"Nottingham, please," Sara’s voice was frail, as she begged him. Her eyes locked onto his but he said nothing, nor did his facial expression give Sara a hint of what her fate might be. She hung in the air what seemed like an eternity, then Nottingham threw her against the wall. Sara’s head bounced off the cement, she fell onto the cot, then rolled onto the floor. Nottingham’s body loomed over her, he bent down, punched Sara in the face. She heard something crack, causing intense pain and she wondered if it was her nose. Nottingham stabbed another syringe into her neck causing Sara’s eyes rolled back into her head.

"Excellent." Irons stepped into the cell. "Take the witchblade from her." Nottingham reached for the bracelet but the witchblade covered her wrist, ran up her arm and spikes tore into her shoulder. "Fascinating." Nottingham looked up at his master. "It seems the witchblade does not want to come off."

"We can cut off her arm."

"No." Irons sighed. "The witchblade will encase her entire body and will not let go. Ms. Pezzini must willingly discard the witchblade. We can not obtain it by force." Nottingham stood. "Very well, it looks as if we must go to plain B. This is becoming an annoyance. I will be very pleased when she is no longer a nuisance." Irons walked out of the cell, leaving Nottingham and Sara alone.

The man clad in black looked over her frail body. A puddle of blood had formed where Sara’s head rested. Nottingham slowly reached out and touched her cheek gently. A rush filled his body as he touched the soft skin. His eyes scanned her body and stopped once he reached her breasts. Nottingham slid his hand gently over her check, down her neck and then fondled her breasts. He had always wondered what it would be to touch her smooth skin, to feel her body next to his, and to hear her soft moans.

As he was lost in thought, the witchblade moved a crossed her body, forming a shield between her body and Nottingham’s dirty touch. For a moment he watched in amazement as the witchblade covered her body. Nottingham touched the strange armour, for he had always wondered what it felt like.

"Damn!" He cursed, falling backwards. Nottingham grabbed his wrist, and saw that a metal spike had pierced his hand. Blood began to ooze from the wound. Quickly he stood up and Nottingham could hear Irons laughing.

"You are a fool." Nottingham quickly left the room to tend to his wound as his master continued to laugh.

****

Jake glanced up at the clock. It read 1:30. "Damn it Pez, where the hell are you?" Dante had yelled at him three times all ready demanding that he call his lover and remind Sara that she was in danger of losing her job. Lloyd had also came to his cubical, more times then he could count. Jake had called Sara’s cell phone and attempted to reach her at home but to no avail. He had no idea where she could be which caused him to worry.

"McCarthy!" Dante yelled as he approached Jake’s cubical again. However, this time Jake decided he would not tolerate being yelled at and walked passed his boss. "Where the hell do you think you are going?"

"Lunch." Dante attempted to protest but Jake was out of earshot.

Once he reached the steps of the station he closed his eyes, trying to focus on Sara. It had worked before. But this time he did not receive a message from her nor could he feel her presence. Jake cursed under his breath, yanked his keys out of his pocket and went to his car. He was going to retrace his steps. Maybe he would find a clue to her whereabouts.

***

The most logical spot for Jake to start was the diner where he had last seen her. He asked the same waitress who served them if she had seen anything odd. The older woman shook her head, snapped her gum and replied, "Sorry hon." Jake left his card, encouraging her to call if she remembered anything. He had a feeling that she was not going to call. Jake walked behind the diner. He noticed Sara’s bike, which caused him to worried. She would never leave her bike.

Looking around, he could find no evidence dealing with her disappearance.

"Where the hell could you be?"

"I would say that she is safe, but she is not." Jake turned and Nottingham punched him in the face. Within a blink of an eye, the man in black was using Jake as a punching bag. Jake attempted to fight back, but Nottingham thrust a syringe into Jake’s chest. Nottingham stood back and watched as Jake attempted to fight the affects of the drugs, but they overcame him quickly.

"I hope you die."

***

"Ms. Pezzini, how was your nap?" Irons asked, standing before her prison. She felt immense pain, something she had been unfamiliar with since she had obtained the witchblade. Sara groaned again forced her body so sit up. The witchblade had reverted back to its bracelet form.

"You’re an ass."

"My, my I sense a bit of hostility in your voice. I see your beating has not tamed your temper any." Nottingham entered her enclosure, grabbed Sara’s shirt, and then dragged the young woman towards Irons. Sara felt as if she were a helpless animal being dragged to its death. Nottingham released her shirt and Irons knelt down. "Will you give me the witchblade?"

"No." Irons shook his head then stood up. He nodded to Nottingham, who kicked Sara in the jaw and then in the ribs numerous times.

"Now?" Sara’s limp body lie upon the concert. Nottingham kicked her again and she yelped in pain. "Why must all cops be martyrs? I think you would sooner die then give me the witchblade." Sara spat blood on Irons expensive suit. "Honestly!" Irons snapped, growing more annoyed. "Your crudeness amazes me." With a flick of his hand Nottingham stopped beating Sara, which allowed her an opportunity to collect her thoughts. Sara tried to pull herself across the floor but found she did not have the strength and abandoned her effort.

"How pathetic. But Sara I do have a gift for you." Irons grabbed her brown hair and forced Sara to watch as Nottingham re-entered the darkened room and dumped Jake’s body onto the floor.

"Jake." Sara wanted to call out to him, but her voice was too weak.

"He is still alive." Nottingham ripped off the duck tape, which covered his mouth.

"Sara! You’ll pay for this Irons!"

"Yes, yes," Irons waved his hand in protest. "I have heard it all before. Now, you have a choice. You give me the witchblade or you can observe Det. McCarthy’s slow and painful death. The question is can your conscience deal with another death? Didn’t you kill your first partner?" Nottingham raised his gun and shot Jake in the leg.

"Jake." Sara gasped, watching Jake writhe in pain. She grabbed the witchblade and yanked it from her wrist. Then, as best she could, Sara slid the it across the smooth floor away from Irons.

Irons turned away from Sara and ran after the witchblade. For a moment she closed her eyes and then reached out her hand, calling the witchblade to her. Irons snatched the silver bracelet from the floor and held it within his hands. He saw Sara’s expression as she attempted to call the witchblade to her and he began to laugh.

"It’s abounded you! The witchblade has abandoned its wielder!" Sara reached out for the witchblade, again, but it would not come to her. "What an unfortunate turn of events Ms. Pezzini." Irons walked over towards Jake and smiled. "Force her to watch." Nottingham grabbed Sara. " Please, do not take this the wrong way Sara, but it must be done."

Sara closed her eyes, unable to watch the carnage.

"Finally, it has come back to me." Irons went to place the bracelet on his wrist. A gunshot rang out and he staggered backwards, dropping the witchblade.

"Master!" Nottingham cried. Sara quickly opened her eyes and saw Jake hastily pick up the bracelet. Iron’s shoulder bled from his wound, which had been inflicted by Jake. Before Irons could order Nottingham to pick up the bracelet he saw it was in Jake’s hands.

"No." Sara warned, coughing on blood. For a moment Jake looked at the bracelet with a puzzled expression.

Finally Irons was able to think straight. "Stop him you fool!" Irons hissed and Nottingham moved towards Jake. Without thinking, Jake placed it upon his wrist.

"You fool," Irons laughed. "You can not wear the blade. It will kill you." Nottingham stepped towards Jake with his gun but Irons motioned him to stop. "You will die now." Nottingham assisted Irons.

For a moment everyone was silent and all eyes were on Jake but nothing happened. Then suddenly the witchblade encased his arm and continued to move across his chest, up his neck, face and down his chest until his entire body was covered.

"Sara!" Jake cried out, fearful of his foolish mistake. Jake was able to rise to his feet, his wound no longer hurt. Iron’s face went blank as he suddenly realized he was in trouble. Ian reached for his gun ready to protect his master.

"Jake!" Sara warned, as a shot ran out. Jake turned to face Nottingham and his arm raised suddenly. The bullet was reflected then his arm extended towards his assailant. A spike emerged from the witchblade’s armor and struck Nottingham in the chest. He gasped falling to the ground.

"Fascinating," Irons muttered, as he made a hasty retreat while Jake’s attention was on Nottingham.

"Son of a bitch!" Jake snapped, as he punched Nottingham.

(We will destroy him)

Jake heard the voice in his head, but he knew it was not his subconscious. He felt an intense hatred building within his body, which was alien to him. As he continued to beat Nottingham’s bloody face, Jake saw spikes emerge on the witchblade and he held back his arm.

"No."

(Destroy him) Jake shook his head, released Nottingham who fell to the floor and stood back. The urge to kill his enemy was a primal force. (Kill him)

"I won’t." Jake had always wanted to destroy Nottingham before but now something was strange, different. He couldn’t bring himself to end Nottingham‘s life. Jake turned his attention towards Sara, whose limp body still lie upon the concert. He went to her and the witchblade reverted back to its bracelet form. "Sara. I’m gonna get ya outta here." He picked her up.

"Jake? The witchblade where.."

"I’ve got it. It’s on my arm."

"No, Jake you have to…" Sara passed out from her multiple wounds and Jake was thankful. She needed to rest, and he didn’t need her to remind him that the witchblade was unforgiving to men who dared to wear it.

The End

This story ©copyright Divia LaCroix, 2001