PAR." "PAR." Nick allowed the word to rest on his tongue for a moment. "Protect--?" "Protect Animal Rights." "Ah." Nick nodded, letting his forehead rest against the glass. Mr. Oprysk's heartbeat was agitated, but more or less steady--understandable, considering that his club had been vandalized and the night watchman murdered. "We have anything on file?" "They're a national organization. Seems the local group has chosen him as their target, and we've done nothing about it. Lots of threats, nothing concrete." "Let me guess--it's been just letters and crank phone calls?" "Up 'till now. , it's murder." Reese levered himself up from his chair and leaned his back against the window. "Might be a lead, might be nothing, but the vandalism angle makes me want to take a look at these PAR people, unless we get something different from forensics." He cleared his throat and fixed Nick with a wary gaze. "Your partner says you took off from the crime scene?" "Yeah." Pushing himself back from the window, Nick shoved his hands into his trouser pockets and tried to look embarrassed. "There was a blood trail out the back door. I followed it for a couple of blocks, got turned around...took me a while to find my way back." "You the crime scene?" Reese stared at him. "Let me guess--you didn't call in because you didn't want to take the heat about it?" "Would have called in?" Reese stared at him for a moment longer, then turned away, smiling. "No. But you owe your partner. There was a phone off the hook about a block from the blood trail--" "I passed it." Nick leaned back against the wall. "Any prints? Phone log?" "A handful of partial prints, covered by glove smudges. We're waiting for the log, but we got a phone call at the station just about the time of the murder--" Nick straightened, suddenly interested. "Male, young--maybe. Sounds like a typical 911 call...accident, starts to give the address, the line goes dead." Reese gestured through the window. "Your partner said you'd cover that. If I were you, I'd start checking out the local members of PAR; maybe we can get some voice- print comparisons." "Right, Captain." He'd turned to go, but stopped when he heard Reese add, "And...Nick? Don't tell him you were lost, okay? You're a police detective--use your imagination." Before Nick could reply, Sergeant Miller entered, giving him a quick look, then heading straight for Reese. "Captain, we've got something at the front desk for you to sign for." She glanced back at Nick. "You, too, detective." "Miller, I think any deliveries can wait--" "Not this one, Captain," countered Miller, obviously amused. Even Nick was more than slightly stunned by the circus atmosphere just outside the bullpen. There were nine college-age men and women, all dressed for the weather in jackets, hats, and gloves...and many still covered with splatters of what smelled--to him--like pig's blood. Uniformed officers were relieving two of the individuals of their very large and still partially blood-loaded, high- velocity water guns. The only unspattered member of the group, a tall, middle-aged man wearing a proper fedora and a meticulously spotless trenchcoat, pushed to the front of the group when he spotted them and reached for the Captain's hand. "You must be Captain Reese. I'm Alfred Winkler." Reese glanced down at his palm after shaking the man's hand and Nick saw that he was holding a business card. "I'll be representing these young people on behalf of PAR, 'Protect--'" "Protect Animal Rights," echoed both Nick and Reese simultaneously. Nick smiled and looked away. Reese gestured the man past the swinging gate and into the bullpen. As he drew the attorney to one side, he asked, "Just what charges do you think you're handling here?" Winkler blinked, glanced over at Nick, then back at Reese again. "Breaking and entering the Georgian Bay Hunting and Trapping Club. Vandalism. Destruction of private property. Trespassing." "What about 'murder'?" asked Nick. The attorney's eyes narrowed and he frowned. "Yes, I heard something about that. That's one of the reasons I'm here. None of my clients knows anything about a murder." Reese rolled his eyes. "I suppose they all took off when they heard the alarm go off?" "As a matter of fact--" "Great. If you'd just wait here for a moment, Mr. Winkler?" Reese caught Nick's arm and drew him to one side. "Get Sakai and then call forensics. We've gotta process these people ASAP. It's the first time I've ever had a mass delivery of suspects to my front porch, and I want to take advantage of it." Nick nodded, and glanced over at the suspects, all of whom seemed to be more than slightly unnerved. He didn't blame them--activism was one thing, murder was something else entirely. It was going to be a long night, for everyone. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:04 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (07/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 7 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Nick paused in the doorway to what they called the 'war room,' which was now serving as the heart of a make-shift, on-site forensics operation. Of the eight forensics technicians and coroner's office personnel who had poked, prodded, scraped, and processed their nine suspects, only Natalie remained, bent over the table and writing with black indelible marker across a bag label. "Busy night?" "Oh!" She straightened, brushed a lock of chestnut hair that had long since fallen out of place to one side, and smiled at him wearily. "This has gotta be a first. How's the captain handling it?" "About as well as he was handling it two hours ago. He's had three cups of coffee." "That well, huh?" She seated herself on a stool and sighed. "What do you need?" He took a step closer and leaned his arm on the table. "What makes you think I need something?" "Well, if you're here to help, I have about a hundred and fifty labels that need to be timed and dated...?" When he simply stared at the marker she held out to him, she smiled grimly and then dropped the marker to the table. "That's what I thought." "I need your help." Nick placed his other hand on the table and leaned over it, staring down at the piles of bagged evidence they'd collected in the past few hours. "Anything odd turn up lately?" "Turn up where?" "In the morgue." "Oh. Guess I be the one to ask, then. Define 'odd'." He pushed himself back from the table and tucked his hands in his trouser pockets. "Odd. Missing blood. Bite marks." "Vampire-odd?" "Vampire-odd," agreed Nick. Natalie swallowed and then looked away, as if thinking. "No, nothing...solid." Nick had almost been certain that Natalie was going to say something else, but she shook her head as if thinking better of it and looked away. He sank back against the wall opposite her, wondering just what it might be that she wasn't sharing. "If anything turns up, will you give me a call?" "Sure." Natalie met his eyes. "Want to tell me what I might be looking for? And why?" He shrugged. "Could be nothing--" "It's not 'nothing,' or you wouldn't have asked me," countered Natalie. "It doesn't concern you--" "It concern me. If people start dropping dead with no blood in the body and fang marks all over the place, somebody might notice." "Somebody...else." Nick hesitated, looked away, then looked back at her again, his voice acquiring a challenging note. "Like, maybe, Westwood?" "Yes," said Natalie defiantly. "Thomas might notice. He knows what to look for and, what's worse, he's looking." "That's not my fault--" "I didn't say that it was." They were glaring at each other. Natalie rubbed her thumb against the bridge of her nose and stared down at the floor, breaking the tension between them. "Don't you think it would help if you told me I'm supposed to be on the look-out? Don't you understand--?" "I understand." Nick moved closer to her and took hold of her hands. "Nat, I'm trying to protect you." She shook her hands from his grasp, pushed herself from the stool, and walked away from him quickly. He heard her heartbeat speed up, saw the shiver that ran through her. Did she know what her presence did to him? Did she know that he still hungered for another taste of her blood? Or was she simply frightened of him? "I don't to be protected," she informed him. After a moment, she turned to face him again. "Nick, I need to . Whenever I ask you a question, I get a song and dance instead of an answer. I need answers if I'm going to find a cure for you. I need answers if I'm going to figure out what's happening...what's happening to ." Nick leaned back against the table, his fingers grasping the edge to either side of him. "It's too dangerous. I've told you as much as I've dared." "As much as dared? Dangerous for whom?" She pursed her lips and nodded as she paced first to the left and then to the right. "I understand that you want to protect me...but it's too late, Nick. It was too late a long time ago. Nothing you could tell me now could place me in any more danger than I already am. Maybe I'm being selfish about this. Maybe--okay--maybe I'm wrong. It's possible." She stopped and stared at him. "But if something happens, somebody comes after me because of what think I know, don't you think I have a right to know what I might be dying for?" The memory of LaCroix's words were still swimming in his ears--the fire of it, burning his lips, tasting the brightness of the fear in the blood. Then there was Natalie's blood, the warmth of it coursing through him, filling him, her love for him intoxicating. Suddenly, it was his turn to be afraid. If he tasted her blood now, what would he find in it? Contempt? Hatred for what he'd done to her? She took a step closer to him, her arms lowering. "What haven't you told me, Nick? You've lived for eight hundred years, and I know so little about who you are, what you are. You have a history I know nothing about." "I know as little about you," he said quickly. Too quickly, as it turned out. Her eyes widened for a moment and he saw sadness take the place of fear. Natalie turned away, saying softly, "Maybe the problem." Nick wanted to hold her in his arms, to apologize for things that he'd done and things that he wasn't certain that he'd done and things he was sure he didn't do. He wanted to take back the changes he'd made in her, physically, and in other ways. He wanted to take away her fear, free her from the dreadful secret that she carried, free her from him...although it would tear him apart to let her go. In daring to hold her close and needing to push her away, he was afraid that he might crush her soul. "Evening, folks," said Captain Reese. Natalie's hand brushed across her eyes--if she'd shed any tears, she wiped them away. When she turned around, she looked no worse for the wear of the last ten grueling hours than she might have looked if that were all she'd had to deal with. "Captain." Nick nodded as Reese passed. The captain moved directly toward Natalie and said, "Doctor, I got a call from your lab--you were supposed to be off shift three hours ago." "You've been putting in some overtime, yourself," she said evenly, somehow managing not to look at Nick. "I know. Don't think I won't pay for it tomorrow." Reese gestured toward the evidence bags behind him. "Go home." "But the bags have to be timed and dated--" "I'll have one of the desk people handle it and a squad car will deliver them to the lab as soon as they're done. Now, go home." Natalie hesitated a moment, met Nick's eyes, then looked back to Reese again. "I'll get those results to you as soon as I can. Any match-ups--" "Will be appreciated. Tomorrow." He picked up her coat from a chair and held it out so that she could slip her arms into it. Natalie's cheeks flushed and she seemed almost embarrassed at the attention. "Thank you, Captain." "I'm also sending down a request to the Commissioner's office tomorrow. I don't know what we would have done without your people tonight, at the scene and then back here. When we nail this killer, or killers, your people will deserve the credit." Now her cheeks were red. Natalie glanced down at the floor, then up again, eyes shinning brightly. "Just doing my job, Captain." "I'd be a happy man if my detectives would do jobs half as well," said Reese, giving Nick a sidelong glance. Before Nick got a chance to reply, Adam poked his head into the room. "Captain--Miller said you wanted to see me?" "Have a nice night, Doctor. Don't get lost on the way home." Gesturing Adam into the room as Natalie left, Reese frowned at his detectives. "I've just had nine murder suspects processed, printed, tagged, and released, and I still don't have a confession or a murderer." Pushing aside some of the evidence bags, Adam pulled his notebook from his jacket pocket and flipped it open. "There are ten local college kids actively involved in PAR, the youngest eighteen and the oldest twenty--at least we're not dealing with Juvie." "For which I will thank my lucky stars on the drive back to my wife and children," said Reese. Leaning one hand against the wall, he asked. "Ten? And our holdout is--?" "Vincent Coates," volunteered Nick. When Reese looked over at him, he added, "Winkler says he's the leader of the local PAR group--he was the only one they couldn't find." "Making him our prime suspect. Witnesses?" pressed Reese. When Nick and Adam looked at one another, he growled, "Come ! Somebody saw ?" "They bypassed the alarm sensors--one of the kids knew enough to cut the right wire. Sturges must have been doing his rounds, saw the kids, and hit the alarm himself." Adam flipped the notebook closed and tapped it against his leg. "They've all got the same story--they were raising hell, the alarm went off, and they all took off out the front door. In the rush for cover, nobody checked to see who was, or wasn't, left behind." "At least half the kids clear one another in their stories," added Nick, "but there are four who can't provide a witness--Coates, Amy Lo, Ted Cittadino, and Alex Nalvayko. Cittadino's got a Juvie record, but it's sealed. Lo and Nalvayko are foreign students--we've got Interpol trying to pull records from Taiwan and the Russian Republic." Sighing, Reese pulled over a stool that Natalie had used earlier and seated himself on it. "I saw Winkler talking to Oprysk--I'm guessing a nice, fat, compensation check from PAR will prevent any property damage charges." "If none of the prints from the nine we have match the prints Dr. Lambert pulled from the blood near the body, we've got nothing to hold them on," said Adam. "But they're all local or boarding at their schools. Nick and I could do a run by tomorrow, see if we can get any of them to change their stories--?" "Yes--good." Reese rubbed his hand over his face and sighed again. "I want an APB issued on Coates. We assume he's one of the prints near the body--maybe there's somebody we don't know about, somebody working with Coates from the outside?" "Winkler?" asked Nick. Adam shook his head. "Naw--no match on his shoes, either. All of the prints were sneakers. Every pair those kids were wearing was spattered with blood." "Nick's right--a man can change his shoes," said Reese, gesturing toward Adam. "I want to find out where Winkler's staying, and I want a search warrant for the premises, if we can get one. We're looking for a smoking gun, gentleman." "In this case," said Adam unhappily, "it's two pair of size eleven, blood-stained sneakers." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:06 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (08/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 8 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Adam slid into the passenger seat, closed the door, then dropped his forehead onto the dashboard. "What's new in the world of footwear?" asked Nick, peering past Adam to get one last glimpse at the sportswear store. "Do you how many brands of sneakers are out there?" Nick started the engine and guided the car out into traffic. "I have a vague idea." "I would have settled for 'a vague idea.' This falls under the category of 'things that man was not meant to know.'" He sighed and raised his head, then reached over to attach his seatbelt. "I don't envy forensics this job. Tracking down two pairs of sneakers in a city size?" It wasn't a bad night--cold, but the sky was clear. Nick glanced upward at the stars through the windshield, then leaned forward and turned on the radio. He lowered the volume when he heard the strains of a trendy pop song about suicide and butterflies--it was almost time for the Nightcrawler. "Speaking of tracking--" began Adam. "What?" "When do you go on vacation?" That was the last question he'd expected. Glancing across at his partner and finding no answer in Adam's stoic expression, Nick shrugged. "Whenever. Why?" "Could you possibly make 'whenever' into 'September or October'?" "There a reason behind this--?" "Kelly wants to book a hunting lodge in prime deer season. I'm the new man on the shift, so you get first pick as far as vacations go. If you check off a couple of weekends in either month--" "Then you get out of going hunting," deduced Nick. "Right." Obviously relieved, Adam sank back against the seat. "So you'll do it?" "No." "Aw, c'mon! What kind of partner you?" "The kind who won't set up a phony vacation just because his partner can't tell his fiancee that he doesn't want to go hunting." They were on Spadina, heading for the university. The song finished, and as the signature music for the Nightcrawler wafted onto the airwaves, Nick turned up the volume. "'The woods are made for the hunters of dreams, /The brooks for the fishers of song; /To the hunters who hunt for the gunless game/the streams and the woods belong,'" said the voice of the Nightcrawler. "That, my children, is the belief of 'The Bloodless Sportsman,' a curious oxymoron." "It's not like it doesn't make sense," said Adam. Turned sideways, he stared out the passenger side window, occasionally chewing on the side of his thumb. "It's environmentally sound--that's what Kelly says. She's a vet, she knows about these things. Thin the herd because they have fewer natural predators, or they'd only end up starving. You eat what you kill. Problem is, I don't want to kill ." "Then tell her that," said Nick. "For hunting a blood sport, is it not?" continued the Nightcrawler. "The blood of the predator races, the blood of the prey grows chill, then flows, spills out upon the earth. If the woods and streams belong to the idealists, what of the cities? Where are the hunters and what do they hunt?" "Oh, that's a idea! I'll just phone her tomorrow and say, 'Look, Kell, I really don't like this hunting thing.' Muy macho, partner. She'd probably hang up on me... she'd stopped laughing." "You don't know that. And there's nothing that says you have to hunting." "A perp's one thing--he's armed and shooting back--but an ?" "You've told this to Kelly, right?" When Adam didn't answer, Nick glanced at him and added, "Right?" "Reese read me the riot act about overtime yesterday-- I've been clocking in early and staying late. Haven't talked to her about much of anything." "So, you don't how she feels about this. You're just guessing?" "She keeps bringing it up. It's like this is some sort of bonding thing to her. Her family's always been into this sort of stuff. I don't think they're pushing her--I think it's just something she does. Hunting's a part of her life I don't think I can share. It's a part of her life I don't think I to share." Nick stared out the windshield at the oncoming traffic, thinking of the parts of his own life that he'd kept from Natalie, the things he'd been afraid to share with her. If he'd brought her across, he would have had no choice--there were certain aspects of his life that she'd have had to learn about. Their prey would have been animals, of course, in the woods up north. And, later...mortals. Not many, maybe only one, or two. It was something she'd need to know, how to hunt, how to survive. "The predator is never far from us, my friends," whispered the Nightcrawler. "He may wear a business suit, or a panhandler's rags, he may be a prince, or a pauper, or a policeman...but he's still a predator. The predators never really go away. 'Survival of the fittest,' isn't that what Mr. Darwin suggested? We are predators, preying upon each other for every scrap of existence, for our sustenance, for our ...." "Survival of the fittest?" Adam's chuckle was devoid of humor. "Yeah, tell me another one. I was a sick kid." " I believe." "No," he said seriously. "I was sick. The doctors wrote me off a couple of times, but I always seemed to pull through. I don't believe in 'survival of the fittest.' If survival of the fittest really worked, I wouldn't here." "When the prey disappears," said the Nightcrawler's voice, "how soon before the hunters turn upon one another? How soon before the predator becomes the prey?" >>>> Lightning sparked in the distant sky, silhouetting the black lines of the thorn thickets and overhead growth against the heavy gray storm clouds and the grassy savanna to their right. "A lion's been through here." Nicholas placed one knee in the dirt and touched his hand to the trace of blood that only he could see. He licked the drying redness from his finger and for a moment could see nothing but red-fire, pain and anger, animal fury at being wounded. Closing his eyes, he bowed his head in an attempt to regain control of himself. The British party might be looking for the lions, but he was more worried about LaCroix. His decision to accompany Everleigh and his fiancee had less to do with the promise of capturing an animal trophy than with simple protective cover--there had been something unspoken between LaCroix and Miss Lawson. Nicholas knew all too well that attracting the attention of a vampire like LaCroix could only end badly for the pretty young adventuress. At the first opportunity, he'd attempt to convince his 'team-mates' to leave the hunt and return to the relative safety of a camp crowded with bearers and other witnesses before the storm struck. He might pay later for spoiling LaCroix's sport, but it would mean two less victims on his conscience. "What have you found, Mr. Kent?" Miss Lawson peered over his shoulder, searching intently for something Nicholas knew only he could see. Nicholas took a deep breath, then rose and gestured toward a break in the torn thicket with the butt of his rifle. "At least one of them went through there and not long ago." He stared out into the jungle, but even "hunted out," the heartbeats and general rustlings of the local animal life proved to be too much of a distraction to locate two lions, the other two members of the British hunting party...or LaCroix. The occasional mental brush told him that LaCroix was close, perhaps even watching, but his exact whereabouts were impossible to pinpoint. "I don't see any sign of spoor." Everleigh glanced over ground as he walked to the left and to the right, then seemed to give up. He headed grimly into the thorn thickets again, calling over his shoulder, "You're a good tracker, Kent--far better than Comstock." Nicholas started after Everleigh, with Miss Lawson close beside him. "Are you certain that you and Mr. LaCroix can't delay your travel a few days, Mr. Kent? Really, you must. Whatever Carlton may say, I'm a better shot than he is, and I'd like to prove it to you. If Mr. LaCroix hadn't run off into the bush by himself, I would have proven it to ." "You've got nothing to prove to me, or to LaCroix." Setting aside his gun, Nicholas placed his hands on either side of her waist and lifted her over an impassable spot in the thicket. "Believe me, it's better if you avoid LaCroix entirely. You have no idea how danger--" A scream rent the air--definitely human, terrified beyond all imagining. Miss Lawson pressed close to him, her body shuddering as the sound ran through them both--it surprised him to realize that she wasn't frightened by the sound, but actually seemed excited. Releasing her, Nick headed in the direction of the scream, easily passing Everleigh, then skidded to a spot in a clearing. Morgan Comstock's body was partially propped up in a thorn bush, as if he'd been mauled where he stood. His rifle was lying on the ground not far from his feet, which were twisted beneath him in opposite directions. His throat was torn out, little more than a mass of open flesh, and blood oozed from the wound, traveling down his shirt and pooling in the dirt at his feet. Nicholas' nostrils flared at the scent of blood; his fangs itched, and he felt the beast rise up within him at such warm and convenient blood. It was the call of Everleigh and his fiancee from behind that forced him to regain his control. As Everleigh moved to the body, Nicholas stood his ground and intercepted Miss Lawson. "You don't need to see this," he told her. "Of I need to see--" Pushing past him, she froze in place when she caught sight of the body. Her hand rose to her mouth, and she whispered, "Good God." Realizing that she'd probably never seen a human corpse before--and certainly not one in this condition--Nicholas gently took her shoulders and led her in another direction. Within seconds, she'd turned back to stare at the corpse, fascinated. When he tried to make her turn away, she resisted him angrily until he gave up. "The throat's been ripped to shreds," declared Everleigh. "Looks like the work a lion." "One...or both?" asked Nicholas, still standing by Miss Lawson. "One, possibly. There's no spoor. Mr. Kent--you have a keen eye, can you spot anything?" Nicholas glanced around the area. There were broken places in the thorn bushes, and the trail of blood had been accurate up until this point, but a lion, wounded or whole, would leave prints, tracks, bits of wreckage. Comstock had been killed by LaCroix, but not for food-- there was too much blood remaining. Unless LaCroix had found the tracker's life unpalatable, he had simply killed for the sport of killing. Realizing the Everleigh was watching him, Nicholas shrugged. "Perhaps the beasts have separated." "Perhaps they have." Everleigh straightened--he'd been anything but eager to engage in the hunt, but there was a square set to his shoulders that indicated however distasteful he might find the proceedings, he was now in for the duration. "That would make them damned clever. I don't believe in hunting anything damned clever--man beast-- through its own territory and in darkness." Stalking past Nicholas, he grabbed his fiancee's arm. "Ginny, you're going back to the camp and you're staying there." She wrenched her arm away from him and moved to stand by Nicholas. "This is safari, Carlton. I came out to this godforsaken country to bag myself a lion, and that's precisely what I'm going to do." "If you stay, you're going to get killed." Giving Nicholas a long-suffering look, Carlton Everleigh took a step toward his fiancee. "This isn't high tea, Ginny--this is life and death. Lives are at stake." "What do you know about life, hiding behind your cards and your cigars while you talk about the thrill of the hunt? You wouldn't even be here if I hadn't pushed you, given you some backbone. And now when the stakes are real, you want me to just give in and walk away?" Glaring, she took a step toward him, her chin rising in defiance. "You're spineless, Carlton--you always were, just like the rest of them. If you're frightened, go back to camp." The contempt in Miss Lawson's voice seemed to have been the final straw. "Stay and be damned then," cursed Everleigh, as he stamped away into the thicket, cursing beneath his breath. Moving to stand beside Miss Lawson, Nicholas took her arm and drew her close beside him. "He's right--it's too dangerous out here, for anyone. You should return to camp." He stared at her, much the way her fiance had done, but he had vampiric mesmerism on his side. Her heart beat slowly, the sound pounding in his ears. "I'll take you back to camp. You'll be safe with me. Don't be afraid. Don't be--" The warmth of her flesh against his, the scent of her skin--lightly perfumed soap, lemon--those violet eyes...she was an enticing package. The heady scent of Comstock's spilled blood mingled with her perfume, and Nicholas found himself drawing even closer to her, inching his lips toward the light pulse of her neck. She blinked, nearly stumbled, then righted herself instantly, removing his hand from her arm. "I'm going back," she declared angrily. "Don't treat me like a child! I'll wager I'm a better marksman than you, at any range, Mr. Kent." Without a backward glance, Miss Lawson proceeded through the broken part of the thicket, following the trail her fiance had blazed. Nicholas knew that he shouldn't let them out of his sight for long, that LaCroix might well be watching for a lack of vigilance on his part. He paused only long enough to close Comstock's eyes before hurrying after the two mortals in his care, wondering how many more of the hunters would become the hunted before the night ended. >>>> (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:07 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (09/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 9 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- Nick pulled the Caddy into an alley parking lot for a university residence building just off St. George Street. He leaned over, turning off the Nightcrawler's musical interlude, and realized that Adam had already opened the passenger side door of the car. They walked around the front of the building, neither speaking a word. Once there, Nick paused. "Who's first on the list?" "Huh? First?" Adam started, then reached into his coat and pulled out his notepad. "Let's see--we've got six of the ten students attending the University of Toronto, five of those live around the campus here, with one commuting in from York. I say we concentrate on the ones without alibis--Coates, Lo, Cittadino and Nalvayko." "Which means?" "We start here." Adam pointed up at the building. "Lo's on the second floor--her roommate is Andrea Cibella, another one of our PAR action group. At least Andrea had the good sense to get alibied by a couple of the others." Nick followed Adam through the front doors of the building. "It's surprising that she didn't alibi Lo, then." "If she didn't see her, she didn't see her." Adam paused at the foot of the stairs and glanced over at Nick. "You think some of these kids are actually telling us the truth?" "That's a novel idea." Nick grinned. "Let's run with it and see what happens." Adam's first sneeze occurred when the apartment door opened and Andrea Cibella gestured them inside. Amy Lo was in the living room of the small apartment--she clicked off the television with the remote, then rose from her seat as they entered. Nick was careful to keep his badge and ID out and visible until the young women seemed comfortable that he and Adam were who they said they were. "Mind if we ask you a few questions?" Andrea looked at her roommate, then shrugged. "Mr. Winkler says we're supposed to call him, but we've got nothing to hide. Sure, I guess. Have a seat." "Thanks." Nick pulled a chair out from the dining room table and turned it backwards, Adam's sneezes letting him know that his partner was standing directly behind him. "You want to wait in the hall?" "Doe. I'm okay. Dere's gotta be a--" A large ginger cat shot across the room, ran up the back of the couch, then settled itself behind Amy Lo's head as she seated herself. The cat stared at Adam, its whiskers twitching as if in amusement. "Bingo," said Adam, pointing. Pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket, he turned his back to them and moved toward the front door. In response, the cat leaped from the couch, paused for a moment in front of Nick, then followed Adam. When Adam turned, he nearly stepped on the cat. "Gaah!" "Maybe I should put him in the bedroom," suggested Andrea, starting to rise from her seat. "That's okay," said Nick. "I'm good with animals." He picked up the cat and turned so that the others couldn't see him. Staring into its eyes, he allowed his fangs to descend and hissed. Letting out a screech, the cat jumped from his grasp, and the ginger-colored streak zipped down a hallway and out of sight. "Danks," said Adam, who proceeded to blow his nose again. "Don't mention it." Returning to his chair, Nick seated himself and glanced from one girl to the other. "Okay, let's take it from the top." With Adam standing behind him, his pen scratching on his notepad, Nick listened to the girls tell the same story they'd told in the interrogation room the night before. After the first five minutes, he actually began to believe that Adam had been right--the students were telling the truth. By the end of ten minutes, he was certain of it-- their heartbeats never wavered with anything other than the occasional nervousness that came from being interviewed by police detectives in one's living room. All ten students had joined PAR on campus, and all had been members for at least a year. Frustrated by the reluctance of the national organization to approve any action--Amy Lo had been pretty vocal about the national organization's obsession with raising money--the group had chosen the Georgian Bay Hunting and Trapping Club as their first 'victim.' They'd broken in, splashed the place with pig's blood, then ran like hell when the alarms had gone off. Both girls claimed to have left by the front door, and Andrea added that she'd seen the police car pull up when she'd glanced over her shoulder. Nick glanced back at Adam during the recitation. Even though his partner's cheeks appeared flushed and his eyes were watering, he'd stopped sneezing. As if realizing that he was being watched, Adam looked up from his notepad, met Nick's gaze, and nodded. "So," began Adam, stepping forward and tucking his notepad inside his suit coat, "the alarms go off and you all run...where?" "Back to Vinney's place," said Amy Lo. "If anything happened, that was the plan. He'd left a key under the mat." She glanced over to Andrea Cibella, who nodded, as if in confirmation. "And everybody knew to meet back at Coates' apartment?" Nick asked. "Well, yeah," answered Andrea. She folded her hands in her lap and leaned forward. "Everybody made it back, except Vinney. Then Mr. Winkler showed up--" " did Mr. Winkler show up?" Adam pulled out his notepad again. "Exactly. A half hour after you all met back there? An hour?" "Within an hour?" guessed Andrea. This time she glanced at Amy, who nodded. "Yeah, an hour. We didn't even know who he was, thought he was you guys, 'till he showed us his card and told us Vinney had called him. That's when he told us the security guard had been killed." "We didn't know about that," said Amy. "Honest. We never wanted anybody to get hurt." "No one ever wants anyone to get hurt," said Nick. "But it happens." He clasped his hands together, resting them on the top back of the chair on which he was sitting. "The last time you saw Vincent Coates was at the club. The alarms went off, you came back to Coates' apartment, then Mr. Winkler shows up an hour later and says that Coates had called him. That's when he told you that the night watchman had been murdered. And that's when he took you down--" the cell-phone inside his jacket beeped, "--town." Nick flipped open his cell-phone and turned away as Adam continued to speak with the students. "Knight here." It was LaCroix. "Sandler is waiting for you at the Raven. He won't wait long." Before Nick could speak, he heard a dial tone. Flipping the cell-phone closed, he tucked it back into his pocket, then rose to his feet. "You need anything else?" he asked Adam. Adam paged through his notebook, then shook his head. "I guess that's all for now. If we need to ask either of you ladies anything, we can call?" "Sure," answered Andrea. She peeled herself from the second-hand sofa and showed them to the door. "Sorry about the cat." Nick smiled when the door closed behind them and Adam stepped into the center of the hall, threw his hands up over his head, and took several deep breaths. "That bad?" Nick asked, attempting to be sympathetic. "Not good." As they headed downstairs, Nick caught his partner's arm, stopping him at the mid-landing. "Let me get this straight--your fiancee is a veterinarian, and allergic to cats?" "Some cats," corrected Adam, hurrying down the steps. "Not all cats. I'm trying to talk Kelly into just treating dogs. Or birds. Or sheep. I'm okay with sheep." He paused when they hit the lower landing. "That about Coates?" "What?" Nick stared, until Adam gestured toward his coat, then he remembered the phone call. "No--something I'd forgotten about. I gotta go take care of something." "Now?" "Now," admitted Nick, letting his tone indicate that there no other choice in the matter. Adam turned away, frowning. "I want to check out Coates' place. But I also want to mess with Winkler--" "You're guessing he'll pull 'client confidentiality' on us?" "I know he will. And I think he knows where Coates is." Adam turned back to Nick. "Go take care of...whatever. Coates' place is right around the corner. I'll check in with our stake-out crew; maybe they've seen something." Adam was dying to know where he was going. Nick hesitated, remembering Reese's admonition to come up with a better story for his partner, then decided that it wasn't worth the lie. This was too important to play around with. If he didn't take care of Sandler, Adam wouldn't have any more problems with his fiancee and a hunting expedition. If the younger vampires decided it was open season on mortals, anyone might become a victim--Adam, Kelly, Reese...even Natalie. "I'll pick you up in twenty," called Nick, as they both headed out the door. He didn't entirely catch Adam's reply, but it wasn't happy. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. X-Sender: a1b01927@ultranet.ca Date: Sun, 30 Mar 1997 20:54:09 -0500 To: choff@socrates.berkeley.edu From: Virtual Fourth Season (by way of Jane Credland ) Subject: V4S: The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1 (10/10) X-Status: Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #9 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 1" "Air" Date: March 20, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 10 of 10 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 1997 Susan M. Garrett -------------------------- After the fire, the front door of the Raven had been boarded up again. The loading door in the side alley was open--an invitation, of sorts. Nick walked into the darkness, senses alert. There was a candle on what was left of the bar. Sandler stood there, his back to Nick. There were two other young vampires behind the bar, their eyes fixed on Sandler. It was only as Nick approached that he realized what was happening--Sandler was holding his hand over the open flame of the candle. It was a test, the vampire's instinctive fear of fire versus the will. The palm of Sandler's hand had to be blackening; there was wisp of smoke rising from the skin. Without emotion, Sandler drew his hand away slowly, then smiled at Nick and gestured toward the candle. "Care to try your hand?" Nick leaned forward and blew out the candle with a faint breath. Rising, he allowed his gaze to lock with Sandler. "I'm not here to play games." "This isn't a game, ." The grin disappeared. "That's what your mortal friends call you, don't they? ?" "I'm not here to listen to your taunts, either." "Then why you here?" Sandler moved away from the bar and so did Nick--they were no more than three feet apart. "To talk." "What if I'm not here to 'talk'?" countered Sandler. There was a touch of an Irish lilt in his voice and Nick wondered if what LaCroix had said was true. Had Sandler been a part of the Irish uprising against the British, during the Troubles? No wonder that he hungered for fresh kills--the blood had flowed like water the length and breadth of Ireland, guerrilla warfare escalating to all- out destruction. "The Enforcers--" Nick began, but Sandler cut him off. "The Enforcers don't worry me. You do. Or, you ." Taking first one step, then another, Sandler moved closer. "Although now that I get a look at you, I can't for the life of me think why I was worried. You're soft, Nicholas. You're just like all the old ones, just like your master. You've forgotten what the hunt means to us. Bottled blood is a comfort to you, isn't it?" He pushed lightly at Nick's chest and Nick backed up a step. "Your fangs are so old and so tired that if they pressed the flesh of a warm throat, they'd probably snap away. Isn't that right, lads?" There was laughter from behind the bar, then additional laughter from deep within the shadows of the club. More of them than he'd first thought. Nick's eyes roamed the darkness and he'd no sooner catch sight of one than the vampire would move, a blur of red-light heat fading into the shadows. The heartbeats were so erratic, he couldn't tell them all apart. There could be five or ten or twenty. He wondered if he should mention to Sandler that the Raven had a legal occupancy limit of one hundred and fifty when it had been open. Before he could move, they rushed him--he couldn't be certain of the number. Nick grabbed one and tossed him over the bar, but was blind-sided by the second. They came at him from all sides, striking from the left and the right, Sandler hanging back as his thugs swung in from naked beams. Pushed to the ground, Nick was pummeled in the face and chest. Someone was kneeling on his hands on either side, another pressing down on his legs--a brutal mockery of a crucifixion. He wasn't strong enough to fight them, even after giving the beast within him full reign. He'd sworn after nearly killing Natalie that he'd never touch human blood again, and yet he'd gone back and forth from the cow blood to the protein shakes to the human blood so often that falling off the wagon had become a matter of course. He'd settled on cow blood again and it was proving to be his undoing. No matter how he flailed or gnashed his teeth, he couldn't fight these hoodlum vampires. The bodies piled off him. Nick let his head fall back against the floor, but his hands and legs were still held down. Sandler stood over him. Leaning down, he grabbed a handful of Nick's hair and pulled his head upward. "Can you see, now, Nicholas, that it's not worth the effort? You can't beat me at this, you know you can't. So why not join us and be done with it. I've heard you were a rowdy lad in your day. Let it out, man. Let it . with us. with us. What do you say?" He took a moment to gather what saliva he could, then spat at Sandler, catching the young vampire in the eye. "Go to hell." "I'll send you on ahead, then?" There was a long, sharpened piece of wood in Sandler's hand. Nick saw it, smelled the fresh planing of it, then it rose in an arc above him. He stared straight at Sandler and waited for that awful, painful thud. It never came. The wood disappeared and LaCroix was suddenly standing behind Sandler. The others tumbled away, freeing Nick in their haste to fade into the shadows, until only the three of them were left. Sandler turned to face LaCroix. His fists had been clenched, but he forced them flat and rubbed them against the sides of his trousers as Nick struggled to his feet behind him. "Ah, LaCroix, isn't it?" He rocked back on his heels for a moment as LaCroix simply stood there--his face devoid of expression, silent and still as a stone statue, but exuding a palpable air of menace. "We were having a bit of fun with your boy. No harm done, is there?" "No harm...done." The stake was resting on the bar in front of LaCroix. He lifted it, as if discovering it for the first time, then rested the point lightly against Sandler's chest. "I'd suggest you leave." Nick held onto the wall as he fought his way to his feet. He tried to move forward, but LaCroix's stern glance over Sandler's shoulder and his own inability to walk more than a few steps without falling into a heap gave him impetus to remain where he was. "You aren't the one to be giving orders here any more," said Sandler. "You're right--he's not." Miklos emerged from the shadows of the bar from behind LaCroix, startling Sandler. "This is my place now. You're not welcome. I'm asking you to leave." "All right," agreed Sandler. He glanced over his shoulder, back at Nick, then turned his attention to Miklos and sketched a mockery of a courtly bow. "Since you ask so nice and proper, me and the boys'll be heading off." He started for the door, then turned and pointed at LaCroix. "But take care you don't step on ground. You'll not be welcome there. There's nothin' in heaven or on earth that'll stop me now. Not even you." LaCroix smiled coldly. "Perish the thought." There was a moment after Sandler stalked out during which his shadowy friends and bullies followed after, one upon another, blurs of black against the true darkness. Nick waited until they were gone, then he stumbled to the bar. He slipped onto a stool LaCroix had righted for him and then discovered Miklos was pouring a glass of blood. He raised his hand to try to protest, but Miklos only smiled. "It's cow. Don't worry--I never forget a regular." Pushing the glass forward, Miklos gave LaCroix a grim glance. "There was no need for that to go on for so long. could have stopped it." "We did stop it. Or, rather, did." LaCroix picked up another empty glass Miklos had placed on the counter and held it up, as if examining it. "There was no real danger." Nick's hand shook as he held the glass--all of his fingers were bruised and a number of them broken, but they'd heal by the time he finished the bottle. "I could have handled it." He was dimly aware of LaCroix moving beside to stand beside him. Miklos picked up the stake that LaCroix had dropped on the bar, and ran his finger lightly against the sharpened tip before dropping it. "I'd call this dangerous." "It was a demonstration, nothing more. Sandler wanted to show his friends that we were as weak and ineffectual as he claimed." Placing the empty glass down on the bar, LaCroix pushed it away. "And I wanted to prove to Nicholas just how foolish he was in continuing to press the issue. Not one of your better efforts, Nicholas, but...I'll give you points for pig-headed heroism." "He's a patriot," said Miklos. "A true patriot." "Patriotism can be easily mistaken as a synonym for suicide." LaCroix leaned forward as Nick continued to drink. "And that action I will not condone, in this way or any other." Placing the empty glass down on the counter, Nick gestured for Miklos to fill it again. "Sandler has to be stopped. There isn't any other way." "There another way," said Miklos, as he lifted the bottle and began to pour. "Call the Enforcers." "Normally, I would. But if I need remind you, our lives have been somewhat 'messy' lately. There might be repercussions. repercussions." Nick looked up at LaCroix. The deaths of Vachon, Urs, and Divia, his own attempted suicide, Natalie's conversion into...whatever he'd done to her--LaCroix was right. When the Enforcers came this time, there'd be no leniency for him. There were too many questions he'd left unanswered. He couldn't leave Natalie to their mercy...nor LaCroix or Miklos, or any of the rest of the community. "We don't need the Enforcers." "Agreed." LaCroix ran his thumb across the edge of his jaw thoughtfully. "Sandler's become too public to disappear--in his absence, his followers may disband, or they may simply find someone else to replace him. In death, he'd become a martyr, which is something we'd absolutely want to avoid. I have no intention of falling prey to Henry II's error in judgment. But he must be dealt with." "When's the next meeting?" asked Nick. "Tomorrow night--the largest yet," said Miklos. "There are so many young ones now without masters, or whose masters have forsaken them, given them their freedom. They see him as one of their own, one who understands them. Sandler offers them protection and they won't let him go easily. Even if the Enforcers were called after tomorrow night, it might be too late. Blood will be shed, one way or another." Nick swallowed most of the blood in the glass with a single swallow. "Not if I take on Sandler, one on one." His chin rose defiantly when LaCroix began to chuckle. "I was certain that beating you'd taken would knock some sense into even your thick skull. Give in, Nicholas. This is not your battle." "Whose is it then?" he asked. "Yours?" LaCroix's eyes glittered. "In a way, yes. It's obvious now why Sandler was asking questions about you--he sought to draw my attention. By discrediting you, he'd hoped to discredit me. This charade was also for my benefit, to remind me that I can't protect you from his followers. Sandler's all but offered me an invitation." Nick glowered and slammed his glass onto the bar. "I don't need your protection." "I don't remember having offered you a choice." "I handle this." "Just as you handled his friends?" asked LaCroix. "He's hunting. Sandler's feeding from living mortals." On some level he'd understood that--he'd smelled the blood on their clothing and on their breath--but Nick had been unable or unwilling to fully admit the implications to himself until LaCroix had said the words aloud. Even then, for any vampire to flaunt the Code by killing regularly.... "No, it's not possible, I would have heard something. Where are the bodies?" "Sandler and his friends might be wild," noted Miklos, "but they aren't entirely stupid. If they chose their victims carefully, a handful of vampires could easily get away with disposing of a body here and there--fire, dismemberment, burial, Lake Ontario?" "So many ways to hide a variety of sins," added LaCroix. Nick glanced from one to the other. Miklos picked up the bottle and dusted it, averting his gaze, but LaCroix met Nick's gaze evenly and without any sign of remorse. He knew the truth of the matter without having to ask--each of them had hunted in the not too distant past. Even the Code acknowledged the basic vampiric need to hunt, the rule being that one should never hunt openly and endanger the secret of the existence of vampires. As long as one was discrete and infrequent, made certain the remains would never be found or wouldn't be tied to the work of a vampire, ensured that the victim wasn't prominent or wouldn't be missed...it was, after all, the nature of their beast. "That's why have to fight Sandler," he informed them. "If I can defeat him, humiliate him in front of his followers, it's over. The others will stop hunting, the Code will be upheld and our secret will be safe. If you fight him," he gestured toward LaCroix, "you fall right into Sandler's argument--the ancients trying to prevent the younger vampires from enjoying the freedom they once had. But I'm different--I'm not an ancient and I don't hunt. I don't want to drink human blood." "That's why you can't fight Sandler," countered LaCroix. "You won't defeat him as long as you drink ." Not bothering to conceal his contempt, LaCroix knocked the bottle from the bar, ignoring Miklos' disapproving gaze. He leaned closer to Nick, adding, "You'd need human blood to overpower him, the fresher the better. It's the only thing that would bring your strength to his level." "I won't kill," he told LaCroix. "I won't feed from the living." Miklos cleared his throat, then offered, "I can deliver bottled human blood to your loft--" "No. Not even that." He gestured toward Miklos, who put another bottle of cow blood on the bar. Nick took his time opening it, well aware of LaCroix's mounting displeasure. "For whatever reason, Sandler's singled me out. If I don't answer him in public, I'll be branded a coward." He looked up at LaCroix. "If I have to fight Sandler, I want it to be on my own terms. I'm tired of being a hypocrite." "Better a live hypocrite than a dead one," said LaCroix quietly. "I don't agree." "I didn't expect you to." LaCroix nodded thoughtfully, then glanced over at Miklos. "When will you approach Sandler? Nick raised the third glass of blood to his lips, no longer feeling the pain in his fingers. The bones had already knit back into place and soon the bruises would disappear. "I'll challenge him before the meeting." "His followers will be waiting. I think I should be present, just to avoid a repeat of tonight's performance." Placing the glass back on the bar, Nick met LaCroix's gaze. "This is between Sandler and myself. You won't interfere." There was a fire in LaCroix's eyes that shone however briefly, then vanished. "I'll make an effort not to attempt to 'protect' you, since you feel so strongly about the matter." "Thank you." Nick looked up at Miklos and forced a smile. "Thanks for the drink." "It's in a good cause. You have to keep the Code." Miklos stared at him soberly. "They'll meet at the theatre near Runnymeade Park. I could be there--" "No," instructed LaCroix. When Nick turned to look at him, LaCroix almost smiled. "If Nicholas fails, someone will have to be the voice of reason. Some of the young ones listen to you--save as many as can be saved, before the Enforcers arrive." For a moment, Nick felt like there should be something more, but there was nothing left to say. He headed for the exit to the alley, knowing that his master had given in to his demands too easily, and wondering what surprise LaCroix might have up his sleeve. [TO BE CONTINUED...] -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com.