Alone
By Amanda Berendt
Copyright 2003
 
 
 
         Medical examiner Natalie Lambert parked her car outside the
crime scene tape.  Getting out of the car, she grabbed her bag from
the passenger seat and headed toward the flashing lights of the squad
cars.  After ducking under the tape and winding her way through the
maze of parked police vehicles, she found herself at the center of
the commotion – a car had been wrapped around a large tree by the
force of an impact.  The driver's door hung open where the EMTs had
tried to help the victim.
         As she approached the car, she looked around, trying to see
if Nick was around.  He and Tracy had wrapped up the Larouche case
two weeks ago and nothing else had come up, so this should be
assigned to their caseload.  She hadn't spoken to Nick since then –
he hadn't answered any of her phone calls.  She assumed it was
because Janette had returned and he had been dealing with that. 
Hopefully, he would be here tonight and they could talk.
         After about ten minutes, she spotted another of the night
shift detective teams – Jenkins and Quinn.  She approached Jenkins. 
"So, are you guys assigned to this case?"
         The detective smiled. "Yeah, you got anything yet?"
         "So far you've got an easy one.  Everything points to an
accident."
         "Good, looks like it might be an easy night."  Detective
Quinn added.
         "Do you guys know if Nick is on tonight?" Natalie asked.
         Jenkins answered.  "Knight hasn't been around for a couple
of weeks.  I guess he's finally taking that vacation time."
         That worried Natalie.  If he hadn't been at work since the
last case, where had he been?  He certainly wasn't telling her
anything.  Since her shift was just about over, she decided to stop
in at the precinct instead of going back to her office.  
         As she entered the homicide offices of the 96th precinct,
she saw Captain Joe Reese putting on his coat as he came out of his
office.  He smiled as she approached.

         "Dr. Lambert," he greeted her.  "Did something new come up
on that accident?"
         "No, captain."  She replied in a voice that turned the
conversation serious.  "I'm wondering… have you heard from Nick
lately?"
         The captain reacted startled, but quickly recovered.  "What
do you mean?  Of course not.  He handed in his resignation two weeks
ago."
         Natalie gasped and her knees felt weak.  "What?"
         Realizing this was a surprise to her, the captain softened.
"Natalie, why don't you come in and sit down."  He said, putting his
hand on her shoulder and guiding her into his office.
         Once inside, he took off his coat and sat in the chair next
to her instead of the chair behind the desk.   "I can't believe you
didn't know."  This was a big shock to him, considering everyone in
the department, including himself, had thought of the detective and
the medical examiner as a couple, even if the pair didn't realize it
themselves.  The idea that Knight had quit without telling her was
ridiculous.  
         Natalie took a deep breath and finally spoke.  "You can't
be serious.  What happened?"
         Reese put his hand on her arm.  "He said things had changed
and he couldn't do this anymore.  It was right after that Montreal
murder case.  I think I still have a copy of his letter."  He got up
and went to the file cabinet that stood against the far wall. 
Opening the top drawer, he sifted through the files until he came to
the one he wanted.  He took the folder out and removed a single sheet
of paper.  As he returned to the chair, he said "I am so very sorry,
Natalie.  I thought… well, everyone thought you would have known. 
I'm sure some people even thought you might have been part of the
reason – that maybe the two of you were finally getting together or
something." He handed her the paper.
         Taking the single sheet of paper from Reese, Natalie
examined it.  In truth, there was nothing remarkable about it.  It
was a standard letter of resignation – no letterhead, just a computer
printout.  The only thing that made it real for her was Nick's
signature at the end of the letter.
         Not saying anything, she looked up from the letter.  She
stood up quickly.  "I have to go."  Handing the letter back to Reese,
she turned away from him, opened the office door, and stepped
through.    
         "Natalie," He called to her.  "If you need anything, we're
here."  
         Natalie sat in her car in the parking lot of the police
station.  The keys were in the ignition, but she hadn't yet started
the vehicle.  How could he do this?  She had to see for herself if he
had indeed left.  Turning the keys, she put the car into gear and
pulled out of the lot.
         Less than thirty minutes later, she turned into the gravel
parking area in front of Nick's loft.  The sky was beginning to
lighten with the coming dawn.  She parked her car and got out.  When
she reached the door next to the garage, she held her breath and
punched the alarm code.  Hearing the lock click open, she let the air
out of her lungs.  There was still hope.
         Natalie stepped into the freight elevator and pressed the
up button.  As the elevator began its ascent, the knot that had been
forming in her stomach tightened as she prepared herself for what she
might find.  What seemed like hours later, the elevator ground to a
halt and she pushed the door open.
         Stepping into the loft, it was strange to see the morning
light streaming into the room.  The furniture was just as it should
be, but not all of Nick's personal effects were there.  The piano
still stood in the corner, the art supplies were still under the
balcony, but she could tell things were missing.  There was an
emptiness.  
         She crossed to the sitting area.  The small black box where
he had kept the relic still sat on the table next to the couch.  She
hesitated for a moment, the reached over and opened the box.  It was
empty.
         Several hours later, she sat on the couch staring at the
cold, empty fireplace.  It felt so lonely here.  She had often joked
with Nick about it being a fortress of solitude, but now it truly
was.  She didn't have the heart to search through his things to
exactly what he had taken.  It seemed like a violation of his
privacy, although she was pretty certain he would not be returning. 
She stood up, gathered her coat and her purse from the couch and
walked slowly to the elevator.
         Once outside, she put her coat on.  Even though the sun was
now high in the sky, it seemed to be growing colder.  Too much had
happened.  It she didn't go home now and get some sleep, her mind
would just shut down.  She got in the car, started the engine and set
off towards her apartment building.  
         Natalie woke up late that evening.  As she opened her eyes,
she at first thought perhaps it had all been a horrible dream, but
when the cloudiness of sleep drained away she realized it wasn't. 
She glanced at the digital alarm clock on her nightstand as she eased
herself out of bed.  It was eight forty-five.  She as supposed to
start her shift at nine thirty.  Knowing there was no way she'd be
able to get through an entire shift after what had happened last
night, she picked up the cordless phone from the night stand and
dialed.
         "Hi… Grace?  It's Natalie.  I think I might be coming down
with something.  Yes… thanks…  See you then."
         Setting the phone back in its cradle, she stood up and went
to the bathroom.  When she came out she felt a little better. A warm
shower can do wonders for the soul, she thought.  She changed into a
pair of jogging pants and an oversized Blue Jays sweatshirt and went
into the living room.  
         While she waited for the coffeemaker to brew, she went to
the window and gazed out at the skyline – or at least the part of it
she could see from her apartment.  The coffee buzzed.  She returned
to the kitchen and poured the coffee into a mug she had gotten from
the cabinet.
         Picking up the mug, she went to sit on the couch.  As she
sat down, her eyes fell upon a photo of Nick and herself at one of
the precinct picnics.  He had his arm around her and they were both
smiling broadly.  She couldn't help it.  She put the mug on the
coffee table and covered her face with her hands as the tears began
to fall.
 
 
         It was after midnight.  The Raven was in the throws of a
busy Friday night.  Lucien Lacroix sat alone on the last stool at the
end of the bar.  The music and lights from the dance floor did not
appear to intrude into his thoughts.  He sat staring into the depths
of the dark liquid that sat untouched on the bar before him.  He
seemed to be radiating some kind of signal, which told those around
him not to come near.
         Taking a deep breath, he turned his head to glance at the
patrons of the club.  At the other end of the bar stood the Spaniard,
Vachon.  He had come in earlier with Detective Tracy Vetter, but now
he was talking to the beautiful melancholy Urs.  As though sensing
his gaze, the two young vampires looked up, but he turned away before
they could meet his eyes.  He didn't want company.
         During the past few weeks, since Janette had briefly
returned, there had been an emptiness inside of him.  There was a
feeling of something missing.  It had been far too long since he had
seen Nicholas.  He had last come in when he brought that horrible
police drawing of the murder suspect that resembled Janette. 
         He tried to reach out to his son through the link they
shared, but it was not use.  Something was wrong; he should be able
to feel Nicholas through their bond.  The ancient vampire stood up
from where he sat at the bar.  He must go to Nicholas' loft to see
what had happened.  
         Usually enjoying taking to the night sky, he would soar
leisurely over the mortal world reveling in his superiority, but
tonight was different.  Tonight he wasted no time getting to
Nicholas' apartment.  He stood on the roof, facing the strong March
winds and gazed through the skylight.  Using his heightened senses,
he determined the loft was empty.  Silently, he slipped through the
skylight and landed on the upper balcony of the room, right outside
the bedroom.            
         Everything was in its place, nothing seemed amiss.  He did
notice that some things were missing, though.  He slowly walked
through the loft, touching the furniture and remaining personal
items, trying to get a sense of what may have happened.  Again, he
tried to reach out to Nicholas, but nothing was there.  What was
wrong?  Nicholas had never been able to block his thoughts or even
his location from his master.  Lacroix had conveniently 'forgotten'
that lesion.  If something had happened to his son, he would have
felt it over their link.  But there had been nothing other than the
recent trauma of Janette's death.  Perhaps Nicholas had left, unable
to cope with the loss, but still there should be something.
         After going through the entire loft, searching everywhere
for some kind of sign of what happened, he found himself standing in
front of the ornate fireplace mantle.  Nicholas had stood here many
times pondering one thing or another.  Lacroix ran his fingers over
the carvings of the dragon.  It would soon be dawn.  He sat down on
the black leather couch.  Leaning forward with his elbows on his
knees, he sat pensively, his hands folded as if in silent prayer. 
         "Oh Nicholas," he said out loud to the empty room.  "What
have you done?"
         The ancient vampire leaned back into the soft leather.  He
closed his eyes and let the darkness envelop him.  Outside the
darkness began to yield to the dawn.
         The room was dark once more when Lacroix opened his eyes. 
For a moment, he didn't know where he was, but as he awakened, the
events of the previous night returned.  Once again, he tried to reach
out to his son, and was not surprised when he discovered it was in
vain.
         He rose to his feet and crossed to the refrigerator.  A sly
smile spread across his mouth when he looked at the painting which
hung over the appliance – it was called "The Yawning Apprentice" or
some such nonsense, but it could easily be misconstrued as a scream. 
Was this supposed to mirror the torture Nicholas put himself through
when he fed?  Shaking his head, Lacroix opened the fridge and took
out one of the green bottles.  He selected a glass goblet from the
shelf above the counter and filled it with the dark liquid.  He took
a small sip from the glass and grimaced.  This would definitely have
to be changed.
         He retraced his steps from the previous evening,
occasionally sipping from the goblet.  As he walked through the
rooms, he made a mental note when he noticed something was missing. 
Once more, he finished his exploration in the main room in front of
the fireplace.  He was surprised Nicholas had not taken the mantle. 
But it seemed as though only small items were taken.  A thought came
to mind as he placed the glass on the coffee table.  He stepped over
to the small end table and opened the black lacquer box that stood
alone on the table.  It was empty.
         Lacroix picked up the remote from the coffee table and lit
a fire in the fireplace.  He then opened the metal shutters. 
Returning the remote to the table, he stepped over to the window and
fazed out over the lights of the city.  He would stay here in this
city for now.  Here in this place where so much had happened.  He had
come here to be with his children and now they were gone.  He drew in
a deep breath and let it out slowly.  He turned away from the window.
He was truly alone for the first time in almost a thousand years. 
 
 
 
         The sun was barely breaking over the horizon, making the
crests of the waves sparkle as they crashed onto the rocky shore. 
Clouds still remaining from the storm during the night seemed to glow
from the reflections of the sun's light.
         A lone figure was perched on one of the large rocks, which
lined the coast.  The man sat crouched on the highest point.  He had
been in the same place every morning for almost six months.  Every
morning he would arrive in darkness upon his black steed, climb to
the highest rock and wait for the dawn to come.  He would be there
even when it was overcast or raining.  The sun would rise and he
would be there to greet it.
         This morning, as the sky continued to lighten, the man
closed his eyes and let the warm morning light caress his fair skin
and golden hair.  It seemed as though the sunlight became a part of
him.  He sat there, upon the boulder, for another hour or so,
watching the sunrise into the sky.  When it was fully above the
horizon, he stood, brushed the sand from his khaki slacks and white
cotton shirt and climbed down onto the beach below.
         Instead of returning to his horse that waited by the
rambling fence at the edge of the beach, he decided to walk along the
water.  Today was going to be a beautiful day, he thought.  This was
the kind of day he'd been waiting so long to be a part of.  As this
though crossed his mind, a wave of sadness crossed his face.
         This had happened so quickly.  Janette had returned to
Toronto… mortal.  She had come to his apartment that night and it had
gone further than either of them had expected.  Although she was
mortal, he had been able to control the vampire inside of him when he
was with her.  He wouldn't deny that she had truly loved Robert, but
there had always been a connection between Janette and himself –
something that went beyond mortality and immortality.
         The thought of Janette made him stop.  He looked out over
the water and drew in a deep breath of the fresh sea air.  His
stomach grumbled.  Looking at his watch, he saw that it was almost
noon.  He turned back the way he had come, and followed his footsteps
in the sand.  When he reached the fence, he stopped to put on his
boots, then stood and stroked the silky black mane of the large black
horse.  
         "Hello, Tristan." He said kindly as the horse nuzzled his
shoulder.  "Yes, we're going home now."  Tristan shook his head as if
nodding in agreement.  His long black mane trailing behind him in the
off shore breeze.
         He mounted the horse and headed off away from the beach. 
Surprisingly, the countryside had changed very little.  Of course,
there were the modern conveniences of telephone lines and the
occasional plane flying overhead, but otherwise it was very much the
same.  He felt at peace riding Tristan.  He could pretend that so
much time hadn't passed and so many things hadn't happened.  It was
just the two of them – two lonely souls riding through the midday sun.
         Reaching the estate, or at least what was left of it, he
dismounted the horse and led him to the makeshift stable.  He had
hired some local carpenters to build it when he first came back.  The
wooden shelter would do until the permanent stables could be erected.
When he reemerged from the shelter, he looked at the main building. 
The first floor was still standing, but the upper floors were in the
midst of reconstruction.  It had been six months and the architects
and stonemasons were well on their way to rebuilding his family home.
The local towns were quite pleased since he had agreed to let it be
toured when it was complete.  He had explained he was a descendant of
the original family and had just recently discovered its existence. 
Officially the project was being funded by The Foundation.  Upon
entering the house, the contrast was amazing.  Yes, the outside was
well on its way, but the interior was a long way from completion. 
Now it was just barely habitable.  He was living in only two rooms
off the main hall.  It would probably take years to fully furnish the
home.  
         Leaving Tristan in the care of the local boy he had hired
as a stable hand, he headed toward the manor house.  The workers
smiled and waved as he crossed the grass from the stable to the main
building.  He nodded a greeting, but his mind was far away.
         The evening had come and the workers and stonemasons had
all returned to their homes in the nearby village.  The architects
and historians had returned with them to the lodging houses where
they were staying during the project.  He was alone.
         After lighting the fire in the great stone fireplace, he
sat before it in a large leather armchair letting his mind wander. 
The beautiful flames dancing in the hearth before him became, in his
mind, the deadly flames climbing the walls and enveloping the
curtains of the suburban Toronto home.  She lay bleeding on the floor
and gasping for air in the smoke-filled room.
         "I can bring you across, Janette."  He had said
frantically, kneeling over her prone form.
         "No." came the breathless reply.
         The flames were threatening to overcome them.  He lifted
her in his arms; his heart wrenching as she cried out in pain, and
took off into the night.  Moments later, he landed on the roof of the
loft.  He lifted the skylight with his foot and dropped down onto the
main floor.
         He knelt down in front of the ornate fireplace, cradling
Janette in his arms.  Tears tinged with red began to roll down his
cheeks.
         "Oh, god no," he cried.  "Please, Janette, don't leave me."
         As he held her, he felt her body relax.  She took a final
breath and released it as she slumped against his chest.  HE pulled
her even closer; the pain inside of him was unbearable.  It was as if
eight centuries of guilt, anger and pain were welling up inside of
him at once.  He could no longer endure it.  A roar erupted from his
throat, releasing all of the despair he had carried within him for so
long.
         As the scream died in to the night, his body fell next to
Janette and he lay there exhausted.  
         A log crashed in the fireplace, jarring him back to the
present.  He blinked away the tears forming in response to the
memory.  A single crystal tear escaped down his cheek.  He wiped it
away as he stood up to attend to the fire.
         After tending to the fire, he returned to his chair near
the hearth.  For some unknown reason, his mind flashed to himself and
Natalie sitting together in front of the ornate fireplace in the
loft.  He shook his head, trying to clear the image from his mind. 
He had truly thought that she was the one to rid him of the monster
he had carried inside of him for so long.  But it was Janette who had
been the one to grant his wish.  In her attempt to reaffirm the
vampire in herself, she had obtained mortality and had, in turn,
unwittingly granted it to him.  The vampire had left him along with
the grief and rage when Janette had died in his arms.
         After believing for so long that Natalie had been the one
to help him, he couldn't bear to tell her what had happened.  So, in
his grief, he had resigned from the precinct and returned here to his
first home.  He had not spoken to anyone – not Tracy, not Natalie,
not even Lacroix.
         Lacroix would know what had happened, of course.  He would
have felt the break in their connection.  Perhaps his master was even
searching for him now.  But Natalie… what must she think?  The last
time he had seen her was when he had brought Janette to the lab to be
treated for the gunshot wound.  She had listened in disbelief as
Janette described how she had become mortal.
         Turning away from the warmth of the fire, he went over to
the newly installed front windows.  They were modern versions of the
original style – diamond cuts of glass held together by leading – but
they were now insulated to current standards.  He gazed out into the
night, thinking again of Janette – her beauty, her grace.  When the
tears came again, he let them fall unchecked.  He had not let himself
grieve.  He had been hiding his feelings for far too long.
         When he awoke the next morning, he had a crick in his neck
from sleeping in the armchair.  The ashes still smoldered from the
evening's fire.  Looking up at the mantle, his eyes fell upon the
portrait of Janette she had had commissioned by Leonardo.  Leaning
against the dark wooden frame was Joan's cross.  Faith… pure, simple
faith.  Her voice came out of his memories.  
         Feeling his muscles protest as he got up, he went into the
back room that was serving as his bedroom.  He took a shower and
changed into clean clothes.  
         Returning to the living room, he stood once more in front
of the fireplace.  He placed his hand on the carved wooden box that
sat on the mantle below Janette's portrait.  Taking a deep breath and
slowly letting it out, he took the box off the mantle.  Then he
kissed his fingers and touched them to the cross.  I do have faith. 
Tucking the box under his arm, he left the room and went outside.
         It was very early.  The sky was only showing the smallest
hint of the coming dawn.  The workmen had not yet arrived.  He went
to the stable and smiled as Tristan greeted him with a whinny and a
shake of the head.  He took a carrot from the cabinet near the stall
and gave the horse the treat.  After a few moments of petting, he
saddled the horse and led him outside.  
         Placing the box safely into the saddlebag, he mounted the
horse and headed off towards the coast.  It appeared that the morning
would be clear and beautiful.
         He tied Tristan to the usual post of the fast degrading
fence and took the box out of the saddlebag.  This morning, though,
instead of heading towards the large boulders, he walked out onto the
flat expanse of sand.  When he got to the water's edge, he took off
his shoes and socks and sat down on the cool sand, carefully placing
the box on the ground next to him.  He sat with his arms resting on
his knees and waited.
         The light of the sun grew brighter on the horizon and the
tips of the waves began to sparkle.  As the sun rose higher into the
sky, he stood up, taking the box in his hands.  The morning breeze
blew through his hair as we waded out into the water, not caring that
his pants were getting wet.  When the water level was at his knees,
he stopped.  The breeze was growing stronger.  Perfect, he thought.
         Holding the small wooden box in front of him, he slowly
opened the lid.  The fine gray powder inside stirred slightly as the
wind blew across its surface.  He took a deep breath and a tear slid
down his cheek, followed closely by another.  It was time.
         Taking some of the ash into his palm, he raised his hand
toward the sky letting the breeze carry it away.  Once more, he took
some of the ashes into his hand and released them into the wind. 
Tears were streaming down his face, glistening in the morning sun.  
         When the box was empty, he closed the lid once more and
fastened the latch.  He wiped his eyes and drew in a deep breath of
the clean coastal air.
         Holding the empty box to his lips, he kissed it tenderly
and whispered, "Goodbye, Janette.  I love you."  Then he threw the
box with all of his strength toward the sun.
         Returning to the shore, he sat again on the cool sand. 
Wiping the remaining tears from his cheeks, he gazed out at the
rising sun and smiled.  This sunrise was different.  He was not
sitting here remembering the past; he was looking toward the future. 
This sunrise was a new beginning.
 
~Fin~

Note:  This story takes place immediately following "The Human
Factor" and assumes knowledge of that episode.  It is also a kind of
alternate ending to the series since the events in this story make
the episodes after "The Human Factor" impossible (or close to).

It came about when I listened to the CD "Fallen" by Evanescence. 
Every time I listened to the CD, I'd get several pictures in my
mind.  

Thank you to Nancy Kaminsky for the info on horses.  Yes, it is a
pretty small part of the story, but it made it a bit easier for me to
write it when I was able to visualize the details.

---------------------------------------------------------------

Disclaimer:  Nick, Nat, Lacroix and the others do not belong to me,
but since Sony is not using them right now, I thought I'd borrow them
for a bit.  Although, Tristan is mine.  Yeah, he's not really a big
character, but I like him.