Forewarned

By Beck

Part One

With his eyes squeezed shut tightly and gasping the deep breath of a swimmer who has nearly drowned, Ian Nottingham waited for the next bullet to hit. When none came he opened his eyes and took in his surroundings. Down the street from him was the Rialto, and across the street from it the blue sedan in which Sara Pezzini and her partner sat. But this could not be right. He rubbed his eyes, not willing to trust them. He inhaled and braced himself against the rough brick wall beside him, feeling weak in the knees. Slowly visions swirled before his eyes. . . Sara�s face, Dante and his men pointing guns at him, Sara and Gabriel, Irons refusing to kill him . . . the images sped up to the point where it was hard to follow them . . . back through time, back to the point where he had stood here, near the Rialto watching Sara, once before.

His knees began to buckle and for the first time in his life, Ian Nottingham fainted.

Across from the Rialto, the blue car�s engine revved up and it pulled away, leaving Gallo and his entourage standing on the sidewalk, talking amongst themselves, unaware of a police presence. Further down the street, a blond man stood talking at a pay phone. People came and went, most bundled against the cold.

Kenneth Irons frowned as he stirred the fire in the hearth with a poker. Something seemed amiss, but he couldn�t quite identify what. He put the poker back in the stand and sank down into one of the comfortable leather chairs flanking the fireplace. His wolfhound, lying with paws outstretched beside the chair, stirred for a moment lifting his head, intelligent brown eyes watching its master.

Irons looked down at the dog, "You have it lucky, my friend." A sardonic smile crossed his face as he lifted a wineglass from the side table and took a sip.

The workman holding the large bright orange sign eyed the next car in the line waiting to get by, the blue sedan sat idling, the people inside talking animatedly with each other. The driver, finally getting impatient, leaned out the window and flashed his badge.

"Hey buddy, how long is this going to take?" Danny watched the workman shrug his shoulders. "Well partner, should we go back the way we came? Maybe Gallo will be standing in the middle of the road." He winked at Sara, a grin playing across his features, before performing a perfect three-point turn and speeding back down the road retracing their previous route. The sedan passed the Rialto, but there was no sign of Gallo or his men. A figure staggered out of the alley and right into the path of the oncoming blue car.

"Danny! Lookout!

"I see him Pez." Danny grimaced and slammed on brakes, narrowly missing the man. Traffic behind them slammed on brakes as well and the unmistakable grinding sound of metal hitting metal and glass breaking echoed in the air.

Danny and Sara both braced for impact but it never came. The car behind them had missed them by less than three inches. Sara flung open her door and jumped out before Danny could say another word. He watched as she helped the man dressed in a black trench coat and watch cap get to his feet. Glancing back in the rearview, he could clearly see the driver of the white car behind him cursing and gesturing. Danny opened his door and stepped out flashing his badge.

A gunshot rang out from the white car as it manoeuvred around the blue sedan and sped away, hitting Danny square in the chest.

Sara let go of the man she had been helping, dropping him to the sidewalk as she heard gunshot. She ran to Danny�s side, but it was too late. He lay in a pool of his own blood, his bullet-proof vest pierced through.

She grabbed the mic from the radio in the car, "Officer down! Repeat Officer down! Roll ambulance! Roll it!

She knelt by Danny�s side, cradling him in her arms until the EMTs arrived. Only then did she look back to the sidewalk to see where the man she had been helping was. He was gone.

Part Two

Ian needed time to think things through. Time was a luxury he didn�t possess right now though. He had to act fast, had to report back to Irons that Sara had not gone into the Rialto as well as about the death of her partner. He inhaled deeply, trying to calm himself, trying not to show how shaken he was. He bowed his head and step toward the doors. They slid open with a hiss and he entered. He stood just inside the doorway, eyes downcast waiting for Irons to acknowledge him.

Momentarily Irons swiveled his chair around to regard Ian. "And?"

"She did not enter the Rialto as expected."

Irons frowned. "A minor setback, there will be other opportunities for her to prove herself."

�Her partner was killed today."

Irons lifted his eyebrows. "How was he killed?"

"An angry motorist shot him."

Irons turned his chair back around to face his computer screen and its ever-changing screen saver. "Go now."

Ian nodded obediently and backed through the automatic door as it whooshed open. As the door closed again he turned and hurried to his quarters. Alone in his own room, he collapsed on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes to block the light. Images of the future that didn�t happen but did flashed through his mind. Things had been irrevocably changed somehow. What had happened? How had time been reversed? It had to be the Witchblade. It had to have been Sara. Something had happened to force her to use it in such a manner. Had his death had that effect on her? No, she had not accepted his offers of love and loyalty. Something else must have precipitated her using such a great power. He thought of her now, her face, her image in his mind�s eye. He thought about predestined events and free will. Did he believe in fate? Yes. Did free will affect anything? Some things, probably, but the major events were still predestined. Otherwise how could he explain the visions of himself and Sara in other lifetimes, other places? How could he explain the death of Sara�s partner, Danny, as it reoccurred today? At almost the precise same time it happened before? His head hurt from thinking. He rose off the bed and looked around his room. What was true anymore? Sara had passed the Periculum in that other lifetime. Was she still bonded to the Witchblade? Would she have to pass that test again? Sara had rejected him in that other lifetime. Would she reject him in this one? He considered his actions of that lifetime from her viewpoint. But what choice had he had? What if he were to tell her of that other lifetime? Would she think him a lunatic? If her were to show her visions of it via the Witchblade, Irons would surely know.

As he sat, lost in thought, his gaze fell upon his desk. Not much there. A jar full of coins, some paper, a pen. Nothing that hadn�t been reverted back to its prior state. With a soft laugh he wondered if the stock market was a predestined event. It wasn�t as if his employer would be damaged by a small loss of money. He made a mental note to ask for enough money for some new clothing. A few thousand or so. Combined with what he had saved in secret over the years it wouldn�t make a bad investment. If he lost it, it wouldn�t be a crisis. All his needs were provided for anyway. Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

With that thought echoing in his mind, he took a seat at his desk and pulled out a fresh sheet of stationery and a pen. Slowly, with a practiced hand, he wrote.

My Dearest Lady Sara;

Please take the time to read this letter through and do not cast it aside as the ramblings of a madman. The things I have to tell you may seem lunacy, but I assure you they are the truth. Although you do not know me from this lifetime except in passing, you do know me from another. The bracelet from the museum that you now wear is known as the Witchblade, and it has many powers, some of which I believe you may have already witnessed in your victory over Vespucci. I was there that day in the museum, but I doubt you will remember me well if at all. There is much I must tell you about the Witchblade, much more than I can convey with pen and paper.
It is not my intention to frighten you with this missive, quite the opposite. As you wear the Witchblade and have become its rightful owner, I am sworn to protect you. Please do not fear me should you see me following you, I have no desire but to serve you in any manner that you see fit. I will arrange a meeting in the near future so that we may discuss these matters.

Your Humble Servant,

Ian Christian Nottingham


Ian folded the paper neatly and slipped it into a plain envelope. He rose from his seat and inhaled deeply, the seriousness of what he was about to do weighing on him greatly. Nothing ventured, nothing gained. He slipped the letter into his pocket and left the room, closing the door behind him.

Part Three

Sara awoke in the early morning hours, long before the alarm clock went off. Her dreams had been disturbing, bits and pieces of battlefield scenes, bloody bodies lying one atop the other, pennants and banners flapping loudly in a strong wind.
As she sat up in the bed, she noticed the curtains at her window billowing. She was fairly positive she�d closed the window before she had fallen asleep. She got out of bed and looked around the apartment, gun in hand, but nothing seemed awry. She shut the window, shivering slightly, from the chilly pre-dawn air. A frown creased her brow as she headed toward the kitchen area to make a pot of coffee. Sitting in front of the coffee pot was a plain white envelope.

She hastily ripped open the envelope and withdrew the contents, a single sheet of stationery with writing in an elegant hand. The task of making coffee forgotten, she plunked down at the kitchen table, the battlefield of her dreams playing in her mind as she read the words, "Although you do not know me from this lifetime except in passing, you do know me from another."

"Ian Nottingham. Well, Mr. Nottingham, you�re wrong about one thing. I do remember you." Sara laid the letter back on the table and returned to making coffee. Perhaps it would all make more sense after a decent cup of brew. She rubbed her forehead and shook her head as if to clear it of that which did not make sense, but the image of the dark-haired dark-eyed man in black would not fade.

On a rooftop across from Sara�s apartment, Ian Nottingham stood watching through a telescopic lens and smiled. As he looked away from Sara�s window and noticed the lightening sky, he quickly packed his things and fled once more into the remaining shadows.

Kenneth Irons stood in his office, looking from his window out at the early morning light spilling across the city. Something was still not quite right, but he could not for the life of him place his finger on what it was. His intercom buzzed.

"Mr. Tommy Gallo on line one for you sir."

"Very well."

Irons lifted the receiver, the quintessential businessman in tone and voice, and proceeded to net quite a profit on the old Rialto Theatre.

He was smiling as he hung up. It would not be long before Detective Pezzini learned of this transaction and found her way to him. Off-loading a white elephant and drawing in his quarry all in one deal. It was going to be a good day.

Returning home from Danny�s funeral, Sara found she didn�t really want to be alone. She picked up her cell phone and dialed a few numbers, none of which resulted in anything but answering machines. On an off chance she dialed Jake McCartey�s number. Being the rookie in the precinct perhaps he hadn�t made enough friends on the force yet to be away from home.

"McCartey."

"Hey Jake, it�s Pezzini. I know this is kind of out of the blue, but I just got back from Danny�s funeral and I really don�t want to be alone right now. Want to go get a cup of coffee?"

"Hey Pez. Yeah, I saw you at the funeral. I just got back myself." He paused as if considering, "Yeah, sure coffee sounds great. Want me to come get you?"

"Yeah, if you don�t mind. Otherwise we�d have to ride on the Buell and I don�t have a spare helmet."

"Allright. Be there in a few."

"Thanks, Jake."

"Sure, Pez. No problem."

Sara pushed the off button on the phone and flipped it shut, shoving it into her jacket pocket. She glanced down at the Witchblade as she brought her hand out of her pocket. Nothing. No swirling colors, no hint of anything. She laughed to herself, "Maybe the batteries are dead."


Jake McCartey was, needless to say, rather stunned that Sara would call him. He barely knew her. Maybe she just needed a shoulder, just someone to keep from being alone. Time to put on the clueless rookie face. He smiled in the mirror before walking out the door. "This is going to be easier than I thought.