Behold, I Make All Things New by Mary E. Waldron Disclaimers: I did not create, nor do I own, I'm sorry to say, either the Forever Knight characters that appear in this story, or the episodes of the television series referenced herein. They are the creations of James Parriott and Barney Cohen and the property of Sony/Tri-Star. I am grateful to the creators and all the authors of Forever Knight for their likable characters and their ingenious, captivating premise. For this reason I hope they regard what follows as an "homage," rather than highway robbery in the first degree. The following Nick Knight/Natalie Lambert story, however, is my very own, as are Fr. Jean de Lourdes, S.J., Sr. Elise, Dr. Etienne Morceau, Sr. Marie des Anges and assorted minor characters. This child of my mind and imagination has literary ancestors. My warmest thanks to a few of these: Nancy Kaminski, Nancy A. Taylor and Amy K. Rambow, who I believe share important aspects of my world-view and who started me thinking along lines which led to this story's premise. Thanks (and Godiva chocolates) to Patty Costantino, April French and Maribeth Furchak for their encouragement and for agreeing to beta-read the story. Any errors that remain are my own and no one else's. And thanks to my dear friend Paige, who wouldn't read it till I finished it, which had exactly the desired effect. Other Stuff: I hereby grant permission for this story to be archived at the FKFIC-L and the FTP fan fiction site. Others who want to archive, extrapolate from, or otherwise use this story in any form (other than publication, which might land us in jail!) should e-mail me at mwaldron@sbcglobal.net. This story has also been posted to my own website: www.lightweaverwrites.net. Well, here it is. I hope you like it. If you do, e-mail me. Those who don't may e-mail me, too. Feel free to be honest, I ask only that you be kind. Finally, folks who are offended by, feel threatened by, or just plain dislike, stories in which spirituality, conversion, or religious beliefs and practices, specifically those of Roman Catholicism, play a major role, might want to reconsider reading this story at all, as it contains quite a few of those very things. Peace to all! Dedication Dedicated, with all the love in my heart, to those for whom "It's Been a While." Chapter 1 It had been a strange and difficult time for them both, yet one they would remember fondly and with deep gratitude for the remainder of their lives. Nicholas (de Brabant) Knight, the 800-year-old vampire, who still held onto a fragile hope of eternal salvation and Dr. Natalie Lambert, the forensic pathologist who loved him and hoped they might someday have a future together, were moving slowly along their respective paths of growth and discovery with the hesitancy of little children taking their first steps, but with all the credulous wonder and fearless curiosity of children as well. In the springtime of this year, when it is normal to hope for rebirth and renewal--a time of hope--a series of losses had impacted them with such unremitting harshness that their lives began to spiral out of control. Nick had had to deal with so much. Detective Don Schanke, his partner and friend, had been killed while transporting Nick's prisoner to a different city. Nick was hounded by the conviction that it should have been he who died. Janette DuCharme, Nick's friend, companion and onetime lover, departed suddenly, without a word of farewell. He had played an unwitting role in the death of his new partner, young Tracy Vetter. One thing after another had pressed down on Nick's painfully sensitive conscience. The final straw had been Natalie's deeply affected mental state, caused by a combination of overwork, exhaustion, the certainty that her relationship with Nick had reached an impasse, and the suicide of a former friend from medical school. Profoundly depressed, Natalie, who had always regarded suicide as a sacrilege, had begun to waver on this point and to contemplate death--or at the very least, joining Nick in his vampire-state--as the only possible response to the realization that her life was without joy or hope. She had begged Nick to make love to her, "careful not to take too much [of her blood]," so that he might complete the act by making her a vampire. The cumulative effect of these circumstances had reached their flash point in Nick's loft, on the last night Natalie, Nick and LaCroix would all be in Toronto together for a very long time.* Nick had reluctantly granted Natalie's wish, although despite his care, he had almost drained her. During their lovemaking, they had both experienced vivid images of each other's memories, thoughts and feelings. As Natalie lay on the floor of the loft, very close to death, LaCroix entered and told Nick either to bring her across, so that she could join their entourage as a vampire, or, as he put it, to "finish her off." As his response, Nick had removed a carved wooden stake from his storage trunk and handed it to LaCroix. They spoke, briefly, and in this conversation reached a kind of peace with each other. Nick told LaCroix that he could not condemn his love to the half-life against which he had struggled all these centuries. He would rather die with Nat, trusting in her belief that there was a life after this and that mercy might be granted to both of them. He turned his back on LaCroix and bent to embrace Natalie. LaCroix had raised the stake high above his head, cried out, "Damn you, Nicholas," and . . . . . . had thrown the stake across the room! He then uttered an agonized howl, born of frustration with his deeply loved, yet almost as deeply disappointing, "son," and complicated by his self-loathing because he was too "weak" to kill Nick. The old vampire had flown through the open skylight and been enfolded by the black velvet night. _______ * Last Knight (Season 3) End of Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Nick slowly became aware, first of his own reprieve, about which he had mixed feelings, then of Natalie's peril, about which he felt no confusion at all. He gathered her into his arms and flew to the Emergency Room Entrance of the hospital affiliated with the University of Toronto School of Medicine. Touching down in the deepest shadows of the parking lot, Nick raced with her into the ER. Acting with a speed and boldness that he didn't know even he possessed, Nick grabbed the first white-coated staff member he saw and quickly explained Nat's condition. "She has deep puncture wounds to her throat and massive blood loss," he told the resident. He made no attempt to explain how she had gotten into this plight, hoping the ER staff would think he was just a Good Samaritan who had found her in this state. He hypnotized those to whom he had spoken so that they would remember nothing of him or even recognize him if they saw him again later that evening. Nick thought it best if he disappeared for a while, in case one or more of the ER staff was a little more resilient to hypnotism than he hoped. On another, deeper level, he was profoundly shaken by the events of thee past few hours, and above all, by Natalie's tenuous hold on life. He could not leave the hospital until he had obtained solid reassurance about her condition, and had learned the name of her primary physician and the location of her room. He walked toward the double doors leading from the ER to the drive and parking lot beyond, but instead of passing through them, he turned left and headed down a corridor, dimly lighted compared to the harsh glare of the ER. Visits in connection with his police work alone had made Nick fairly familiar with the hospital layout, and a moment later, he found what he was looking for. Like many modern health care facilities, this hospital contained a Meditation Room instead of a denominational, or even interdenom-inational, chapel, in the interests of serving a religiously diverse clientele. Nick was, as might be expected of a vampire, somewhat leery of churches, chapels and any place where one might encounter the paraphernalia of religion, although he was gradually working toward overcoming this. Even so, he somewhat surprised himself by muttering, "Couldn't hurt; might help," as he pulled open the door and entered. A small table had been placed at the front of the room. There was a sturdy bookrack on it, containing an opened copy of the Judaeo-Christian scriptures. Above the table, on the cream-colored wall, hung the room's only ornament, a large, three-dimensional sunburst, carved from wood and covered with what appeared to be gold leaf. All this Nick caught in a hurried glance. Almost unaware of what he was doing, he entered a pew and dropped to his knees, able at last to relax the rigid self-control he had maintained ever since the scene in the loft and to acknowledge the terror he felt at the possibility that he might have killed the woman he loved. "Oh God," he sobbed, "I don't know whether You will hear me, after all these years of walking outside Your Light. I don't deserve anything from You, but I'm not here to plead my case. I don't care what You do about me, but please let Natalie live. Please." He continued to kneel for several minutes, head in his hands, shoulders shaking as his sobs gradually subsided. He arose from his knees, sat back in the pew, and surreptitiously wiped the blood-red tears from his face with his handkerchief. It was peaceful and quiet here, and good just to sit for a few minutes, even if it was almost a church. An old man, in soft slippers and a disreputable gray bathrobe, entered the room, limping badly and leaning heavily on a cane. He approached slowly and placed a hand on Nick's shoulder in a gesture that was, at the same time, both bracing and comforting. It reminded Nick a little of something his father, Duke Henri de Brabant, had sometimes done, so long ago. Nick looked into the old man's eyes and got a strong sense of something, not unpleasant, but so strange and unfamiliar that he couldn't begin to identify it. "Excuse me. I don't mean to pry. Is there anything I can do to help?" the man asked. "I'm a Catholic priest." "No, thank you, Father," Nick replied, then added, more softly, "Someone very dear to me may die tonight, and suddenly I was overwhelmed." "I expect I will be doing a lot of praying tonight and tomorrow. I'm to have surgery on this foot of mine, and there could be trouble. Let me include your friend in my prayers. May I ask her name?" "Natalie. Dr. Natalie Lambert." For some reason Nick trusted this elderly man and felt comfortable talking to him. Glancing down, he asked, "Should you be putting weight on your injured foot? I can see about getting you a wheelchair, if you like. Or at least let me assist you back to your room." "Oh, I don't want a wheelchair. It may come to that soon enough. But I'll take you up on your offer of a strong arm to lean on. I'm more tired than I thought." The men, one tall and strong, the other gray and stooped, slowly walked together to the elevators, rode in a strangely intimate silence to the third floor, then proceeded at the same unhurried pace to the old priest's room. "Ah, that's much better," the priest sighed, as he settled back against his pillows. He regarded Nick carefully for a moment before he asked, "I don't mean to pry, but this Natalie, she is your wife, your sister?" "She is a woman I love deeply. Some day, I hope, we may be able to marry." Nick wondered at this almost unprecedented letting down of his guard before anyone but Nat. He should be experiencing a sharp warning alerting all his vampire senses to be on the defensive against disclosure. Yet he continued to feel peaceful in this man's presence, as though nothing would, or could, hurt him here. "What is your name?" the priest asked. Nick was about to answer, "Nick Knight" in the casual, almost brusque, tone he had come to adopt in his current meta-morphosis. Instead, he drew himself up a little straighter, bowed slightly and replied, "Je m'appele Nicolas de Brabant, mon père."* "You will also be named in my prayers," the priest assured him. "And Father, what is your name?" Nicholas felt as though his voice was coming from a distance. "I'm Fr. Jean de Lourdes. I'm a Jesuit. Used to be on the faculty of Regis College." The sense of moving through a fog in slow motion that had been with Nick since Fr. de Lourdes had touched his shoulder in the Meditation Room abruptly vanished. Nick realized that the feeling of déjà vu, or whatever the hell it was, that had led him to throw discretion to the four winds seemed also to have disappeared, leaving him with nothing but mild surprise that this little old gnome of a man had been a member of the prestigious faculty of Regis College in the University of Toronto. The priest looked as though he might have served humbly for the past fifty years, completely unnoticed by the rest of the world, in a little country parish somewhere in the province. Nick returned fully to the present moment. Surely enough time had elapsed to avoid any awkwardness in the ER. He needed to check on Nat's condition. When he had relinquished her to the ER staff, he had made sure they knew her full name and that she worked for the Metro Coroner's Office. He would also stop at Admitting to reassure himself that they had all the information they needed to go ahead with Nat's treatment and care. He was sure that he would have no trouble obtaining funds from the de Brabant Foundation to cover anything extra that might not be included in her medical coverage. Nick bade the elderly priest a good night and offered his wish that the next day's surgery would go well. Natalie was in Room 234 and, having determined that the Admitting office had no need of his services, he checked in on her before he left to race the dawn to cover. Her vital signs had been stabilized and she had already received a transfusion of whole blood; fortunately the hospital had a good supply of blood that matched her unusual blood type. She was electronically monitored and was being closely watched by the nursing staff as well. Although her color was much too pale, her breathing too shallow for Nick to feel at ease, he was heartened to observe that she seemed better than when he brought her in. The senior nurse on the wing informed him that for someone who had had such a narrow escape, she was doing as well as they could hope, and promised that if there were any change, however slight, in her condition, they would call him. Even with the night far gone and dawn coming soon, Nick had to do one more thing. He dropped to one knee next to the bed, and took her right hand in both of his. "Natalie, my dearest," he whispered, "I don't know if you can hear me, but I have to say this. Now, tonight, before I can even think of leaving. I know now that I love you more than my life, more than my hope of regaining humanity, more than anything or anyone I've ever known. I put you in terrible danger tonight. Just a moment more, and it would have been too late to save you. I love you so much that I might even have yielded as you pleaded with me to make you . . . what I am. But I cannot. I will not do it, my love. There has to be another way that we can be together. Please forgive me for what I nearly did to you. Come back to me and to health, so that we can find that way. Together. We will try again, and I will be with you as long as it is possible. I swear it, by the Light I have turned from, but which is no less bright because I have." Although he wasn't really satisfied, Nick knew there was nothing further he could do. He rose from his half-kneeling position, kissed Nat gently on the forehead and left her room without looking back. For his peace of mind, it might have been better if he had. As it was, only the angels saw Natalie's apparently sleeping face as the lightest of smiles traveled across her lips and a single tear crept out of the corner of her eye. Nick moved quickly, because it was well after four in the morning, and he didn't have the Cadillac with its cavernous trunk to hole up in until dusk. In a dark corner of the hospital parking lot, he looked about him carefully to be sure he was unobserved and seized his chance to soar into the air and fly, high above the sleeping city, to his home. He descended through the still-open skylight, closed and shuttered it and all the other windows, and at last collapsed on the couch, still fully clothed, to sleep deeply till nightfall. _______ * Nick's words to Fr. de Lourdes: "My name is Nicholas de Brabant, Father." End of Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Dr. Natalie Lambert had definitely turned the corner. She would recover; there was no longer any doubt. Fortified by expert care, carefully supervised intravenous feedings with an enriched liquid nutrient, and several blood transfusions, Natalie regained full consciousness. She was, however, in such a weakened condition that her primary physician, Dr. Howard Bennington, was reluctant to release her from the hospital for several days, and he adamantly refused to discuss the possibility of her return to work in the Coroner's office until she has taken a good, long rest. Nick visited Natalie faithfully. Every work-night, he managed a few minutes, even if all he did was to sit by her bed, hold her hand and whisper words of encouragement and love. Later, when Nat was conscious, he would try to get in to see her for a few minutes fairly close to the start of his shift. She tried to stay awake for his visits, but often he found her sleeping, and he had to be satisfied with a few whispered words and a tender kiss. Of course Nick did not work every night, nor did Natalie sleep quite as much, as she gradually recovered more of her health and strength. Nick would come in on his nights off as soon as it was dark, and they would talk until the nurses insisted he leave, or until Natalie nodded off, whichever happened first. It was on one of these nights that they discussed at last the events that had occurred on their last night in the loft, and even more carefully, the point they had reached in their relationship and their options for the future. "Nat, I'm sorry for the danger I put you in. I never should have yielded to your request. I know my great weakness. I have no excuse; my only explanation is that . . . I love you, Natalie. I love you so much that I will never be able to get enough of you." Nat sat in silence for a moment, looking directly into his eyes. Finally, she responded, "Nick, I don't think you know this, but for most of the time I was unconscious, I was actually floating in and out. I had some strange dreams, which I'll tell you about soon, but a lot of the time I could hear what was being said in my room, especially by someone who was talking to me directly, as you were. I heard what you said to me, . . . I think it was the night you brought me in . . . . I know it's useless to tell you, Nick, that you don't have to feel guilty for something, sometimes even for something you haven't done. It'd be like telling a river to run uphill. But what I mean is, what happened that last night in your loft was every bit as much my "fault" as it was yours--if it was anyone's. I just want you to know that I don't blame you. I wanted you, I believe as much as you wanted me. I'm not angry. I thought I might be terribly disappointed and even despondent because you didn't bring me across, but strange to say, I'm not. I should be, maybe, but I'm not. Something is telling me that a very good thing is going to happen for us, Nick. It brings a strange but very, very strong calmness and peace. I don't have any idea what this 'very good thing' is, but somehow I'm absolutely confident that it will happen. "Oh, and I heard what you said that night about how you feel about me." Natalie's expression suddenly became softer, and she grew quiet. There was a subtle, but unmistakable glow about her as she spoke her next words. "Nicholas Knight, I love you, with all my heart. I will never change in my feeling for you. We will be together, somehow, always. And I've come to realize that we aren't meant to die for quite a while yet. And that I'm not meant to become a vampire. I don't know where these certainties are coming from, but they are certainties. They have grown stronger all the while I was floating in and out of the picture, having those strange dreams." Nick gently stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "Nat, have you been having nightmares?" "No. I didn't say the dreams were frightening. Or even 'bad.' Only that they were strange . . . and serious. As though someone with the authority to command my attention were saying, "Now listen, Natalie! Pay attention.'" For a moment they just held hands and sat in silence, lost in wonder at the knowledge of love expressed and love reciprocated. Nick broke their silence. "I've been having some strange experiences too. I was almost afraid to mention them to you. Mostly because they aren't unmistakably clear. They aren't dreams or visions or voices or anything like that, just instances of strange encounters with someone and atypical behavior on my part. "Such as . . . ?" "Well, the night I brought you in I hypnotized the ER staff I dealt with so that they'd have no memory of me, but I didn't have much confidence in my hypnotic abilities, after that terrible night when Tracy . . . ." He bowed his head for a moment, then looked up and continued. "So I wanted to stay out of sight for a while and still hang around the hospital so that I could check on you. Anyway, suddenly I turned down this hallway and wound up at the door to that Meditation Room on the first floor. You know the one. I went in." "And . . . ?" Natalie watched his face carefully. "Nat, I prayed. I didn't just wish you well, or think good thoughts of you, or form a mental image of you growing stronger. I prayed! Directly to God! I asked Him to let you live, no matter what happened to me. "And that's not all. This strange-looking little old man came into the room. I had just finished praying, and was, um . . . er, cleaning up my face,"--Natalie lifted his hand to her lips and kissed it--"when he hobbled over to me and put his hand on my shoulder. It was a kindly gesture, and could have been only that, but Nat, it was suddenly so much more. I had this flash of memory from Before, from when I was a boy, still in training to become a knight. "The master my father had engaged to teach me was a holy terror. He knew everything there was to know about weapons and armor and fighting, on foot or on horseback, and he was a relentless perfectionist. I was only a kid, barely in my teens, and I was so afraid of falling short of the goals I knew my father had for me. Sometimes I became almost ill with anxiety." "You? Angst-ridden?" Natalie murmured, swallowing a smile. "I find that hard to believe." Nick gave her a playful shove. "Pay attention, please. It gets better." "One hot summer day," he continued, "after a long session in which Maître Guillaume had been especially demanding, I finally emerged into the stable yard, sweat-soaked, dirty, parched, hungry, exhausted and discouraged. A perfect mess, and nobody's model of the rising young knight. My father was there, having just come in from riding on our estate, and he saw me. I didn't know what to expect. My father could be a bit cold and severe at times. He took one look at me, grasped my shoulder and smiled. He didn't say anything, but the smile and the physical contact were enough. They said to me, 'Buck up, Nicolas; be a man. Keep trying. I'm proud of you. I know how hard it is and I do notice how hard you're working. Well done, my son." The old man's grasp of my shoulder brought that all back, and the feeling that went with it. The feeling that someone very important to me saw me and knew my sufferings. And cared." "What else?" "Well, the old man asked if he could help, of course. Just conventional politeness. But I found myself taking him seriously. I told him about you. I told him what you mean to me. "No, I somehow managed to stop the flow of self-revelation soon enough to avoid telling him the story of my life. Or un-life. But later, when he said he would pray for me and asked my name, I . . . Nat, even I can hardly believe this, and I was there! I told him, in French, that my name is Nicolas de Brabant." Natalie was beyond surprised, and had no immediate verbal response. She nodded to Nick to continue. "And he's a priest! A Jesuit. I've come a long way with churches, sacred space in general, and religious artifacts, even those of my long, long ago Catholicism, but I still don't talk to priests, unless it's in the line of duty or otherwise unavoidable. But he was different, somehow. I felt so drawn to him, so safe in his presence. I actually wanted to talk to him again. "Do you still want to?" "Uhmn. Good question. I don't know. Anyway, he's probably long-gone from the hospital. Maybe isn't even in Toronto anymore." "Don't bet on it. You're not the only one with surprises to reveal. Guess who came to see me on Thursday afternoon? A little old man in a black suit and a Roman collar. Said his name was Fr. Jean de Lourdes, and yes, he added the "S.J." Said he was being discharged from hospital, but would be staying at Regis College for a few days before he left for his next assignment. He asked me when I expected to be released, and I told him I had just heard from the doctor that he's letting me go next Wednesday. Sieur de Brabant, we have an invitation to dinner at the Regis Jesuit Residence next Thursday evening. He knows we'll have to leave fairly early, because I've only just got a pair of reliable legs under me, but he said that would not be a problem. Oh! One other thing. He said he made the invitation for dinner, not lunch, because he knew." "About . . . ?" "About M. de Brabant's allergy to direct sunlight! Nick, until our conversation this evening I didn't know that you even knew him, let alone had talked with him, or disclosed your name from Before. Not to mention what you became in 1228. Yet you said you didn't tell him that. He's a nice man, and I suspect a very good one, but nevertheless, I'm just a little bit frightened right now. Nick, what, in God's name, is going on here? Nick grinned, the way he did almost every time he wanted to indicate that he was tired of deep talk about puzzling matters for a time. "I don't know, Nat, but I'm willing to be both of the Hardy Boys if you'll be Nancy Drew. After all, we do detective work every day. Let's detect!" End of Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Wednesday evening came at last. Natalie, officially released by Dr. Bennington, was packed and waiting in her room for the aide with a wheelchair who would transport her to the lobby. She slowly stretched her arms above her head, yawned, and grinned at Nick. "Oh Nick, I'm so glad to finally be getting out of here." "Me, too," Nick smiled. "Just please, don't forget anything. I had a hard enough time getting special permission for you to be released in the evening. I doubt that they'll want to see my face again when I show up to collect the stuff you forgot to pack." "I didn't forget anything. I checked the closet, each drawer and the bathroom. About five times, I think." "So what did Dr. Bennington say this afternoon when he signed your release? I mean, about the next step after we get you home?" "Daily iron supplement and vitamins. Some exercise every day, preferably walking outdoors, accompanied if possible. Rest. Eat right. And here's the clincher. He won't even discuss my returning to work until I've had at least six weeks rest and convalescence. I get to choose where I want to do this, but it should be away from Toronto. Oh, and this part's non-negotiable --must be staffed by qualified healthcare people. Guess he's afraid of a relapse or something. I have to settle on a place, make arrangements and get out of town within a week. He said he's going to check on me, and if I haven't found a place for myself, he'll find one for me, like it or not." "Tyrant!" Nick joked. "But he probably has to be, if he hopes to get you to obey orders sand rest." "My Aunt Amy is a nurse in a convalescent home about 50 miles west of Ottawa. I'll e-mail her tomorrow and see what ideas she has." "You've got an Aunt Amy?" "A friend of my Mom's who was around a lot when Richard and I were kids. Kept in touch after my parents' death. She was sick at the time of Richard's death and couldn't come to the funeral, so you never met her." Nick considered the subject of Aunt Amy exhausted, and moved on. Taking Natalie in his arms, he murmured, "You are so beautiful," and kissed her, a long, slow kiss. "A fine thing, if the aide should walk in and find us in the throes of passion," Natalie joked as she broke away. She glanced at her reflection in the mirror. Nick was right. She looked better than she had in over a year. Younger, happier, prettier, somehow. The aide and wheelchair arrived as Natalie picked up her coat from the bed and put it on. Within about ten minutes they were in Nick's Caddy, headed towards Nat's apartment. "Don't forget; dinner with Fr. de Lourdes tomorrow evening," Nat said. She had almost forgotten it herself, but half-expected a snide retort from Detective Knight about being his mother or his social secretary. None was forthcoming. Nick was fairly serious whenever they spoke of the little French-Canadian Jesuit. "I remembered. I phoned him the day after you told me about his invitation. I didn't want to beg off, but Nat, . . . food? I started to tell him a story about my 'special dietary needs,' but he interrupted me. He told me that he had 'been given to understand' that I had problems with most food, and he suggested that I bring with me a portion of whatever it is I usually eat. He sounded like he was embarrassed, poor guy--the host asking the guest to bring his own food. "Nat, the strange thing was the repeat of my experience in the Meditation Room at the hospital. This man knew too much, yet none of my vampire senses warned of danger. I didn't feel threatened or afraid. "I'd been thinking about him, and had decided it would be good to see him again, although I've got to say that I've been feeling uneasy over it for some reason. I don't know why. I just keep recalling how trusting I became in his presence. I almost 'blew my cover,' yet it seems that I needn't have worried that he'd discover what I was. He seems to know so much about me. Like he'd done research or been primed by someone. OK, OK, I know, he could have a relative or friend on the Force, working out of Castle Frank, and he could have asked that relative or friend about me, and that person could have told him the gossip about my weird diet and my 'sun allergy,' but that's too much coincidence, I think. Nat, I think he knows what I am. I'm not sure how I feel about that. What we don't need right now is a visit from the Enforcers." ¨p¨p¨p Natalie had slept for several hours on Thursday afternoon so that she would be rested and alert when she and Nick kept their dinner engagement with Fr. de Lourdes at Regis College. She dressed in a simple rose-colored linen dress with a matching jacket, and wore her hair down, full and loosely waved about her face. Nick picked her up shortly after sunset, looking his usually well-groomed and fashionably dressed self. Together they were a really attractive couple. They arrived at Campion House, the Regis College Jesuit Residence, and the receptionist phoned Fr. de Lourdes in his room to announce them. A few minutes later, the elderly priest walked stiffly into the room, leaning on his cane. Nick and Nat rose as he came forward, smiling and extending his hand to them. "Nicholas! Natalie! How good to see you both. Natalie, you look lovely; rose is so becoming to your coloring. How are you feeling, my dear?" "I'm much better, Father," Natalie replied, "only I'm afraid my recent illness has made me somewhat lazy. I still need to sleep a lot." "Well, then, we must be considerate of you this evening, and not tax your strength. Forgive me for imposing on your recovery time, but I so wanted to talk with you both, in a less stressful atmosphere than that of the hospital. In addition to the community refectory, this residence contains two small, private dining rooms, one of which I have received permission to reserve for our use this evening. I think we will not be disturbed there." The three entered a room to the right of the corridor, which seemed to be a combination parlor and small dining room. The walls were cream, the high ceiling and wood trim, plain white, and the carpeting a deep red. The furniture was a dark walnut, and there were no windows. The room's proportions and the lightening effect of the cream-and-white paint, combined to produce an ambience that suggested quiet elegance and warmth. Fr. de Lourdes led the way to the parlor grouping, offered seats to his guests, then, before seating himself, offered them refreshment. Natalie's wine glass contained a pleasing merlot, and Nick discovered a blend of red wine that he could not quite identify, mixed with what was unmistakably beef blood. The priest filled a wine glass for himself at the sideboard before taking a seat opposite Nick and Nat. "I am so glad you were able to take time to come and see me. I believe I can be of service to you, and I thought an evening spent in discussion together over dinner, with no outside interruptions would be the best approach." Suddenly it was all too much for Nick. He had to know who Fr. de Lourdes really was, how much he knew, and what sort of "service" he planned to offer. "Excuse me, Father, but I must ask you: How did you know of my 'allergy' to direct sunlight? How did you know of my 'special dietary needs'? Above all, how did you know to provide the contents of this glass for me? Who are you, and what do you plan to do?" "All right. I brought, you here this evening, Nicholas and Natalie, intending to answer those questions, and to suggest a plan of action that you have not yet tried, or even considered, that could be very beneficial to you both. But Nicholas, . . . Natalie and I are both in the convalescent state. May I impose on your patience long enough to have our meal brought in? And is the particular source of nourishment and refreshment in you glass acceptable, Nicholas? If so, there is enough to provide your evening meal, I believe." Yes, mon p¨¨re," Nick replied, "to both questions." Fr. de Lourdes touched a button recessed in the frame of the large, built-in sideboard, and a few moments later, a young man in the black trousers, white jacket and black bow tie of a waiter arrived, wheeling a service cart. "Thank you, Paul," Fr. de Lourdes said as the young man transferred the contents of the well-stocked cart to the sideboard. "We'll just serve ourselves, and I'll let you or someone back there in the kitchen know when we have finished. How did the exams go, by the way?" "OK, I think, Father. I hope so, at least. I'll probably find my term marks waiting for me at home when I get there. If you need anything, just ring. I'll be working till ten tonight." The young man left, and soon Fr. de Lourdes and Natalie were helping themselves to baked chicken, a savory risotto, fresh salad and warm rolls from the dishes that awaited them on the sideboard. Fr. de Lourdes refilled Nick's glass and they prepared to begin eating. "Let us thank the Good Lord, not only for this delicious meal, but for our fellowship at this table." Fr. de Lourdes crossed himself, and Natalie, a bit sheepishly as though she hadn't done it in a while, followed suit. Nick hesitated a moment with his head bowed, then slowly traced the outline of the cross from forehead to chest, shoulder to shoulder. Nat shot Nick an astonished look before she bowed her head to ask the blessing. "Lord of all that exists," the priest prayed, "we come to you, trusting that in your great, all-inclusive Love you will accept us as we are, and gently lead us to what you want us to be. We thank you for this truth, and for our friendship and union at this table, and of course for this delicious, nourishing food. We pray in Jesus' Name. Amen." Fr. de Lourdes took a few bites of food before he turned to Nick's demand for information. "Nicholas, and you too, Natalie. You have been more than patient with me. Please. You both need nourishment of body as well as mind and spirit. Please continue with your meals" he nodded first at Nat's dishes, then at Nick's wine glass" while I talk. You will find, I think, that before this evening is over, you will be glad of the energy you will derive from your food. I am going to send you home with a great deal to think about. "First of all: who I am. Set your minds at ease. I may seem a bit spooky to you," his eyes twinkled a bit as he smiled," but I assure you, I am not nearly as mysterious as I might look. And I am certainly not sinister. In nature or in intention. "I am Jean-Paul de Lourdes, a Jesuit priest from the Quebec Province of the Society of Jesus. I am a real, live, more-or-less normal man, born in this country and probably due to die before too many more years have passed. What I am only God understands fully, but what I am not is a ghost, or some resuscitated corpse from Nicholas's past, . . . or from what he probably calls "the time before," or "in my mortal life." "Or just 'Before.'" Nick muttered. "Nicholas, I mentioned to you in the hospital that I used to be on the staff here at Regis. Technically, I still am. I am Professor Emeritus of Cultural Anthropology in the Department of Anthropology and Sociology. I still do as much research as it is possible to do in the library and sitting at the computer. Until my age and health made it unwise to continue, I carried a full-time course-load of teaching and every five-or-so years I was relieved of my teaching duties for at least a semester so that I could do research in the field. You know what they say," the priest chuckled, "Research is to teaching what sin is to confession. Without the one, there is nothing to say in the other." Nat, who had been silent for so long that the two men almost forgot that she was there, spoke at last. "Father, this is all very interesting, but what has it to do with Nicholas?" "Only that I am no stranger to what he is. I have had occasion before this to confront those who neither live nor die. But what is more important, I have also dealt with those among them who want to return to the Light." "You've learned of a cure for vampirism, Father?" Nick asked in a level voice, not daring to hope for news of success in finding that which he had so often nearly found, only to be bitterly disappointed. "Nicholas," the priest replied, "I can do better than that. I promise you. But I must warn you. It will not be anything you have been led to expect. What you must do will be very, very difficult, and make no mistake about it, the way along which you must travel to reach your goal will be beset by dangers you can scarcely imagine. Are you interested?" Chapter 5 "Yes," Nick responded quietly. "I have never been certain that there were others like me who wanted to return. Not just regretted being what they are, but actually wanted to repudiate their choice to become vampires in the first place. Wanted to act and live humanly. I just didn't know with any certainty that there were others like me in that regard. I am sure many vampires have times when they are tired, or bored with a half-life that will never end, barring a calamity such as being trapped in a fire or direct sunlight." "Or being staked through the heart," Natalie added with a shudder. Nick covered her hand with his, and for a moment the full horror of what had almost happened that last night in the loft descended on them like a suffocating pall. Fr. de Lourdes broke in upon the momentary gloom. "You have suffered much together, and have stood by each other. I think your love must be very strong, stronger, perhaps, than you know," he said. He spoke in his usual quiet manner, and managed somehow to smile at them with his eyes as he looked from one to the other, but apart from his eyes, his facial expression, his whole demeanor in fact, was of the utmost gravity. "Natalie," he said. "You are a medical doctor and a scientist. Am I correct that you have sought a scientific 'cure' for Nicholas's condition for nearly three years?" "Yes, Father," Nat replied, "We've tried protein drinks, cutting back on the cow's blood, and even attempted a gradual de-sensitizing to the sun through the use of a tanning bed." "And what has been your success?" the priest asked her. "Well, Father, first we'd have to get Nick, here, to cooperate." Natalie laughed nervously, evading the question. "No easy task. His reaction to my 'health cocktails' was not exactly flattering to my skill in the kitchen. I know the saying, 'It's a poor smuggler who won't drink his own rum,' and I have sampled every single concoction. Truly. They're not at all bad. I can't say I'd want to live on them, but then, I'm not a vampire looking to be cured. Sometimes the medical procedure we must submit to in order to experience a cure is unpleasant, and there's nothing to do about it but just to . . . do it." "And your rate of success, Natalie?" "OK, all right, Father. I have to admit there really has been very little. In fact, just about the only place where we can see a real change is in Nick's ability to touch and even hold a cross or crucifix. I don't understand why we haven't been able to bring about a cure." "Ah, yes, The cure. My dear, I am afraid I must disagree with you. As a scientist, a scholar, and a priest, I must question your basic premise that the burden that tortures our Nicholas is biochemical and can therefore be cured by physical, scientific means. Can be 'cured' at all, actually." "Then I am without hope?" Nick asked, looking almost as bleak as he felt. "I am inclined to regard such words as 'unlife' and 'undead' as semantic niceties. You may not need to breathe very often, but you do breathe. Your heart may beat only once every ten minutes, but beat it does. You make moral choices. You love. You are alive, my son, and as long as we live there is always, always Hope." "What is your cure, Father? I have tried many things, besides Natalie's regimen of a change of diet and a gradual exposure to things that hurt me or cause me to fear. I sought the Abbarat, an ancient Sanskrit text I heard could remove my curse.* I attempted to possess a pair of very old Mayan cups, believing they could help me to escape this un-life.** I tried a drug Natalie discovered that proved to be temporarily successful but also highly addictive and dangerous.*** There were several others as well, all of them impossible to attain, in some way inadequate to the task, or with such dangerous side-effects that they were useless to me in my quest." "And your quest, Nicholas, what was that for?" "Why, . . . my humanity, of course," Nick replied, confused at what he perceived as the obvious nature of the question. "And what does that word "humanity" mean to you? Think, Nicholas. This is very, very important." Natalie, with her past experience as a student in college and medical school could see, more clearly than Nick, that Fr. de Lourdes must have been a very good teacher in his day, and continued to be such, even now. "What do you want, Nick? Really want?" Nat asked, hoping that she knew some, perhaps most, of the answer, but at the thought of one particular aspect of it, she suddenly felt sixteen years old, about to attend the big dance. Nick rose and began to pace. "As I told you when we first met, I want to walk in the sunlight. I guess that's a metaphor as well as the literal truth. Although I've never admitted it--been too ashamed of my past or too afraid of failure to admit it--I want to walk in the Light. Not just the light of the sun. I want to live as a man, as a human being, in service to what's good and just. I want to atone, as far as it's possible, for the evil I did all those many years when I regarded humans as beings to exploit, for my food and for my pleasure. I . . . I want to pray to God again." Nick felt as though something was tearing open deep inside him, but he found he had the strength to continue. "I want the opportunity to love my fellow-humans, and one special human in particular." At the last few words Nick's voice dropped to a husky whisper, he lowered his eyes, and Nat thought that if it were possible for Nick to blush, his complexion would turned a bright red by now. She went to him and put her arms around him. They kissed, and held each other in silence for a few moments. Nick took both Natalie's hands in his and looked into her eyes deeply, but without activating his hypnotic skill. He knew she was a resister, and even if that were not true, he wanted her wide awake and free of all constraint for his next words. "Nat, I love you. I love you more than anyone on earth. I want only you. I don't know if there is any way under God's heaven in which this will ever become possible, but if it does . . . Natalie Lambert, will you marry me?" "Yes, Nick. I will marry you." A kiss. "And share your life" . . . another kiss . . . "and help and care for you as long as I live." A long kiss later, they became aware of their surroundings and remembered their host. They looked over to where Fr. de Lourdes had been sitting. His chair was empty. Before the radiant couple had time to voice a question, the door slowly opened and Fr. de Lourdes entered, pushing the serving cart which had been emptied of their dinner things and now held only cups and a coffee service. "I cleared the table while you were, um, otherwise engaged. I decided to take our dinner things back to the kitchen and get our coffee so that the student-workers in the kitchen, like my young friend Paul, could finish up before the end of their shift. Don't fear, Natalie, the coffee's decaffeinated." They seated themselves once again in the parlor area, and their host served Natalie and himself with coffee and offered Nick a fresh glass of the altered wine. The little priest looked from one to the other. "So. It seems congratulations are in order? No, I'm not a reader of minds. Just hearts, sometimes. And faces fairly often. One must be, you see, in my line of work. I refer, of course, to my priesthood. Seeing through the little deceptions of university students doesn't really take that much skill. "Nicholas, I told you that I had encountered others who are as you are. I am fully aware of the problem you face in desiring a normal, human marriage with Natalie, and even the possibility of children. It may very well be that the course of action I am about to propose will enable you to do so. There are several precedents for such change. But I warn you. What I am about to suggest requires a great deal of faith, and ultimately, the matter is out of our hands. Furthermore, you should know that the changes in you will not go unnoticed. Or unopposed." "Noticed and opposed by whom? LaCroix, the vampire who brought me over? The Enforcers, who are sort of our Secret Police? Father, what is this plan of action you have in mind? Tell me, please!" "I know who LaCroix is, Nicholas. He is an honorable gentleman, according to his lights, and has the potential to do much good, if only he were not so scarred and embittered by his experiences. No, LaCroix will no doubt be more disappointed in you than he has ever been if you accept my suggestion, but he will not stop you, or even seriously try. As to the Enforcers, the worst of them is only a crude, bad-tempered, overgrown child next to what will seek to dissuade you. You will understand more when I tell you what I propose as a course of action. For you and Natalie both. "Put simply, it is this: Nicholas, would you be willing to return to the sacraments of the Church? To confess your sins, receive absolution. To receive the Eucharist, not just once, but daily? Natalie, would you be willing to do the same, for your own soul's sake? You are close to Nicholas, and are therefore very vulnerable to danger from the same source that will no doubt attack him." Nick was about to respond in a way that would buy him some time. He wanted to think. He wanted to be alone with Natalie. Above all, he wanted to be out of this room, this house, which was suddenly too small, too tightly confining. There was not enough breathable air in the room, even for him. He felt the blood-red drops of sweat form on his brow, so thickly that they started to run down his face. Many images assaulted his mind, and he felt weak, even slightly dizzy. Fr. de Lourdes and Natalie seemed to be far away. There was a roaring in his ears, and he began to slide into a long, deep darkness. _______ * 1966 (Season 1) ** Dark Knight, Parts 1 and 2 (Season 1) *** The Fix(Season 2) Chapter 6 Nick did not so much regain consciousness as become aware of himself. He seemed to be standing outside his body, calm, all signs of the panic attack gone. He was in the scene, but not of it: Nicholas the Observer and Nicholas Observed. His mind flashed on two "near death" episodes in his past. The first, in Paris in 1228,* when he had been compelled to choose between what LaCroix offered him and what was beyond the Light-filled doorway, and the second, during the course of a homicide investigation for the Toronto police force.** This was similar, but also different. There was no guide, no Light-filled doorway. There was no one but him, wrapped in a long, black coat, standing on a plateau--dark, barren and wind-swept. And cold!! Nick, who almost never noticed the cold because of his vampire metabolism, shivered. The cold was unearthly; it pierced his warm coat, his skin and the flesh beneath. He was cold to the bone and beyond. Cold to the depths of the soul, the existence of which his kind sometimes debated, but which in his case, at least, was very real. And very, very cold. A figure emerged from the shadows. It was shrouded from head to foot in a black cloak, the hood of which was pulled so far forward that its face was completely hidden in deep shadow. The figure began to move towards him. A stench hung about this entity like a vile miasma, so strong and noxious that it could be tasted and almost touched, as well as smelled. When it moved, Nick seemed to hear distant voices crying out in agony, unimaginable loneliness and despair. "Who are you?" Nick asked the hooded figure. "What do you want of me?" The creature responded in a voice so terrible to hear that to be struck deaf would seem a blessing if only it guaranteed that one would never, never hear that voice again. "Have you no idea, Nicolas de Brabant? Do you not know who I am? Think, Nicolas, son of Henri, Duc de Brabant. Think back to the night before they made you a knight. Newly confessed and shriven,*** you knelt all night long before the altar in the chapel of your father's castle. I recall being mentioned often in your stripling's prayers that night, you simpleton! You pompous, arrogant young fool! You were going to drive me out and defeat me, wherever you found evidence of my presence or my works. Me! And you would do this for the honor and glory of this insipid, milk-and-water God of yours! All you asked," he said in a mocking tone, "was that your God would save your soul from the jaws of the many traps I set to capture it. Your soul!! As if I had any interest in your bland, unformed, puny soul!" The entity began slowly to advance. As it drew nearer, Nick, who had had nearly eight centuries in which to experience the meaning of "cold-blooded" actually felt his body temperature drop even lower. He was alone and unarmed in this place, in the presence of what he recognized unmistakably as the Prince of Darkness. Lucifer. Satan. As he had on the night he brought Natalie into the ER, Nick found himself praying, only now he prayed for himself. "God, help me! I don't know what to do! Save me, please!" He wished for a weapon, but realized that no weapon in which he possessed any expertise, from a medieval sword to a modern hand gun, would be effective against this, the Ultimate Enemy. He knew the only weapon of relevance or value here was faith, spiritual Faith in God. Joan of Arc had told him, on the eve of her execution, that the Faith he had lost was waiting for him to reclaim it.**** Could he do that? Reach out across the chasm of the centuries and simply choose to believe? "Oh, God," Nick screamed in helpless terror, "I want to, but I can't. I don't know how." Without understanding the source of the mandate, Nick suddenly found himself impelled, even commanded, to a course of action he could not begin to understand, but which he felt bound to obey. With an agonizing effort, he reached down into his human soul, to depths he had never suspected were there. Beneath all his knowledge, all his experience, all his pride of family, of place, of office, beneath his loathing of what he had become and the things he had done which were normal for a vampire but which he repudiated as a man, beyond all his fear that his best would never be good enough, and that his worst was too evil ever to be forgiven by God or humankind, there was still a spark, so small, so weak that a careless breath might extinguish it forever. He scooped it up and held it as gently, yet as securely, as he would a tiny infant. Its light was very faint, but here on this dark plain, which had grown steadily darker since the arrival of the Evil One, the faint and solitary light seemed brighter than it was. It even seemed to give off a barely discernible warmth, which, although inadequate to the terrible cold, was still comforting. Nick knew, without knowing how he knew, that this spark was his Faith, which he had abandoned centuries before and had presumed was dead. If his rediscovered wisp of Faith was a great surprise, what he saw and heard himself doing in the next few moments was beyond imagining. He faced the Adversary, which had stopped in its tracks, and said, in a voice far louder and bolder than he thought possible, "In the Name of God, answer me. Have you come for my soul?" "Not even now, when it is a much, much tastier morsel than it was in your youth, do I want your soul, Nicolas! You are not simply a man, with a soul, nor are you simply a vampire, without a soul as you understand it. You are a disgusting hybrid and a freak!" "Then what do you want? Say it!" Nick asked again, and began to feel the pall of fatigue that settled on him, like a lead weight. With some detached sliver of his mind he realized that just being in the presence of this walking, talking Horror was leeching away all his strength. Life was not in the Creature, nor truth. From some long, long ago religion class he recalled the parish priest refer to Satan as the Father of Lies and Death. Nick was exhausted, as if he had been engaged in a long sword-fight with a skilled opponent. "I want your dreams, you lump of pretension, you turgid mass of self-delusion. Give me your dreams, what you, in your insufferable conceit, call your 'hopes.' They will do very nicely indeed as a little snack. For now. While I dream of tearing into your body, soul and mind--gorging myself on you at my eternal feast." Now Lucifer is very full of pride, and is so proud of his pride, so in love with his own importance and the gravity of his position that he completely lacks the smallest shred of humor. He knows that a writer named Gilbert Keith Chesterton, who worked most insidiously for the Other Side, had had the gall to mock him. Himself--His Sovereign Majesty, the King of Hell! Chesterton said that Lucifer fell from Heaven, because the weight of his own gravity pulled him down. He had fallen in love with himself because of his gifts, not with the Giver of all gifts because He is Love. He just takes himself entirely too seriously, and that, as we know, is a slippery slope. Lucifer is not amused; he never is. He hates the person who laughs honestly and without malice, because he just does not see the joyous humor there is in accepting, even embracing, the fact of being a creature. What Lucifer momentarily overlooked was that Nick had met Chesterton, back in the early years of the twentieth century, and had been both amused and bemused by the gigantic journalist-turned-Christian-writer that he had read a few of his works. A fragment of one of those writings, which told of a way to beat the devil at his own game came back to him now and slipped through his mind too quickly for him even to be aware of the source. Nick would never know with certainty whether what came next was prompted by nervous exhaustion or inspired by the Holy Spirit, but suddenly the insults that Lucifer had hurled at him seemed funny, so funny that he started to laugh. "Lump of pretension, . . . turgid mass of self-delusion." Whatever else he was, Satan was either a ham actor, or in need of a much better speech-writer--probably both. He laughed harder, threw back his head and laughed and laughed until the tears--clear, human tears this time--rolled down his cheeks. The spark of faith Nick held close to his heart glowed a little warmer and a little brighter as though fanned by giant wings. "Get away from me," Nick yelled in a loud, strong voice. "Out! You're not worth an argument. You are, literally, not worth a damn! You have no power here! This is a dream or something. I know it is. I belong with Nat and Fr. de Lourdes, back at Campion House. I can make you go away just by opening my eyes. I'm going to wake up now, and when I do, you'll be gone! You can't hurt me!" ¨p¨p¨p "Nick! Wake up! Please wake up, darling! For God's sake, Nick, wake up!" Natalie was sitting on the rug, with Nick's head on her lap. Fr. de Lourdes came out of the small half-bath carrying a paper cup of water for Natalie. She wet her handkerchief and was wiping Nick's forehead, when he began to moan and stir. He opened his eyes, and they were the deep and piercing blue of the man, not the sulfurous gold of the vampire. "Ohhhh," he groaned. "What a dream . . . nightmare . . . vision. Whatever it was, it's wonderful to wake up. You can't imagine." Nick smiled up at Natalie, a little more bravely than he felt, and he started to sit up. Suddenly, in the shadows beyond the lamp-light on the far side of the room, he saw the hooded figure in black, not as a translucent, flickering image, but as clearly defined and solidly real as Fr. de Lourdes or Nat. It cackled hideously, "Oh, I'm real, Nicolas. I've been real a lot longer than you have. And you're mine, you freak!" It hissed, then vanished. Carefully, with the priest and Natalie holding either arm, Nick rose to his feet. "Did you hear that? See that? Over there?" Nick pointed across the room, to where there was, of course, no figure in black. Natalie and Fr. de Lourdes turned to look in the direction Nick was pointing. Almost simultaneously they asked, "See what?" "Nothing," Nick replied, as they resumed their seats in the red-upholstered chairs. "No, I don't mean that," he said, then proceeded to tell them of what he had just experienced. Nick noticed that when he described his encounter with the figure in black, Fr. de Lourdes held a small, gold crucifix on a gold neck-chain that he had taken from the pocket of his jacket. "Nicholas, am I correct in understanding that you can now hold a cross or a crucifix without burning or other pain? Because if you can, I would like to give you this. It has been blessed." "Yes I can, thank you, Father." Nick held out his hand and the priest placed the small crucifix in Nick's palm. There was no burning or pain in his hand, but Nick again experienced that sense of tearing deep within himself, as he had when admitting earlier that he wanted to walk in the Light and to pray again. "Nicholas, I know you will need a little time before you're ready to answer the questions I asked about returning to the sacraments. Such a step is serious and should not be taken until you are sure it's what you want to do. "On the one hand, it is not something that should be done thoughtlessly or casually. It is much, much more than holding or wearing a cross or sprinkling holy water. It must come from a sincere desire, not only to repent, but to accept God's forgiveness and to re-commit your life to Him. "On the other hand¡ªand I say this especially in light of your tendency to want to 'pull yourself up by your own bootstraps' when it comes to salvation¡ªyou must not procrastinate over making your decision and delay taking the actions which should follow as soon as possible. "You have had a preview tonight of what you're up against. For example, although it may seem that you traveled a long distance tonight and were gone a long time, you did not leave this room, and you were 'away' from us for just about five minutes. The Adversary can play effective tricks with our minds, including our grasp of time and space. "I want you to wear this cross and chain under your clothing at all times. Do not remove it when you shower, change clothes or sleep. Natalie, do you also have a cross which can be worn at all times, and do you know exactly where it is? Can you start wearing it tonight as soon as you get home?" "Yes, Father. The cross I received from my godparents when I was confirmed. I saw it just this morning, in my jewelry box. I'll put it on tonight and I won't take it off. I promise." _______ * Near Death (Season 2) ** Also Near Death *** Shriven: Absolved, as in the Catholic Sacrament of Reconciliation. **** For I Have Sinned (Season 1) Chapter 7 Fr. de Lourdes smiled, temporarily satisfied that Nicholas and Natalie had all the instructions he thought they could handle for the time being. "That's good, then. Now, what's next for you two?" "Getting me settled in a convalescent facility before the week is out," Nat answered. "I'm still on extended sick leave from the Coroner's Office." "And I've taken a two-month leave of absence from Metro Homicide," Nick added. My first priority is to find a place where Natalie can be comfortable during her 'exile,' go there with her, and find a place to stay, not too far away. I got her into this mess, and I'm not leaving until I'm sure she's all the way back to full recovery." "If you have no other plans, may I presume to make a suggestion?" Fr. de Lourdes continued to speak with overtones of some urgency, as he had throughout much of the evening. "Of course, Father." "I'm to leave the day after tomorrow for the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc in Quebec City. I happen to know they have vacant rooms; there is a staff of health care professionals, both resident and per diem, so I'm sure Natalie's doctor will approve. May I telephone them tomorrow on your behalf? They both agreed, and before seeing them to the door, Fr. de Lourdes gave them his blessing, laying his hands on their bowed heads, as if in a caress. ¨p¨p¨p A few evenings later, Nick was at Nat's apartment, helping her pack. That is, Nat was attempting to pack, while Nick paced the floor, trying to avoid Sydney-the-Cat, who in his endearing catlike way, was trying to send Nick sprawling on the floor by knitting his four paws and Nick's two feet together in a complex pattern. "Sydney," Nick growled, "you'll never know how lucky you are that I'm not a carouche." Seeing the cat's puzzled look, he added, "one who feeds on the blood of living animals." He spoke in a stage whisper, mostly for Natalie's benefit, as Sydney looked puzzled only till he had Nick's attention, then proceeded to ignore him. True to his word, Fr. de Lourdes had phoned the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc early on the day after their dinner with him, then reported the results of his inquiry to Nat and Nick. A small suite was available and, assuming Natalie would be happy to have the problem solved without a further expenditure of energy on her part, Fr. de Lourdes engaged the rooms. Natalie, who was pleased and grateful to have her most pressing problem solved so quickly and smoothly, called the sanatorium herself to confirm the reservation and to provide the necessary personal, medical and financial information. Nick insisted that he was coming with her, but he had not been able to make arrangements for a room on such short notice, and didn't sound too hopeful about the trip. "Nick, darling, you really don't have to come with me, if you're having second thoughts. I can take the train up, get settled, and you can drive up later in the week." "I'm sorry, Nat. You poor woman, are you sure you want to get stuck for life with this moody guy? I don't know why I'm so edgy. As to your kind offer, no. Thanks for offering, though. I really do want to drive you up there and get moved into wherever I'm going to be living. Let's do it all at once. Did Grace return your call?" "Yes, she did. She agreed to take Sydney for as long as I'm in Quebec." At the sound of his name, Sydney glared through narrowed eyes, first at Nick, then Nat, indicating his suspicion that he was about to be farmed out. Dismissed. Cast aside like a being of no importance, perhaps even a common DOG. "Oh, poor old Syds," Nat picked him up and began to rub under his chin, usually a foolproof method of getting him to come around when he was in one of his moods. "You're going to love living with Aunt Grace. You'll see." During Natalie's hospital stay, Nick had faithfully stopped at the apartment every night to take in the mail, give the cat food and fresh water, tend to his litter box, and--clearly a shining example of his love for Sydney's human--to talk to the cat and even play with it for a few minutes. This had not been nearly enough attention and sympathy for King Sydney I, so he was not about to be a good sport about any further examples of what he regarded as "gross neglect." He greeted Natalie's revelation concerning "Aunt Grace" with a grim-faced, stiff-legged, tail-erect stalk into the bedroom where he crawled as far under the bed as it was possible to crawl, and in the case of a cat, that can be very, very far. On the following evening, the Caddy was loaded, and Sydney retrieved from his pout and packed off to Grace. It soon became apparent that Grace loved cats in general and Sydney in particular with a vast, all encompassing, Whole-Earth-Momma love that led her, during the remainder of Nat's convalescence, to spoil the cat almost beyond recognition, and certainly beyond the possibility of rehabilitation during the remainder of his nine lives. They decided that the almost-500-mile drive from Toronto to Quebec would be part of the rest cure and stretched it over two nights, taking a short detour through Montreal just after dark on the second night. They spent the day at a motel, part of a popular chain, where their arrival just before dawn went unquestioned. They slept, held each other, and talked, protected from the sun by the heavy, closed window drapes, while they waited for dark when they would be on the road again. After two leisurely nights they arrived at the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc not long before dawn. Whatever they had expected from Fr. de Lourdes's description, the sanatorium still had several surprises in store for them, starting with St. Joan's statue in the niche above the front door. Nat was standing next to Nick at the foot of the steps, her hand on his arm, and she felt the tremor that passed through him like a jolt of electric current. "Nick, what is it?" "It looks so much like her," Nick gestured toward the statue. It just startled me, that's all. Statues of Joan of Arc are usually so¡ªI don't know¡ªidealized? Romanticized? But this one . . . this is the strong, tough little peasant girl I remember,* with her level, honest gaze, and her slightly too-long nose and her determined chin . . . 'Courage' . . . ." The shadow of a smile played around his eyes and mouth. "The artist could have sketched her from life and based this sculpture on his sketch. That's how like her it is." "Well, that's a new one. Nick Knight, connoisseur of religious artifacts. Sneaking another peek at what "the opposition" has to offer, are we?" Nat's teasing was light-hearted and loving, but when she looked at Nick, she knew he was too deep in thought to take the bait. She smiled at him and gave his arm a squeeze to bring him back to the present. Together they climbed the steps. Nick left Natalie with the Sister at the front desk while he went to retrieve her bags from the car. There wasn't much time before sunrise, although the sky looked heavily overcast, and the weather report they heard on the radio as they approached the sanatorium had predicted heavy rainfall for a good bit of the day, starting right around first light. In fact, Nick just barely got himself and Natalie's bags in the front door when the downpour started. He stopped at the front desk to learn that she was in Room 301, then proceeded to the elevator with the luggage. He found her talking with a young Sister who was to help her unpack and get settled in her temporary home. The accommodations were not luxurious, but were certainly pleasant and gracious, both in size and appointments. Besides a bedroom and private bath, there was a small ante-room, creating almost a suite. There were even French doors leading from the bedroom to a little balcony, barely large enough for the chaise, a small table and one chair it contained. Nick greeted Sr. Marie des Anges courteously when Natalie introduced them, then said to Nat, "Are you going to be OK for now? Because if you are, I should see about getting a hotel room for a few days till I can find a cheaper place to live while we're here." Nick cautiously moved a bit closer to a window. "Even though it's after sunrise, between the heavy clouds and this rain, I think I'll be OK for a little while." To Sr. Marie he added, "I have a severe allergy to sunlight." "Oh, before I forget," Nat looked up from arranging items in a bureau drawer, "Sr. Elise said that she'd like to see you for a minute, before you go out." "OK, I'll do that now. Then, if it's all right with you, I'm off to find a place to stay." Nick gave Nat a kiss, smiled at Sr. Marie, and headed down to the main-floor office of Sr. Elise, the sanatorium's chief administrative officer. Nick had not had much contact with female religious in the past 175 years or so, which accounted for his momentary surprise at Sr. Elise's "modern" dress. Her Congregation, along with most other Roman Catholic communities of consecrated women, had modified their garb in the late 1960s to comply with the instructions of Vatican Council II. The middle-aged Sister wore a tailored gray tweed suit, a plain off-white blouse, and black low-heeled shoes. She wore only one religious symbol, a plain, silver cross which hung from her neck by a silver chain. He had come a long way since he had investigated the murders of several women associated with a Catholic Church in Toronto.** He could now not only look at, or even hold, a cross, but could actually wear one, as he had proved with the cross Fr. de Lourdes had given him. He wore it twenty-four hours a day, with no discomfort whatsoever, not even in his dreams at night. Nick had also brought with him one of his dearest possessions, the wooden cross which had consoled Joan during her last ordeal in prison, partly because of the terrible vision he had experienced at Campion House, and partly because the sanatorium was under her care and protection. Sr. Elise was alone in her office, unattended by a secretary or receptionist. He tapped lightly on the frame of the open office door and asked, "Sister, did you want to see me?" He wondered, as he entered the office in response to her invitation, whether there was a problem concerning the expenses associated with Nat's stay, and he voiced this concern. "No, Detective Knight, there's no problem there," Sr. Elise replied, "I only wondered if you've been able to give any thought to where you'll be staying while you are here in Quebec?" "I'm just off to do that now. Do you have any suggestions, Sister?" "Yes, as a matter of fact, I do. As you may know, Fr. de Lourdes is here to recuperate, but he is also serving, temporarily, as our chaplain, and he seems to have taken quite an interest in you and Dr. Lambert. As you are from Toronto and will be here only as long as Dr. Lambert is with us, it occurred to him that you might have trouble finding someplace suitable to stay for such a short time. I would like to make a suggestion." Nick hoped that there would be a place, not too far from the sanatorium, where the host would accommodate Nick's very special needs without expecting too much in the way of an explanation. "Detective Knight," Sr. Elise continued, "would you like to stay here? Here at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc, that is?" _______ * For I Have Sinned (Season 1) ** Also For I Have Sinned Chapter 8 "I'm sorry; I'm not sure I understand." Nick was thrown off balance by Sr. Elise's question. "Would you like to stay here at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc? There is a small set of rooms, really just one good-sized room with a kitchenette and bath. Nothing grand, but it's clean, warm, and available. Are you interested? The sanatorium has a few similar accommodations, originally intended as living quarters provided for short-term health care staff that would not be here more than a few weeks. At present, we really don't need the rooms, as currently we have only two short-termers and both live in Quebec. I don't expect more before summer." "Thank you, Sister," Nick replied. "Unfortunately I have a few special needs which I have to be sure will be covered. Beyond that, my only concern is that you allow me to pay for the use of the room." "That certainly isn't a problem," and Sr. Elise then quoted a very reasonable weekly rate for six weeks. "If Dr. Lambert still needs to be here at the end of six weeks, we might have to make other arrangements, but I don't expect to need the rooms till at least mid-July, if then." The staff quarters were at the far end of the east wing, on the first floor. Nick was surprised that Sr. Elise herself took time to show him the room. It was located on the southeast corner of the building, and it was bigger than Nick had expected. There were four large windows, but a lightproof window shade and a pair of dark drapes in a heavy fabric covered each. "That's good," thought Nick. "I hope I don't have to use the 'sun allergy' excuse too often. More likely to be questioned by staff members, eager to help. Might be a little harder to explain than it was back at Metro Police." "You may want to prepare your meals in this sparsely-equipped little kitchen, but if you'd like to eat in the staff dining room, I'm sure that can be arranged." Sr. Elise had been raised in a large and loving Quebecois family with a grand appreciation for the three F's©¤Faith, Family and Food, and although she was hardly what one would call fat, she was a bit plump, and had the look of a woman who enjoyed both cooking for, and eating with, those she loved. She was inclined to regard this, or any other, "sparsely-equipped little kitchen" with something like contempt. "Actually, I'm on a very special diet, and will be taking my meals alone," Nick told her. "Also, I really am a night owl. I'm awake most of the night and I sleep during a good part of the day. I was very pleased to discover the heavy window coverings in the apartment. I won't have to worry about the sun." At Sr. Elise's quizzical look, he added, "Keeping me awake, that is." "Well, then, I'd say you're all set. Just come back with me to the office and I'll get you a set of keys to the apartment and the staff entrance to the building. Then you can get your things from your car, if you want, and get settled right away." "And the 'rent' . . .?" "Oh, don't worry about that right now. I'll have my secretary get an invoice to you early next week. We'll have informed the bursar's office by then, so that when you come in to pay, they'll know who you are and what it's all about. And, . . . Detective Knight . . . ?" "Nick, please." "I beg your pardon?" "Call me Nick. It's my name, after all, and I am kind of on vacation from my official title." "Very well. Nick it is." They had reached Sr. Elise's office by now, and she turned to him in the doorway. "I told Fr. de Lourdes that you and Dr. Lambert were en route this week, and he seemed most eager to know when you would arrive. I said I'd let you know after you were settled in that he'd be delighted to see you, just as soon as you wish. Come in for a moment, and I'll get you the keys." "Thanks, Sister," Nick glanced at his watch, reset earlier to local time, and saw that it was already 8:00 in the morning. "We were driving most of last night because of my allergy to sunlight. The rain seems to have let up for the moment. I'll use the protection of those dark clouds and bring my luggage in from the car. Then I just want to sleep. Perhaps later this evening." "As you wish. Father also seems to be one for burning the midnight oil, like you, although he is also at work quite early in the morning. His rooms are on the second floor, at the opposite end of the main hall, right across from the library. If his door is open and his light is on, then he's 'at home' to visitors. Well. Whatever you decide. I'm afraid I still have some work to get done before our little celebration this evening. Today is May 30, and that's the feast day of Ste. Jeanne, you know. Our gathering is at 6:30 this evening, in the Staff Dining Room. Please feel welcome to join us, if you wish. Well, here are your keys. I would love to chat with you longer, but I'm afraid 'duty calls.' I'll say 'Good Day,' although I must get used to the fact that for you, this is 'Good Evening,' Detec . . . I mean, Nick . . . . The staff and I--and Ste. Jeanne d'Arc--bid you welcome." "Thanks for everything, Sister. Have a good day." ¨p¨p¨p On Monday morning, Nat began to be a "patient" at the sanatorium. She was given a cursory physical examination, mostly to confirm the results of her last check-up at the hospital. The san did its own lab work for anything fairly simple, so test results were available sooner than might be the case in a large city hospital. She next spent a few sessions with a psychiatrist, Dr. Etienne Morceau. Together they discussed the depression from which she had been suffering immediately prior to the mysterious "attack" which had drained her of a significant amount of blood. By Wednesday evening, Nat had nothing but good news for Nick. "Physically, I'm normal," she said, "heart, blood pressure, reflexes, circulation, red blood cells, white blood cells--the whole nine yards." Nick had been greatly relieved when the examinations and tests Natalie had undergone at the hospital showed that she had suffered no permanent damage, and he now felt a surge of renewed gratitude to hear that Nat was completely out of danger, at least in terms of her physical health. He squeezed her hand for a moment and said nothing. "And I met every day with the psychiatrist, Dr. Morceau, and he had good news for me, too." "Which is . . . ?" "Well, first of all he doesn't think I'm crazy, no matter what you might believe," Nat joked. She immediately became serious as she continued her summary of Dr. Morceau's diagnosis. "But we did talk about my depression of the past few months. We talked out a lot of things. Richard's death--of course I didn't mention your part in what happened afterwards.* Then my god-daughter Cynthia's murder,** and just recently, Laura Haynes's*** death. All the death that surrounds me all the time. I'm a doctor, Nick, sworn to protect and preserve life, and all I see and work with is death. "He encouraged me to talk to him for a long time about how I really feel about these things, and when he finally took his turn to talk to me, he said that he was convinced that I was not suffering from clinical depression, as such, and that my mental and emotional condition of the past two months was temporary, already improving, in fact. And it isn't caused by a biochemical imbalance requiring medication. "He said my principal health problems at the moment seem to be extreme fatigue and the residual effects of bad eating habits--too many take-away meals eaten too late and too fast, under conditions not conducive to good digestion. In other words, too much fried rice eaten in the morgue. Lord, I can't believe I just said that!" "Whatever comes next for us after this, Nat, I swear I'm going to help you take better care of yourself." Nat added, "It seems my bad eating and sleeping habits are exactly the things he wants me to work on while I'm here." "And that was all this Dr. Morceau had to say to you? Eat right, sleep well, and you'll never again find yourself debating whether to take your own life or ask your creepy boyfriend to make you a creature of endless night." "No, Nick. He wasn't like that at all. He knew that a big part of my depression had to do with the fact that after nearly four years, I felt that my relationship with the man I loved was never going anywhere. I told him that we were engaged, darling, and I guess I must have looked pretty happy when I did." Nat smiled radiantly, glowing with inner joy. "He congratulated us, and wished us well. He said he would trust me to pass along his good wishes to you." She sat on Nick's lap and proceeded to express the doctor's happiness for them in the form of a congratulatory kiss, which immediately led to more of the same. Nick certainly didn't put up the least bit of a fight, although he kept up a running commentary in a tone of mock-outraged dignity for as long as he was able. "I must apologize," he murmured, "for speaking ill of Dr. Morceau. . . . He has entrusted his good wishes to such a . . . warmly demonstrative messenger . . . with such an admirable . . . enthusiasm for her task . . . that his wisdom and . . . sincerity are . . . ." Nick disentangled himself to take one of his rare vampire breaths. After a few more quick kisses, he said, "I have to leave for a while, sweetheart, but hold the good thought. I have an appointment to replenish my food supply, and if I'm late it might mean some trouble for my supplier." ¨p¨p¨p During his last few days in Toronto, Nick had made arrangements through the vampire network to obtain fresh beef blood regularly from an abattoir in Quebec, and to pick it up shortly after dark. The vampire community had a contact among the supervisors at the slaughter-house and this individual was accustomed to similar requests, from vampires who were trying to wean themselves from human blood, and occasionally, even from upwardly mobile carouches trying to acquire more socially acceptable feeding habits. Nick wanted to maintain a low profile with the vampire community for as long as possible, but needed to restock his refrigerator every second or third day. These "grocery runs" became a part of the new routine he quickly established for himself in Quebec. He left his rooms empty for the cleaning staff each morning, then returned to sleep from about 11:00 till 6:30 or 7:00 in the evening. After feeding from his supply of beef blood, he would shower, shave, dress and join Natalie for the evening at about 7:30, or shortly thereafter. The morning hours, between sunrise and his retiring to sleep, were not a problem. He wanted to stay out of the way of the housekeeping staff and at the same time avoid sunlight, so he found two conveniently sunless areas in the sanatorium. One was the archive, located in a windowless room, accessed through the library, and the other was Fr. de Lourdes's parlor/office where Nick sometimes went to talk. Fr. de Lourdes's normal, human curiosity, intensified by his professional interest as a cultural anthropologist, found Nick's stories of the past eight centuries fascinating. But mainly, he encouraged the bond that was forming between himself and Nick, a bond which the priest hoped would help to calm Nick's fears and leave him more open and receptive to the grace of God and the full restoration of his faith. During the hours from late night till early morning, Nick was on his own. He toured Quebec, at first driving around in the Caddy until he got a feel for the layout of the beautiful old city, with its medieval ambiance, known as "the only walled city in North America." When Nat was feeling stronger, he would take her for drives at night, through the walled Haute-Ville, or Upper Town, with the Chateau Frontenac, the Basilica de Notre Dame, and the Place d'Armes. They would sometimes park and walk along the Terrasse Dufferin, with its spectacular view of the River. Other nights they would tour as much of the Basse-Ville, or Lower Town as was open to vehicles. They eventually saw most of the city, even the Grande-Allee with its stately buildings and contemporary bars and restaurants. Quite often, after he brought Natalie back to the sanatorium, in time for her ten o'clock "curfew," Nick would go out again, sometimes in the Caddy, sometimes on foot, and even--always with prudent secrecy--he would fly, high above Quebec City, the St. Lawrence River, and the surrounding countryside of the Province of Quebec. He had much to think about, and preferred to do his thinking alone. _________ * I Will Repay (Season 1) ** Undue Process (Season 2) *** Last Knight (Season 3) End of Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Nick had spent several morning hours with Fr. de Lourdes, who was asking him less and less about his un-life as a vampire and drawing him back more often to memories of his life Before. Whatever Fr. de Lourdes's exact game plan was, Nick realized that it was slowly starting to work. Nick was remembering more and more of his early life as the younger son of Henri II, Duc de Brabant, his mother Marie, his half-brother Henri and his sister Fleur. As a vampire, he of course had total recall of every event of his un-life. Many nights, he found himself distracted from the task at hand by a vivid flash-back to some event in his life as a vampire. Many days, especially when he had had a difficult night at work, or was especially sad about something, he would sit playing the piano in his loft, thinking of his past. He could love, but had no wife, no child, and very few friends. He experienced guilt and remorse, sometimes with an acuteness that was nothing other than spiritual torture, but he had never been able to visualize himself as forgiven, absolved, whole again before God and before the thousands and thousands of human beings he had killed or gravely harmed. Nick was troubled and saddened by his sudden awareness of a fact of vampire un-life that he had never focused on before this: His total recall worked much better for the events of his nearly-800 year existence as a vampire than it did for his short life-span as a mortal before he was brought across. Still, he could remember his childhood and youth if he tried, and his frequent conferences with Fr. de Lourdes strengthened both his ability to remember and his desire to do so. This morning, Fr. de Lourdes had asked, "Nicholas, what was your early religious instruction like? How did you first learn of the Faith?" Nick sat, as he often did when he was in one of his conferences with the priest, in a comfortable chair, feet crossed at the ankles, arms relaxed, head back and--when recalling something from Before--his eyes closed. "My mother," Nick responded, "She taught us our prayers and took us around the village church and explained everything we saw─the crucifix and statues and the altar─in words we'd understand." "'We'?" "Me, of course, and the servants' children. Later, of course, when I was older, it was Fleur and the children of Maître Guillaume, the sword-master my father had hired to train me for knighthood." "And your father, Nicholas, did he never speak of these things to you?" "Very seldom did he speak about God or religion. My father was a good man, a believer. He attended Mass regularly, and joined us for prayers at night. But the teaching of our prayers and the truths of the Faith, that was for my mother to begin, and later for the parish priest to continue when we were older. "But there were times when my father did speak of God. How, in God's eyes, those of us who had been highly placed, or who were called to knighthood had a solemn obligation both to God and to our fellow human beings to defend what was right, to aid those oppressed or who were victims of wrong-doing." Nick added with a wry smile, "King Arthur of Britain, back in the fifth century, may have been the first, but he wasn't the only one." "Would it be fair to say that God, as your father thought of Him, was someone all-just and all-powerful, but at the same time far-away and unapproachable?" "Probably so, Father. I must add, though, that my father appeared almost child-like in his faith when he was with us at Mass or when he led our nightly prayers at home." "And what about this parish priest you spoke of?" "Père André." Nick's face relaxed and he smiled a bit. "He was a wonderful old man. At least I remember thinking him old when I was a kid because he was, of course, much older than I was, and his hair and beard were sprinkled with gray. He was very kind to us kids, and we loved him. It was the man himself that we loved, you understand. Not being cooped up every weekday morning for four hours while he taught us." "Four hours every morning! You must have learned enough theology to become monks, let alone good Christian children!" "Oh, he taught us everything. Reading and writing and ciphering, religion and poetry and history, Latin, and even a bit of what passed for science, such as it was. He couldn't possibly have been as old as I thought he was when I was his student, because he lived long enough to preside at my sister Fleur's wedding and to baptize his little namesake, her son André." "And how did he speak of God?" Nick started to speak, then hesitated, as though watching a film strip projected on his inner screen. Natalie and others who had spent any amount of time with Nick could have told the priest that it was fairly commonplace for Nick to fall into a fugue of sorts, what an observer much younger than the elderly priest might refer to as being "spaced out" or "zoned out." Even Fr. de Lourdes had seen it often enough not to be alarmed. "I'm sorry, Father, but so much . . . so many people and things that I haven't thought about for a long, long time are suddenly coming back to me. And so strongly. It sometimes almost freezes me to the spot. I'm amazed. And delighted. I thought that so much from the time Before was lost to me forever. Part of my curse." "What did you just remember, Nicholas?" "I remembered that Père André was something of an actor. When we were little, he loved to act out stories from the Bible with us, especially the stories from the Gospels. His favorites were the Good Shepherd and the Prodigal Son. Only he used to say the real 'prodigal' in the story was the father of the two brothers." "Hmmm, yes. He was the person who gave good things away lavishly, without thinking about who was 'deserving' and who had 'earned' his generosity. And do you remember who the father in that story represents, Nicholas? "He symbolizes God, doesn't he?" "Yes. The father who sets aside his great dignity and importance to run out in the road and meet his weary, hungry, travel-stained child. His joy is so great when he sees his dear son approaching him that he cannot wait. He runs out to meet him, to embrace him just as he is, ragged and dirty from the adventures that took him so far away from his true home and led eventually to the hard and lonely journey back to it. "Nicholas, we are all sinners. All of us. You and I and every man and woman in the world is a sinner at some time or other. God our Father loves us so truly and deeply that He will go─and does go─to great lengths to bring us back to Himself." "Father de Lourdes, listen to me! Please." Nick spoke with the intensity of someone who knows he must be understood, yet fears he is not. "I became what I am in the year 1228. That was 775 years ago! I have stopped killing humans for food, but that was late in the nineteenth century, only a little over a hundred years. Think of the thousands─not hundreds, Father, but thousands─of people I killed during the time when I killed to live. Think of their spirits standing in ranks, like an army of the dead, and think of me, standing before them, alone, covered with their blood. What should I say to them, Father? 'Excuse me. I robbed you of your whole life, with all its potential and possibilities. I fed off you as if you were a butchered animal. I exploited you, terrified you, hurt you in ways that were inhuman. But I'm truly, deeply sorry. Will you please forgive me?' Can you imagine how that would sound?" "If you mean those words sincerely, Nicholas, with all your heart, I would say that is exactly what you should say." "And what do you think their response is likely to be?" "That's up to them. Whatever it is, I'm afraid you have to take it like a man if you want to be forgiven by them--as a man." "And what about the fact that my behavior, was perfectly normal, for a vampire?" "The spirits of those you killed know that by now. You see, Nicholas, don't you, that your human nature and your vampire nature are locked in conflict, and will be as long as you live? What you seek is forgiveness for the man that you are, so that your human nature can be freed to live humanly, to walk in God's Light." "And my vampire nature?" "Perhaps your vampire nature behaved like a beast, exactly as it should, and isn't in need of forgiveness. I don't say with certainty that that is so, only 'perhaps,' but think about it. You refer--and in a sense rightly, I think--to the vampire as 'the Beast' in you. A hungry lion doesn't hunt, kill and eat a deer, and then ask God's forgiveness for doing so. Let us bring your human soul and your human sins before God, and let Him direct us with respect to the vampire in you." Nick seemed tired but satisfied for the moment. Fr. de Lourdes, who had a knack for discerning when either a student's mind or a penitent's soul had been given all it could handle at the moment, knew that today's session was over. "Nicholas, think over what we have said this morning. Don't just think, try to pray about it. Don't listen to that voice within that says you're so evil that God does not, or will not, hear you if you pray. God hears the faintest cry of His most distant child. He has been hearing you all along, or you wouldn't have come this far." "I will, Father. I don't know how well I'll handle the praying part. I think I've prayed recently, but both times it was when someone was in grave and immediate danger. Natalie, that night at the hospital and me, during the awful experience I had the night of our dinner together." "Danger? And what do you suppose you're in now? Spiritually, that is. Don't you realize that war has been declared between two mighty powers, and that you are the prize?" "If that's true, it's terrifying, to say the least. I will think about this, Father. As long and as hard as it takes. I'll even try my hand at praying. Right now, I need to sleep." Nick left Fr. de Lourdes's rooms and headed for his own. Chapter 10 Natalie was feeling stronger than she had in weeks, possibly months. It was a beautiful spring day, with a clear, blue sky, a soft, cool breeze and warm sunshine. She felt ready for a little recuperative self-indulgence in the form of a shopping trip. Nick, of course, could not accompany her, or even chauffer her about in the Caddy, because of the sunlight. Not to mention the fact that in Nat's experience, inviting any male, whether spouse, lover, son or friend, to go along on any shopping expedition belonged on the Don't Ever Do This list along with such activities as putting one's head into a lion's mouth. Natalie had been too busy ever since senior year in college to engage in a lot of the extracurricular activities that would have forged lasting same-sex friendships. Now, in her early thirties, she just didn't have many girlfriends. She remembered Laura Haynes* with a pang, and wondered what Laura, were she still alive and here in Quebec, would have made of an invitation from Nat to accompany her on such a frivolous junket. Well, I don't care. I feel frivolous; I feel wonderful! I have survived a hell of a lot: I'm alive, feeling better than I have in a long, long time, engaged to be married to the most wonderful, most loving, handsomest, sexiest man in the world, and it's springtime! So sue me. On the other hand, it was no fun hunting for new clothes by yourself. On a sudden whim, she decided to ask Sr. Marie des Anges to accompany her. A nun on a fashion quest? Perhaps not as crazy an idea as it might seem. Sr. Marie was young, warm and witty, and a good conversationalist. She had graduated when she was only twenty from a small liberal arts college where she had majored in studio art, with a special emphasis in design. She had educated tastes, and a very good eye for line and color. One of her regular tasks here at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc was to run many of the community's errands, driving their older but serviceable mini-van when she did so. Natalie decided to invite herself along on Sr. Marie's next trip to town, not only for transportation there and back, but also to have an amicable companion for her own private Spring Fling. A little after eight-thirty that morning, Sr. Marie stopped at Natalie's room to see if she was ready to leave. Natalie greeted her and added, "I feel like I'm playing hooky from school. But the doctor did say it was time to get out a little each day in the fresh air and sunshine, and I'm more than ready to escape these four walls." Sr. Marie wore a dark blue linen skirt, a cream-colored blazer and burgundy loafers, and a silver cross and chain identical to that of Sr. Elise. She held a shopping list, a small purse and the car keys. "Let's go, before the stores get too crowded. It's almost nine already." "I'm still moving a bit slowly in the mornings. I've been working the night shift for the past few years, and I still don't have my nights and days turned right-way-round. Do you have many errands today, Sister?" "Call me 'Marie,' please. God knows I'm a religious, and so do you and I. No one else really has to, considering our plans for today." Natalie was concerned for her new friend. "Will going clothes-shopping be a problem for you, ah . . . Marie?" "No, but we're not exactly known for spending the greater part of a day acquiring fashionable clothes and cosmetics. It's not that I'm ashamed of what we're doing, or even embarrassed by it, but in a town with as high a percentage of Catholics as Quebec, I really don't want to call attention to myself." "OK, 'Marie' it is. Have you many errands to run for the sanatorium?" "No, it's really just a few things for the older Sisters in the community. A few of them don't drive, and it helps them if I make these minor purchases. Also, it's less wear on the car, and this way only one Sister at a time is away from the work around here. Are we ready?" Sr. Marie drove well and negotiated traffic skillfully, so the two women soon arrived at the Old City. They were very fortunate to find one of the few on-street parking places available, locked the car, fed the meter, and headed out on their fashion quest. "You know, Natalie, if you're really planning a whole new wardrobe, you'd do much better at the big stores back in Toronto, or even in Montréal." "I realize that, Marie," but I don't want many things. Just one or two lovely things to make me feel less like a tired, old drone, or an invalid. I'll buy my trousseau in Toronto, when we get back." "That's right, you're engaged! To that handsome Detective Knight! He is so caring, to take a leave of absence from his work with the police force to stand by you in your illness." "Obviously, the religious community at the sanatorium, like most places, has a grapevine, and it has twined a few of its tendrils around Nick," Natalie thought. "I wonder what the good Sisters would say if they knew Nick was taking such good care of me because he's the one who caused my most recent health crisis." She immediately corrected herself. "That isn't fair to Nick because it's not entirely true. My exhaustion and general rundown condition has been developing for some time, thanks to my bad habits." Natalie soon realized that Marie was right about the relatively small selection. Just as she was starting to tire, Marie spotted a shop, not far from the Chateau Frontenac. It had an air of quiet elegance, and as is customary in such establishments, there was relatively little on display. A salesperson greeted them cordially and asked if she could help them. Natalie responded that she was looking for a dress for formal wear that would make her look, and feel, special for her fiancé. "Oui, Mademoiselle. Please be seated, ladies, and I will have some items brought out for your consideration." After only a short time spent in considering a few simple, elegant selections, the attendants brought out a gown that Natalie immediately realized was The Dress. It was made of an exceptionally fine and sheer peau de soie, in a shade of gold so light, so nearly silver-gilt, it resembled the palest sunlight, the kind you see early on an autumn morning, when the sun is fighting the last vestiges of fog, and winning. The illusion that the dress was actually made of light was reinforced by the fact that the fabric had a subtle shimmer that would gently radiate every time she moved. It was simple and unadorned, with a floor-length skirt and long sleeves and a neckline that seemed to hang from the very tips of her shoulders. Natalie felt it was exactly right even before she tried it on, and after she saw her reflection in the full-length mirrors, she knew that she had to have it. Sr. Marie entirely agreed, and remarked that it made Nat look like a young queen, on her way to her coronation. Of course there was no price tag. In shops like this, there never is; "If you have to ask, you can't afford it." Natalie was paid a very decent salary as a forensic pathologist for the Metropolitan Police Department of the City of Toronto. Up until now she had lived very frugally, and lately she could be said hardly to have lived at all. Inbred habits of budgeting, doing without something until she could pay the full price in cash, and saving for a rainy day were all put firmly on hold as she reached for her seldom-used credit card. "The Dress," as Natalie had already begun to think of it required everything else to go with it, of the same beauty and quality. It came with a long wrap, like a cape, but with convenience of sleeves, which Nat was sure she would need on a Quebec evening, even in late spring. Lingerie, hosiery, shoes and purse, all of them harmonizing perfectly with The Dress, all of them exquisitely beautiful and breathtakingly expensive, were available at the shop, and were added to her purchases. Natalie was more than satisfied with the morning's accomplishments, but was beginning to feel tired. The two women returned to the car, and a few brief stops at a drugstore and a store that sold fabrics and sewing supplies soon completed Sr. Marie's mundane errands. To avoid overtiring Natalie, they decided to return directly to Ste. Jeanne d'Arc, instead of lunching at a restaurant as they had originally planned. By 2:30 in the afternoon they were back, and Natalie had put away her purchases carefully, as the overall effect was to be a surprise for Nick. A short time later, Natalie slept. She dreamed she wore a gown woven in the colors of champagne and the palest silvery sunlight as she waltzed away in Nick's arms. _________ * Last Knight (Season 3) End of Chapter 10 Chapter 11 While Natalie indulged the romantic side of her nature, purchasing beautiful clothes and dreaming of wearing them in a romantic setting with Nick, the object of her affections embarked on an adventure of a very different sort. The day had begun badly for him. He raced the sun back to the sanatorium as he often did, arriving with only a few minutes to spare. He did not go to Nat's room, as he knew she was still sleeping, and had plans to spend the day shopping with Sr. Marie des Anges. He was surprised to find that he was a little jealous that Natalie was doing something that did not involve him. Back in their old life in Toronto they often pursued separate activities, sometimes not seeing each other for several days. Yet this was different: They weren't in Toronto; they weren't working; they had both declared their love for each other and even harbored an improbable, but persistent hope that they would be married. He shrugged off the unpleasant feeling, and stopped briefly at his room where he drank from a bottle of bloodwine, then went into the bathroom to clean up a bit. He had most of the morning to get through before the cleaning staff would finish and he could return for his day's sleep. He would have headed for Fr. de Lourdes' rooms to see if he might be available for conversation, but the elderly priest was attending a meeting of cultural anthropologists at Laval University in Montréal. He had left early yesterday morning, and would not be home until sometime tomorrow. Nick was, quite simply, bored. He had nothing to do, no one to do it with and nowhere to go. Of course there was the rigorous mental and spiritual task set for him by Fr. de Lourdes, that he suspected might hurt a bit or at least require strenuous effort, and that he was trying to avoid as long as possible. It was the day after his conference with his spiritual mentor in which they had approached the subject of his seeking forgiveness, as a man, for the daily killing he had done for much of his vampire existence. He was almost glad that the priest was not there. He felt embarrassed at the thought of asking again for help, when he had made no attempt to think and pray about what they had discussed. Pray, anyway. Nick had thought about his sinful past all the time he was awake yesterday, and all through the long night. He had been a moody, unresponsive companion during yesterday evening's brief visit with Natalie, and his mood showed no signs of improving. In fact, Nick felt more and more ill at ease as the morning wore on. In addition to their regular daily tasks, the cleaning staff was stripping and re-waxing the floors in the visiting staff wing where Nick was staying, which involved moving the few pieces of furniture in each room out into the hallway, and returning it once the job was done. Although Nick's was the only unit currently occupied, and the staff supervisor, who knew he slept during the day, had promised that his quarters would receive priority treatment, he would not be able to get into his room to sleep till well after noon. This meant either getting less sleep or shortening his evening visit with Natalie. He wandered about, avoiding sunlit rooms, feeling restless, gloomy, and a bit sorry for himself. He felt homeless; there seemed to be no place in the sanatorium where he really belonged. For the first time since his arrival, Nick felt out of synch with the expressed purpose of the sanatorium, which was to provide a place of healing, rest and harmony. Not only was there little evidence of either rest or harmony in his life at present, but now that he thought of it, he was not really healthy either. He was starting to feel vaguely trapped at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc. The actual building felt confining and he perceived the people here, especially the staff, as emitting something he called, for want of a better word, a kind of hostility, although no one had said or done anything to him to support this perception. More than once, he felt the Beast within begin to stir, and once actually felt the signs emerge. Thankfully, he was alone in a stairwell at the time. He could not imagine what he would have done if he had been passing an elderly patient, a young nurse, or one of the Sisters in the hallway as his fangs became visible, his eyes began to glow like burning sulfur, and he produced an involuntary hiss. He had cleverly talked his way out of many a dangerous situation of near- discovery in the past, but sincerely doubted that all his abilities--human and vampiric combined--would be equal to explaining to an eighty-year-old nun why he looked like . . . well, like the very devil. What was especially frightening about this aberration was that he did not will the Beast to dominate. Not only had he not called it forth, but he was not conscious of being in a threatening situation at the time, so that the change from man to vampire might be swift and instinctual. There seemed to be no reason for it, and it was out of his control. At last Nick took temporary refuge in the small historical archive room in the library. There were no windows, so he was safe from sunlight. The room had very few visitors, so perhaps he could be alone with his thoughts for a short while. He feared that he had placed both Natalie and himself in grave danger by trusting Fr. de Lourdes so completely. His attitude the night he met the strange little priest had been: "What have I got to lose?" Now, Nick realized, "Quite a bit, actually. Perhaps my un-life, such as it is, if the Enforcers decide that I, and Nat, and even Fr. de Lourdes are a menace to the vampire community. Yes, quite a bit. I need to pull back from this new spiritual quest for the Light. Just being able to live as a human will be more than enough for me. What makes me think I need God on top of that? I've gotten along fine all these centuries walking outside the Light, haven't I? I should start to put some distance between myself and Fr. de Lourdes and his ideas. OK, he's a kind old man and he means well. I don't have to buy into it, do I? All this damned thinking about my life Before, about Joan and her promise to pray for her poor, 'cursed' knight. All I need is my own determination and strength of will." This side of the debate in Nick's mind had barely played itself out when the opposition spoke up. He found himself reviewing the amazing events of the past few weeks, in an attempt at objectivity. "It hasn't exactly been 'business as usual,' has it? First, I broke my solemn vow to myself to not EVER act on my true feelings for Nat, no matter what. And where did that get us? I nearly killed her. Natalie, my love! Thank God I was able to fly with her to the hospital ER. Next, as we're speaking of God, I have sincerely prayed--twice. I have spoken freely, at length and in depth, to a priest about my soul and the state it's in. I have formally proposed marriage to Natalie, although with that caveat 'if it somehow becomes possible,' and she has accepted. What else? Oh yes, I've begun to wear a crucifix next to my skin--with no ill effects. During that bizarre out-of-body thing I went through at Campion House, I actually laughed out loud in the face of Satan. "What am I doing to myself? Or should I say, 'What's happening to me?' After all these years, can I dare to ask--to hope--that I am receiving and somehow responding to . . . what? . . . the Grace of God? Me? Nick Knight/Nicolas de Brabant, who had chosen to become a creature of the night, cut off forever from the True Light? I am the Prodigal Son, wearied by the burden of my sins, lonely for the companionship of those who walk in the Light? I am homesick. Is the door to my true home forever closed to me? It was not that he had "become mortal." Nick was still a vampire, and had come to accept in a new way that he always would be a vampire. But he was also human, and he was becoming increasingly aware of his humanity. Ever since he met Fr. de Lourdes he found himself claiming more and more of his ability to think and act humanly in matters of the spirit and the heart. The most basic decisions had been made and acted upon slowly and painfully over the centuries. To kill no more than he needed. To kill only those who "deserved to die." To kill no one at all for food. To drink only beef blood. As the decisions he made and acted upon drew him closer to his goal and farther away from the vampire world, the calls to change came closer together, the first taking centuries, the most recent covering only a little more than a hundred years. Nick had a sudden yet perfectly clear insight that, rather than regaining his humanity through a sudden cure, he was re-affirming the humanity that had been there all along, existing as an intimidated and sometimes overwhelmed host to the stronger vampire nature. His human nature was becoming more and more bold, reasserting itself. With each positive choice and action, his humanity, with its strengths and weaknesses, hopes, desires, loves and memories became more empowered and dominant. He reasoned that the Beast would of course find this situation threatening, and would become restless and attempt to regain lost ground. Nick had known for centuries, of course, that he could control the vampire in him by means of his human will. But this was hard, always hard, and sometimes his strength of will was not enough, as he and Nat learned on what they had already begun to refer to as "that night in the loft." Not only could he hold the vampire back from hunting and feeding upon human prey, but he could direct his vampire-powers in such a way that they were used only for deeds that were morally good. He could not imagine being without his special enhancements, some of which he began to reflect upon critically. "Flying, he reflected, "is great, and always will be. How could I possibly have saved Nat after I almost killed her if I had not been able to fly with her to the hospital in only a few minutes? Besides," he admitted with a sheepish grin, "flying is fun." He flew a little every night. There was a purity and clarity in the skies, especially when the moon was small or altogether dark that he could never find when walking or driving. Lately, he had come to experience hope almost as a palpable thing when he flew above the sleeping city. His senses of sight, hearing, smell, taste and touch were all much greater than those he possessed when only a mortal, and they all could be put to the service of the good, as they had been many times in his work with the Toronto police force. While he occasionally used his ability to hypnotize in a way that sidestepped the law just a little, he had not used it for any truly evil purpose in well over a century. "Total recall." Nick admitted to himself, "Now there's a mixed blessing. My ability to recall everything that I have ever done, said or thought --or, for that matter, even desired--will come in handy . . . sort of . . . when I get ready to subject poor Fr. de Lourdes to my first confession in nearly 800 years" Nick chuckled wryly at the prospect, and it was several moments before he realized that he had said "when," and not "if." End of Chapter 11 Chapter 12 "OK," Nick muttered to himself, "I seem to have made a major decision. Some time, when this is all over, I'm going to use my perfect recall to count up the number of amazing, unprecedented things that I've done or that have been 'done to me' this spring." The decision, of course, was that he would take Fr. de Lourdes's strongly urgent advice to return to the sacraments of the Church after nearly 800 years of belonging to what members of the British Parliament referred to as the "loyal opposition." As is often the case, the very fact of having reached a decision lifted the pressure, and Nick felt the tension and paranoia leave him. In its place, he drifted into a peaceful lassitude which, combined with the fact that it was now about 10:30 a.m. and he was truly in need of sleep, left him almost nodding off as he sat at a table in the sequestered little archive room. "I'm stuck here for at least another hour," Nick realized, glancing at his watch. "Might as well find something to read." He had more than a passing interest in history--understandable, as he had been present for a great deal of the past, so to speak. He enjoyed filling the blank spaces in his knowledge of the times he had passed through, sometimes hardly more than a darker shadow in the dark night. He knew nothing about the history of the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc or about the religious community of women who had established it and still staffed it. Partly out of curiosity and partly because he was looking for something that he might find moderately boring that would help him slide into sleep after his troublesome morning, ("always assuming I ever get to my bed," he grumbled), Nick chose A Brief History of the Congregation of the Sisters of the Divine Mercy. The congregation had been founded in northern France, early in the 1700s, by Sophie Toussaint, a young woman who greatly admired Joan of Arc. The Maid of Orléans was already regarded as a saint by many French people, even though she would not be officially canonized by the Church until 1920. It was not the image of Joan wearing armor and riding a horse into battle that won her, but rather the simple faith of the young peasant girl from Lorraine, not far from where Sophie herself had been born. As she grew into young womanhood, Sophie became increasingly aware that France again needed to be saved, not from the English as in Joan's day, but from great, unmet needs in many areas of ordinary life. Many villages had no school in which children could learn even simple skills and the basics of their faith, and often the poor, elderly and housebound went without food, fuel, and most important of all, the sense of being loved and cared for by someone who expected no return. Encouraged by her parish priest, Sophie and two young women who were her friends began to teach the village children reading, writing and the catechism, meeting secretly in an abandoned barn. They also cared and provided for the sick who were too poor or too alone to have anyone else to look after them. Nick continued to read, rapidly but with a high degree of comprehension, and retention, through the description of the communal life and spiritual formation of the young women who soon joined Sophie, and of the eventual approval of their community as the Congregation of the Sisters of the Divine Mercy by Pope Clement XI in 1720, shortly before his death. As he had hoped, the history of the community's foundation and early years held only a slight and very limited interest for him. He started to skim the pages quickly, and actually felt the book grow heavy in his hands as he started to nod towards sleep. He glanced at his watch and was relieved to note that it was at last late enough in the morning that he could reasonably hope to get into his apartment. He picked up the book and returned quickly to his room, carefully avoiding sunlit areas. Nick showered and got into bed, but sleep remained just out of reach. He wearily picked up the book from his bedside table. Hoping to coax his eyelids down to sleep-mode, he returned to the pious but bland narrative of the congregation's history in France before their mission was extended to the New World. Suddenly Nick's inner vision was jolted to full wakefulness. He was back in France, in 1820, and he was on the run from those who would kill him for being what he was.* Burned, filthy and exhausted, seeking shelter from the mob and the rising sun, both too close for comfort, he had dragged himself into a dark cellar, not knowing where he was. Someone was coming from within the house! He hissed as he hid behind a pillar, his fangs descended and his eyes glowed a malevolent, sulfuric yellow. He withheld his attack just long enough to realize that he was not likely be in danger from the young girl who entered the cellar. She was dressed in plain, dark clothing, with a white covering of some sort around her head and neck. She knew he was there, and had called out to him, exhibiting no fear at all. He could feel his burns already starting to heal, but remained cautiously in deep shadow while he "recomposed" his face along lines more acceptable to mortals. She had pitied his condition, that of an outcast and fugitive, and had offered him food and drink, as well as salve and bandages for his injuries. He could not eat the food, and soon would have no injuries to dress, but her offer, made out of love and compassion, was no less welcome, as it warmed his lonely, aching heart with a healing touch. They had spoken briefly by candlelight while he redistributed as much as possible of the supper she had brought, trying to make the tray look as though it had been set upon by a starving man, and at the same time discreetly creating a midnight feast for the convent mice to discover. They had shared a love of music, and she had given him a music box and a few coins which she still retained among her personal possessions. She was only a postulant--a "promised one"--in the Congregation of the Sisters of the Divine Mercy, and she was being gently led to the time when she would decide whether to begin her novitiate in the life of a sister vowed to evangelical poverty, chastity and obedience. At the present moment, she still retained a few possessions that she was supposed to be gradually relinquishing. Later that night, little Soeur Marise would relinquish her dearest possession on this earth--her life--and not at all gradually. LaCroix, seeking the safety and well-being of his "son," would come upon her as she left the cellars. He would be tired, hungry, angry and worried, and would react to the presence and the scent of one so young and sweetly unspoiled like, . . . well, like the vampire he was. Nicholas knew that Soeur Marise had not actually sacrificed her life for him, but she died because she was near him, helping him. Had she remained upstairs where she had spent most of the day, praying in the chapel, working with the other sisters, or walking in the sunlit convent garden, and finally sleeping in her cell, her path and that of LaCroix might never have crossed, and she might have lived for many years in peace. She too, had assured him of her prayers. Sr. Marise, Jeanne d'Arc, Alyssa von Linz, his mother Marie, his sister Fleur, perhaps--if she did not resent him even in eternity for coming between her and a long, long un-life with Lacroix--how many good people had he killed, or hurt, or tried to hurt, or placed in danger, who had forgiven him and prayed for him daily in the court of God? The very soul of this place, this sanatorium whose history was interwoven with Joan, and with Marise and her religious community, spoke to him lovingly of the Church he had not thought of for years with anything but fear and even loathing, but which it now seemed was drawing him patiently, inexorably back to itself. As he drifted off at last toward sleep in the heavily shadowed room, Nick's thoughts circled slowly, a waltz of mystery within mystery. Why was he here? To be with Natalie, his love, and to care for her and protect her, no matter the cost. Why was Natalie here? To recuperate from a near-fatal attack for which he, Nick, was solely responsible. But she was here also to be healed and renewed after a long, lonely, frustrating period in her own life, in which she had seen much sorrow and suffering and very little of Love and Joy. How did he and Natalie get here? On the recommendation of a little old priest-scholar, somewhat fussy and formal, but nonetheless very kind, who claimed to have come in contact with others of Nick's kind in the course of his anthropological studies and field-work, not only Children of the Night, but those among them who were starved for the Light, and wanted somehow to reach it again, and not just the light of day, either. How did Fr. de Lourdes seem to know so much about him without being told? Why wasn't Sr. Élise more curious? Then there were all the other factors: The ease with which he had obtained a leave of absence from the Metro Police; the fact that there were living quarters available at the sanatorium, living quarters which could be conveniently sealed off from the light of day, to name just two of the unexpected blessings which had touched his and Natalie's lives this spring. Why did Nick persist in sensing a Presence at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc which seemed sometimes to be hostile and terrifying and yet at others to be most utterly and irresistibly attractive? Why did he seem to be invisible to the vampire community-at-large? Not only did his fears regarding the Enforcers seem to be groundless, but where the hell was LaCroix? Not that Nick had the slightest desire to see him at this exact time, but it was unlike him to leave Nick alone for this long, especially as Nick's human heart and human will seemed to be making major gains over the will of the vampire within. Were all these factors just coincidences? Nick was reminded of an old saying of none other than former-Roman General Lucius, none more recently as Lucien LaCroix, "Once is happenstance; twice is coincidence; thrice is sabotage." Nicholas slept. ________ * Capital Offense (Season 2) Chapter 13 Nick was much more tired than he realized when he finally got to bed at slightly after noon. Exhausted as he was, he still didn't fall asleep till nearly one in the afternoon. Like Natalie, he slept through the afternoon, but he also slept on through part of the evening, whereas Natalie awoke refreshed, in time for a good dinner and what she hoped would be a pleasant evening. She had become curious when it got to be half-past seven, then eight o'clock, with no sign of her knight errant, but she recalled his moody, restless silence of the evening before, and realized that he had heavy issues with which to wrestle. She left a note pinned to the cork message board on her door, to let him know that she was in the Patients' Lounge, watching a movie on cable television. When nine-thirty came and Nick still hadn't appeared, Natalie began to feel worried and lost interest in the movie. The evening had grown noticeably cooler, so she stopped briefly at her room to pick up her jacket before going down to Nick's. She had just raised her hand to knock when his door opened. He wore a white, open-necked shirt and black slacks. His hair was still damp from the shower and his deep blue eyes were alight, but with a very human, not vampire, glow. "Hi!" Natalie smiled, "You must have heard the patter of my tiny feet in the hall." "I heard your heartbeat as soon as you started down the stairs. It sounds like no other to me; it never will." He kissed her even more tenderly than usual and held her close for a moment. "Nat, come out with me? So much has happened that I need to fly a bit, but tonight I don't want to be alone; I want you with me. I have so much to tell you, and it should be out under the stars." "Honey, it's twenty minutes to ten. You know I have to be back at least in my room, if not in bed, by ten o'clock." "Get a late pass." Nick grabbed a jacket. "Just this once. I'll have you back no later than eleven. Please?" "Okay. I've been such a good little patient, and I did have a long nap this afternoon. Let's see what they say." They walked together up the stairs and hand-in-hand down the hallway to the second-floor Nurse's Station. Natalie stood at the desk and Nick was a little behind her, out of her range of vision, so she would never really know whether she had employed exactly the right combination of humility and assertiveness, or whether Nick had utilized his mesmerizing gaze, silently, to bend the will of the senior staff nurse. For whatever reason, the late pass was issued, and Nick and Natalie slipped away quickly. In the very first patch of deep shadow, shielded by a small rise of wooded land, Nick scooped her up in his arms, and rose with her, high above the sanatorium. There was no moon, and they were high enough to escape casual notice, yet Nick was cautious. "I'm going to land soon, if that's OK with you. Don't want to give a heart attack to some poor kid who's just trying out the telescope he got for his birthday. Warm enough?" "Yes, thanks." Nat's response was somewhat muffled, as her face was half-buried in Nick's shoulder, but she was clear enough to be heard, and too blissfully happy for the moment to want to talk more. How she had wanted, and needed this closeness, almost--if she were completely honest with herself--from the night they met, in the City Morgue, among gurneys and body-bags, surgical instruments and bags of donated blood. If she and Nick ever had children the "Mommy-and-Daddy,-how-did-you-meet?" question was going to take some creative answering! Nat giggled to herself at the thought. She could hardly believe their good fortune, or gift of grace, or whatever it was--made all the more poignant by the fragility of their hope for the future. He set them down in a quiet corner of an out-of-the way little park, which was empty and closed for the night. They sat together on a bench in deep shadow where it would be virtually impossible for a touring night-watchman--if there was one--to see them. She could tell that he was filled with some sort of news and might be in danger of exploding if he didn't soon get the chance to share it. "So. Here we are. Now, what's on your mind?" "What makes you think I've got something on my mind?" "Well, apart from your saying, back at the san, that you had much to tell me, there's also the fact that you look like you're ready to burst." Natalie's mind again flashed briefly on those hypothetical children they might one day have, and she knew all at once that they'd never be able to lie to her and get away with it. Especially the boys. "OK. Since you insist." Nick's face suddenly appeared both solemn and very joyous, and there was no conflict between the two states. "I've come to realize something enormously important, both to my 'cure' and to our future as well. By the way, Fr. de Lourdes is right; it won't be a 'cure' at all, as you and I understand that word." Natalie looked at him expectantly, wondering if his mention of their future was cause for alarm, but she read nothing in his face but love and hope. "Darling, think of all the attempts I've made to find a cure and to return to mortality, just since we've known each other. Add to those all the other attempts over the centuries that I've told you about. Then there are all the others that I haven't told you about. Apart from the first few centuries, there has been very little time in nearly eight hundred years when I haven't been either actively trying to regain my humanity, or thinking about regaining it and wishing it could be done, or following the trail of an artifact, such as the Mayan cup or the Abbarat, hoping against hope that I could somehow undo the choice I made in Paris, on that night in 1228. "Nat, we search and search for a solution to a tormenting problem. We work as hard as we can toward reaching a goal. But all the hard work and deep thought in the world isn't going to help us if we're driving as fast as we can down the wrong road, in the wrong direction. "Fr. de Lourdes has led me to see that if I want to repent effectively, I first have to ask God to forgive me for the crimes against Him and against humanity that I've committed, in my life Before as well as since I became what I am. I owe that much to God, simply because He's God. "God's grace comes to all His children under many forms, sometimes even disguises. I think the way I'm supposed to do that is by returning to the practice of the Catholic faith. I have hardly been a model churchman in, oh, say, 770+ years or so, but I haven't sworn my allegiance to any other faith or idea of the Godhead, either. This is what I am, however bad I've been about "keeping the faith," as they say. I feel that the Church is still my path to salvation. This is something I really want to do, and choose to do, because I now believe it's what God wants of me and what I must do, if I'm really repentant for my actions during all those years. "Next--and I also owe this insight to Fr. de Lourdes, or at least to my talks with him--I've got to place myself, in my mind, before the spirits of all those people I have killed and exploited in so many ways. I have to beg their forgiveness for the grave wrong I have done to them and to their loved ones, just as though they were "really" standing before me." "My God, Nick, can you do that? Will they know who you are and what you're trying to do? Aren't you afraid of what will happen if they refuse your plea for pardon? Or if only a few refuse? Aren't you somehow vulnerable to their hatred and desire for vengeance?" Although she was adequately dressed for the weather, Natalie shivered in Nick's arms. She remembered a time, less than a year ago, when she, Nick and Tracy Vetter spent part of a night in a haunted house while working together on a case.* Each had experienced "ghosts" from their earlier life. Nick had had a conversation with the spirit of his late wife, his bride of one night, Alyssa von Linz de Brabant. She had told him that she had forgiven him, but that there were many who had not, and that his quest for forgiveness was doomed to failure. Nick had told her the story in complete detail, some weeks later, when they were alone together in his loft. Alyssa's words to Nick had always caused Natalie heartache, because she knew how they endangered his fragile hope. "As far as knowing who I am and what I'm trying to say to them, I think they will. As to whether they will accept my apology, well . . . it doesn't matter. I still have to do it. I'm the one who's completely in the wrong. I'm not making their choices for them, and I'm not responsible for those choices. They can forgive me or not, as they see fit. My responsibility is to ask for forgiveness, not to get it." "What about Alyssa's words to you, Nick? She's there--in eternity, I mean. Wouldn't she know whether your victims forgive you?" "Listen, Nat, Alyssa was a sweet, lovely young woman, and I loved her so much that when she died, I wished that I could die too. But she isn't God. There's no particular reason why she would be omniscient, even in heaven. Something else, too. Do you remember I told you that one of the things I remember from Before was Fr. André teaching us that Satan is the "father of lies and death"? He's a master-illusionist, Nat. Fear, intimidation, envy, confusing the real issues, and, most of all, despair are his favorite weapons. What if I didn't see an apparition of Alyssa at all that night in that insane old house, but a clever illusion? I'm not saying that was the case. I just want to point out another possible reason not to place too much trust in what the apparition 'said.' Remember how tired and burned out we were that autumn? How everywhere we turned we were reminded that the forces of evil were strong. I think my life has been moving toward this hour, this moment, for--well, not to exaggerate in the least--nearly 800 years." "Whoa! Nick, darling, hold up a minute! There is nothing in the world I would rather see than you happy and at peace with your soul, but . . . well, I'm sorry to say it, my love, but the word 'megalomania' does come to mind." "OK, I admit it sounds that way, but that's not what I mean. This is about me, but ultimately about much more than me." Nick paused for a beat and actually took one of his rare breaths. He looked and sounded calmer, less intense, as he laughed a little and said, "You're right. Seems like a lot of trouble for either the Good or the Bad Guys to go to over Nicholas-the-Knaughty-Knight getting his soul scrubbed, buffed, waxed and detailed. "But I do really believe this, Nat. I think what's coming to a crisis-point in my--for want of a better word--'life' is going to have far-reaching effects, all over the earth. I can only see what's happening to me right now, first of all, because it's happening to me (and it's really grabbing all my attention, believe me), and second, because it's hard to see 'the forest for the trees.' That is, to see the forest as a whole, when a large tree seems to be about to fall on you." "Ok, OK, Nick. Then let's just concentrate on what's going on with you at this point. And me. And us." "If I'm to get you back to the san, even flying, by eleven o'clock, I'm going to have to talk a little faster, and maybe even get to the point. Just listen for now. For some reason it seems urgent to fill you in right away on what I've discovered thus far. I want your thoughts and feelings about this. But let's save them till tomorrow. Agreed?" "Agreed," Natalie replied, with quite uncharacteristic meekness. _______ * Dead of Night (Season 3) Chapter 14 Nick settled them a little more comfortably on the bench. "Then there's the whole question of 'a house divided against itself.' That's another reason for getting back to the Faith." "Huh? Say what?" "For the past hundred or so years--quite a bit longer, actually--I've been trying to make up for the evil things I've done by using my powers --human and vampiric--to do good, to help people. But always without seeking the aid of God and those who are on His side. Almost as though it would be a kind of 'cheating' if I had help, but mostly because I was so afraid, Natalie, of what would happen to me if I asked. Not my smartest decision ever." "Well, don't be too hard on yourself. LaCroix and even Janette tried as hard as they could to convince you that the door to the Light was closed to you forever." "They were just trying to get me to see reality as they saw it. Oddly enough, since I've started to see things more clearly, I'm less angry with LaCroix than I have been. 'According to his lights,' as Fr. de Lourdes would say, LaCroix really wanted what was best for me. Janette, too. LaCroix truly loves me as his son. He told me, the time I saved his life during the Crimean War, that he had not brought me across just on a whim of his, but because of something bigger than us, something 'Fate' had decreed. That's how LaCroix would think and speak about it, given his background. But what if it was God, not 'Fate'? "No, Nat, I'm not saying God made me a vampire, or wills any of us to be vampires. The idea of setting ourselves up against Him, seeking an immortality of our own making, regarding human beings only as a source of food and entertainment--all that is wrong. But maybe God--I don't know, I'm still pretty rusty at all this--maybe God decided to work with what we gave Him somehow. That's why I think this incredible grace, this amazing change, in my life is about something much bigger than me, something that somehow involves both of us. "I just couldn't begin to see it, stuck in a rut as I was. I was so torn up with guilt I couldn't shed and angst I couldn't share or leave behind. It's a miracle I didn't drive myself out of my mind and keep right on going . . . out for a walk in the sunlight." Natalie said nothing, but tears stung her eyes, and she tightened her hold on him till her arms actually hurt. "Oh Nick, Nick, I'm so glad you didn't. Now that we're really together, I don't know how I lived without you, or what I'd do if ever I lost you." They held each other in silence for a moment before Nick resumed his narrative. "It seems very clear to me now that there has been a wide network, one might almost say a conspiracy, in place bringing us to each other and to this time and place." "Another example of God's 'writing straight with crooked lines'?" Natalie murmured this very softly, but Nick's keen hearing picked it up, and he smiled and kissed her hair. "I think that may be literally true. Do you realize that the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc is practically a fortress? So many lines of influence for the good from my past intersect here. Joan, patroness of the Sanatorium. Also one of the first people to have a positive and strong influence on me for the good after I was brought across, standing up to me, promising to pray for me, then giving me evidence of her strong faith and incredible courage. "Then Marise, also a brave, strong woman who had only love in her generous heart, love for God, love for beauty and music, and love for the scarred and hideous outcast who hid in the cellar like a rat while others hunted him and would kill him if they could. Nat, I found out today that her religious community was the same one that founded and still staffs this sanatorium. Coincidence? "And the sanatorium. It's almost as if the physical building itself is some kind of outpost of the forces of Good, a place under special protection, where an Evil presence would not be at all comfortable. "So many good people over the years! The paths of their lives and my un-life crossed briefly. Some were my victims, and it is all the more amazing that they forgave me and prayed for my return to the Light. Later there were many whom I tried to help in their trouble. How many of them prayed in their own fashion to God, however they picture or name Him, for the broody, mysterious guy who tried to help them? "Then the crisis--the 'now-or-maybe-never' moment that night in the loft. Why, why, why didn't LaCroix kill us both? I know now that he loves me as his son. Within the code of behavior he learned as a mortal in pagan Rome, would he not have complied with my wish for death? Did he know that the purpose for making me what I am had not yet been fulfilled? "Fr. de Lourdes. I don't think I'll ever know what's going on there. I should have been at least mildly repulsed, perhaps even alarmed, when he moved in too closely, revealing entirely too much knowledge of my nature and identity. Nat, I never wanted to hurt him, or even 'whammy' him, so that he would forget me and what he knows about me. When we were together, I felt safe, sheltered from the turmoil and anguish in my life, in my soul. For the first time in . . . centuries, I felt as though I was once again in a space where I could learn, and think, and make real choices that would impact the state of my soul. That I had a chance. Hope . . . ." "' . . . is the thing with feathers,'" Nat said softly, "'that perches in the soul.' I can't remember the rest of it, but that's the start of a poem by Emily Dickinson, and I can't think for the life of me what brought it to mind now." "I never told you, Nat, but I knew Emily briefly. It was early in 1861. I was staying with a Dr. Lyman Atwell, in Amherst, Massachusetts, polishing my skills and updating my knowledge of emergency medical procedures. There weren't enough fully qualified doctors to go around, so both sides were grateful for any reasonably competent assistance they could get. "Atwell was a friend of the Dickinsons, so I was invited, with him, to their home, where I met and spoke with Emily. She was a delightful woman--unconventionally beautiful, shy yet passionate, animated and intelligent. A good conversationalist when she allowed you to know her. I was soon to leave for Manassas Junction, Virginia, where both the Battles of Bull Run would be fought. She had only just written that poem about Hope. We discussed it, and I came away feeling oddly comforted, as though there really was something 'perched' in my soul that would always be with me, as long as I lived, singing 'the song without the words,' giving me courage. I never forgot Emily, or her poem.' He grinned, part ruefully, and scratched his head, "She's probably been praying for me all these years, too. I seem to be haunted by good women, who just won't stand by and let me be damned." "As long as I'm the one you come home to each morning before the sun, those other ladies may pray away to their heart's content, with my blessing." Natalie smiled up at him and realized that whatever the future might hold she was, at that moment, a very happy woman. "Speaking of 'going home,' we're a long way from sunrise, but we do have to get you back to the san by eleven, and we're cutting it pretty close. We'll talk more tomorrow, but I just wanted you to know the steps that led to my decision. I'm going to confess to Fr. de Lourdes as soon as he's available after he returns from his meeting tomorrow. It will be interesting to see what kind of penances is given to people like me these days. I'm glad there are no more Crusades he can send me on." "Nick, there aren't any 'people like you,'" Nat teased. "But I'm sure our amazing little priest is equal to the occasion. I believe I'll go to see him for the same purpose myself, before you wear him out completely! It hasn't been 800 years, but it's been long enough." Nick swept Natalie up into the air and flew them back to Ste. Jeanne d'Arc. As there was a low cloud cover, they could be a little less cautious and travel at a lower altitude than they would have been able to do, had the moon and stars been visible. They were soon on the ground behind the darkened windows of the sanatorium kitchen. They walked around to the front door and up to the second floor Nurse's Station to check Nat back in, with a whole two-and-a-half minutes to spare. After they kissed goodnight, Nat entered her room and closed the door. Nick turned slowly and walked, not towards the staircase leading to his first floor apartment, but in a different direction. He had work to do. Chapter 15 Once again, Nicolas de Brabant knelt in a candle-lit chapel, keeping an all-night vigil on the eve of a significant day. He had made similar vigils when he was a youth--although much shorter, each lasting only an hour or two--before his first Confession and first Communion, and again before his Confirmation. Later, when he was 20 years old and considered to be on the brink of manhood, he made the Great Vigil, lasting the entire night before the day on which he would be knighted. Tonight's vigil marked an event of no lesser magnitude: he was about to return to the practice of his Faith after nearly 800 years, and he needed time to prepare. Where to begin? When he entered the chapel, he noticed a rack of literature in the small vestibule. He picked up a booklet with the provocative title Confession--It's Been a While, So What Do I Do? He leafed through it, noting that it had been written for persons who had been away from the sacraments for a considerable time, which the author conceded might be "even as long as 30 or 40 years." "Oh my friend, if you only knew," Nick smiled ironically as he glanced briefly through the pamphlet. He found the same five elements that had to be present for reception of the sacrament that he had learned from Fr. André, although in slightly different words. First, Examination of Conscience. Nick, because of his vampire-characteristic of total recall, not only could remember everything he had ever done, but could not forget, even if he wanted to. He knew that he did not have to mention each instance of each sin (in his case that would literally take years), that his sins could be grouped by their kind and number, and that if he mentioned the details of one particular sin, it would only be because there was something about the circumstances that might add to, or diminish, his responsibility, therefore his personal guilt, for that sin. Second, Sorrow for Sin. Anyone who knew Nick, especially Nick himself, could not doubt that he was deeply contrite. He had suffered untold angst for his crimes, and had tried for over a century to somehow atone for them. Third, Purpose of Amendment. Nick certainly had gone to great and painstaking lengths to avoid taking human life, or using human blood. He had not been perfect in keeping to this over the past century, but had done so well that there could be no question that his resolve to refrain from taking human blood was sincere. Also, he no longer sought unlimited love affairs, but wanted to be faithful to Natalie alone. He had become scrupulous with regard to the vast fortune he had accumulated in previous centuries, often by criminal means, using the money only for good purposes that were somehow related to atonement for his past. He was as truthful as he could be, and when the greater necessity of keeping his vampire identity secret led him to lie, this pained him, even though the lie was the lesser of two evils. Fourth, Confession. The penitent was to confess his sins to a priest. Nick had already decided to ask Fr. de Lourdes tomorrow to be his confessor. Fifth, acceptance and fulfillment of the penance assigned by the priest. Nick had learned from Fr. de Lourdes that, unlike the custom in various times in the past, the Church of today did not assign penances that had to be publicly performed before the whole community, frequently lasting months, and in some cases, years. The penance of today was more likely to be prayers, Scripture readings, seeking reconciliation, whenever possible, with those one had wronged, or making restitution of that which had been stolen or damaged. Despite his joking with Natalie, Nick was not apprehensive about this aspect of the sacrament. He was tired. He had just been through a strenuous time, and kneeling through the night had been easier for a twenty-year-old man than for an 800-year-old vampire, regardless of his special vampire-enhancements. He sat back on the pew and focused his thoughts. After a moment or two, he began to feel calm and centered. He realized that the last hurdle to be faced was the acceptance, not of the assigned penance, but of the words--and reality--of absolution itself. If he was going to accept God's forgiveness, he would have to accept his own. He prayed he would somehow be able to do this. Ask for forgiveness from God and believe that it was granted. Address the departed spirits of his multitude of victims and beg their forgiveness, hoping it would be granted, yet continue to be willing, regardless, to go ahead with his choice to do good and not evil for as much time as he had left in this strange "un-life." This was the heart of the problem, and had been for all the many years he had been attempting to atone, by himself and unaided, for his long and bloody history of heinous crimes. He had to admit the grace and guidance of God into his heart and his life; he could no longer be a loner. If his return to the Church was going to work, he would have to accept help from God not only through prayer but through the sacraments and worship of the Church as well, and he would have to be ready to give back, to "pay it forward," not just to receive. This insight was a difficult one for Nick. He had been on his own for so long--his kind regarded as monsters by the Family of Humankind. Besides his inner doubts, there were the practical difficulties. Could he make himself "fit in"? There was his ongoing need to avoid sunlight, but he decided that if he could live in present-day Toronto, work as a homicide detective (although always on the night shift), replenish his supply of cow's blood, rent and maintain a loft apartment, keep his car in good working order, buy clothes and toothpaste and gas for the Caddy, pick up the dry cleaning, get his hair cut . . . the list of everyday tasks he could deal with after dark without blowing his cover was longer than he had realized. Yet, with the exception of Natalie and a close call with Schanke* almost a year ago, he had managed. Even going to Mass was possible. He had already learned that every Catholic church in Toronto (and, he suspected, most other places) not only celebrated the Mass for Sundays and major holy days on the day itself, but also on the evening before. Some churches even had a weekday Mass in the evening. He could find ways to participate in parish life and be helpful to others that could accommodate his "severe sun allergy." He decided that with respect to the logistics, this might be challenging, but was "do-able." As to his inner resistance to accepting forgiveness, Nick felt that he had done all he could do. He had read, thought and prayed. In his sessions with Fr. de Lourdes he had talked, listened, argued, questioned, and conceded. At last he had run out of questions, arguments and objections, and had fallen silent. The facts were in place; the ball was in his court. It was no longer time for "What if . . .?" or "How about . . .?" Nick laughed at himself a little as he realized that he had been ready for some time now. He had known for some time what he would do; he had simply been . . . stalling. Natalie would say that in this respect he was certainly behaving like most of the humans she knew, or at least like most of the men. The moment of decision had not only arrived but passed. Inwardly, he had crossed the line. "After all, it's not as though I haven't tried 'cures' before," he reasoned, making a last attempt to bolster his courage. "I always managed to stick with it long enough to at least try the 'solution du jour.' Fr. de Lourdes said that throughout the past hundred or so years, after I was well on my way toward 'reform,' the real reason I never considered coming home to the Church as a viable option was that I never thought it would work for me, and that terrified me. On the one hand, it was unthinkable--I was surely damned, I was a monster, the worst sinner who had ever lived, the Church would explode and burn down if ever I darkened its door for any religious purpose, etc., etc. At the same time, ironically, it was too familiar and promised too much comfort. But I was 'unworthy'; such consolation was not for me. The Faith had been part of my life from my birth and baptism till shortly before I became what I am. In a sense I, who had been so very far from the Church for so long, was also very close to it, in some honest and deeply secret corner of my being." Nick knew why he had balked so long in taking this step. He could endure the disappointment of another failed attempt to achieve a "cure" for vampirism, even though past failures to find a cure had left him depressed for days and sometimes weeks. He just wasn't sure he could bear it if this attempt failed. What would become of his hope of salvation, however faint that hope might be? It was only as he began, not just to hear with his ears, but to understand with his mind and heart that this step would not be a cure for vampirism at all that he quietly turned the inner corner that made his decision possible. What he was about to do was between God and the human in him, allowing him to accept his restoration to grace and spiritual wholeness, empowering him to bring all aspects of his being--his vampire powers included--to the service of the One Light. Nicholas de Brabant knelt. "This business of praying is getting to be a habit, but I must say the idea neither shocks nor displeases me." He looked up at the Figure on the Cross above the altar. "Maybe someday," Nick prayed, "I may walk in the natural sunlight, if it is Your will. But in any case, I am resolved to walk in Your Light, with Your help. For right now, my Lord, that's more than enough." ╬╬╬ When the sky had just begun to lighten in the east, before the first hint of the sun's appearance, Nick left the chapel, as prepared as he felt he could be for his meeting with Fr. de Lourdes, who would return from Montréal this evening or tomorrow morning. He returned to his quarters, located the "Please Do Not Disturb" sign which was supplied in every room, and thumb-tacked it to the cork message board on his door. He closed the heavy window-coverings, locked the door, and was asleep in less than ten minutes. ╬╬╬ Fr. Jean-Paul de Lourdes, S.J. arrived at the sanatorium just before five-thirty that evening. He let the front desk attendant know he was back, picked up his mail and left it, with his suitcase, in his room. He went directly to the chapel for a brief visit of the sort he sometimes referred to as "checking in." He knelt for a few minutes before the Blessed Sacrament** in the tabernacle on the altar. At one point, he cocked his head to one side, looked around, then closed his eyes as though listening acutely to the trace of a sound-wave, and even gently sniffed the air. The barest suggestion of a smile lit his face for an instant, then was gone. "Yes," he said, speaking silently to the Presence. "Yes. It will be sometime later tonight or tomorrow, avec votre secours, mon bon Seigneur, s'il vous plaît***." Feeling, as he often did in these situations, a great, joyous lightness of being combined, paradoxically, with the full weight of all his years, the elderly, somewhat stooped man rose from his knees and made his way from the chapel to his evening meal and gratefully anticipated rest. ________ * Close Call (Season 2) ** Eucharistic hosts, consecrated at Mass and left over after Communion has been distributed, are kept in a vessel called a ciborium in a small "safe," called a tabernacle, on the main altar, or in a side chapel. Catholics believe that Jesus is really present here and refer to this as the Blessed Sacrament. *** "Avec votre secours, mon bon Seigneur, s'il vous plaît" ("with Your help, my good Lord, please"). Chapter 16 Nick had fallen asleep in his clothes, exhausted, at six a.m. He slept till a little after four in the afternoon, when he drank his late afternoon meal of chilled beef blood, then showered, shaved and dressed. He needed to see Natalie. He wanted to hold her, to tell her about his thoughts and prayers and to hear her reactions to what they had discussed last night. He wanted to tell her of his confidence that his program of increasingly bringing the Beast into submission to his human will in all other aspects of his existence would extend to the physical expression of their love. Fr. de Lourdes had told him that there were precedents for believing that it would be perfectly possible for him to make mortal love to Natalie--even though he was still very much a vampire, and capable of vampiric love-making as well. It did not escape his notice that the word Fr. de Lourdes had used had clearly been "precedents." With an "s." Plural. More than one vampire that Fr. de Lourdes personally knew about had achieved this. Was it really possible? He and Natalie could have children together. Just the thought put a wide grin on his face. Now there was yet another form of immortality that might also be available to him. Children. Children made and formed by love. His love for Nat, her love for him, and, he realized, God's love for them both. It was nearly five o'clock when he went to Nat's room. She opened the door immediately and seemed not only happy but almost relieved to see him. "Well, you're awake! I was beginning to wonder if you were going to sleep 'round the clock. Feeling better?" Natalie kissed him and looked closely at his face. His deep blue eyes were clear and his color--for Nick--was good. "Yeah, Nat, I do. Better than I have in a long, long time." He held her close for a few moments then moved with her to the small sofa. "Despite the terrible things that brought us here in the first place, I can't help but think that our stay at the sanatorium has been incredibly good for both of us. I know it has been for me." "Me, too," Nat answered from within his embrace. "We know each other's hearts better than we ever did. And we have new hope. Better hope for our future. I have so much that I want to talk about with you." "Me, too. But I've been doing most of the talking lately, so why don't I shut up and listen for a change." "Well, for starters, you're more right than you may realize about the sanatorium. The actual house itself. I spent this whole beautiful day indoors, believe it or not. Doing research. Some of the things you spoke of last night got me thinking, and you know how I am with a puzzle to be solved." "So, what did you find out?" "Well, this started yesterday when I was shopping with Sr. Marie. She told me that many of the Sisters and senior staff members occasionally refer to the Sanatorium as 'the House,' and that it has a very interesting history. Nick had wrestled for weeks with the weighty question of whether he could, or would, return to the sacraments of the Church--a serious question to which he devoted serious thought and prayer. Now, with the choice firmly made, he felt almost buoyant. His relief at having come to a clear decision was so great that he felt light-hearted and even playful. "O-ho, one of those stories," he teased. "Let me guess. Formerly the home of a beautiful maiden, forbidden by her haughty parents from marrying a poor-but-honest lad, she becomes deranged with sorrow and at the height of her madness takes her own life. Ever since, her ghost wanders the corridors looking in vain for an open door so she can run away with her lover." "Hey! Do you want to hear this, or not?" Nat punched his arm, a little harder than she intended, if Nick's facial expression was any indicator. "As a matter of fact, no. That's not it. I spent a good bit of the day in the community's archive, and learned some interesting stuff. Unless, of course, you don't want to hear it?" "I do. I do," Nick quickly replied, rubbing his arm. "Remind me never to get into a serious punch-up with you. You pack quite a wallop. Okay, tell me." "'The House' was never anything other than it is now. From the cornerstone to the roof, it was built to be just what it is: a sanatorium, a place of healing and restoration to health. "But at the same time the House has also had a history of being 'special,' in the sense that from time to time it was the locus of extraordinary events and occurrences. These were always good things, never evil, and always such that they were open to the possibility of a supernatural explanation, if one believed in things like that." "What sort of things?" "Sometimes they involved the healing of physical disabilities--blindness, deafness, restricted mobility--even paralysis. The physical healings were often extraordinary and beyond what the doctors of the time could claim were obviously due to the effects of therapy. But they were never quite extraordinary enough to warrant being investigated as possible out-and-out miracles." "So you're saying there were some 'sort of' miracles? 'Almost' miracles? Isn't that like being 'a little bit pregnant?" Nick teased Nat gently, as he nearly always did when she was excited about new knowledge or something she had just discovered and got what he called her "Serious Scholar" look. "Yes, Nick, that's exactly what I'm saying." Natalie didn't rise to the bait but remained very serious as she continued. "But there were exceptional healings of mind/soul/ spirit, also. Patients in profound clinical depression. Obsessive-compulsives so deeply troubled they could not relate to others in the everyday world. Each of the patients who experienced remarkable restoration to health had received treatment elsewhere from doctors with impressive credentials in some of the leading hospitals and clinics in Europe and North America." "So why wasn't any of this publicized? I'd never heard of this place till our little Jesuit friend recommended it. And don't say it's because it all happened a long time ago. Remember, 'a long time ago' is one of the things I know about." "First of all, these were occasional instances of extraordinary healings. They didn't happen often. Second, many involved forms of illness--psychological disorders, for example--which people are still reluctant to talk about. In the past, there were social stigmas associated with any 'mental' or 'nervous' disorder. Even some physical problems--blindness, for example--were thought best to be played down, hidden away and pitied. "Most important, the healings, whether of body, mind, spirit, or all of the above, were never exactly 'impossible' enough to warrant being called miraculous. And the healings weren't instantaneous. It was just that some people--not many--who couldn't be healed anywhere else, came here and were completely healed. "There's more. Wait, though. It's after six. If I'm going to get any dinner, I'd better get down to the dining room. Come and keep me company? You can always plead your 'special diet' and say you've already had your dinner." "OK, yeah. I want to find out if Fr. de Lourdes is back in the house, too. I want to talk to him." Nick did not elaborate, and Natalie did not ask questions. They went down to the dining room together. Nick helped Natalie with her tray, and once they were settled at a small table, she resumed her narrative. "As I started to say, there's more to this place than a few instances of extraordinary physical healings. There were some others who had come here, plagued by their own private demons, who found the House to be a kind of fortress. Those who battled severe temptations and addictions were often quoted as saying they felt the House was a place where they enjoyed a kind of protection from evil that gave them courage in their particular struggle." "I've sensed something like that myself since we've been here." Nick remembered times in which he felt restless, and especially his feelings yesterday, when there seemed to be no one he could turn to and nothing he could do. Then, he had sensed a hostility which he could attribute to no one else in the sanatorium and which he didn't think to trace at least partly to himself. He recalled the sudden, unbidden manifestation of the Beast, and realized that Natalie's information about the House might provide an answer. "I felt an opposition, as though a contest of wills was taking place that involved me, but in which I was the prize in the contest, as well as a participant. Somehow my vampire nature perceived the struggle as threatening, and it reacted against the-Something-Out-There that seemed to be waging war not only over me, but against me, as well." "What are you feeling now?" "A great calmness, since I made a definite decision. Light-hearted. Happy. Good God, Nat, actually happy. It's been a whole lot of years since I thought I'd ever say that again." Nick didn't actually shed a blood-red tear, but his eyes glistened. Natalie covered his hand with her own. "I mean, what do you feel now about the House? About the hostility you sensed?" "No problem. The hostile force--or forces --seems to have departed, . . . or, if the direction along which your research seems to be moving is correct, they have been driven off. In either case, I don't feel in any kind of peril; I feel no urge to 'vamp out.'" "Nick, do you really believe this sanatorium is under the special protection of God? I mean, in an extraordinary way, almost like a fortified castle? Do you think that's possible?" "Nat, I'm 800 years old. I can see clearly in the dark. I can fly. My definition of what is and isn't possible casts a long shadow. I don't know what to think about this place, but I think its being an earthly outpost of the forces of Good is very possible." Nat had finished her dinner, and Nick said he wanted to see if Fr. de Lourdes had returned yet, so they left the dining room together. Nick saw Natalie to her room door. "I hope Fr. de Lourdes is in his room. I want to make an appointment with him for confession before I turn chicken.” "You? The big, brave, fearless vampire?" Nat was completely happy for him, but could never resist the temptation to tease him about anything even remotely connected with religion. "This is the young Crusader of 1228 talking. I can hardly enlist the aid of the Beast, when my hope is to bring him under the control of my human will and God's grace. He might get just a bit grouchy at the prospect." "OK, seriously, darling. I will pray for you. You are deep in my thoughts and in my heart. Stop by later, if you want. I'll be awake till about eleven tonight. I'm anxious for you, and will be till you get through this." "I know you are. I picked it up in your scent." "My what? Did you just say my 'scent'?" "Don't forget, love, that when I drank deeply of your blood, I also drank deeply of your essence. You know that with us, living blood is much more than simple nourishment of the body. It's also partaking of the victim's--or donor's--life. Their thoughts and feelings, what they know and love and hate, their passions and their prayers. If there is already a bond between the vampire and the donor, this communion between them is not only intensified, it continues forever, unless something happens to break the bond." "Like . . . ?" "Like the death of the vampire, unless he (or she) is somehow redeemed." Nat was very still for a moment, and she looked pensive, almost sad. Nick knew what it was that bothered her, but also knew that she needed to express it in words, for herself. "I wish . . . I almost wish you had brought me across. Just for this one reason. I want to know you, darling. I want to know you, to the absolute depths of your being, the way you know me." Nick took her in his arms and whispered to her, "You will, Natalie. I am more certain of it with each passing hour." As they shared one last goodnight kiss, he whispered, "You will, mon ami, mon âme, mon amour."* After Natalie gently closed her door, Nick turned and headed for Fr. de Lourdes rooms. _______ * "mon ami, mon âme, mon amour" = "my friend, my soul, my love" End of Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Fr. de Lourdes's door was open, and soft lighting gave the room an air of warmth and welcome. Nick rapped lightly on the door frame. "Nicholas! Come in, come in. How are you?" The little priest looked tired but otherwise in good shape for someone recovering not only from surgery but from almost three full days among academicians. "I think I may finally be OK, Father. At least halfway there." The priest indicated a chair with a nod and Nick sat down. "I've come to ask you to hear my confession. I assume you'll want me to make an appointment--soon, I hope. It can be any time, night or day--as long as I can avoid sunlight--that suits your convenience." "Why wait till tomorrow? The night is your 'day,' and I'm quite a night owl myself. Would you like to start this evening?" "Start?? Is this going to take more than one session?" "It might. I just don't want you to feel rushed or nervous. I'm here to help you in any way I can. Have you begun your preparation?" "I honestly think I am prepared, Father. I just wanted to commit myself to doing it before I got cold feet." Fr. de Lourdes chuckled a bit at that. "Well, there's no time like the present. I should tell you that in very special cases such as this, it is not unheard of for a confession to take several days to be completed, but I honestly don't think we'll need more than a day. If you feel you are ready, Nicholas, let us begin." It was exactly three minutes past eight when they began, and nearly four in the morning when Nick heard the words of absolution pronounced over him for the first time in over 770 years, only in English this time, not Latin. Later, when talking to Natalie, Nick would wryly comment, "Averaging an hour for each century was really not so bad, all things considered." As Natalie had predicted, Nick's penance did not involve anything medieval like sackcloth and ashes. Neither did it consist of a few recited prayers. Fr. de Lourdes cautioned him that the Beast within was very much alive, and would be as long as the human, Nick, was alive and capable of sustaining it. He told Nick not to be in the least reluctant to continue taking beef blood as his nourishment. It might be months, or even years before he could tolerate even small amounts of normal human food. Or he might never be able to eat as mortals do, although the priest did think, in view of some of Nick's adventures (most notably during a brief period of amnesia*), that he might some day be able to eat something as mundane as scrambled eggs and toast. In the meantime, beef blood was vastly preferable to starvation. As part of Nick's penance, Fr. de Lourdes required that he pray daily--the "daily" was emphasized strongly--for all those whom he had killed or otherwise exploited over the centuries, for the peace and repose of their souls and those who had been closest to them during their lifetime and therefore most affected by their death. He was also to humbly seek from the departed spirits of his victims their forgiveness for his unspeakable actions against them and against their dignity as human beings by treating them as inferiors to be exploited only for food, gratification and amusement. Furthermore, Nick's daily work, whether with the police or elsewhere, was always to be of humanitarian nature, as part of his atonement. The other task Fr. de Lourdes gave to Nick was much harder. He was to work, also daily, at learning to accept the forgiveness and love freely extended to him by God. He was not only to pray about this each day, but also read and reflect on brief selections from the Scriptures and selected writings of authors representing not only Christianity, but other religious and spiritual traditions which support and encourage this belief. Even though Nick had already done the seemingly hardest thing, Fr. de Lourdes wisely felt that a few minutes spent on a daily regimen of prayer and reading would offer the greatest lifelong benefit. Nick agreed. ¨p¨p¨p That evening, a greatly refreshed and rested Nick once again came to Natalie's door to accompany her to dinner. "Hey--if we keep doing this, people will talk. How are you?" Nat was open to hearing as much as he was willing to share, but left it to him to take the initiative. "Nat, I'm so fine it scares me. I still can't believe it's true, but I'm going to attend Mass and receive Communion tomorrow. Fr. de Lourdes is going to celebrate Mass for us tomorrow evening if we would like that. I told him I thought you'd want to be there, but that I'd check with you. Are you OK with this?" "Sure. Speaking of which, I had already decided that it's time to put my spiritual house in order. So I guess I'd better pay Fr. de Lourdes a visit for confession sometime tomorrow, too. Look, let's go to dinner. It's pouring rain and expected to continue all night, so a flight or a walk, or even a drive in the Caddy wouldn't be much fun. But there are a couple of great movies on cable tonight. I've got some microwave popcorn in my room, and there's a microwave in the Patients' Lounge." "Great! I think we both need a night off from Awesome Mysteries of the Faith. My brain is a bit numb. So 'vegging out' in from of the TV and tossing the odd kernel of popcorn at you it shall be. For now, let's get you some dinner." ¨p¨p¨p On the following evening at 8:00 o'clock, Nick, Nat and Fr. de Lourdes met at the hospital chapel. No one else joined them, which Fr. de Lourdes said was actually an advantage, because it meant that this celebration of Mass would be private and he could address his brief homily to them alone without causing any embarrassment. "However, Nicholas and Natalie, I hope you will join the mainstream right away, while you're both still at Ste. Jeanne d'Arc. Mass is offered every morning, Sunday through Saturday, at seven-thirty, and it is pretty well attended by both patients and staff. I suggest it, as it is convenient and will keep you safe from sunlight, Nick. Once you're back in Toronto, I know the Regis College chapel, among other churches in the city, has an evening Mass every day that school is in session, including Sundays. I'm sure you can find something for the days when the students are away. Daily Mass is an excellent idea, especially for those who are recuperating, as you both are, each in your own way." "I hadn't thought of myself as 'recuperating,' exactly, " Nick replied, "but I guess I am." Fr. de Lourdes arranged the altar quickly and expertly for Mass. He would consecrate only the one large altar bread, which he would break into three pieces and share with Nick and Natalie at Communion. "I've chosen Scripture readings which I think you will find appropriate," Fr. de Lourdes told them. As he sat in the front pew with Natalie before Mass, Nick glanced at one of the small, paperbound Mass booklets giving the Mass prayers and readings, which had been provided in the pews for the congregation. The last time he had attended Mass of course, had been in the thirteenth century, when the Mass had been in Latin. He was less confused by the Mass in English than Nat had expected him to be. "My mother tongue is thirteenth-century French." He spoke in a low voice to Natalie. "Latin was my hardest subject in Fr. Andr¨¦'s little school, so the Latin at Mass back then was much harder to follow than English will be now." Fr. de Lourdes emerged from the tiny sacristy, vested for Mass. "I chose a passage from St. Paul's Letter to the Romans for the first reading --I've marked the passage in the book--and I wonder if either of you would be willing to read it aloud for us at the appropriate time. I selected the story of the Prodigal Son from St. Luke as the Gospel, which I will read." "I'd like it if Nick would do the reading, Father." When Nat was in her late teens and during her college years, she had often been a reader at her parish church. In the few years since she had been a regular church-goer, she had not forgotten the privilege, and wanted Nick to have it this time, as he had been away so long and had come through so much to get to this point. Nick looked highly skeptical, but took the book and read over the Scripture passage quickly in silence. He then nodded, but said, "The roof of Ste. Jeanne d'Arc won't cave in or blow off if I do this will it?" Fr. de Lourdes smiled, "That's the sort of mental attitude you have to begin gradually to change, Nicholas. It takes some getting used to, but it's part of what I suppose you will still occasionally refer to as your 'cure,' although I prefer 'taming the Beast' myself. Remind yourself each time you start to think that way: None of us is worthy; each of us is invited. That means you too, Nicholas-the-Returned-Prodigal. We'll begin Mass in a moment, if you're ready." Nick found the order of the Mass prayers fairly easy to follow, despite an almost 800-year absence and the slight distraction caused by the language difference from Latin to English. About five minutes after the start of Mass, it was time for the first Scripture reading, which was Romans 8:31b-39. Nick stood at the reader's stand to read from the lectionary. "'If God is for us, who is against us?'" Nick read, with increasing confidence, one of the most beautiful and stirring passages in Paul's letters. "'For I am sure that neither life nor death, . . . nor things present, nor things to come, nor powers, . . . nor anything else . . . will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.'" The reading moved Nick. As he sat down his eyes were bright with clear, human tears and he gave Natalie's hand a tight squeeze. After Fr. de Lourdes read the Gospel story of the Prodigal Son, he bent towards the couple in the front pew before him and began to address his homily to them. It was brief, simple and direct. He spoke to both Nick and Natalie as adult children of God, recently returned to the home of their "prodigally" loving and generous Father. He then shifted his emphasis to touch on the beautiful reading from Romans, reminding them that they would not always be safely tucked away in the Sanatorium de Ste. Jeanne d'Arc, which they all agreed was a fortress of the forces of good. Quite soon now, they would be back in the "real" world, working at their difficult jobs, dealing with the effects of sin and crime in a society that seemed largely set on killing itself with busy-ness, fear and greed, an environment that offered little time or space for prayer and quiet reflection. He reminded them both of the need to pray and to attend Mass, daily if possible, and receive the sacraments often. His few words spoken, he turned back to the altar to continue with the prayers of Mass. Soon it was time for Communion. Nat looked at Nick to see if the imminent approach of this holiest of moments in Catholic sacramental life was causing him any anxiety. His expression was serious, but otherwise he seemed all right. "Nick, are you going to be OK?" Nat whispered. "Yes, I think so. I've come this far and I'm still breathing--occasionally. It's been a long time and . . . it's kind of solemn, is all." They both returned their attention to the altar. When it was tome for Nick and Natalie to receive Communion, they both stepped forward. As he had no one to assist him, Fr. de Lourdes, who had already partaken, held the paten, or small gold plate, with the two remaining pieces of the consecrated host. He stood next to the altar, on the corner of which he had placed the chalice and a white linen cloth to wipe the rim after drinking from the cup, before it was passed to the next communicant. Natalie stepped forward first. "The Body of Christ," Fr. de Lourdes said as she made the response, "Amen," he gave her one of the pieces of the host. He then repeated the same words as he gave the remaining section to Nick. the priest set the paten on the altar and picked up the chalice and cloth. "The Blood of Christ," he said to Nat as he gave her the cup. Again she responded "Amen," and drank from it. He wiped the rim and repeated the same words to Nick as he handed him the gold chalice. Nick followed suit, but as he returned the chalice carefully to Fr. de Lourdes and sat down next to Natalie in the front pew, his face assumed a strange expression, one even Nat had not seen before, one she could not penetrate. Nat never forgot that, in addition to being Nick's friend, fianc¨¦e and true love, she was also his personal physician. She was about to ask him what was wrong, when she realized two things: first, that he could not hear her at that moment, and second, that there seemed to be nothing wrong at all. _______ * Night in Question (Season 3); also The Fix (Season 2) Chapter 18 Nick sat perfectly still with his eyes closed during the brief period of silent prayer after Communion. When Fr. de Lourdes left his chair and returned to the altar to say the closing prayers of the Mass, Natalie once more looked anxiously at Nick. She was relieved to see that his eyes also were open, clear, and in focus. After Mass, they waited while Fr. de Lourdes removed and put away his vestments, said a brief prayer of thanksgiving and cleaned the vessels used at the liturgy. He came out of the sacristy and walked with Nick and Nat to the corridor. "As it is only a little after 8:30," he suggested, "I would be honored if you would accompany me to my rooms for a little refreshment and fellowship." In a scene reminiscent of the dinner at Campion House earlier this spring, Fr. de Lourdes seated his guests in comfortable chairs and provided them with light refreshment--a small plate of superb petites fours and a cup of piping hot herbal tea for Nat, a goblet of beef blood-wine for Nick, and a glass of what appeared to be water for himself. "First, Nicholas and Natalie, I want to welcome you back, with all my heart, to your spiritual home. This is actually a small celebration of that fact. Sorry there's no vintage champagne or spectacular fireworks--the occasion deserves such." "I can't speak for Natalie, but I don't need or want any welcome greater than I've already received." Nat was accustomed to more than four years of the solemn, guilt-ridden, angst-y, sad--or at least discouraged--Nick. She had also had all-too-rare glimpses of Nick relaxed, watching a movie with her, teasing her when she wept over the demise of King Kong, tossing popcorn at her or vamping out just to watch her jump straight up in the air while uttering a sound that can only be rendered phonetically as "Gleeep." Rarest of all, she had known Nick's charm and tenderness, expressed through the occasional flowers or special card, the little private gifts sometimes at Christmas, on her birthday, and sweetest of all, sometimes for no apparent reason. The version of Nicholas de Brabant Knight presently before her had no precedent in her experience. He seemed all right. No. That was like saying that Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers danced pretty well together, or that Niagara Falls was rather a lot of noisy water. Nat couldn't come any closer to analyzing her perception of Nick, even to herself, than to say that, for the first time since she'd met him, Nick seemed whole. Seamless . . . integrated somehow. "You've both been so much a part of this whole thing," Nick began, "that I want to tell you what happened to me just a few minutes ago, after we received Communion. I'm still, I guess, a little . . . shaken by it, but 'shaken' isn't quite right, either. I'm sorry; I'm doing this badly." Fr. de Lourdes, who suspected a bit more than he let on, spoke soothingly, "Take your time, Nicholas. It's one of the things we have plenty of at present, and I believe this has been a truly unique experience, to say the least." Nick took one of his rare breaths and sat quietly for a few minutes to organize his thoughts. At last he began, tentatively, "Like the rest of my kind, I took my nourishment from the blood of a living person. Then, a little over a hundred years I began restricting myself to beef blood, and Fr. de Lourdes tells me there are others like me who have also managed to give up human blood and continue to live. But for the most part my kind has survived by draining the blood from living humans, usually killing them in the process. "Now, with us, the act of taking blood, whether from a victim or a willing donor is more than just seeking nourishment. When we ingest the blood of a living human, we receive their emotions, will, thoughts, loves, hates, passions --almost everything it is possible to know of them. "What I'm about to say next may seem like a complete change of subject, but I'm sure you will both see almost at once how it fits in with what I'm trying to say here. "In the time Before, when I was being taught the Faith by my parents, and especially by Fr. Andr¨¦, I learned what the Catholic Church teaches about what happens at Mass. When the priest says the words Jesus spoke at the Last Supper over the bread and wine, a change occurs. Although the elements continue to look and taste and smell and feel exactly like bread and wine, that they are actually transformed into the Body and Blood of Jesus Christ. "I also learned that the Lord is completely present under the form of bread and under the form of wine, even the though priest says, "the Body of Christ" when he gives me the host and "the Blood of Christ" when he presents the chalice. I guess the symbolism is more apparent that way or something. In the early thirteenth century--the last time I attended Mass--only the priest drank from the chalice. I wasn't expecting what seems to be the case, that now, everyone is invited to drink. "Anyway, I really wasn't prepared for what I experienced as soon as I drank from the chalice, returned the cup to Fr. de Lourdes, and swallowed. I barely managed to find the pew behind me and sink into it. "This was so completely unlike the two near-death experiences I have had and that horrible vision or visitation, or whatever it was that came over me at Campion House, that it seems useless to compare them." Nick refreshed himself from his wine goblet and took a moment to rest and marshal his thoughts. "Whenever you feel ready, Nicholas," Fr. de Lourdes said quietly. Nat was quietly attentive, open-minded but reserving judgment. "As you know, I didn't fall to the floor and I didn't lose consciousness. Well, not exactly. I just know that I felt something that I--even I, with my total recall--can't remember ever feeling before. Ever. It wasn't that I saw some sort of vision or heard a voice speaking words. It's as though my super-senses of sight, hearing, taste, smell and touch were set to one side for a moment. Not taken away or cancelled or anything like that, just . . . not allowed to provide any input that might be distracting. What I was left with was Feeling. And what I felt was . . . ." Nick lowered his eyes, which had begun to fill with tears. He began to wipe his eyes with his handkerchief, and discovered that his tears were neither clear, human tears nor the blood-red tears of the vampire, but a blending of the two. Not only was the Human deeply touched by this experience and the realization of what it signified, but apparently--for better or for worse--so was the Beast. Nat crossed to his side in an instant, sat next to him on the loveseat and held him in her arms. "Sshh, darling," she said, as though to a hurting child. "Whatever it is, we'll face it together. I'm here." "Please, Nicholas," Fr. de Lourdes urged. "Try to tell us what you felt. It's important, not so much for us, but for you, to say it aloud." "I felt Love. For me. Love unlike I had ever felt before. Overwhelming, unrestrained, unconditional love. It was even greater than the love my mother unselfishly and abundantly lavished on me, great as that was. "Natalie, my dearest, I hope you can start to see where this is going and that you will not feel in any way hurt or jealous by what I am saying, but this Love was even greater than your love as I have felt it, and your love is so great that I am sometimes sick with fear that I might, somehow, lose it. How I would continue to live to strive for goodness, to atone for my crimes and hope for salvation if I ever lost your love, I cannot imagine. But darling, this was a Love greater even than yours. "I can scarcely say this aloud. Tonight, I, Nicholas de Brabant, false knight, false follower of Christ, murderer, lecher, liar, thief and betrayer of innocent and guilty alike--tonight, I personally experienced, first-hand the Love our Savior has for me. "I know I am forgiven by God. I know that in spite of everything I do, even if I continued as I am now for another eight centuries, it would never be enough to make up for the terrible things I have done. "Yet I know I must walk with the Lord all the rest of my days to join my actions and prayers and deeds of justice and service to my brothers and sisters to what He is and what He has done. I must gradually come to have His mind in me. "Although there were no words as such, two things were made unmistakably clear to me. First, this experience was a pure gift of grace and will not be repeated. So none of us has to worry about any unusual behavior on my part when I receive Communion in the future, not even when I drink from the cup. "And the second?" Nat's asked in a choked whisper, her eyes shining with tears. "The second, my dear, dear love, I would like to tell you privately, if Fr. de Lourdes will be so gracious as to excuse us for this evening." "Of course, my dears. I'll bid you good night. I hope to see you again tomorrow at Mass. Till then, rest well, and once more--welcome home." ¨p¨p¨p Nat was much stronger than she had been when she first arrived at the san. Partly as a strengthening exercise and partly because the elevator was always too slow for her, she decided to take the stairs up the one flight from Fr. de Lourdes's rooms to her own. "Race? But no fair flying, even a little bit." Nat said this partly to lighten the mood, and partly to gauge Nick's response. She sincerely hoped that she hadn't wound up with a saintly mystic for a life-partner. At least not all the time. "Even on foot with no cheating, woman, I can beat you." They actually arrived at the door to the stairwell on Natalie's floor almost simultaneously, with Nat a step ahead and breathless more with laughter than heart-stress. It was still about thirty minutes before the patients' ten o'clock curfew, but some patients, far sicker than Nat, were already asleep, so they left the stairwell and approached Nat's door quietly and soberly. "Are you going to tell me what the second message-without-words was?" "Yes, Nat, I am. I wanted to tell you as soon as possible, which is why I got you away from Fr. de Lourdes's little 'party' as soon as I did. "Do you recall that when we were at another soiree, also hosted by Fr, de Lourdes, that I proposed marriage to you, and you accepted, on the condition that somehow 'under God's heaven' it should become possible to have a human marriage with you?" "Of course I do, Nick. I could never forget anything like that." Natalie started thinking about Nick's apparently miraculous communication with Christ. "Oh God, his humanity is running away with itself. He's so thirteenth century! Probably wants to join some really, really strict penitential order now, like the Trappists or something. Get his atoning done faster. No wife. Still, if it's what he wants more than anything, I've got to put a good face on it, for his sake. He looks so much more well, and whole and human tonight." These words raced through Natalie's mind in a flash as she looked up at Nick and tried to keep her face more or less neutral. "So, Nick. What's it to be?" "Natalie, let's start making marriage preparations tomorrow. I'd like Fr. de Lourdes to preside over the ceremony. Is that OK with you? He can certainly tell us what the requirements are these days, for the Church, and even what's required by civil law. "Oh Natalie," Nick whispered, "I've been assured that by the time we have finished our marriage preparations and are ready to exchange vows and rings, I will be completely ready, willing and able to make mortal love to you like the passionately loving man you truly deserve. I hope I will be all you will ever want. "Natalie Lambert, once again I ask you, since on God's earth as well as in His heaven, He seems to be re-creating me in many ways: Will you marry me? Just as soon as the laws of Church and Country will allow?" Nick had no need to worry about her answer. Nat's eyes again shone with tears, but they were tears of pure joy. She didn't answer loudly or make any commotion. Her response, a simple, "Yes, Nick, I will," was spoken so softly that only he could hear. She saved her passion for her kiss. Chapter 19 Andy Grainger, the proprietor of the small inn, boasted that early autumn on Prince Edward Island, always beautiful, had not been more beautiful than it was this year, not for as many of his sixty years as he could remember. The honeymooners, an attractive and elegant couple named Nick and Natalie de Brabant, spent most of their time by themselves, as might be expected, but they liked to chat with Andy and his wife, Susan, most mornings after breakfast. The two couples had had some interesting conversations both about local history and points of interest, and about the newlyweds' work back in Toronto. Usually, their conversations ended at about 10:00 a.m., when the sun had worked its way around to the parlor windows. The couple would excuse themselves courteously and head for their cozy suite on the third floor. "Wear themselves out if they're not careful," Andy joked, as he gave Susan a nudge and a wink. "Ohhh, you," Susan slapped lightly at his hand and blushed. "Anyway, what do you expect? They're on their honeymoon, after all. Besides, it's no trouble to us. Betty's finished their rooms by then, and they have to go somewhere, him with his sun allergy--they're missing a lot of beautiful scenery. Such a shame, him such a handsome chap 'n'all. 'Course they do go out walking on the strand right after sunset most evenings. And they go out for the evening." Andy and Susan would be astonished to discover that long after Nick and Nat came in at a late but still respectable hour, they would leave again, via their third-story window, Nick flying, with Natalie in his arms. Their days? Well, of course they loved. Love in all its shades and nuances, with enormous amounts of fun and incredible depths of passion. They were discovering a fierceness, tenderness and playfulness in their love, all of which was a source of delight to them in their deepening intimacy. And they talked. They spent hours trading histories, stories of their respective pasts. "Not fair," Natalie had murmured happily one afternoon, as they lay comfortably in each other's arms. "I'll run out of 'past' a long time before you will." "Serves you right for falling under the spell of an 'older man.'" Nick's imitation of a "dirty old man" leer at this point made them both laugh so hard that they nearly fell out of bed. They spoke also of the future. Some of their talk centered on the intense hope they both had for children. Nat had far more concern as to whether she would be a good mother than she had about Nick's parenting abilities, but Nick was always able to calm her fears and give her a confidence in this regard that she had never felt before. Discussions of plans for their future life together were entwined in a complex fashion with bits of conversations they had had with Fr. de Lourdes. They had not seen him since the evening he presided at their wedding and the Nuptial Mass which took place in the student chapel at Regis College. Natalie was radiant in the ensemble she had purchased in Quebec, her "gown woven of light," as Nick described it. Nick? Well, Nick was just radiant. One night, about two weeks before the wedding, Fr. de Lourdes had been their guest at dinner at Natalie's apartment. It was on this occasion that he told them an amazing story from his own past, and invited them to consider future work with him, after their marriage. "Nicholas and Natalie, he smiled and nodded to each in turn. "I know your minds are full of your wedding and honeymoon plans. I understand that, and if you were any other young about-to-wed couple I wouldn't dream of imposing this on you. But as it is, I'd like to ask you to consider what I'm about to tell you and see if it fits into any of your plans for the future. "I must say you have both been supremely patient with me, considering that the very sparse explanation I provided of my mysterious self on the evening of our first dinner together at Campion House hasn't been superceded by one more complete. At least not yet. "Clearly, I knew much about you, Nick, even before I met you." Fr. de Lourdes now occasionally dropped the more formal "Nicholas." "Much of my knowledge of your nutritional needs and your inability to handle sunlight, for example, was simple recognition. I sensed what you were the night I met you in the hospital Meditation Room." "You're a vampire?" Nick seemed more shocked than surprised. "Then why couldn't I sense you? I still can't, for that matter." "No I'm not. Not really. I once had a terribly close brush, and was rescued just in time . . . almost. During our many talks prior to your return to the sacraments, I believe you told me about a police case you worked on, during the course of which you met someone like me in many respects. You remember, the Scotland Yard detective, Liam O'Neal.* I recall I was tempted to tell you about me then, but I knew it would only get in the way of the main order of business. To return to your question: why couldn't the vampire in you sense the vampire in me? First, there's very little to sense. Second, what there is, is blocked by a stronger Presence. Oh, and third, you did notice 'a certain something,' didn't you? Just couldn't pin down what it was?" "Yes, and that has bothered me a bit, when I've had time to think about it, that is. Somehow it never seemed like cause for alarm. I always felt safe, or protected, or something whenever you were around." Nick turned to Nat. "Remember, Nat, when you were first out of the hospital? I made some dumb remark about being both the Hardy Boys if you'd be Nancy Drew? We were going to solve the riddle of the mysterious Jesuit. A fine pair of off-duty detectives we turned out to be!" "It seems to me that we both got kind of busy shortly after that. You especially." Nat smiled at Nick and squeezed his hand. "Well, be that as it may," Fr. de Lourdes resumed his narrative. "It happened about forty years ago. I was a Jesuit, already ordained a priest, and I already had received my Ph.D. As you both know, my academic field is Cultural Anthropology. I was in New Orleans at the time, doing research for a book I was writing on regional superstitions regarding supernatural phenomena. "It seems there was a small theatre in the city which had a tradition of being haunted by an elusive entity which no one who had an experience of it thought of as a "ghost." Now according to most actors, every self-respecting theatre has a ghost, usually imaged as a benevolent guardian-spirit whose most ghostly caper is a bit of backstage mischief, and who sometimes assists the members of the company--finding misplaced props, and so forth. "This entity or creature, whatever it was, acted the way some ghosts are traditionally reported to behave. It was seen only briefly, only at night, and only by some. It was as elusive as a leprechaun and was never known to be photographed, interviewed or in any way pinned down for close, objective examination. It appeared to be quite solid, not transparent, although there are records of people claiming to see ghosts "as solid as you and me." "The major difference consisted in the fact that while ghosts, including poltergeists, seldom attempted to harm those to whom they appeared, it was a very different story with the "Phantom of the Théâtre Robespierre" as this being had come to be called. It was dangerous, possibly fatal, to have any encounter whatsoever with it." "A ghost that killed people?" Nat asked with a highly skeptical look. "No one knew. A person who was part of the theatre company would claim to have seen this dark and sinister figure, and a day or two later, that same person would disappear without a trace. It happened several times in the two-hundred year history of the theatre. The police were never able to produce a solution, a dead body, or the faintest trace of foul play. The fact remained, however, that the person who saw the entity disappeared within a few days and was never seen again." "Hey, Father," Nat laughed, "it's not nice to scare a lovely young couple like us, and only a few days before our wedding, too." "Well, the entity has been dealt with, and anyway, your honeymoon site is Prince Edward Island, a good, long distance from New Orleans," the priest replied. "So what happened, Father?" Nick asked. "Well, although I was already a Jesuit, had been ordained about four years, and had received my doctorate the previous spring, I acted like a kid, and a none-too-smart kid at that. Your mentioning the Hardy Boys and Nancy Drew, Nick, reminded a little of myself at that age. This was an Adventure, and nothing was too much for me to handle. I have no excuse other than that I was young and brash, I deluded myself that I was only doing scholarly research, that I secretly didn't believe in the stuff of which folklore is made, and in any case 'God was on my side.' "Anyway, I obtained permission from the manager to spend every night in the theatre until I either saw this thing or convinced myself that it was a lot of hooey, which of course I thought was the case. "During the sixth night of my vigil in the theatre, I began to feel ill, so I decided to call it quits for the night and return to the Jesuit community. I guess it was about an hour till first light. I left the theatre by the stage door, as was my custom, and started down the alley toward the street. "I scarcely knew what hit me. A dark energy swirled around me, and a very strong man grabbed me tightly. In our struggle, I got the impression that I struck a very hard blow to his face. Suddenly there was an unbelievable pain in my throat. I was certain I had been killed. I breathed a brief prayer as I sank to oblivion on the pavement. "When I regained consciousness, it was still dark. I was groggy, and weak, and my throat hurt terribly. As I struggled to my feet, I tentatively explored what I thought was my cut lip. I instinctively licked away what I thought was my own blood on my lip, but could find no cut. My lip didn't even hurt. I found my way to the community car I had borrowed the previous evening, drove home, signed the car back in and went directly to my room, exhausted. I drew the drapes and fell into bed. "I awoke at about 4:00 p.m., slightly disoriented, feeling feverish, with a headache and a terrible thirst. Hardly aware of what I was doing, I left my room and, for some reason, headed down to the chapel. When I passed a window, I noticed that what light there was on this gloomy late afternoon hurt my eyes. As soon as I entered the chapel, my symptoms worsened. I fell to the floor, and thought I was dying. "I believe that what happened next was, literally, a Godsend. The person who discovered me was Fr. Paul St. Michel, a much older Jesuit who had been, at different times in my life, my spiritual director and more recently, one of my professors in the doctoral program in Cultural Anthropology I had recently completed. "Most fortunately for me he had encountered my symptoms before. He questioned me quickly and expertly and then told me what we would have to do to reverse the effects of what had started to occur. I had, of course, been attacked by a vampire. When I struck out at him, I had been holding the car keys. I gashed his face and neck, causing a small amount of his blood to spurt onto my lip. This is the blood I licked and swallowed, thinking it was my own. He was interrupted--I don't know how or why, perhaps he heard approaching footsteps--before he could completely drain me, and the small amount of his blood I swallowed was not enough to effect a complete transformation, but I had been touched by vampirism. If you think of vampirism as a 'disease,' you might say I had received a mild, non-fatal exposure, but an exposure nonetheless. "He blessed me with holy water, which burned a bit at first, and prayed with me. The longer I remained in the chapel, before the Blessed Sacrament on the altar, and in the presence of this holy and kindly man, the less I felt the presence and the pull of the Beast. He urged me to confess my sins and receive absolution, and when I had done so, he gave me Communion. Then he administered the Sacrament of Anointing, believing that my state of health was sufficiently grave to warrant this ritual. "I was greatly weakened and unable to pursue my normal activities for several days, and you can be sure that I had no desire to re-visit the sinister theatre, interesting scholarly research or not." Fr. de Lourdes fell silent and seemed to have come to the end of his story, which was not at all acceptable to his audience. "Please, Father," Natalie begged. I don't know about Nick, but my curiosity is killing me. What happened next?" _______ * Bad Blood (Season 2) Chapter 20 "What happened, my dears, is really quite simple. Prayer, loving support, and above all the grace of God were more than enough to offset the effects of the vampire attack. I suffered no lasting ill effects. I have no thirst for blood; in fact, I like my meat cooked rather thoroughly. I have a touch of sensitivity to sunlight in my eyes, and will probably never be a geriatric beach bunny, but otherwise I have no problem with daylight or even direct sunlight. "My health is extraordinarily good for my age--which is only seventy-five, by the way--and my five senses are sharp, but not preternaturally so. My doctors are favorably impressed with my health, but I am from tough, old French-Canadian stock, and I believe my health and fitness are due to good genetics, not a vampire-bite. According to the dates in the family Bible, my ancestors all lived to very impressive ages, so I'll probably be around for a while, but again I'm sure that's due to grace and heredity, not hemoglobin. "One last thing: I can't fly. Never could, not even for a minute, apart from flight in an airplane, same as everyone else. Truly, it's the only part of being a vampire I think I'd ever have enjoyed. But . . . perhaps when I get to Heaven something can be arranged." "And just to wrap up one last detail: I never heard of any other 'manifestations' at the Théâtre Robespierre. The owners sold it and left New Orleans, and I heard that it was later torn down." "Thanks, Father. I was trying to put things together. Having met Liam O'Neal*, I knew such things were possible, but I'd never met anyone else who'd had a similar experience." Nick exchanged a conspiratorial glance with Natalie, who smiled approval. "And about the flying? Maybe something can be arranged this side of eternity." Fr. de Lourdes wisely assumed the air of one who has learned from experience not to question the giver too closely about a future gift. "I hope I have answered your questions and relieved any distant anxieties either of you might still have had about me," he said. "This would be a good point for me to leave you with something to think about, pray about and discuss at length, in private, with no pressure whatsoever from me. "Nicholas, you are not alone, as I believe I told you once before. There are other vampires who want very much to--as they would probably phrase it--'become human again.' They are already humans, just as they are already vampires. The Beast will be with them always, until they die, but they can with grace, patience, and a unique and very subtle therapy of sorts, bring their human will, human nature and human values and morals to the forefront. This is not a work that one goes to a university to learn, Nick. You already know much more about it than you suspect. I would like to ask you to work with me in helping to bring these especially outcast ones as close as they can come to walking in the Light." "Why 'especially outcast'?" Nick asked. "Because they feel that they belong neither to the world of humans nor the world of vampires. They are the Twilight Ones, neither wholly of Light nor of Darkness. They need help, information and good advice. Above all, they need to witness the life of one who works and prays day by day to live the life they seek." "But aren't you much better at that? I mean, you're a priest and all." "First of all, they won't all have strayed from the Catholic Church. Even those who were Catholics when they were fully mortal will be uncertain as to their options for returning, should they desire to do so. They will also come from many other religious backgrounds and may want to know that they can return to their path to God. They may have no religion and want to find one, or they may want nothing to do with any religious community. It isn't my job--nor will it be yours if you join me in my work--to 'convert' anyone, except insofar as a person with a vibrant faith, nourished and nurtured daily, is an excellent advertisement for that faith, whatever it might be. Of course, if you are working with a vampire who has come to the point of wanting to talk with a priest, I suspect I'll be available for a few years yet. "Natalie, you're included in this, too. You will be Nick's confidante and co-worker. Am I hopelessly old-fashioned when I add the word 'helpmate'? But your role will certainly not be passive. We often are in need of the services of a doctor, especially in the case of vampires whose search for their restored humanity has caused them to be regarded as 'renegades' by their vampire family. In some cases they have had to escape things that would kill an ordinary mortal and require some rest and recuperation even when they happen to a vampire. More important than that, though, is the ongoing need for research into the physical aspects of vampirism" Natalie's interest was immediately aroused. "Wait, Father. Just a minute. I thought you were absolutely convinced that science would never find a cure for vampirism." "I'll stand by that. We're talking about a spiritual condition, a metaphysical condition if you will. But we don't have the entirely spiritual nature of angels--or devils, for that matter. Men and women are spirit/matter, body/soul. The condition, and its "cure," or more precisely, its control, might be spiritual, but there are consequences and issues for the body as well as the soul. I would be so deeply grateful for your input, both as a medical doctor and as a research scientist to help with questions of diet, photosensitivity, and rapid healing. It may be that vampire-nature and human-nature can offer each other mutual aid." Nick and Natalie both looked thoughtful, and Nick finally said, "Father, we'll certainly think about it. There's no question that we both owe you a great deal, and not just you of course, but God, the human family, and, in a strange way, the vampire family as well. Give us a little time to 'settle' and get back into the routine of things after we come back from PEI**, but I promise you we will think and pray about it together, and get back to you with an answer." More and more, Nick and Natalie were able to communicate deeply with each other with a look, rather than with words, and they exchanged such a look now. "And Father," Nick added with his broadest smile, "I think the way we feel now, the answer is likely to be 'Yes!'" The social evening ended on a happy and hopeful note. ╬╬╬ Mr. and Mrs. Nicholas de Brabant arrived home from their honeymoon on Prince Edward Island, glowing with happiness and good health. They agreed to give up Natalie's small apartment and to live--with Sydney of course!--in Nick's loft, but only on the clear understanding that they would radically re-decorate, with much creative input from Natalie. The results were impressive. A few of the highlights of their merged taste in decor: No orange walls; the motorcycle moved downstairs to the garage; the coffee moved from under the sink; food in the cupboards, refrigerator and freezer; the addition of a washer, dryer and dishwasher; lighter, brighter colors throughout; more furniture; a real studio space created where Nick could paint, encouraged by his admiring Natalie. Finally, they made arrangements to purchase the adjoining loft on the other side of the wall so that they could expand their living space as needed and could create an impressive home-laboratory in which Natalie could continue her research. Yes, faithful readers, Nick and Natalie continued deeply in love and in their re-discovered faith. They had beautiful, healthy children. They accepted Fr. de Lourdes's offer and worked with him and a growing network of others to help vampires searching for a way to be human, to give up killing, to come as close as they could--and quite often that was very close indeed--to the Light. Even though they discovered, as Nick had, that the Beast would live as long as they lived, always seeking to regain its ascendancy, they also came to know that it could be brought under control and made to work for the good of many. Other stories about Nick and Nat may come my way some day. If they do . . . Who knows? You have been such good and patient readers for this one that I may write them down for you. Oh, yes. Fr. de Lourdes enjoyed many a knight-flight over the City of Toronto, especially when the moon was small or dark and the possibility of detection by some kid with the telescope he got for his birthday was at its lowest. ________ * Bad Blood (Season 2). ** PEI = Prince Edward Island End of Chapter 20 The End of This Story and The Beginning of the Rest Mary E. Waldron www.lightweaverwrites.net mwaldron@sbcglobal.net imerrymaid@yahoo.com