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I’m really having a doozy of a sad time right now... I think I’m too
tired
and stressed. Hope you don’t mind me churning out LK fic....
Permission granted to fkfanfic, ftp, Lisa, and any others to whom I’ve
given
permission. Ask for permission, and ye shall receive. This
will perhaps
eventually join, along with others, my growing collection of my stories
on
http://members.fortunecity.com/marianat (possible prize to someone
who can
tell why I chose that name).
A post-Last Knight gloomy vignette featuring Aristotle. Nothers
will
probably like a premise in this, if they can stand the gloom.
Aristotle let himself in to Nick’s loft. He looked around warily,
since he
couldn’t detect any vampires in the area. "Nick?" the computer
genius
called tentatively. "Nick? I came like you asked me to.
You said you
wanted help, that you would be moving on?"
As he came farther into the loft, he heard a very faint mortal heartbeat
and
breathing. He stopped in the doorway. "Oh, my Gods and
Goddesses," he
breathed.
There on the floor lay Nick’s mortal lady, Natalie Lambert, on the brink
of
death. Aristotle rushed to her and took her into his arms.
He’d admired
her since the fever incident, and he was coming to realize that he
cared for
her very much, perhaps even loved her.
Aristotle quickly gashed his wrist open and held it to Natalie’s mouth.
As
the blood flowed between her slack jaws, he prayed that she would recover.
While he waited for Natalie to drink, he looked around the room and
began to
perceive the sordid scene. A pile of ash lay mingled with male
clothing on
the floor. Nick.
The vampire jumped as he felt another vampire presence crash through
the
skylight.
"Lacroix," Aristotle began, trying to find the words to explain.
Then he looked at his ancient friend. The man was a complete mess.
He’d
been crying, to judge from the red smearing his cheeks, and his clothing
was
rumpled as though he’d torn at it. Aristotle looked into Lacroix’s
eyes and
saw sheer, utter madness.
"Have you done this?" Lacroix’s ragged voice accused in Latin.
"No!" Aristotle denied. "I just came here to see Nick, and I found--"
"You killed my son!" Lacroix roared, charging at Aristotle with a
deadly-looking stake.
"No!" Aristotle denied again.
Lacroix jumped upon his old friend, attempting to skewer him, and they
tousled. Finally, there was no choice. Aristotle got the
upper hand and
staked what had once been his best friend.
Panting from the exertion, he turned to Natalie. His blood was
draining out
of her mouth, and her heart had ceased to beat. She was dead.
Aristotle stared, horrified, at the ashes and body.
"They’re dead," he mumbled, then said louder, "all of them. My
closest
friend. A promising young man. The woman of my dreams."
He paced around the loft, talking more and more derangedly to himself.
"Oh,
Gods and Goddesses, they’re *dead*! Take me," he yelled in agony,
throwing
his arms open to the sky, "take me!"
* * * * * * * * * * *
No, the sun isn’t up yet. Aristotle’s fate is in the mind of
the reader.
Feedback (Any! Please!) to piccolo_kathy@hotmail.com
Kathy Walsh
Multi-Factionted
