This takes place immediately after Last Knight, but it's not a rewrite of the ending. This is about the debris left behind. It solves no mysteries, it answers no questions. It just is. Those left behind are victims just as much as those who are gone. This is for them as well as for us. If you are in denial, you might not want to read this. All The Rest Is Silence By Dorothy Elggren Day 1 The room echoed with silence. Morning. The sunlight pushed its way into the room and made it glow with the day's first golden light. Dust motes danced in the beams. The rays slowly moved across the room, exploring its contents. The candelabra gleamed with sunlight even as the candles guttered and quietly extinguished themselves, spent from the long night. Sunlight slid across the piano, the couch, indifferently examining Natalie's purse and keys. Nick's coat, carelessly thrown across a chair was found by the relentless light. Finally, the golden rays touched the congealing pool of blood and bloody stylized staff lying on the floor and moved on to caress the single white pump. With the morning came a jarring intruder. The phone shrilled loudly in the quiet. "This is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado. Leave a message." BEEEEEEP. "Nick?" Reese's voice questioned. "I don't know whether you heard or not, but I thought I should notify you. Tracy Vetter didn't make it. She died a couple of hours ago." There was a pause while Reese marshaled his thoughts. "I know this is tough on you. Its been a hard year, already. Remember, Nick, this wasn't your fault. I'd tell you to stay home for a week, but the review board wants to have a preliminary hearing tonight. They've asked to convene at 8:00. I'll expect to see you then. After the meeting we can talk. Then I want you to take some time off and get your head straight, OK?" It was clear Reese wanted to say more but wasn't sure what. After another pause he said, "Try and get some sleep, I'll see you tonight." He hung up and silence reigned once more. All day long the sun flooded the loft, exploring all the nooks and crannies it had never seen before. The loft had always been shuttered, barred, and defended against the sun, but not today. The blood slowly dried in the sunny room. The shadows shifted and then lengthened as the day came to a close and the sun slid from the sky. The phone rang again, shrill and intense in the entombing silence. The answering machine clicked on. "This is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado. Leave a message." BEEEEEEP. "Nick?" Grace questioned. "Are you there? Please pick up!" She sounded scared. Silence persisted for a few moments. "Nick, I can't find Natalie. She just packed up all her stuff and left. I've got a note here telling me she's quit and turned in her resignation. I know she got a terrible shock last night, but this is insane. I've called her at home. I even drove over there and she's not there. Please tell me she's with you and you're talking some sense into her. I'm so worried. This is just not like her. Call me, Nick, as soon as you hear this...please!" Grace hung up and the dial tone hung in the air for a second before the answering machine clicked off. It hummed quietly as it reset itself. Shadows deepened from dusk to night. The loft slid into darkness. The clock quietly marked time, but it had no meaning. The phone rang again, once more disturbing the eerie quiet of the room. "This is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado. Leave a message." BEEEEEEP. "Knight! Where the hell are you?" Reese demanded. "The inquiry board is waiting to meet with you about Dawkins. I know it was a hard night for you, but you better get down here now before you get into any more trouble." His words echoed for a moment in the air. But then silence reigned again. Minutes passed, seconds ticked by. Ring. Ring. Ring. Ring. Click. Pickup. "This is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado. Leave a message." BEEEEEEP. "Nick, I just heard about Dr. Lambert. It looks like things are a lot rougher than I thought for you. You had better call in immediately or sooner. There's gonna be hell to pay any way you look at it." Reese hung up, but the fear in his voice lingered. Click. The machine reset. Suddenly another phone rang. Nick's cellular in his coat pocket, trilled mutely, muffled in the cloth. There was no answer. Silence again. Then the phone. "This is Nick Knight. I'm either in bed or incommunicado. Leave a message." BEEEEEEP. "Nick. If you don't call in within the next fifteen minutes I'm sending a patrol car by WITH a search warrant. What is going on? Will you pick up?" But only silence answered him. Finally he hung up and the answering machine dutifully reset itself. Night glided in the window. The moon rose, casting a silver glow. The bloody pool was a dark stain on the moon-whitened floor. Suddenly a patrol car pulled into 101 Gateway. The headlights illuminated Natalie's car, blocking the garage--and Nick's car behind it, haphazardly parked. Abandoned. Alone. Empty. Officers Lloyd and Allen looked at each other. Everyone knew Nick's Caddy on sight, but the gray Ford Taurus wasn't immediately identifiable. Allen picked up the mike and made a request. "Uh Dispatch? This is 42 Bravo. Could you run a make on license plate LR2 M8B, ASAP?" While Allen waited, Lloyd stepped out of the car and approached the Caddy. She used her flashlight to examine the interior. She looked back at Allen and shook her head. No one home. She approached the Ford more cautiously and checked it out. The back seat was strewn with file boxes and a suitcase, but that was it. She approached the door and pushed Nick's buzzer. She waited, but there was no response. She pushed the buzzer again. And again. She leaned on it, but nothing happened. Giving up, she returned to the squad car, where Allen was listening to Dispatch. "Forty-Two Bravo, plate LR2 M8B is registered to Dr. Natalie Lambert of the coroner's office. Do you need any further information?" There was an undertone of unease as the information was reported. "Yeah, could you patch me through to Captain Reese?" The officers looked at each other silently, as they waited. They'd gotten an earful coming over. Dr. Lambert had apparently quit, after a friend's suicide; she'd packed up and disappeared after her shift. Knight had lost his partner in the shooting at the 96th Precinct and had not been seen or heard from since he'd gone off shift. Not good. Definitely not good. "Kind of makes you wonder what'll push you over the line doesn't it?" Lloyd asked as she looked up at the darkened windows. "Yeah." Allen answered. He followed her gaze. "If they're up there they've given up electricity and gone deaf. Wanna bet they aren't there?" Before Lloyd could answer, Reese's voice crackled through the speaker. "Reese here, what have you got on Knight?" he asked. "Both Detective Knight and Dr. Lambert's cars are here, but there are no lights visible in the building, nor do they answer the buzzer. Do you want us to go in Cap?" "Yeah," Reese replied slowly, not liking what he was hearing. He hadn't really expected that they would find both their cars. There was suddenly a cold empty feeling in his gut, telling him things he didn't want to hear. "Keep me posted," he said gruffly, hiding his fear. "Roger." Allen hung up the mike and both Officers got out of the car. They retrieved basic B&E equipment from the trunk to aid their efforts. Bypassing the elevator entrance they quickly broke open the door to the stairs and with guns ready, moved quietly and efficiently up to the door of the loft. Oddly, both felt as if someone had walked over their graves. Allen knocked on the door loudly. "Open up! Police!" They waited. Lloyd positioned herself to cover Allen as he broke the lock. He kicked the door in and entered gun ready. Lloyd followed. In the moonlight, the loft seemed quiet and peaceful. There were no signs of life. "Knight, Dr. Lambert?" Lloyd called out, as Allen found the light switch. He flipped it on. Lloyd gasped, feeling her stomach flip. Both stared at the sticky, gooey pool of congealed, sun-baked blood on the loft floor, and the lone white pump abandoned next to it. "Better check the place out and see if anyone is here at all." They looked at each other, realizing they were probably looking for bodies--either unconscious or dead. It only took them a matter of minutes to determine that there was no one alive or dead in the loft. There was only the blood. Allen called it in. Reese listened in despair. Blood, shoe, abandoned personal possessions. Things that neither Nick or Nat would voluntarily leave behind. The stone in his gut got larger as he called in forensics and crime scene specialists. Then he heaved himself out of his chair and headed on over himself. The sanctity of the loft was violated by lights and activity. A photographer's flash was the first thing to hit Reese's eyes as he walked into the loft. He had never been here, but its sparse utilitarian appearance seemed like an echo of Nick. Nick had never revealed a lot about his personal life; at first glance the loft didn't either. Spotting Dr. Connors, the forensic specialist kneeling by the pool of blood, Reese made his way over and stood staring down at it. His gut told him they were dead, but he didn't know why. He wished Tracy was alive, if anyone had any insight into Nick, besides Dr. Lambert, it would be Tracy. You couldn't spend that much time together and not learn something. But she wasn't alive. And now Nick might not be either. The whole thing went way beyond disturbing. Reese instinctively felt that the accumulated events of the last forty-eight hours had a great deal to do with what had happened here. In fact, Reese was willing to bet that between the suicide and the shooting, the emotional state of both Natalie and Nick had been completely out of control. How those events led to this, whatever it was...well maybe time would tell. Maybe they'd show up. He prayed silently to God that they would. It was tearing him apart. It was tearing the precinct apart. He could tell it by the way people were acting. It was too much death, too many members of their tight little family gone. Even cops have their limit. "Dr. Connors? What have you got?" Reese asked. Connors looked up. His blue eyes looked tired and empty. He snapped off his gloves and stood up. He tiredly shoved his unruly red hair back. "Actually, Captain, I'm not sure what I've got..." he trailed off and stared down at the blood for a moment. "I won't be able to tell you a lot until I get these samples under a microscope, but I can say that the volume of blood here is sufficient to indicate that whoever lost it--is probably dead." Seeing Reese's expression he amended hastily, "Assuming that is, that it came from one person." "The carved staff," he gestured towards the makeshift stake, "is obviously the weapon. Somebody was stabbed with it." He looked at Reese with a puzzled expression, "Leaving the weapon and taking the body is a little unusual. Usually, you take the weapon and leave the body ...unless, of course, you don't want anybody to know who's dead. But ..." He trailed off again and looked out the window. "I don't know Captain, this just feels really...weird. I can't place my finger on it, but something's different about this." Reese placed a hand on his arm, "Relax Doctor, I know. Things have been happening way too fast for me, too." He looked around the room and rubbed his chin, "I know what you mean, it does feel weird." But we aren't gonna find any answers that way. I really need your help on this, and as fast as you can pull it together. If there is any chance that either one of them is alive...well, I'd like to keep it that way." Connors nodded. "We'll get this bagged and in the lab ASAP. I'll let you know." "Thanks." Reese said, and moved past him to talk with Allen. "What've you got, Allen?" He asked when he got his attention. Allen had been scribbling in his notepad. "We've found Dr. Lambert's purse, keys, coat, and presumably one of her shoes," he said, looking at Reese. "It looks like she came directly here after leaving the morgue. All of her files are in the back seat of her car. Dr. Connors has asked to take a look at them to see if there's anything there that might help him get an idea about what was going on in her mind." "So, Dr. Lambert was here, and when she left, it probably wasn't of her own volition. Never knew a woman to leave her purse behind, let alone a shoe." Reese shook his head, feeling tears trying to form. He banished them. He'd have to deal with his own feelings later. Right now he had a crime scene to run. "What else?" "Well, Knight's cellular was found in his coat pocket, his car keys were found on the piano. We also found his ID in his coat. It seems unlikely that he would have left without them." Allen looked at Reese forlornly. It wasn't as if he knew either of them that well, but he'd heard a lot about Knight, seen him around, and had always gotten the feeling that he cared more than he ought to about the cases. And Dr. Lambert, well everybody knew her, she'd always been bright and cheerful in the face of everything. It was just a lot to deal with on top of Detective Vetter's death. The whole precinct was spooked. Three in less than forty-eight hours. Reese patted him on the back. "Thanks, Allen. Just hang in there, we all gotta hang in there." He walked back to the center of the room. "Listen up folks" Reese said loudly getting everyone's attention. "Let's try to find out what happened here as quickly as possible. See if you can find anything on the streets, maybe somebody saw or heard something. We owe it to them, these are some of our best. Right now it doesn't look very good, and I won't try and gloss it over, but let's try to be positive here, OK?" People nodded and bent back to their tasks and Reese left. He found Dr. Connors outside stowing Natalie's files in his Blazer. "Dr. Connors, I'd appreciate it if you let me know as soon as you have any information. If you need anything, let me know. Connors nodded. Reese looked around one last time, his heart heavy. He knew there were only questions here, not answers. Knight had always been an enigma. Not only a loner, but someone who managed to keep his personal life completely apart from work. Reese could think of no one besides Natalie who had entrance to it. Whatever entrance she had found seemed to have swallowed her up as well. He guessed he should go back and start looking at Nick's personnel file. Maybe there'd be something to tell him who else he could talk to. Maybe. Shoulders slumped under the burden, Reese departed. After a while, the swarm of technicians diminished. Evidence had been scrutinized, samples taken, and the loft had been bagged, tagged and gone over with a fine tooth-comb. Finally, the lab people withdrew, leaving a lone officer to lock the door and place the yellow warning tape across it. His solitary footsteps dwindled away, and silence reigned once more. The night moved on, the moon majestically crossed the sky and set, and the sun once more found entrance to the loft. Its bright rays lit up the room again, but the loft was only an empty shell left behind, the wreckage of Nick Knight's life. Day 2 Reese pondered Nick's file. The commendations. The reprimands. His history. He looked at the information on his career in Chicago, and decided to give someone a call, maybe they could tell him about other friends or family. ***************** Dr. Scott Connors was just finishing his careful perusal of Natalie's files when he found the slim black book. It was worn and stained, but no title adorned its cover. He opened it curiously. The first page was blank, so was the second and third. On the fourth page in her neat handwriting, it began... July 8, 1990: Subject has agreed to try a series of tests to overcome condition. Since there is no data available on this condition--nor likely to be, tests will be based on information given me by Subject. We are beginning with a series of tests to find out if we can replace current diet with protein drinks. The pages continued with page after page of various formulas. Consistently followed by the same notation, unsuccessful. Interspersed with the dietary data were blood sample datum. Over and over again was the comment--No change. Connors became intrigued, as he realized nowhere was the condition described, and the pattern of tests followed no recognizable standard. It was almost as if she had been flying blind. The blood data was odd, too. The one dated January 28 included a stapled-in laser printout from a tunneling microscope. He stared in amazement. She had circled what looked like extra nucleotides, the likes of which he had never before seen. What had she been working on, and why was she so vague about it? He looked at the daily log on the opposite page. Jan 30, 1995. We've had a major breakthrough. The tests I've been running with the Litovuterine-B seemed very promising. They have eliminated the v-factor in all blood samples taken from Subject. Today I gave 1 cc to Subject. Immediate reaction sent him to the floor in pain, but within moments he was up saying it was gone. Time was 7:18 a.m. Subject immediately went outside, and suffered no ill effects. We will need to run batteries of tests, but we may have found a cure! Then only a few paragraphs later he saw... Litovuterine-B is a fix. Subject is needing more and more to keep the symptoms from returning. He is delusional, angry, and unable to separate facts from his desires. I cut off the supply today, and he broke in and stole it. The virus has mutated around the litovuterine-B within hours. I wish I had someone to discuss this with. He was so happy, and now I've almost killed him, made him a junkie. Oh God, I don't know if I should be trying to do this. I don't know what I'm doing. He rifled through the pages, knowing he would come back and scrutinize every line. July 17, 1995. Subject has been backsliding. He's returned to his original diet. I think he's losing hope. I wonder if I'm losing hope. He keeps trying for every quick fix. He no longer seems to be trying--is it only for me that he continues, or is this a temporary slump? Nov 2, 1995. Subject was shot in the head. I had to do some major work to keep anyone from noticing anything. Had help from LC. Who'd have thought we would actually work together? Not me. I've always thought he was a thoroughly evil bastard, but I'd never really met him until tonight. I still think he's an evil bastard, but it's obvious he loves Subject. Nov 28, 1995. Subject has suffered another major problem. He was possessed. Not sure I believe in devils, but what I witnessed tonight...well, I'm not sure what to believe. Subject has regressed further in his diet. He is struggling. I think I may have lost the battle. He's growing closer to LC. Never thought I'd see it after what he's said, but there it is. Don't know what to try next. Maybe it isn't just a physical condition... Feb 8, 1996. Subject's friend J has overcome condition. I couldn't believe it when she said how she did it. I still can't believe it. I'm so angry at Subject, all he could say was he couldn't risk my life that way. I'm so angry at me, I just stood there and said I know. I feel as if I'm on a tight-rope wire, and I'm beginning to lose my balance... Connors realized that he wasn't looking at just a medical journal, but possibly the core most important thing in Natalie Lambert's life. She hadn't come out and said it, but she obviously loved the "Subject," and based on what he knew about Nick Knight and his "skin" condition, the journal was about Nick. What the hell was the condition? He'd never seen anything like the blood and RNA samples. Maybe he should brainstorm with Reese. No, he should read this thing from cover to cover first, then he could talk to Reese. ****************** Reese hung up the phone, dumbfounded. Nick Knight had never existed in Chicago. At least not as a physical reality, but only as a computer paper trail. How'd he ever managed to create a background like that and not be found out? How had he ever managed to be a cop? And yet Nick was a good cop. He'd cared deeply and passionately. But that didn't change the facts. Nick Knight didn't exist before he came to Toronto. So who the hell was he? All he had was a lot of dead ends and silence. Maybe there was a good reason why he couldn't find any friends, why he'd kept his personal life so damn quiet. Reese scratched his head and stared at his notes. Feeling a thirst he headed for the water fountain (hope springs eternal, you know) and after a futile attempt gave up and headed for the coffee machine. He poured himself a cup of coffee that had been percolating too long. It looked strong enough to kill an elephant. He sighed and gently rocked the cup in his hand, watching absently as the thick liquid swirled around. He had a meeting in... he glanced at his watch, two hours and 47 minutes to be precise, with the review board for an update. He wasn't sure he wanted to reveal what he had found out--or not found out, depending on how you looked at it. He turned and looked back at the squad room, watching the bustle and activity. Right in the middle of it, there was an empty, quiet spot. Vetter and Knight's desks. In his mind's eye he could see Tracy Vetter perched on the edge of her seat, arguing with Knight, pushing the limits, trying to learn. Always eager and bright, running headlong into danger, with only Knight's experience holding her in check. Reese felt an unaccustomed tightness in the back of his throat, and his vision blurred. He looked down at his coffee. It didn't help. He could see Nick sitting there at that damned desk holding some piece of evidence in his hand, staring into space. How often had he seen him zone out like that over some piece of information, or something someone said. He'd often wondered where he'd gone when he did that. Now he'd never know. He liked to think of it as Nick's mental library, because whenever he'd come back, he'd be off on some weird, bizarre tangent that inevitably ended up being the answer. It was so strange...and yet so intrinsic to Knight. He looked back up over at Nick's desk and saw more memories. Natalie Lambert smiling at Nick, arguing with Nick, being kissed by Nick. As far as information lines went, the squad room had one of the best records for knowing everything that happened almost before it happened, but nobody could ever figure out what went on between those two. There had been more than one pool betting on when they would get together, and even one on when they would break up. He could hear their voices, see them, feel them. He couldn't believe they were gone, and what was he going to tell the board? Hell, he couldn't tell them Knight didn't exist--not yet anyway. And he couldn't define why he was keeping this quiet. He mentally shook himself and headed back to his office. As he sat down, he looked out into the room and found his eyes drawn back to the empty, quiet desks. Forlorn, alone, avoided. He could hear the hush, and he felt he couldn't sit there a moment longer. With that, Joe Reese got up, grabbed his keys and walked out of the precinct, bound on a mission. Damn the review board. Damn it all. He found himself staring up at Nick's apartment. Appraising the loneliness of it. The fortress-like appearance. The security. A place were someone could barricade himself away from the world. His eyes narrowed and creases wrinkled his brow. A place where you could leave your past behind. Slowly, reluctantly he pulled the tape from the door, and unlocked the deadbolt placed there earlier by the forensics team and let himself into Nick Knight's home. The sun streamed into the room, but it wasn't warm. It felt chill and empty. Reese avoided the stained floor and made his way to the bookshelves, looking to find the quintessential Nick. The collection of books was eclectic, to say the least. His tastes were very wide-ranging, but nothing seemed to beckon him. He leafed idly through the stacked paintings. They were infinite in their variety. Some were classical in style, some impressionistic, but most were screamingly expressionist, cubist, or abstract. Some sent messages of fragile hope, most sent messages of despair and hopelessness. He'd heard that Knight was a painter, but he'd had no idea he was this good. If these paintings expressed Knight's feelings, he'd hidden a lot behind that mask. Reese sat back on his heels dumbfounded by the strength of the paintings. He realized he was sweating. Grunting, he pulled himself up and moved on, glancing back at the paintings, realizing he didn't know Nick Knight at all. He looked at the carefully displayed artifacts, wondering what they had meant to Nick, and then he wondered where the money had come from to buy them on his salary. He made a mental note to check. Hope he didn't get another shock like when he called Chicago. He browsed through Nick's mementos and pictures. Not too many of them, but one stopped him and he looked again. Three people stood on a sidewalk with Nick. The clothing style seemed oddly out of date, and he couldn't place where the picture had been taken, but it looked like Europe. He turned it over. The back only said Lily, Bernard, and Herr Toffler. Germany, he wondered? He noticed there was no date. His alarms were going off again. Uneasy he looked around the room and noticed the richly carved walnut cabinet. He approached it warily. Put out a hand and pulled it open. Inside was a painting of a beautiful woman. The painting itself appeared to be old, very old. It looked like something you'd see in a museum. How the hell did Nick Knight own something like that? He shut the door and then sat down heavily on the couch. His gut was telling him more things he didn't want to know and his head was telling him that maybe it was something nobody should know. He pulled himself up, his coat stretched taut across his broad back, outlining his fleshy frame briefly in the sunlight. He walked to the door and looked back at the quiet room. It felt like a mausoleum, it felt empty and hopeless, like Reese. He opened the door and left without looking back again. His next stop was Natalie Lambert's apartment. Once more, he pulled the yellow tape from across the door. Forensics had been in earlier, looking for clues. Compared to Knight's place, her place seemed bright and cheerful and full of life. Just as opposite from Knight's dungeon as you could get. Made you wonder what they had seen in each other. Again he felt like an intruder, but this time it was as if he had stepped into a peaceful place full of hope and faith. But he found nothing. He stopped and looked for a long time at a picture by her bed of Natalie Lambert and Nick Knight, laughing and holding each other. He left abruptly, swearing. Sweat dripped off his forehead, produced by fear and anxiety. While he had not gotten any clues, what he had gotten was a sense of personality and place, and it left him feeling edgy and scared. Behind him, a serene unearthly silence reigned in Natalie's apartment. The sun smiled on her abandoned possessions, caressed them and dusted them with light, giving them one last loving brush as daylight began to withdraw. Hope lived there, and faith, too, in stark contrast to the turbulent darkness at 101 Gateway Lane. Day 3 Scott Connors twisted his neck, stretching it, making faces. He rubbed his bloodshot eyes tiredly. He stretched in the chair and decided it wasn't enough. Getting up, he traced a path around the edges of the room, unaware that his fingers trailed along the wall. He'd just pulled the strangest all-nighter of his life. Night shift had been Lambert's preferred shift, and now he began to understand why. Because she could be with Knight, a man who lived by night and hibernated by day. He'd read the journal, cover to cover, twice. Not once did she mention him by name--or anyone else for that matter. Just elusive initials. LC, J, V, and S. LC and J made appearances throughout, V was a late-comer and S had only made one appearance on stage. Something to do with the "fever." Another obscure reference. It was a scary journey he'd been on, following her through the six years the journal covered. One filled with hope, frustration, fear, and anger. It started out as a log, but had become so much more. Almost like it was the only place she could say anything, yet she'd said so little. So damn much left out, like she'd been afraid to write more than what it took to keep it straight. Connors found himself back in front of the microscope. He looked through it again. No difference. The blood sample stared back. He'd taken the blood sample and compared it with the data in the journal. It was the same blood. It didn't have a type, it didn't match with anything, and he didn't know what to do about it. He suspected Lambert had a good reason not to talk about it, and he wondered if it wasn't a line of reasoning he should follow, too. He pushed his untidy hair out of his face and looked at his watch again. Reese was working days now, due to all the review board stuff. He ought to be in his office by now. He punched in the number and listened to the phone ring. "Reese." The gruff voice answered. "Yeah, Cap, it's Dr. Connors. I think we need to talk. Someplace private." He felt his hand getting sweaty on the phone. He felt like he was committing a crime, and he was scared for no good reason. There was a pause, and it stretched for what seemed hours to Connors. "OK, Doctor, where and when would you like to have this talk?" Reese asked in a voice that suddenly had a barely discernible note of fear. "I'll pick you up in front of the precinct. Ten minutes, OK?" Connors said succinctly. "Yeah," Reese said slowly. "I'll be waiting." The dial tone sounded in his ear. He couldn't believe it. No questions, he would meet him. He reached over and grabbed the journal, turned around and pulled the sample from the microscope. Hastily he assembled everything and threw it into an evidence bag. He looked around, mentally assessing the room. Had he gotten everything? He hoped so. Grabbing his coat, he ran out of the room and trotted down the hall, hoping no one would stop him. The door to the lab swung to and fro silently behind him. Reese wiped the sweat from his brow and looked through the glass to the squad room. He noticed how everybody was avoiding looking at Det. Vetter and Knight's desks. It was hard on everybody. He sighed and heaved himself up from his desk. Lt. Miller met him in the doorway with a manila folder. "Accounting said you wanted this right away, Cap," she said, diffidently handing him the account, her eyes not quite meeting his. He looked at the title on the folder. It was labeled simply, "Knight." "Thanks," he said, taking it. He watched Miller make her escape and wished he could, too. He sat back down and opened the folder. It was a record of Knight's bank accounts. He stopped breathing suddenly as he skimmed the file. He stared at the dollar figure. Hell! It was like being hit with cold water. Three. Million. Dollars. In various accounts. Not a lot of traffic on it. Knight lived simply, it seemed. Rich, but simply. He thought about what he'd seen in his house, the Caddy, his clothes. Money hadn't seemed to matter to him. Come to think of it power hadn't seemed to matter, either. Just getting the job done. He wondered where the money had come from. He glanced through the pages. Apparently he'd had it before coming to work at Metro. Another damn mystery. Reese felt like he'd stepped into the Twilight Zone. He looked at the clock and swore. Locking the file in his drawer he headed for his meeting with Connors. He instinctively knew Connors was running into the same walls of silence he had. That was why he wanted to talk to him and he didn't like it one damn bit. Incredibly enough, he timed it right and walked out of the precinct just as Connors rounded the corner in his Blazer. Reese pulled the door open and climbed in. Connors had it in gear before he even got the door shut. Reese glanced at him, then took a good long look. "You look like hell, Doctor," he offered. "Yeah," Connors glanced at him. "I feel like it, too. Been up all night..." he rounded the corner and pressed down a little harder on the gas pedal "... trying to figure this thing out...and you know something, I don't think we ought to. Funny, it's my job to figure out what happened and why, but this time... But if you don't mind I also don't feel real comfortable discussing it, until we get someplace way the hell away from here." He glanced over to see Reese watching him with an unreadable expression. "Want some chips?" he offered throwing his chin the direction of the back seat. Reese glanced back and then looked at Connors again. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully, "don't mind if I do." He reached into the back seat for the chips. Couldn't hurt, he thought to himself. He munched on chips trying to ignore the feeling in his gut until they reached their destination. Only the radio filled the silence after that, until Connors pulled into a parking lot of a small suburban park, where there were no cars at all, and only a single man sitting on a bench reading the paper within view. Connors turned the ignition off and they sat in silence for a couple of minutes. Finally he looked at Reese, to find Reese looking at him. He cleared his throat. "I found a journal among Dr. Lambert's files," he said baldly. "It's not exactly something you'd like just anybody to take a look at. In fact, I don't think she intended anyone to ever see it." "What do you mean by that?" Reese asked curiously, watching Connors play nervously with the steering wheel. "Well, it started out as a log on some experiments she was doing--exactly what I'm not certain, and though she doesn't say who, I'd be willing to bet the bank it was Knight. She's very careful not to state the condition or the problem, or name any names. I think she kept it that way because it was dangerous. Why it's dangerous I can't put a handle on, but all the way through, she makes little references to the fact she shouldn't have any of this on paper, because if they found out her life wouldn't be worth a tinker's damn. Anyway, she was apparently doing a series of tests trying to eliminate or modify certain elements in his blood." Connors stated that last part very carefully, not certain how to continue. Reese raised an eyebrow and looked at him. "So...?" Connors shifted uncomfortably. Suddenly he was trying to put into words things he hadn't consciously even thought out. What if he was completely out in left field? What if...ah, the hell with it, just say it! "That's the problem, Cap. I don't know what the elements are." He pulled the journal out of the evidence bag and opened it to the page with the printout from the tunneling microscope, and showed it to Reese. "There are extra nucleotides in this sample. I found those same nucleotides in the blood from the floor of the loft and on the staff. What I didn't find was a blood type. None. Nada. Zip." "No blood type? That's not possible!" Reese interjected, amazement coloring his voice. "Yeah, I know. I triple-checked the tests. I even did them over, twice! No blood type, extra elements every time. It's like he's got a blood type that has never been recorded before. It doesn't match any blood profiles at all." Connors pushed his hair out of his face and noticed he was sweating again. He shifted in his seat and looked at Reese. "This log that Dr. Lambert kept, turned into a hell of a lot more than a log. It turned into a journal of what she's been doing and feeling and thinking for the last six years. Oh, she starts out objectively enough, but you can see it--she got less and less objective. Probably because she fell in love. I don't know why they started on this course. I don't know what the objective was. What I do know is that whatever was different about Knight was standing between them like an ocean, or a giant chasm. This thing was a gulf between them that they couldn't cross." He flipped through the pages and found an entry towards the end, and read it to Reese. Feb 23, 1996. I really screwed up this time. I completely lost my objectivity. I used Subject's blood to try to help someone else whom I will call K. And it did, temporarily. His intelligence increased to the point of normalcy. Subject was angry with me. I went specifically against his wishes, but I thought it would help, give K a chance to be like everybody else. What only one cc of subject's blood to K. However, K became violent and delusional. He was destroyed when he realized what he had been missing all these years, and knew it would be gone in 24 hours. I had hoped that his intelligence would remain. It was Subject had to clean up for me and reestablish the trust that had been destroyed between K and his guardian. What I had never realized before was that the violence is inherent in the condition. I never realized how tight a reign he has to keep on himself every waking moment. I made some assumptions that after all this time, those desires and feelings were in the past. I even said as much to him a only six months ago. Only now do I realize why he didn't answer me. After seeing how a little of his blood affected K, I began to realize why he might never let himself be close to me, or say what's in his eyes. He just can't afford to let down his guard for a second. The demons are with him always. I would give anything for him to be free of this curse. Anything. And I don't know if there is a cure. Funny, if it wasn't for this damned thing, we would never have met, and yet because of it, we can never be together. Connors shut the journal and drummed his fingers for a moment on the cover. "The problem is Cap, that when I start adding up everything I know here, I get nervous, and wonder if maybe her line of reasoning is the only one to follow--shut up and cover up." "What?" Reese exclaimed. He looked Connors over carefully and began to think he needed a vacation. "Yeah, I know, it goes against everything I was trained for. It's my job to figure out what happened and why. I'm supposed to find what people are hiding, and you know what, I've always enjoyed it. It was a puzzle I couldn't put down, but now.... Shit!" He looked at Reese with an air of puzzlement. "Sorry Cap. It's just that now, I'm starting to think maybe some things aren't supposed to be solved." "Why don't you explain that a little more carefully." Reese said soothingly, trying to calm Connors down. He was acting a little manic, and Reese didn't need to lose another member of the Forensic team. "OK. F'rinstance, we have no valid blood type for the blood, but it matches Dr. Lambert's samples." The words were tumbling out, almost rolling over each other. "I looked up Knight's records, and he's listed as B positive. The information was supplied by Dr. Lambert. If anyone knew better, she did, and yet she signed the record. I looked up his last physical, and guess who gave it to him? Right again. Natalie Lambert! And that stuff about how his blood affected "K," that sure as hell doesn't sound like something that would happen outside of science fiction!. I've never heard of anything like that--she gave this "K" person a tiny dose and it affected his intelligence? And then he got violent and delusional?" It's just too weird!" Connors stared out the window for a moment, and took a deep breath. "While I'm at it, I might as well make a first class idiot of myself here. Knight couldn't go out in the sun. Period. Just didn't do it. Knight was on a stringent diet. Hell, I asked around the squad room last night about his eating habits, and you know what I found out? No one, could recall ever seeing the guy drink a cup of coffee, or eat a donut, or join them for pizza. No. One." Then there's the arrest records." He noticed Reese's look. "Yeah, I looked briefly at them last night, too. I guess I was obsessing or something. Anyway, I found three different records where perps said some really strange things about him that managed to land in the records. One called him a monster, another said he shot him and he should be dead, and a third said he flew. Granted the guy had been doing drugs for 48 hours, but still..." Connors shrugged, and then continued. "Did you know we found blood in his fridge?" At Reese's look Scott looked away. "Apparently it isn't the first time. He was arrested about two years ago by IA. According to the records he had steer blood in his fridge. We found it, too. Knight said it was for painting. Some technique or something. But there was FIVE bottles of it." Connors mind skittered around an idea forming in his head. What if Nick had not been exactly human? What if...? He clamped down on his thoughts. He couldn't, wouldn't believe them. "What if it wasn't for painting? What if it was for something else? Cap, when I add this up, I'm looking at something that does not compute. I'm not sure I wanna compute it." "So, what are you saying, then, Doctor Connors?" Reese enunciated carefully. "I'm saying what Natalie Lambert knew got her killed. And I think that whatever it was that Nick Knight was doing or was probably got him killed, too. Natalie Lambert was terrified of "them," whoever they are, that's why she didn't write much down. Maybe "they" found out and came after Knight and Lambert." Connors looked at Reese and Reese stared back impassively. Underneath that bland face his mind was racing. Knight didn't exist. Knight's unobtrusive wealth. The photo. The painting. The money. He was allergic to sun. Lambert was trying to cure him of...what? His blood didn't type. Suddenly his hands were sweating. He realized Connors was still talking. ...maybe we should just say that it's Nick's blood, substitute a B positive sample and let it go. I don't think this one falls under the jurisdiction of the Toronto police department. I think it falls under UFO's, Unsolved Mysteries or Mythology and we are never going to find the answer. At least not answers that anybody will believe. Cap, I don't think I want to find the answer. Hell, I don't believe it and I'm looking at it. I'd like to remember Nick as I knew him. Not as...I dunno." He finished lamely, almost ashamed. He never thought he'd be saying things like this. Silence filled the air. Connors waited for Reese to kick his butt. But he didn't. Reese drew a deep breath and let it out. "All right. We've got some unexplainable factors. We've got a medical examiner who was hip deep in something she was terrified about, Furthermore she chose not to say or do anything to get herself out of the situation. She wasn't coerced, and she wasn't doing anything technically wrong, if you don't count the misinformation about Knight's blood type. Right?" Connors started. "Uh, right," he echoed. Reese continued. "We've got a detective, with some inconsistencies in his diet and his blood that may tie into what Dr. Lambert was working on." Reese thought to himself, I'm not sure I even want to think about that right now. "And this doesn't go any farther either," Reese warned. "his history in Chicago is false and he had more money than you or I could ever dream of." Connors blinked, stunned and then he pushed his hair back off his face. It fell back down. He didn't notice. "We've got a mystery, with more questions coming in every damn minute and no answers, no leads and no clues." Reese looked at Connors. He rubbed the side of his face wearily. "I'm not sure that I want to know the truth here, either. But that's our job. To find the truth. Question is, is the truth gonna help in this case? I don't know that yet. But I'm gonna find out." Reese sat up a little straighter, and looked Connors in the eye, pinning him. "I'm not one to accept ghosts or the supernatural, or UFO's or any other damfool thing. Not on my watch. At least, not yet. You keep looking, but you keep it all under your hat. Don't give out any information to anyone, or delegate any of this. Got that?" Connors swallowed and realized he hadn't been annihilated for talking heresy (like hiding unexplainable facts, and outright lying about results). He wasn't happy to keep looking, but he'd do his best. And hope to hell that he didn't end up dead for trying to reach into a black hole for information. "Yeah, I got it," he said. Reese patted him on the shoulder kindly. "Don't worry, Connors. I'm not going to have you put out a report with any science-fiction in it. If we can't find a blood type, we'll give it Knight's recorded blood type. Hell, we know it's his anyway." Reese couldn't believe he was saying it, but he knew it was true. If Lambert had kept the unexplainable a deep, dark, secret, who was he to let the sun shine on it. Did the world really need to know Knight didn't exist, that he was richer than anyone thought? He bet Lambert had known, and she hadn't said anything. He just didn't know, but maybe a couple of days would shed some light in that direction. "Let's plan on de-briefing on Friday, to see what else we've got. Then we'll decide what we're gonna do." Feeling more settled for their brief soul-baring session, both unconsciously relaxed. Connors started up the Blazer, and they headed back. ******************** The real-estate agent opened the door a little too vigorously. It was well oiled and banged loudly against the wall. He walked in with his three potential buyers. The place was silent and dark. He flipped on the switches bringing the place to dim life. It wasn't meant to be bright in here. The three wandered around, interestedly inspecting the place. One checked the bar, another thrust his way through the chains and checked out the dance floor. The third looked into the back room. They regrouped after the brief checkout and the agent began the formal tour, spouting information about the Raven. Thirty minutes later, they left. The door slammed behind them and the lock clicking into place echoed through the empty room. The chains swung gently. It was almost as if you could hear music, but there was none. The Raven lay empty. A home, a haven abruptly and permanently abandoned, much like LaCroix's hope. If one listened closely one could hear the echoes of past conversations... And what if we take these lives seriously? Then we get hurt, Nicolas. You know that. We get hurt. Day 4 Quiet hushed music floated over the room as it emptied. Uniforms mostly, going out to prepare the way. Commissioner Vetter sat staring at the coffin, unable to believe it. She was dead. His bright-eyed, golden-haired daughter. Caught in a fire-fight. A stupid senseless shooting. And no one to explain what happened. His face tightened over it. He knew somewhere in his brain that Knight hadn't been responsible. The report said he didn't know she was there. He hadn't even been in the building when it started, but...still he wanted Knight. He wanted to scream at him, he wanted him to tell him what happened. He wanted answers. He wanted Tracy back. Silently, tears flowing down her face, his estranged wife sat beside him. Saying nothing, but when she looked at him, it was in her eyes. The blame. Damn you for making her into a cop. She should have been doing something else, not playing with guns. He could read it all. But then she'd been saying it for years, he thought wearily. He felt tears leaking out his eyes, and running silently down his face. Reese put a hand on his shoulder, startling him. "Commissioner," he said quietly. "It's time." Six officers marched to the front and picked up the coffin. Tracy's pallbearers were officers who had worked the beat with her. There was no one from Homicide. The one who should have been there, wasn't. The Commissioner helped his weeping wife up, and they followed the coffin out. Watched them put it in the hearse. Silently. The breeze blew loudly around his ears. His senses seemed to overload. Every sound was magnified. He felt his heart push its way into his throat. Someone touched his arm and then they were being helped into a car. Twenty motorcycle cops escorted Tracy to her last resting place. Following the procession were as many black-and-whites as could be spared. Laying one of their own to rest. Honor for the fallen in the line of duty. Many who paid their last respects were from Homicide and almost all thought of the two still missing, and vowed they would be found. There would be answers. ****************** Grace returned home, and sat down in her rocking chair. She stared out the window. She lay her head back against the caning of the chair and felt the tears start to flow again. Sydney jumped up into her lap and snuggled down. She looked down into his upturned face and caressed his ears. "Don't worry, Sydney," she whispered, they'll find her." But the words sounded hopeless in her own ears. She looked out the window and worried about Natalie. "Where are you, girl, where are you? Come home, please?" ****************** Reese returned to the precinct, weary. He felt as if ghosts walked with him every step of the way to, through, and from the funeral. He kept expecting to see Nick sitting there, struggling with the weight of his guilt. He remembered so clearly the look on his face when he'd talked with him at Tracy's bedside. The hopelessness and hope warring in his face. "She's got a chance." Nick's voice echoed in his head. She'd never had a chance, really. They had both known it. He'd offered his help, but he hadn't stayed. Duty had called. He should have stayed. If only he'd stayed. Would Nick be here? Would Natalie? He looked at the desks. Still a gray and empty place in the squad room. He brought a box over and gently put it on her desk. He felt his throat close up. Slowly he pulled the drawer open and began to clean out Tracy Vetter's desk. People looked at him out of the corners of their eyes and they went about their business. Nobody said anything. Reese looked over at Nick's desk, and wondered how soon he'd be doing the same thing for him. ****************** Connors sat down in the lab and closed his eyes. He hadn't known Tracy very well, but he'd gone to pay his respects. He'd wondered for the millionth time about what Tracy might have known. How close had she been to Nick Knight, or to Natalie Lambert? He laid his head on the desk and closed his eyes. Too many. Too many dead, and nothing he could do would change that. ****************** The last of the cars had long since rolled away from the cemetery. All was silent. The grave was quietly filled in and the sod laid. A mass of flowers then paved her resting place. Tracy Vetter was only a memory. Her loves, her hopes, her dreams and desires shattered by a bullet. Day 5 Connors and Reese met in a quiet little restaurant. Over lunch they talked quietly. "Nothing has come in from the streets. Nobody saw nothing." Reese said. "The Uniforms have turned in their reports and they aren't hearing even a whisper from informants. They just vanished off the face of the earth. Basically, we are at a dead end. Commissioner Vetter is demanding action, but we can't take action on what we can't find." Connors nodded silently. "Cap, I have been through all the evidence. There are lots of fingerprints from his place that we can't trace, but that's not unexpected. Other than that, I can say it is Natalie's shoe. We were able to positively identify her blood type from the residual sweat in the shoe.." He dropped his voice a notch and continued. "Can't do anything about the blood though. It still doesn't come out in any tests," he hesitated, "I put down on my preliminary report that it's B positive and matches Nick's blood type. I haven't reported anything from her journal." His eyes met and locked with Reese, challenging him to say something. Reese sighed and looked into his coffee, hoping it would give him inspiration, but all it seemed to do was give him indigestion. That or the burrito, probably the burrito. He looked at Connors. "I'll let it stand for now. The information there doesn't point to anything or anyone that can help. But we may have to open it up, if nothing comes up." "Yeah," Connors agreed. Then he reached down and pulled his briefcase up onto the table. He took the journal out and held it lightly in his hands for a moment, then held it out to Reese. Reese looked at it, and then looked at him questioningly. "I think you should have this. Read it and then lock it up someplace safe. Maybe you can figure out what the best thing to do." "Maybe," he said through a constricted throat. Connors got up and left. Reese sat there letting his coffee get cold. Finally he pushed himself up and walked out into the sunshine. The slim journal, the only physical clue to the mystery known as Nick Knight, held in his hand. He stood there on the sidewalk, letting the sunshine wash over him. He felt like he was going to cry. He thought about Tracy Vetter; her bright smile. Her instincts had been good, but she'd never gotten a chance to hone them. He thought of Natalie and her calm voice. The look in her eye when she'd look at Nick. Nick. The way he'd look at her. He looked at the journal in his hand. He knew it didn't hold the answers. He didn't know if he wanted to know the answers. He would read it. Then he would lock it away. Officially, the investigation was still hot, but he knew that with no clues and nothing new coming in, it would go on the back burner, and then it would quietly disappear into the unsolved cases. He missed him. He missed him more than he thought possible. His maverick, uncontrollable cop, with his brilliant mind, and crazy conclusions that didn't even get near left field. A thousand memories flickered through his mind. Tears slid down his cheeks, and he let them fall unchecked. They were probably dead. In his heart he knew they were dead. He hoped they were together wherever they were. He hoped they were at peace. He headed back to the precinct. He had a lot of work to do. ------------------------------------------------------------------ Authors Notes: (1) The only thing I added to the ambiguous ending of TPTB is the blood and the pump. You may assume what you will for your own peace of mind. Nat and Nick may be alive, they may all being living in Paris. Or not. (2) I don't really think Nick doesn't have a blood type, just that its one that isn't on record. I can see it now, yeah he's type V-. The universal vampire blood type. Can take anything and guzzle it down. After all how many vampires are going to go GIVE blood or have their blood tested? (3) If they are dead, I like to think that LaCroix gave Nick a funeral similar to Divia. A Viking funeral comes to mind, and since Natalie's wounds are sort of obvious, and she is so closely tied to Nick, I like to think he would bury her with Nick. Suddenly I can hear that music from The Vikings with Tony Curtis and Kirk Douglas (La Dah dah, La Dah dah....) as the burning boat heads out into the ocean. Sniffle. (4) Thanks to all of those who sent words of encouragement for my first story. It helped to get this one out of my head and onto virtual paper. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think.