Author's delirious ramblings...

This little story started off one way, and then went another.  What
can I say?  Donald G. Schanke grabbed the story out of my hands,
rifled through it, and looked at me like I was obviously incompetent.
"No," he said, waving the story under my nose impatiently, "*that is
NOT the way it happened*.  Sheesh!  Do I have to do everything
myself?"  He did a turn around the room, stopped, took a breath and
said, "okay, if you're gonna write me, you're gonna do it RIGHT!" Then
he started dictating, and I started typing. <veg>

Without John Kapelos' magnificant performance as the ever put-upon
Schanke, we would all be the less.  We miss ya John (and Don).

Thanks to Jeanne and Liza for beta-reading this story and keeping me
on the right track.

As always, I welcome all comments, virtual chocolates with
utter joy, and cheerfully ignore flames at delggren@loftworks.com

This story may be archived at fkfanfic.com.  All else please ask for
permission.


Trust 

By Dorothy Elggren
Copyright February 1998



        "Since when did the academy start teaching cops to fly?  It's
        not humanly possible that you were there before me!"
        "Schank?"
        "What?"
        "Listen to me.  Look at me."
        "What?"
        "You didn't see anyone or anything flying.  Do you understand?"
        "I understand..."
        "Now, let's get out of here.  You're going to drop me off and
        take my car for the day...  See if you can get it washed."
        "LISTEN!  You were right in my line of fire.  I *can't*
        believe you did that!"
        "Lucky you're a crack shot."

                                 *****

        Jenny leaned her hand on her fist as she sat on the curb and
squinted her eyes against the blinding brilliance of the sun and
watched her father with the intensity that only a nine-year-old can
have.
        Slowly, carefully, with a concentration bordering on
obsession, Donald G. Schanke rubbed turtle wax on the fin on the
Cadillac. He moved with precision down onto the trunk lid and
rhythmically pressed the wax in, leaving round waxy circles in his
wake.
        "What'cha doing?" Jenny asked finally as Don dropped the
wax-covered cloth to pick up a clean one.
        Schanke looked up in surprise to find Jenny staring at him
from her front-row seat.  His expression softened into a loving smile
as he took in his daughter's appearance.  Her hair was pulled back in
a pony-tail, but several wisps had escaped to flutter around her
face. She wore some kind of bright pink pants that came only to her
knees, leaving her skinny, brown legs exposed above her neon
purple, blue, and white sneakers.  A thin jacket was her only
acknowledgment of the coolness of the early spring day.  Schanke
wanted to remember her like that forever.  A symphony of unmatched
colors surrounding that special little face.
        He leaned against the fender of Nick's Caddy and grinned at
her.  "I'm just waxing Nick's car."
        "Why?" Jenny asked.
        "Cuz," Scanke replied as he started to rub the wax in, giving
the Caddy a brilliant finish.
        "But, why?" Jenny pursued.  "Why doesn't Nick do it himself?"
        Schanke thought about it as he moved along the fin.  "He does,
most the time.  But I just thought I'd wash and wax it for him today.
I kinda owe him a favor."
        Jenny screwed her face up over that for a moment.  "What kind
of favor?" she asked single-mindedly.
        Don stopped and looked down at his daughter, and then after a
moment went and sat next to her on the curb.  The chill of the cement
seeped into him.  The chill spread to his soul as he remembered the
events in the alley twenty-four hours ago.
        He remembered vividly the chase, his heart pounding as he ran
at break-neck speed between vantage points, with sweat trickling down
his back, then slipping down the alley, quiet as a cat.  He recalled
crouching behind the dumpster, fear shooting up his spine as he peeked
over the top, looking for the perp.  Somewhere he heard the twang of
metal expanding or contracting, and followed the sound to point his
gun at a shadow on the landing.
        On instinct he'd yelled 'freeze!', and only then realized the
shadow was Nick.  Then the fire fight erupted with bullets flying
right and left.  In the end, Schanke had been the one to take down the
perp.  The moment was filled with conflicting relief and guilt running
rampant through him.  Schanke'd breathed deeply trying to release the
rush of emotions and finally, puzzledly, he looked up at Nick, trying
to figure out how the hell he'd gotten there before him, and how he
could have possibly gotten on the fire escape.  That much he
remembered for sure.  He'd barely begun to wrap his brain around that
thought when a sickening fear in his gut slid over him as he saw the
laser light slipping up his shoulder.
        Then it got hazy, but Schanke knew that Nick had knocked
out the perp, just as he got a bead right between Don's eyes. Funny
how he remembered clearly the peculiar thwack that Nick's fist had
made as he'd slugged the perp, when everything else was just a blur.
        For a moment, briefly, in sharp relief he relived the look he
had exchanged with Nick, and his feeling of disbelief.  And then it
was gone, replaced by the sick feeling inside him as he realized the
perp had Nick in his sites.  Don had raised his gun and fired on
instinct, before he'd even realized he'd done it.  Within a few
moments, Nick had saved his life, and he had saved Nick's.  Death had
come knocking at his door, and sent him a personal invite to the
party.  It had been too close, and way too personal.  Too damn close.
        But he didn't want to tell Jenny that he'd nearly been shot,
that death had been inches away.  He didn't want Jenny to be afraid
that her Dad just might not come home.
        Don looked at Jenny and put his arm around her and hugged her.
"Well, Nick really came through for me the other night, Jenny, and I
just want to thank him.  And the thing that he treasures more than
just about anything is that..."
        "...hunk of junk?" Jenny supplied, wrinkling her nose.  She
thought the fins were weird.
        Schanke laughed.  It erupted out of him, from some place deep
inside, releasing the tension still hiding within, haunting him.
        "Don't," he whispered into her ear, "ever let Nick hear you
say that.  He worships this car."
        Jenny smiled up at her Dad.  "But, why?"
        "Because.  He thinks just about as much of that old green
Caddy, as I do of you.  That's why."
        "That's silly.  It's just a car," Jenny protested.
        "Yeah, I know, but that's all Nick's got, just a car.  He
doesn't have a family, so he kind of puts his feelings into the
Caddy."
        Jenny stared at the object of Nick's affection, puzzled for a
moment.  Then she looked up into her Daddy's face. "Why doesn't he
have a family?"
        "I don't know, honey.  Nick's not one to talk about stuff like
that.  I guess things just haven't worked out for him.  He just wasn't
lucky like I am to have you and your Mom."
        "Oh," Jenny said thoughtfully.  She was silent a moment, while
Don watched the wheels spinning in her head.  He waited.  "Well, why
doesn't he marry Natalie?  You are always talking about how they are
together.  Then he could have a family, and get a new car."
        Schanke grinned at Jenny's analysis.  Nobody could say *his*
kid wasn't smart.  She listened and she observed, and she put it
together.
        "Beats me, Jenny.  Everybody thinks they belong together.  The
only ones who haven't figured it out are Nick and Natalie."  Schanke
got up and headed back to the wax job.  It wouldn't do to let the wax
harden in place.  He looked back at Jenny thoughtfully.  "Want to
help?"
        Jenny made a face.  "Nah.  I'll just watch."
        Schanke laughed and went back to the hard work of turning the
turtle wax into a glossy finish.
        His thoughts drifted away, and soon Jenny was forgotten
as he turned over and over again all the snippets in his mind.

        "Listen to me...look at me..."

        Schanke stared at his reflection, his face pale green in the
Caddy's finish.

        "...see if you can get it washed...lucky you're a crack
shot..."

        It was all jumbled up.  None of it quite made sense.  Not like
it should.  Not at all.  He should be able to remember better than
that, but he couldn't...

        "...don't probe...Go back to work.  Forget you were here.  Take
the night off, you need a rest..."

        Schanke shook his head, trying to let all the little frayed
ends that wouldn't fit into any *normal* pattern go, but they
wouldn't.  Not yet.

        "They made me forget and that's all I remember."

        And that was the crux of it.  They had made him forget.  Nick.
His partner and his friend, or so he thought.  And Janette.  They had
made him forget, but not all, not quite all.  And look where the
hell it had landed him.  Slowly he started rubbing again.  Donald
G. Schanke pressed as hard as he could, as if it would make everything
just go away.  As if it would, or could, make everything all right
again...

        Myra Schanke watched from the living room window as Don waxed
Nick's car.  With a hand that trembled just slightly, she pulled the
curtain back just a little more.  She'd almost lost him.  It had been
a close thing this time.  And look what it'd done to him.
        He was now officially on administrative leave while the
department investigated the shooting.  He should have come home right
after he signed all the papers, but he hadn't.  He'd stayed at work
for another fourteen hours before coming home to...wash the Caddy.
And now, there he was waxing Nick's car, pretending that everything
was normal--like nothing had happened.  But it had.  Don had nearly
died, and then he'd gone off the deep end.  Nothing in his behavior
was normal.  Nothing at all.
        He'd been close to death before, three times.  She remembered
each one of them vividly.  The last only a year ago when that man had
stalked him.  But none had affected Don like this.  None.  Something
else had happened.  Something else was going on--and it had to do with
Nick.  Myra was almost certain of it.  Why else would he be washing
and waxing the Caddy as if his life depended on it?  But Don wasn't
talking, and all Myra could do was wait until he did.
        She let the curtain drop and turned away.  Aimlessly she
walked around the room, and finally dropped into Don's favorite chair.
        It all came back to Nick.  Nick.  The Enigma.  Don's partner.
A blank wall.  It drove Don crazy not to know where he came from, or
anything about his family or why Nick was the way he was.  And yet, of
all the partner's he'd had, Don trusted Nick the most.  Whether he
liked him, was a day to day proposition, but he had always trusted
him--implicitly.  But Myra's intuition was telling her that today,
that trust was gone, and that scared Myra.  If you didn't trust your
partner...
        She leaned back in the chair and let the tears fall.  Don
wouldn't know, he was too busy waxing the car.  For just a minute, she
let her fears out.  Just for a minute...

        It was Jenny letting the screen door bang behind her that,
finally, made Myra move from the chair.  She wiped the last of her
tears away with the edge of her apron just as Jenny barged out of the
hallway at her usual breakneck speed.
        "Mom...Mom?" Jenny questioned as she took in Myra's puffy
face.  "Are you okay?"
        Myra sniffed back her tears, and patted Jenny on the head as
she went into the kitchen.  Jenny trailed after her waiting for an
answer.  Waiting for her universe to be put right again.
        "I'm fine, honey," Myra said as she pulled out the roasting
pan.  It only seemed right they have the roast she'd been saving for
Sunday, tonight.
        "You don't seem all right," Jenny persisted, tagging along at
her heels.  "And neither does Daddy.  What's happened?"
        Myra took a deep breath before turning to face Jenny.  She
should have known that they wouldn't be able to keep it from Jenny.
At least, not *all* of it.
        "Daddy was in a shooting, Jenny," Myra said softly, hating to
have her daughter grow up.  But when you were married to a cop, there
was just no way to avoid it.
        Jenny's face scrunched up, and fear fought puzzlement in her
eyes.  "What happened?" she asked at last.
        Myra took her daughter's hand and held it like it was a
life-line for a moment.  Then she led Jenny to the table and sat
down.  Jenny hiked herself into a chair and wound her legs around the
chair legs.
        "Daddy and Nick were chasing a man who shot a security guard.
They caught up with him in an alley.  And everybody started shooting,"
Myra said slowly.
        "Oh..." Jenny said slowly.  "So, that's why Daddy is waxing
Nick's car."
        "I guess so.  It's his way of dealing with it."
        "But that guy came after him last year, and he didn't act this
way?  How come?"
        "Because, in all the confusion, Daddy mistook Nick for the man
they were looking for, and when Daddy yelled, he gave away his
position.  The man almost shot your Daddy."
        Jenny's eyes got huge, and for a moment she forgot to
breathe.  Myra ached with the pain of it.  Jenny was learning that
nothing was always safe, and for a girl whose father was a police
officer, it was a dangerous world.
        "What happened?" Jenny whispered, tears forming in her eyes.
        "Nick stopped him.  He saved your Daddy... and when Nick
turned around to check on Daddy, the man got back up, and nearly shot
Nick, so...Daddy had to shoot him."
        "Is he...dead?"
        "Yes, dear.  I'm afraid so."
        "Well, then he can't hurt Daddy or Nick, can he?" Jenny asked
reasonably, relief showing on her face.
        "No.  But Daddy still feels bad.  His job is to try and stop
people, to save people, and killing them is the very last thing he
wants to do," Myra said.  She looked down to find that she was wringing
her hands again.  She'd been doing it a lot, since she'd heard, and
while she'd waited and waited and waited for Don to come home.
        "Oh."  Jenny was silent.  She chewed on her thumbnail and
thought hard.  "So Daddy's waxing Nick's car because Nick saved his
life.  But what's Nick doing for Daddy, since Daddy saved his life,
too?"
        "I don't know, honey.  The relationship between Nick and Daddy
is hard to understand.  They're partners, they have to trust each
other with their lives all the time.  They're just about as close to
each other as if they were family.  Sometimes they do funny things.
Just like we do."  Myra stood up and took the roast out of the fridge.
"Just like I'm going to cook the Sunday roast tonight, because I'm
glad Daddy's all right."
        "Maybe we should make a cake, too.  A chocolate one?" Jenny
asked.  "It would make him feel better, wouldn't it?"
        Myra smiled down at Jenny.  "Yes.  I think it would.  You get
a mix out of the pantry, and we'll make a cake for him."

        Schanke stared out of the bedroom window.  He'd been
staring out of it for an hour now.  Down the hall the cuckoo clock
belted out the time with three cuckoos.  Don turned his head for a
moment and contemplated smashing the damn thing.  He'd hated it ever
since Myra had brought it home.  It was annoying and whiny, and
obnoxiously there when you couldn't sleep.
        Behind him, Schanke listened to Myra's gentle breathing and
relaxed.  He didn't want her to wake up.  Because then, maybe, he'd
start talking.  And if he started talking, he just might let it all
out, and he wasn't sure he was ready to let it out.  He wasn't even
sure he knew what the truth was, or if he'd ever even know the truth.

        "Okay.  I'm here because I want to talk about Nicholas."
        "What do you want to know?"
        "Okay.  Is he a..is he a vampire?  Are you?"
        "You tell me."

        The questions burned in his mind.  Funny thing was, when he'd
left the Nightcrawler, he'd been sure he'd been hallucinating.  The
guy had been right when he said any shake-up in your life could make
you get things all out of proportion.  But the longer he thought about
it, the more it just wouldn't go away.
        Was Nick a vampire?  Hell!  What a question.  Were there
vampires?  Or were they just myth?  If you had asked him that question
two days ago, Don would have bust a gut laughing.  But not anymore.

        "You drive.  I'll ride...in the trunk."
        "In the trunk?  Come on, Nick.  You're not that allergic to
sunshine.  A tan'll do you some good.  What's a little sunshine?"
        "I don't tan.  I don't burn.  I implode."

        It had all started so simply.  Don had been high like a
junkie, adrenaline running through him after the shooting, and then
Nick had wanted to ride home in the trunk because he was afraid of a
little sunshine.  It had been the match that ignited Schanke's already
over-heated and over-excited imagination.  His mind had been a series
of disconnected thoughts running haywire, all of them jumping around
on how Nick had practically flown in front of his gun to drop the
perp.  Don had gone off half-cocked, trying to figure out why Nick was
so dead set on getting himself, and *his* partner, killed.
        Don stared at his hands, a cool blue under the moonlight.
Everything looked different now.  Nothing would ever be the same.
Nothing...
        The pieces fit together so neatly now, it was so obvious.  Nick
must think he was a first class idiot.  He probably laughed at him
behind his back... Don shook his head, suddenly, knowing that wasn't
true.  Nick cared about him.  Nick protected him, watched his back,
kept him safe.  Maybe that was all it was, protection.  Nick was
protecting him from the truth, and right now it sounded like a pretty
good idea to Don.  If there was ever anything he didn't want to know,
this would be it.
        Vampires.
        Yeah.
        Right.
        But Nick had hypnotized him, there was no doubt about it.
        Vampires.

        "I have to forget..."

        He wished he could remember what Nick and Janette had taken
from him, but he couldn't.

        "You never saw me..."

        The words hung tantalizingly in his head.  Never saw him what?
He'd give a lot to know, but it was gone.  He wondered how many other
things he'd seen over the years that he wasn't supposed to, and lost
looking into Nick's eyes.  Events that had just melted away, like the
other night.  It made him angry, losing his memories like that.  But
one thing he was sure of, Nick had done it to save him.  Nick had done
it for Don--misguided or not.
        It made him feel lucky in a weird way.  Old Don Schanke had
his own personal vampire protecting him.  Not exactly something every
Tom, Dick and Harry could brag about.  Then again, not exactly
something you *could* brag about.
        No wonder Nick took the dangerous jobs.  They weren't
dangerous for him.  Don suddenly wondered how many times Nick had
saved his life, without his ever being aware of it.
        Or how many perps he caught and stopped because of...what he
was.  It made Don curious about what was dangerous for Nick, or
if anything could hurt him.   The wooden stake thing, maybe?  It was
just too weird for words.
        Out of nowhere, another memory thrust itself in front of his
eyes.  He could see Nick holding the dead chick's fiancee out the
window with one hand.  Anger radiating from him like a nuclear
explosion.  Schanke had talked him down, joking about the paper work, 
but trembling inside that Nick would let the guy drop.  Nick hadn't 
dropped him, but the way he had casually thrown him back into the room 
like there was no effort involved at all, had been something that had 
kept Schanke awake a long time that night.  It was something he 
usually avoided thinking about.  Nick's anger was very, very scary.

        "He's a monster, keep him away from me!"

        Don mulled it over as he picked lint off his moose pajamas.
Nick's anger was not something you wanted to be on the receiving end
of.  Maybe that anger let the vampire loose.  Just maybe.
        Vampires.
        They were supposed to have fangs, weren't they?  To drink the
blood with?  He'd seen the blood, more than once.  He just hadn't
known what he was looking at.

        "Knight, should we be talking about an alcohol problem here?"

        All that red wine in the icebox had turned out to be blood.
Steer blood.  The thought made him slightly sick.  Man, he liked a
good juicy steak, all pink and bloody on the inside as much as the
next man, maybe better.  But straight blood--raw.  That had to be the
worst.  Absolutely the worst!
        Did Nick *like* the taste of it?  And more to the point, had
he drunk human blood?  Did Nick look at him like he was a step down
the food chain, like he was dinner?
        All this thinking about food made Schanke hungry.  He was
salivating for something to sink his teeth into.  Silently he slipped
down to the kitchen and opened the fridge.  He made a thick roast beef
sandwich from dinner's remains, slathering on the mayo and mustard,
and piling up the lettuce and tomatoes.  As he bit into it, mayo
squirted onto his hand, and Don smiled.  Yup, there was enough sauce
in it.  Just the way he liked it.
        The roast beef tasted really good now.  Better than it had at
dinner with Myra watching him from behind scared eyes, and Jenny
looking at him like he might not come home again.
        Myra had told Jenny, and it irked him.  He and Myra had argued
over it in the quiet of their bedroom after Jenny had gone to bed.
"Why'd you have to tell her?  Nothing happened!  Nothing!" Schanke'd
whispered angrily, trying to keep from yelling.  If he yelled, it
would all come spilling out.  All his fears, everything.  So he
whispered.
        "She knew something was wrong, Don.  And I'm not lying to her
about it.  She deserves to know the truth," Myra had countered, her
voice rising to a squeak.  It always did when she got upset.  It was
funny how women's voices went up three octaves and then turned all
squeaky when they got mad.  Same thing when they cried.  It made you
feel so guilty, and Schanke felt guilty.  He didn't like to hurt
Myra, she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Absolutely the best, and here he was yelling at her, and worse, he
wasn't telling her what was inside his head.
        It made the roast beef taste bitter in his mouth.
        He chewed in silence, his thoughts in turmoil.
        But it's hard to keep a good roast beef sandwich down, and
soon Don was again savoring every fat, juicy bite.  He put the
argument in a compartment in his mind, right next to the one that held
the whole vampire thing.  He was going to enjoy this sandwich, without
anyone telling him what to do, or looking at him like he was dead and
in his coffin! Period.
        When he finished it, he contemplated making another but
decided he'd clogged his arteries enough for one night.  Myra would
kill him as it was.
        He wandered around the house, stopping to look in on Jenny,
lying there looking like an angel.  There was a wild innocence to her
when she was asleep, something special and sweet.  Don hoped she'd
never lose it, but with things the way they were in this world, it
would be hard.
        "I'll protect you, sweetie," Schanke whispered as he kissed
her cheek and slipped quietly out of the room.
        He ended up pacing around the living room, and then finally
settled into his chair; his old beat up recliner-rocker with the ugly
green and yellow plaid.  Man, he loved this chair, Schanke thought as
he ran his hands across the threadbare arms.  It had seen him through
more football, baseball, and basketball games than he could remember.
Not to mention every episode of "I Dream of Jeannie."  Man, that Barbara
Eden was a looker.  Best looking genie he'd ever seen.
        And from genies to vampires, took only a flicker of thought.
Not much difference between them, really.  Both used power to get what
they wanted.  Both kept things secret.  But genies weren't
blood-sucking creatures of the night.
        He was back to the crux of the question.  Was his partner a
blood-sucking creature of the night?  God, he hoped not.  And yet, he
knew he was.  Why else would Nick never talk about his past--it would
be a little hard to bring *that* up in conversation, now wouldn't it?
        He could just imagine asking Nick to tell him about his
life...and then Don stopped.  In the moonlit darkness, the room seemed
airless, silent, almost menacing in the quiet.
        How long had Nick been alive?  That driver's license was from
1963.  Nicholas Forrester hadn't looked a day older than Nick Knight.
Stupider, maybe, with that goatee and glasses, but definitely not 
older.  What had he been some kind of...um...whadayacallit?  Beatnik?
        How long?
        The photo of Janette had been a tintype.  Late 1800's maybe?
And then vaguely he remembered another photo.  He'd been staring at a
photo when Janette had surprised him at the Raven.  It had been a
photo of...of...dammit, Don, don't let that hypno act keep you from
remembering!   And then it surfaced, like something coming up out of
deep water.  A picture of Nick, Janette, and the Nightcrawler, dressed
like they'd had their picture taken at one of those old west photo
shops.  But it hadn't been.  It had been old.  The 1860's maybe?  Who
knew?  Don was no history buff, but he knew old when he saw it.
        So maybe at least the 1800's, but how much longer than that?
The Nightcrawler...man, he wished he knew his name.  Talk about
someone who gave you the creeps, he was it.  He looked like he could
have hung with Attila the Hun, or Vlad the Impaler, probably best
friends.  He looked like he'd seen centuries pass like they were
nothing--nothing at all.
        Don stared down at his toes, and wriggled them in the cold
moonlight.
        "What would it be like to live forever?  To never grow
old?  Man, I can't imagine it."
        He tried to imagine watching everybody around grow old and
die; Myra, Jenny, then grandkids.  It was just weird.  It wasn't
meant to be.  It was spooky.  He would hate it, ab-so-lute-ly hate it.
        "How do you stand it, Nick?" Don murmured staring out the
window.  And then Don realized, that maybe he didn't.  Nick cared a
lot about stuff.  He was a good cop.  Not exactly where you'd expect
to find your friendly neighborhood vampire, now was it?  They ought to
be hanging at some grunge nightclub--like, say the Raven--or living in
a cemetery.  They'd be the kind of people that would have to fade into
the shadows--literally.  They wouldn't want to draw attention to
themselves, and their lack of a background.  After all, they were
killers weren't they?

        Killers...

        A shiver ran down his spine at the thought.  He knew how he
felt about dropping the guy in the alley.  His head was all screwed
up.  He felt sick to his gut.  He could spew chunks, if he thought too
hard about it.  Taking a human life.  Watching the blood spill out and
the life leave their eyes.  Just an empty husk left.  Whatever made
them human, unique, just...gone.  And that was in the line of duty.
But to kill for blood, for pleasure, just to suck up the juice in
somebody's body, so you could live.  It was sick.
        Killer.
        If Nick had been alive in the 1800's, he'd have to kill people
to get blood.  It wasn't like there was a blood bank on every corner,
now, was there?  Don found himself on his feet, agitatedly walking
around the room.  Nick had never killed anybody as a cop in Toronto.
He had an aversion to killing.  You could always see it, read it, in
a cop.  Taking life was the last resort.  He couldn't mistake that in
Nick.  Was it because he'd seen so much death, brought so much death
himself?

        Oh, God...

        Not Nick.  Scenes played themselves out in his mind.  Nick
teasing him, laughing at him, saving his life.  Out of nowhere, he
remembered the night Nick had called the DJ who'd been talking about
cops on the beat.  She'd been asking them to call up and tell their
experiences.  Nick had called her as Schanke had protested, and then
handed him the phone.  Schanke could still see the laughter on
Nick's face, the pure enjoyment of the moment.  How could you be that
happy if you'd killed just to guzzle somebody's blood?  How?
        He felt like his head was going to explode.  He couldn't take
it.  No way.  It just couldn't be.  It couldn't.  Somebody would
know.  They'd have to know, wouldn't they?
        Hell, Natalie spent so much time with him that she'd have to
know, wouldn't she?  But if she did...?  There was no way Natalie would
fall for a cold-blooded killer.  No way.
        But, a little voice said in his right ear, she makes him those
protein shakes.  She's trying to cure him of his 'allergy', remember?
What about when Brian Sykes killed himself, and Nick was running around
in the daylight thinking she'd cured him. Nick had acted like a crazy
man that day...

        "He is definitely not himself.  Spent the morning with him,
eating our way across town."
        "Eating?"
        "Yeah, he porked like a kid at the circus.  We stopped at every
dog food joint we passed.  It's like he hadn't had a meal in
a hundred years."

        And then he'd eaten off Jimmy Vanetti's plate--the weirdest
thing Schanke had ever seen Nick do--right before he went completely 
psycho.
        The confrontation between Nick, Schanke and Natalie played
out in his head.  Nick had been so angry...

        "If you won't give me what I want, I'll have to find someone
who will.  And if you won't help me, I'll have to do what I
want....alone!"

        All because of a drug Natalie had given him.  A drug that had
temporarily made him what?  Human?  Maybe.  Psychotic for sure.  What
the hell kind of drug could cure you of being a vampire?

        "It'd probably kill any normal person who tried it."
        "Well, it didn't kill Nick."
        "No, but then he's got a very special constitution."

        Schanke couldn't believe it, he just couldn't.  Not
Natalie...  Man, he hated his memory right now.  He couldn't remember
beans about what had happened in the alley, thank you very much
Detective Knight, but he could remember precisely and clearly that
conversation with Natalie in the loft.
        "He has a very special constitution...yeah, he's immortal,"
Schanke whispered.  And Natalie knew it.  And maybe, his overactive
imagination whispered to him, that's why they aren't married or
jumping each other's bones.  What did you get when a vampire and a
human had sex, huh?
        Dead human, I'll bet.  Dead, deader, deadest... Or a new
vampire.
        "SHIT!" Schanke swore.  He should've left it where the ever
nameless Nightcrawler had told him to leave it.
        How was he supposed to trust Nick after this?  Huh?  What if
Nick just decided he'd snack on Schanke some night?  He could
be deader, too, couldn't he?
        In a few days, he'd be cleared of his "officer involved
shooting" and be back on active duty.  Back driving around in the
Caddy with Detective Nick Vampire Knight.  With a killer, a drinker of
blood, a really old, old guy with a face like an angel.  The original
Dorian Gray, thank you very much.  How was Don supposed to trust his
partner.  How?
        He could always transfer to the day shift, or leave homicide
couldn't he?  Maybe...  But what would Nick do if he suspected that
Schanke suspected that he...ah, hell, if Nick was a vampire, then old
Crawly would have told him that his little hyno-session hadn't taken,
and would he please take care of it?
        Great.
        Just great... He was toast, he was dead meat, he was taking
the E-ticket outta here.  Courtesy his personal vampire-partner.
        Sweat broke out on Schanke's forehead, and his eyes bulged out
at the thought.  He looked around nervously expecting to see Nick
lunge out of the shadows at him any second.  He could see the teeth,
gigantic glittering things, with saliva dripping down them, a mile
long, sticking out of a mouth that was smiling fiendishly, relishing
Schanke's fear.
        Schanke's heart beat fast, and he plastered himself against
the wall, waiting for the moment.
        The cuckoo struck four.  CucKOO.  CucKOO.  CucKOO.  CucKOO!
        "Aarghhhh!" Schanke breathed, half whimper, half yell, and
slid down the wall in a heap.  He concentrated on breathing.  In.
Out.  In.  Out.  It wasn't so hard once you got the hang of it.  He'd
be a real pro soon.  Olympic Contender.  He closed his eyed and put
his hand over his heart and wished he was in bed having a nightmare.
That would be much simpler.  Then he could just wake up in a cold
sweat, get a drink of water, have a roast beef sandwich and go back to
bed.  No sweat.  But this, this was ridiculous.
        Nick had saved his life.  Why would he come melting through
the walls and kill him by scaring him to death?  He probably couldn't
even melt through the wall.  The only thing vampires were supposed to
do was turn into bats or something.  Nothing at all in those books
about turning to vapor.
        Bats.  Geez, did Nick turn into a bat, too?  The thought was
just too weird to handle.  He felt sick to his stomach and the room
started to spin.  Maybe he'd had too much mayo on the sandwich.
Besides which, he had this sudden image of a little blonde-haired bat
flying off through the night.
        He snickered, and then he laughed uncontrollably. Hysteria 
crept into his voice, and Schanke couldn't seem to stop.  Finally he 
swallowed them down on an oddly jarring note.
        He was going crazy.
        Crazy, crazy, crazy.
        They're coming to take you away, haha, to the funny farm,
where life is...
        Schanke rubbed the heels of his hands across his eyes, and
shook his head.
        He was an idiot, a total ass.  Nick was NOT going to come
through the walls and kill him.  Nick had saved his life.  He knew
Nick.  Okay, so he was weird.  Really weird at times, but he knew
him.  He knew his habits.  The way he played with his hands when he
was concentrating hard, the way he would stare into outer space and
disappear into the fourth dimension when somebody said something that
struck a chord in him.  He knew the guy.  As much as anybody did,
well, except for Natalie.  And in all that time, he'd never so much as
salivated over him, or threatened to kill him, or anything.  Vampire
or not, Schanke knew Nick.
        Okay, so he had the temper from hell.  Yeah, it was scary,
but, he also had it under serious control.  Nick knew himself, and he
kept it all locked up.
        Bat or not, with or without blonde hair, Nick wasn't gonna
come screaming in and kill him just because he happened to know Nick
was a vampire.  No.  He'd just probably come in and do a super-deluxe
job of making him forget instead of the dollar quickie he'd gotten in
the alley-way.  Then this would all just be a non-event.
        He was a fool...

        "You know it would have been curtains....if Nick wasn't there
to save my ass....  Have I been an idiot!  Been running around all day
butting my nose into Nick's affairs when the guy saved my life.  I'm a
first class fool."

        The words came back to mock him.  He'd been talking to the
Crawler-creep guy when he realized that little fact. Nick had saved
his life.  Funny how in his obsession he'd lost that little fact. So,
whether Nick was a vampire or not, it was none of Schanke's business
as long as it didn't become a police matter.  He guessed it was sort
of like sexual preference.  Like the Americans would  say, don't ask,
don't tell.
        Well, that's just what he would do.  He wouldn't ask Nick
about it, and he certainly wouldn't say anything about it.  They
could just dance around it for forever.  Period.
        He almost made it fit into one of those compartments in his
mind.  Almost.  He tried squashing the door shut on it, but it still
wouldn't go.
        Schanke closed his eyes and shook his head again.  After a
moment, he pulled himself up from the floor and went back to his
recliner, and sat in it heavily.
        He stared up at the ceiling where the water stain was.  He'd
been meaning to fix that for a good three years now.  Guess there was
no time like the present.  It would make Myra happy.  He'd fixed the
roof, but she'd been complaining about the stain ever since.  They
were hard to get out because they would bleed through paint over
time.  Schanke figured he'd knock out the plaster and wallboard and
replace it.  That would give him something to do while he was on 
leave.  Myra would never let him just sit and watch TV.  And for once, 
he didn't think he could keep his mind pointed at the tube.  There 
was just too much weighing on it.
        He was back to the one thing he couldn't resolve.  Trust.  He
needed to trust Nick to watch his back, not his neck.  And he didn't
know how to do that.  It didn't matter that Nick had saved his life.
It just didn't.  What mattered was whether he'd save it tomorrow, or
if he'd save it if he knew that Schanke knew that he was a...vampire.
Was there some kind of code about this stuff?  He guessed there was,
otherwise somebody would have spilled the beans years ago.  It would
be a great story in the National Intruder.  You could make your fortune
on it.

        "VAMPIRE WORKS THE NIGHT SHIFT IN METRO HOMICIDE!"

        He admired the headline for a moment.  Yeah, that was good all
right.  A vampire in homicide.  Weird.  Nick could go out, get a meal,
drop the body in an alley, and two hours later be called out to solve
his own dinner.  It'd would make great copy.  Hey, then there were
the movie rights.  That'd be okay, too.  He'd be rich.  Myra could
have her dream house, and Jenny could go to any college she
wanted--providing Don survived the paper's publication.
        Schanke shook his head.  Man, he was so wired, they could use
him as an electrical source.  He could light up the entire
neighborhood for a week.
        He lay there and stared out the window watching the shifting
shadows as the moon and clouds played hide and seek.  The room slid
into a deep darkness, as a mass of clouds blocked all light.  And
Schanke felt his mind go all empty and wooly with it.  Man, he was
tired.  So tired.  Shooting people was not fun stuff.  It still hurt.
He could hear the thwack as the bullet hit and watched the guy's eyes go
dim.
        He hated it.  He hated the killing.  It wasn't right.
        Light suddenly flooded the room again as the clouds slid
away.  And clearly as if he was standing there, he heard the Crawler's
last words to him.  Only now did they truly make sense...

        "Detective, you asked me if Nicholas is different.  Au
contraire, the Nicholas that I know is very much like you.  He
doesn't like to kill people, either."

        Nick didn't like to kill people, either.  It was like a warm,
peaceful blanket drifting down to land on him.  There was regret on
those words.  Textured layers of meaning hid behind the rich, deep
voice, hinting at things Schanke knew he didn't want to know.

        Nick didn't like to kill.  People.  So he drank bottled blood
and worked in homicide.  He saved lives where he could.  He teased his
partner, and loved the coroner, and tried to live a life that was as
*human* as possible.  Despite having to hide from the sun, despite
that Creepy-Crawler, who Schanke suddenly was sure was a thorn in
Nick's side.  Despite Janette, who probably spent a lot of time trying
to seduce him.  Man, he'd almost wished she'd seduce him on a couple
of occasions.  Almost.  Myra would kill him even for thinking about
it.  But, hey, he had just been looking.
        Still, Schanke suddenly knew that he could and would and did
trust Nick.  No matter what.  If Nick wanted to talk about it with
him, that was fine.  If he didn't, that was fine, too.  Whatever.  It
was probably a dark and ugly story, and Schanke wasn't too sure he
wanted to be in that pit.  Being a cop was bad enough sometimes.  Like
the days when you had to kill a man.  A man with a family and kids,
just like Schanke.
        Still, Schanke hoped Nick would trust him enough someday to
tell him.  Until then, he'd be the best partner he could be to Nick.
The guy obviously needed a friend.  He probably needed all the friends
he could get.  Life must be pretty bleak for a vampire that didn't
want to kill.  Not to mention that living forever thing--must make a
body awfully lonely.
        "Whatever gets you through the day," Schanke said softly, this
time meaning it.
        "Don?" Myra asked, a dark shape standing in the doorway.
"What are you doing down here?  Couldn't you sleep?"
        Schanke smiled at his wife, and held out his hand to her.  She
came and stood by the chair, and hesitantly took his hand.
        "No," Don said,  "I couldn't sleep.  It kind of all caught up
with me."
        Myra sat down on the chair, and nudged him a bit.  He scooted
over and she lay down in the recliner with him.  The chair groaned a
bit, but held.
        "Do you want to talk about it?" Myra asked.
        Don played with her hair.  "I dunno, honey.  I learned some
things the other day that, well, frankly, I don't think I can talk
about.  It isn't my secret.  It's Nick's."
        "Is that what this is about, then?  Nick?" Myra asked.
        "Partly.  And it's partly the shooting.  I just kind of
freaked out, Myra."
        "Are you going to be okay?"
        "Well, not tomorrow, but eventually.  It's just going to take
some adjusting to.  I kind of had a reality shift, there.  Nothing is
ever going to be the same," Don sighed, as his hands slid down his
wife's back, and pulled her closer.
        "Why do you say that?"
        Don snorted.  "Because I finally understand where Nick is
coming from.  I finally understand why he doesn't talk about himself.
I understand---well, sort of.  And it is so bizarre, Myra, you would
*never* believe it.  Hell, I don't even believe it.  And I just
freaked, you know.  My own partner...  I just suddenly got scared and
stopped trusting him.  You know how bad *that* is--not to trust your
partner--and it just went downhill."
        Myra kissed Don's chin.  She felt a chill in her soul, but hid
it.  "So what are you going to do?"
        Don stroked Myra's face.  "Nothing."
        Myra stiffened, "But, Don, you can't leave it like that--if you
don't trust him..."
        "Shhh..." Don whispered kissing her.  "It's okay.  I figured
out what my problem was, and it's okay.  I trust Nick.  The question
is, when will he be able to trust me?"
        "What do you mean?" Myra asked curiously, diverted.
        "I mean, Nick's got some problems, and I found out about them
by accident.  His life *cannot* be a bowl of cherries, I can tell
you.  Anyway, he's never mentioned it, and I'm just hoping someday
he'll feel comfortable enough to tell me about it.  That he'll *trust*
me."
        "Why shouldn't he, Don?" Myra started indignantly.
        Schanke laughed at her automatic defense.
        "Myra!"
        "Well..."
        "It's not that simple, Myra.  First of all, he's laying his
life on the line *if* he tells me--and that's not like when we're out
on the street laying our lives on the line.  It's different.  Way
different.  And second, when I did figure it out, it spooked me,
scared me to death.  Hell, it would spook anybody--assuming they could
get past the unbelievable factor.  Nick's problems are not your
average normal-type problems.  They're...well, way past bad.  I'm
never gonna complain about my problems again, I can tell you.  Anyway,
I stopped trusting him."
        Schanke smiled at Myra's expression.  He'd totally confused
her.  Well, that was not surprising, was it?  "What do you think I
spent all day doing, Myra?"
        She shook her head, uncertainly.  "I don't know."
        "Checking out my partner.  Trying to figure out if he's a
certifiable nut case, that's what.  That's how it all started.  Nick
takes lots of risks, more'n me by a long shot.  You know how he drives
me crazy sometimes."
        "I think crazy is an understatement."
        "Yeah.  Probably.  But it's okay.  Anyway, all that looking
into his affairs, snooping around, and presto! I found out way too
much.  I put all the little pieces together--and I wish I hadn't.  I
really wish I hadn't, cuz then I was in deeper than before.  That's
when I got scared.  Anyway, after twenty hours of going off the deep
end, both at work and here, I've got a grip on it.  I've figured some
stuff out, and all that.  I'm calmer now."
        Myra looked at Don doubtfully.
        Schanke hugged her close.  "You know what else I found out?"
        "What?"
        "I found out that the closest Nick has got to family is that
creepy Nightcrawler guy.  Can you believe it?  It would warp anybody
to have that guy around."
        "The Nightcrawler?  You mean that talk show guy that is always
going on about death and depression?"
        "The one and only.  So, now I know why Nick gets depressed.
How'd you like to have him for a relative?  Huh?  I'm surprised Nick
didn't commit suicide centur...uh, years, ago.  Hell, I would.  He
could depress anybody.  He's one scary dude!"
        "And that's what made you freak?" Myra asked digging a
little.  She really would like to know what Nick's problem was.
        "Nah.  That was just a little side show.  I went to talk to
Mr. Nightcrawler about Nick,.  I wanted to ask him if...well,
nevermind.  But you know what?  He said the one thing that made it all
make sense.  So, maybe he's not all bad."
        "What did he say?" Myra asked.  Any opening would do.  She
really was getting curious.
        "He said that Nick was like me, he didn't like to kill
people."
        "What?  Why would you think Nick would like to kill people?"
        "Ah, Myra, I've thought every bad thing you could in the last
day about Nick. I was completely whacko.  But it's okay, now.  When I
get off this leave thing, me and Nick will pick up just where we were.
Things are gonna be fine, honey.  I just need some time to get stuff
outta my system.  Killing that guy was really hard on me.  I guess I'm
getting old.  Stuff gets to me more.  Yesterday was just a really bad
day."
        Myra leaned closer. "I know..."
        Schanke smiled and held her close for a moment, as his hands
ran up and down her back.  After a moment, Myra began playing with his
top button, and undid it.  She pressed a kiss on his chest.
        "Myra?"
        "Hmmm?" Myra asked as she undid another button.
        "What'cha doing there?"
        "What do you think?"
        "I think this chair ain't big enough," Schanke said and heaved
himself out of it.  He turned and swept Myra up in his arms and carried
her off to the bedroom.

        Schanke felt the sun gently shining on him.  He could hear
birds chirping somewhere.  Behind his eyelids, everything seemed to
have a golden glow.  He tried to go back to sleep, but he was wide
awake.  He stretched and yawned and opened his eyes.
        Nothing, he thought to himself, like a little hot monkey love
to make the world all right.  He smiled.  Nothing at all.
        The door to the bedroom opened and Myra peeked in.
        "Hi, sleepyhead.  It's about time you woke up," Myra said as
she came and sat on the edge of the bed.
        Don took her hand and smiled.  "I dunno.  Nothing like a good
long sleep to clear the air."
        "Well, it's past noon, the air is clear."
        "Hmmm, I don't know about that," Don said tugging on her arm.
"Could be clearer."
        "Don!" Myra said, not at all shocked.
        "Come here," Don said and pulled her down on top of him.

        "Good thing Jenny's in school," Myra said as she settled
herself comfortably against Don.
        "Yeah," Don agreed hugging her close.  He felt *much* better
now.  All that was needed was a big stack of pancakes with lots of
syrup and he'd be just fine.
        "You going to be okay, now?" Myra asked.  She couldn't help
herself.  She'd fretted all morning about it.  She worried about Don,
and was still concerned about him not trusting Nick.  In fact, she was
really worried about what Don had said about Nick, his problems and
how Don had reacted to it.
        "Yeah.  I'm going to be fine," Don said lazily, stirring her
hair with his finger.
        Myra didn't say anything, but bit her lip.  She really wished
she understood.  "Don?"
        "Yeah?"
        "Why don't-didn't you trust Nick?  I mean, is it possible, it
could happen again?"
        Schanke stiffened and stared at the ceiling.
        "Don?"
        "Myra, some things are..."
        "And some things aren't.  I need to feel that when you go out
with him, you're going to trust him, otherwise, I'm going to worry
myself sick."
        Don was silent for a long time.
        "Myra, can you promise never to speak about this to a living
soul?  Ever?  Long as you live?  Can you promise to believe the
unbelievable?  Can you put aside all your prejudice?  Can you accept
Nick and like him for who his is, and not let his past influence you?"
        Myra turned in his arms and propped herself up on her elbows.
The look in Don's eyes was deadly serious.
        "I...I don't know."
        "Then don't ask.  When you can say yes to those questions, and
trust my judgement implicitly, without question, then I'll tell you.
But not before."
        Myra stared at him shocked.
        "In the meantime," Don said, changing the subject, "don't you
think it's about time we got rid of that water stain in the living
room?"

                                 *****

        Schanke hung up the phone and smiled.  "Yessiree, it's about
time."
        Myra walked out of the kitchen and waited.
        "I'm back on active duty, as of tomorrow night.  Hallelujah!
Two weeks!  Can you believe it! They could have built the pyramids in
less time than it's taken for them to clear me."
        "I think that's a slight exaggeration," Myra said dryly.
        "Don't matter.  Tell you what, let's get Jenny and go out for
pizza to celebrate."
        "Okay."  Myra turned to go, then turned back.  "Don?"
        "Yeah."
        "Remember what you said about trusting you?"
        "Umm, when?"
        "About Nick."
        "Oh... yeah."
        "I do.  And I'd like you to tell me tonight."
        "Myra..."
        "I trust you Don.  Implicitly.  I trust your judgement.  I
trust that you trust Nick, and I'll never mention the conversation
again.  And I'd like you to tell me about it tonight--before you
go back to work."
        Myra turned and walked into the kitchen, as Don stared
dumbfounded.
        "Damn..."


        The moonlight carpeted the bedroom in cool, blue light. Don
stared at the ceiling, feeling nervous.  Maybe he shouldn't do this.
It was, after all, Nick's secret.  But Don knew he could never keep
it from Myra, it would slip out sooner or later.  Might as well get
it over with.  Myra was not one to talk--it was one of the things
he really liked about her.
        "Myra, d'you remember what I said about the Nightcrawler?  He
said that Nick didn't like to kill people.  Remember?"
        "Yes," Myra said softly as she lay next to Don.
        "That's really important to remember, okay.  What I'm going to
tell you is absolutely unbelievable and unrepeatable.  To anyone,
including me.  We will never talk about this again.  Ever.  My gut
tells me it's dangerous.  And that's why Nick hasn't said anything.
he's protecting me.  So you just gotta trust me on this."
        "I trust you, Don."
        Don smiled.  Myra trusted him.  Same as he trusted Nick.
Tomorrow night he would go back to work, and get in the Caddy with
Nick.  They would drive the streets and protect the innocent.  And
Nick would never know that Don knew, not unless Nick told him.  It
was all about trust.
        "Then forget everything they ever told you about what is
possible and what is not, Myra.  Because reality ain't quite the way
it seems.  Nick is living proof.  Remember how he never goes out in
the sunlight, remember how he doesn't ever eat anything or drink
anything?"
        "Yeah?"
        "Well, there's a good reason.  Nick," Schanke whispered in
Myra's ear, "is a vampire...just like the legends."
        "Don!" Myra said, protesting.
        "Trust me on this, Myra.  Trust me."

                               The End