I don’t anyone. Any characters you recognize are the property of the writers/producers of Forever Knight and possibly the SciFi Channel at this point. I’m not making any money off of this. I don’t know where if anywhere this is going. It’s just an idea that wouldn’t go away

 

Rated PG I guess, a few dead bodies and one semi bad word.

 

 

Forever Lost

By Maggie

 

Nick woke up to the darkness of a coffin. At least that’s where he thought he was. His head hurt and his memory was a little fuzzy. Feeling around for a non-existent latch, he realized that he was lying on a cold metal tray. The air trapped with him held the trace scent of chemicals used in autopsies. Damn, he was in a drawer in the morgue. How did he end up there and why hadn’t Natalie gotten him out? Listening for any sign of activity outside the drawer, Nick sensed he was alone. He was the only live body there. Okay, so he wasn’t alive. He was the only corpse that seemed to be anxious for a look around.

 

Hoping no one was near enough to come investigate, Nick slammed the front door of the drawer, popping the latch. The metal clang of the door bouncing off of the neighboring drawer seemed to echo through the empty lab. Apparently, it was a slow night. No one was around and the dim safety lights were the only illumination. Nick climbed out of the drawer and went over to sit at Nat’s desk. Flowers that Nick had brought her a few days before sat dying in a vase on her desk. Notes about her latest cases were strewn around her desk. Her digital clock showed that today was the 19th.

 

It was the 19th? He must have spent the night in the morgue. He was lucky that no one had cut into him. But if he had been there that long, why hadn’t Natalie shown up to get him out? Her most recent notes on the desk were dated 18th. What happened last night? He felt like there was something he should remember. Rubbing his still aching head, he wandered over to the clipboard hanging by the door. It was where Natalie and her assistants always kept the log of their latest cases. Two sheets were hanging from the board. The first one said: Nick Knight, found at home. DOA. No visible cause of death, possible heart attack. Awaiting notification of the next of kin to proceed with autopsy. Well that explains how he got there. He turned to the second sheet and had to sit down. It read: Natalie Lambert, found at home of Detective Knight, DOA. Preliminary exam shows two puncture wounds on the neck. No visible signs of struggle. We have requested an outside examiner from the Crown due our staff’s personal knowledge of the victim. 

 

Natalie dead with puncture wounds? Suddenly the previous night’s events came back to Nick in a flash of images and emotions; Natalie’s despair in asking him to bring her over, his fear of not being able to stop at the crucial moment, the heart wrenching pain of realizing that he had killed her, handing LaCroix the sword and asking him to end his life so he could follow Natalie into death, his maker’s pain filled eyes as he prepared to honor Nick’s last request, then nothing. LaCroix had obviously denied his request in the end but why? He needed to find out what had happened when he bowed his head for the final blow.

 

First, he needed to say goodbye to Natalie. Going to the drawer assigned her, Nick took a moment to steel himself and then pulled the tray out. Lifting the sheet, Nick looked down on a cold corpse that had once been his friend. “Nat, is this really the end you would choose for yourself? Didn’t you learn anything from my struggle for mortality? I will miss you every night of my existence.” Leaning down to kiss her cold lifeless lips, he whispered, “Farewell until we meet again my friend.”

 

Nick headed out into the streets to wander the night. He didn’t know where he was going. Truthfully he didn’t care. Caring hurt too much. He had made the mistake of truly loving a mortal only a few times before in his 800 year existence. It always ended badly. He didn’t know why he thought this time would be any different. The shining souls he cared for always deserted him in the end, and he was left behind to pick up the pieces and try again. He was sick of trying and consumed with anger that LaCroix would once again deny him the chance to find peace.

 

Looking up, Nick saw yellow police tape stretched across a familiar doorway. He realized his wanderings had led him back to the entrance to his loft. Carefully ducking under the tape, he entered the building and headed upstairs. The main floor of his loft felt emptier than it had since he first moved in. Perhaps it was just a reflection of how empty he felt inside.

 

Carefully avoiding the chalk outline of his and Nat’s bodies in front of the fireplace, Nick headed over to the fridge. Grabbing a bottle of blood, he plopped down on the couch to think things through. Unfortunately, his mind was still muddled and traveling in circles. Noticing a copy of Dante’s Inferno on coffee table that wasn’t there last night, Nick picked it up. A single sheet of paper fell out as he did. Nick recognized LaCroix’ flowing French script as he opened it.

 

Nicolas, if you are reading this, I assume you escaped the morgue on your own. I know what you wanted me to do the night of your little friend’s demise but I confess I wasn’t willing to give you up to the great unknown yet. Janette and I gave you this life and I feel that it is my place to judge when you are truly ready to leave it. Standing behind you with that sword, I was faced with the prospect of never having you to verbally fence with. It’s been so long since we fenced in reality, Nicola. Do you remember those glory days as fondly as I do my child? Perhaps you do not. Regardless, I decided that I didn’t deserve to be denied your company for the rest of eternity. I know you would never have the courage to face the dawn on your own. So, I will maintain my distance until you overcome this little hurt and find you when you have once again forgiven me. I apologize for any headache you may be suffering. I confess I hit you over the head with the hilt of the sword. I thought it would be easier for you to move on to your next identity if Nick Knight were a corpse rather than a missing murder suspect. Until we meet again, Ever Yours, Father

 

Nick crumbled the note in his hand. LaCroix’ parting goodbye “Until we meet again” was just too close to his goodbye to Natalie for comfort. Had LaCroix been guarding him in the morgue? The thought of his eternal Father watching his final tear filled goodbye to Natalie was too much to bear.  Nick hadn’t asked LaCroix for that much, just to help him die. Apparently he was going to be denied even that relief. Nick wanted to go out and face the dawn, but knew he lacked the courage and would run for cover with morning’s first light. There was nothing left to do but move on. There was a lot of work to be done before morning. He would have to dispose of his extra bottles of blood and make sure that his will leaving all his possessions to a distant nephew was left someplace obvious. He didn’t have to worry about packing as he couldn’t chance taking anything with him. He would have to retrieve his keepsakes through an attorney once his will was read. That’s assuming he hadn’t found a way to end his existence by then.

 

Heading out of his Toronto loft for the last time a few hours later, Nick had no idea where he would go. He supposed he would set up a new identity for himself somewhere down the road. Maybe it was time to go back to the beginning. No one had heard the name Nicolas de Brabant in nearly 800 years. It somehow seemed fitting to begin his search for the freedom of the dawn with his last name to see daylight. As LaCroix watched from the shadows, Nicolas headed once again into his endless night.

 

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