1 Christmas Salvation
1.1 Cyntolram@hotmail.com
12/21/01
Disclaimer: All rights to Witchblade and its characters belong to Top Cow and TNT. I am just an admirer of the enigmatic and alluring Mr. Nottingham.
This story can easily follow my first submission Fides (Trust). I prefer to write in a short story format with a beginning and end rather than writing chapter after chapter.
I appreciate your kind reviews on Fides. My story is centered on Christmas and is my gift to all Witchblade and Ian Nottingham fans.
1.1.1 Chapter 1 - Memories of Jacob
His chest was heaving.on fire. His breaths vaporized as they hit the cold air, radiating from his lips. He was chasing the larger child through the brush until he had to stop. The dark and ominous clouds rumbled overhead with the menacing sound of thunder. The sleet and blowing snow had started to stream from the sky, drenching their clothes. Soon everything would be iced over. Shivering, he could not feel his legs or finger tips. Neither child had dressed for this sudden onslaught by Mother Nature.
"Come on, runt! Catch me if you can." The older child taunted, his straight blond hair blowing in the cool evening air as his head turned around.
He started to chase the boy again, but a cold and bracing head wind kept him from making any progress, chilling him through and blurring his vision with tears. He felt like he was running in place. With his throat parched from his panting, he started to cough.
The elder boy had made it to the top of the cliff, his final destination, his silhouette cast against an angry sky. Just as a loud clap of thunder resounded, he could hear a familiar sound from behind him. The eldest boy heard it also, and turned toward the sound. He lost his footing on a group of stones at the cliff's edge covered in sheer ice. He slipped over the brink with a gut wrenching scream, clawing at the earth for anything strong enough to hold him.
The wind.the wind held him back as he tried to rescue the panicking child. Lurching forward, throwing himself to the ground, he desperately grasped at the boy's arm. He was shaking, sweat pouring down his tear-streaked face. His hands were numb and slippery from the rain and sleet.
"Hold on, Jacob! Just hold on." He pleaded.
As the smaller child, he was being pulled over the edge for Jacob's weight was far greater than his own. His precarious position could not be rectified, not without further endangering Jacob. He was convinced they would die together, yet he could not let go.would not let go.
Just then, Jacob looked into his eyes and a slow smile spread across his face. "I love you, runt." He released his grip and fell to his death.
"Noooooo! Noooooo!" He screamed until Jacob's body slammed into the rocks below, the image of that small broken body permanently ingrained in his mind.
"No! No! Why did you let go? I could have saved you.I could have." He was suffocating under a heavy weight, enveloped in darkness. He thrashed his arms, trying to extricate himself. His breathing was all he could hear. Then the muffled cry grew louder. Who was crying out? It took a moment for him to realize the screams were his own.
"Ian.wake up. Ian.Nottingham.wake up." The sounds of his own cries and the prodding from Kenneth Irons abruptly and reluctantly brought him back to the present. Sitting up in bed, drenched in his own sweat, he was shaking with adrenaline. His long, wavy dark hair falling across his face. Gulping in air as if it were water, he stared ahead, his eyes still holding the painful memory.
Irons sat on the edge of Nottingham's bed, his blond hair slightly mussed from the struggle. His pale blue eyes locked onto his servant; his hands firmly clasped Nottingham's shoulders. He released his grip only when Nottingham's eyes had registered a grasp of reality.
"You had the nightmare again, didn't you?" He accused.
Ian's breaths were ragged. He was shaking from an image that Irons' knew all too well.
Nottingham's eyes cast downward, as if in shame. He nodded his affirmation.
Irons knew Nottingham had been plagued by this recurring nightmare for many years. The fitful nights of sleep would take place near the anniversary of Jacob's death and continue through the end of year holidays. Christmas was never a joyous time for Nottingham. It was merely something to endure. The nightmare was a formidable and merciless foe. A foe Nottingham was not adept to fight. Irons had wished Nottingham to shed his guilt over the incident, as he had done years ago. Billionaire Kenneth Irons did not "do guilt". To do so would be admitting weakness. The accident was regrettable but Irons had moved on with his life. He had hoped his young charge would have learned by example.
"You must let this go. It was an accident.an error in the judgement of two very young boys. You survived. Jacob did not. End of story." Irons stated matter-of-factly. He rose from the bed, clad in his dark blue silk pajamas, looking down at Nottingham in disappointment over this continual sign of frailty.
Ian could not get the image of Jacob's body on the rocks below out of his mind. Irons never failed to insinuate Ian was responsible for Jacob's death although he was only eight years old when Jacob had died at the age of twelve.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you, master. I will be fine. I am okay." Ian reassured Irons, not making eye contact, his jaw clenched in resentment. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced.
"Get dressed. I have some errands I need you to do for me today." Irons commanded without an ounce of compassion. By the time Nottingham joined him in the dining room, Irons planned to have prepared a list of assignments sufficient to distract young Nottingham from the reason for his fitful sleep.
It was not difficult to see through Irons' ruse. Nottingham knew Irons would try to distract him from this enduring nightmare and the lasting images permanently etched into his brain, as if Jacob's death and Ian's own guilt could easily be forgotten. Irons could not have been more wrong about Ian or Jacob's memory. Ian would visit with Jacob tonight.
Nottingham fell back onto his pillow, not in a hurry to get dressed. Irons could just wait.
Chapter 2 - A Gift of Trust
Elizabeth Park was one of Sara Pezzini's favorite New York locations. She had planned to take a quick run through it before heading over to the Siri family Christmas Eve celebration. Sara was a homicide detective for the NYPD. Since her father had died in the line of duty as one of New York's finest, Joe and his wife had made her a part of their family. Joe had also served alongside Sara as her Captain, now retired. Their house was always full of great aromas, festive lights and music, and enough food to feed the ever-growing Siri family during the Christmas holidays. It made Sara smile to think of what was in store for her this evening.
Before he died, Sara's father always made Christmas special for his daughter. One summer, when she was eight, Sara found his hiding spot for the Santa disguise he would wear later that year, her detective skills emerging even then. Baking was a tradition for them on Christmas Eve. In between batches, her father would find some time to slip away and dress up as Santa without her knowledge. He would then proceed to make a brief appearance outside the kitchen window, with a loud 'Ho, Ho, Ho!' Sara always caught just a glimpse of Santa before she would try to run outside to bag him in the act of dropping off their gifts.
The year she had found out about the great mystery, however, she ran instead to the back bedroom where Dad had slipped through a side door to make his brief appearance. Fearing discovery, he fell as he ran around the corner of the house trying to make it back to the bedroom, quickly discard the Santa outfit, and open the door before Sara would suspect a thing. He was so winded as he opened the bedroom door; she could not keep the grin from her face. Laughing, he had chased her through the house as one batch of cookies started to burn, making this her fondest memory of the holidays and her father. Memories of her father were never far away at the Siri household.
Sara was layered for the weather, donned in sweats, leather gloves, and a woolen, knit cap. She could feel the sweat trickle down her body as she ran down the cleared, asphalt walkway. Eight inches of snow had fallen over the last two days making the outdoor lighting cast shimmering reflections off the drifts of pure white snow. In contrast, the shadows near the tree line were dark and menacing as she strode passed.
Something caught her eye to the left of the path. A ghostly and faint light flickered off the trees and snow in a clearing Sara had visited often. She was familiar with the spot since it overlooked a scenic view of the park. The lights of the city should be spectacular by now. A steel guardrail had been installed to protect overzealous hikers. At the clearing was a granite bench carved with a memorial to a young child. She had always made some time to visit the memorial on the days she would run through the park during day light hours. The scenic overlook was so peaceful and quiet, a welcomed respite from the hectic pace of New York. The flickering light made her wonder if someone had started a small fire. Her detective instincts wouldn't allow her to continue without at least investigating.
With the snow crunching underfoot, Sara knew she could be heard as she drew closer. Her feet were still warm from the run, but this would not last long in the deep drifts. She used to carry a weapon on her runs through the park. This was New York after all. Now she carried only the Witchblade on her wrist, an ancient weapon that had claimed her as its wielder. Its swirling, red glow shimmered as she neared the clearing. She was only just beginning to understand the many meanings of the pulsating light and images cast from the weapon.
A solitary figure straddled the memorial bench, lit only by the faint glow of a lone candle. He was dressed in a heavy, dark green wool coat, ankle high boots, and a black beret. His long, dark, wavy hair was pulled back and tied. Head bowed, his fingers tracing the letters and numbers on the memorial. She recognized him. Her heart raced, as she became aware of Ian Nottingham. He was deep in thought; otherwise she would not have been able to get this close without his being aware. He turned toward her abruptly as she stepped to his left, a single tear still glistening on his right cheek. He turned his face away from Sara.
"Hey Sara." He said quietly.
"Hey Nottingham." She responded.
A brief and awkward moment of silence ensued while Nottingham stood and stepped away from Sara, allowing her to sit if she wished. He continued to avoid eye contact.
"I thought you would have somewhere to be tonight." He replied.
"Oh.I do. I just saw the light here and came over to check it out." More silence. "This is one of my favorite spots in the park. What about you?" She asked benignly.
A pitiable smile made a momentary appearance on his face, then was gone. He simply nodded his head. The Witchblade began to swirl color more violently, projecting brief nightmarish glimpses of a younger boy in a struggle to save another's life at the cliff's edge. The images left her breathless. The sense of loss was palpable, as if it had just taken place. She pulled herself to the present realizing she knew why Nottingham was here.
"You knew him.Jacob. Didn't you?" She questioned.
"He was my brother, Sara." He replied simply, knowing he could not lie to her while she wore the Witchblade. For if the Witchblade wanted her to know the truth, it would be revealed.
Sara could sense he was reluctant to talk to her. She could imagine he had spent his life keeping such personal thoughts to himself, knowing there would have been no one to share this tragedy. She wished she understood his relationship with Irons. Nottingham leaned against a large tree at the edge of the clearing in the shadows. The glow of the candle barely reached him.
"Come sit with me, Nottingham. Please? On Jacob's bench?" She sat on the cold stone seat, leaving room for him next to her. She was starting to get chilled, but she could not leave him like this. He turned his head in surprise to her.
"I do not wish to keep you from your evening, Sara. I will be fine." He started to walk away through the woods.
"Please, Ian. Please talk to me." She pleaded.
She could not read his eyes for he was too much in the shadows, but he had turned to face her now. She knew he was considering her request. Reluctantly, he stepped toward her and the light.
"Please stand." He requested. As she did, he pulled his coat from his shoulders, draping it onto hers. Not used to such chivalry, she considered refusing the gesture but preferred the warmth of his coat to hypothermia. The heavy black knit sweater and black woolen pants he wore would not keep him warm for long.
They sat facing one another on Jacob's stone bench with the warm glow of the candle between them. Up close, she could see the dark circles under Ian's beautiful brown eyes. She knew this memory had been haunting him for most of his life. Her gloved hands reached out for his. Although his eyes would not meet hers, she looked directly into his.
"Not more than a month ago, you asked me to trust you. You said trust wasn't an easy thing for either of us. You were right. Now, I am asking for your trust. Talk to me." She appealed. Her boldness took him by surprise. She was rewarded for her efforts. His warm, mocha-colored eyes gazed dejectedly into hers, the words taking a moment to come.
"My brother Jacob and I were a few years apart. We used to love being outside and chasing each other near this very cliff." He sighed, his breath expelled raggedly. Was it the painful memory or the chill in the air that had started him shaking?
"We had started a game of chase. He was older and always won, but he loved to taunt me and I could not give up.so we ran. The weather had turned bad suddenly.sleet and blowing snow." He looked towards the cliff as if he could see the events being replayed.
"We both heard a sound.I keep replaying it in my head.over and over. I can not remember what the sound was.yet we had both heard it. Jacob seemed startled by it and turned toward the sound, slipping on the rocks.he fell over the edge." His breathing was coming more quickly now.
"I tried to pull him up but he was too heavy. He was pulling me over the edge with him. I begged him not to let go.but he.he looked at me and smiled. He said, 'I love you, runt.' .and just let go. He let go!" His eyes welled up with tears as he recalled the image.
"I can still see his body.I can still feel his hand upon mine." The tears rolling down his face now. "I have this same recurring nightmare.replaying everything over and over.over. The dreams start near the anniversary of Jacob's death. He died because of me. I was not big enough to pull him to safety. I could not hold him. We should never had been out in that weather." He pulled his hands from Sara's, wrapping them around himself, head bowed, rocking back and forth as he remembered.
Sara knew how hard it had been for Ian to share this agonizing part of his past. Leaning closer, she laid her hands on his knees, resting her forehead against his as she rocked with him.
"I am so sorry, Ian. So sorry.you were just a boy. You couldn't have been responsible." Pulling back and looking into his eyes, she continued, "Where were your guardians? Was Irons in your life at that time?" She remembered Nottingham telling her he did not have memories of a mother or father as he grew up. Irons could have been as close to a father figure as he had. If that wasn't worth pitying, she didn't know what was.
"Irons was." Ian looked to his left as if trying to recall something important.
"Irons was what, Ian? Was he there?" She asked.
"This was his land. After Jacob's death, he released this land to the city.for this park. He only asked them to keep it as a park and put this guardrail up and the memorial to Jacob." Nottingham added. "In all the times I have had the dream, I never once recalled him there.but he must have been.how strange."
"Kenneth Irons couldn't have been much older than Jacob, Ian. He is not the right age. How could he have dedicated a park or been a guardian to you and Jacob?" She questioned.
Ian withdrew from her, looking as if he had been caught in a lie. "You are right, Sara. Forget I said anything. I was not thinking straight. I have not gotten much sleep lately."
Nottingham had stepped over the line, confiding things related to Irons to a New York City police detective was not a good idea. "I have to go, Sara. Thanks for listening."
With that he stood and blew out the candle, as if extinguishing the intimacy they had just shared. He started to walk away.
"What about your coat?" She asked.
"Keep it. You can get it to me later.at your convenience, Sara." He said over his shoulder, gloved hands in his pockets.
"I have a better idea. Walk me home. I could use the company.and it would save me a trip to give you your coat back." She knew if she worded her idea this way, he would look at it as if he were doing her a favor. She knew he could not refuse her then.
He turned her way, considered her request, then nodded. They walked in silence to her nearby apartment, filled with the details they had just shared. Idle chatter would have diminished the poignancy of the moment. Neither one had the penchant for it anyway.
Now, all she would have to do was to persuade him to join her tonight. He could not remain morose at the Siri home. With the lifetime of regrets Nottingham must feel every holiday season, she doubted he had ever truly celebrated Christmas, not in the traditional sense. This would be a challenge.
Chapter 3 - The Siri Family Christmas
By the time they reached the threshold of her apartment building, Nottingham was sufficiently chilled to the bone to accept her invitation to come inside to get warm. Sara admired the way he tried to stifle his shivers and cover up the fact that his lips were turning slightly blue, never once complaining about his missing coat or the fact that the coat hem was dragging in the snow, as it draped her smaller frame.
She had him in her apartment weeks earlier yet he still acted as if he was unfamiliar with the surroundings. He wandered distractedly around her living room as if he would rather be somewhere else. The sadness was still very much with him. This would not be easy. She had not yet formulated a plan to get him to come with her. Sara quickly turned on her stove and put water into a kettle to make some hot tea.
"Would you mind watching the kettle for me while I get ready. I've put the tea bags with some honey on the counter. Feel free to fix yourself a cup when it's ready. The mugs are on the wall beside the stove." She offered, disappearing into the back bedroom before he had a chance to refuse and make his escape.
She took a quick, steamy shower. It felt heavenly against her cold skin. Prior to finding Nottingham in the park, she had planned to wear something casual to the Siri home. Plans had changed. She wanted to wear something special tonight. After rummaging through half her closet, she finally decided upon black leather pants and a beaded red cashmere sweater with a scoop neck.festive and fetching. She wore her hair straight and put on a bit of makeup and perfume for the occasion. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room hoping Nottingham was still there.
He was sitting on her sofa, sipping his hot tea. He had made a second cup for her, putting it on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up as she entered the room. She could tell by the look in his eyes that she had chosen her attire well.
"I am sorry, Sara. I did not realize you had a date tonight. I have been keeping you from your special evening." He apologized as he stood. Sara began to chuckle at his assumption. This truly would not be easy.
"You are making it so difficult, Nottingham." She smirked. "I had hoped to find a subtle way to ask you to come with me tonight, but now I find myself just coming straight out with it. Will you be so kind as to escort me tonight?" She smiled.
"A date?" He asked. He had never been on a date. The last thing he had expected when he left the Irons estate this morning was a date with Sara Pezzini. Was this out of pity? He definitely was attracted to her, especially the way she looked tonight. A lifetime of training could not have prepared him to retain his composure when she had entered the room for she had taken his breath away. A bullet to the belly would have been less painful than it was to think of her going out with someone else. He had been wrong.
"Look. I have never asked a guy on a date before.and I certainly have never had one decline before either. I don't think you should claim that dubious honor, Nottingham." She teased.
"Although I do not feel dressed for the occasion, I would never decline such an honor, Sara." He bowed his head slightly.
Sara enlisted Nottingham's assistance to bundle up the presents she was to take with her. He never once asked her where they would be going. He seemed content to be in her company. They opted to take a cab and soon were knocking on the brightly-lit front door of the Siri home, the aromas of tantalizing treats just beyond the door wafted on the air.
Nottingham was beginning to realize what he had offered to do. Being alone with Sara on a date was more than he could handle. Being with Sara on a date with a house full of strangers was way over the top. He began to fidget and look back towards the street when Sara noticed him planning his escape.
"Oh no, Nottingham. Don't give me that look. I know you are a man of your word.and you promised to come. Besides, I think you will enjoy this." She gave her best sales pitch.
Just then, Joe Siri opened the door.in the nick of time. He welcomed her with open arms and a good-humored smile on his face, helping her with her bundles. Not having expected Sara to be escorted, he was a little more guarded with Ian.
"Joe, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Ian Nottingham. Ian, this is my surrogate father and Captain retired from the NYPD, Joe Siri." Sara introduced them. The two men shook hands politely, but appeared to be aware of who the other was by reputation.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Siri. You have a lovely home." Nottingham offered, hoping Joe would continue the charade for Sara's benefit.
"Any friend of Sara's is welcomed here.Can I take your coat?" Joe replied, giving Sara a look she knew well, then taking their coats to a nearby closet. Voices and laughter could be heard from the living room and kitchen while Christmas music played festively in the background. By this time, Joe's wife Mary and Amy, Sara's favorite Siri grandchild tumultuously entered the room.
"Aunt Sara.Merry Christmas!" The little five-year old shouted her greeting with a beaming smile and arms outstretched, waiting for Sara to hoist her up in an embrace. The child had long ringlets of auburn hair that bounced when she did, pulled back from her tiny face by a single shiny red ribbon. She wore a velvet green jumper, black leggings, and a white lacy blouse peeking out near her neck. If she would sit still for any length of time, she would have resembled a porcelain doll. Sara grabbed the child, giving a quick peck on the cheek to both granddaughter and grandmother, happy to be distracted. She knew her and Joe would be having a talk soon.
"Ian, this is Joe's wife Mary and this little hell cat is their grandchild Amy. This is Ian Nottingham. Mr. Nottingham to you, Amy." Sara teased.
Mary politely shook Ian's hand but gave a quick wink to Sara when she thought she had her undivided attention. Sara just rolled her eyes. Amy, on the other hand, was quick to form an allegiance with Nottingham. She had assessed he was the tallest man in the house. This was significant because later, as the Siri tradition would have it, the youngest grandchild would be donning the tree topper. She pictured herself on Nottingham's shoulders and knew this could be done quite easily.and even at the age of five, she was already quite a flirt.
"How tall are you, Mr. Notham?" She asked her new tall friend.
Nottingham smiled down at the precocious child before he knelt to one knee. "You can call me Ian, Amy. Why do you ask how tall I am?" He questioned.
"I may need your help.later." She whispered, then giggled. Her laughter was contagious. Ian had to join in. Sara caught the moment between Amy and Ian and grinned.
Reaching for Nottingham's hand, Sara knew he would need her support as he met the rest of the household. She noticed, however, that he had removed his gloves for the evening. When he had visited her apartment more than a month ago, he had worn them throughout dinner, keeping his guard up. He had taken them off only once to briefly play an acoustic guitar, but was quick to wipe off his prints, teasing her about it. Maybe he truly was beginning to trust her. She would not betray his trust by trying to scarf a print or two. She grabbed his right hand in both of hers and beamed. He seemed to understand her meaning, and returned the sly grin.
Ian was introduced to the household filled with family. He would not remember half their names but he seemed to be feeling a little more at ease. Sara offered to get him a glass of the special Siri family eggnog, guaranteed to warm your gullet and put a smile on your face. She slipped into the kitchen. Joe took the opportunity to follow her.
"Are you nuts bringing Kenneth Irons' lackey here.to my house? Do you know anything about him? He's an assassin for crying out loud." He tried hard not to raise his voice.
"I've just recently gotten to know more about him. Yes, he's done some unsavory things, but there is a side to him I am beginning to appreciate." She pleaded. Sara knew this would not be easy. Joe had some prior dealings with Kenneth Irons in his career. Although he and Ian had not formally met, Sara knew he would know Nottingham by his reputation. She also knew his concern was for her safety. Joe loved her like a daughter.
"Well.you are old enough to make your own decisions.and I do trust your judgment.but this is a lot to take in at once." He reasoned.
"Just keep an open mind, Joe. Get to know him.please." She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. When she smiled like that, Joe couldn't stay perturbed for long. He hugged his surrogate daughter, then helped her with the drinks for the family.
By the time Sara and Joe had rejoined the rest in the living room, Ian was nowhere to be found. Mary and Amy were conspicuously missing as well, along with some of the other children. Sara had a suspicion where they might be. She headed down the steps toward the refurbished basement. She could hear Nottingham's voice as she neared.
The basement had been remodeled to be as cozy as the upper level of the house. The fireplace was ablaze and the same Christmas music was being piped into the intimate setting from speakers hidden in various spots in the room. A second beautifully decorated Christmas tree lit up a corner. Nottingham was sitting in a wing back chair with Amy on his lap near the fireplace. Mary sat on a sofa facing the fire, her feet tucked under her. Three other children were sitting on the floor in front of the hearth. They appeared to be recalling their favorite Christmas memories.
"Actually.Joe asked me to marry him on a Christmas Eve. I remember he was late picking me up from the store. I had been shopping and needed to get home quickly so I could wrap the last minute gifts I had bought." Mary began to laugh. "I was so upset at him."
Ian smiled as Mary recalled the moment. Amy snuggled closer in his lap. She seemed content, as Sara herself would have been if their positions had been reversed.
"He could tell I was annoyed.We were racing to the car. He had parked a couple of blocks away. We had to pass by an ice rink.and it had begun to snow. I guess he thought there was no time like the present. He pulled me to a nearby bench and got to one knee. He proposed right there." She beamed. "It was so romantic. The snow was falling; the music from the rink was playing. It seemed that time stopped for us. It was just Joe and I there." Her eyes welled with tears for a moment.
"That does sound romantic, Mrs. Siri." Ian agreed.
"Please, call me Mary. How long have you known Sara?" Mary asked.
"Don't let me interrupt.please continue, Mr. Nottingham." Sara joked as she sat next to Mary on the sofa, setting down the tray of remaining eggnog and handing the spiked recipe to the adults. Nottingham smiled.
"We have really just met.maybe a month ago." He offered, glancing conspiratorially to Sara.
"How did you meet?" Mary continued to pry.
"We met at a museum, actually." Nottingham recounted. Sara and he had truly met, though not formally, at the Midtown museum over a display case of ancient weaponry just prior to a police shootout. Sara had to laugh that Nottingham would probably get away with Mary thinking him to be a museum enthusiast.
"And what do you do for a living, Ian?" Mary continued her third degree. Sara knew Mary could be relentless. She had learned her interrogation techniques from Captain Joe himself.
"I am in the employ of Kenneth Irons.in the area of his personal security." Nottingham had dodged yet another salvo.
"Oh my.He's a billionaire, isn't he? You are a bodyguard, you say. Well, that must be interesting work, Ian." She asked.
"Some days it can be." He replied simply.
"What's a bodyguard, Aunt Sara?" Amy asked.
"Someone who protects and takes care of people, Amy." Sara replied, answering the child's question as simply as possible. She hoped Amy would not ask about why protection is necessary. Irons needed protection from the law as well as from others who would do him harm criminally. Nottingham was prepared to do battle against both sides equally. The complex adult answer to the child's question remained unspoken.
"Uncle Ian.What is the most favorite Christmas you remember.?" Amy prompted.
Nottingham looked down at the little girl on his lap, then gazed at the fire as he thought of his response. Sara wondered what he would say. The question had piqued Mary's interest as well.
"I did not grow up with a loving mother and father or grandparents, like you Amy. Christmas was never." Nottingham sighed and gently stroked a curl from Amy's cheek. "I think this Christmas might be my favorite.with you, and your family.and your Aunt Sara." His response brought a smile to the little girl's face.
"Will you promise to help me put the angel on the tree, Uncle Ian?" Amy asked. It had not gone unnoticed that Nottingham had gained uncle status in record time.
"What ever you want, Little Amy. I am at your command." He jested. With that, the little girl giggled, slipped off his lap, grabbing his hand to pull him upstairs for the tree topping ceremony. As the children followed Ian and Amy up the stairs, Mary smiled at Sara, hoping for a moment alone with her.
"I like your young man, Sara. It sounds like he may have had a lonely upbringing but you can tell he has a good heart, I think." She said.
"I'm beginning to appreciate that kind heart, Mary. In my line of work, it's easy to be cynical and expect the worst of people. I can't say that was not the way I first looked at Ian, but he has shown me another side.he has trusted me to share it. He's complicated." Sara added, knitting her brow. Mary reached for Sara's hand and squeezed it.
"Come on.Let's join the others before we miss the donning of the tree topper family heirloom." Mary laughed.
When Mary and Sara had joined the others, Nottingham had already hoisted a delighted little Amy onto his shoulders. Amy had never been up so high in her young life. This must be what it is like to be a giant, she surmised. Grandpa Joe was gathering up the family to begin the holiday ceremony. He had laid the ornamental box near the tree earlier in the evening. He now opened the lid to reveal the porcelain angel tree topper. The face was angelic, crowned with a glittery halo. Its gown was ivory with gold threads spun throughout, making it shimmer in the light. Amy had never before seen it from this angle.
"Oh.Uncle Ian. Isn't she beautiful?" Amy whispered in reverence.
"Just like you, Amy.Just like you." He returned the whisper so only she could hear.
"It is tradition in the Siri household to let the littlest member of our family complete our tree by donning the Siri angel heirloom. So, without further ado, will our littlest angel please step forward." Joe announced proudly, with a mock drum roll from the other family members. Nottingham stepped forward and bent lower to help Amy get her little hands on the angel. Joe nodded, to let Nottingham know he could proceed. As he stepped closer to the tree, he helped little Amy fastened the special adornment to the top branch, as everyone applauded their approval. Nottingham looked up to Amy's little face as she hugged his neck.
"Thank you, Uncle Ian." She beamed.
Sara was very familiar with this part of the Siri tradition, but Nottingham's involvement made it very special for her. He seemed truly happy to be here. Maybe the Siri's would make this his favorite Christmas after all. Everyone in the room was unaware of just how extraordinary this moment was for Ian. Maybe it was enough for her alone to know.
Nottingham found Sara's eyes across the crowded room. He smiled as he held Amy's small hands in his and silently mouthed the words, "Thank you." Returning his smile, she quickly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Ian."
Chapter 4 - Jacob's Secret
On Christmas Day, Sara had slept in, not getting up until almost ten o'clock. She lay under her warm comforter thinking about the prior evening. Images of Ian Nottingham with the Siri family made her smile. What a contrast of people and yet a truly memorable evening, made more special by Nottingham sharing his brother's story with her. They had both given a gift of trust to each other and it felt right.
After feasting on the Siri family potluck, and imbibing in the secret family recipe for spiked eggnog and other wicked libations, Nottingham and Sara found themselves laughing at the smallest things. Christmas Eve was gag gift night, not a serious present was opened, and it was obvious the family knew themselves very well.
Even though Sara and Ian were sharing a special evening with Joe's family, they had both felt like lucky observers, just a little outside the close knit circle. Yet neither would choose to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.
Nottingham got the thumbs up from her surrogate father by the end of the evening. Joe had pulled Sara aside and gave her a hug saying, "I guess I was wrong about Nottingham.proceed with caution, young lady. I know you can handle yourself, but he seems like a pretty good guy."
After catching a cab back to Sara's apartment, they talked until dawn, not wanting for the night to end. Joe's wife Mary had given her Nottingham seal of approval in a different way, by slipping a sprig of mistletoe into Sara's coat. Sara found it when looking for her gloves, keeping it hidden until Nottingham was bundling up to leave the apartment.
"You do not have to display vegetation above your head to make me want to kiss you, Ms. Pezzini." He had joked.
"I don't know, Nottingham. For someone that had not been on a date before, you seem to know all the rules now." She retorted.
"So now you are telling me mistletoe is a rule of dating.maybe you could benefit from some of my instruction, Sara?" He had teased.
He had pulled her close, his hands firmly on her hips, as he pressed his lips to hers. His arms caressed her gently to him. Their breathing escalated until they had parted lips, foreheads and noses nuzzling close. Nottingham tenderly placed both hands on Sara's face, gazing into her eyes.
"I want.but I can wait, Sara.when you are ready." He kissed her one last time before he slipped from her grasp and out the door, as the sun cast slivers of orange light through her living room window. She stood with her head pressed against the door, still feeling his lips on hers. The only thing keeping her from giving herself to this man was her own judgment. Common sense should not have anything to do with love, yet in her world it would be a formidable adversary. She would have to enter this relationship with blinders off, for her sake as well as his.
After dressing in blue jeans and a heavy, dark green turtleneck sweater, Sara grabbed a quick bagel and hot tea before starting a day of research at the local library. She wanted to learn more about Kenneth Irons, Jacob, and the park dedication that Nottingham had mentioned. Something did not feel right about it. Her detective's instincts had been piqued. She was determined to know more about Jacob and Nottingham's "guardian".
Across the city, at the Irons Estate, Nottingham had quietly slipped into the compound and the mansion with only a few security people being made aware of his presence. He undressed and pulled the covers over his naked body, hearing Sara's voice and smelling her perfume on his skin. His eyelids were heavy due to the lack of sleep for many nights now. He quickly succumbed to a deep sleep, hoping Jacob would take pity on his little brother and allow him a few hours of much needed rest. This was not to be, for in the back of Nottingham's mind was a plaguing question, one that had waited long enough for an answer.
The dream unfolded more slowly this time, both boys chasing each other at a deliberate and languid pace, as if their arms and legs were heavily weighted down. Nottingham could hear every word, see every detail of the dream.
The foreboding feeling was gone now. He was remembering how he loved to chase Jacob, his older brother. The dark and ominous clouds rumbled overhead but the sound of thunder was mercifully muted this time. The sleet and blowing snow streamed from the sky as if in slow motion. His body was strangely warm, unlike his previous recollections.
"Come on, runt! Catch me if you can." Jacob teased once again, his beautiful blond hair flowing in the evening air.
As Jacob made it to the top of the cliff, his final destination, his silhouette was a contrast to the darker horizon. Then, it was as if the whole world became deathly silent. It was just Ian and his big brother Jacob on the cliff, not a sound to be heard. It was then that Ian realized they were not alone. The sound Jacob and Ian had heard.the sound that made Jacob turn around and loose his footing.it was the alarming sound of Kenneth Irons calling Jacob's name.
"Jacob.Jacob.Stay away from the cliff!" Irons demanded.
Jacob had been so startled to be caught in the act, he knew they would receive a painful reprisal from Irons. He turned toward his guardian in trepidation, loosing his footing on the stones at the cliff's edge. Jacob slipped over the brink with a gut wrenching scream; a scream that Nottingham knew would take a lifetime to forget. His brother had died in utter fear, shrinking from the certain wrath of their keeper, Kenneth Irons.
Nottingham knew instinctively that this would be the last time his brother Jacob would come to him in this dream. He gazed into Jacob's loving eyes for one final time, witnessing the devotion Jacob must have felt for his little brother as he said, 'I love you, runt.' Jacob fell silently to the rocks below. Ian shut his eyes, only wanting to remember the look of love on Jacob's beautiful face.
Nottingham's eyes welled with tears as he awoke, feeling grief to his very core. Ian sat up in bed, pulling the comforter over his bare chest. He was wounded deeply by the loss of his beloved brother, but was devastated by the betrayal of Kenneth Irons. All these years, Irons had placed the blame squarely on the poor judgment of the two siblings, implying young Ian should solely bear the weight of his own brother's death. Irons had been nearby but had done nothing to help. Nottingham knew then that Irons' cruelty knew no bounds.
He had seen the pattern of Irons' cruel nature as he was growing up under his tutelage, but dismissed it thinking Irons' was trying to toughen him up, helping him to survive an otherwise brutal world. This prison sentence under Irons' care was self-inflicted, but it did not have to continue in the same vein. Maybe Sara was right; maybe he had more control of his own destiny.
Irons had created what he believed to be a lethal and ruthless weapon in Nottingham, his genetically enhanced enslaved henchman, without free will or conscience. He could not have been more wrong. Yes, he had killed for Irons, on his own terms and for his own reasons. Irons had failed to see the distinction, yet this distinction had aided Nottingham in forming his own morality. Underneath a cool and calculating demeanor, Nottingham had to face a daily struggle to develop and maintain his own sense of right and wrong. Nottingham could and would overcome a lifetime of Iron's negative influence by quietly defying Irons when possible. He had his own sense of integrity and strength of character that Irons had failed to discern. Ian Nottingham was stronger than Kenneth Irons.
He would stay with his benefactor, for Sara's sake. It would have been easy for him to leave Irons now, but Irons would only hire someone like himself, someone that did not care for Sara as he did. Sara would be without protection from the often-sinister, manipulative, and criminal Kenneth Irons. Nottingham was adept at surviving anything Irons could dish out, had survived a lifetime of abuse. He made his decision.
Nottingham would serve his one true master, the wielder of the Witchblade, as it was always meant to be.
Chapter 5 - Resurgence
The dining room of the Irons' estate was opulent and formal, some might even say pretentious. It reflected the ego of the estate's main inhabitant Kenneth Irons. The cherry wood paneling set off the solid gold accessories arranged throughout the room, reflecting off the ostentatious crystal chandelier. The silk, ivory-colored table linens were a perfect foil for the gold ware and fine china in use this morning. Irons was still attired in light, blue silk pajamas with a matching navy blue robe. The refined setting was a complete contrast to the incensed mood of the room's sole occupant.
'This coffee is cold.How many times do I have to tell you.!" Irons bellowed, irritated at the ineptness around him.
He had sent two servants scurrying for cover already this morning after flinging a plateful of toast that was too cold to melt butter. He had tried to distract himself with a quick read of the morning paper but it would not hold his attention. He needed to speak to Nottingham. Christmas Eve was gone and now Christmas day was well underway and Nottingham was nowhere to be found. Where the hell was he? It was true Irons did not participate in the sentimental holiday. Festive strings of light, adorned evergreen trees, or seasonal music were as good as banned at the Irons' estate this time of year. Yet, in years passed, Nottingham and Irons had spent these days together in a feigned simulation of family. Nottingham's absence was indicative of his newly found freedom and independence Irons deeply resented.
"You.you there. Have you seen Nottingham?" Irons demanded of the next servant who had mistakenly crossed his path this morning.
"Benjamin, sir. My name is Benjamin, Mr. Irons. I heard sounds from his usual bedroom, sir. I think he was showering. Would you like me to fetch him, sir?" Benjamin had worked for Kenneth Irons for two years and his employer had not remembered his name in all that time.
"Yes.fetch him immediately." Irons demanded with a wave of his hand, just as Nottingham entered the room, bringing great relief to the quickly departing young Benjamin for he would not have relished 'fetching' Nottingham even though it was the lessor of two evils.
"Well.the prodigal son returns. Tell me young Nottingham, where have you been since yesterday morning?" Irons' cold blue eyes were filled with disdain. The sarcasm in Irons' voice was unmistakable.
Nottingham took his time responding, pouring only a cup of black coffee and casually stepping over the dried toast and broken china strewn across the floor in front of the sideboard, as if such chaos was commonplace. Uncharacteristically, Nottingham wore faded blue jeans with a loose-fitting white shirt, his hair worn long and unencumbered. He took a seat at the dining room table, the furthest one from Irons.
"I had things to do.and how did you spend your Christmas Eve, father?"
The direct stare from Nottingham told Irons something was amiss. His loyal servant routinely lowered his head in a submissive stance, never failing to avoid eye contact with his master. Irons also knew that his young charge did not usually use the term father except when they were completely alone, out of earshot from the other servants. Not wanting to give Nottingham the satisfaction, Irons continued with the charade.
"I spent a nice, quiet evening at home.Thank you for asking. And you? Where did you spend your evening?"
"I spent the evening with my brother, Jacob. He sends his regards by the way." Nottingham sipped his coffee, maintaining the eye contact that so unnerved Irons. Irons could only imagine the fear in Nottingham's victims when he administered the justice ordered by Irons himself. Irons had trained his servant well in the art of physical intimidation.
"Jacob.It was a shame about Jacob. He was a far better candidate for genetic enhancements than you ever were. He was so much stronger.a lot more like me."
Irons took his time torturing Nottingham, one of his favorite past times, and he had gotten quite good at it. With all of Nottingham's training, his eyes could never hide the hurt Irons could inflict, but today was different. A cold and sinister smile spread across the face of his poet warrior, his voice was chilling yet composed.
"Jacob was never like you. I know now that he had chosen to die rather than risk the life of his little brother. Maybe he had chosen to die as an alternative to facing you.either way, you should remember what happened.you were there, father."
Irons had always hoped Nottingham would have forgotten that small detail of the day Jacob died. He was coming up the path to the cliff and yelled to the boys in anger for their disobedience. Their lack of discipline was mounting everyday. He was not in time to rescue Jacob, although he knew Nottingham would never have believed he had sincerely wanted to save the boy. He just did not realize the urgency of the situation. After Jacob's death, Nottingham was more amenable to the rigorous training, more docile and easily influenced by his master's will. In hindsight, Irons justified Jacob's death as a necessary means to an end. It could just as easily been Nottingham being memorialized by a carved stone bench. Either way would have served his purpose.
"You called out to Jacob.made him turn around.you were responsible for his death. I could have forgiven you that.maybe you could not have saved him in time.but you have tried to place the blame on me all these years.since I was eight years old. You expect steadfast loyalty from me and yet.you betrayed me every time you awakened me from that nightmare.knowing you could have made a difference."
Nottingham sighed and shook his head in disgust, walking across the room to gaze over the grounds from a nearby window. If not for his newfound purpose as protector to Sara Pezzini, the wielder of the Witchblade, his life would be an utter failure, for all he had believed had been stripped from him.
Irons, on the other hand, could not tell if Nottingham was about to kill him or was just looking for answers from him. He had always talked Nottingham into doing his bidding before, without question. The youngster he had practically raised from childhood was a stranger to him now.a very lethal stranger, trained by his own hand.
"I would not have been able to save Jacob, Ian. I would have been too late. I am."
"Don't.just don't." Nottingham raised his right hand to Irons without turning around. "You diminish his life with your pathetic justifications." After many minutes of silence, during which Irons used his better judgment to remain quiet, Nottingham turned to face Irons and began again.
"Congratulations, fa.Mr. Irons. I concede.you have won. I often thought you had not relished the paternal role I had insinuated on you. It should make you happy to know that I no longer look upon you in that manner. So, I have a business proposition for you." Nottingham crossed the room towards Irons, never once diverting his gaze.
"I propose to continue to work for you, under modified terms of course, in exchange for my sustained service to the wielder of the Witchblade, Ms. Pezzini.and to the extent this agreement serves your purpose and mine, I will continue to do your bidding. Is this agreeable to you?"
"I'm not sure.Would you continue to live on premises?" Irons asked.
Nottingham's answer did not come right away. This unnerved Irons. He had come to rely upon the undying loyalty of his faithful servant, who knew all his faults, his secrets and still did not pass judgement or betray him. Irons did not understand it, but Nottingham had found his own reason to remain with his benefactor. Would he still be willing to give his life to protect Irons as his bodyguard? Would he still act as the instrument of Irons' form of justice? Irons would not be intimidated by the challenge his young charge had just presented. Their new relationship would be borne out of manipulation as always.and he was far too skilled to be outplayed by this young upstart.
"Yes. I do expect we shall find common ground to continue working together. I do not, however, wish to preserve my servile relationship with you.but we can work on it over time. I know you will find it difficult as will I.but I am supremely confident we can meet this challenge." With that, Nottingham left the room, leaving a stunned Irons to replay the conversation in his mind.
What had just happened? Irons knew this day was coming, but no amount of preparation could have primed him for this. For all his posturing to the contrary, Irons regretted his handling of Jacob's death most of all. Although he would never admit it openly, Irons knew he had been wrong to blame the boy's death on Nottingham. It had just helped him deal with his own culpability for he had been plagued by visits from Jacob in his dreams from time to time. It was of no consequence now, however, what was done was done. Regret was a waste of time. Nottingham, on the other hand, was not a waste of time. A great deal of time and monetary investment had been spent molding his young protégé.
Irons started to contemplate a different scheme, forming his strategy on how to gain the advantage once again. He had no doubt of the outcome of any game of manipulation, for he was the master, and would continue to be.
1.1 Cyntolram@hotmail.com
12/21/01
Disclaimer: All rights to Witchblade and its characters belong to Top Cow and TNT. I am just an admirer of the enigmatic and alluring Mr. Nottingham.
This story can easily follow my first submission Fides (Trust). I prefer to write in a short story format with a beginning and end rather than writing chapter after chapter.
I appreciate your kind reviews on Fides. My story is centered on Christmas and is my gift to all Witchblade and Ian Nottingham fans.
1.1.1 Chapter 1 - Memories of Jacob
His chest was heaving.on fire. His breaths vaporized as they hit the cold air, radiating from his lips. He was chasing the larger child through the brush until he had to stop. The dark and ominous clouds rumbled overhead with the menacing sound of thunder. The sleet and blowing snow had started to stream from the sky, drenching their clothes. Soon everything would be iced over. Shivering, he could not feel his legs or finger tips. Neither child had dressed for this sudden onslaught by Mother Nature.
"Come on, runt! Catch me if you can." The older child taunted, his straight blond hair blowing in the cool evening air as his head turned around.
He started to chase the boy again, but a cold and bracing head wind kept him from making any progress, chilling him through and blurring his vision with tears. He felt like he was running in place. With his throat parched from his panting, he started to cough.
The elder boy had made it to the top of the cliff, his final destination, his silhouette cast against an angry sky. Just as a loud clap of thunder resounded, he could hear a familiar sound from behind him. The eldest boy heard it also, and turned toward the sound. He lost his footing on a group of stones at the cliff's edge covered in sheer ice. He slipped over the brink with a gut wrenching scream, clawing at the earth for anything strong enough to hold him.
The wind.the wind held him back as he tried to rescue the panicking child. Lurching forward, throwing himself to the ground, he desperately grasped at the boy's arm. He was shaking, sweat pouring down his tear-streaked face. His hands were numb and slippery from the rain and sleet.
"Hold on, Jacob! Just hold on." He pleaded.
As the smaller child, he was being pulled over the edge for Jacob's weight was far greater than his own. His precarious position could not be rectified, not without further endangering Jacob. He was convinced they would die together, yet he could not let go.would not let go.
Just then, Jacob looked into his eyes and a slow smile spread across his face. "I love you, runt." He released his grip and fell to his death.
"Noooooo! Noooooo!" He screamed until Jacob's body slammed into the rocks below, the image of that small broken body permanently ingrained in his mind.
"No! No! Why did you let go? I could have saved you.I could have." He was suffocating under a heavy weight, enveloped in darkness. He thrashed his arms, trying to extricate himself. His breathing was all he could hear. Then the muffled cry grew louder. Who was crying out? It took a moment for him to realize the screams were his own.
"Ian.wake up. Ian.Nottingham.wake up." The sounds of his own cries and the prodding from Kenneth Irons abruptly and reluctantly brought him back to the present. Sitting up in bed, drenched in his own sweat, he was shaking with adrenaline. His long, wavy dark hair falling across his face. Gulping in air as if it were water, he stared ahead, his eyes still holding the painful memory.
Irons sat on the edge of Nottingham's bed, his blond hair slightly mussed from the struggle. His pale blue eyes locked onto his servant; his hands firmly clasped Nottingham's shoulders. He released his grip only when Nottingham's eyes had registered a grasp of reality.
"You had the nightmare again, didn't you?" He accused.
Ian's breaths were ragged. He was shaking from an image that Irons' knew all too well.
Nottingham's eyes cast downward, as if in shame. He nodded his affirmation.
Irons knew Nottingham had been plagued by this recurring nightmare for many years. The fitful nights of sleep would take place near the anniversary of Jacob's death and continue through the end of year holidays. Christmas was never a joyous time for Nottingham. It was merely something to endure. The nightmare was a formidable and merciless foe. A foe Nottingham was not adept to fight. Irons had wished Nottingham to shed his guilt over the incident, as he had done years ago. Billionaire Kenneth Irons did not "do guilt". To do so would be admitting weakness. The accident was regrettable but Irons had moved on with his life. He had hoped his young charge would have learned by example.
"You must let this go. It was an accident.an error in the judgement of two very young boys. You survived. Jacob did not. End of story." Irons stated matter-of-factly. He rose from the bed, clad in his dark blue silk pajamas, looking down at Nottingham in disappointment over this continual sign of frailty.
Ian could not get the image of Jacob's body on the rocks below out of his mind. Irons never failed to insinuate Ian was responsible for Jacob's death although he was only eight years old when Jacob had died at the age of twelve.
"I am sorry to have disturbed you, master. I will be fine. I am okay." Ian reassured Irons, not making eye contact, his jaw clenched in resentment. The dark circles under his eyes were more pronounced.
"Get dressed. I have some errands I need you to do for me today." Irons commanded without an ounce of compassion. By the time Nottingham joined him in the dining room, Irons planned to have prepared a list of assignments sufficient to distract young Nottingham from the reason for his fitful sleep.
It was not difficult to see through Irons' ruse. Nottingham knew Irons would try to distract him from this enduring nightmare and the lasting images permanently etched into his brain, as if Jacob's death and Ian's own guilt could easily be forgotten. Irons could not have been more wrong about Ian or Jacob's memory. Ian would visit with Jacob tonight.
Nottingham fell back onto his pillow, not in a hurry to get dressed. Irons could just wait.
Chapter 2 - A Gift of Trust
Elizabeth Park was one of Sara Pezzini's favorite New York locations. She had planned to take a quick run through it before heading over to the Siri family Christmas Eve celebration. Sara was a homicide detective for the NYPD. Since her father had died in the line of duty as one of New York's finest, Joe and his wife had made her a part of their family. Joe had also served alongside Sara as her Captain, now retired. Their house was always full of great aromas, festive lights and music, and enough food to feed the ever-growing Siri family during the Christmas holidays. It made Sara smile to think of what was in store for her this evening.
Before he died, Sara's father always made Christmas special for his daughter. One summer, when she was eight, Sara found his hiding spot for the Santa disguise he would wear later that year, her detective skills emerging even then. Baking was a tradition for them on Christmas Eve. In between batches, her father would find some time to slip away and dress up as Santa without her knowledge. He would then proceed to make a brief appearance outside the kitchen window, with a loud 'Ho, Ho, Ho!' Sara always caught just a glimpse of Santa before she would try to run outside to bag him in the act of dropping off their gifts.
The year she had found out about the great mystery, however, she ran instead to the back bedroom where Dad had slipped through a side door to make his brief appearance. Fearing discovery, he fell as he ran around the corner of the house trying to make it back to the bedroom, quickly discard the Santa outfit, and open the door before Sara would suspect a thing. He was so winded as he opened the bedroom door; she could not keep the grin from her face. Laughing, he had chased her through the house as one batch of cookies started to burn, making this her fondest memory of the holidays and her father. Memories of her father were never far away at the Siri household.
Sara was layered for the weather, donned in sweats, leather gloves, and a woolen, knit cap. She could feel the sweat trickle down her body as she ran down the cleared, asphalt walkway. Eight inches of snow had fallen over the last two days making the outdoor lighting cast shimmering reflections off the drifts of pure white snow. In contrast, the shadows near the tree line were dark and menacing as she strode passed.
Something caught her eye to the left of the path. A ghostly and faint light flickered off the trees and snow in a clearing Sara had visited often. She was familiar with the spot since it overlooked a scenic view of the park. The lights of the city should be spectacular by now. A steel guardrail had been installed to protect overzealous hikers. At the clearing was a granite bench carved with a memorial to a young child. She had always made some time to visit the memorial on the days she would run through the park during day light hours. The scenic overlook was so peaceful and quiet, a welcomed respite from the hectic pace of New York. The flickering light made her wonder if someone had started a small fire. Her detective instincts wouldn't allow her to continue without at least investigating.
With the snow crunching underfoot, Sara knew she could be heard as she drew closer. Her feet were still warm from the run, but this would not last long in the deep drifts. She used to carry a weapon on her runs through the park. This was New York after all. Now she carried only the Witchblade on her wrist, an ancient weapon that had claimed her as its wielder. Its swirling, red glow shimmered as she neared the clearing. She was only just beginning to understand the many meanings of the pulsating light and images cast from the weapon.
A solitary figure straddled the memorial bench, lit only by the faint glow of a lone candle. He was dressed in a heavy, dark green wool coat, ankle high boots, and a black beret. His long, dark, wavy hair was pulled back and tied. Head bowed, his fingers tracing the letters and numbers on the memorial. She recognized him. Her heart raced, as she became aware of Ian Nottingham. He was deep in thought; otherwise she would not have been able to get this close without his being aware. He turned toward her abruptly as she stepped to his left, a single tear still glistening on his right cheek. He turned his face away from Sara.
"Hey Sara." He said quietly.
"Hey Nottingham." She responded.
A brief and awkward moment of silence ensued while Nottingham stood and stepped away from Sara, allowing her to sit if she wished. He continued to avoid eye contact.
"I thought you would have somewhere to be tonight." He replied.
"Oh.I do. I just saw the light here and came over to check it out." More silence. "This is one of my favorite spots in the park. What about you?" She asked benignly.
A pitiable smile made a momentary appearance on his face, then was gone. He simply nodded his head. The Witchblade began to swirl color more violently, projecting brief nightmarish glimpses of a younger boy in a struggle to save another's life at the cliff's edge. The images left her breathless. The sense of loss was palpable, as if it had just taken place. She pulled herself to the present realizing she knew why Nottingham was here.
"You knew him.Jacob. Didn't you?" She questioned.
"He was my brother, Sara." He replied simply, knowing he could not lie to her while she wore the Witchblade. For if the Witchblade wanted her to know the truth, it would be revealed.
Sara could sense he was reluctant to talk to her. She could imagine he had spent his life keeping such personal thoughts to himself, knowing there would have been no one to share this tragedy. She wished she understood his relationship with Irons. Nottingham leaned against a large tree at the edge of the clearing in the shadows. The glow of the candle barely reached him.
"Come sit with me, Nottingham. Please? On Jacob's bench?" She sat on the cold stone seat, leaving room for him next to her. She was starting to get chilled, but she could not leave him like this. He turned his head in surprise to her.
"I do not wish to keep you from your evening, Sara. I will be fine." He started to walk away through the woods.
"Please, Ian. Please talk to me." She pleaded.
She could not read his eyes for he was too much in the shadows, but he had turned to face her now. She knew he was considering her request. Reluctantly, he stepped toward her and the light.
"Please stand." He requested. As she did, he pulled his coat from his shoulders, draping it onto hers. Not used to such chivalry, she considered refusing the gesture but preferred the warmth of his coat to hypothermia. The heavy black knit sweater and black woolen pants he wore would not keep him warm for long.
They sat facing one another on Jacob's stone bench with the warm glow of the candle between them. Up close, she could see the dark circles under Ian's beautiful brown eyes. She knew this memory had been haunting him for most of his life. Her gloved hands reached out for his. Although his eyes would not meet hers, she looked directly into his.
"Not more than a month ago, you asked me to trust you. You said trust wasn't an easy thing for either of us. You were right. Now, I am asking for your trust. Talk to me." She appealed. Her boldness took him by surprise. She was rewarded for her efforts. His warm, mocha-colored eyes gazed dejectedly into hers, the words taking a moment to come.
"My brother Jacob and I were a few years apart. We used to love being outside and chasing each other near this very cliff." He sighed, his breath expelled raggedly. Was it the painful memory or the chill in the air that had started him shaking?
"We had started a game of chase. He was older and always won, but he loved to taunt me and I could not give up.so we ran. The weather had turned bad suddenly.sleet and blowing snow." He looked towards the cliff as if he could see the events being replayed.
"We both heard a sound.I keep replaying it in my head.over and over. I can not remember what the sound was.yet we had both heard it. Jacob seemed startled by it and turned toward the sound, slipping on the rocks.he fell over the edge." His breathing was coming more quickly now.
"I tried to pull him up but he was too heavy. He was pulling me over the edge with him. I begged him not to let go.but he.he looked at me and smiled. He said, 'I love you, runt.' .and just let go. He let go!" His eyes welled up with tears as he recalled the image.
"I can still see his body.I can still feel his hand upon mine." The tears rolling down his face now. "I have this same recurring nightmare.replaying everything over and over.over. The dreams start near the anniversary of Jacob's death. He died because of me. I was not big enough to pull him to safety. I could not hold him. We should never had been out in that weather." He pulled his hands from Sara's, wrapping them around himself, head bowed, rocking back and forth as he remembered.
Sara knew how hard it had been for Ian to share this agonizing part of his past. Leaning closer, she laid her hands on his knees, resting her forehead against his as she rocked with him.
"I am so sorry, Ian. So sorry.you were just a boy. You couldn't have been responsible." Pulling back and looking into his eyes, she continued, "Where were your guardians? Was Irons in your life at that time?" She remembered Nottingham telling her he did not have memories of a mother or father as he grew up. Irons could have been as close to a father figure as he had. If that wasn't worth pitying, she didn't know what was.
"Irons was." Ian looked to his left as if trying to recall something important.
"Irons was what, Ian? Was he there?" She asked.
"This was his land. After Jacob's death, he released this land to the city.for this park. He only asked them to keep it as a park and put this guardrail up and the memorial to Jacob." Nottingham added. "In all the times I have had the dream, I never once recalled him there.but he must have been.how strange."
"Kenneth Irons couldn't have been much older than Jacob, Ian. He is not the right age. How could he have dedicated a park or been a guardian to you and Jacob?" She questioned.
Ian withdrew from her, looking as if he had been caught in a lie. "You are right, Sara. Forget I said anything. I was not thinking straight. I have not gotten much sleep lately."
Nottingham had stepped over the line, confiding things related to Irons to a New York City police detective was not a good idea. "I have to go, Sara. Thanks for listening."
With that he stood and blew out the candle, as if extinguishing the intimacy they had just shared. He started to walk away.
"What about your coat?" She asked.
"Keep it. You can get it to me later.at your convenience, Sara." He said over his shoulder, gloved hands in his pockets.
"I have a better idea. Walk me home. I could use the company.and it would save me a trip to give you your coat back." She knew if she worded her idea this way, he would look at it as if he were doing her a favor. She knew he could not refuse her then.
He turned her way, considered her request, then nodded. They walked in silence to her nearby apartment, filled with the details they had just shared. Idle chatter would have diminished the poignancy of the moment. Neither one had the penchant for it anyway.
Now, all she would have to do was to persuade him to join her tonight. He could not remain morose at the Siri home. With the lifetime of regrets Nottingham must feel every holiday season, she doubted he had ever truly celebrated Christmas, not in the traditional sense. This would be a challenge.
Chapter 3 - The Siri Family Christmas
By the time they reached the threshold of her apartment building, Nottingham was sufficiently chilled to the bone to accept her invitation to come inside to get warm. Sara admired the way he tried to stifle his shivers and cover up the fact that his lips were turning slightly blue, never once complaining about his missing coat or the fact that the coat hem was dragging in the snow, as it draped her smaller frame.
She had him in her apartment weeks earlier yet he still acted as if he was unfamiliar with the surroundings. He wandered distractedly around her living room as if he would rather be somewhere else. The sadness was still very much with him. This would not be easy. She had not yet formulated a plan to get him to come with her. Sara quickly turned on her stove and put water into a kettle to make some hot tea.
"Would you mind watching the kettle for me while I get ready. I've put the tea bags with some honey on the counter. Feel free to fix yourself a cup when it's ready. The mugs are on the wall beside the stove." She offered, disappearing into the back bedroom before he had a chance to refuse and make his escape.
She took a quick, steamy shower. It felt heavenly against her cold skin. Prior to finding Nottingham in the park, she had planned to wear something casual to the Siri home. Plans had changed. She wanted to wear something special tonight. After rummaging through half her closet, she finally decided upon black leather pants and a beaded red cashmere sweater with a scoop neck.festive and fetching. She wore her hair straight and put on a bit of makeup and perfume for the occasion. Taking a deep breath, she walked into the living room hoping Nottingham was still there.
He was sitting on her sofa, sipping his hot tea. He had made a second cup for her, putting it on the coffee table in front of him. He looked up as she entered the room. She could tell by the look in his eyes that she had chosen her attire well.
"I am sorry, Sara. I did not realize you had a date tonight. I have been keeping you from your special evening." He apologized as he stood. Sara began to chuckle at his assumption. This truly would not be easy.
"You are making it so difficult, Nottingham." She smirked. "I had hoped to find a subtle way to ask you to come with me tonight, but now I find myself just coming straight out with it. Will you be so kind as to escort me tonight?" She smiled.
"A date?" He asked. He had never been on a date. The last thing he had expected when he left the Irons estate this morning was a date with Sara Pezzini. Was this out of pity? He definitely was attracted to her, especially the way she looked tonight. A lifetime of training could not have prepared him to retain his composure when she had entered the room for she had taken his breath away. A bullet to the belly would have been less painful than it was to think of her going out with someone else. He had been wrong.
"Look. I have never asked a guy on a date before.and I certainly have never had one decline before either. I don't think you should claim that dubious honor, Nottingham." She teased.
"Although I do not feel dressed for the occasion, I would never decline such an honor, Sara." He bowed his head slightly.
Sara enlisted Nottingham's assistance to bundle up the presents she was to take with her. He never once asked her where they would be going. He seemed content to be in her company. They opted to take a cab and soon were knocking on the brightly-lit front door of the Siri home, the aromas of tantalizing treats just beyond the door wafted on the air.
Nottingham was beginning to realize what he had offered to do. Being alone with Sara on a date was more than he could handle. Being with Sara on a date with a house full of strangers was way over the top. He began to fidget and look back towards the street when Sara noticed him planning his escape.
"Oh no, Nottingham. Don't give me that look. I know you are a man of your word.and you promised to come. Besides, I think you will enjoy this." She gave her best sales pitch.
Just then, Joe Siri opened the door.in the nick of time. He welcomed her with open arms and a good-humored smile on his face, helping her with her bundles. Not having expected Sara to be escorted, he was a little more guarded with Ian.
"Joe, I want you to meet a friend of mine, Ian Nottingham. Ian, this is my surrogate father and Captain retired from the NYPD, Joe Siri." Sara introduced them. The two men shook hands politely, but appeared to be aware of who the other was by reputation.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Siri. You have a lovely home." Nottingham offered, hoping Joe would continue the charade for Sara's benefit.
"Any friend of Sara's is welcomed here.Can I take your coat?" Joe replied, giving Sara a look she knew well, then taking their coats to a nearby closet. Voices and laughter could be heard from the living room and kitchen while Christmas music played festively in the background. By this time, Joe's wife Mary and Amy, Sara's favorite Siri grandchild tumultuously entered the room.
"Aunt Sara.Merry Christmas!" The little five-year old shouted her greeting with a beaming smile and arms outstretched, waiting for Sara to hoist her up in an embrace. The child had long ringlets of auburn hair that bounced when she did, pulled back from her tiny face by a single shiny red ribbon. She wore a velvet green jumper, black leggings, and a white lacy blouse peeking out near her neck. If she would sit still for any length of time, she would have resembled a porcelain doll. Sara grabbed the child, giving a quick peck on the cheek to both granddaughter and grandmother, happy to be distracted. She knew her and Joe would be having a talk soon.
"Ian, this is Joe's wife Mary and this little hell cat is their grandchild Amy. This is Ian Nottingham. Mr. Nottingham to you, Amy." Sara teased.
Mary politely shook Ian's hand but gave a quick wink to Sara when she thought she had her undivided attention. Sara just rolled her eyes. Amy, on the other hand, was quick to form an allegiance with Nottingham. She had assessed he was the tallest man in the house. This was significant because later, as the Siri tradition would have it, the youngest grandchild would be donning the tree topper. She pictured herself on Nottingham's shoulders and knew this could be done quite easily.and even at the age of five, she was already quite a flirt.
"How tall are you, Mr. Notham?" She asked her new tall friend.
Nottingham smiled down at the precocious child before he knelt to one knee. "You can call me Ian, Amy. Why do you ask how tall I am?" He questioned.
"I may need your help.later." She whispered, then giggled. Her laughter was contagious. Ian had to join in. Sara caught the moment between Amy and Ian and grinned.
Reaching for Nottingham's hand, Sara knew he would need her support as he met the rest of the household. She noticed, however, that he had removed his gloves for the evening. When he had visited her apartment more than a month ago, he had worn them throughout dinner, keeping his guard up. He had taken them off only once to briefly play an acoustic guitar, but was quick to wipe off his prints, teasing her about it. Maybe he truly was beginning to trust her. She would not betray his trust by trying to scarf a print or two. She grabbed his right hand in both of hers and beamed. He seemed to understand her meaning, and returned the sly grin.
Ian was introduced to the household filled with family. He would not remember half their names but he seemed to be feeling a little more at ease. Sara offered to get him a glass of the special Siri family eggnog, guaranteed to warm your gullet and put a smile on your face. She slipped into the kitchen. Joe took the opportunity to follow her.
"Are you nuts bringing Kenneth Irons' lackey here.to my house? Do you know anything about him? He's an assassin for crying out loud." He tried hard not to raise his voice.
"I've just recently gotten to know more about him. Yes, he's done some unsavory things, but there is a side to him I am beginning to appreciate." She pleaded. Sara knew this would not be easy. Joe had some prior dealings with Kenneth Irons in his career. Although he and Ian had not formally met, Sara knew he would know Nottingham by his reputation. She also knew his concern was for her safety. Joe loved her like a daughter.
"Well.you are old enough to make your own decisions.and I do trust your judgment.but this is a lot to take in at once." He reasoned.
"Just keep an open mind, Joe. Get to know him.please." She smiled and pecked him on the cheek. When she smiled like that, Joe couldn't stay perturbed for long. He hugged his surrogate daughter, then helped her with the drinks for the family.
By the time Sara and Joe had rejoined the rest in the living room, Ian was nowhere to be found. Mary and Amy were conspicuously missing as well, along with some of the other children. Sara had a suspicion where they might be. She headed down the steps toward the refurbished basement. She could hear Nottingham's voice as she neared.
The basement had been remodeled to be as cozy as the upper level of the house. The fireplace was ablaze and the same Christmas music was being piped into the intimate setting from speakers hidden in various spots in the room. A second beautifully decorated Christmas tree lit up a corner. Nottingham was sitting in a wing back chair with Amy on his lap near the fireplace. Mary sat on a sofa facing the fire, her feet tucked under her. Three other children were sitting on the floor in front of the hearth. They appeared to be recalling their favorite Christmas memories.
"Actually.Joe asked me to marry him on a Christmas Eve. I remember he was late picking me up from the store. I had been shopping and needed to get home quickly so I could wrap the last minute gifts I had bought." Mary began to laugh. "I was so upset at him."
Ian smiled as Mary recalled the moment. Amy snuggled closer in his lap. She seemed content, as Sara herself would have been if their positions had been reversed.
"He could tell I was annoyed.We were racing to the car. He had parked a couple of blocks away. We had to pass by an ice rink.and it had begun to snow. I guess he thought there was no time like the present. He pulled me to a nearby bench and got to one knee. He proposed right there." She beamed. "It was so romantic. The snow was falling; the music from the rink was playing. It seemed that time stopped for us. It was just Joe and I there." Her eyes welled with tears for a moment.
"That does sound romantic, Mrs. Siri." Ian agreed.
"Please, call me Mary. How long have you known Sara?" Mary asked.
"Don't let me interrupt.please continue, Mr. Nottingham." Sara joked as she sat next to Mary on the sofa, setting down the tray of remaining eggnog and handing the spiked recipe to the adults. Nottingham smiled.
"We have really just met.maybe a month ago." He offered, glancing conspiratorially to Sara.
"How did you meet?" Mary continued to pry.
"We met at a museum, actually." Nottingham recounted. Sara and he had truly met, though not formally, at the Midtown museum over a display case of ancient weaponry just prior to a police shootout. Sara had to laugh that Nottingham would probably get away with Mary thinking him to be a museum enthusiast.
"And what do you do for a living, Ian?" Mary continued her third degree. Sara knew Mary could be relentless. She had learned her interrogation techniques from Captain Joe himself.
"I am in the employ of Kenneth Irons.in the area of his personal security." Nottingham had dodged yet another salvo.
"Oh my.He's a billionaire, isn't he? You are a bodyguard, you say. Well, that must be interesting work, Ian." She asked.
"Some days it can be." He replied simply.
"What's a bodyguard, Aunt Sara?" Amy asked.
"Someone who protects and takes care of people, Amy." Sara replied, answering the child's question as simply as possible. She hoped Amy would not ask about why protection is necessary. Irons needed protection from the law as well as from others who would do him harm criminally. Nottingham was prepared to do battle against both sides equally. The complex adult answer to the child's question remained unspoken.
"Uncle Ian.What is the most favorite Christmas you remember.?" Amy prompted.
Nottingham looked down at the little girl on his lap, then gazed at the fire as he thought of his response. Sara wondered what he would say. The question had piqued Mary's interest as well.
"I did not grow up with a loving mother and father or grandparents, like you Amy. Christmas was never." Nottingham sighed and gently stroked a curl from Amy's cheek. "I think this Christmas might be my favorite.with you, and your family.and your Aunt Sara." His response brought a smile to the little girl's face.
"Will you promise to help me put the angel on the tree, Uncle Ian?" Amy asked. It had not gone unnoticed that Nottingham had gained uncle status in record time.
"What ever you want, Little Amy. I am at your command." He jested. With that, the little girl giggled, slipped off his lap, grabbing his hand to pull him upstairs for the tree topping ceremony. As the children followed Ian and Amy up the stairs, Mary smiled at Sara, hoping for a moment alone with her.
"I like your young man, Sara. It sounds like he may have had a lonely upbringing but you can tell he has a good heart, I think." She said.
"I'm beginning to appreciate that kind heart, Mary. In my line of work, it's easy to be cynical and expect the worst of people. I can't say that was not the way I first looked at Ian, but he has shown me another side.he has trusted me to share it. He's complicated." Sara added, knitting her brow. Mary reached for Sara's hand and squeezed it.
"Come on.Let's join the others before we miss the donning of the tree topper family heirloom." Mary laughed.
When Mary and Sara had joined the others, Nottingham had already hoisted a delighted little Amy onto his shoulders. Amy had never been up so high in her young life. This must be what it is like to be a giant, she surmised. Grandpa Joe was gathering up the family to begin the holiday ceremony. He had laid the ornamental box near the tree earlier in the evening. He now opened the lid to reveal the porcelain angel tree topper. The face was angelic, crowned with a glittery halo. Its gown was ivory with gold threads spun throughout, making it shimmer in the light. Amy had never before seen it from this angle.
"Oh.Uncle Ian. Isn't she beautiful?" Amy whispered in reverence.
"Just like you, Amy.Just like you." He returned the whisper so only she could hear.
"It is tradition in the Siri household to let the littlest member of our family complete our tree by donning the Siri angel heirloom. So, without further ado, will our littlest angel please step forward." Joe announced proudly, with a mock drum roll from the other family members. Nottingham stepped forward and bent lower to help Amy get her little hands on the angel. Joe nodded, to let Nottingham know he could proceed. As he stepped closer to the tree, he helped little Amy fastened the special adornment to the top branch, as everyone applauded their approval. Nottingham looked up to Amy's little face as she hugged his neck.
"Thank you, Uncle Ian." She beamed.
Sara was very familiar with this part of the Siri tradition, but Nottingham's involvement made it very special for her. He seemed truly happy to be here. Maybe the Siri's would make this his favorite Christmas after all. Everyone in the room was unaware of just how extraordinary this moment was for Ian. Maybe it was enough for her alone to know.
Nottingham found Sara's eyes across the crowded room. He smiled as he held Amy's small hands in his and silently mouthed the words, "Thank you." Returning his smile, she quickly wiped a tear from the corner of her eye and whispered, "Merry Christmas, Ian."
Chapter 4 - Jacob's Secret
On Christmas Day, Sara had slept in, not getting up until almost ten o'clock. She lay under her warm comforter thinking about the prior evening. Images of Ian Nottingham with the Siri family made her smile. What a contrast of people and yet a truly memorable evening, made more special by Nottingham sharing his brother's story with her. They had both given a gift of trust to each other and it felt right.
After feasting on the Siri family potluck, and imbibing in the secret family recipe for spiked eggnog and other wicked libations, Nottingham and Sara found themselves laughing at the smallest things. Christmas Eve was gag gift night, not a serious present was opened, and it was obvious the family knew themselves very well.
Even though Sara and Ian were sharing a special evening with Joe's family, they had both felt like lucky observers, just a little outside the close knit circle. Yet neither would choose to be anywhere else, or with anyone else.
Nottingham got the thumbs up from her surrogate father by the end of the evening. Joe had pulled Sara aside and gave her a hug saying, "I guess I was wrong about Nottingham.proceed with caution, young lady. I know you can handle yourself, but he seems like a pretty good guy."
After catching a cab back to Sara's apartment, they talked until dawn, not wanting for the night to end. Joe's wife Mary had given her Nottingham seal of approval in a different way, by slipping a sprig of mistletoe into Sara's coat. Sara found it when looking for her gloves, keeping it hidden until Nottingham was bundling up to leave the apartment.
"You do not have to display vegetation above your head to make me want to kiss you, Ms. Pezzini." He had joked.
"I don't know, Nottingham. For someone that had not been on a date before, you seem to know all the rules now." She retorted.
"So now you are telling me mistletoe is a rule of dating.maybe you could benefit from some of my instruction, Sara?" He had teased.
He had pulled her close, his hands firmly on her hips, as he pressed his lips to hers. His arms caressed her gently to him. Their breathing escalated until they had parted lips, foreheads and noses nuzzling close. Nottingham tenderly placed both hands on Sara's face, gazing into her eyes.
"I want.but I can wait, Sara.when you are ready." He kissed her one last time before he slipped from her grasp and out the door, as the sun cast slivers of orange light through her living room window. She stood with her head pressed against the door, still feeling his lips on hers. The only thing keeping her from giving herself to this man was her own judgment. Common sense should not have anything to do with love, yet in her world it would be a formidable adversary. She would have to enter this relationship with blinders off, for her sake as well as his.
After dressing in blue jeans and a heavy, dark green turtleneck sweater, Sara grabbed a quick bagel and hot tea before starting a day of research at the local library. She wanted to learn more about Kenneth Irons, Jacob, and the park dedication that Nottingham had mentioned. Something did not feel right about it. Her detective's instincts had been piqued. She was determined to know more about Jacob and Nottingham's "guardian".
Across the city, at the Irons Estate, Nottingham had quietly slipped into the compound and the mansion with only a few security people being made aware of his presence. He undressed and pulled the covers over his naked body, hearing Sara's voice and smelling her perfume on his skin. His eyelids were heavy due to the lack of sleep for many nights now. He quickly succumbed to a deep sleep, hoping Jacob would take pity on his little brother and allow him a few hours of much needed rest. This was not to be, for in the back of Nottingham's mind was a plaguing question, one that had waited long enough for an answer.
The dream unfolded more slowly this time, both boys chasing each other at a deliberate and languid pace, as if their arms and legs were heavily weighted down. Nottingham could hear every word, see every detail of the dream.
The foreboding feeling was gone now. He was remembering how he loved to chase Jacob, his older brother. The dark and ominous clouds rumbled overhead but the sound of thunder was mercifully muted this time. The sleet and blowing snow streamed from the sky as if in slow motion. His body was strangely warm, unlike his previous recollections.
"Come on, runt! Catch me if you can." Jacob teased once again, his beautiful blond hair flowing in the evening air.
As Jacob made it to the top of the cliff, his final destination, his silhouette was a contrast to the darker horizon. Then, it was as if the whole world became deathly silent. It was just Ian and his big brother Jacob on the cliff, not a sound to be heard. It was then that Ian realized they were not alone. The sound Jacob and Ian had heard.the sound that made Jacob turn around and loose his footing.it was the alarming sound of Kenneth Irons calling Jacob's name.
"Jacob.Jacob.Stay away from the cliff!" Irons demanded.
Jacob had been so startled to be caught in the act, he knew they would receive a painful reprisal from Irons. He turned toward his guardian in trepidation, loosing his footing on the stones at the cliff's edge. Jacob slipped over the brink with a gut wrenching scream; a scream that Nottingham knew would take a lifetime to forget. His brother had died in utter fear, shrinking from the certain wrath of their keeper, Kenneth Irons.
Nottingham knew instinctively that this would be the last time his brother Jacob would come to him in this dream. He gazed into Jacob's loving eyes for one final time, witnessing the devotion Jacob must have felt for his little brother as he said, 'I love you, runt.' Jacob fell silently to the rocks below. Ian shut his eyes, only wanting to remember the look of love on Jacob's beautiful face.
Nottingham's eyes welled with tears as he awoke, feeling grief to his very core. Ian sat up in bed, pulling the comforter over his bare chest. He was wounded deeply by the loss of his beloved brother, but was devastated by the betrayal of Kenneth Irons. All these years, Irons had placed the blame squarely on the poor judgment of the two siblings, implying young Ian should solely bear the weight of his own brother's death. Irons had been nearby but had done nothing to help. Nottingham knew then that Irons' cruelty knew no bounds.
He had seen the pattern of Irons' cruel nature as he was growing up under his tutelage, but dismissed it thinking Irons' was trying to toughen him up, helping him to survive an otherwise brutal world. This prison sentence under Irons' care was self-inflicted, but it did not have to continue in the same vein. Maybe Sara was right; maybe he had more control of his own destiny.
Irons had created what he believed to be a lethal and ruthless weapon in Nottingham, his genetically enhanced enslaved henchman, without free will or conscience. He could not have been more wrong. Yes, he had killed for Irons, on his own terms and for his own reasons. Irons had failed to see the distinction, yet this distinction had aided Nottingham in forming his own morality. Underneath a cool and calculating demeanor, Nottingham had to face a daily struggle to develop and maintain his own sense of right and wrong. Nottingham could and would overcome a lifetime of Iron's negative influence by quietly defying Irons when possible. He had his own sense of integrity and strength of character that Irons had failed to discern. Ian Nottingham was stronger than Kenneth Irons.
He would stay with his benefactor, for Sara's sake. It would have been easy for him to leave Irons now, but Irons would only hire someone like himself, someone that did not care for Sara as he did. Sara would be without protection from the often-sinister, manipulative, and criminal Kenneth Irons. Nottingham was adept at surviving anything Irons could dish out, had survived a lifetime of abuse. He made his decision.
Nottingham would serve his one true master, the wielder of the Witchblade, as it was always meant to be.
Chapter 5 - Resurgence
The dining room of the Irons' estate was opulent and formal, some might even say pretentious. It reflected the ego of the estate's main inhabitant Kenneth Irons. The cherry wood paneling set off the solid gold accessories arranged throughout the room, reflecting off the ostentatious crystal chandelier. The silk, ivory-colored table linens were a perfect foil for the gold ware and fine china in use this morning. Irons was still attired in light, blue silk pajamas with a matching navy blue robe. The refined setting was a complete contrast to the incensed mood of the room's sole occupant.
'This coffee is cold.How many times do I have to tell you.!" Irons bellowed, irritated at the ineptness around him.
He had sent two servants scurrying for cover already this morning after flinging a plateful of toast that was too cold to melt butter. He had tried to distract himself with a quick read of the morning paper but it would not hold his attention. He needed to speak to Nottingham. Christmas Eve was gone and now Christmas day was well underway and Nottingham was nowhere to be found. Where the hell was he? It was true Irons did not participate in the sentimental holiday. Festive strings of light, adorned evergreen trees, or seasonal music were as good as banned at the Irons' estate this time of year. Yet, in years passed, Nottingham and Irons had spent these days together in a feigned simulation of family. Nottingham's absence was indicative of his newly found freedom and independence Irons deeply resented.
"You.you there. Have you seen Nottingham?" Irons demanded of the next servant who had mistakenly crossed his path this morning.
"Benjamin, sir. My name is Benjamin, Mr. Irons. I heard sounds from his usual bedroom, sir. I think he was showering. Would you like me to fetch him, sir?" Benjamin had worked for Kenneth Irons for two years and his employer had not remembered his name in all that time.
"Yes.fetch him immediately." Irons demanded with a wave of his hand, just as Nottingham entered the room, bringing great relief to the quickly departing young Benjamin for he would not have relished 'fetching' Nottingham even though it was the lessor of two evils.
"Well.the prodigal son returns. Tell me young Nottingham, where have you been since yesterday morning?" Irons' cold blue eyes were filled with disdain. The sarcasm in Irons' voice was unmistakable.
Nottingham took his time responding, pouring only a cup of black coffee and casually stepping over the dried toast and broken china strewn across the floor in front of the sideboard, as if such chaos was commonplace. Uncharacteristically, Nottingham wore faded blue jeans with a loose-fitting white shirt, his hair worn long and unencumbered. He took a seat at the dining room table, the furthest one from Irons.
"I had things to do.and how did you spend your Christmas Eve, father?"
The direct stare from Nottingham told Irons something was amiss. His loyal servant routinely lowered his head in a submissive stance, never failing to avoid eye contact with his master. Irons also knew that his young charge did not usually use the term father except when they were completely alone, out of earshot from the other servants. Not wanting to give Nottingham the satisfaction, Irons continued with the charade.
"I spent a nice, quiet evening at home.Thank you for asking. And you? Where did you spend your evening?"
"I spent the evening with my brother, Jacob. He sends his regards by the way." Nottingham sipped his coffee, maintaining the eye contact that so unnerved Irons. Irons could only imagine the fear in Nottingham's victims when he administered the justice ordered by Irons himself. Irons had trained his servant well in the art of physical intimidation.
"Jacob.It was a shame about Jacob. He was a far better candidate for genetic enhancements than you ever were. He was so much stronger.a lot more like me."
Irons took his time torturing Nottingham, one of his favorite past times, and he had gotten quite good at it. With all of Nottingham's training, his eyes could never hide the hurt Irons could inflict, but today was different. A cold and sinister smile spread across the face of his poet warrior, his voice was chilling yet composed.
"Jacob was never like you. I know now that he had chosen to die rather than risk the life of his little brother. Maybe he had chosen to die as an alternative to facing you.either way, you should remember what happened.you were there, father."
Irons had always hoped Nottingham would have forgotten that small detail of the day Jacob died. He was coming up the path to the cliff and yelled to the boys in anger for their disobedience. Their lack of discipline was mounting everyday. He was not in time to rescue Jacob, although he knew Nottingham would never have believed he had sincerely wanted to save the boy. He just did not realize the urgency of the situation. After Jacob's death, Nottingham was more amenable to the rigorous training, more docile and easily influenced by his master's will. In hindsight, Irons justified Jacob's death as a necessary means to an end. It could just as easily been Nottingham being memorialized by a carved stone bench. Either way would have served his purpose.
"You called out to Jacob.made him turn around.you were responsible for his death. I could have forgiven you that.maybe you could not have saved him in time.but you have tried to place the blame on me all these years.since I was eight years old. You expect steadfast loyalty from me and yet.you betrayed me every time you awakened me from that nightmare.knowing you could have made a difference."
Nottingham sighed and shook his head in disgust, walking across the room to gaze over the grounds from a nearby window. If not for his newfound purpose as protector to Sara Pezzini, the wielder of the Witchblade, his life would be an utter failure, for all he had believed had been stripped from him.
Irons, on the other hand, could not tell if Nottingham was about to kill him or was just looking for answers from him. He had always talked Nottingham into doing his bidding before, without question. The youngster he had practically raised from childhood was a stranger to him now.a very lethal stranger, trained by his own hand.
"I would not have been able to save Jacob, Ian. I would have been too late. I am."
"Don't.just don't." Nottingham raised his right hand to Irons without turning around. "You diminish his life with your pathetic justifications." After many minutes of silence, during which Irons used his better judgment to remain quiet, Nottingham turned to face Irons and began again.
"Congratulations, fa.Mr. Irons. I concede.you have won. I often thought you had not relished the paternal role I had insinuated on you. It should make you happy to know that I no longer look upon you in that manner. So, I have a business proposition for you." Nottingham crossed the room towards Irons, never once diverting his gaze.
"I propose to continue to work for you, under modified terms of course, in exchange for my sustained service to the wielder of the Witchblade, Ms. Pezzini.and to the extent this agreement serves your purpose and mine, I will continue to do your bidding. Is this agreeable to you?"
"I'm not sure.Would you continue to live on premises?" Irons asked.
Nottingham's answer did not come right away. This unnerved Irons. He had come to rely upon the undying loyalty of his faithful servant, who knew all his faults, his secrets and still did not pass judgement or betray him. Irons did not understand it, but Nottingham had found his own reason to remain with his benefactor. Would he still be willing to give his life to protect Irons as his bodyguard? Would he still act as the instrument of Irons' form of justice? Irons would not be intimidated by the challenge his young charge had just presented. Their new relationship would be borne out of manipulation as always.and he was far too skilled to be outplayed by this young upstart.
"Yes. I do expect we shall find common ground to continue working together. I do not, however, wish to preserve my servile relationship with you.but we can work on it over time. I know you will find it difficult as will I.but I am supremely confident we can meet this challenge." With that, Nottingham left the room, leaving a stunned Irons to replay the conversation in his mind.
What had just happened? Irons knew this day was coming, but no amount of preparation could have primed him for this. For all his posturing to the contrary, Irons regretted his handling of Jacob's death most of all. Although he would never admit it openly, Irons knew he had been wrong to blame the boy's death on Nottingham. It had just helped him deal with his own culpability for he had been plagued by visits from Jacob in his dreams from time to time. It was of no consequence now, however, what was done was done. Regret was a waste of time. Nottingham, on the other hand, was not a waste of time. A great deal of time and monetary investment had been spent molding his young protégé.
Irons started to contemplate a different scheme, forming his strategy on how to gain the advantage once again. He had no doubt of the outcome of any game of manipulation, for he was the master, and would continue to be.