=====================================================================
CHRISTMAS CHALLENGE: Gifts (01/01)
by Nancy Kaminski
(c) December 1998
=====================================================================
Detective Nicholas Knight sat at his desk in the nearly deserted squad
room, staring absently at his blotter, waiting for the next phone
call.
It was two in the morning on Christmas Day, and there weren't many of
them. For that matter, the phones had been quiet the entire shift. It
seemed everyone was with their families or friends, or if not, at
least allowing this one night of all nights to go by without
significantly breaking the peace.
It was Nick's first Christmas with the 26th Division. Captain
Stonetree had thought it strange that he had volunteered to work this
shift instead of taking his scheduled day off, but had accepted it
gladly anyway. Nick was single, had no family that he knew of, and as
far as he could tell, no friends. Stonetree had shrugged and put him
on the schedule with Bernstein, Meyer, Schorn, and Singh.
Nick toyed with a pencil while he looked around the room. A bedraggled
little artifical tree twinkled gamely from atop a tinsel-hung filing
cabinet. Here and there were other small reminders of the season -- a
coffee mug full of candy canes on a desk, a cheerful red poinsettia on
the reception counter, a dish of tree-shaped sugar cookies next to the
coffee pot.
Many of his coworkers had wished him a Merry Christmas over the last
few days, and he had thanked them politely and wished them the same.
They all seemed to have sensed his detachment, though, and none of the
invitations for a drink or get-together during Christmas week that
most of his coworkers received ever came his way.
Not that he would have accepted any, of course.
There had been a card from the detective at the next desk, Ben
Hoppman, with whom Nick occasionally shared small talk. Ben had stood
there, awkwardly joking about how glad he was to have Christmas Eve
off to spend with his family, even if his wife's mother had flown in
from Florida and was complaining nonstop about the cold.
Nick had been acutely aware that he himself hadn't even gone to the
effort of a card, and after shaking hands and saying the right words,
the two men had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. They got along
well enough on the job, but anything more than that didn't exist --
Nick didn't allow to exist.
Finally, Ben had simply cleared his throat and mumbled something about
getting some eggnog on the way home, and had left Nick to himself.
Alone again.
Nick sighed, and doodled aimlessly on his notepad. He found himself
sketching an impression of a skirl of dancers at a ball, elegant
skirts swirling, the couples' hands raised and clasped as they stepped
through the intricacies of a pavane. He remembered nights like that --
Christmas balls, with candles glowing warmly in the chandeliers, the
guests' faces flushed with the heat of the fire, the dance, and the
mulled wine. His perfect memory brought to him the scent of cinnamon,
oranges, and pine, the gleam of fine satin in the women's dresses, and
the dash of elegant dark suits and gaudy uniforms on the men.
But that was long ago, in a time when he had felt part of something --
if not humanity, at least of his vampire family. The three of them had
moved through society, always involved yet never attached, partaking
of the best and always leaving when it became too inconvenient to
stay.
But now... He sighed, ripped the page out of his notebook, crumpled
it, and threw it in his wastebasket. Janette had flown off to the
Continent, not telling him where she'd be. And as for his master,
well, he was nowhere to be found, the link between father and son
firmly blocked off; and whose fault was that?
He had thought that by running away from Lacroix he would be free. Yet
there was a hollowness in his soul, if he could be said to have one,
where his link with his master resided. It nagged at him like the
space where a tooth had been. The knowledge of that emptiness, and how
much he himself had contributed to it being there, bore down on him
like a weight, more so during this season of family and togetherness.
Even in absence Lacroix controlled him. Nick could almost hear the
sardonic laughter whispering in his mind.
"You are mine, Nicholas, forever..."
The phone rang and Nick picked up the receiver, glad for the diversion
from his thoughts. "26th Division, Detective Knight."
Drunken laughter filtered over the line. "Silent Knight, holy Knight,"
sang a male voice, while other voices giggled in the background. "Is
everything calm and bright, officer? Just checking!" the voice
slurred, then hiccupped. The giggling got even louder.
Nick sighed and hung up.
"Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too," he said sourly to no one in
particular.
~~~~~~
The drive home at six in the morning had allowed a small sense of
peace to settle over Nick -- there was a thin dusting of fresh snow on
the ground, as yet unmelted by the passage of traffic and sparkling
under the streetlights; the city itself seemed quieter and cleaner
than normal. There were no early morning delivery trucks or late shift
workers hurrying to the subway to go home. The streets were deserted,
it seemed, except for him.
Once in his home, though, the feeling of loneliness and removal washed
over him again. The loft seemed bleak and cheerless, even with the
fire lit and the lamp glowing by the leather sofa.
*Why wish for what you can't have?* he told himself as he poured a
glass of breakfast. He sat down heavily on the sofa and stared into
the fireplace, sipping the thin, bitter liquid. *Get close and they
die, you know that.*
The knowledge was no consolation. It was futile, his desire for
companionship, for contact with the humanity he had left behind so
many hundreds of years ago. He had tried and failed, so many times.
*It's better this way.* He slumped back and closed his eyes.
The door buzzer sounded, startling him from his morose thoughts.
Putting down his glass, he went to the security monitor to see who was
at his door at such an early hour.
The grainy black and white picture showed masses of unruly hair under
a fuzzy knit cap, an upturned face with large eyes and a tentative
expression.
Natalie Lambert. His doctor, his confidante, his ... friend?
He pushed the button and said quietly, "Come on up, Natalie," then
stepped back facing the battered freight elevator door.
The elevator arrived with a jolt and he slid the door aside to reveal
Natalie, standing uncertainly in the center of the car. Her arms were
clutching a brown paper bag, and a smile came and went from her face,
like a lightbulb loose in its socket. "Nick?"
"Come in, Natalie. What can I do for you?" he asked.
She scuttled past him to stand awkwardly by the kitchen table,
clutching the bag to her chest as if it were protection from
something. She looked around the loft and a faint look of disapproval
crossed her face as she noted its gloominess. Finally she cleared her
throat and said, "Uh, Merry Christmas, Nick." She thrust the bag
forward. "I brought you something."
He took the bag from her and looked down at it. "Oh."
Natalie shifted her feet nervously. "I, uh, hope you don't mind. I
mean, I thought you might like it ... I mean, I knew you were working
last night, and missed Christmas, and I thought you might..." She
fluttered her hands in frustration. "Oh, why don't you just open it
and see?" Her face colored slightly in embarrassment.
Nick set the bag on the table and opened the folded-over top. Under
several layers of tissue paper he could see something whitish. He
reached in and gently removed a small pink and white poinsettia plant,
its pot gaily covered in green foil, a pink bow nestled among the
scalloped green leaves. The sharp tang of damp soil wafted into the
air. He held it up for inspection and raised his eyes to hers. "A
plant?"
"Well, I thought your loft could use a touch of Christmas, and these
new pink and white ones are so pretty. I saw it in the grocery store
and I just sort of got it on impulse." When he remained silent she
asked anxiously, "Do you like it?"
He turned the plant around in his hands. It was so out of place in the
loft. He read the care instructions on the plastic tag. It needed
light, and lots of it. How could he take care of it? His existence was
defined by the lack of what this tiny scrap of life needed.
Still silent, he carried it over to the sofa, sat down, and placed it
in the center of the coffee table. He leaned back to contemplate the
effect. The creamy white flowers, blotched with pale pink, seemed to
radiate light. Suddenly the loft wasn't quite so bleak.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." Natalie edged towards the coffee
table, as if she was ready to snatch up her offering and run away.
"I'm sorry..."
Nick caught her hand as she reached for the little plant. "No, please
... It's beautiful." He held her hand for a moment then loosened his
grip. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."
She smiled, a bright flash of white teeth in the dim light. "I'm glad.
Oh, there's one more thing." She hurried back to the table and pulled
out another object from the paper bag. She returned and put it in his
hands. "It's sort of a set."
Nick unrolled the tissue that was wrapped around the object. It
revealed a fat white candle smelling of pine, decorated around the
bottom with wax holly leaves. He looked questioningly at Natalie.
"It's sort of a Lambert tradition," she answered his unspoken
question. "Every year at Christmas, we had a special candle that was
lit just on Christmas Day by the youngest child. It just wasn't
Christmas without our Christmas candle."
"Ah," said Nick. He got up and retrieved a book of matches from the
mantlepiece, then held them out to her, smiling slightly. "I think you
qualify as the youngest here. Would you care to light the candle?"
She carefully struck a match and lit the candle wick, then positioned
the candle next to the little poinsettia. Wordlessly the pair sat down
on the sofa and gazed at Natalie's gifts.
The poinsettia's flowers glowed even more in the warm light of the
candle flame, and the room seemed to be illuminate with a golden
warmth. The scent of pine wafted up from the candle and combined with
the earthy smell from the poinsettia plant. It was wonderful. The
elusive feeling of peace stole over Nick's entire being.
He wasn't alone on Christmas.
He glanced over at Natalie, who was staring intently at the candle,
lost in her own thoughts. He had nothing to give her, nothing at all.
He had expected to be alone, had expected to not get involved with
anyone, even this woman who held the bright thread of hope out to him.
They had agreed at the start that theirs would be strictly an
impersonal, doctor/patient relationship. There would be no questions
about either of their pasts, or their inner selves; there would just
be the present, just facts and numbers, and nothing more.
And then for some inexplicable reason she had reached out to him, and
given him a Christmas gift, and touched a place inside him he had
thought dormant and cold.
Then Nick suddenly realized he *could* give her something -- something
he knew she had wanted ever since they had met.
"Natalie," he began, and she started out of her reverie and turned
those luminous eyes on him. "Natalie, thank you. I would like to give
something to you, too, but," he made a small gesture, "this was so
unexpected. I'm a bit unprepared for something as tangible as this."
He ran the tip of his finger over the poinsettia's petals, then
dropped his eyes and studied the floor. "I know we said no questions,
but ... for your present, I'd like to give you some answers." He
looked up into her face.
She looked at him in astonishment. "You mean ... about yourself?"
He nodded. "Yes. Anything. Ask, and I'll answer."
A smile slowly spread across her face. "Anything ..." she murmured to
herself, her eyes alight as her mind raced over the thousands of
questions she had wished she could ask of this fascinating being, this
man, who had turned her perception of reality upside down, who had
lived through so much history, and who had met so many people.
"Anything at all ..."
Nick sat back and waited while she mulled over possibilities. Finally
she spoke.
"What's your real name?"
FINIS
Comments, criticisms, and pink-and-white poinsettias to
nancykam@mediaone.net
CHRISTMAS CHALLENGE: Gifts (01/01)
by Nancy Kaminski
(c) December 1998
=====================================================================
Detective Nicholas Knight sat at his desk in the nearly deserted squad
room, staring absently at his blotter, waiting for the next phone
call.
It was two in the morning on Christmas Day, and there weren't many of
them. For that matter, the phones had been quiet the entire shift. It
seemed everyone was with their families or friends, or if not, at
least allowing this one night of all nights to go by without
significantly breaking the peace.
It was Nick's first Christmas with the 26th Division. Captain
Stonetree had thought it strange that he had volunteered to work this
shift instead of taking his scheduled day off, but had accepted it
gladly anyway. Nick was single, had no family that he knew of, and as
far as he could tell, no friends. Stonetree had shrugged and put him
on the schedule with Bernstein, Meyer, Schorn, and Singh.
Nick toyed with a pencil while he looked around the room. A bedraggled
little artifical tree twinkled gamely from atop a tinsel-hung filing
cabinet. Here and there were other small reminders of the season -- a
coffee mug full of candy canes on a desk, a cheerful red poinsettia on
the reception counter, a dish of tree-shaped sugar cookies next to the
coffee pot.
Many of his coworkers had wished him a Merry Christmas over the last
few days, and he had thanked them politely and wished them the same.
They all seemed to have sensed his detachment, though, and none of the
invitations for a drink or get-together during Christmas week that
most of his coworkers received ever came his way.
Not that he would have accepted any, of course.
There had been a card from the detective at the next desk, Ben
Hoppman, with whom Nick occasionally shared small talk. Ben had stood
there, awkwardly joking about how glad he was to have Christmas Eve
off to spend with his family, even if his wife's mother had flown in
from Florida and was complaining nonstop about the cold.
Nick had been acutely aware that he himself hadn't even gone to the
effort of a card, and after shaking hands and saying the right words,
the two men had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. They got along
well enough on the job, but anything more than that didn't exist --
Nick didn't allow to exist.
Finally, Ben had simply cleared his throat and mumbled something about
getting some eggnog on the way home, and had left Nick to himself.
Alone again.
Nick sighed, and doodled aimlessly on his notepad. He found himself
sketching an impression of a skirl of dancers at a ball, elegant
skirts swirling, the couples' hands raised and clasped as they stepped
through the intricacies of a pavane. He remembered nights like that --
Christmas balls, with candles glowing warmly in the chandeliers, the
guests' faces flushed with the heat of the fire, the dance, and the
mulled wine. His perfect memory brought to him the scent of cinnamon,
oranges, and pine, the gleam of fine satin in the women's dresses, and
the dash of elegant dark suits and gaudy uniforms on the men.
But that was long ago, in a time when he had felt part of something --
if not humanity, at least of his vampire family. The three of them had
moved through society, always involved yet never attached, partaking
of the best and always leaving when it became too inconvenient to
stay.
But now... He sighed, ripped the page out of his notebook, crumpled
it, and threw it in his wastebasket. Janette had flown off to the
Continent, not telling him where she'd be. And as for his master,
well, he was nowhere to be found, the link between father and son
firmly blocked off; and whose fault was that?
He had thought that by running away from Lacroix he would be free. Yet
there was a hollowness in his soul, if he could be said to have one,
where his link with his master resided. It nagged at him like the
space where a tooth had been. The knowledge of that emptiness, and how
much he himself had contributed to it being there, bore down on him
like a weight, more so during this season of family and togetherness.
Even in absence Lacroix controlled him. Nick could almost hear the
sardonic laughter whispering in his mind.
"You are mine, Nicholas, forever..."
The phone rang and Nick picked up the receiver, glad for the diversion
from his thoughts. "26th Division, Detective Knight."
Drunken laughter filtered over the line. "Silent Knight, holy Knight,"
sang a male voice, while other voices giggled in the background. "Is
everything calm and bright, officer? Just checking!" the voice
slurred, then hiccupped. The giggling got even louder.
Nick sighed and hung up.
"Yeah, Merry Christmas to you, too," he said sourly to no one in
particular.
~~~~~~
The drive home at six in the morning had allowed a small sense of
peace to settle over Nick -- there was a thin dusting of fresh snow on
the ground, as yet unmelted by the passage of traffic and sparkling
under the streetlights; the city itself seemed quieter and cleaner
than normal. There were no early morning delivery trucks or late shift
workers hurrying to the subway to go home. The streets were deserted,
it seemed, except for him.
Once in his home, though, the feeling of loneliness and removal washed
over him again. The loft seemed bleak and cheerless, even with the
fire lit and the lamp glowing by the leather sofa.
*Why wish for what you can't have?* he told himself as he poured a
glass of breakfast. He sat down heavily on the sofa and stared into
the fireplace, sipping the thin, bitter liquid. *Get close and they
die, you know that.*
The knowledge was no consolation. It was futile, his desire for
companionship, for contact with the humanity he had left behind so
many hundreds of years ago. He had tried and failed, so many times.
*It's better this way.* He slumped back and closed his eyes.
The door buzzer sounded, startling him from his morose thoughts.
Putting down his glass, he went to the security monitor to see who was
at his door at such an early hour.
The grainy black and white picture showed masses of unruly hair under
a fuzzy knit cap, an upturned face with large eyes and a tentative
expression.
Natalie Lambert. His doctor, his confidante, his ... friend?
He pushed the button and said quietly, "Come on up, Natalie," then
stepped back facing the battered freight elevator door.
The elevator arrived with a jolt and he slid the door aside to reveal
Natalie, standing uncertainly in the center of the car. Her arms were
clutching a brown paper bag, and a smile came and went from her face,
like a lightbulb loose in its socket. "Nick?"
"Come in, Natalie. What can I do for you?" he asked.
She scuttled past him to stand awkwardly by the kitchen table,
clutching the bag to her chest as if it were protection from
something. She looked around the loft and a faint look of disapproval
crossed her face as she noted its gloominess. Finally she cleared her
throat and said, "Uh, Merry Christmas, Nick." She thrust the bag
forward. "I brought you something."
He took the bag from her and looked down at it. "Oh."
Natalie shifted her feet nervously. "I, uh, hope you don't mind. I
mean, I thought you might like it ... I mean, I knew you were working
last night, and missed Christmas, and I thought you might..." She
fluttered her hands in frustration. "Oh, why don't you just open it
and see?" Her face colored slightly in embarrassment.
Nick set the bag on the table and opened the folded-over top. Under
several layers of tissue paper he could see something whitish. He
reached in and gently removed a small pink and white poinsettia plant,
its pot gaily covered in green foil, a pink bow nestled among the
scalloped green leaves. The sharp tang of damp soil wafted into the
air. He held it up for inspection and raised his eyes to hers. "A
plant?"
"Well, I thought your loft could use a touch of Christmas, and these
new pink and white ones are so pretty. I saw it in the grocery store
and I just sort of got it on impulse." When he remained silent she
asked anxiously, "Do you like it?"
He turned the plant around in his hands. It was so out of place in the
loft. He read the care instructions on the plastic tag. It needed
light, and lots of it. How could he take care of it? His existence was
defined by the lack of what this tiny scrap of life needed.
Still silent, he carried it over to the sofa, sat down, and placed it
in the center of the coffee table. He leaned back to contemplate the
effect. The creamy white flowers, blotched with pale pink, seemed to
radiate light. Suddenly the loft wasn't quite so bleak.
"Maybe this wasn't such a good idea." Natalie edged towards the coffee
table, as if she was ready to snatch up her offering and run away.
"I'm sorry..."
Nick caught her hand as she reached for the little plant. "No, please
... It's beautiful." He held her hand for a moment then loosened his
grip. "Thank you. Merry Christmas."
She smiled, a bright flash of white teeth in the dim light. "I'm glad.
Oh, there's one more thing." She hurried back to the table and pulled
out another object from the paper bag. She returned and put it in his
hands. "It's sort of a set."
Nick unrolled the tissue that was wrapped around the object. It
revealed a fat white candle smelling of pine, decorated around the
bottom with wax holly leaves. He looked questioningly at Natalie.
"It's sort of a Lambert tradition," she answered his unspoken
question. "Every year at Christmas, we had a special candle that was
lit just on Christmas Day by the youngest child. It just wasn't
Christmas without our Christmas candle."
"Ah," said Nick. He got up and retrieved a book of matches from the
mantlepiece, then held them out to her, smiling slightly. "I think you
qualify as the youngest here. Would you care to light the candle?"
She carefully struck a match and lit the candle wick, then positioned
the candle next to the little poinsettia. Wordlessly the pair sat down
on the sofa and gazed at Natalie's gifts.
The poinsettia's flowers glowed even more in the warm light of the
candle flame, and the room seemed to be illuminate with a golden
warmth. The scent of pine wafted up from the candle and combined with
the earthy smell from the poinsettia plant. It was wonderful. The
elusive feeling of peace stole over Nick's entire being.
He wasn't alone on Christmas.
He glanced over at Natalie, who was staring intently at the candle,
lost in her own thoughts. He had nothing to give her, nothing at all.
He had expected to be alone, had expected to not get involved with
anyone, even this woman who held the bright thread of hope out to him.
They had agreed at the start that theirs would be strictly an
impersonal, doctor/patient relationship. There would be no questions
about either of their pasts, or their inner selves; there would just
be the present, just facts and numbers, and nothing more.
And then for some inexplicable reason she had reached out to him, and
given him a Christmas gift, and touched a place inside him he had
thought dormant and cold.
Then Nick suddenly realized he *could* give her something -- something
he knew she had wanted ever since they had met.
"Natalie," he began, and she started out of her reverie and turned
those luminous eyes on him. "Natalie, thank you. I would like to give
something to you, too, but," he made a small gesture, "this was so
unexpected. I'm a bit unprepared for something as tangible as this."
He ran the tip of his finger over the poinsettia's petals, then
dropped his eyes and studied the floor. "I know we said no questions,
but ... for your present, I'd like to give you some answers." He
looked up into her face.
She looked at him in astonishment. "You mean ... about yourself?"
He nodded. "Yes. Anything. Ask, and I'll answer."
A smile slowly spread across her face. "Anything ..." she murmured to
herself, her eyes alight as her mind raced over the thousands of
questions she had wished she could ask of this fascinating being, this
man, who had turned her perception of reality upside down, who had
lived through so much history, and who had met so many people.
"Anything at all ..."
Nick sat back and waited while she mulled over possibilities. Finally
she spoke.
"What's your real name?"
FINIS
Comments, criticisms, and pink-and-white poinsettias to
nancykam@mediaone.net