LaCroix stood against the wall, silently seething that he'd
let this tiny woman muscle him into the wall.  Yeah, that's
right, Lucien.  You _LET_ her back you into this corner.
You wanted the pain!  No I didn't, you're crazy...  Damn!
He shrugged away his inner turmoil and brought himself back
to the situation at hand.  For one moment, he'd let his
guard down, trusting that confounded woman to let him do
what was best for his child, and here she was...

"Bastard!"

Here she was swearing at him after he'd actually taken the
time to explain that which did _not_ need explaining as far
as he was concerned.  She was supposed to be doctor to the
undead, let her figure out the significance of sharing
blood.  The little witch!  Who did she think she was, what
on Earth had ever possessed poor Nicholas to become so
attracted to...

Pain ripped across his cheek as wooden shards of the cross
that she was holding embedded themselves in his flesh.
OUCH!  Good, you bastard, that's what you wanted wasn't it?
Pain?  Well now you're getting it!  Just let it tear you
apart, you NEED it!  SHUT UP!  He grimaced, placing a cool
hand to his injured cheek, only eliciting more pain.  She...
The wench!  She had _HIT_ him!  How dare she!

"That was for Nick, you sonofabitch!" her shrill cry lanced
through his head like a spear, and he took a deep, gut-
wrenching breath.  He'd said he was sorry, damn it all!  He
didn't need this!  Yes you do!  You NEED the pain.  Let it
take you!

He shook his head, slightly aghast that he found himself
agreeing with her words.  He deserved this for what he'd
done.  And somewhere during this verbal onslaught, he'd
begun to realize that he wanted to pay for his
transgression.  He _wanted_ to be hit, as masochistic as it
seemed.  Every drop of pain he experienced was supposed to
take away some of the guilt that was still festering in his
gut.  Hadn't he warned Nicholas about this?  Hypocrite...

Fighting back a small chuckle before it inappropriately
erupted, he closed his eyes and waited for the next blow to
arrive.  An eye for an eye, so they say...  His legs
collapsed out from underneath him as she kicked him.  "That
was for ME!" An eye for an eye, an eye for an eye, an eye
for an eye.  He repeated the phrase in his mind like a
mantra as he resigned himself to the pain, instinctively
curling up into a tiny ball.

Please...  Save me.  Take my guilt away.  Please...

"And this is for everyone else's lives that you've screwed
up!"

Yes, do it.  End it.  I don't want this guilt anymore.

Do it!

"Don't."

LaCroix's world froze when he heard it, soft, cold,
uncaring.  He cautiously opened one eye a slit, only to
find the cross mere inches from his heart, held at bay by
Nicholas's hand clenched around the good doctor's wrist.

"Don't, Nat.  Don't kill him..."

Nicholas had saved him.  It was almost laughable really,
considering that Nicholas was probably one of the last
people on this Earth who would've ever chosen to save his
life.  He was undeserving, but LaCroix couldn't help but
ponder it.

Nicholas had saved him.  Because?  Why in the world would
he want to save you?  It hit him like ton of bricks.
Because he wants to add to his own pain...  Just like you
were doing to yourself not seconds before this...

LaCroix sighed, not really in relief, more in catharsis as
his pent up emotions churned up inside him and expelled
themselves invisibly into the air.  God, he finally
understood now why they were such a pair, Nicholas and he.
Ha!  An epiphany under pressure...

Nicholas was bent on self-destruction.  Constantly
throwing himself in pain's way, casting it off as atonement.
LaCroix finally found himself understanding it.  Nick wanted
pain, and LaCroix wanted to be the aggressor.  The
dominating factor.  He'd had thousands under his command
when he was mortal, and now as a vampire, he had but one.
And oh, how the mighty had fallen.

True, intimidation led other vampires to be wary of him, but
he had only one true servant.  A man who had once claimed
himself to be a servant of God, but in a moment of weakness
and disillusionment renounced Him in favor of eternal life.
Disillusionment which led to disillusionment which led to
pain, and suffering.  Nicholas.

His son could no longer claim to be in the light of God, but
he professed to make his way back into it by spending
centuries being beaten by a Roman general bent on sadism and
domination for his kicks under the guise of atonement.  A
love that was truly sprung from hate.

One could claim that it was a pretty twisted relationship.

"Why the Hell not?!  The bastard deserves it for what he's
done, God Nick, how can you possibly..."

"Just don't, Nat.  Leave it..."

And they wouldn't be wrong...

LaCroix sighed again, closing the eye through which he
peered.  But there was more to it than that, there had to
be.  No there isn't, you sick bastard.  You kept him with
you all these years because you want to beat something, and
he wants to be beaten.  God, you're sick.  When did you
ever get to be this sick?

"But why..."

No.  I won't allow it.  There _HAS_ to be another reason.
And yet, despite how hard he was reaching, he couldn't touch
upon another answer.  Lucien, you're the most twisted, evil,
wretched thing to ever walk this Earth.

"Because I SAID so!"

He felt Nicholas's hand grab onto his shoulder, pulling
him forcefully to his feet.  And somehow, LaCroix found
the strength to open his eyes and face his child, despite
all of what he'd just uncovered for himself, what it had
taken _eight-hundred-years_... for him to figure out.
Nicholas was staring coldly at him, his ice-blue eyes
penetrating and yet strangely expressionless.

The damn doctor was standing slightly behind and to the
left, but he spared her no more than a glance before he
returned to his son.  "Nicholas, I..." LaCroix whispered,
his voice ragged and weak.  The emotional battle was finally
over, and it had left his body shriveling in its wake.

"Get out," Nicholas snapped harshly, his uncaring eyes
never faltering, never blinking.

And despite all those discoveries, LaCroix found himself
protesting.  "But I..."  You cretin!  Why are you
protesting?  Get out while you still can.  Mend your sick
emotional state and get on with your sick undeserving
life...  Go out on the street, get yourself shot a couple
times and then drag yourself in front of an oncoming bus.
It won't kill you, but the pain might be nice.  You deserve
it, after all.  Arrogant, sick, bastard...

Sick!

"LaCroix, I don't want you here.  Get.  Out," Nicholas
enunciated firmly, his voice becoming strangely detached as
LaCroix watched him, almost as if he were purposefully
distancing himself from the situation.

And it struck him like a stake in the heart.  So that was
that.  Get out.  It was quite funny, really.  Laughable
even.  He smiled, but the smile turned into a snort, and
finally gales of maniacal laughter.

"What the Hell are you laughing at, you sick bastard!  Are
you out of your goddamned mind?  I said get out!" Nicholas
yelled at him, incensed and looking quite disgusted with
him.  LaCroix couldn't help but notice that Nicholas's hands
were clenching even tighter on his shoulders, so tight that
he wouldn't be surprised if they were drawing blood where
his fingernails indented into his skin.

"Nicholas, do you have _any_ idea what has just happened
here tonight?" LaCroix found himself asking curiously,
although he didn't know why.  It was obvious Nicholas had
never really seriously thought about this, or he had and had
just not been enlightened with the truth.  And yet, he had
to know what his son felt about this.  For some, strange,
inexplicable reason, he had to know.

Nicholas looked at him, confused, his eyes almost
imperceptibly narrowing.  "What are you talking about?" he
snapped viciously, as if his sire had suddenly grown two
heads and was wearing nothing but a pink tutu to boot.

LaCroix smiled, an insanely thick smile that stretched his
lips until they were plastered across his face.  "Good-bye,
Nicholas," he said smoothly, much more calmly than he felt.

As he took a step towards the exit, he felt ill, his
stomach began to churn like a washing-machine on spin cycle.
Another step.  The smile left his face, but Nicholas and his
silly mortal pet were behind him now.  They couldn't see it.
His son couldn't see how much this was hurting.  Another
step.

Good-bye.  God, it hurts.  Well you got what you wanted,
Lucien.  Pain.  He'd said it.  And it sickened him, because
he was sure that this time, it really meant good-bye.  Not
see you later, or some other derivative.  Good-bye.

The feeling of his heart shattering in his chest was truly
a strange one, but Nicholas couldn't see him.  Couldn't see
the tears as they began to trek down his cheek, leaking out
of his tear ducts in a slow viscous ooze.  It was obvious to
him now that Nicholas truly couldn't see...

**This is the end of part 4/10.  All comments may be sent to
Diane Harris at [email protected]**

*****

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------

RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT (5/10)

"Good-bye, Nicholas..."

Nick watched his sire step into the lift.  All at once he
wanted to scream out.  WAIT!  Please, I don't want you to
go, I lied...  But he couldn't.  Something had changed
tonight.  Something big and when he tried to figure out
exactly what it was, he couldn't.  Something...  He felt it
there, floating in the black abyss just out of the reach of
his outstretched fingers.  Grunting lowly, he could feel the
feather touch of enlightenment brushing him gently, but then
it was gone.  He was grasping at nothing.

With a heaving sigh, he collapsed to the floor, letting
himself truly feel for the first time since he'd been
dropped by LaCroix.  It was the only complete emotional
detachment that had allowed him to live through that
encounter.  That had allowed him to kick his sire out
despite the hurt he could see deep within his eyes.  At
least LaCroix hadn't put up much of a protest...

"Nat, I'm sorry I...  That I..."  He squeezed his eyes shut.
He couldn't even say it.  Never before had he been so
completely out of control, like he was spiraling down into a
pit of insanity.  And he'd almost...

"Shhh, Nick.  It's all right.  I...  I know you were
hungry," Nat began softly, sitting down beside him on the
cold floor, clasping his shoulders in her soft grip.  It
felt so good, and yet...

"Nat, I still _am_ hungry.  I've never felt so hungry in my
life..."  It was true.  It was there.  Gnawing at him,
slowly chewing his insides, ripping his gut apart in a
painstakingly slow tear.  But he could deal with it for now.
At least LaCroix's second donation had given him back some
of the control that he'd lost with the first.

Nat smiled and soothingly rubbed his shoulder.  "Don't
worry, Nick.  We'll figure it out.  And if you really need
it I can probably swipe some expired human blood from the
morgue..."

Nick shook his head as she prattled on and on.  He couldn't.
He couldn't listen to this.  <Do you have _any_ idea what
has just happened here tonight?>  No!  What happened?!  I
don't get it!  Just tell me...

"Nat, stop!" he whispered harshly, getting up off the floor
and immediately bringing her bout of optimism to a halt.
"Nat, please don't act like everything here is all right.
Because it's not.  You know it.  And I know it..." he
explained slowly as he brought her in front of him, gripping
her shoulders tightly.

"Nick, please don't say that," she begged him softly, her
fingers subconsciously tugging at his shirt sleeves, the
aghast look on her face practically speaking for her.  "We
can fix it, Nick.  We'll be okay..."

"Damn it, Nat," he began, slightly annoyed.  "It's NOT okay!
It's not something that we can just fix and pretend like it
didn't happen!  How can you even _begin_ to think that?
I've somehow managed to forgive, perform the most intimate
gesture on this Earth with _twice_, and then once again
estrange the man I've hated for the past eight-hundred-
years, the man who _violated_ me not even three nights ago,
and you somehow think that it's going to be okay?  Well it's
NOT OKAY!"

He felt his innards twist when he saw her sadly look to the
ground, and he immediately regretted his angry tone.  The
last thing on Earth he'd ever wanted was to pull her into
this conflict...  It was his fault that she'd gotten even
remotely involved in this, and now she'd just become a prime
player, going so far as to actually almost kill the
competition.  But still he continued.  "Or is it the fact
that for some reason I didn't let you kill my sometimes
mortal enemy, sometimes friend, most often antagonist of a
sire?  Does THAT make it OKAY?"

That was actually a good question.  Why had he stopped her?
It was too clichéd to assume he'd done it to save her the
guilt.  Granted, he'd never wish the guilt of ending
someone's life on her, but that wasn't why he'd stopped her,
he was sure of it somewhere deep down inside.

God, why did this feel so _wrong_?  <Do you have _any_ idea
what has just happened here tonight?>  Damn it all, no, I
haven't a clue!

"I don't know," Nat whimpered slightly, her earlier
confidence and adrenaline wrought guts deflating.  "I don't
know!  I'm not a goddamn omniscient psychic!  But I _do_
know that you've been hurt, I've been hurt, and that between
the two of us, we've got a whole slew of hurt..."

She was babbling, obviously very upset.  Her head started to
shake back and forth, denying some unsaid force and he could
tell she was about to realize...  "My God, Nick...  I almost
killed a man today..."  Her tone was quiet, and there was a
tiredness seeping into it that shouldn't have been there.
He blinked as she rocked back and forth as if she'd been
tipped by an invisible force, wobbling on the balls of her
feet like she was going to lose her balance.  "I almost..."

"Nat, shhhh," he soothed her, pulling her into a tight
embrace as she had done so many times for him.  "Nat, you
didn't."

"But I..." she protested, quivering in his grasp, but not
really crying.  She'd always been so strong, which was one
of the many things that he admired her for.  Given
opposition, she was the type of person to just plow right
through it, damn the torpedoes!

"But you _didn't_," he assured her softly.  "The key word is
almost.  Don't punish yourself for something you didn't
do..."

"But..."  Her voice was much weaker this time, much softer,
less forceful.

He placed his index finger over her supple lips to quiet
her, lingering there for a moment, relishing the warmth of
her mortality and innocence that he found there.  "Hey!" he
exclaimed, gently patting her nose with the same finger.
"You know, at this rate I might have to call you a
hypocrite..." he warned playfully, letting a small grin mar
his face despite the fact that he felt as far from smiling
as he could possibly get.

She gave him a small forlorn grin in return.  "If I had
known how hard my advice was to follow, I wouldn't have said
it with such surety..." she whispered with a sigh, finally
letting herself fall into his embrace completely, relaxing
into his firm grip.

Nick sighed softly, inhaling the soft scent of her hair as
she leaned into his chest and her muscles untensed.  He even
felt himself begin to relax until the beast within reared
its ugly snarling head.  Take her, you fool!  Take her now
while she's vulnerable!

NO!

He released her quickly, intending to get away before
something regrettable happened.  "Nat, I'm sorry," he
whispered ashamedly as he purposefully backed away from her
curious eyes.  "I just can't... be this close to you right
now."

Nat nodded, understanding flooding her crystalline blue eyes,
and backed off a few steps.  "It's okay, Nick," she assured
him, but Nick noted, curiously, that unlike all of the
previous times this had happened, she wasn't making any
quick moves to leave despite the hints he was dropping.

He began to wonder what exactly she was thinking, but she
answered his question for him.  "But I'm not leaving, not
now...  You need company and I need a ride to work," she
commented softly with a small grin.

Nick sighed.  "All right, Nat.  All right.  Just let me get
some of my, um," he grunted, trying to escape mention of
_it_, but her nonverbal prodding got him to say it, "the,
um, the emergency rations I keep in my, uh, my uh,
freezer..."  As much as he tried, he just couldn't bring
himself to say that he would be going for human tonight.
But both he knew, and she knew, that nothing else would do.

"Go ahead, Nick.  I'll join you at the table in a second,
but I need to make a pit stop really quick," she replied as
she walked towards the bathroom.

And then he was alone.  With a wan curl of his lips, he
slowly approached the freezer and crouched before the blood
packets, similar to the ones that had innocently been
mistaken for pasta sauce.  He smiled at the memory as the
misty cool air of the freezer snaked around his body and
gripped his pale skin.

He knew why she was doing this.  She was trying to get him
to come to terms with this without her help.  Trying to get
him to realize drinking human was okay under these
circumstances.  That it was donated, no one had died, and
everything was okay.

But she had misjudged him.  That was not at all what he was
feeling so uncomfortable about.  It was the fact that he was
going to drink human, and despite all his misgivings and
feelings to the contrary, the fact that he was going to
enjoy it.  Immensely.

Just like he had with LaCroix's rich blood.

Haha.  You're hungry and you want it...  You know, there's
an even fresher source right here in this loft.  C'mon, you
know you'd prefer naturally warm as opposed to thawed...
You should try it out.  Take her!  It'll be great, you won't
regret

"Um, Nick?  I was under the impression that you had to thaw
that first," he heard Nat's voice say cautiously from behind
him.  It startled him enough to bring him out of his brief
tête-à-tête with the beast, enough to realize that he had
just been sitting there in front of the open freezer with a
single blood pack cradled in his hands, and that he'd
probably been doing so for several minutes.

"Yeah, Nat, I was just getting to that," he answered
hurriedly as he brought himself up from his haunches and
into a standing position.  Anything to get this over with...
He walked over and tossed the chilled pack into the
microwave, thawing it briefly before joining Nat at his
small kitchen table.

<Drink, Nicholas...>

Hearing LaCroix influence him like this even when he wasn't
there, was disturbing at best, and he couldn't help but
wonder why his mind was doing this to him.  Why couldn't
he seem to take control of his life?  Was it always in his
master's hands?  Luckily, he caught a growl in his throat
before he let it out, suddenly remembering that he had
company.

He watched Nat watching him, feeling slightly disgusted with
himself when she briefly averted her eyes.  She may insist
that she didn't have problems with this, but she, like him,
was often too stubborn to admit the truth.  His own stomach
coiled as he let his fangs slip into place.  He couldn't do
this.  Not in front of her...

<Drink, Nicholas...>

God, I want to so badly...

<Drink, Nicholas...>

He bit into the bag, his fangs tearing through the plastic
easily.  Nat's eyes, which had so subtly looked away before
were now entranced with him, and he couldn't help but feel
a small sense of triumph.  Maybe she would finally be afraid
of him like she was supposed to be...

I am a beast.  A terrible, horrible beast!  But you like
it...  No!  Yessssssssss.

<Drink, Nicholas...>

He took a small sip, crumbling inward as his beast defeated
him.  Another...  He growled, feeling it's artificial warmth
flowing down his throat and settling heavily in his stomach,
reveling in the sensation.  Another...

And he was lost.

She was afraid of needles.  That much, he gathered right
away.  Be calm.  It's for a good cause, someone will get
this who really needs it.  You don't have to be afraid of
the needle, Marie.  He heard her last thoughts as if they
were his own.

Ha, like I'm a man who really needs it!  Yes, I do need
it...  I _NEED_ it.  It's soooooo good...

"Nick?"

He looked up in a golden haze, finally realizing that he was
just sitting there sucking desperately at an empty bag.  Nat
was glancing at him warily.  "Nick, you look awful hungry,
are you sure that just that one is enough?" she questioned
him innocently as he fought to force his eyes back to their
normal blue.

He wanted it.  Wanted it so badly that he was trembling, the
bag in his hands crinkling softly as his fingers subtly
flexed and unflexed in his terrible battle for control.
"No, I'm fine," he denied hoarsely as he stood up and wiped
his mouth on his hand.  "Let's go."

Grabbing his coat, he quickly ushered her into the lift,
barely pausing to check and make sure he was presentable.
Anything to get them out of there and away from the blood.

Away from the memories...

**This is the end of part 5/10.  All comments may be sent to
Diane Harris at [email protected]**

*****

    ---------------------------------------------------------------------

RAGE, RAGE AGAINST THE DYING OF THE LIGHT (6/10)

It was a dark night, so black that the thickness of it
threatened to strangle the life out of him despite his
liking for the color.  LaCroix huffed softly into the cold
air as he looked into the starless, cloud carpeted sky.
It was cold and dark and black and dreary.

Just like he felt.

Just like he looked.

At least he had come to a decision, figured out some things
about his life that he hadn't really questioned until now.
But...  At what cost?

Sighing, he withdrew his key and entered the Raven, knowing
that Janette would be there waiting eagerly for him.
Granted, she could no longer have a good sense of _his_
pain, she had an acute one of Nicholas's.  She had
demonstrated that already.

"LaCroix..."

She was sitting at the bar, twirling her long index finger
absently around the edge of her goblet, wrapped in an
elegant crushed velvet dress the color of the blood she was
drinking.  Curiously, she was not even facing him, but
somehow, she had known it was him the second he had entered.

Silently, he sat down next to her.  "Where are my patrons?"
he asked curtly as he glanced around at the empty Raven,
attempting to avoid the unavoidable.

"Where is your son?" Janette asked just as curtly, her
thinly penciled eyebrows arching upwards in question.  She
spun around on her stool to face him, sweeping her legs
around and recrossing them with the womanly grace he had
always admired in her.

LaCroix looked at the floor.  "He wishes to have nothing to
do with me," he admitted sadly.  "I wish to have nothing to
do with me..." he added in shame.  It was funny.  He
would've never thought himself capable of all these... these
_emotions_, but now they were threatening to swallow him
whole.

"It is understandable.  I figured that was how he would
react," she said with a small nod, her face expressionless
as she looked from him down to her glass.

But at her words, LaCroix found himself incensed.  "What are
you talking about?  You're the one who told me to go to
him in the first place!" he exclaimed in astonishment.  How
could I have listened to her?  How could I have been so
stupid...  I am NOT someone who takes advice, I am one who
GIVES it!

Her eyes widened slightly, but the change in her face was so
subtle that anyone who didn't really know her wouldn't have
caught it.  She was...  She was intimidated by him.  But she
hid it well.

"I never said that it would be a happy reunion," she replied
quietly, her soft French accent filtering through as she
continued.  "Nor did I say that it would be all right."

"But..." he began to protest, but she stopped him.

"When I was still mortal, men took advantage of me the same
as you have done to Nicholas, some even worse,  and I have
never forgiven a single one of them," she stated, the anger
dripping from her tone like melting ice.  "I was a victim
once too, LaCroix.  I know the other side of the fence, but
I do not think that you are familiar with it.  In fact,
before last night I wasn't even sure if you cared about the
people you hurt at all."

A burning pain began to build in his gut as she continued.
God, she was right.  Why did she have to be so right?  He
closed his eyes, her words practically melting in the
rushing thunderous roar that was overwhelming his ears.

"And with Nichola, you have been very unforgiving, very
domineering, and very insensitive.  Nichola is a passionate
man with dreams and ambitions unlike any other man I have
ever known, and he suffers from a terrible case of
impetuousness that I believe can never be cured.  Because of
that impetuousness and that passion, he simply cannot stay
tethered to you for eternity, no matter how much you may
want an eternal companion."

The chorus that had been crushing his skull with its
intensity began to wail in his head again.  He found himself
trembling with its intensity.  Guilty, Lucien.  You're
GUILTY!  "Janette, please, please stop," he interrupted her,
shaking his head in denial, but with a look of refusal, she
continued unabated.

"Yet despite all of that, I know that he loves you, and at
least now he knows that you are regretful of your actions,
and _because_ of that very same passion that forces such
discord between you, I believe he will have the capacity to
forgive you your sins where I have failed to forgive my
aggressors of theirs.  Just not right away."

And with that, she was silent.  Her discourse was done as
quickly as it had begun.

He blinked back a tear that was threatening to fall.  He
found himself strangely unable to believe what she had said.
Nicholas didn't love him.  Nicholas hated him with such
furious intensity that it threatened to crush his own jaded
soul into oblivion then and there.  And if it were true, and
Nicholas did actually harbor some strange and twisted
affection for him, it was misguided at best.  Misguided and
masochistic and inconceivable.

No.  It just wasn't true.  He'd wanted to believe her
yesterday, but he knew now that he was wrong and foolish for
even thinking there was some hope of reconciliation.  And
he himself was twisted just for wanting it.  That forgiveness
which Nicholas would no doubt refuse to offer for the rest of
eternity.  Twisted because forgiveness would spur the whole
demented relationship back into action.  It was better for
the both of them if this ended.  Now.

"Janette, you didn't see him, he wanted me gone...
Permanently."  I want me gone.  I can't forgive me this...
I can't forgive me, why should Nicholas?  Janette understood
a lot, but still not even half of it...  I'm a sick,
sadistic bastard...

"Not a surprising reaction from someone you just raped," she
said bluntly, the anger once again filling her voice as her
words hit him like a slap in the face.  "For Christ's sake,
LaCroix, you can't expect him to bounce back in a day!  He's
always seemed resilient, but he's really not.  Not really.
Inside, he probably feels like some broken toy that you play
with when it suits you, and that you abuse whenever the whim
hits you..."

It was almost true.  And it hit dangerously close to what
he'd already thought of.  "I want to break the toy..." he
admitted softly.

Janette looked at him sharply.  "What?" she asked harshly.

"You were right, Janette.  I didn't care about the other
side of the fence.  I've come to realize that I do these
things because I want to hurt people, to assume the master
role, with Nicholas worst of all..."

"LaCroix..."

"No, you were right, Janette.  Nicholas may feel like a
broken toy, but it's only because I want him to feel that
way.  Or at least, I used to..."  Not now.  I could never
feel that way now...  "And I can't help but think that the
reason he's stuck around so long is because he likes being
broken..."

It felt strange, saying that to someone else.  Almost a
relief to come clean with someone and at the same time
horrifying.  It had been different when he had just been
thinking rather than verbalizing his feelings.

"Surely you can't think that that's the only reason you are
bound to each other..." Janette hastily replied, the
disbelief in her voice almost tangible.  She was disgusted
with him.  Just as disgusted as he was.  She wasn't saying
anything to that point, but it was obvious to him.  The look
in her eyes was screaming volumes to him.

"I don't know what to think," he mumbled softly.  And it was
true.  He really didn't.  He'd never been regretful before,
he simply hadn't allowed it.  Suffice it to say, it was
unfamiliar territory.

Janette didn't respond.  They sat in silence.

"I'm leaving," he added, eyes closed to her penetrating
gaze.  "Tonight."  To Egypt, perhaps...  He needed to wallow
in bad memories for awhile, pay penance.  Exactly as he had
told Nicholas not to do for centuries on end.

"What?" she exclaimed.  "You can't!  You can't run away from
this!  He _needs_ you!" she tried to dissuade him, but he
could not, _would_ not be moved.  Nicholas only needed
peace, a respite from his constant guilt and torment, the
bulk of which LaCroix himself provided by constantly
thinking up new lessons in brutality to teach his progeny.

"Nicholas is eight-hundred years old.  He does _not_ need
me.  He didn't need me when he was thirty-three either.  He
never has," he responded in monotone.  To Egypt.  It was
warm and dry, and the days were almost always the same
length as the nights.  And _she_ was buried there.  Another
screwed up relationship with his offspring on his
conscience.  I am sick.  Very sick...

He got up.

"I thought you were a Roman general because you didn't quit.
Because you were relentless.  And now you're running away?"
she frantically tried to stop him, hopping up from her chair
as he walked towards the door.  He hadn't packed yet, but
then, he didn't really intend to.  Leaving everything behind
would be the perfect way to sever all ties.

"Janette, I am over two thousand years old.  It is far time
that I retired," he stated bluntly, not once tearing his
eyes from her beautiful face, hoping that she would see his
resolve.  He needed to get away from Nicholas.  That was the
only way that this disturbed relationship would come to an
end.  True, he could stay here and have Nicholas just avoid
him as he always had, except with greater tenacity...  But
then...  It wouldn't really be over.  The dominator and the
dominated would still be in business.  It was sick.  And it
had to end.  Now.

He stepped out into the cold night once again, finally
intent as to where he was going and what he was doing.

"Lucien LaCroix, you are a coward!" she cried from behind
him, stomping her stiletto heel into the ground so hard it
snapped and broke off.

He didn't turn to face her, knowing that if he did he would
buckle as he did last time and go crawling back for
forgiveness that he didn't deserve despite how much he
desperately wanted it.  But it didn't matter anymore.  He
was putting an end to Nicholas's eternal misery.

Finally.

**This is the end of part 6/10.  All comments may be sent to
Diane Harris at [email protected].**

*****

Back to Parts 1 to 3! / Onto Parts 7 and 8!