Curiouser Still...
Part 2

See Part 1 for notes and disclaimers and all that other stuff.  Lost
parts can be found at http://www.loftworks.com/wftk/fiction.html


     She turned around.  Her plump smiling face was surrounded by
wisps of curling, golden hair that escaped her bun.
     "Nicolas," she said, putting down a spoon and bustling over to
envelop him in a warm, generous hug.  He was surrounded by the smell
of the rosemary scent she'd always worn.  He sank into it, holding her
close and let all her love flow over him.
     He stepped back, holding her hands, examining her closely,
knowing he must be going crazy, hallucinating or dreaming--at the very
least.  But he couldn't help himself, and the words were out before he
could think it through.  "How can this be?  How can you be here, it
isn't possible..."
     "Oh, pish!" she said, pinching his cheek.
     He reached up slowly and felt his cheek, remembering how often
she had done it and smiled in spite of his doubts and disbelief.
     "Can't a mother visit her son once in a while?  I see everyone
else at least once a decade, and my brother Jean, far too often at
that, but you, Nicolas, so long.  Not just decades, but centuries.
You drive me to distraction.  My little boy, and so sad..."
     Nick stepped back from her in disbelief.  "What?"
     "What, what?  You don't want to see your Mother?"
     Nick shook his head.  "This isn't happening.  You're dead."
     She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head.  "So?  You
are, too.  What is the problem?"
     Nick felt his mouth go slack in astonishment.
     She laughed, and her laughter filled the loft with silver peals
of joy that lifted his heart.  "You are so silly, my Nicolas.  So
foolish with your mouth hanging open like that."  She stopped and
sniffed the air.  "Oh, and you make me forget my omelet.  It will
burn."  With that she turned on her heel and busied herself at the
stove, whipping the pan off the unit.  She deftly folded the omelet
and turned it from the pan onto a plate, and covered it with a
delectable smelling sauce that had been simmering on the back unit.
     Nick, hovering behind her, watched in amazement, and licked his
lips.  It looked so good.  His stomach grumbled and he stared down in
surprise.
     She placed the plate on the table where silverware waited.  "Sit
down, Nicolas, and eat.  It will do you good."  As she spoke, she
poured coffee into a cup and placed it down by the omelet.
     "I... uh, I can't eat food, Maman."  Nick began uneasily.
     "Oh, nonsense."  She pushed him into the chair and sat down next
to him, her long muslin skirt brushing against his leg.  It all seemed
so real.  Yet it couldn't be.
     "Eat," she commanded, nudging him with her hand.  "Eat, and tell
me about this Natalie.  She's been the best thing to happen to you in
so long.  Much nicer than that Janette, probably the nicest girl
you've met since you hooked up with that nasty LaCroix."
     Nick stared at her, knowing his mouth was open again.  "How?  How
do you know about Janette and LaCroix...?" he sputtered.
     "What?  You think I don't watch over you, worry over you?  Worry
about your mistakes--that was a very bad one, to go with Janette, non?
I just about tore my hair out over *that*.  Then I see you finally
pulling yourself out of that pit you put yourself in, and *at last* a
nice girl with some backbone that I wouldn't mind seeing in the
family.  How could I possibly stay away?  Hmm?"
     "Maman," Nick said patiently, knowing he was talking to a figment
of his overheated imagination, but unable to help himself anyway,
"none of this is possible.  You are dead.  Dead and buried
eight-hundred years ago.  And I...I can't eat food.  I drink...blood."
There, he'd said it.  He waited for her condemnation.
     She frowned at him a little impatiently and brushed his hair off
his forehead.  "You need a haircut."
     "Maman!"
     "Don't Maman me!  I don't need reminding I'm over eight-hundred.
And I know very well what you drink."  She took him by the shoulders
and dug her fingers into his flesh.  "Does this feel like your
imagination, mon petite?"
     Nick shook his head slowly.
     "Bon.  Then listen very closely.  You always let your emotions
run away with your head.  Always you acted before you thought--and you
still do, but that is beside the point--I am here and this is real.
Anything *is* possible.  You must trust me on this one, Nicolas.
Trust me.  I am here.  Why?  Because I worry about you so.  You fight
such hard battles, my son, and you are worn and weary from it.  You
need a holiday, a rest.  A moment of peace."  She took his hand in
hers.  "So, today, I am here, but just for today, do you understand?
And for today, the rules do not apply.  There can be peace in your
heart.  Renewal for tomorrow's battles.  All the laws are disengaged
here inside your rather austere...what do you call it?"
     "Loft," Nick supplied automatically, trying to understand what
she was saying, puzzling through the words.  There was a riddle there
somewhere that he couldn't seem to solve.  This truly was the
strangest of dreams--if it was a dream...
     "Now eat.  I've been dying to try out your kitchen for ever so
long--and all the food.  Oh my, coffee.  Sugar, and, oh, Nicolas,
chocolate.  Such divine decadence.  It is so exciting.  I must bake a
pie, too.  It is all so much nicer than cooking over a hot fire, non?"
     Nick stared at her hand holding his, at the work-worn hands that
held his with such love and tenderness.
     "How can this be?  I don't understand."
     "Shhh, don't waste time trying to understand.  Just...live.  Live
in the moment.  Live, my Nicolas."
     Nick looked up and met her violet eyes, heavy with unshed tears,
and the smile that made her face light up from inside.
     "Live," she whispered vervently.
     Nick brought her hand to his lips and touched it reverently.  "I
would never argue with my mother."
     She snorted.  "And what have you been doing since you walked into
this room?"
     He smiled tenderly into her eyes.  "I've missed you."
     She patted him on his cheek.  "And you should.  It has been far
too long."  She got up and walked back to the stove.
     Nick reached for the coffee and sniffed it.  It did smell good.
Maybe he could stomach some of it.  He began to sip.
     "You'd best hurry, your sister will be here before you know, and
you know how she always eats off your plate..."
     Nick spit out the coffee and began coughing.
     "Nicolas, I'm sorry," she said rushing back to pat him on the
back.  "I forgot you aren't used to eating."
     "No," Nick said twisting around to look at her.  "Fleur?"
     "Oh, yes, well you know Fleur.  Once she heard I was coming,
there was no stopping her.  I gather she has a bone to pick with you."
     Nick stared in astonishment, feeling that he'd walked through the
looking glass.  It was beyond curious...it was...
     "Would you eat!" his mother demanded.
     Nick looked at the food and found that his stomach was in
agreement.  He was hungry.  It smelled delicious.  Blood was not what
he craved right now.  He didn't understand, but he decided to go with
it.  It was a most vivid dream.  But it was his dream (or delusion)
and he was going to enjoy it.
     He slowly picked up the fork, cut off a small portion of the
omelet and put it in his mouth.  It was delicious.  He savored it.
Closed his eyes and let it melt on his tongue.  It was better than he
could have ever imagined.
     "That's better," his mother said approvingly, tousled his hair,
and went back to the stove.
     Nick ate eagerly, every bite divine.
     All too soon the omelet was gone, and Nick hungrily gulped his
coffee.  It wasn't enough.  He wanted more...
     She'd heard his thoughts, because even as he put down the coffee
cup, a tart was placed in front of him.
     "I know I should wait for lunch, but I couldn't help it.  It's
an..."
     "Apple tart," Nick breathed.
     "Your favorite."
     "I haven't had one of these in..."
     "...a long time.  At least seven-hundred and sixty-seven years.
Probably a decade more."
     Nick stared up at her.
     "You didn't get them out there in the Holy Land, did you?"
     "No," Nick allowed.  "We didn't."
     "So, eat it already.  And then you can tell me about Natalie and
this job you have.  This 'cop' job.  You are a protector of citizens,
no?"
     Nick nodded, his eyes never leaving the tart.  He'd eaten them
hot off the stove as a child and even as a young man.  Often in
trouble for stealing them before cool.  But they'd been best hot, and
worth every bit of trouble he'd ever gotten into.  The juice had
dripped down his chin and stained his doublet, and he'd never gotten
enough of them.  Never.  He reached out and picked it up.
     It was hot.
     Hungrily, he bit into it.  Juice squirted out, but he paid it no
heed.  It was good.  So good.  None had ever tasted better.  He closed
his eyes and savored every bite.
     But at last it was gone and he sighed.  "Maman," he said softly.
     "Oui, Nicolas,"
     "Thank you.  It was...wonderful."
     She handed him a warm wash cloth and he gently wiped the juices
from his chin and a piece of tender flaking crust from the corner of
his mouth.
     "We're going to try chocolate at lunch," she whispered
conspiratorially. " I've been dying to make this recipe I got from a
cook who died in 1943.  I hope you don't mind being my guinea pig."
     Nick laughed.  "Never."
     "Bon.  Now let us talk before Fleur gets here.  I'm so glad that
girl hasn't a single on-time bone in her body.  I am very selfish and
want you all to myself."
     Nick allowed her to pull him up and lead him to the couch.  She
pushed him down into the plush leather and settled herself comfortably
next to him.
     "Tell me," she commanded, "about this Natalie."
     Nick looked into her deep violet eyes and wondered how this could
be a dream.  It was too real.  He began to suspect it was all real but
he didn't know how or why.  Or how his mother could know so much.
"How do you know so much?" he asked softly taking her hand in his.
     "Just because I'm not here, doesn't mean I don't see.  You think
we sit around on clouds playing harps!  That is the biggest story
there ever was.  Life goes on, you know, Nicolas.  So, I peek in on
you from time to time.  Watch, see what you are up to.  It has been
hard, but I've watched more often this last century as you've turned
your life around and made better choices."
     Nick stared down at his hands, pain suddenly marring his face.
"I'm sorry you have had to see what a mess I've made of my life."
     "Perhaps," she allowed tilting her head and smiling up at her
sober son, "but there are many who have done worse, and never looked
back, never cared.  You, on the other hand, have carried more than
your share of the burden.  And now, at last, the scales are beginning
to balance."
     Nick looked at her, startled.  "What do you mean?  I can never
atone, never make up for what I've done."
     She patted his cheek.  "Always, away you look, to the horizon,
never seeing what is in front of you..."
     Nick furrowed is brow.  The words sounded familiar.  "Wait a
minute.  That's not you...that's Yoda talking!"  Nick laughed at the
absurdity of it.  "You're quoting Yoda?  When did you see Star Wars?"
     Elisabeth de Brabant leaned comfortably against her son and
laughed.  "You think we don't pay attention.  It was a silly movie,
but everybody was stampeding to see it, so we decided to see it, too.
Such a funny little gnome of a man, thinking he was full of wisdom.
Pish!"
     Nick stopped and realized that she had very cleverly diverted him
from his guilt.  From his original question.  "Maybe he was, but you
are cleverer.  How do you know the scales are balancing?"
     She shook her head in frustration.  "You are so like your father.
Pigheaded.  Stubborn.  All emotions and not two sane thoughts to rub
together in your head.  Can't you feel it, Nicolas?  Can't you feel
it?"
     "Feel what?" Nick asked puzzled.
     "Feel the peace that sometimes seeps into your heart?  You didn't
used to have a moment's peace, but now...so many of them.  You are
getting there.  You have a long ways to go, still, but you are getting
there.  You just mustn't give up!"
     Nick stared at her, realizing what she was saying.  It was true.
In the last few years, with Natalie, he had made progress.  He had
felt human.  He had felt...happy.  And often he was just content.  Not
always.  But sometimes.  And he liked his work.  He was more
comfortable around people.  Much like a cold slowly eases away, his
guilt had quietly been seeping away a tiny bit at a time.
     "I guess I didn't notice."
     "No, you never did.  When you ruined your Aunt Heloise's dress,
you thought she hated you forever.  But she didn't.  It just took a
couple of decades for her to come around.  You definitely get it from
your Father's side of the family."
     Nick laughed and hugged her.  "As if you aren't volatile, too!"
     "Me?  Never," Elisabeth said with a saucy smile.  "Now, tell me
about Natalie."
     Nick knew that she would say no more on the subject of guilt and
atonement.  Perhaps it was better so.  If he was moving at a snail's
pace, it might be better not to see how far he had to go, or how slow
he was moving.  At least he was moving.
     "What do you want to know?" he asked with a smile.  "It sounds to
me like you already know everything."
     "No, not everything.  Not the most important thing of all...do
you love her?"
     Nick looked into his mother's eyes.  She watched him solemnly,
seriously, and Nick knew it was important to be honest with her--and
with himself.
     "Yes," he said softly.  "Very much.  More than I thought
possible.  I've learned to love her slowly.  She started out as a
friend.  And over time I fell in love with her, the way she thinks,
the way she expects nothing less than the best from me, the way she
doesn't allow me to wiggle out of things.  It was very different.
I've always fallen for beauty.  For passion and romance.  For women of
mystery.  Without really knowing them.  But Natalie...I know her
inside and out.  And one day I realized I didn't just like her
anymore.  I loved her."
     "That is good.  That is the best kind of love.  That is the kind
that lasts forever.  Like I had with your father.  I would never have
thought that the annoying boy I'd known all my life would end up being
someone I would love so.  This is very good.  Now tell me what it is
she does?  I'm afraid I don't quite understand."
     Nick laughed.  "No.  Women didn't do things like that, then.
Come to think of it, I'm not sure anyone really did.  When people
died, we just buried them.  But now, if the cause is suspicious,
specialized doctors open up their bodies and try to determine the
cause--whether it was natural or not.  That's what Natalie does.  It's
called Forensic Medicine.  They solve the mystery of death and tell us
whether someone died because it was their time, or if it was unnatural
causes."
     "Murder, you mean.  I find your times very distressing.  People
treat life with such callousness.  They have no reverence for it.  No
love for one another."
     "In some ways, that's true.  But in others...I don't know.  It's
just different.  Rather than carrying a buckler and shield, sword and
knives--they carry guns.  The weapons are different, but people still
kill each other."  Nick looked away, remembering all the havoc and
death he had caused in his bloodlust.
     "You are thinking of your past, aren't you?  You really must stop
that.  Here I am, visiting for the first time in eight-hundred years,
and you are off daydreaming."
     Nick laughed and took her hands in his and kissed each with
courtly grace.  "I apologize, Maman.  It has become a very bad habit."
     "So I've noticed."
     There was suddenly a clatter on the back stairs and the door
pushed open abruptly.  Nick looked up to see Fleur, her golden hair
falling down her back in glorious disarray, burst into the room.
     "I'm late," Fleur announced.  "I overslept.  Sorry."

End Part 2
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