Chapter 17
The desolation on her face had been almost too much to bear, but bear it he did. Surprisingly well, the knowledge of what was at stake giving him strength. What he'd done had been necessary for her safety. Keeping her at a distance was the only way of protecting her.
Every fiber of his being had begged him for release, distraction, relief. He'd wanted to lose himself in her, give in to the love and comfort she so unselfishly offered him. But allowing himself that solace would have meant her death. He would never again let a mortal close enough for that to happen. Particularly the one mortal who he so desperately loved. She would come to see that he was right. After he went away, she would come to understand. She would.
He listened to her walk to her car and drive away, before moving to the refrigerator and grabbing a bottle. The half bottle of human blood he'd just downed hadn't been enough, not nearly enough, and the hunger had grown into a dull, consuming ache that wracked his entire body. He needed. He wanted. And he no longer saw any reason for denying himself. Everything had come crashing down around him at the very moment he'd set eyes on Elliot's lifeless body.
Elliot. Tears beckoned again as thoughts of the boy entered Nick's head, the hideous picture of the small, pale body tearing at the vampire's conscience like some ravenous wolf.
His misguided efforts to be human again had brought him to this point. A point where he no longer felt like he was contributing. A point where he saw himself as nothing more than a burden to the mortals around him, a danger to their very existence. It had to stop. But taking Erica's way out was no longer an option for him. That route only threatened the corruption of more mortal souls. Leaving humanity alone was the only way he could think of to end their torture. Living with his own kind was the only way to shield humans from his evil. His punishment would be spending the rest of eternity pretending to be contented with the choice he'd regretted almost from the very moment he'd made it. A sick smile distorted his features as he uncorked the bottle. It was a fitting punishment, a fitting punishment indeed.
Putting the container to his lips, Nick threw back his head and allowed the rich liquid to flow down his throat. The hunger burned brightly, and the cow's blood only served to take the edge off. And even at that, it was only the smallest of edges. He silently wished for another bottle of LaCroix's procurement. What he drank didn't matter anymore. Keeping himself in control did matter. He would never kill a mortal for their blood, but human blood was his natural sustenance, it would give him the power of control. And it was a major part of his return to the family.
Hell! He cursed as he lowered the half-empty container. A more immediate punishment had already begun. He would be continuing his current farce of a life. Instead of scaring Natalie away, she'd turned the tables on him. Sometimes she was just too brave for her own good. Oh, she'd been frightened, very frightened; her heartbeat had sung in his ears like the fluttering of a hummingbird's wing. But she hadn't run away. She'd stood her ground, and when it was all said and done, he'd given into her request. Why he'd done such an idiotic thing, he wasn't sure. Maybe he wanted to reward her courage, a trait he both admired and envied. Maybe he just couldn't face leaving her, not yet. Or maybe, at that moment, as he'd looked into Natalie's pleading eyes, something deep inside the burned-out shell of his soul called out for another chance. He didn't know. But whatever the reason, he'd agreed to stick around.
He really didn't believe that another chance was possible. No. Not only was it not possible, it was dangerous. He had been weak when he'd agreed to stay. He could be weak no longer. He must have been out of his mind. How could he have let himself be talked into something so reckless? He needed to get away. For everyone's sake, he had to go away.
However, he would not break his vow to Natalie. Detective Nicholas Knight would remain in Toronto for a little while longer. Pretending to be the mortal, while keeping himself at a distance would be a delicate balancing act, but not that much different from the one he already preformed everyday. Although, he had to admit, the degree of distance would have to be even greater. He hoped he could pull it off. He had to pull it off. He couldn't continue to allow himself to get caught up in the mortal lives around him. He had to keep them safe. He had to stay back.
What about Jacob and Elizabeth? The question sent a shiver of dread darting up his back. How in the world was he going to face them? Two people who had trusted him and welcomed him into their lives. What could he possibly say to them? He couldn't put the degree of his own anguish into words, let alone find the proper things to say to parents whose only child was brutally murdered because of his intrusion into their lives, not to mention his weakness. Merely the thought of confronting them sent an uncontrollable panic bolting through him. Actually looking into their sad, tormented eyes and facing their overwhelming grief was something he didn't know if he could handle. He was the cause of their misery. The guilt that went along with this knowledge was like none he'd ever known. Did he possess the courage and strength necessary to carry the guilt and confront the tragic need of his two friends?
One more, long swallow and he finished the bottle in his hand. A full container replaced it. Pulling the cork, he slammed the appliance door shut and tried to ease the thirst, his thoughts heightening the desire for fulfillment. The animal blood was starting to work...slowly. Too slowly. Again, he longed for a bottle of the Raven's stock. It would quickly cut through the hunger and give him a reprieve from the searing ache. But LaCroix's gift was gone, and still the hunger burned. The cow's blood would have to do. For now.
As he took another swallow, Nick felt a light strum along the link he shared with his master, the soothing consolation an unexpected respite from the debilitating pain. Closing his eyes, he welcomed the intrusion. No specific impressions found their way into Nick's mind. LaCroix didn't use words to express himself, only wave upon wave of sensation. Standing quietly for a moment, Nick let the inviting compassion block out the disturbing images of Jacob and Beth. He basked in the calming pool of feeling, and found there some of the solace he so desperately needed. His father was offering him support, and he gladly accepted it. Maybe it was wrong. After all, he didn't deserve any comfort. Not after what he'd done. But the comfort afforded him by his master was something he found himself unable to resist.
The feelings continued to wash over their connection as Nick sat on the couch and finished the second bottle. The exhaustion of the last 24 hours was starting to weigh heavily on him, and although he didn't think he would be able to rest, the pull of the abyss of sleep proved too great. With his father's supportive influence blanketing his mind, Nick stretched out on the sofa, closed his eyes, and gave himself over to the tranquility of the dark.
He stared down at the sleeping form of his son, a grim expression shadowing his face. The boy was suffering, grievously. The pain of his sorrow was an almost tangible, nearly overwhelming, entity filling Nicholas' mind, the evidence of which came in the form of tiny beads of red sweat glistening on his brow in the dim light of the loft. The affect of the assault also made itself known as his son tossed his head back and forth while he mumbled in his uneasy sleep, seemingly arguing with the invisible, unrelenting ghosts that haunted his dreams. Nicholas' sleep had been, and was now, anything but peaceful. LaCroix had sensed the anguish all through the day as he himself had tried, unsuccessfully, to rest.
Walking around to the front of the couch, Lucien set one of the several bottles he'd brought with him on the coffee table while he continued to consider his son. There was only one thing that he could think of at the moment that would cause Nicholas this much pain. The Simmons boy was dead. There could be little doubt. The tortured impressions he had gleaned from Nicholas could only be the result of his protege's inability to save the child. It was something LaCroix had hoped would not happen for this very reason, but his hope had gone unrealized, unfortunately for Nicholas.
Again Lucien silently cursed his offspring's preoccupation with mortals. If you would just leave them alone, Nicholas. Stop this unnatural fascination with them and their weak humanity. Your existence would be so much easier. You could spare yourself all of this debilitating agony.
"Elliot." The soft word escaped Nicholas. LaCroix cocked his head to one side, and with a troubled eye, watched as the nightmare became too much for his creation to tolerate. "No! Elliot!" Nicholas' own painful cries pulled him from his unsettled sleep, his eyes springing open while his hands shot out to grab the couch. For a few seconds, he lay very still, his labored breathing the only sound in the loft. After those few seconds slid past, his breathing began to slow, and with an uncertain sigh, he looked up at his master.
LaCroix felt an unfamiliar stab of pity run through his cold heart as he gazed into the sad, defeated face of his son. He understood the torment, but it had to stop. It only served to weaken the boy, to sap his strength. It was destructive, hideously destructive. And no one, not even Nicholas himself, would destroy LaCroix's beautiful child. No one.
"Nicholas." Lucien acknowledged his host with a bow of his head.
Swinging his feet to the floor, Nicholas sat up. Before laying his head in his hands, his elbows on his knees, he returned the greeting. "LaCroix."
"I'm sorry, Nicholas." He hesitated only a brief moment before voicing his remorse.
At the words, Nicholas' head jerked up and his eyes narrowed with cynicism, his bitter voice falling like tiny drops of acid on his father's ears. "Are you? Are you really?"
LaCroix steeled himself against the venomous meaning the questions held. It was to be expected, he supposed. After all that had passed between them over the centuries, all that he had done to sabotage Nicholas' ties with the mortal world, what other reaction should he have anticipated? The boy had every right to doubt his sincerity. However, he was sincere. He may not have welcomed the relationship between Nicholas and the young mortal, but he'd had no wish to see the child dead.
He continued to look into the tormented face of his favorite creation, and acknowledged that part of Nicholas' caustic reaction was a result of the relentless sorrow and rage that ate away at him. Guilt weighed heavily on the boy. And although LaCroix was getting a glimpse of the anger, he knew that the brunt of it was being forced inward. What little poison Nicholas chose to spit his way, he would tolerate if it would help relieve some of his son's pain. But he would only be pushed so far.
Sitting in the chair next to the couch, LaCroix refused to back down. "Yes, Nicholas. I am truly sorry about the child's death. I'm sorry for what it's doing to you. For what you are doing to yourself. Let it go, Nicholas. Let it go."
Dropping his icy stare to the floor, Nicholas let out a short, sneering laugh before looking back up at his father. "You'll be happy to hear that's just what I intend to do. Let it go. Let mortals go. Let myself go."
"Indeed." LaCroix's eyebrows rose with the declaration. He sat back in the chair and made himself comfortable, an uncontrollable current of excitement coursing through him. So this was what it was all about. Earlier in the day he had sensed a change come over Nicholas, but he hadn't been able to quite put his finger on it. It had felt as though a long-wrestled-with decision had finally been reached. There had then been a modicum of relief, followed by a rigid toughness that LaCroix had never sensed from his son. It was almost as if he had felt Nicholas' heart hardening, walling itself off, protecting itself from any further injury. Until now, he wasn't sure if he had been reading his protege correctly. It had seemed too good to be true. But as he looked into Nicholas' unyielding eyes, he knew. The boy was ready. He was finally ready. The ridiculous search for humanity was over at last.
Lucien couldn't stop his smile. He didn't want to. But he was careful to rein in his growing enthusiasm. There had been other times when he'd thought Nicholas had reached the end of his rope. Each time LaCroix had eventually been disappointed by his son's amazing resilience. This time, he would take it slowly, and see just how far Nicholas had actually been pushed. But he had to concede, Elliot's murder had gone a very long way toward thrusting Nicholas to the edge. Perhaps closer than he'd ever been. Freefall might only be a finger's touch away, if the extra force was needed at all. Could it be that Nicholas' fall had already begun?
Without so much as a 'by your leave', the boy reached for the bottle of blood sitting on the coffee table, pulled the cork and took a long drink.
Lucien's smile widened slightly as he watched his offspring partake of the nourishment. He still sensed some small degree of guilt in Nicholas for the action, but a more powerful, dominant sense was that of relief and satisfaction, fulfillment. He was a vampire quenching the hot need that scorched the very center of his being, and he basked in the release.
Lowering the bottle from his lips, the protege looked at his maker. "I needed that. Thank you."
LaCroix nodded. "You've needed it for a very long time, Nicholas. You're most welcome."
"Well, I won't be depriving myself any longer. It's not worth it anymore. The price is too high. From now on, whatever I need, I take."
The last statement sent another thrill shooting through LaCroix. They were the words of a strong vampire. He'd longed to hear words such as those from his son for more centuries than he cared to count. Hearing them now was more than he had hoped. But...a weakness still lurked in the emerging power. And again, LaCroix held his brimming excitement to a minimum. "The price?" he asked.
Taking another drink, Nicholas stood and walked to the fireplace, keeping his back to his master when he answered. "For mortality. Or at least...." A short, embittered chuckle shot from the boy. "The promise of mortality, the lie of mortality. The price in human life is too great."
Well, it wasn't the reason he'd wanted to hear, but it was the reason he'd expected to hear. His son's change of heart wasn't so much a realization of futility, but an observance of necessity, a necessity to keep the mortals around him safe. The recognition brought a chagrined sigh from LaCroix. He would happily take the change regardless of the reasoning behind it. He'd waited too long for this to happen to quibble over trifles. Still, he couldn't help but ask. "So you're giving up your search for a cure in order to shield humanity from yourself, from your evil?"
Spinning around from the fireplace, Nicholas pinned his father with a granite stare. "I'm giving up my search because it's an idiotic fantasy. One that I'm weary of chasing. All I need from mortals now is their blood." He raised the bottle slightly in an indication.
LaCroix smiled. Nicholas certainly knew what his creator wanted to hear. But they both knew that it wasn't entirely true. Nicholas' decision hadn't been as cold and calculating as he wanted it to sound. Lucien knew his son was still, even at this very moment, struggling with his decision. The hardening of his heart was not yet complete, and his master wondered if it ever would be. And...did he really want it to be?
"So...you're part of the family again? You'll be leaving this life behind, I suppose? Getting away from the painful reminders?" LaCroix joined his son at the fireplace.
The boy's cold stare fell to the floor as an uncertain nervousness seemed to come over him. Another quick drink, and Nicholas turned back to look into the lifeless hearth. "Ah...no, not right away. I had planned on leaving tonight, but I've made a promise, and I intend to keep it."
Closing his eyes, LaCroix took a mental deep breath. Here it was...the catch. With Nicholas, there always seemed to be a catch. Concentrating his gaze on his son once again, he questioned, "A promise?"
The protege nodded, but continued to look into the fireplace. "To Natalie. I told her that I would give her one month. That I would stay in Toronto, be Nicholas Knight, for one more month."
The sigh that left Lucien this time was anything but silent. The lovely Doctor Lambert. He should have known. He loathed to admit it, but she had a hold over his creation almost as powerful as his own. His dealings with her had been few, but each time he had experienced her strength and her deep love for Nicholas. The combination presented a formidable obstacle, an obstacle that he had yet to overcome. He admired her strength and understood her love, but he couldn't be happy about her interference. And she was interfering again. She just didn't know when to leave well enough alone. It would be hard for her to finally admit defeat.
"Nicholas. Nicholas." LaCroix shook his head in disappointment.
"What?" The protege's eyes challenged his master while a defensive posture squared his shoulders.
"You know 'what'. Do I really have to say it? If you're going to leave, you need to make a quick, clean break. You know as well as I do that it's the best way. The only way. This hesitation will result in nothing but more pain."
Although Nicholas' leaving did not sit well with LaCroix, he knew it would be for the best. Getting the boy away from the weakening influence of Doctor Lambert would go a long way toward reinforcing his decision to return to his true nature. And anyway, the separation wouldn't be for very long. Lucien would be able to put an end to things here fairly quickly and join his protege wherever he decided to go.
"I-- Well, none of that matters now. It's too late. I've made the promise, and I'm going to keep it."
The aggressive tone of Nicholas' voice told LaCroix not to pursue the matter any further. His son's decision had been ill-advised, but it was obvious the boy was determined to see it through. Still, he felt compelled to address the unspoken reason for his child's hesitation. "You owe her nothing, Nicholas. Nothing. Neither do you owe the Simmons' anything. Simply walk away, Nicholas. It's the best thing to do for everyone involved."
"I can't, not now." A cynical smirk lifted a corner of the boy's mouth. "Besides...what could happen in one month? It's less than an eye blink to us. When it's over, I know what I have to do."
"And in this blink of an eye, what will the good doctor be pushing your way? More protein drinks? An increase in your garlic intake perhaps?" An impatient skepticism crept into LaCroix's voice with the questions.
"No. Nothing like that. I promised her I would stay, nothing more. I no longer have any desire to suffer through the experiments. I am a vampire." Nicholas raised the blood to his lips and finished it. "This," again, he indicated the bottle, "is all I need, all I want."
"Indeed. You don't know how glad I am to hear you say that, Nicholas. Welcome back...my son." A cautious delight slid over the Roman as he watched his son bow his head in acceptance.
"Thank you...Father." Although very low and quiet, Nicholas' response echoed loudly in LaCroix's ears. Father. He had heard right. He wasn't imagining it. Father. Having himself referred to in such a way by his favorite, wayward creation sent another jolt of excitement darting over him. But along with the excitement came a settling tranquility, an odd sort of completion. The gap in his existence that he had been trying to repair for so many hundreds of years was suddenly gone, mended in an instant by the acceptance of his beloved child, by one uttered word. Father.
"Well...." Nicholas broke the intense stare of his master, and gazed down at the empty bottle in his hand. LaCroix sensed that he was not yet totally comfortable with his change of heart or the renewed closeness it afforded him and his maker. Lucien would not push. He would give his son all the time and space he needed to get used to the idea of his return to his family. Well, within reason that is. He would have to keep a watchful eye on Doctor Lambert. She could not be allowed to interfere, not now, not when they were so close.
"I've got--" Nicholas faltered as he turned toward the kitchen. "I've got to...go."
LaCroix's brows knitted together in a deep frown as he read the sudden wave of guilt and fear that washed over his creation. The boy's state of mind was a rollercoaster of contradictions at the moment. One minute he was strong and determined in his decision to leave mortality behind. The next, he was full of uncertainty about the step he was about to take. And with that uncertainty came a renewed sympathy for the life he was leaving behind, for the mortals he was leaving behind. A tiny warning bell sounded somewhere in the back of LaCroix's mind. He hoped Nicholas would settle into his choice soon. The dispute still raging in his protege's conscience left room for turning back. His jaw tightened with the thought. There would be no turning back, there couldn't be. If only Nicholas would leave now instead of hovering in the influence of Doctor Lambert for the next thirty days. He wasn't strong enough yet. It was dangerous.
"Nicholas?" Lucien pushed aside the troubling speculations, and placed a gentle hand on his son's arm.
Lifting haunted eyes to his maker, the boy shook his head. "It's nothing. There's just something I have to do."
"Something?" LaCroix's question held a subtle note of suspicion as he asked for a clarification. He got the impression this 'something' was a task he wasn't going to want to hear about.
The suspicious tone of his master's voice didn't appear to be lost on Nicholas. With some visible effort, he worked to overcome the sorrow, and a hardened determination entered his eyes. He appeared to thrust the paralyzing emotion, and the weakness that accompanied it, back into hiding. But he didn't fool his maker. The feelings continued to pull at the boy as he answered his father. "I have to see Jacob and Beth."
"Hmmm...the child's parents." The quiet recognition was tainted with disappointment. LaCroix had hoped his son would leave the grieving couple alone, although he knew Nicholas' overly active sense of compassion would insist on his supportive attention to the despondent mortals. His other victims. Or so Nicholas believed. LaCroix wasn't sure if this little confrontation would help or hinder his creation's decision to retreat from humanity. Seeing the couple could either draw Nicholas closer with a need to comfort them, or push him away with a heightened desire to escape the guilt he felt for their loss. Either way, the elder knew he couldn't stop the boy from doing what he felt had to be done. And still, even as LaCroix rejoiced in his son's return, he couldn't quite bring himself to celebrate the action that had caused the return. And because of this, he couldn't completely dismiss Nicholas' need to see the mortals. Nor could he allow the boy to continue to carry the blame for the child's death. "Elliot's death was not your fault, Nicholas."
Tortured blue eyes fell shut at the mention of the child's name, Nicholas' lips forming a thin, harsh line of pain. LaCroix felt the grief rise again along their link. But almost as quickly as he felt the sorrow resurface, he sensed a fierce battle by his creation to stifle it. Nicholas was trying to get a handle on his emotions, to solidify his still pliable heart. He was trying, but he was having one hell of a difficult time. "Please, LaCroix." The boy's eyes sprang open. "I don't want to discuss it." Stalking into the kitchen, he tossed away the empty bottle and retrieved another one from the refrigerator. Pulling the cork, he raised the bottle to his lips, but before taking a drink, he cast cold eyes on his father. "I know what I've done." And with those damning words, he greedily guzzled the human blood.
A worried scowl turned LaCroix's mouth. Nicholas' infinitely wide stubborn streak never ceased to infuriate him. Lucien watched his son drink the blood, and knew that no amount of persuasion on his part would change Nicholas' steadfast belief in his guilt in the child's death. Perhaps after the anguish had had time to cool he would see things more clearly, but LaCroix wasn't sure that, even with time, the boy would let go of the guilt. And that was not good. Not good at all. If Nicholas continued to cling to this debilitating, misplaced self-hatred, nothing will have been accomplished. There would be no change, no freedom. Even as he lived as a vampire, he would still be imprisoned by the shackles of shame and condemnation he placed upon himself. He had to shake them off, get rid of them, destroy them. Shaking his head, LaCroix finally spoke. "You've done nothing, Nicholas. Nothing."
Taking the bottle from his lips, the boy spat, "Oh? And isn't that a crime in and of itself?"
Lucien's patience was reaching its end, a short, exasperated sigh leaving him as he joined his son in the kitchen. "You tried, Nicholas. You tried to save the boy."
"But I failed!" The angry reproach shot from the protege in the form of a thunderous growl. Almost immediately, he seemed to catch himself and, pausing, took a deep breath. After a second or two, he appeared to get control of his sudden rage and turned steady, cool eyes to his maker. "And now if you'll excuse me, I've got to get cleaned up." Placing the half-empty bottle back in the refrigerator, Nicholas turned toward the stairs. Hesitating, he once again faced his father. "Thank you for the...supplies, LaCroix. I-- Thank you."
"A father knows when his children are in need, Nicholas. He is compelled to fill that need if it is something he feels is best for them."
LaCroix watched with an anxious, unfamiliar flutter in the pit of his stomach as his child climbed the stairs. The genuine gratitude from Nicholas pleased him no end, while the boy's self-destructive attitude strengthened his reservations. The storm of contradiction continued to rage in his offspring's heart and mind. Lucien could only hope that the turmoil would ease quickly and that Nicholas would remain unwavering in his decision. His earlier caution had been well heeded. His son's return was by no means set in stone. There was still a little work to be done.
End Chapter 17