Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Alpha Readers: blitherer2@aol.com, Julia Kocich , John T. Folden , Patrick McLaughlin , Leslie GrantSmith Beta Readers: Sara Orel, Jean Simon, Stephanie Babbitt Historical Consultant: Sara Orel, Elizabeth Ann Lewis Continuity: Amanda Sridasome, Nancy Production Management: Amy Volpert, Dawn Steele Part 1 of 12 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 Adam Sakai trudged up the staircase to the fourth floor. Reese kept harping on the fact that he was supposed to be learning to be a team player, but how was that supposed to happen when his partner kept disappearing on him? One minute Nick would be at a crime scene; the next, he'd be gone with no explanation. What kind of a partner was that? Exactly the same kind of partner used to be. He found himself starting to sympathize with Stevie John and Ho Tran, his most recent partners at the sixty-eighth precinct. Ho Tran had ditched him after three months. At least Stevie had stuck with him for a year, but now that he looked back, it wouldn't have lasted much longer even if he hadn't been transferred. A "hot shot," that's what they'd called him. A "loner." Knight was something of a loner, too. Then again, Knight'd had two partners shot out from under him. Maybe he had a right to be skittish about trusting somebody else to ride shotgun. Maybe he didn't think Adam could cut it. Maybe Knight could take Kelly hunting and Adam could stay at home and watch her cats. Maybe he should keep his mind on the case. By the third floor, he'd started reviewing what the landlady had told him--Coates had an apartment by himself, came and went at all hours like the other students, wasn't any trouble, kept the place clean. After extracting her phone number in case they needed any more information and turning down her offer of coffee and cake, he'd headed for the stairs for a quick look around the exterior of Coates' apartment. Until the search warrant came through, which could be any minute, it was better to limit himself to a perimeter check. There were twelve apartments on the fourth floor. Adam came out of the stairwell slowly; his gun remained in his holster, but he unzipped his jacket and had his hand in place, just in case. He glanced around the corner of the stairwell, down the hall in the direction of Coates' apartment, then froze. There was someone standing at Coates' door. Pulling back for a moment, Adam checked his weapon again, then took another look down the hall. The man was vaguely familiar, at least five foot eleven, wearing a Bluejays jacket and jeans, and there was a strap over his shoulder. The hair was dark, straggly and long. The visitor was writing something on a message board on the door. Knowing that he could easily pass for a college student himself, Adam decided to take the chance. He backed down a few steps and came up the stairwell noisily, then cruised into the hall. Coates' visitor was still writing on the board, but looked up as he approached. Adam inclined his head toward the apartment door. "Vinney around?" "Haven't seen him since yesterday." The student looked at Adam intently. "You're one of the police from the station last night. Right?" This was one of the kids Winkler had brought in and questioned--Adam recognized him as soon as he opened his mouth, the guttural accent giving him away. "Nalvayko?" he said, as if guessing. "Alex Nalvayko? You're right, we didn't meet last night. But we appreciate you coming down to the station. Saved us a lot of time." "Yes. I guess...maybe it did." The kid nodded, but relaxed when Adam held out his hand. He shook it, then took a step back, shoulders slumping slightly. "The guard who was killed--none of us would have done it. We want to save the animals. To spill more blood would be...stupid." "Now that's how I see it," agreed Adam with a grin. Then he shook his head and let the grin fade. "But my partner doesn't see it that way. I've been telling him it was probably some kind of accident. Someone got scared, something happened...." Nalvayko shrugged again, but that was his only response. Obviously, he wasn't playing. Or he'd taken the attorney's words to heart. Giving up on that avenue, Adam moved toward the door and glanced at the message board. "So, you're a friend of Vinney's? How long have you known him?" "Since the start of the school year. I live below-- downstairs, the next floor," said Nalvayko, as if correcting himself. "Oh, yeah? What's your major?" "Photography. Fine Arts." Adam tensed as Nalvayko reached around, but his hands held nothing more dangerous than a camera--that's what was attached to the strap. "Vinney has some of the pictures I took. I need them for a class." "Yeah. Well, we'd like to have a talk with Vinney, too." "About the murder?" Then Nalvayko smiled, an embarrassed grin. "Of about the murder. And about us. PAR." Adam leaned back against the door frame and nodded. "We don't have a lot of information on PAR--it looks like it's a pretty new group. How many members do you guys have?" "On paper, there are a lot. People who come to meetings--" he hesitated, then shrugged again. "Maybe twelve, maybe less." "But the ten of you from last night, you guys are the activists, right? You guys don't want to wait until the hotshots from PAR get around to doing something." Adam nodded, as if he understood. "That's how those groups work, isn't it? They sign you up, they take your money, then they don't want to do anything." "It's true. That's why we did...that's why we broke into that club." Nalvayko straightened proudly for a moment, and Adam upped his height estimate by an inch--the kid was . "If we have to pay for that, okay. But we had to do ." "The ten of you make the decisions, then?" "Vinney makes the decisions." It was Nalvayko's turn to gesture toward the door. "Amy and Ted back him up. Vinney trusts Ted, even though Vinney knows he's a gangster." Adam forced his expression to remain neutral. "Ted used to run with a gang? Or he still does?" Again, the semi-impassive shrug. "Don't know." Nalvayko glanced up and down the hall, as if realizing how open the area was. Adam got the distinct impression that the kid thought he'd said too much. "I've gotta go. Class." Adam paced him for a few feet. "Do you know where we can find Vinney?" Nalvayko stopped and Adam almost walked past him. For a moment their eyes met, and Adam saw something very deep and frightened in the student. "No," he answered, then Nalvayko headed off for the staircase at a run. Adam started after him, but stopped at the top of the staircase and listened to the thunder of Nalvayko's footsteps on the stairs as he raced downward. The kid's story made sense. Coming from his background, Adam had been lucky Nalvayko had spoken to him at all--he could only imagine what it might have been like growing up in a place like Russia during the last two decades. He walked back to Coates' apartment door to copy the messages that had been left on the board for the missing student. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 2 of 12 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 Natalie was beginning to hate the smell of plastic bags--they'd gone through most of their immediate supply last night, and she'd had to send for an extra carton from storage. Everywhere she turned, there were specimen and evidence bags, trolleys of them. First the bags had been sorted by suspect; now they were being sorted by content. Standing before one of the trolleys, she had a good mind to roll it out into the hall and push it down the stairs. It wouldn't solve anything, of course. She'd only have to pick up all the bags again. But the possibility that it just make her feel a little bit better made it all the more tempting. Then she turned and nearly collided with LaCroix. "Aaah!" Clutching her hand to her chest and backing up a step, she glared at him. "I thought I told you not to do that anymore!" "My apologies." Dressed all in black, he was like a living shadow, a contrast to the blues and greens and whites that made up the colors of the lab. He held out a flower for her, a white lily. "Accepted. Go back where you came from." She turned her back to him out of sheer bravado, her heart still pounding in her chest, her adrenaline pumping. Picking up a bag from one trolley and moving it to another, she added, "I've got a lot of work to do, so if you've come to 'chat,' maybe we can do it some other time?" "Has Nicholas ever talked about...hunting?" Natalie froze where she stood, her fingers gripping a bag that contained a pair of blood-spattered winter gloves. She looked up and found that LaCroix had moved to the other side of the trolley. An eyebrow arched in question, he waited for her reply. Somehow, she forced her fingers to unbend and set the bag on the trolley beside her--this pair of gloves had come back negative for human blood, which was yet another suspect off the hook for the night watchman's murder. The fact that they were narrowing the field should have pleased her. It didn't. Her gaze drifted to LaCroix again and she softly answered, "No." "I'm not surprised. We are, as you yourself have noted, predators. We hunt. We kill. The experience is a part of our existence, essential to our survival." Natalie swallowed. "But...you don't 'hunt' anymore." LaCroix's lips quirked into an expression of wan amusement. "Not as we once did, no." He shifted his weight, resting his hip along the side of the trolley, his gaze fixed on the door at the far end of the lab. "It's too dangerous to hunt openly. The lines of communication are growing tighter, strangling our community. People, even the vagrants and transients, are missed far more quickly. Surveillance cameras are everywhere. Movements are tracked through electronic commerce, information shared through commercial channels and law enforcement at the speed of light." He frowned and glanced at her again with hard, steel-gray eyes. "We don't 'hunt' anymore." Some part of her found the topic fascinating, another part--if truth be told--found fascinating. Natalie picked up another evidence bag, then dropped it, giving up the pretense of working. She took a step around the trolley, so that she stood on the same side as LaCroix, facing him. "The technology that tracks and traps you has also provided alternate methods of feeding; bottled animal and human blood, preservatives, refrigeration, dehydration--" "Substitutes, but barely adequate. We can subsist on them, survive on them, but not . They're pale, paltry imitations." He met her gaze, then looked away again. "Nicholas has tried to explain to you about the blood? The taste, the memories?" It was Natalie's turn to look away. The time in the lab, when Nick had spoken about drinking blood, what the fresh blood contained--his voice had been honest and yet compelling, passionate, his description so stirring it had almost been...erotic. "Ah," said LaCroix slowly, drawing out the expression in a whisper of sound. "I see that he has." He was beside her, moving between the spacing of her heartbeats, his hand on her shoulder, the light touch of his breath on her neck. "Freshly-killed blood enlivens us, brings us thoughts, impulses, memories. The hunt invigorates us, and the blood, the taint of terror within it, completes us. It drives us, fulfills us. It makes us whole. It makes eternity bearable." Suddenly, the spell seemed to be broken. Realizing that LaCroix was so close to her, Natalie broke easily from his hold and stepped away, putting the weight of the trolley between them again. LaCroix gave no indication that he'd noticed her movement. He met her eyes across the length of the trolley. "Your substitutes do make our existence any more bearable. Nor do they satisfy the instincts and skills inherent within us. We're made to function as predators, predators...there's nothing to replace that instinct, nothing to dampen the internal imperative to hunt and feed at will. We adapted, but not completely." He folded his arms and smiled sharply. "I doubt we ever shall." "Nick doesn't hunt--" "Nor does he . He survives, yes. He , but only exists. Imagine what your world would be like if drained of color, of taste, of sound. is the world in which Nicholas exists--not an exact simile perhaps, but close enough to the experience of our kind." LaCroix made a dismissive gesture with a hand. "Over time, a vampire may learn to feed without killing, but it requires concentration, discipline...neither of which Nicholas has ever completely mastered. He refuses to kill and refuses to drink human blood--abiding some misguided remnants of a mortal conscience he claims to possess." "Nick's...different," said Natalie, after a pause. "I understand that. It can't be easy for him to give up the blood." "It isn't," agreed LaCroix. "Most of our kind are not that dedicated to self-sacrifice. They sustain themselves on bottled mortal blood, a pastel palette at best. If they must enliven themselves, the Code dictates that hunting must be infrequent and under such circumstances that no living mortal may discover our existence." Natalie found herself swallowing again. Nick's comment about looking for drained bodies and fang marks was suddenly beginning to make sense. "Someone's started hunting on a regular basis?" "A bright pupil." LaCroix gave a long-suffering sigh and shook his head. "A pity I didn't encounter you before Nicholas. You would have been an admirable addition to our family." "Let's just accept that I have no intention of becoming blood relation and cut to the chase, okay?" "What an excellent euphemism. All right, doctor--the 'chase,' as you put it, is that a young and highly charismatic vampire has decided that it's time we were allowed to hunt freely." Folding his arms again, LaCroix turned away, his lips pursed in annoyance. "However much I may tend to agree with certain points of his argument, discretion is currently the most intelligent form of valor. We survive unmolested because mortals, present company excepted, cannot bring themselves to believe that we exist. If that equation changes, there will be wholesale slaughter on both sides before this thing ends." "What's his name?" Nick wouldn't have answered the question--he would have bolted for the door and left her in the dark, concerned for her 'safety.' She didn't really the information; she just wanted to see if LaCroix would give it to her. Not that LaCroix wouldn't have his own reasons for not telling her. LaCroix seemed to have reasons for everything he did. She was only slightly surprised when he smiled and said, "Ian Sandler." The name wasn't in the least familiar. Natalie shook her head. "It means nothing to me." "It should mean than nothing to either of us. He's an aberration, an accident, a bully with a glib tongue and a head filled with ideas that have never been tempered into practical application by common sense. If he had any at all, he'd realize there's far more challenge in obeying the Code--there's an art to hunting and not getting caught." LaCroix shook his head, as if not understanding how such a thing could have happened. "If left to his own devices, Sandler will have blood flowing in the streets. By the time the Enforcers attend to the matter, their cure will most certainly be worse than the disease." "Somebody has to stop him." "That my initial intention. Unfortunately, Nicholas believes that the perfect choice." LaCroix held out his hand and began to tick off his reasons by bending his fingers as he spoke. "He lives within the mortal world and pretends to be a mortal, he subsists on a diet of animal blood, he refuses to kill, he preaches cooperation with mortals, and he has a certain...fascination--" he at least had the good grace to smile, "--with a select few. Sandler has made inquiries about Nicholas--his past, his habits and predilections. He's made a point of setting up Nicholas as his adversary before the vampire community." "Nick doesn't care about that." "He should. Unless you plan on 'curing' him by tomorrow evening?" When she refused to look away, LaCroix smiled again. "He is a vampire, Dr. Lambert. Despite your worst efforts to the contrary, he's going to continue to be a vampire for a very long time. Think of how difficult his future existence will be if he's treated with disdain as an outcast, a traitor, lower than a carouche, not even worthy of pity. Then there's that wonderfully Middle- Aged sense of honor that he wears like rusty armor, hopelessly tarnished, useless but too dear to discard. This isn't to say that I think Nicholas is wrong in choosing to fight Sandler--he has the benefit of age, experience, and training as a fighter. If Nicholas were in prime condition, Sandler would have no chance against him." "But he's not in prime condition." "He drinks the blood of ," said LaCroix, his voice dripping with disdain. "He's weak. Even if Sandler managed to enrage him to his fullest fury, I doubt Nicholas could hold his own, unless..." The word hung on the air for several seconds. LaCroix met her eyes, and Natalie felt a shiver run through her. "Unless...?" she echoed softly. "Nicholas drinks human blood. It doesn't have to be fresh," LaCroix added quickly, "but the fresher, the better. Only human blood will give him the strength he'll need to defeat Sandler. And he does need to Sandler, because there won't be any mercy given from that quarter. A stalemate will not be acceptable. If Nicholas isn't strong enough to win, he'll be beaten, humiliated...and then " "Nick knows this?" "I've told him." Natalie allowed herself a small smile. "He won't listen to you." "When has he ever?" As LaCroix mirrored her smile and focused his attention on her, she found herself shivering. "But he will listen to my dear Dr. Lambert." Natalie turned her back to him and clasped her hands together tightly. "Don't be too sure about that. Things haven't exactly been smooth sailing between us, lately." "If he won't listen, you'll have to him listen. The consequence of failure is...too drastic for either of us to contemplate." She wondered if he was listening to her heartbeat, which felt like a pile driver in her chest. No matter what had happened between them, she still hoped to help fulfill Nick's dream of bringing him back across...if that's what he wanted. Lately, she hadn't been so sure. He'd vowed to her that he wasn't going to touch human blood again, but since that night she'd seen him and known almost instantly by the color in his cheeks, the swagger in his step, the in him--LaCroix must be right about the blood, because she could see the very unsubtle changes in Nick when he fell off the wagon. Human blood might not be the sole component of his vampiric nature, but it was a substantial part of the puzzle. It was also an addictive drug, a comfort food, a cause of guilt--so much more than simple sustenance. He survive on animal blood; he'd proven that. But LaCroix seemed convinced Nick couldn't defeat Ian Sandler unless he drank human blood. "I'll try," she whispered, half to herself. LaCroix was suddenly beside her again, his hand on her arm, his eyes hard and angry. "You ." "I said I'll !" Breaking out of his grasp, Natalie glared at him. "I won't lie to you. We both know what Nick can be like. I'll ...but I can't promise anything." "Then let's hope your 'trying' will be enough." LaCroix's glare softened and he stepped back. "I'll take my leave--as you said, you have your work cut out for you." With almost military precision, he turned and headed for the door. Natalie's heart was still beating a mile a minute, and her mouth was dry. Taking a deep breath, she called, "Would you...?" LaCroix took his time, turning slowly on his heel. "Would I...?" he asked. "Would you mind answering a question?" "That would depend on the question." He folded his arms, his smile almost indulgent. "Ask." It was his arrogance that annoyed her, as if he were giving her a gift by answering a simple question-- Maybe he was. "Do you... hunt?" she asked. LaCroix's smile never wavered. And then he was gone. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 3 of 12 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 On his way to his desk, Nick was stopped halfway across the bullpen by Reese's bellow-- "Knight?" The call had come from the captain's office, and Nick leaned casually on the door jamb, hoping that he wouldn't be delayed too long. It had taken more than a bottle and a half of cow's blood to clear up most of his visible bruises, and Adam would have had to be blind not to miss the condition of his clothing. He'd stopped by the loft for a change of clothing, hoping to run in and check his desk for messages, then run out again and meet Adam. No such luck. Alfred Winkler was sitting in a chair in front of Reese's desk, looking creased and polished and spit-shined to perfection. Slightly buzzed by the extra blood, Nick fantasized about vamping out, picking up the man, slamming him against the wall, and showing him what a blood-sucker looked like...but he managed to fight down the temptation. LaCroix had been right--the instincts of the vampire were too near to the surface. That's why Sandler was such a threat; a little temptation from a half-baked vampire-messiah and there be blood in the streets, not all of it mortal. Reese frowned and looked around Nick. "Where's your partner?" "Double-checking Coates' place. He thought he might find something." Giving a disdainful glance at the PAR attorney, he asked, "What's up?" "Mr. Winkler has torn himself away from his media blitz--" "Two afternoon talk-shows, a radio interview, and the six o'clock news," supplied Winkler, when Nick raised an eyebrow. "To stop by to give us a piece of information--he's lost Ted Cittadino." "The one with the Juvie record?" Nick stepped into the office, then sat down on Reese's desk, facing the lawyer. "When was the last time you saw him?" "This morning, when we left the station," explained Winkler. "I told all of them to check in with me at noon--" "Just in case somebody wanted the 'younger generation's' view of the case," explained Reese. Winkler didn't even blink, but met Nick's gaze squarely. "I heard from everyone except Cittadino. And Vincent Coates, of course." "Of course," said Nick. He refused to look away, staring Winkler down. "And you tell us if you'd seen Mr. Coates, wouldn't you, Mr. Winkler?" The attorney clasped his hands together, then brought them up to his lips for a moment as he regarded Nick and Reese in turn. "No matter what you may think of me, gentlemen, I dedicated to the cause PAR represents. We don't want to prevent hunting, just acts of cruelty, over-hunting, and inhumanity. Vincent Coates is the leader of a local PAR chapter, but he's also a murder suspect. The last thing I'd want to do is jeopardize a nationwide campaign for animal rights to protect a possible murderer." "Which is why you've been dropping your card in the lap of every reporter in this city?" asked Reese. He picked up several of Winkler's cards from the desk. "Let's face it, Mr. Winkler, until this happened, I didn't even know PAR existed. Bad publicity turning out to be better than no publicity at all?" Winkler half-smiled, then leaned confidently back in his chair. "That's the way the world works, Captain--you know that. People start to pay attention when there's a death involved; attention means money, and money's what we need to support the cause. France's attack on 'The Rainbow Warrior' did more to aid Greenpeace than a hundred benefit concerts and flyers condemning the slaughter of whales." Nick moved to Winkler, grabbed the arms of the chair, and leaned over the man. "And you're trying to tell us that you wouldn't be tempted to hide Vincent Coates from us? The longer this stays hot, the more free publicity PAR rakes in." Winkler's eyes widened, as if in surprise. "But that would be--let's see--withholding information regarding a murder investigation, as well as a felony, wouldn't it, Detective? As an attorney, I'd caution my client against committing any indictable offense, no matter how much free publicity was involved." "Lay off, Nick," said Reese wearily. "The man's only doing his job." "Thank you, Captain," said Winkler, as Nick drew back and seated himself on the edge of the desk again. "Even if it stink to high heaven," added Reese, meeting Nick's gaze. "I want you to add an APB on Cittadino and put Coates on as a priority. Have we got Cittadino's Juvie files yet?" "Not yet--" There was a simultaneous, "Not yet, Captain," from the doorway. Adam gave Nick a hard glance, then nodded toward Reese. "Figured I'd take care of that next. I've been out at Coates' apartment--nobody's seen him, and the stake-out teams are nodding off out of boredom. There were a couple of notes left on his door--some of 'em look pretty old--but no leads. One of the other PAR kids showed up looking for Coates--Nalvayko?" "Alex Nalvayko," supplied Winkler. Adam cast a curious glance down at the attorney, then looked toward Reese again. "Yeah--he's a fine arts student, left some photos with Coates and needs them for some sort of class project." "I think that will be all, Mr. Winkler," said Reese, giving both Nick and Adam a 'move and you're dead' look. He rose from his chair and walked around the desk, escorting Winkler out into the bullpen. "I know that if you hear from either Cittadino or Coates, you'll...." Once Reese was out of earshot, Adam dropped into the chair Winkler had vacated, propped his feet up on Reese's desk, and glared at Nick. "I hope you were planning on swinging by to pick me up before the shift ended." "I was on my way," said Nick defensively. "Next thing I know, the Captain calls me in here, and we're putting the screws on Wink--" Reese entered the office door, pausing only to brush Adam's feet from his desk. "Too bad torture went out with the Inquisition--thumbscrews might not be such a bad idea. I don't like that guy; I don't like him one bit." "He knows more than he's admitting," said Nick. He gestured toward Adam. "Amy Lo and her roommate said that the PAR group was supposed to meet back at Coates' place after the 'job.' Instead of Coates, Winkler showed up. Sounds like he was pretty well informed for somebody who just flew in from the home office." Reese leaned forward, expression hungry. "Do we know exactly Mr. Winkler arrived in Toronto?" "We will in a little while," said Adam, grinning. He rose from his chair, but Reese waved him back down. "You--sit!" Reese glanced at Nick, then back at Adam. "You and Nick were supposed to be out right?" "Uh, Captain, we together--" began Nick. Reese nodded and gestured with his hand. "And--?" "And...I had a feeling about Coates' place. Just a hunch. So I took off." Adam shrugged and leaned forward, avoiding Nick's gaze. "It didn't pan out. All I found was Nalvayko. He seemed nervous, but if I was a foreign student from an ex-communist country and the local police were sniffing around me...hell, I'd be at home with the door locked and my head under the covers." "Okay. Hunches I can understand. But next time you get your partner. You see him?" He pointed to Nick. "Remember that face--that's your partner. You keep him with you through rain, snow, sleet, and hail. And if you absolutely, positively to split up, you know where you can find that ugly mug at all times. You got that?" "Got it, Captain," said Adam, attempting to look properly chastened. "Then get out of here, both of you. Go detect something. That's what you get paid for. I'll see if I can shake some trees over at the Juvenile Records division-- we'll see if Cittadino falls out. And close the door on your way out." "Thanks, Captain," said Nick, gesturing Adam out ahead of him, then closing the door carefully behind the pair of them. He paused for a moment, watching Adam return to his desk, then approached his partner. "Adam--thanks." "For what?" "For covering for me." Nick seated himself on the side edge of his own desk and stared down at the floor. "You're right. I should have picked you up. I knew I was going to be late; I should have called--" "Like Reese said, we're partners." Adam wadded up a report form and then threw it at him--Nick caught it. "You owe me a couple of loonies for the subway." "We're both going to be a couple of loonies if we don't find Coates...and soon," noted Nick, looking up at the closed door of Reese's office. "You want to do me a favor, though?" "Anything." Nick grinned. "Except cat-sit. I've been through that one." "Stop ditching me at crime-scenes." Adam tilted his chair back and met Nick's gaze. "I'm not the best partner in the world--" "You're not the worst, either." "--and I know I've got a rep as a hot-shot, but I want a chance at this partner thing. I've never had it work before, you know. Maybe...maybe it's not a bad idea, knowing there's somebody out there who'll watch your back for you." His serious expression dissolved into a nervous smile. "Sounds dumb, doesn't it? Would you believe I rehearsed that all the way down Yonge?" Nick tossed the paper back at him and moved around to his own desk. "That's not far." "You're right. I should have gone up to Bloor and come back down again." Tossing the paper in the trash can, Adam sighed. "Maybe I'm in the wrong line of work. When I was a kid, I thought TV cops were best. 'Adam 12,' 'The Rookies,' 'Kojak--'" "?" asked Nick, not catching the name. "'Kojak,'" repeated Adam. Then, when Nick stared at him blankly, he added, "You know-- 'Who loves ya baby?' Telly Savalas. 'jak.'" Nick shrugged. "Doesn't ring a bell." "It doesn't matter." Adam leaned forward. "The point is, they caught the bad guys every time. There was a crime, they picked up the clues, they figured out who they were looking for, and then they hunted down the bad guys." With a sigh, Adam leaned back in his chair. "Maybe it's not just hunting animals, maybe it's hunting people, too. Maybe I'm no good at this job." "Maybe you should stop thinking so much and try hustling the Crown Attorney for that warrant to Coates' place." When Adam made a face and reached for the phone, Nick grinned. "Adam, if you weren't any good at this, you'd know by now. And I promise, the next crime-scene we're at, I'll be your Siamese twin." Adam groaned, then started dialing. "Thanks, Nick, but no thanks. a mental picture I could do without." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 4 of 12 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 Stepping out of the elevator and finding Natalie waiting for him in the loft was the second-to-last thing Nick expected that evening. The thing he would have expected was the plastic bags of blood sitting on his dining table. Natalie was standing behind the table, her expression concerned and perhaps a little guilty. He met her eyes, holding her gaze as he walked toward the table. One hand gesturing toward the plastic bags and the brown paper shopping bag that sat beside them, he was on the verge of asking...when Natalie held up her hand. "Not yet," she said. He felt her eyes on him even as he reached the table and picked up one of the blood-filled bags. "Let's get business out of the way, first. We've gotten some results back from Forensics on your PAR suspects." The blood in the bags was human; he could almost smell it through the plastic as he lifted the bag to look at it. Very carefully, Nick placed it back on the table and walked past it, needing to turn his back on the bounty and what it implied. "What kind of 'results?'" Natalie was standing just behind him; he could feel the heat from her body, could hear her blood calling to him...if he listened. "We've absolutely identified two distinct sets of footprints beneath and around Sturges' body. It looks like my guess was right--he followed or chased somebody in that room, got caught in the trap, and then was clubbed from behind while he was bent over." Nick raised his fist to his mouth and rubbed it against his lips, taking refuge in logical, deductive police work, where one and one still made two...usually. "That means we can't get a height estimate for the killer. Force of the blows?" "Heavy and brutal." As he turned, he found Natalie standing a few feet away from him. "How brutal?" Nick began to move past her, then caught sight of the blood. He retreated to the windows, which were open to the last vestiges of the night. "I'd categorize them as vicious. I'm surprised the trophy didn't break. Sturges was dead before the third blow--the second crushed the back of his skull. He must have started to fall--" "But the killer kept on hitting him. I'm guessing we still don't have a match on any of the nine PAR members?" Natalie was standing to one side of the couch, her hand leaning on the leather--he heard it give slightly. "Nothing. The sneakers, gloves, jackets, and pants are covered with blood, but it's pig's blood. There's not a trace of human blood on any of them. Of course, after we search Vincent Coates' apartment this morning...?" "That would be nice. But it still leaves us one killer short. Ten vandals, and nine of them cleared. We've got a probable suspect and a murderer, or an accomplice, who wasn't part of the group. Right now, that's the day shift's problem." Shaking his head, Nick turned back to face her. "That's it for business?" Natalie nodded, eyes shadowed. The guilty look returned as she glanced back over her shoulder, toward the blood storage bags. "LaCroix stopped by the lab tonight." "When?" Nick asked, perhaps a little more harshly than he intended. "Just before end of shift." He tried to figure the timing in his mind--it would have been after the brawl in the Raven. "And?" "He told me about Sandler. He said vampires might start hunting again." Natalie looked up at him, meeting his gaze. "Is it true? Is that why you asked me if anything 'odd' had turned up at the morgue?" "Yes, it's true. Sandler and his friends have already started. I could smell it on them." Closing his eyes, Nick lowered his head slightly. "Don't worry--I'll stop them before it spreads to the others. Sandler's the problem." "LaCroix said that you won't be able to stop Sandler." He opened his eyes and looked up at her, hearing the slightest tremor in her voice. She was trying so hard not to show how afraid she was, but it was useless. She afraid. Of LaCroix? Of ? him? He felt his heart beat, hopeful at that thought. "And what do you think?" he asked. "I don't know what to think anymore." She walked up to him, close, but not quite touching him, her wide eyes searching his. "When I ask you for answers, for information, you won't give it to me, and even when you do, it's in pieces. I to trust you, Nick." "But you trust LaCroix?" "No, I don't trust him--not completely." She hesitated before answering, biting her lip, then walking away from him, toward the windows. "He answers my questions. Yes, he's got his own agenda, but that's something I can count on. I know whatever he does, he does for his own reasons-- it has nothing to do with me." Nick walked up behind her, placed his hands on her upper arms and rubbed them lightly. She shivered at his initial touch, and then relaxed. "Be careful with him, Nat. Be very, very careful. He's capable of--" "Anything?" she suggested, then chuckled beneath her breath. "Yes, I suppose he is, if it has to do with you." Turning in his arms, she looked up at him, her lips curved into a faint smile. "I never thought I'd ever have anything in common with LaCroix, but I do--we both care about you." For an instant he drew her close to him, rested his chin on her shoulder, and simply held her. Nick hoped that her affection for him was her only connection to LaCroix. He knew all too well what LaCroix's interest could mean to a mortal soul. ### The few tracks he'd found had disappeared in the undergrowth, traces of blood growing scarce as they wandered through the dark jungle. There was a mutual understanding among them--none spoke aloud, but they followed one another through gestures and hand signals somehow readily understood. The bond was one of survival and, at least in the case of Virginia Lawson, the thrill of the hunt. Nicholas had only to glance at her to see her excitement--her cheeks were flushed, and her heart beat rapidly as she walked to one side or just behind him, her eyes were alert, scanning the ground and the brush for any sign of the lions having passed that way. The slightest break of a twig brought her instantly to readiness. On more than one occasion, her rifle was lifted and ready to fire at the barest brush of sound...only to be lowered again when a bird rose up from the bush with a flapping of wings and a hoarse cry, annoyed at having been disturbed. How could he blame her? He felt removed himself and yet precisely and acutely aware of every movement or sound around him. The very act of hunting--the tension, the concentration--loosened some internal self-imposed constraint. There was a beauty in this, a precision and an unpredictability that invigorated him. Sometimes it would take a glance at Miss Lawson or at Everleigh, grimly trudging ahead, before he could remind himself of his responsibility to protect his mortal charges. Then the itch in his fangs, the bloodlust, would abate for a while...until he got caught up in the hunt again. His senses were so tuned to the hunt that he lifted his head automatically when a familiar scent reached him, an instant passing before he realized that he'd recognized the smell of human blood. Virginia Lawson stopped almost the moment he did; she was watching him intently, her eyes fever bright. "Did you hear something?" Knowing that she wouldn't believe that he'd smelled the blood--or perhaps fearing that she would--he nodded, holding up his hand as if asking for quiet. Everleigh ceased thrashing about before them and turned back to see why they'd stopped. "Have you found--?" "Ssssh!" Miss Lawson cautioned, her eyes still focused only on Nicholas. The scent came from ahead and to their left. In the tumultuous soup of jungle sound that surrounded him, he could detect no heartbeat. Nicholas gestured for Everleigh to move behind him, certain that they were going to find a corpse. He knocked a trail through the thorn thickets with his boots and the butt of his rifle, inching forward from clearing to clearing, led by the scent of cooling, human blood. The body had been mauled almost to the point of unrecognizability, but the remnant of the white side- whiskers, and a scrap of cloth carrying military decorations proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the remains had once been Colonel Albert Warrington, late of India, retired. Unlike the first site, blood was scattered across the ground, along with pieces of the late Colonel. Nicholas prowled the perimeter of the scene, trying to distract himself from the overwhelming scent of blood by sorting out the varied lion tracks. "It's a pair," he announced, kneeling to indicate the clear tracks. "I'd guess a male and female. The male's badly wounded--it can't last much longer." "I think I'll try to circle round, see if we can trap them between us." Everleigh inclined his head toward his fiancee, who was obsessively studying the tracks around Warrington's scattered remains. "I'd be obliged if you'd keep on eye on Ginny. She's better than most men with a gun in her hands. Still--" He followed Everleigh's glance and nodded slightly. "I understand." "I'm sure that you do." Giving Nicholas a grim smile in parting, Everleigh headed off into the bush. Virginia Lawson only then noticed that he was leaving. "Carlton?" Nicholas stepped across the blood-caked earth and pulled her aside before she could follow her fiance. "He's gone ahead. He's going to try to cut them off and head them back toward us." "Damn fool," she snarled, staring as her fiance disappeared into the darkened jungle that surrounded them. "If men like Comstock and Colonel Warrington could fall prey to these beasts, how does he think he'll survive?" "I'm sure he'll be fine," soothed Nicholas. "More pity if he is." Miss Lawson paused as she regarded him thoughtfully. "Now I've shocked you, haven't I?" "Not at all." "Liar." She grinned and stalked toward him, slipping the strap of her gun over her shoulder. "London is filled with men like Carlton--more money than sense. If they've got any nerve, they hunt the best of everything, from wine to women to beasts. But once they have their prize, they're too well bred to do anything about it." Drawing close against him, she whispered, "What about you, Kent? You and LaCroix seem different than the others. Would you know what to do with a woman, a woman, if you caught her?" Her lips were coated with something that tasted of flower nectar but which did nothing to mask the scent of the blood that boiled in her veins--hot, reminding him of the burning curries of the east, but sweeter and more tempting. He tasted the nape of her neck, and his world turned gold. His fangs began to ache for the fire of her blood; such seasoning promising to linger on his tongue long after her body had cooled and been discarded. Somehow, he managed to catch hold of her elbows and push her back. Nick turned his head and closed his eyes, fearing that she'd see the transformation in him. He breathed deeply, fighting down his lust for her flesh and her blood. Virginia Lawson wrested her arms from his grip, and he let her pull away. He could sense her fury. "You're all alike--spineless to the last. I suppose there's someone waiting for you, then? Some pasty-faced little homebody of a wench, sighing and pining away for the safe return of her Nicholas?" He opened his eyes and fought back a smile--he'd never heard Janette described in quite those terms before. He'd have to remember that description; it might amuse her. "I try to make it a habit never to seduce other men's fiancees." "How often do you succeed?" Nicholas smiled openly this time. "A gentleman wouldn't answer such a question." "I have a feeling, Kent, that you're more of a rogue than a gentleman." Miss Lawson eyed him, as if taking his measure. "But Mr. LaCroix--which is he, I wonder?" Nicholas caught her wrist as she walked past him, stopping her. "Stay away from LaCroix." "Why?" Miss Lawson freed herself from his grasp, her tone curious. "It can't be jealousy--you've just proven that. Do you think he's too much the gentleman for me, that I'd be a bad influence on him?" "He'll kill you." Her eyes widened slightly in disbelief, but as she continued to look at him and understood that he was telling the truth, she smiled. "You're serious." "If you value your life, stay away from him." "If I value my life?" Virginia Lawson's lips drew taut to a line of grim determination. Gesturing toward the thicket, she asked, "Should we press onward? Or remain here?" For a moment, Nicholas was tempted to pull her into his grasp, rise into the air, and return them both to camp. He could hypnotize her, make her forget about LaCroix and about him, her only memories those of a disastrous hunt...but there was still Everleigh to consider. There was still a chance to save them both. If he saw the hunt through, stayed by Miss Lawson's side until the instant that he and LaCroix left.... "Press onward." Nicholas cast a disparaging look at the bloodied grass. "The lions won't return here. If we're to catch them between us, we'd better move parallel to your fiance." "And wouldn't be a novelty." Picking up her discarded rifle, Virginia Lawson flung the strap over her shoulder. "This way, then, Mr. Kent. Let's hope the next body we come upon won't belong to Mr. LaCroix." (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 5 of 12 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's nothing to worry about," Nick told Natalie, pulling away slightly. "Sandler's young; he doesn't know what he's doing." "LaCroix said that Sandler's been hunting--he's been killing and drinking human blood, human blood. I think I've got a few bodies down in the morgue to prove it; that's what I wanted you to see." Natalie stepped back, out of his grasp. "Feeding from a fresh kill makes a difference, doesn't it? LaCroix says animal blood weakens you, that you'll need human blood to beat Sandler." Leaving her, Nick walked over to the table on which the bags of blood had been piled. He hefted one in his hand experimentally, the weight shifting as the liquid sloshed inside. "No." "You have to drink human blood, if it's the only way you'll be able to beat him." When he refused to respond, she walked up beside him and shook his shoulder urgently. "You've done it before...you've done it recently. This time, it's in a good cause." "But does that make it right?" Holding the bag of blood out to her, he met her eyes. "We've had this argument before, only we've switched sides this time. What was it you used to say--evil on behalf of a good cause is still evil? That's what this means to me. This--" he tossed the bag onto the pile in disgust, "--represents what I've been, what I no longer want to be." Turning toward her, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'm going to fight Sandler the best way I know how, but I'm going to do it without losing another piece of my soul." Her eyes were shining with unshed tears. "You know, there's a part of me that's more proud of you now than I've ever been. And there's another part of me that would love to take a five iron and beat some sense into your thick skull. Your timing sucks, you know that?" "I guess it does." Smiling, he reached out a hand to touch her cheek. "I know what I'm doing." "I hope you do, for your sake. And mine. And--oh--a hell of a lot of people who have the right to go on believing that vampires don't exist." Natalie backed away from him, her smile fading. "I should go." "You don't have to--" "No, but I should." She picked up her coat and bag from the chair. He had a sense that some part of her had already left him, although she was still in the room. Solitude was a given in his lifetime--he'd spent too many centuries alone. He'd come close to losing her forever. As Natalie turned to walk toward the door, she glanced at him in passing. "What?" she asked, obviously intrigued by his expression. "I was just thinking," he mumbled. "About?" Lifting his head, he met her gaze. "How lucky I was not to have lost you." "You pretty lucky," she answered, the softness in her eyes disappearing. "Considering that you'd decided to let me die." There it was again. Of all that had kept them apart in the recent past, this cut the deepest. "You know what I am," he said coldly. "You know I couldn't bear--" " couldn't bear?" Natalie's voice was just as cold, perhaps more strained and brittle. "No--and neither would you if you truly knew what a cursed existence this was, if you had any idea what it meant to live in this darkness, decade after decade, alone...." The words sounded hollow as he stared at her, trying to make her understand why he'd made that decision; a decision that he'd known at that time he would live to regret, if he'd chosen to live at all. She was watching him with a wistful expression, her eyes softer and sad. "I didn't ask you to take responsibility for me or my soul. I asked you to love me, Nick. I asked you to make sure we'd be together. I didn't want to with you; I wanted to with you. Because no matter what happened, whether I stayed mortal or became a vampire, I'd be alive." "This living." Nick grasped her hand in his tightly, let her feel the chill of his skin against the warmth of her own. "This is misery. This is agony. This isn't life." Natalie's grip shifted, her fingers holding his just as tightly. "It isn't death. It's flesh and blood and a beating heart--okay, so it beats slowly, but it's . It's , Nick. It's ." Her fingers released his and her hand slipped from his grasp as Natalie took a step backward. "I trusted you to give me a choice, to let choose...but, no, you had to choose for me. You always know what's best for everyone." "I couldn't let you make the same mistake I did." "That's the point--it was choice and you took it from me. Like these--" She gestured toward the pile of blood-filled bags on the table. "I was wrong to bring these here. I'll admit it--what LaCroix said scared the hell out of me. That's why I came here tonight, to try to talk you out of it, or at least make you reconsider drinking human blood. But this is your fight, it's your life...and it's choice." She swallowed, looked away from him, then picked up her bag and jacket again. "And now I should be going--" There were tears at the corners of her eyes, and her voice was shaky. Nick walked beside her as Natalie headed for the elevator, then took her hand in his before she could open the door. "Thanks--for letting me do this my own way, for not forcing the issue." "I'm not sure anything I might have said would have made a difference." "It would have," he assured her. "It " "Does it?" Her smile was sad. "Right now, I'm not so sure it ever has." Natalie slipped her hand from his as he opened the elevator door for her, then she stepped inside the lift. "Be careful, okay?" The door thumped into place, and the car descended. Nick stood there a moment, contemplating the blank surface made remarkable only by a charred area. Being near Natalie made him feel alive, gave him hope. She inspired him to remember the better parts of his existence, the good he'd been able to do, those brief but brilliant flickers of light in the darkness. Natalie life...and he'd killed her. The moment was still so clear to him; knowing that her brightness was slipping through his fingers, his own heart torn by having failed her, fearing to fail her again, fearing what might happen if he brought her into the dark life he'd known for so long. There'd been no thought to her choice, only how he might choose for her. His decision had been made out of his love for her, his love her. When Natalie's life had rested in his hands, he'd chosen to let her die. Free consent, freely given. He'd made his own choice over seven hundred and fifty years ago and had spent a good number of the subsequent nights in regret. At times he'd blamed LaCroix or Janette, but when he was being honest with himself, when truth could no longer bear the disguise of self-delusion, Nick admitted that the choice had been his--in the end, only he could be held accountable. If he had given her the option, would Natalie have chosen to walk into the light and leave him? Or would she have chosen to return to him, as she'd said, and live beside him in darkness, bolstering his heart and faith with her own hope until they could find a cure? He'd never know. If their positions had been reversed, would Natalie have had the strength to let him make his own choice, a choice he'd denied her? In a way, she just had. Nick walked back to the table. Hefting one of the bags of blood again, he stared at it for a moment, then placed it in the paper bag. Out of sight meant out of mind, and right now he didn't need the temptation. No matter how firm his intention to abstain, he knew his limits all too well. So did Natalie, and yet she gave him credit for wanting to try to live up to his ideal. He saw the pride in her eyes and was warmed by it, perhaps even more than he'd been touched by her concern for him. Despite her fears for his safety, she'd supported not only his decision, but his right to make his own decision. Tossing the last blood-filled package into the bag, he realized that there might be a chance to heal the breach between them. Natalie had taken the first step tonight. Now it was his turn. He had to make the next move. Nick wasn't at all certain what that should be. *** The ring of the phone cut through his dreams. Nick sat bolt upright on the couch, then fumbled for the receiver before the answering machine could pick up. "Wait--wait-- Nat?" "Sorry, no such luck," said Adam's voice, as Nick lost hold of the phone and it tumbled to the floor just out of reach. He picked up the receiver again, still more than slightly bleary-eyed. There were a number of empty bottles scattered around the couch. If he was going to face Sandler, he had to do something to compensate for the fact that his opponent was feeding from humans. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told him that the sun was still high in the sky. "Sakai, this had be good--" "You can hang me by my heels from your fire escape if this doesn't make your day." "I may take you up on that," growled Nick, climbing back onto the couch and lying down. "Then listen to this--" It was a recording from a telephone. One of the police operators answered, "Metro police, how may I direct your call?" "I dunno," said a male voice. Nick guessed young, not even twenty. "It's about the guy who got killed the other night, at the hunt club." "I can connect you with the officers heading that investigation. One moment--" "No--hang on. I wanna know if I tell them what I saw, I don't have to go to jail, right? I didn't kill anybody. They've gotta stop him. He's gonna go through with it. He's gonna--" The recording ending with a dial tone. Nick took a long breath. "Coates? "That's our guess, it matches the accident call made right after the murder. The captain's trying to decide which of the kids to pull in to see if we can get a tentative ID." "Forget the ID." Sitting up on the couch, Nick glared at the shutters on his windows--he wasn't going anywhere, not in full daylight. "Just bring Coates in and bring him in fast. Promise him anything--" "Wouldn't help. He's dead." "When?" "That call was placed at nine this morning. Our boys headed over to Coates' place as soon as the search warrant came in--they found him hanging in the bedroom. Looks like a suicide, but we called Natalie in early for a confirmation and to run forensics on the clothing." Rising from the couch, Nick walked to the windows and placed his hand against the metal shutters. Despite the cold temperature, he could still feel the warmth of the sunlight. "I won't be able to join you for at least--" Nick glanced over his shoulder at the clock, "--another hour at the earliest. Have you spoken to Natalie yet about the prints?" "Are you kidding? I let the day shift people call her." Nick smiled and placed his hand on the shutter again, enjoying the sensation of the sun-warmed metal. Natalie had a reputation for being on call at any hour of the day or night...but that didn't mean anyone wanted to be the one who had to call her. "I saw her last night. She said we've definitely got two sets of footprints around the body and none of the nine PAR kids match. If Coates' prints match one set--" "Then he could have been trying to finger the accomplice...or the murderer." Then was a pause on Adam's end of the line. "I'll check it out. Catch up with me at the Coroner's Office?" "Just like Reese said, Siamese twins." " said that, not Reese. And I still don't like the mental picture. See you in the dark, partner." Nick walked back to the couch and set the phone on the cradle, resisting the urge to slam it down in frustration. With Coates dead, all they had left was forensics to point them to the other killer. Every minute the sun was up was another minute wasted. He couldn't chance bundling up and driving in, not with all the blood he'd consumed since last evening. He could waste some time with a shower and dressing for work, but he'd just end up pacing in front of the windows, waiting for the safety of darkness before he could return to the world...and the murder case. Rubbing his eyes with the back of his hands, Nick sat down again and sighed. Some afternoons, it didn't pay to roll off the couch. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 6 of 12 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 "One side, detective--delivery coming through!" Adam placed his hand on the door to the Coroner's lab, swung it inward, then stepped aside--there was another member of the Forensics staff on his trail. The kid headed into the room at a run, his sneakers screeching as he slid to a stop on the tile, then he handed a large cardboard envelope to Natalie Lambert. She barely blinked as she swung her hand around to take the offering. Tossing it onto the counter, she closed the evidence bag she held in her other hand without missing a beat. "Thanks, Kev," she called. "Have fun at the game." "Leafs !" cried Kev as he caught the door on the reverse swing and disappeared from sight. Only the echoing screech of his sneakers and the presence of the cardboard envelope served as evidence that he'd ever been there. "You ever consider putting up a traffic light?" asked Adam. He backed into the room and away from the door slowly, half-expecting the manic delivery boy to return. "I would if more of our business was walk-in." Natalie gestured toward the chair at the far counter, then adjusted the brim of her white cap with a slide of her hand. "Have a seat. I'll be with you in a moment." "Right." Sitting down, Adam clasped his hands together and leaned forward, watching Natalie as she picked up a few items, put them on a small trolley, and wheeled them toward him. "Sorry we had to call you in early." "That's okay. Who said civil servants need sleep?" Natalie smiled and opened the cardboard envelope, carefully removing the enlargements and asking, "How about you? They pull you out of bed, too?" Adam glanced over at the black and white photographs, but they didn't make much sense to him at that angle. "Nope. Mine was more of a rescue. Kelly was trying to pin me down on vacation plans for the lodge." He thought he saw her glare at him out of the corner of her eye, but the next moment her attention appeared to be entirely centered on carefully removing a thin, gel-form cast from a plastic bag. "Avoiding it's not going to make it go away, Adam. That's not fair to you Kelly." "Now you sound like my partner." Natalie started and blinked down at him. "Who--Nick?" she asked in surprise. "I don't have any other partners at the moment." Rising, Adam craned his neck to look at the gel-cast, then the enlarged photo. "What am I looking at?" "That's one of the prints from the crime-scene," Natalie pointed toward the photograph, "and that's a gel- cast from the bloody sneakers we found in Coates' laundry hamper." Picking up a large magnifying glass, she placed a hand on Adam's shoulder and positioned him between the photo and the cast. "They match. And we've got a confirmation of human blood on Coates' sneaker--the side and sole." "So we've got the killer." "Maybe not." Pulling out another photograph, Natalie placed it beside the first. The footprint left in the blood was identical to the previous print. "We found that under Sturges' body; the print was in pig's blood. If my theory's right, Sturges chased Coates into the room or found him there. Coates knocked the trap off the display case, or set it. Sturges stepped into the trap, then as Sturges reached for Coates or tried to get out of the trap, somebody else nailed him from behind with the trophy." Adam whistled, looking over the pictures. "You can get all that from a couple of sets of footprints?" "Layered evidence, a coroner's best friend," declared Natalie cheerfully. Then she sobered, tapping another footprint on the second photograph. "That's your killer's print." Staring down at it, Adam tried to envision the sneaker that made it. If they didn't catch a break in this soon, he'd end up like Prince Charming from 'Cinderella,' checking the print on every sneaker in the city. "And none of the other prints even come to a match?" "That would make it too easy," said Natalie. She dropped into the seat Adam had vacated. "I've got full or partial crime-scene tracks from the pig's blood from all of the vandals except Nalvayko, but if he was one of the first ones out, his tracks could have been smeared or covered by the others. And, no, there's no trace of human blood on his sneakers, only pig. His prints just don't match the murderer's prints." "It was worth a shot," said Adam half-heartedly. Turning, he spotted a body covered with a sheet on a trolley. "That Coates?" "Yeah. You want a look?" "I guess." Adam's stomach flipped, reminding him that he hadn't eaten anything that would pass for breakfast with his topsy-turvy schedule, but he promised it a donut when he got back to the station. He followed Natalie over to the trolley and stood back as she donned a pair of latex gloves. "We're not going to get toxicology back until tomorrow," she informed him as she pulled back the sheet. "The physical aspects match self-inflicted hanging." Vincent Coates had been blonde, with a fair complexion that was slightly blue in death. Natalie had pulled the sheet down just past the kid's shoulders, and Adam had no trouble making out the ugly bruise and ligature marks around the neck. "We've got footprints on the seat, and the chair was kicked over." Natalie pulled back the side of the sheet slightly and took hold of the young man's arm, showing Adam the wrist. "No sign of binding on the feet or wrists, and the only fibers imbedded in the neck seem to match the rope we found around him." Glancing at Adam to make certain he'd seen everything he needed, she covered up Coates again. Natalie moved toward him and peeled off her gloves. "They found a suicide note in the rear pocket of his jeans-- typed." "Yeah. Which doesn't make that much of a difference any more. Welcome to the computer age. I should check my word processing program--it probably comes with one installed. 'Good-bye cruel world.'" "I gather his was a little more specific," said Natalie brusquely, snapping the gloves, then tossing them into a trash bin beside the counter. "Something to the effect of 'I'm sorry. I did it.' They're dusting the note now-- you'll have it back within the hour." She rubbed the bridge of her nose wearily. "These things never get easier, do they?" "I guess they don't," said Adam warily. He watched her for a moment, something nagging at him, but not quite certain what it might be. "No other wounds?" "The usual with this sort of thing. I can give you more after I've done the autopsy, but I wouldn't hold out any hope of a smoking gun." The words echoed in his mind, reminding him of something Reese had said earlier. Adam stared at Coates' body, thinking back to the two phone conversations they had on tape, both calls to the police station. "What if Coates wasn't an accomplice?" he mused aloud. "What if it happened like you said--Coates gets chased into the room, he knocks down the trap or sets it, then he drops down behind that display case. Sturges comes flying into the dark room, steps into the trap...but before Coates has a chance to run, someone comes into the room, grabs the trophy, and kills Sturges. The alarm's going off, and the killer leaves, but Coates waits until he's gone, and then leaves...?" Covering Coates with the sheet, Natalie nodded, as if to herself. "The prints make sense that way. In fact, the prints make a of sense that way--Coates was a witness, not the killer or an accomplice." She glanced over at him, her smile cautious. "Let me guess--you want another look at the prints?" "You wouldn't happen to have Nalvayko's sneakers here, would you?" "The lab dropped them off an hour ago." Natalie walked over to another trolley piled with various boxes marked with black magic marker. "I haven't sorted them all out yet. They dumped the sneakers together. Here's Amy Lo's, Cittadino's, and...Nalvayko's." She held the bag out to Adam, looked down at it, then snatched her hand back when he reached for it. "What's wrong?" "Maybe nothing. Give me a second; I want you to double-check me." Pulling the other two bags from the box, Natalie carried them over to the counter. She tore a sheet of white butcher's paper from a roller and placed it over the counter. Carefully removing each set of sneakers from its respective bag, Natalie folded the bags, then set the sneakers and bags on top of the butcher's paper. After stepping back, she gestured toward Adam. "Take a look." There were three pairs of blood-spattered sneakers, different styles, makes, and colors. Adam stared down at them for a moment, but nothing jumped out at him. "What am I looking for?" "Differences," said Natalie, from over his shoulder. "Like 'Sesame Street,' right? One of these things is not like the others--" Adam looked. He stared. He turned his head sideways. They were three pair of thoroughly unremarkable blood- stained sneakers. Of they were blood-stained! Those kids had been spraying blood all over the walls and floors. They'd walked in it, run in it. Most of the treads would be filled with it. That's when he realized that two of the pairs of sneakers had blood splashes on the top, but most of the brown stains were along the treads and the side, the blood having splashed as the wearer walked or ran through it. The sneakers in the middle were coated with blood, but from the top down, as if someone had dropped blood from directly above the sneaker and it had run down the sides. "That one," said Adam, pointing toward the center pair. "That's a fake--those sneakers weren't worn at the crime- scene." "They're Nalvayko's," said Natalie, with a grin. "That's why I couldn't match these prints to any at the crime-scene. He came in here last night wearing a pair of sneakers." Adam was already pulling his phone out of his coat pocket. "What do you want to bet we find a pair of sneakers at Nalvayko's apartment that match the prints of the killer and have Sturges' blood on them?" "That's a sucker bet," answered Natalie. "But I'll give you even odds." Flipping open the phone, Adam hit the speed dial and then waited. There was a minute's pause before the phone was picked up, and Adam prayed that he wasn't going to get the answering machine. "Knight here." "We've got a possible match on the prints. Nalvayko wore a phony set of sneakers down here the other night! I know you're off call, but could you phone in a bench warrant for Nalvayko's place for an immediate search, suspicion of murder?" "Adam--what--?" "I'll bring him in. Just have a cell warmed up and waiting for him." "No!" called Nick. "Wait for back-up. The sun'll be down in another half hour and--" "Later, partner." He hit the button to end the call, then hit the power button as well--there was nothing like trying to sneak up on a suspect and having your cell phone go off on you. Natalie was watching him. "How'd he take it?" "You know Nick. How's he take anything?" With a grin, Adam headed toward the door. "Thanks, Natalie. I owe you for this." "Yeah, right." She hurried after him, holding open the swinging doors and calling down the hall after him. "What should I tell Nick when he calls?" "Tell him--" Adam skidded to a stop, then turned and opened his arms wide. "Tell him I'm out hunting." There were no doubts, no stops, no hesitation as he ran out the front steps of the Coroner's Building to his car. Slipping behind the wheel, Adam barely paused long enough to adjust the visor to block out the brilliance of the setting sun before turning the key in the ignition and gunning the engine. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 7 of 12 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 Fuming, Nick stared across the loft as he listened to a muzac version of 'Song, Sung Blue' that would have driven a lesser man to tears. He'd called at the beginning of the shift change, and once he got someone on the line who wasn't about to run out the door, they had a problem finding anybody in at the Crown Attorney's office. Somebody thought Judge Leopold might be in his chambers, though, and would he wait a minute while they transferred him? That was five transfers ago. The warrant was in process, but he was hanging on for the particulars. This had to be right. This had to be . There was no way he was going to let Nalvayko walk on this, especially not after his five-minute talk with Natalie in which everything about the case had suddenly become crystal clear. "Knight?" Nick started at the unexpectedly recognizable voice on the phone, then asked, "Captain? I'm on hold trying to get a bench warrant--" "I know--someone said you were on the line and transferred it here. I'll have somebody else cover the warrant. We just got the Interpol file on Nalvayko." There was the sound of papers being turned, then falling. "His last name turned up so many red flags in the Russian Republic, it looked like the communists were back in power-- turns out his older brother's a prominent member of the Chechen resistance. The brother got the kid shipped to Canada through a humanitarian aid scholarship two years ago." "So Alex Nalvayko wasn't part of the Chechen resistance?" "Not as far as the Russians are concerned, but who knows? What concerns me more is there's no response on Sakai's car radio, and he isn't answering his cell phone." Picking up the remote, Nick clicked on the shutters. The barest glimmer of light entered the room. Darkness was approaching, but not quickly enough. "Who do we have in the area?" "I'm sending in two patrol cars as backup. If this kid is armed, anything could happen." Nick shrugged into his jacket and continued to stare at the light fading from the window. "Captain, there's something on the tape, something Coates said when he called in--" "I haven't heard it yet," said Reese. "'He's gonna go through with it.'" "I know he is. If Sakai's butt is still in one piece when this is over, I'm going to--" "No--Captain, listen! That's what Coates said, 'He's gonna go through with it.'" A glance at the window--two minutes more. "I think Nalvayko has something planned...or he's going to carry out something the PAR group planned before the murder screwed everything up. Winkler--maybe he'd know. Where's he staying?" "I have the number on my desk. Hang on--" Another minute. Sixty seconds. "The Four Seasons," said Reese. "I can't make out the ro--" Cutting the call short, Nick flipped his phone closed, tucked it inside his coat pocket, and headed for the back stairs at a run. *** "Open the door--police!" Adam pounded on the door again, risking a glance at the stairwell. He'd told the landlady to go back downstairs. There was a good chance Nalvayko was armed. He also felt there was also a good chance that he might just get Nalvayko to come in peacefully...if he could find him. That was the third warning. Adam took a deep breath and slammed his back against the wall beside the doorframe. Slipping the key into the lock, he clicked it in place and turned the knob. The door swung open easily, with no response. "Nalvayko?" Still no response. Taking a deep breath, he edged around the door and peered inside. Nothing. There was nobody home. It was an odd feeling, frustration at not finding Nalvayko edged with relief that he'd avoided any type of gun battle. Flicking on the light, Adam walked into the main area of the apartment. Nalvayko wasn't at class, he wasn't at home...so where was he? The place was clean--not immaculately so, but it looked like Nalvayko kept after it. There was a table with some papers and a handful of other items. Adam flipped through the envelopes, barely nudging them with his hand. Other than an electric bill and a host of sale advertisements, there was nothing useful. That's when he saw Nalvayko's camera on the table. Adam holstered his gun, then picked up the camera and turned it over, trying to leave as few prints as possible. It was a Canon, an expensive model. Nalvayko seemed to take his photography seriously. The photographs tacked up all over the walls could have told Adam that much. One corkboard and the surrounding area was dedicated to photographs of soldiers in uniform, street riots, the remains of bombed-out buildings, casualties, and gunfire. "Home, sweet, home?" murmured Adam, as his gaze moved from one picture to the next. The pictures were stark, mostly black and white, and shocking in their intensity. Nalvayko was good. He was very, very good. There were other groupings of pictures--a series of wildlife shots, photographs of animals, and then other photographs of abandoned or stripped carcasses. A PAR pamphlet was tacked to the board, as were photos of the group. When Adam leaned close to one picture, he recognized Vincent Coates, laughing. Another bulletin board was propped up against a chair leg. Adam lifted it onto the couch to get a better look at the photographs. He recognized the exteriors of shops along a section of Yonge Street, photographs of alleyways and roadways around the area. There were more photographs of a particular store; interior shots of displays, with specific shots of entrances, exits, and overhead cameras and mirrors as well. The shop was called 'Ontario Sportsman.' Adam glanced around the apartment. There was a phone book on a counter by the telephone. Picking it up, he flipped through it--the page on which the 'Ontario Sportsman' had an ad was dog-eared. Obviously, this had either been chosen as a PAR target...or Nalvayko had decided that this was his particular cause. Adam checked the cross- street--the shop was on Yonge, just off Carlton. The Maple Leafs were playing at the arena tonight. Which meant that the streets would be swelling shortly with a hockey crowd, many of whom might dash into a store to pick up a T-shirt or other item emblazoned with the logo of their favorite team. Removing his cell phone from his pocket, Adam flipped it open and hit the power button...then nearly dropped the phone when it rang in his hand. "Hello--?" he asked hesitantly. "Sakai? Where the hell are--?" "I'm at Nalvayko's apartment--he's not here." He tried to speak as quickly as he could, forcing the words out so that Reese would understand the importance of what he'd found. "Captain--there's a sporting goods store on Yonge, near Carlton...'Ontario Sportsman.' I think Nalvayko's going to hit it, make a stand there, I dunno. He's got photos all over the place. It looks like a target." "A bomb?" "No--probably not." Adam looked around the apartment again. "Something more...personal. Maybe hostages? It's about three blocks from the Maple Leaf Gardens." "The Leafs are playing Boston tonight." "Yeah, I know." Adam walked over to the board with the photos of Nalvayko's homeland, then started pulling photos off the board at random, taking as many as he could. "Captain, he could already be in the store." "There's enough ammo in that place to hold off a small army for a week. I'll send units over and alert hostage negotiation. You've got some background on this--get over there, now. I'll send over your partner as soon as he checks in." There was a pause. "If you pull this one out of the fire, Sakai, I might just let you sit out the next four years as a traffic warden." The dial tone sounded in his ear. "Yeah, thanks, Captain," said Adam glumly. "I love you, too." Shoving the phone into his coat pocket, Adam grabbed a few more photos, then headed out of the apartment at a run. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 8 of 12 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 Nick was just rounding the corner when he saw Winkler stepping out the front door of the hotel, the attorney's attention focused on the cab ahead of him and the doorman opening the passenger door. With a little vampire speed, Nick managed to place himself directly in front of Winkler without alerting either the attorney or the doorman. Winkler walked right into him, and Nick took the opportunity to riffle the man's breast-coat pocket as he pretended to set the man back on his feet and brush down his coat lapel. In that second, Winkler recognized him. Holding up the airline tickets he'd taken out of Winkler's jacket, Nick asked, "Going somewhere, Mr. Winkler?" Startled, Winkler stared at him, then made a grab for the tickets. "I have a fund-raising dinner to attend. My flight for Montreal leaves in an hour--" "In that case..." Nick handed back the tickets with a bow. As Winkler tried to step around him, he shifted slightly, so that he blocked the attorney's path. "I'm surprised that you're leaving. I thought you'd want to know that we'd found Vincent Coates." "Have you?" Winkler's heartbeat speeded up, but his expression was non-committal. "Congratulations. What did he have to say for himself?" "He didn't. He's dead." "Dead? How?" "It looks like a suicide, but we're guessing it was murder." "But I spoke with him last night; I told him to give himself up--" "You spoke with him?" asked Nick coldly. "Was that before or we saw you down at the station?" Winkler stared at Nick, his own gaze growing cold. "You'll understand if I decline to answer your questions, Detective Knight. Now, I have a plane to catch. Either arrest me or--" "You could be charged as an accessory to murder, Mr. Winkler." Nick concentrated, refusing to let Winkler's gaze slip away from him. The man's heartbeat sounded in his ears as he concentrated, feeling the man's will slip away beneath the intensity of his gaze "Accessory to--" murmured Winkler, his voice barely a whisper. "What did you know about the PAR attack on the club?" "I knew...I knew that something was going to happen," said Winkler, his voice halting. "That's why I was here. Coates phoned me last week--I told him that I didn't want to know the particulars...it would have been free publicity." Then Winkler shook himself free from Nick's hold, his mouth remaining open as he realized what he'd said. "None of that would be admissible in court." "Maybe not. But there are always phone records, travel arrangements--" Nick reached out a hand and flicked the top of the tickets Winkler was holding. "We can do this the hard way, or we can be nice about it, but either way, I think you're going to miss that flight, Mr. Winkler." Catching hold of Winkler's shoulder, Nick pulled him aside, telling the doorman holding the cab door, "Thanks, but he's got a ride." Guessing that Winkler wouldn't be in a hurry to run off, Nick pulled his cell phone from his pocket. "Mind if I make a call? No, I didn't think so." He hit the autodial for the station and said immediately, "This is Detective Knight--I need to speak with Captain Reese." There was a pause, then he heard the pick up. "Knight?" "Captain, I'm down here at the Four Seasons with Mr. Winkler. He's volunteered to skip his scheduled flight to Montreal and drop by the station to tell us how much he knew about the break-in at the club and what he said to Vincent Coates last night." "That's awfully good-hearted of him," said Reese sharply. "Why don't you offer him a ride to the station for his troubles?" Clearing his throat, Nick stared at the empty curbside. "That might be a problem, Captain--I don't have the Caddy." "Well, bring him in with whatever you're driving." "I'm not--driving. I don't have a car." There was a long silence on the other end of the phone. "Let me guess--you lost your car?" "Funny, Captain." Nick glared at Winkler. "Can I get a squad car to pick Winkler up?" "I think that can be arranged," said Reese. "Sakai called in--Nalvayko wasn't at the apartment. Your partner thinks he's got a lead, said something about Nalvayko or PAR having designs on a shop that carries hunting supplies. 'Ontario Sportsman' ring any bells with you?" "'Ontario Sportsman,'" repeated Nick, then watched as Winkler shifted nervously. "Adam's on the right track, Captain. That's on Yonge, isn't it?" "Knight, don't you leave Winkler--and that's an order!" "Captain!" "You don't want to know what kind of hell I caught from the Crown Attorney last month when you left that mugger handcuffed to a railing in the middle of the highway traffic median! The last thing I want is another potential lawsuit for reckless endangerment." Then Reese's voice lowered. "I've got two cars on scene, a hostage negotiator on the way, and we're sending more cars to handle crowd control if it gets ugly." Nabbing the PAR attorney on a charge of obstruction of justice wasn't such a big deal after all. His partner was heading into a potential shoot-out or hostage situation with a handful of uniforms as back-up. His partner. His very mortal, allergic to some cats, and susceptible to bullet holes . "Captain--?" Nick took a long, slow breath. "I need to be there. You I need to be there--" "I know, but no can do. There'll be a squad car there in ten minutes." There was a pause on Reese's end of the line. "After the car shows and Winkler's in the back seat, you can get to where you gotta go, however you gotta get there--and that's an order. I'm looking forward to having a nice, long talk with Mr. Winkler." "All right, Captain. See you then." Turning off the telephone, Nick flipped it closed and tucked it inside his jacket. "Coates said they'd abandoned the demonstration at the sporting goods store," said Winkler. "After what happened at the Georgian Bay Club...." Nick looked away, his ears tuned for the sound of a siren. If a squad car passed by, he could always flag it down. Ten minutes. "None of them would be that stupid," protested Winkler. "Besides, it was only going to be a peaceful demonstration." "You'd better hope you're right," growled Nick. He barely noticed that Winkler slunk back against the wall of the hotel. The inside of his chest felt empty and hollow. He'd buried two partners in the past year; he wasn't about to bury a third. Nine minutes felt even like an eternity. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 9 of 12 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 Two patrol cars were sitting at the curb, not more than a couple of hundred feet from the front of 'Ontario Sportsman.' Adam saw four uniformed police officers and a civilian standing beside them as he pulled his car to the curb. Opening the door, he left the car and headed directly for them. "Detective Sakai, Metro Homicide," he said, showing the civilian his badge. "And you are?" "Daniel Brevitz. I'm the store manager." He glanced over at the officers in annoyance and asked, "What the hell's going on? I get a call from the police asking me to step outside and not make a lot of noise about it." One of the officers stepped forward; his name badge read 'Wills.' "We followed procedure, Detective--we've stayed away from direct line of sight and kept an eye on the entrance. We're expecting the hostage negotiator to arrive any time now." "Good. Let's hope we don't a hostage situation." Adam turned back to the store manager, taking the photograph another officer handed him. "Mr. Brevitz, we have reason to believe that this man may be in your store. He's a murder suspect, and we consider him possibly armed and dangerous. Have you seen this man in the last hour or so?" Brevitz stared at Adam for a moment, then glanced down at the fax that was shown to him. It wasn't the best copy. After a moment, he shook his head in puzzlement. "Could be. I've got at least thirty customers in there. There's a game down at the Gardens, the Leafs are playing--" "Boston," finished Adam. "Yeah, I know." He looked back at the storefront--as ranking officer on the scene, it was up to him to get as much information as he could, to confirm Nalvayko's whereabouts, and to get any potential hostages out of harm's way. "Okay, we proceed on the assumption that Nalvayko's already inside. Mr. Brevitz, I want you to go around to all of your personnel and ask them to exit the store--no alarms, no excitement. How many employees have you got in there?" "Six in the front--three of them are on the register-- and two people who are in and out of the back, restocking." "Any doors to the back?" "One--a loading dock. It's locked from the inside, and it's got an alarm. The only way to get in there from the outside is to break it down." "All right," said Adam softly, still watching the front of the store, "we'll forget that. Wills, you take your partner and head to the left. Corran you take the right. Get the customers out of there. I'll keep an eye out for Nalvayko." He took his gun from the holster, checked it, then returned it there for safekeeping. "Mr. Brevitz, all of your ammo is locked up, right?" "Yeah. Unless someone's making a purchase--then there'd be some on the counter." "Let's hope everybody's buying Leafs hockey pucks, then." Adam gestured toward the store. "Mr. Brevitz, I hate to ask you to do this, but I need you to go in first, act like nothing's wrong. I'll follow in a minute--I'm just a customer, okay?" He turned back to the patrolmen. "Give us three minutes, then come in. I don't want any weapons drawn, nothing that could set Nalvayko off. Understood?" "Sure, Detective," said Corran grinning. "We'll try to keep this one nice and peaceful." "That's the plan. Okay, Mr. Brevitz, it's showtime." He gave the man credit--Brevitz walked right up to the door and straight in like he didn't have a care in the world. Adam turned to the last officer. "You're running traffic control. Keep people off that sidewalk in either direction. Better put up a couple of sawhorses as soon as the next squad car arrives. I don't want any other officers in there until I come out again. Brief the hostage negotiator and any ranking officers as soon as they arrive." Adam took one last glance at the other officers and said, "Three minutes?" When they all acknowledged his instructions, he walked down the sidewalk, opened the glass door, and entered the store. It smelled like leather and fresh rubber, like the soles of new sneakers or the covering of a pristine basketball. Adam went straight up the center aisle, taking a careful look at the people he passed. He caught Brevitz's eye at the counter, nodded, then continued walking, noting that at least two employees were already heading for the entrance. He was aware of whispers, of movement around him, quiet conversations in other aisles when the police officers arrived, most of which began, "Excuse me, sir, could I ask you--?" Four minutes become five, then six. Adam was just beginning to believe that his suspect hadn't shown yet, when he saw a flash of a blue and white; a Toronto Bluejays' jacket. Nalvayko had been wearing a jacket like that when he'd been leaving a note on the door of Coates' apartment. Adam peered around the corner. Nalvayko was standing by a swinging door that was stenciled with the words 'Employees Only.' Shifting nervously, he glanced around.... Then he caught sight of Adam; his eyes opened wide in panic, and he ducked through the door. Cursing under his breath, Adam raced for the door. He hit it at top speed and skidded on the cement floor of the stockroom beyond, arriving just in time to hear a yelp of surprise. There were large, metal shelves that ran from the floor to the ceiling, filled with cardboard boxes and partially unpacked merchandise. They were arranged around the perimeter of the room, and then in rows, forming narrow access walkways between the heavily stacked shelves. Nalvayko had left a trail of over-turned boxes in his wake, the contents having spilled out over the floor. Noting that the store probably wasn't going to pass a fire inspection any time soon, Adam began to walk the length of the stockroom. Checking one row at a time, he picked his way among the wreckage. At least one of the over-turned boxes held an array of knives. He drew his gun and held it close to his chest, listening intently. A muffled cry led him to the far aisle and he peered down the length of it. Nalvayko had pinned the arms of a stock boy; his other hand held a wicked hunting knife, the blade at the throat of his hostage. The light was dim, but Adam could easily see the sweat on both of their foreheads, the blade of the knife glinting as Nalvayko pressed it against the hostage's neck. "Back off," he said evenly, his tone leaving little doubt that he'd carry out the implied threat. Adam holstered his gun and backed away slowly, his empty hands raised to chest level. "All right, I'll back off." There was a commotion at the swinging door. Nalvayko looked up, and the blade must have pressed closer to the stock boy's neck, because the hostage let out a cry. Adam turned and waved at the uniformed officer at the door. "Keep that closed!" he shouted. "I don't want anybody else in here. Hear me? Nobody comes in here!" The officer gestured his understanding and the door swung closed again. Taking a deep breath, Adam turned his attention back to Nalvayko. "Okay, they're gone. Now let him go." "Put your gun on the floor." When Adam hesitated, the knife moved again, and Adam saw a trickle of blood appear on the stock boy's neck. The stock boy's eyes were closed tightly. "Okay, okay. Gun on the floor. Gotcha." Adam reached into his holster and withdrew his gun with two fingers in a non-threatening fashion. He set the gun on the floor and brushed it aside with his foot, careful to make certain that it was out of Nalvayko's reach. "The gun's gone, Alex. I've got something else for you. I stopped by your apartment and saw your photos. I have them in my pocket. I'm going to take them out of my pocket, now, okay? Just the photos." Adam treated the photos like china, pulling them from his coat pocket, then holding then up for Nalvayko to see. "Did you take these pictures, Alex?" "Those...are mine," said Nalvayko. He tilted his head slightly, as if trying to get a better view. "They're good, Alex. They're really, really good. Especially the animals. Like this one--" Adam flipped through the photographs until he found a picture of a moose standing near a highway guardrail. The animal was majestic, impressive. "I understand, Alex. I understand why you don't want the animals killed." For a moment, he thought he'd screwed up. Nalvayko backed up a few steps, agitated, and dragged his hostage with him. "You don't understand. That's what Vinney said-- no one understands." "All right--all right! So I don't understand." Adam inched forward, even as Nalvayko moved back. "I'm listening, Alex. Tell me. Just put down the knife and tell me." "If I put down the knife, you don't listen. That's what my brother said, what Vinney said--" He hesitated, glancing over his right shoulder for an instant, then centering his attention quickly back on Adam. "Vinney wanted people to know." "That's what PAR is for," said Adam, taking a step closer, holding up another one of Nalvayko's photographs to get his attention. "They'll listen to you now, Alex. Put down the knife and come with me--I'll make certain they listen to you." Nalvayko spat on the floor. "They don't listen, don't listen. It's like the lawyer said--when blood is shed, people look up. People listen." He shifted and raised the knife, forcing the stock boy's head back further. A new line of red appeared along the hostage's neck. Adam took a deep breath and wondered how the hell he'd ever thought he could talk his way out of this one. But he still had to try.... (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 10 of 12 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 Nick was intent on his destination--the front door of the sporting goods store--when he felt a hand on his chest and his way was blocked by a uniformed police officer. "I'm sorry, sir, you can't--" "Detective Nick Knight." He drew his shield from his pocket and flashed it at the officer. "That's my partner in there." There were five patrol cars in sight, and he counted at least a dozen uniformed offers working crowd control. "Any civilians inside?" he asked, heading for the door, then walking into the store. The officer paced him. "One hostage. It's a stand-off situation, but the hostage negotiator's on his way--he was out at the airport. We know the suspect's armed, but we're not sure with what. We can't get in to take a look--your partner told us to back off." "Yeah, well, that's his call to make, isn't it?" Nick turned around as soon as he entered the store. There were another half dozen uniforms in sight, as well as a couple of plain-clothes officers. "Can I talk to the manager here?" he called. "Can I help?" asked a man wearing street clothes. "I'm Daniel Brevitz, the manager." "Detective Knight, Metro Homicide." Nick reached for his badge again, then waved his hand, forgoing that nonsense. Catching the manager's arm, he drew him aside and asked quietly, "Is there a back door to that storeroom? A skylight? Any other way in?" "There's a back door off the loading ramp, but it's locked from the inside, and an inside stairway to the roof for access to the central heating unit. Both have alarms." Brevitz glanced over his shoulder. "The detective that went in there seemed pretty concerned about the alarms." Nick took a breath, then nodded. "Okay. Can you turn the alarms ?" "There's a switch by the cash register--" "Do it!" ordered Nick, then he turned toward the door. The manager grabbed his arm. "That won't help you with the lock. It's a deadbolt. You'd need a hacksaw and a couple of hours to get through that." Nick gave the manager a wan smile. "I'll take my chances." He opened the door, then gestured toward the manager. "How long until the alarms get cut?" "A couple of seconds after I hit the switch." The store manager hurried over to the counter at the front of the store. Slipping behind it, he bent down, disappearing from sight. An instant later and he stood again. "They're off." "Thanks." It took Nick time to work his way through the crowd of onlookers crowding the sidewalk, and then another few seconds to cover the half-block before he reached the entrance to the loading alley that ran behind the Yonge Street store fronts. It was deserted, with the exception of a pair of officers guarding the door over the loading dock, and their attention was elsewhere. He took to the air, landing on the roof with a light thump. There were two access doors on the roof, but from the location it was easy enough to determine which one led to the storage area below. Nick grabbed hold of the door handle, tested it, then gave it a good, hard yank. He wasn't certain that he'd actually done it until the door swung open. Then he slipped into the stairwell, closed the door carefully behind him, and started down the stairs. At the bottom was an open area and a row of shelves that blocked his view. Nick stopped and listened. "That's what PAR is for," said Adam's voice. "They'll listen to you now, Alex. Put down the knife and come with me--I'll make certain they listen to you." His partner sounded cool and collected. Only Nick could hear the slight tremor in the voice, the skip of the heartbeat. "They don't listen, don't listen." The voice was male, young, with an accent, heavy on the consonants. It had to be Nalvayko. "It's like the lawyer said--when blood is shed, people look up. People listen." Nick didn't dare move. He didn't dare do . Three sets of mortal heartbeats pounded in his ears. They were to his left, about three hundred yards ahead of him. Nalvayko was armed--but with what? Adam was how far away? Was he armed? It was a blind situation. The last time he'd wandered in and taken point, Tracy had been behind him. He'd never known it, never even thought to listen for her heartbeat. She'd taken three bullets and she'd died. Nick held the stair banister tightly, his fingers crushing metal, as he began to lose himself in his heightened senses. A not-unwelcome feeling stole over him, a delicious tension, an expectation of action yet to come. He was hunting. >>>> The lion tracks were clear and crisp--fresh. Two lions, one of them badly wounded, running parallel. The animals were hunting. The animals were hunting . Nicholas turned to give that information to Miss Lawson, who was fighting her way through the underbrush behind him, when a roar shook the air around them. He'd only met her eyes, barely opened his mouth to comment before a rifle shot echoed, the sound followed quickly by a terror- filled scream. Nicholas thrashed through the underbrush as quickly as he could in the direction of the scream. Although he was moving faster than the average mortal might have managed, the undergrowth delayed him, and the overgrowth made flight nearly impossible. He settled for trampling nearly everything in his path until he found himself in a clearing adjacent to the river. Carlton Everleigh's body was stretched over the edge of the riverbank, his head partially submerged in the water, the blood from his throat and chest wounds sluicing downstream. Paw prints in the light mud and the depth of the claw wounds gave Nicholas some small satisfaction-- LaCroix had been denied a kill this time. Not far beyond Everleigh was the carcass of a male lion. Part of the skull around the eye was missing--the result of the rifle shot that he'd heard. As he walked toward it, Nicholas noticed the matted blood on the creature's flank that indicated an earlier wound inflicted by one of the unfortunate German hunters. He grabbed hold of Everleigh's body as he passed, pulling him up out of the water and onto the bank, not only out of decency but to prevent the fresh blood in the water from alerting other predators that a meal might be found nearby. There was less he could do for the lion. It was huge, as such beasts went, and he could well see why the Germans had gone to such an effort to kill the creature. The presence of an animal like this might very well explain the lack of local game--most animals knew enough to stay hidden when such a creature was about. The jaws were coated with foam and blood, but it was still an incredible animal. He hoped that death had taken it as swiftly as it had seemed to have taken Everleigh. Sensing a presence somewhere near, Nicholas tilted his head, listening. The sound was soft and not too distant. A heartbeat. An animal heartbeat. Glancing down at the lion's carcass, he realized that death would have resulted instantaneously from Everleigh's shot; part of the animal's brain had been blown away. The lion's mate had killed Everleigh and was nearby-- The creature's roar almost deafened him. Nicholas whirled in time to see the lioness spring out of the low brush, aiming directly for his throat. Two shots rang out as the beast hit him, the weight of the large body striking him and carrying him to the ground. Instinctively, Nicholas lowered his head to protected his eyes from those sharp claws, and he pushed back at the animal, trying to keep it at bay. When he met no resistance, he rolled out from under the lioness and scrambled upward, breathing heavily, waiting for the creature to attack him. There was no heartbeat, not even a final puff of breath. The lioness was dead. Looking up, Nicholas saw Virginia Lawson grinning at him, the rifle still smoking in her hands. She raised the gun in triumph and took a step toward him. There was a blur of motion from the sky, and Virginia Lawson was held tightly from behind by LaCroix. He knocked her protective helmet away, tilted her head, and sank his fangs into the soft flesh of her throat before her grin of triumph could turn to a grimace of pain. There was a whisper of breath from her, her mouth forming an inquiry, surprise and puzzlement in her eyes and, for a moment, fear. It was the only time Nicholas remembered seeing that particular emotion in her. He made some sort of noise, a choked plea, but in the seconds it took Nicholas to move forward, she was dead. LaCroix released her, and Nicholas reached for her body, cradling her as he followed her fall to the ground. A numb feeling washed through him as he held her, the dark curls falling across the khaki of his bush jacket. Her eyes were still open, empty now that her soul had fled. Nicholas closed her eyelids gently with his fingertips, already sensing the not-so-slow surrender to decay. Her flesh grew cold as he stoked her cheek with his fingertips. It seemed a wonder to him that she'd ever been alive. "Nothing like a hunt to stir the blood." LaCroix stalked past him, pausing at Everleigh's body. "A pity this one was wasted--I've always rather enjoyed blue-bloods. Thin on the palette, but they scream nicely enough when given the proper incentive." With the toe of his boot, he undid Nicholas' work and rolled Everleigh's body to the edge of the riverbank. A final, simple push was all that was needed, and the corpse tumbled into the water, sinking first, then rising as it floated downstream. LaCroix turned his attention to the corpses of the lions. His expression changed as he viewed their remains; any sign of contempt disappeared, to be replaced with an almost wistful admiration. "Magnificent beasts, weren't they? A pity they had to die--they deserved better sport than these fools." "They deserved better." After letting Virginia Lawson's corpse fall gently to the earth, Nicholas rose to his feet, anger beginning to burn within him. "Especially her. You saw it in her, I you did." LaCroix walked over. "She a prize, wasn't she? Fiery, strong, passionate--as you well know." Kneeling down, he brushed aside her curls, his expression surprisingly tender. "And an marksman." Nicholas stared at LaCroix, his anger giving way to confusion. "You were going to bring her across--" "From the first moment I saw her," murmured LaCroix, gazing at her face as if memorizing it. "There was a hunger in her--she wanted more than she would ever be given or be able to take. She had...potential." "Then why kill her?" Nicholas pressed, needing to understand. "Miss Lawson failed--she lost her concentration and forgot, for a brief second, that she was a predator. No matter how successful the hunt, it is the slightest, unanticipated change of circumstance, a second's loss of concentration, that can turn a predator into prey. If she hadn't let down her guard after the shot, if she had even so much as me...we might very well have had company on our return to Mombassa...." As if dismissing the matter, LaCroix rubbed the palms of his hands against his trouser leg and rose to his feet. He looked away to the distant horizon and gestured at the dark clouds passing into the northeast. "It looks as if conditions have improved enough to continue our journey. You should feed before we continue." The hunger that had torn at his innards, hot and bright during the hunt, now seemed distant, almost non-existent. Closing his eyes for a moment, Nicholas shook his head wearily. "No. Let's get away from here." "As you wish." When he opened his eyes, he found that LaCroix hadn't yet lifted into the air. Still standing over Virginia Lawson's body, LaCroix seemed almost thoughtful. "A second's loss of concentration," he repeated, as if to himself. Then he lifted his head and met Nicholas' gaze. "We cannot afford the luxury of a mistake. Or of a regret." ### The memory stirred a chord in him. Suddenly, Nick saw an answer to both of his problems. Now he knew how to handle Ian Sandler. And he also knew how best to help Adam nail this suspect, without spilling any more blood. (to be continued ...) -------------------------------------------- For more information or to participate in the Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season, write to V4S@fkfanfic.com. Episode Number: Forever Knight Virtual 4th Season - Episode #10 Episode Title: "The Nature of the Beast -- Part 2" "Air" Date: April 3, 1997 Author: Susan M. Garrett Part 11 of 12 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 "Blood's been shed," Adam said. "The night watchman at the hunting club--" "The old man at the club...he was going to hurt Vinney," countered Nalvayko. The knife slipped slightly to one side, away from the stock boy's neck as he shifted the hold on his hostage's arms. "I had to protect him. Vinney needed protection. He didn't know what could happen." "Vinney's dead." Adam took another step forward, watching Nalvayko carefully. Nalvayko kept moving backward, unaware that he was only inches from a stack of boxes standing in the aisle. If he could get Nalvayko to back into them, lose his balance-- "He was going to tell them I killed the old man. I was him. How could he tell them that? How could he?" "Did you kill Vinney?" Adam took another step forward. "Is that how you protected him--by killing him?" "No! I--" Nalvayko moved back...and fell. The knife twisted up in the air and clattered to the cement floor. The stock boy rolled against the other set of shelves, there was a blur...and suddenly he wasn't there any more. Nalvayko pushed his way out from beneath the boxes, reached for the knife-- But Adam was there first. He stepped on Nalvayko's hand to stop him, the movement knocking the knife away. Nalvayko grabbed Adam's ankle with his free hand, and Adam fell into the boxes on top of Nalvayko. It was like some weird, semi-pro wrestling match, Nalvayko screaming in Russian and Adam trying to hold onto him, both of them slipping and sliding on the officially licensed, plastic- covered Toronto Bluejays seat cushions that had spilled out of the boxes. Finally landing a punch that knocked the suspect down, Adam put a knee in Nalvayko's back, grabbed his wrists...then fished through the seat cushions to find his handcuffs, which had gotten loose during the fight. Cuffing Nalvayko, he hauled him to his feet, then looked up as a cheer erupted from the end of the aisle. There were a dozen uniformed officers and plain-clothes detectives standing there, applauding and cheering--with a few whistles thrown in for good measure. When a plain- clothes officer came forward to take Nalvayko from him, Adam looked up and swore that he caught sight of Nick standing behind the stock boy. He bent down to retrieve his gun, and when he rose again...Nick was gone. *** Nick landed easily in Runnymeade park, careful to make certain that his arrival wasn't witnessed by mortal or vampire. He stalked toward the theater, his hand tucked in his coat pocket to assure himself that the bag of blood he'd picked up at the loft on the way over was still safe and secure. He'd popped it into the microwave for a few seconds to warm it to what he hoped would be a palatable temperature. He paused on the curb at Ryding Avenue, waited for the few cars to pass in either direction, then crossed the street. The wind was rising from the east instead of the west, and he found the smells from the Ontario stockyards both sickening and enticing. It was animal blood, but blood all the same. Sandler had known what he was doing when he'd chosen this site for his meetings. Even without the assistance of the wind, the vampires would react unconsciously to the faintest scent of blood. Sandler was bright enough to make that instinctual urge work for him. Nick, on the other hand, was hoping to turn the tables on Sandler. LaCroix was waiting not far from the theater, in the parking lot behind the building. He stepped out of the shadows, a frown already forming as Nick hurried toward him. "I see that Dr. Lambert failed in her mission." "She failed in mission," corrected Nick, passing LaCroix without a second glance. "Nat understands why I have to do this my way." "Having fallen victim to your persuasive charm, no doubt." Nick kept walking. Sandler and his bullies weren't that far ahead, gathering by the stage door so that Sandler could make his 'entrance' at the perfect moment. Whatever Sandler might be, he a perfect showman--the perfect melding of charismatic arrogance with an intuitive understanding of how to manipulate an audience. Nick was aware of LaCroix shadowing him, not too close, but not too far away. LaCroix would keep his word and not interfere...or at least Nick hoped so. If things got desperate and LaCroix had to pull him out of this, Sandler would be destroyed, but so would Nick's reputation. He'd be a laughingstock among the Community. Sandler was laughing, joking with his bully-boys. They made no notice of Nick as he approached, seemed not to acknowledge his existence. Nick stopped a hundred yards from where Sandler and his friends were waiting. Tucking his hands in his coat pockets, he stood there and waited, placing himself between Sandler and the back stage entrance to the theater. Sandler seemed not to have noticed at first--the joking went on for several minutes. It faded away as if by common agreement, leaving only silence in the darkened, near-empty alley between the theater and the parking lot beyond. His friends stepped aside and he walked toward Nick, the others hanging back. "You look like you've healed up since the last time I saw you," said Sandler. His long black coat flapped lightly in the wind, and he pounded one fist lightly against his other palm, the aura of his arrogance reaching even to where Nick was standing. Intimidation, that was the name of this game. Nick managed a cold smile. "I've had worse." "I'll bet you have. You've been around the yard once or two, Mr. Nick. I'm hoping that my boys managed to knock some sense into your head. I'd rather you walk this road with me than be trod underfoot. It's gonna be a new world here. I could use a few lads who know their way around the old one." It was pointless, an act, a party piece. Both of them knew that Nick wasn't going to switch sides, not now. It amused him to think of what would happen if he pretend to go along, that he'd given up the cause of humanity for the sweet temptations offered by a world where vampires could hunt openly and at will. "I'm afraid that's not possible," he answered. Sandler smiled, nodding. "At least you're an honest man, Mr. Nick. I can respect that. And because I respect that, I'll give you a warning." Pointing toward the door behind Nick, he added, "I'm gonna be going through that door in a few minutes. That's not in dispute. The question is, will you step aside and let me be on my way...or will I have to go through you?" Remaining silent, Nick stood still, the smile frozen on his lips. That obviously wasn't the answer Sandler wanted. He took another step forward, his expression annoyed. "C'mon, Mr. Nick--surely you'll be seein' what a waste of time this is? Unlike you, I in spillin' blood." Sandler held his hand high in the air and let out a whistle. One of his boys threw him a stake, which he plucked out of the air --it was as if he'd drawn it to him by sheer power of will. "I'm thinkin' that we should be spillin' mortal blood again. If that means spillin' the blood of the odd vampire on the way, well, that's the price to be paid. Even you have to admit, Mr. Nick, that you're odder than most." "Killing one of your own kind doesn't bother you does it, Sandler--?" There was a slight shifting among the bully-boys, signaling their unease. Sensing that Nick had scored a point, Sandler straightened his spine and lifted his chin defiantly. "But we're , aren't we? That's the nature of the beast. We kill, Mr. Nick, whether or not it injures your fine sensibilities. We ." "We kill only to survive," corrected Nick. "We kill to protect ourselves, but now there other ways to protect ourselves. We kill to feed, but there are other choices, other methods--" "Aye, like drinkin' ?" The bully-boys laughed. Emboldened by the sound, Sandler took another step closer. "Is that your beverage of choice now, Mr. Nick? I smelled the stink of it, but I thought it was comin' off the stockyards." He stepped even closer...they were less than a yard apart. "What kind of a sorry excuse for a vampire are you, Mr. Nick, to be drinkin' cow when you could be sippin' the sweet mortal nectar of life itself? Do you even remember what it tastes like?" Sandler tossed the stake from hand to hand. "It's fine, Mr. Nick. It's the finest thing on God's earth and anywhere else. Don't be tellin' me you want to deny that to me, Mr. Nick. Not me and me lads, or the ones who follow me. 'Cause we won't be standing for it." "I remember," said Nick, his voice low and thick. He pulled the bag of blood from his pocket--it was still warm, although he was sorry not to be able to leech any more of the warmth from it than he already had. Holding it aloft, he said, "Here it is. This is what you're talking about, Sandler. No, you don't have to kill to get it. Killing's the bonus; killing's the part of the job." Nick stared at Sandler, both their eyes gold. He could sense the rough breaths of the other vampires as he tossed the bag of human blood from hand to hand, much as Sandler had tossed the stake. "Do remember, Sandler? Do you remember what it was to be mortal, warm flesh and a beating heart?" Nick walked past Sandler and addressed his thugs, who were shifting uneasily again. "None of you is more than a century old, most less than two or three decades. You still have links to the mortal world, sisters or brothers or parents or nieces and nephews, children perhaps, who are still alive, still mortal. Imagine them. of them." With a smirk, Nick inclined his head toward Sandler. "Now think of what they'd look like as grabs them and buries his fangs in their necks. Can you hear the screams? Can you feel their pain? Can you imagine that slow fall into darkness as he leeches their lives from them? And he --from your mothers, your sisters, your daughters, your sons. Say, 'They'll die anyway, they're mortals,' but there are a million ways to die, and dying at hands isn't the choice I'd make for any of my loved ones. But then, they mean nothing to you anymore. They're only mortals." Returning to stand between Sandler and the theater, Nick stared into his adversary's eyes. "That's what you're following--not a leader, but a butcher, a killer who enjoys the act of killing. He wants you to think that we're better, that we're " Nick's laugh was harsh. "Why, because we can kill? The urge to hunt isn't part of our nature because we're vampires; it's part of our nature because we were human. Mortals can kill, but most of them can also control that urge, harness it, ignore it. Is Sandler saying that we can't? That we're weaker than mortals? That we can't control our own beasts?" He was gaining ground. Nick could hear the muttered comments, see the unease as the thugs shifted from foot to foot. Sandler's eyes were blazing. "I should have killed you when I had the chance," he said softly. "You're right," Nick answered. "It's too late, now." "I'd be beggin' to differ with you on that point, Mr. Nick." With a roar, Sandler raised the stake and rushed forward. Nick side stepped but held the bag of blood out defensively as Sandler ran past. The stake pierced the plastic of the bag, and Sandler found himself sprayed with the contents--warm, human blood. When he turned, his eyes were red and glowing--the smell, the taste, the touch of the blood had stirred the beast within him beyond sane action. Sandler rushed at Nick again, catching him with a tackle to the midsection. Landing on his back, Nick flipped up with his legs and let Sandler's momentum carry him over Nick's head. He didn't know how much experience Sandler had as a mortal warrior or how often he'd fought since then, but Nick knew he had two advantages on his own side--centuries of bloody battles, and an ability to deny the bloodlust, to force it down and hide it within himself. Sandler was still too young to have learned that particular talent...or he'd never bothered to try. Nick's eyes remained gold even as Sandler regained his feet and rushed madly at him. Nick knew enough to wait until the last possible second, then side stepped again, lifting Sandler by the arm and throwing him hard against the theater wall. Sandler's left arm hung limply at his side, but he still brandished the stake with his right. Using it as club, he got in quickly and close enough to batter Nick hard across the face with the flat of the wood, then he slammed the side of the stake down on Nick's shoulder. Drinking human blood, human blood, had made a difference--on the level of strength, Sandler was almost unstoppable. Nick fell to his knees, taken down by the dual blows, then threw himself to the ground and used his momentum to knock Sandler down as well. The stake clattered away. Nick had been afraid that Sandler's buddies might intervene, but the majority of them hung back. When the stake fell, he looked up and saw one of them move forward, but then LaCroix appeared as if by magic. He made no sound nor threat, simply stood to one side with his arms folded across his chest. That proved to be enough of a deterrent. The berserker bloodlust that had taken hold of Sandler couldn't last forever, nor could Nick; he felt himself wearying. Cow blood was no match for human blood, especially in a pitched battle. He couldn't outrun Sandler nor outlast him, but he could possibly outwit him. And he did. Sandler continued to rush at Nick, and Nick avoided him, grabbing his arm and tossing him into the wall over and over. Bones broke, began to heal, and broke again. Nick thought he heard the snapping sounds at least twice, but he was certain only the second time; as Sandler attempted to climb back to his feet, his right leg gave out beneath him. Pouncing, Nick landed on Sandler's back, pinning him to the ground. There was a whistle from the thugs, and almost instinctively, Nick raised his hand in the air, the stake landing flat side against his palm. Nick raised the stake aloft, holding it high, knowing that a downward motion would send the stake through Sandler's heart and imbed it into the ground. A vampire as young as Sandler would never survive. Nick bowed his head and concentrated, forcing himself to ignore the human blood with which he and Sandler were spattered. He couldn't let the beast win. When he opened his eyes, the tint of gold was gone from his view of the world. Lowering the stake, Nick stared at it a moment as if memorizing what it looked like...then he tossed it away. He staggered off Sandler, took a few breaths until he was certain that he was steady on his feet, then bent down and grabbed the back of Sandler's coat. It didn't take much effort to throw Sandler through the air so that he landed at the feet of his friends, but it took enough. Nick was just as happy to stumble to the small steps beside the theater door. Leaning on the railing, he closed his eyes and tried to summon up what little strength remained to him. He barely turned his head when he heard Sandler's voice, weakened, but manic, almost to the point of insanity. "Kill him!" he ordered. "Kill the bastard! Damn you! Look what he did to me! To ! Kill him!" Nick knew he didn't have enough fight in him to take on even the weakest of Sandler's thugs. But they didn't have to know that. Straightening at the rail, he clenched one fist and stared at them. They stared back, but less in defiance than in disinterest. One by one, they turned their backs and walked away or took to the air, even as Sandler screamed abuse at them. There was a bad moment--one of the thugs walked toward Nick. He stopped about ten yards away, face impassive. Then he shrugged, gesturing toward the theater door, and said, "Someone...someone should tell them all to go home." "Someone ," agreed Nick. With a wry smile, he stepped to one side and gestured toward the stairway, as if giving the vampire free passage. The vampire scuttled past Nick as if he were afraid he might be struck, darting inside so quickly that the door closed behind him, sucked in by the gust of wind generated by the speed of his movement. Only Sandler and Nick and LaCroix remained. Fighting his way to his knees and then to a standing position, Sandler favored his leg. "It's not over," he told Nick, glaring. "Ah, Mr. Ian, that's where I think you're wrong," said Nick, duplicating Sandler's accent perfectly. He moved closer and grabbed Sandler's shirt front, nearly lifting him off his feet, and pointed to the west. "Go. And keep an eye on your back, because if I ever see you again, if I ever hear your name again, I'll be hunting you down. Because, Mr. Ian, I won't be standing for it." As Nick released him, Sandler seemed