Date:         Sat, 31 Aug 1996 22:50:42 -0400 
From: Cousin Jules  
 
All right everyone...This is the first - possibly the last - story I've ever 
posted.  Please be kind.  If you hate it, apologies.  If you like it, please 
let me know, and I'll post more.  Many thanks to my beta readers Cousin 
Ann, Cousin Angie, Cousin Alanna, and, last but certainly *not* least, my 
FK "Mum", Nancy, the one who has been there for me from day one.  I'm 
dedicating this to you, Mum! 
 
To TPTB:  You own these characters.  I'm only borrowing them for awhile and 
promise I'm not making any money off of them, even though I really *could* 
use it... 
 
Unforeseen Occurrences 
Copyright 1996 
 
     "...in full and certain hope of the resurrection.  Amen." 
     "Amen," Natalie said quietly as she stood in the small chapel at the end 
of the service for Detective Nicolas B. Knight.  The service had offered some 
kind of closure for those who had known this particular member of the Toronto 
PD family, and who had agonised over his disappearance some twelve months 
earlier.  Endless searches were performed, evidence gathered, witnesses 
questioned, and, in spite of every technological wonder of which the 
department could avail itself, Nick had not been found.  In her despair, Nat 
had turned finally to Nick's "father", the vampire who had brought him 
across, the one who had been her adversary and competitor for Nick's 
affections for so long:  Lucien Lacroix - but he had not been of any help 
either.  As he pointedly reminded her, "Nicolas is - or perhaps, was - no 
longer a vampire, my dear Doctor.  Whatever tie existed between us which 
allowed me to feel his presence was extinguished the moment he became 
mortal.  It's what you wanted, wasn't it?" 
     Yes, it was what she had wanted, what Nick had wanted.  They had had 
two months together, two wonderful months of married life, before he had 
vanished.  They had been hastily wed two weeks after his reversion to the 
mortal state, and a reception took place at Nick's loft for those persons who 
had been able to attend on short notice, even a few vampires with whom the 
detective still had a nodding acquaintance.  Though he had been among the 
invitees, Lacroix never made an appearance.  Nick was not surprised, but he 
had been disappointed, unable to dismiss their 768 years together, as bad as 
some of them had been.  Lacroix, the supreme controller, manipulator and 
general thorn in Nick's side, had mellowed in the last year to the point 
where Nick could look upon him as a friend and, even, a father.  Indeed, he 
wanted such a relationship with Lacroix, and always had, he finally realised. 
 Nat recalled it was with regret that Nick found Lacroix missing from the 
gathering. 
 
      She saw him move off to one of the large windows that looked out onto 
the night, studying the sky and the passersby on the street below. 
      "Penny for your thoughts?" she asked as she linked her arm through his, 
knowing already what was going through his mind. 
      He turned to her with a quick smile and shrug of his shoulders.  "Oh, 
it's nothing," he said. 
      "You know, if we're going to follow the wisdom of the ages and make 
this marriage work, we have to be honest with each other," she said, studying 
his eyes.
           "It's okay, Nick," she whispered in his ear as she put 
her arms around him.  "It's okay to want him to be here.  I understand." 
      Nick held her back to look into her face.  "You mean that?" he asked, 
happily surprised. 
     "Of course I do," she answered.  "In spite of everything, there isn't 
any way you could have gone through almost 800 years with Lacroix and not 
feel something for him, especially as you two had managed to 'patch things 
up' over the last several months.  It's funny," she began, "but I sort of 
wanted him to be here, too.  He's such a part of you.  I'm sorry that your 
regaining your mortality affected him so negatively, but you can't say it's a 
complete surprise.  When was the last time you spoke?" 
      "Not since that day, Nat," he replied as his thoughts wandered back. 
      Natalie recalled "that" day, as well as the events leading up to it. 
 
     "Not bad," Natalie said as she let the mercury drop on the blood 
pressure gauge.     "Not bad at all!  Nick, your blood pressure is 90/50. 
 That's up ten points from yesterday!" she nearly shouted.  They both began 
to laugh, and she gave him a heartfelt embrace which he returned.  When she 
pulled away from him, there were tears in her eyes. 
      "Hey, Nat..." 
      "I'm sorry," replied as she pulled a tissue from the box on her desk 
and dabbed her eyes before looking back at him.  "I'm just so happy.  I'm 
just so happy," she repeated, then really broke down completely.  He held her 
close and would have cried, too, except that he felt too stunned to believe 
it was finally happening.  He was becoming mortal.  The last six years hadn't 
been in vain after all, he reflected.  During the past week, it was as if all 
their work and efforts had finally combined to produce the result that he - 
and they - had desired for so long. 
      The first inkling of the change had come the night before,  shortly 
after their shift began.  While jotting down notes on the Hobbs case, Nick 
suddenly felt incredible weakness, then an intense hunger - but not for 
blood.  He ran to the morgue to look for Nat and found her dictating a report 
on her last autopsy.  She looked up at him, surprised by the speed of the 
entrance.  He wondered how he should tell her. 
      "Nat,..." he began. 
      "Boy, are you winded!  What's the prob..." she started to say. 
 "Winded?  Did I just say that?  Are you?!"  Seeing the perspiration on his 
forehead - perspiration, not the blood sweat she had been accustomed to - she 
let out a yelp and asked him what had happened. 
      "I was just sitting at my desk," Nick answered with a smile a mile wide 
across his face, "and for a minute, I thought I might actually faint, then I 
got the oddest craving?" 
      "For blood?" she asked cautiously. 
      "No, not for blood, Nat.  That's when I knew I had to come grab you and 
head for that little Chinese place you like so--" 
      His words were cut off as she threw her arms around him and nearly 
danced around the room with him, screaming in delight. 
      "Oh, god," she said, trying to compose herself.  "Pinch me, quick!!! 
 Can this be true??"  He complied with her wishes just to prove to her that 
it was, indeed, the truth. 
      "Ouch!!" she cried out, then looked around her.  "It's not a dream," 
she said happily, tears in her eyes.  "Nick, I wish I could think of 
something profound to say right now, but..." 
     "Shhh," he said as he drew her back into his embrace and ran his fingers 
softly through her hair.  "You don't have to say anything."  At that, he 
lowered his lips to hers and kissed her gently, but didn't leave it at that, 
and she responded in kind.  A moment later, Natalie drew back to make sure 
the vampire had not returned.  There weren't any gold eyes or even gold 
flecks, just those wonderful pools of blue looking back at her.  He laughed 
at the look on her face. 
      "Hey," he said, "how 'bout that Chinese food?" 
      "Anything you want, mister," she replied, planting another kiss on his 
lips before grabbing her purse and heading out the office door with him, hand 
in hand. 
 
Before that week had ended, Nick's heart beat at a smooth 70 beats per 
minute.  His blood pressure was 120/80, his skin warm and pink, his thirst 
for blood gone.  He was not surprised when Lacroix appeared at the loft very 
early one morning as he sat in one of his black leather chairs near the 
fireplace and readied himself to see the dawn of his first real day in nearly 
800 years.  Nick had heard rather than felt Lacroix's arrival and rose from 
the chair to greet him, albeit uncomfortably.  Had Lacroix returned to ensure 
the mortality Nick prized so greatly and sought for so long was taken from 
him? 
     "Nicolas," the master vampire said in casual greeting, as Nick stood to 
greet him. 
     "LaCroix," he replied.  "I was expecting you." 
     "Well, you could hardly expect me to sit back and act nonchalantly about 
this particular development, could you?" the vampire asked.  There was, Nick 
noted with surprise, no bitterness in LaCroix's voice, only an amused 
sadness. 
     "I'd get you something to drink, but..." 
     "You don't have anything suitable for 'my kind'," LaCroix said, 
finishing the sentence.  "Quite all right, Nicolas, I didn't expect that you 
would." 
     Nick motioned to LaCroix to make himself comfortable and he resumed his 
seat.  LaCroix sat at the far end of the black leather sofa, one leg crossed 
over the other, observing his former 'son' from a distance.  He absently ran 
the fingers of his right hand back and forth along the top of the sofa as he 
talked. 
     "I know what you're thinking, Nicolas," he began, at which Nick started. 
 "No, I haven't read your mind.  I don't need to with regard to this little 
matter, now do I?  I know your thoughts too well already."  LaCroix waited to 
see if Nick had anything to say, but he just looked away. 
     "You're wondering, 'Has he come to take me back?'" LaCroix said softly. 
 "Truth be told, Nicolas, it always *was* what I had intended to do if your 
quest proved successful." 
     "And now?" Nick asked, feeling no small amount of trepidation. 
     "Now, Nicolas, I have decided that you should be 'let on the loose' for 
a while, to experience your mortality without fear of encumbrance from me." 
     Nick held his breath.  In spite of an improvement in relations between 
them, he had never thought LaCroix would give in so easily. 
     "You said, 'for a while', LaCroix," Nick replied.  "How should I take 
that?" 
     "I mean exactly what I just said, Nicolas.  I think you should taste of 
mortality for a time, and then tell me what you think of it," LaCroix 
answered. 
     "You sound as if you expect me to embrace the darkness again, somewhere 
down the road." 
     "Let us say, rather, that I think you may have second thoughts about the 
life these mortals lead.  I would rather wait to see if you will choose to 
return willingly to the family.  If there is a possibility of that - and I 
think there is, Nicolas - then I would be a fool not to allow nature, so to 
speak, to take its course." 
     Nick rose again from his chair and walked over to the fireplace, rested 
a hand against the mantelpiece, then looked back at LaCroix. 
     "You're serious," he said, incredulous. 
     "Very." 
     "I know you, LaCroix.  You don't do anything that concerns me without 
having an ulterior motive.  What is it this time?" Nick asked as he turned 
his gaze back to the crackling fire. 
    "I just told you, Nicolas.  I would rather you returned to us of your own 
free will," LaCroix stated matter-of-factly.  "Things between us, as you 
know, had been, shall we say, more relaxed of late?  I have 'appreciated' 
that, and, as I've said before, it may very well have been your quest for 
mortality that saved you from Divia.  Which means, of course, that that is 
why I am here today.  I would prefer we maintain this state of affairs, 
though I cannot promise you that, in future, my desire to have my son back 
will not override my current frame of mind." 
     Nick turned to look at his LaCroix, stunned by the frankness of his 
words, emotionally packed as they were.  LaCroix was standing now, and Nick 
was on the point of embracing him, when the latter moved swiftly to a place 
behind the sofa. 
     "No, Nicolas:  Don't tempt me," he said with an amused look on his face. 
 He looked away for a moment and spoke in a halting manner.  "If...you need 
me, you know where to find me."  With those final words, LaCroix disappeared 
out the skylight, perhaps, Nick considered, for the last time.  Still stunned 
by Lacroix's words, he walked over to the window and prepared to greet the 
day. 
 
Nat returned to work the morning of the day following the memorial 
service.  She had switched over to a day schedule as everything and everyone 
having to do with the night had reminded her too much of Nick.  Days were a 
little slower, but not too much, and most of the time, her work kept her 
preoccupied enough so that she wasn't constantly thinking of Nick.  What was 
it that Arthur Conan Doyle had once written?  'Work is the best antidote to 
sorrow'? 
     Being at home was another story, mostly because she was  *always* there 
during her leisure hours.  This day was no exception and, after work, she 
headed to her apartment, passing her favourite video store along the way. 
 The sight of it depressed her.  She would no longer spend the evening at the 
loft on the couch with Nick, his arm around her, the two of them settled in 
to watch a good tear jerker and eat popcorn.  In fact, popcorn now made her 
positively ill every time she looked at it. 
     Initially following Nick's disappearance, friends from work had invited 
her to socialise with them - a movie here, dinner there - but she hadn't been 
in much of a mood for any kind of recreation.  Instead, Nat had been bent on 
getting to the bottom of the mystery that had consumed the energies of all of 
Nick's friends and colleagues, without even a modicum of success, she now 
noted unhappily.  She had spent every possible hour looking for something, 
anything, that might give them an answer.  It was as if Nicolas  Knight had 
vanished from the earth one night without a trace, and she had to fight the 
professional voice within her which constantly threatened to tell her, 
"People disappear all the time, often the victims of random acts of violence. 
 Sometimes, their bodies are found years later.  Sometimes, not at all." 
 Despite 800 years of experience, the moment the vampire died, Nick lost his 
superior strength and those abilities that had kept him alive over the 
centuries and made him Toronto's best homicide detective.  With the exception 
of his training and experience, Nick had no more advantages as a mortal than 
those around him.  He would be subject to aging, disease and, finally, death. 
 As she pondered these things, Natalie was forced to grapple with an entirely 
new set of feelings and to renew old memories. 
     During the years she had known Nick, she had, on more than one occasion, 
asked, even begged Nick to bring her across, to make her a child of the 
night.  Time after time, he had refused, and she realised, in the deepest 
recesses of her soul, that he only wanted what was best for her.  It was 
true:  She couldn't understand what it would be like to be confined to living 
in the dark of night, to never be able to see another sunrise or bring 
children into the world or eat a simple meal with friends.  Yet, what did 
sunlight or reproductive capacity or food matter, she now thought, if the one 
person with whom you desired to share all those things had been taken from 
you forever?  During all their years together, she and Nick had only focused 
on what *could* be, not what *might* be.  Death was inevitable, of course, 
but both had   believed they could face it if permitted to pass the 
intervening years as "normal" people.  They had never thought or spoken of 
any possible and unforeseen occurrences interrupting their bliss.  'How naive 
we were,' Natalie now thought to herself, 'as if we  could have mortality 
without ever being affected by the mortal evil that preyed upon the world.' 
     Having finally arrived home, she sat down at her kitchen table on 
continued to dwell on her crushed dreams, and was on the point of being 
overwhelmed by them, when the phone rang.  A sudden chill passed through 
her as she heard the voice. 
     "Good evening, Doctor," LaCroix said. 
     "Hello," she replied, allowing the hostility in her voice to be heard. 
     "I realise you may not want to speak with me," he responded. 
     "That's the biggest understatement of the year." 
     "Forgive me," he began.  "I *do* seem to be quite good at it." 
     "I wish you were as good at caring for the ones you supposedly love," 
Natalie said, not in the least afraid of what LaCroix might think of her. 
     "You are, of course, referring to my comments regarding my inability to 
trace Nicolas through our 'link.'" 
     "Yes, and the fact that you did nothing to help me find him by any other 
means.  I guess Nick had you sized up pretty well after all, didn't he?" she 
asked pointedly. 
     "I have to apologise, Dr. Lambert, for upsetting you," he said. 
 "Perhaps I reached you at a bad moment." 
     "The moment will always be bad where you're concerned," she replied, 
sounding more venomous than she had intended.  "Please don't call me again. 
 Please.  Just leave me *alone*."  She slammed down the receiver and began to 
pace the room to relieve her anger, but when the anger died down, the tears 
began. 
 "Why did you have to come into my life, Nick?" she said to the still house. 
 "Why?  And when will you stop haunting me?" 
 
Several weeks had passed since her very brief conversation with LaCroix. 
 Nat lay on her sofa one Sunday afternoon, absently thumbing through one of 
her medical journals and thinking, instead, about that conversation. 
 Initially, she had been happy that she had managed to finally tell him off. 
 She hadn't wanted any more vampires in her life.  She didn't want to repeat 
the six years of not being able to hold Nick, to make love to him, to share 
his life, yet, at the same time, be unable to pull away from him and push 
herself back into the mortal world, leaving her in limbo and frustration. 
 Still, considering the circumstances, she had, perhaps, overreacted, and 
shortly after hanging up the phone, had begun to regret her words.  Though 
she didn't like to admit it, she believed LaCroix had actually cared about 
Nick.  He just hadn't known how to show it. 
     Nat allowed the medical journal to fall to the floor.and was passing a 
hand across her tired eyes when a knock came upon her door.  She sat up and 
wondered who on earth would be visiting her on a quiet Sunday afternoon. 
 Cautious, she rose and walked to her front door.  When she looked through 
the peephole, she saw a clean cut adolescent standing on her doorstep with a 
large floral arrangement.  Completely taken aback by the picture that greeted 
her tired eyes, she opened the door and looked at the young man with a 
questioning gaze. 
     "Yes?" she asked warily. 
     "Good evening, ma'am.  I'm looking for a 'Dr. Natalie Lambert'," he 
replied. 
     "I'm Miss...er, Dr. Lambert," she said. 
     "Then these are for you," he said as he handed her the large crystal 
vase which contained the flowers.  "I'll just need a signature, if you don't 
mind." 
     "Uh, no, of course not."  She stood the vase upon a nearby hall table 
and signed the yellow slip of paper he held out to her. 
     "Thank you, ma'am," he said, and disappeared down the hallway. 
     She closed the door and turned to study the flowers, a stunning 
arrangement of various lilies, tulips and daffodils.  The bright colours were 
powerful in their intensity, and she idly thought how the presence of flowers 
had the ability to brighten any room, no matter how simple or dreary. 
     She searched for, and finally found, the card she knew must be 
accompanying the lush bouquet.  Opening it, she received another surprise and 
began to feel even more guilty than she had only a few moments before.  The 
flowers had been sent by LaCroix, and he extended a gracious invitation to 
her to dine with him at 7:30 p.m that Friday at a rather expensive and 
elegant restaurant.   His private telephone number was written in the bottom 
right hand corner of the care.  'What is this?' she wondered.  'Is LaCroix 
trying to cheer me up?'  No.  That didn't seem a very realistic thought, and 
certainly wasn't in character, but, if not, then what?  Her curiosity was 
piqued, but, for all Nick had told her of LaCroix's "mellowing" of 
personality, she could not forget how her previous "date" with him had ended, 
or why it had been contrived.  LaCroix's presence when Nick had been near was 
one thing.  Being the centre of his attentions was quite another. 
     Picking up the phone's receiver, she dialed the number given on the 
card.  After a couple of rings, a familiar voice answered. 
     "Uh, hi," she said nervously.  "This is Natalie Lambert." 
     "How good of you to call, Dr. Lambert," he said politely.  "You received 
the flowers then?" 
     "Yes, and...they're beautiful.  Thank you," Nat replied honestly. 
 "About dinner..." 
     "I *do* hope you will be free," LaCroix said. 
     "Well, before we discuss that, I have to apologise for the way I reacted 
to your last call." 
     "I assure you, Dr. Lambert, that that is unnecessary." 
     "That may be, but it will make me feel better," she replied.  "Now, as 
to dinner..." 
     "I thought it was time that we allowed ourselves some time to socialise 
as well as commiserate." 
     "Well, it's very kind of you, but..."  She tried to continue, but the 
fact was, her earlier thoughts had brought back the overwhelming sadness she 
fought on an almost daily basis and the voice of this particular person 
nearly pushed her completely over the edge. 
     "Miss Lambert?" the seductive voice asked. 
     She quickly managed to regroup her defenses and continued the 
conversation. 
     "Sorry," she said, clearing her throat.  "Allergies, you know."  It was 
a feeble excuse, especially since it was the middle of January and the snow 
was a foot deep outside her apartment building. 
     "Very troublesome, I'm sure," LaCroix replied, not sounding quite 
convinced.  Had he sensed the tumultuous emotions at the other end of the 
connection?  Probably.  It was hard to hide anything from him.  "Let me say, 
Miss Lambert, that I will quite understand if you wish *not* to see me.  You 
do have precedent on your side." 
     Natalie thought hard.  Yes, she did have sufficient reason to sit at 
home and avoid LaCroix.  He could be taking advantage of her emotional 
condition to finally get his revenge for her "stealing" Nick away from him, 
though he certainly didn't have to go about it in such an indirect fashion. 
 He could find her anytime he wanted and could have killed her long before 
now.  In her heart of hearts, though, she had begun to realise that she 
didn't care one way or the other anymore, just as she had not cared all those 
months ago.  Life had become too painful.  She'd given too much of herself to 
others and to this mixed up world and gotten very little in return, not that 
everything she had done had been done with the intention of getting something 
back. Well, perhaps a few things, but wasn't that human nature?  Natalie had 
to admit then and there that, if LaCroix did have designs on her life, then 
so be it.  She really didn't care anymore.  What would it mean for her, 
except an end to what she considered an intolerable existence?  What she had 
been doing for months, even years, was not truly "living," and she felt so 
very, very tired.  If LaCroix did have murder in mind, it would only be a 
mercy to her.  'Stop it!' Nat told herself as she fought the train of thought 
her mind was following, the same one which had led her to attempt suicide a 
mere six months earlier.  Common sense told her to do something, anything, to 
quiet the voice of despair. 
     "Uh, no.  No, I think I would like to have dinner on Friday night," she 
stated, trying to sound cheerful.  "Everyone keeps telling me that I need to 
get out more." 
     "Then, I shall meet you at the restaurant at 7:30 p.m., Miss Lambert. 
 Is that agreeable to you?" LaCroix asked. 
     "Yes.  Yes, that would be great," Natalie replied.  Great?  Had she 
actually said that? 
     "Until Friday then, Miss Lambert.  Good night to you." 
     Nat said her "good nights" and hung up the receiver, wondering what in 
the world she had just done. 
 
                                                 ******* 
 
     The following Friday evening (i.e., the evening of her date with 
Lacroix) found Nat at home.  She rose from the desk at which she had been 
sitting for some hours and stretched her muscles before going into the 
kitchen to make a pot of tea.  She then walked the short distance to her 
bathroom to begin filling the tub.  Taking a turn through her wardrobe in her 
bedroom closet, she chose a simple, off the shoulder black dress, sheer black 
hose, and a pair of patent leather, sling-back pumps.  The kettle had begun 
to sing and she was on her way back to the kitchen when her doorbell rang. 
     "Just a minute," she shouted as she turned off the burner and poured the 
water over the tea bags.  It was another delivery boy with more flowers, red 
roses this time, and another simple note stating who had sent them. 
     "I have to give it to him," she said to the four walls after she had 
closed the door.  "He certainly knows the way to a woman's heart."  'And her 
neck, and her blood,' she whispered to herself.  Placing the flowers on her 
Sheraton sofa table, she stood staring at them for what seemed like hours, 
wondering how she was going to get through the evening with the 2000 year 
old vampire.  What could she possibly have to say that could interest him?  The 
thought occurred to her that she could put a stop to this night here and now, 
but the alternative thought of sitting home alone, trying to make it through 
another quiet evening, quickly caused her to dismiss that idea from her mind 
.  Shaking her head to free it of this reverie, it suddenly occurred to her 
that she had allowed the bath water to remain running.  She was forced to 
make a dash for the spigot to prevent the flooding of her apartment.  Having 
headed off a minor disaster, she enlisted the aid of some old beach towels 
and one of Sidney's favourite blankets. 
     Nat returned to the kitchen with the dripping towels and blanket and 
deposited them in her washing machine before pouring herself a cup of the 
strong tea and adding a bit of milk.  Back in her bedroom, she removed her 
warm woolens and underthings and slowly settled back into the steaming 
water, somehow managing to clear all thoughts from her head and simply relax.  
It surprised and bothered her to realise that she was actually looking forward 
to this evening - "surprised" because it was, after all, LaCroix she was 
meeting, and "bothered" because it seemed somehow to be a betrayal of the 
love she had shared with Nick.  How could she even think about going out for 
something even remotely resembling a "date"?  How could she have been with 
him all those years, lost him to God only knew what or whom, and go blithely 
on her way to be, she was sure, "chatted up" by LaCroix?  Her thoughts made 
her feel ashamed and shallow, though her common sense questioned her 
continuous mourning and urged her to at least attempt to think how Nick 
might want her to carry on in this situation.  Would he not want her to have a 
life?  'Wait a minute,' she thought.  'Planning a life with LaCroix?  Hello!' 
 She quickly climbed out of the tub and dried herself off, willing her mind 
not to dwell on anything except getting dressed for dinner.  After applying 
her makeup, she slipped into her evening clothes, gave her golden brown hair 
one last brushing, applied her favourite perfume, and added a touch of gold 
to her ears and neck before grabbing her bag and keys and heading out into 
the night. 
 
Upon arriving at the upscale eatery, Natalie noticed, to her relief, 
that it was bustling with a number of patrons.  She wouldn't be alone with 
Lacroix this time.  Informing the maitre'd of her appointment with a certain 
gentleman, Nat was shown to a quiet corner table where she found Lacroix and 
a very good bottle of wine. 
     Lacroix rose from his chair the moment she arrived at the table, 
dressed, she noted, in his customary basic black and looking as elegant and 
fastidious as usual.  Seeing him in that particular colour reminded her of 
Nick.  It had been difficult for her to convince him to "lighten up," but he 
had done it, just to make her happy.  She thought it funny now that she had 
no desire to change Lacroix in that way.  In fact, she was no longer 
interested in changing anyone in any fashion, but, rather, in simply 
accepting people the way they were with all their flaws and failings.  It was 
too emotionally draining for her to do otherwise. 
     "Miss Lambert," Lacroix began, "I'm so glad you accepted my invitation, 
and, may I say, you are looking even more lovely tonight than I remember 
you." 
     Nat was annoyed to feel a blush rise in her cheeks. 
     "Uh, thank you," she answered, looking down at the table and twisting 
her serviette nervously in her hands.  "I wish I could think of something 
appropriate to say right now, but, truth be told, I'm not very good at 'small 
talk' lately." 
     Lacroix gazed at her intently for a brief moment. 
     "It was not a desire for 'small talk' that impelled me to ask you to 
dine with me." 
     Nat felt vaguely unnerved by this comment. 
     "Then what?" she asked as she studied his features. 
     He smiled, aware of her trepidation. 
     "I thought, perhaps, you would like to talk.  About Nicolas, that is," 
he replied. 
     It was her turn to smile. 
     "To convince me to give up hoping he's alive?" she asked, glancing down 
briefly, then up to blink away the tears that were threatening to fall. 
 "Well, don't worry.  I have.  The door to that part of my life has 
definitely closed." 
     Lacroix's response was delayed momentarily by the arrival of their 
waiter who took their order and disappeared once more, but what was that look 
she had seen in his eyes? 
     "And you're very tired, aren't you?" he asked, softly and with empathy. 
 "So tired, in fact, that you wouldn't mind putting this life and its 
accompanying tragedies behind you.  Permanently." 
     Natalie wondered if the thoughts she had been pondering earlier had been 
written across her features so plainly, and found it impossible to look 
Lacroix in the eye. 
     "You're very good," she said as she tried to force a smile. 
     "Oh, there's no special power involved, my dear Doctor.  My observation 
is merely the result of my having had a rather long time to observe mortals 
and their reactions to events," Lacroix stated without any hint of 
superiority as he poured her a glass of wine.  He put down the bottle and 
looked at her.  "Well?" 
     "Well, I tried that way out once before and realised it wasn't an 
answer.  Still, I've also tried to be objective and to tell myself I can get 
through this.  I had a life before Nick and I've seen enough to know that's 
it's possible for anyone to survive a death.  There's only one difference in 
my case," she explained as she fought to keep herself from causing a scene. 
 She looked down at her hands once more.  "You see, I don't care anymore, 
and, you're exactly right.  I *am* tired.  You name it:  I'm tired of it." 
     Lacroix studied her face for a moment.  "And how do you think Nicolas 
would react if he heard you say those words?" 
     "If Nick were *here*," she said putting emphasis on the word, "he would 
try to talk me out of what I'm feeling right now.  He'd tell me I had my 
whole life ahead of me, that it would be a waste for me to allow what's 
happened to stop me in my tracks.  I've already been through that imaginary 
discussion in my mind, but it doesn't do me any good.  It doesn't make the 
pain go away.  It doesn't make the emptiness that I feel disappear." 
     "And you don't think that I can understand that?" Lacroix asked in 
earnest without any malice in his voice. 
     Natalie looked at him then and saw her pain mirrored in his eyes, those 
eyes that had seen so much death.  Two thousand years of death.  'How does he 
do it?' she wondered.  'Now, of all times?' 
     "I'm sorry," she said, trying to put herself out of the picture for the 
moment.  "It must be even harder for you.  I only knew Nick for six years. 
 You knew him for nearly eight hundred.  How do you do it?" she asked. 
     He gave her an ironic smile. 
    "I don't, Miss Lambert," he said flatly.  "My 'kind' can grieve as well. 
 I won't pretend and tell you that all vampires are so inclined, especially 
we older ones.  You see, we would not have survived if he had continually 
allowed death to influence us.  It might surprise you, though, to learn that 
we feel emotion *more* intensely than mortals, just as we see and hear better 
than you.  *All* our senses are heightened, probably to ensure our survival, 
but we are forced to live with them at all other times, as well." 
     "I knew about your sight and hearing, but I had no idea," Nat said, her 
voice trailing off as she thought of Nick.  "I knew Nick had to fight his 
'tendencies', living as he did with mortals on an almost daily basis."  She 
looked at him sadly.  "It must have been worse for him than I imagined." 
     Lacroix looked at her, remaining silent. 
     "That's why you spent so much time trying to keep him away from us, 
isn't it?  It wasn't simply a matter of getting him to stay true to his 
nature." 
     "In part, yes," Lacroix replied.  It was his turn to look away.  "For a 
vampire, becoming involved with mortals is an 'unnecessary' burden.  Better 
to live with both feet planted in one world or the other.  It's as much a 
mercy to yourself as to the mortals around you." 
     Natalie's dinner arrived, and she used the break in their conversation 
to take a handkerchief from her evening bag. 
     "Really, Miss Lambert," Lacroix began after the waiter left them, "this 
is not the kind of evening I had envisioned for either of us." 
     She gave him a questioning glance. 
     "I thought you might want to hear some stories of Nicolas.  Things, 
perhaps, he never told you.  'Happier' things." 
     "Happier things?" she asked, trying to smile as she pressed her 
handkerchief to her nose. 
     "Yes.  Such as the time he found himself dog sitting for Queen 
Victoria." 
     "What?!!" The remark had been so unexpected that Natalie burst out 
laughing in spite of herself. 
     "It *was* a rather amusing predicament," Lacroix said with a wicked 
gleam in his eye. 
     "I'll bet!" she said, still laughing. 
     "It all started the night we attended a ball given by the Queen for her 
daughter, the Princess Beatrice..." 
 
     "...and that was a very interesting evening, I must say," Lacroix said 
wistfully at the finish of his story.  It had taken some time to tell as Nat 
had to ask for the occasional break to recover from her laughter.  Her hands 
held wadded up tissues she had used to wipe the tears from her eyes.  She 
hadn't laughed this much in years. 
     "I would tell you the story of Nicolas' adventures in Disneyland back in 
the days of the 'flower children', but I see it is already quite late," 
Lacroix said. 
     "Oh, you have to tell me," she pleaded, not wanting to return to her 
empty apartment. 
     "I fear I must leave you, Doctor," he said pointing to his watch.  "I go 
on in 15 minutes, and show business waits for no one, not even Lacroix." 
     Nat frowned momentarily, then told Lacroix, "You're right, of course." 
 She paused to study him one last time.  "Thank you...for everything." 
     "It was a pleasure, Doctor.  I am only sorry we must have such an early 
parting of the ways." Lacroix seemed to say with sincerity. 
     "Well, I can't tell you how much better I feel.  I needed this," she 
said thoughtfully as she ran a forefinger and thumb around the rim of her 
wine glass. 
     "Good," replied Lacroix.  "Then I feel safe in asking you whether you 
would care to join me again sometime again in the near future when I shall be 
'off'.  It would afford us a bit more time to delve into Nicolas' sordid 
past." 
     She looked at him briefly, then away.  He had managed to make her stop 
hurting for awhile, and for that, she was grateful.  Perhaps one more night 
couldn't hurt. 
     "I'd like that," she said. 
     "Very well, then, Doctor," Lacroix responded as they rose from the table 
and made their way to the exit.  "Shall we say, 'same time, same place' 
whenever the date might prove convenient?" 
     Natalie nodded her assent and told him she would look forward to it. 
 After he disappeared into the cold Toronto sky, she reflected how life could 
prove so ironic.  If anyone had ever told her she would have enjoyed a night 
out with Lacroix, she would have suggested serious counseling and, probably, 
medication.  Before the evening had ended, though, she had come to the 
realisation that she had wanted so much to talk with someone about Nick, 
someone with whom she could be completely frank, without need to evade 
questions of his life or past or what he had been.  She had needed that - 
desperately - and there had been no one to whom to go.  Until Lacroix.  How 
odd it was that things should come to this point she thought as she boarded 
the subway, that the person she had feared most at one time had helped her, 
at least temporarily, to rise above her mourning.   All the way home, Nat 
began to wonder if, perhaps, it was possible to face the next day without 
dread - for the first time in a long while. 
 
                                                     ******* 
 
     The following morning, Nat awoke without the dull ache in the pit of her 
stomach to which she had grown accustomed.  It returned, however, as she 
drove herself into work an hour later, and culminated in flood of tears and 
sobbing which seemed to pour forth from the very depths of her soul.  All the 
old thoughts returned:  the years she and Nick had spent working for a cure; 
the few months of happiness they had shared after achieving it; Nick's 
disappearance; and the grief that had wracked her heart for the past year. 
 It wasn't fair, she kept saying to herself over and over again as she held 
her hands over her face and wept.  Her mind could accept the idea as fact, 
but her heart couldn't reconcile itself to accepting it. 
     It took Natalie almost a full thirty minutes before she felt able to 
face the rest of her co-workers, but, oddly enough, a kind of peace came over 
her as she sat in her car, as though a great and heavy burden had been taken 
from her shoulders.  A silent voice seemed to whisper to her that she could 
go on with her life, that she was free to rest from her grief.  It was 
alright to live again.  It would not and could not change what had been.  She 
and Nick had loved and shared their love, and no one could take that away 
from them.  It was almost as if Nick had somehow managed to communicate to 
her time to grieve was at an end.  Another voice, however, a much stronger 
voice, berated her for her unfaithfulness to Nick's memory. 
     Her day at the morgue passed routinely enough, with the usual quota of 
unfortunates coming through the doors.  By the time she had made it to the 
end of her shift, Natalie had performed three autopsies, drafted six reports, 
and finalized a report to the Commissioners' Court on a particularly 
unpleasant series of Jack-the-Ripper-type crimes which had occurred over the 
past eight weeks. 
     Late in the day, another delivery of flowers arrived at the M.E.'s 
office.  Grace brought them into Nat's office and set them down on one edge 
of her desk. 
     "I don't know who he is, but he must like you, girl!" she said 
cheerfully.  "Is this the real thing?" 
     "Grace!" Nat said playfully.  "He's just an old acquaintance.  Trust me. 
 *Really* old." 
     "If *he's* just an old acquaintance, then why are *you* blushing?" 
     Nat tried not to react, but somehow managed to turn even redder. 
     "Yeah, just as I thought," Grace said and winked over her shoulder at 
Natalie. 
     Rising from her chair as her desk clock chimed six o'clock, Nat 
stretched her tired arms, then retrieved her briefcase and handbag from 
beside her desk.  What was she going to do? she thought to herself as she 
studied the flowers.  She had begun to feel so many conflicting emotions, she 
could not trust her judgment anymore.  She donned her heavy wool coat and 
was preparing to lock her office door when the phone rang.  It was Lacroix, 
calling to ask her about their second dinner engagement.  Somehow, she was 
able to get out the words which she knew needed to be said. 
     "I'm not sure I can do this." 
     "Excuse me?" Lacroix asked. 
     "See you again, I mean," she replied. 
     "Miss Lambert," Lacroix began, "secluding yourself will not bring 
Nicolas back." She knew he spoke the truth. 
     "No," she began, "but it might ease my conscience.  For now, at any 
rate." 
     "Doctor," Lacroix started to say, "I give you my word that if you feel 
this way tomorrow, I will no longer interfere with your life." 
     Now how could she get out of this one?  Lacroix might not always have 
your best interests at heart, but she knew from Nick that he had always kept 
his promises, for good or evil. 
     "Alright," she said resignedly.  "Where and when?" 
     "I was going to suggest tonight, the same time as last night, if you 
happened to be available.  CERK has decided to see to some much needed 
repairs and will have me on tape, leaving me free." 
     Looking at her watch, she saw that she just had time to get home and 
change.  The sooner she got this over with, the better. 
     "Um.  OK.  It's a date," she said, attempting to sound friendly - just 
not *too* friendly. 
     They said their good-byes and Nat hung up the phone before he could say 
anything else, afraid he might talk her into something else. 
     Her intuition told her it was probably inevitable that she would not be 
allowed to keep her appointment for another "date" of sorts, now that she 
finally had one.  Odd.  Though she had wanted to turn her back on him, it 
made her feel good to think that someone of the opposite sex wanted to spend 
a little time with her, even if he was one of the "undead."  She had not made 
it out of the coroner's building before she was accosted by the sound of her 
beeper.  It was Captain Reese, and she had a bad feeling about it.  Natalie 
found the nearest telephone and placed a call to the precinct. 
     "Dr. Lambert," he began, "it's good to hear your voice again.  It's been 
a long time."  Reese's voice was warm and concerned - almost *too* warm for 
comfort.  It brought back so many memories. 
     "Captain, what can I do for you?" she asked, trying not to sound 
flustered. 
     "Our serial killer has just added another victim to his list," Reese 
replied.  "This one was just called in by a homeless person who was looking 
for cans down by the harbourfront.  I realise that you've pulled a shift 
already, but since you *are* the one heading up the investigation on this 
case forensics-wise, I thought you might want to make a stop before you head 
home." 
     "Uh, sure, Cap," she said, looking at the clock.  "I just need to make 
one phone call, then I'm on my way." 
     "Then I'll see you at the harbourfront, Doctor," Reese responded, then 
closed the connection. 
     Natalie tried to reach Lacroix at his home number, but didn't get any 
answer.  As much as she hated doing it this way, she called the restaurant 
and left a message for him, saying that she wouldn't be able to make it due 
to an unexpected work-related circumstance.  She told the person who took her 
call to be sure to tell Lacroix to call her.  With a sigh, she picked up her 
briefcase once more and prepared her mind for the scene she knew awaited her, 
a far different kind of "surf and turf" than the one she had been expecting 
to see. 
 
         "My God," Capt. Reese exclaimed as he looked down upon the lifeless 
body.  "Some part of me keeps thinking that if we can put men on the moon, we 
should be able to prevent people who perpetrate this kind of a crime from 
walking the streets with decent citizens." 
     As used to death as she was, the scene before Nat made her want to be 
ill.  Jotting down notes on a clipboard, she rose from beside the body. 
     "Looks like our man, Captain.  Multiple stab wounds to the upper torso, 
throat cut all the way to the spine, no sign of any sexual assault, and the 
telltale *beauty mark* the guy appliqued to her forehead, otherwise known as 
the letter 'A'.  Not very original," she offered.  "I'd say TOD was somewhere 
in the last 6 to 8 hours judging from the temperature reading, though there 
should be a greater quantity of blood around the body with this much trauma." 
     Tracy voiced what they had begun to suspect.  "So now he's killing them 
elsewhere and then dumping the bodies."  She shuddered.  "Makes me 
wonder..." she said, stopping halfway through her sentence. 
     "Yes, Detective?" Reese asked her. 
     "I don't know," she answered with a shudder.  "Why do I get the feeling 
that this is the sort of person who would like to inflict a little torture on 
his victims before killing them?" 
     "Because it's true," Nat interjected.  "There are a series of cuts 
around the throat, and it's evident that they were made *before* the time of 
death.  This is something we haven't seen on the other women." 
     "And here I didn't think I could get any more disgusted than I already 
was with this creep.  All right.  Let's get this poor woman out of here," 
Reese said to no one in particular.  "Det. Vetter," he began, "I want you to 
do the usual background searches and let me know what you find by the end of 
shift." 
     "Will do, Cap," she said and headed for her car. 
     "Natalie, the guys will take care of this.  You go on home." 
     "Are you sure, Captain?  I wouldn't mind..." 
     "No.  Go home.  Just try to get me your report by tomorrow morning.  Uh, 
sorry...Tomorrow evening, for you." 
     Natalie smiled at him and wished him good night.  He had understood her 
reticence towards coming back to the Coroner's Office on the night shift and 
seeing her old friends.  Maybe, one day, she could do it again.  For now, she 
couldn't even face the idea. 
 
                                                    ******* 
 
     Natalie stared at the phone sitting next to her.  Two days had passed 
and she had not heard a word from Lacroix.  She wondered if she had been 
wrong to cancel their evening rather than postponing it to a later hour.  Or, 
perhaps he hadn't gotten her message.  Natalie debated calling him.  On the 
one hand, she wasn't given to setting up dates where she would be the one 
treated to a dinner.  On the other, it wasn't as if she and Lacroix were an 
item.  No.  They were just acquaintances bound together by the memory of a 
mutual, and sorely missed, special person.  It was only dinner after all, 
just a chance to exchange stories and pass some time.  She chewed on a 
fingernail and continued staring at the phone. 
     "No," she said to herself.  "I will *not* do it." 
     Rising from the chair in which she had been sitting, she crossed the 
room to her stereo, found the remote and lay down upon the sofa.  She pushed 
the "On" button and closed her eyes. 
     "Tonight, gentle listeners, the subject is death.  Not death as we 
commonly think of it, but the death of the spirit, the death of the soul, the 
death of the will to live.  And what is the cause of this 'death'?  It is not 
a single tragedy or even an accumulation of them.  No, but it is the 
realisation on our part of our powerlessness to rectify matters, to prevent 
those tragedies, until we finally arrive at a point where we ask ourselves, 
'What does it all mean?  Where will it all end? Why should I go on?'  And 
slowly - so very slowly - we begin to die, to turn away from love, from hope, 
from life." 
     Nat turned off the stereo.  Lacroix was hitting too close to home. 
 Could he really see that far inside her heart and mind or were his words 
mere coincidence? 
     She could wait no longer, but picked up the phone and dialed the private 
line to The Raven.  An unexpected voice greeted her. 
     "Janette.  Uh, sorry.  I wasn't expecting you to be there," she said, 
somewhat embarrassed that this particular vampire should know of her call. 
     "No, Natalie?  But I am not so surprised to hear *your* voice." 
     So.  He had told her. 
    "You are looking for Lacroix, non?" she asked without any hint of 
amusement. 
     "Yes.  It's just that I was unable to make an appointment I had with him 
a couple of nights ago and hadn't heard from him.  I was beginning to wonder 
if my message had ever reached him." 
     "Oui, it did.  He understood you could not leave your work.  I'm afraid, 
though, that he is not here." 
     "Not there?  But, I was just listening..." 
     "Recorded yesterday, I fear.  He has had to attend to some important 
matters in Montreal and asked if I could watch the club for him tonight.  The 
radio station is running the broadcast." 
     Natalie remained silent for a moment, wondering whether or not to leave 
word for him to call her, when Janette interrupted her thoughts. 
     "What are you doing tonight, Natalie?" she asked. 
     "I don't know.  I just got home from work and suppose it will be another 
evening of microwaved dinner, a bath and some sleep.  Why?" 
     "Because.  I have something I'd like to show you, something I think you 
should know, if you feel up to meeting me here," Janette replied. 
     "Well, I suppose I could, for a little while at any rate," Natalie said. 
     "Very well, then.  I shall keep an eye on the door.  Good-bye, Natalie." 
     "Good-bye, Janette," she answered in kind, then hung up the phone, 
unable to imagine why she would receive such an invitation. 
     Twenty minutes later, Nat entered The Raven.  She changed her clothes 
before coming to the club, dressing in black to draw as little attention to 
herself as possible.  Not that the patrons would look on her as dinner:  Far 
from it:  Most of the vampires there were in her debt for saving their 
community two years previously during the outbreak of that mysterious fever. 
 Still, it was possible that not all held her in such high regard, and, then, 
of course, there was the mortal element, some of whom gave her more willies 
than the vampires. 
     Janette spotted Natalie first and approached her.  She linked Nat's arm 
through her own, and spoke as she walked along side her. 
     "Thank you for coming," she said. 
     "Not a problem, though you can imagine I'm rather curious as to why you 
asked me." 
     "Ah.  I understand," Janette said thoughtfully.  "I have something to 
show you, but please:  let's go somewhere where it will be easier to talk." 
 With that she led Nat up a set of stairs in the back of the club.  Nat 
thought she knew her way in this part of The Raven, but when she started to 
turn towards the office, Janette gently turned her away from the door. 
     "No.  Not there.  We are going to the apartment." 
     "Apartment?" Natalie asked. 
     "Oui," Janette answered, an amused look on her face.  "As vampires, we 
may not always live as mortals do, but we also do not go out of our way to be 
uncomfortable!" 
     Natalie was not prepared for the `comfort' of the apartment.  It was 
almost what she would describe as 'cozy' and contained all the modern 
conveniences.  Janette poured her a brandy from the bar which, Natalie noted, 
was well stocked, even here.  She handed the drink to Nat and motioned her to 
take a seat on the Chesterfield which stood opposite the fireplace. 
     "Well, you certainly do live more comfortably here than I imagined," Nat 
told Janette. 
     "Oh, ma cherie, this is not mine," Janette said, smiling.  "I have not 
lived here for some time.  All that you see belongs to Lacroix." 
     For some reason, Natalie had assumed that Janette had moved into the 
club.  Janette could read the look on her face. 
     "No wonder you seem so confused, eh?  I can assure you, it is not what 
you have been thinking.  I do not mean to Lacroix what you mean to him." 
     "Excuse me?" Nat asked, taken aback by the comment.  The situation 
became less intelligible as the minutes passed.  "What are you talking 
about?" 
     "All in good time, Natalie.  First, I thought there was something I 
should show you." 
     Janette crossed the room to the rosewood secretary that stood near a 
heavily curtained window.  Beside it was a small cabinet of the same 
material.  Janette pulled the handle on the top drawer until it was fully 
extended.  Natalie approached and saw that it was filled with neatly-labeled 
files which, in turn, were filled with papers.  She looked questioningly at 
Janette. 
     "What is it?" she asked the elegantly dressed woman who stood facing 
her. 
     "This," she began, "is what you might call 'love.'" 
      "I..don't understand." 
     "When Nicolas disappeared, the Toronto police were not the only ones who 
searched for him." 
     "You mean... All this?" Natalie asked, dumbfounded.  She knew Lacroix 
would have made inquiries, but never to this extent.  Bending down to examine 
the file labels, she noted, among others,  the names of several well-known 
investigative firms and international agencies - official and unofficial - 
from whom Lacroix had received correspondence.  Even Interpol had become 
involved in the search. 
     "I don't know what to say," Nat told Janette. 
     "Don't say anything, Natalie.  Bringing you here was my idea, not 
Lacroix's.  The other night, he unintentionally let slip a concern he had 
that you would never be able to trust him.  He thought perhaps that was why 
you canceled dinner." 
     "Is that why he never called me?" 
     "I do not know.  He *is* out of town, as I told you.  In fact, he is 
following up on one last lead regarding Nicolas.  It was rather a last minute 
thing.  He didn't stay long after he had received the information." 
     Nat held her breath for a moment. 
     "And?" 
     "I have not heard from him.  I do not take his silence as a good sign, I 
fear," Janette answered, the sadness evident in her voice and eyes.  "I wish 
that I had something positive to tell you about Nicolas." 
     "No.  That's OK," she told Janette, the disappointment evident in her 
tone of voice.  "It's not your fault.  Still, I keep thinking there's 
something else you want to tell me." 
     Janette looked at the mortal woman thoughtfully before speaking. 
     "I have told you what I had intended to tell you.  Still, perhaps I have 
not made myself so clear, eh?" 
     Natalie watched as Janette moved back across the room to sit join 
Natalie on the Chesterfield. 
     "All I can say, Natalie, is that you *can* trust Lacroix this time. 
 Don't ask me how I know.  After a thousand years of experience, I can give 
you my word." 
     Janette sounded sincere, and Natalie wanted to believe her.  Yet, she 
knew there was something Janette was withholding from her.  Since she didn't 
have a vampire's hypnotic powers, she could only hope that, sooner or later, 
Janette - or Lacroix - would reveal the answer to her. 
     "Please, Janette," Nat began to plead.  "I have enough mystery in my 
life already.  What else did you want to tell me?"  She stared at Janette, 
hoping she could get her to reveal what she had held back thus far. 
     "Tell me, Natalie, what would you do if I told you Lacroix had come to 
care for you?" 
     Nat didn't know whether to laugh or scoff. 
     "*Care* for me?  Why would he be interested in me?  I'm sure there are a 
lot more people out there who want to become vampires.  He could have any of 
them." 
     "True," replied Janette with a knowing look, "but, then again, Lacroix 
has always been interested in quality rather than quantity.  He does not make 
hasty judgments." 
     "But he hardly knows me, Janette," Nat protested. 
     "Au contraire, Natalie.  He has come to know you very well in the time 
since Nicolas vanished." 
     "I don't see how that's possible." 
     "Non?  Then allow me to tell you more," Janette said as she rose to pour 
herself another drink.  She stood at the bar now, her back to her visitor. 
     "After Nicolas disappeared, did you ever 'dream' about him in any way?" 
     "That's a strange question, Janette," Natalie answered.  As she 
continued, her eyes began to focus on some far off place in her mind.  "Yes, 
of course, I did, but the only thing I remember about those dreams was the 
feeling that Nick was near to me.  I remember hearing the sound of the wind 
as he vanished.  When I opened my eyes, I would be alone." 
     "You did not dream the sound you heard, Natalie, though I can tell you 
with certainty that it was not Nicolas who made it." 
     "Then what...?"  Nat felt as though some speck of light was beginning to 
shine forth.  "Oh, no.  You mean...But, why?!" 
     "Initially, it was done out of consideration for Nicolas.  If you became 
distraught over the disappearance and acted rashly, and  Nicolas returned, 
Lacroix knew he would never have forgiven him, but, as time passed, Lacroix 
felt drawn to you.  He better saw why it was that Nicolas loved you so - you 
had such deep love, such courage, such spirit.  For Lacroix, that has always 
been something of a draw.  The confirmation of this came the night you 
attempted to take your life." 
     "How did you know about that?" Natalie asked, incredulous.  Had Lacroix 
reported her words of the other night back to Janette? 
     "Cherie, are you really trying to tell me that you can't figure it out?" 
Janette asked by way of a reply. 
     "Oh, no," Natalie said as the light began to dawn upon her.  "Then that 
means it was Lacroix who took me to the hospital." 
 "Yes, Natalie.  It *was* Lacroix.  Fortunately for you, the night you 
attempted suicide was a night Lacroix decided to pay you one of his visits. 
 It is why there was no record of your rescuer at the hospital." 
     "I don't believe this is happening," Natalie said. 
     "I realise it is a lot to take in all at once.  It is not what you 
expected from Lacroix." 
     "Janette, I've done nothing but attribute bad motives to him from the 
moment I laid eyes on him.  When he and I talked the other night, part of me 
wanted to trust him, but I just couldn't do it.  In fact, I've been less than 
polite, truth be told." 
     Janette said nothing, only stared at the mortal woman before her. 
     "I think I better go home now," Nat said, too shaken by the revelations 
of the evening. 
     "If I can help..." Janette began. 
     "No.  You've done that already, Janette," said Natalie as she took her 
coat off the rack near the apartment door.  She reached out her hand to her 
former rival for Nick's affections.  "Thank you."  Janette nodded in 
acknowledgment of Nat's gratitude and walked in silence with her until they 
reached the front door of the club. 
     The two women said good night and Nat returned home, thinking about that 
filing cabinet, about Lacroix, about how much Lacroix had continued to care 
for Nick, mortality notwithstanding, and, finally, about the way he had 
looked after her for the past 12 months, even in the face of her accusations 
and doubts.  It was the last thing on her mind before she laid down upon her 
bed and surrendered herself to the arms of Morpheus. 
 
    Nat heard a rush of wind and felt it on her skin, though she saw nothing. 
 The next thing she knew, there were white coats everywhere, all around her, 
bright lights and noise.  People were calling out, but she couldn't hear what 
they were saying.  She lay flat on her back and tried to open her eyes in 
order to see more, but the lights continued to cause her discomfort.  She was 
moving now.  More noise, lights, people.  She tried to concentrate, but she 
was so very, very sleepy.  So sleepy, in fact, that she felt as if she could 
sleep forever.  Then came the dull pain in her arm.  Someone was trying put 
something into it, and then, still more yelling.  From a far off place, she 
heard a buzzing noise.   It became louder and louder with the passing 
seconds, until it was the only sound she heard. 
     Once again, the clock radio beside her bed had awakened her from the 
nightmare of her failed suicide attempt.  Her wrists would never look the 
same.  Somehow, someone had found her in her apartment and taken her to 
hospital.  When she asked the staff who it was who had rescued her, they drew 
a blank.  Just a man, they said, who had happened to hear some commotion as 
he passed her apartment door.  They didn't remember anything about him. 
 Natalie had put it down to the stress and pace of the ER.  Occasionally, it 
was bound to happen that a few i's weren't dotted and t's not crossed.  It 
pained her, though, since she had wanted to thank this man, whoever he might 
have been. 
     Nat strode into her bathroom and allowed the bath water to run, then 
walked to the kitchen where her automatic coffee maker had so kindly brewed 
a 
fresh pot for her this morning.  Glancing over at her answering machine, she 
noticed an absence of messages, and wondered if Lacroix had had any success 
in Montreal. 
     Pouring herself a cup of coffee, Natalie leaned against the kitchen 
counter and began thinking about her dream.  Following the disappearance, 
Nat would often wake from a sound sleep, convinced that Nick had returned to 
her as a vampire.  She swore that she had heard the air stir at the sound of his 
arrival, but when she looked around, she found herself alone.  The dreams of 
Nick's reversion to his vampire state did not disturb her.  She would take 
Nick back despite any circumstance.  What she could not bear was not knowing 
what had happened to him. 
 
                                                     ******* 
(flashback) 
 
     As the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months, Nat had felt 
the weakening of her inner strength, the waning of her ability to carry on in 
the face of this mystery.  The days which passed were darker than any night 
could ever be for her.  Slowly, almost imperceptibly, she drifted away from 
friends and acquaintances and withdrew into herself.  Even in work was she 
unable to lose her despair, until, finally, there seemed only one way to end 
her suffering. 
     It was an ironic turn of events.  Only months before his transformation, 
Natalie had raged at Nick for going against her wishes that fateful night 
when she had  begged him to bring her across.  He had tried to do this, but 
had had difficulty in quelling the vampire's lust once it had been roused. 
 When Nat slipped into unconsciousness and Nick thought her nearly dead, he 
had asked his master to take away the life he had given him so many hundreds 
of years ago so that he could join her.  He would not condemn her to his 
darkness, he had told Lacroix.  He had faith that there was a life they could 
share beyond this one.  Fortunately for both of them, Lacroix had refused to 
grant Nick's wish, coshing his son on the head instead, then taking Natalie 
to the nearest hospital.  When she awoke with her mortality intact, she was 
shocked to learn the true course of events. 
     For weeks the hurt assailed her so that she could hardly look at Nick. 
 Yet, as always, she could not hold even this against him, and, predictably, 
resumed her work with him, ever hopeful a remedy to his vampirism could be 
found.  Nick promised never to leave her, and Lacroix, in consideration of 
his son's somewhat questionable state of mind, remained in Toronto for the 
time being. 
     Looking back, perhaps it had been wrong of Lacroix to rescue them from 
death.  Living without Nick in any form seemed far worse from whatever 
awaited them beyond the pale. 
     And so, one evening, Natalie chose her own way to escape the hand of 
cards life had dealt her.  She turned on the radio one last time and was 
greeted by the voice which she would always associate with Nick.  The words 
rang so true. 
     "It has been said, gentle listeners, that the supreme happiness of life 
is the conviction that we are loved.  I would disagree.  The supreme 
happiness of life is the conviction that we are loved by those whom *we* 
choose to love.  What does it matter if a parent reaps the love of the world, 
but is despised by the child he has nurtured and cherished?  How fulfilling 
is the love of friends when our lover, our second self, has been torn away 
from us?  Not very, gentle listeners, I am sure you will agree.  And, yet, we 
*must* find a reason to go on, or die inwardly, slowly.  We must remember 
what was and look forward to what might yet be, even in our dark world 
that..." 
     Natalie switched off the voice of the Nightcrawler and shut out the 
thought of hope.  What had hope brought her but continual disappointment? 
 Yet, Lacroix seemed right about one thing:  Her life was without meaning now 
that Nick had been taken from her.  Her soul was numb.  She didn't want to 
prolong the sad comedy that had become her life.  Numb, she found herself 
relaxing in a bath of warm water, just as her friend Laura had done, opening 
up her wrists, allowing the means of life to course out of her body.  As she 
slipped into unconsciousness, a sense of peace seemed to enter her, pulling 
her from the storm of emotion that had been her world. 
     When next she opened her eyes, the only thing on her mind was the one 
who had been there in spirit when they had closed for what she had thought 
was the final time:  Nick.  She spoke his name with her lips, but when she 
was able to focus, Nat found herself in a hospital bed with only a nurse 
standing beside her.  Someone, the nurse told her, had found her in her 
apartment, nearly dead from loss of blood.  Natalie asked how she had gotten 
there, but no one could tell her, other than recall a nondescript man who 
claimed to be a friend who had found her while calling to check up on her.. 
 He had appeared for but a moment, then vanished after ensuring someone 
would care for her.  If she hadn't known better, she could have sworn it had 
been Nick.  She had wanted it to be Nick.  Overcome with tiredness from the 
loss of blood, Nat slipped back into a deep and dreamless sleep. 
 
(end of flashback) 
 
                                                      ******* 
 
     Natalie was roused from her sleep the following evening by the familiar 
sound of rushing air.  She looked at her clock.  It was 3 a.m. 
     She pulled on her robe and went into the living room.  The straight back 
of a familiar figure stood at her window, hands at his side, looking out at 
the stars.  Silently, she strode over to where he stood and, gently, slipped 
her warm hand into his cold one. 
     "Thank you," Natalie whispered. 
     "Janette should not have told you," Lacroix replied.  "Now that she has, 
I suppose it would be best to get this over with." 
     "I'm *glad* she told me," Nat said, a tear trailing down one cheek. 
     Lacroix looked surprised.  A first for Natalie's eyes. 
     "Indeed?" 
     "Yes," Nat began, her gaze never wavering from his face.  "I know now 
that everything that could have been done for Nick *has* been done.  The hurt 
will never go away - for either of us," she said, at which point Lacroix 
began to study the stars once more.   "But at least we'll know we did what we 
could, and we'll never forget him, will we?" she asked as she continued to 
study the ancient profile. 
     Lacroix took his arm and placed it around her shoulders.  She leaned 
against him and looked up at the sky. 
     "No, cherie.  We never *will* forget him." 
 
The end?
Text file Source (historic): geocities.com/zoewolfson/val

geocities.com/zoewolfson

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