Chapter Five – Allegiances
Danny and Sara had spent the afternoon catching up on their caseload, then observed the implementation of their plan to trap the killer as expertly supervised by Captain Dante. The mock hospital wing had been equipped and manned to look like the real thing. Police personnel wearing medical attire were covering the area. At the end of the corridor, a policeman in uniform was stationed to give the illusion the star witness to Sandra Kensington's murder was behind the closed door. Special surveillance cameras were strategically set up to monitor hall activity and exit doors. In addition, if anyone inquired about Annie Kensington, an alert would go to the 11th Precinct. The trap had been set soon after the press coverage that released the information on the witness.
Nottingham had left Annie's side with the intention of taking a short break to shower and change his clothes and to report to Kenneth Irons. He had not returned all day and it was after midnight.
With Nottingham gone for so long, Sara hovered around Annie, worried the frail child would lapse into one of her nightmares. Where had he gone? She knew he would not be gone this long from Annie deliberately. Something must have happened with Irons. Sara paced the floor of the small hospital room watching every move the young girl made. She was growing more restless, setting up for another terror attack like last night. If Nottingham was unable to help, could the Witchblade be counted on to connect with Annie? She had no experience with this. Her anxiety was growing exponentially as the young girl's breathing became more ragged and shallow.
Annie's condition had distracted Sara or she would have noticed a tall, dark man walking slowly down the hallway toward the girl's room. He wore faded blue jeans and a white shirt under a long, dark all-weather coat. His skin was pale and his eyes were sluggish, as if he were quite ill and ready to pass out.
"Hold it, sir. Are you looking for the emergency room?" A night nurse held up her hand just outside Annie's door, but the man had already stopped, dropping his head as if he were disoriented.
Sara barely heard the exchange outside the room for she was focused on Annie's condition. The distraction didn't register at first. The young attendant called her to the door.
"What is it?" She asked.
Her jaw dropped as she gazed on Nottingham. He looked feverish and extremely pale. He was about to fall over.
"Nottingham? What happened to you? It's okay. He's helping me with Annie."
The young nurse instinctively grabbed Nottingham's elbow to help him into a chair near the child's bedside. Helping to support his other arm, Sara had her doubts that Nottingham even knew where he was. She helped him off with his coat, noticing he winced with pain as he gingerly shrugged out of it. Bandages around his wrists could be seen near the cuffs of his long-sleeved white shirt. Sara closed the door of the room to give them some privacy.
"What did he do to you, Ian?" Sara was seething in her contempt for Irons. Nottingham leaned on Annie's bed for support, grabbing her small, right hand in his. He stroked her forehead gently.
"…Not important. How is she? She doesn't…look good." He replied groggily, grimacing in pain. Sara wondered if he himself had looked in the mirror lately.
Could he make the difficult connection in his weakened state? He struggled for a focus, a center. His concern for Annie and his condition made it nearly impossible. He shook his head to clear the pain, making several attempts to connect with Annie.
"Stay close, Sara. I may need your help." Sara stared at him incredulously. What did he mean by that? If he expected her to help connect with Annie, this scared her to death. It terrified her to think her inexperience could somehow hurt the little girl…fail her.
Ian's breathing became shallow. He began to tremble as he had before, his eyes glazed over. Just as it looked as if he were about to fail in connecting with Annie once more, his right hand reached back for Sara's, grasping her hand in his. The Witchblade projected its angry red hues along the walls and ceiling of the room. Images of swirling darkness invaded Sara's mind. Flashes of the murder of Sandra Kensington burned into Sara's psyche.
Screams…gut wrenching screams
Blood…so much blood
Slashing butcher knife
Hatred…Frenzy…Kill
Annie screaming…sheer horror
Flashes of Sandra Kensington's terror immobilized Sara…encircled her in the gloom.
Someone was holding her hand in the abyss…Nottingham?
His warmth was like a beacon in the darkness.
He guided her to Annie, the screaming growing more intense as they approached her in the vast emptiness.
"Annie? It is Sir Ian. I have brought Lady Sara. We are here to safeguard you, little one."
"Sir Ian? The monster is back. He is hurting Momma again. Help me…PLEASE."
Ian was slow to respond. Annie noticed the difference in him.
"No, Annie. Lady Sara and I can…ward off the evil monster…and defend you." His voice was faint.
"What is wrong, Sir Ian? Are you there? Lady Sara?" The child was beginning to panic and was appealing to Sara for help. "Sir Ian is weaker…I can barely feel him."
Sara had noticed this as well. She stepped in.
"We're here, Annie. There are no monsters here. Sir Ian and I are with you." Sara repeated his mantra.
Nottingham had found Annie in the darkness. He led Sara to the small child, caressing her gently. He helped Sara do the same. The feeling of three souls comforting each other was amazing to Sara. They were as one…and yet separate.
Annie calmed down noticeably.
"I will help you, Sir Ian. I want to punish the monster for taking my Momma away." Her voice was guarded.
"You can not do it from inside the closet, Annie. The light of day…beckons you. Remember always…I am your knight to command at will. Are you ready to help Lady Sara and I?"
"Soon, Sir Ian. Very soon."
"I am glad, Annie. Lady Sara and I need you. Vanquishing evil is not for the faint of heart. You must be brave, my Annie. The Fair Lady and I love you very much."
Sara's heart swelled as she heard Nottingham's gentle exchange with this small child. No wonder Annie had formed such a quick bond with him. Ian's confidence in communicating to this little girl was a sharp contrast to his struggle in verbalizing with others, especially herself. In this imaginary world of Knights and Ladies, Nottingham reigned supreme and was unparalleled.
Annie started to pull back. Nottingham released Sara's hand.
Sara was pulled back into the room as Nottingham gasped in agony, sitting upright in his chair, his hands braced against the chair's arm rests. His breathing was dangerously erratic as if he were having a seizure. Staring blankly into a corner of the room, he slowed his breathing, his trembling was considerable at first but grew less discernible. While Nottingham was concentrating on his own recovery, Sara straddled his chair, unbuttoning his shirt. Part of her realized the reality of the situation, but another part was reminded of the sounds of his breathing, the smell of his skin and his hair in her carnal thoughts of him the other night. Images flashed of their telepathic connection, flooding her memory. She closed her eyes trying to clear this from her mind. Now, he needed her help. Eyes glazed over, he was oblivious to her forwardness for he was not yet back in the room with her. He moaned and lowered his head as she leaned him forward onto the bed. He was too weak to resist. She wondered if he had even been aware of what she was doing.
His back was laden with raised and swollen welts colored an angry red. The open wounds were stitched and bandaged. She looked under one of the bandages. The fresh wounds were atop old scars, giving voice to earlier violations. She had seen prior evidence of Irons' cruelty, but this had been the worst. Understanding the relationship between them stumped her.
Something else caught her eye. On his lower right side, she recognized the tattoo worn by the elite Special Forces Unit called the Black Dragons. She had first seen it during an autopsy of one of the dead Dragons. Nottingham's version was modified. His Dragon was in shackles.
Nottingham raised his head, suddenly aware of Sara next to him. Realizing she had unbuttoned his shirt and inspected the damage without his consent, he pushed her away as best he could.
"No…None of your concern. Stop it."
It took him awhile to gather the strength to rise from the chair and walk to the door. He looked back at her, then to Annie, before he departed the room slowly in silence. His fever and the constant burning pain of his wounds left him beyond caring what most people would think, but the wielder was different. In front of her, he was ashamed of this sign of weakness and degradation for she may deem him unworthy of serving her. The thought of that was intolerable. Sara debated whether she should follow him. The anguish in his eyes was obvious, and it was not just attributable to the physical pain. He would not suffer this in isolation, as he had most of his life. Whether he would allow her to help or not, she would have to try.
Like Annie, it was important for him to understand he was not alone.
Leaving the night nurse to watch over Annie for a moment, Sara walked down the hospital corridor to the chapel. She knew he would be there. As she crossed the threshold, she noticed Nottingham hunched down in one of the last pews to the left. Not being able to sit with his back against the hard wooden seat, he was kneeling, resting his head on his arms in front of him. Sliding in next to him, she listened for his breathing, waiting for him to begin.
"I almost lost her…she trusts me and I almost…" He could not finish, his face still obscured by his arms. Sara could barely hear him. His voice quaked with emotion.
"You don't have to tell me this, but…why? Why did he beat you?" Sara made the leap that it had been Irons who had tortured Nottingham. It was not much of a leap.
There was a very long period of silence. Sara was sure he would not answer her, but she would remain patient. She was rewarded for her tenacity.
"Came back from Paris early…lied by omission. My selfishness almost cost Annie." He raised his head, his chin resting on his right arm. He stared blankly ahead towards the altar, unashamed for her to see the tears that streaked his face.
"I haven't known you a very long time, but selfishness is not a trait I would associate with you. You can't give as much as you have to Annie and be selfish, Ian."
Sara pondered why Nottingham would think himself selfish. He had come back from Paris early and had not reported to Irons upon his return. Why? It took a while to do the math. Like a bolt of lightening, the answer came to her. He had come looking for her instead, finding her at the hospital. Without thinking further, she plunged ahead allowing her heart and her gut instincts to guide her.
"You came back early to see me."
Nottingham turned his head to look into her eyes. Was she reading his thoughts? Even if he had wanted to hide the truth, he could not now. His reaction had given him away.
"I'm a detective, remember? You found me the day you returned. You went to see Irons the next day. Right?" Although she knew any relationship with Nottingham would be brimming with problems, this gesture from him had touched her. It occurred to her that she just might be willing to take things a day at a time for she was beginning to see he might be worth the investment.
Still, Nottingham did not answer. He continued to stare ahead with a pained look in his eyes. To distract him, she changed the subject.
"I noticed your tattoo…a Black Dragon in shackles? Mobius had one without the…" Sara suddenly saw the irony. "Black Dragon in irons. I get it." She was embarrassed to have brought it up; afraid she had opened an old wound. She knew he had plenty of those. Nottingham shut his eyes recalling the past.
"The rest of my unit was getting the tattoo…I was already such an outcast by then, I thought it might help me fit in. Irons found out about it." Nottingham withdrew into his memories, no longer with Sara in the chapel.
"To show his disapproval of my initiative, he added the irons against my will…to make a point. I guess it was his way of branding his property." He shook his head in disgust as he recalled the incident.
Sara could feel his pain, not needing the help of the Witchblade to do so. The Black Dragons were misfits from society to begin with. For him to consider himself an outcast from this group would not be a bad thing, she reasoned. Yet, with Nottingham's history of mental abuse from Irons his whole life, he would probably view himself as a total monstrosity. She wanted to reach out to him, but did not know where to touch that would not hurt him. He was wrapped in his tormented past. Leaning closer to him on the pew, she brushed back his dark, wavy hair to gently massage his neck.
"Why do you let him hurt you, Ian? You could leave him…walk away." She pleaded.
"He would just send someone else after you…Someone who doesn't…" The feel of Sara's hands on his neck thoroughly distracted him. Caught up in his retrospection and the feverish pain of his back, he did not realize what he had just revealed. Disoriented, he tried to recall the words just fresh from his mouth.
His revelation took her by surprise. All this time, she had been confused by the relationship Nottingham had with his master, Kenneth Irons. She had made many unfair judgements, thinking Nottingham to be weak and completely dominated by Irons. It had been quite the opposite. Ian had been the strong one, tolerating his master's abuse to serve the wielder. Unbelievable! Selfish, my ass, she thought.
"What did I just say, Sara?" Nottingham looked apprehensively to her.
"You said you needed some pain medication. I distinctly heard you say that." She tried to distract him.
"No. Can't. I won't be able to reach Annie unless my head is clear. It has been hard enough…"
"Listen, Ian. You're not alone in this. You, Danny, and I are going to help Annie through this. Then, we're gonna find the bastard that killed her mother. Let's focus on that for now." Sara leaned forward in the pew to look into his eyes.
"I want to find him, Sara…kill him. It is who I am…what I do." He admitted.
Sara shook her head. Of all people, the wielder of the Witchblade would understand Nottingham as a warrior and his view of life and death. She was sure Ian had developed his own sense of right and wrong to help him justify his actions, despite Irons' wanting to create a mindless, soulless mercenary, completely subjugated to his will. If this were not true, he would not be willing to sacrifice so much for Annie.
"Don't you see, Nottingham…Ian. That is not all you are. You are Annie's white knight. She has a chance to come out of this because of you. I am so proud of you." Sara's eyes welled with tears. With all his pain, Nottingham still found something to give to Annie.
Sara had called him Annie's white knight. As Ian reflected on this, he knew he had spent a lifetime walking a fine line between light and dark, a line he had to develop by himself with only Irons as his adult role model. The light held no particular fascination for him in the traditional sense for he had made up his own version of the light over the years. Since childhood, his fantasy of being a knight helped him escape the cruel reality of his existence. That is why he chose this fantasy for Annie so instinctively, to insulate her from the repeated terrors of reliving her mother's death. It had been a very familiar friend to him and he hoped it would be for her as well.
Sara could see him fading fast; all was reflected in those beautiful eyes of his.
"Come on…let's get you to bed. You're so weak the night nurse could take you down." He grimaced as he painfully stood, straightening his back. Sara was proud of him. Had he heard that right? No matter. He could withstand any amount of pain for her.
"Lean on me, Ian. Always." She smiled as he put his right arm around her shoulders. She, in turn, grabbed his far, left belt loop of his jeans with her left hand. He would have to add the expression she had on her face right now to his list of favorites. She continued.
"It's not much, but you would be doing me a favor if you took the cot…Hell, in your condition, you probably think I'm being considerate." She smirked. He smiled weakly at her attempt at humor.
"I would do anything to please you, Lady Sara." He replied, dishing it back.
"Humor, Sir Ian? Is that humor?" Sara chuckled for the two of them as they slowly walked back to Annie's room. What Sara had taken as humor had been his reason for living and may one day be his reason for dying. Still, he wanted her to have her moment of humor for he could live a lifetime in one of her smiles.
It would be her turn to take care of him, she thought.
Back in Annie's room, she helped him slip off his shirt. "Don't move. Let me do all the work." She spoke softly.
Kneeling at his feet, she helped him slip off his hiking boots that had been laced loosely. If they had known each other better, she may have gotten him to remove his blue jeans, but not tonight. Nottingham objected to Sara's subservient actions.
"No, Sara. You don't have to…"
In his weakened state, she could probably take advantage of him, a thought that did not entirely displease her. To distract her from her carnal thoughts, she let him go to the restroom to clean up a little while she visited the nurse's station to get some aspirin for his fever. He was just coming out as she returned.
"Here…take these." The questioning look in his eyes brought a quick reply from Sara.
"Don't worry…this is only aspirin…for your fever." She handed him a glass of water and the pills, and watched as he downed the medication.
"Let me help you lie down on the cot. Face down…" He moaned with his discomfort.
Sara filled a nearby water pitcher with cool water from the bathroom. Hugging the pillow under his head, he lay on the cot, his face turned toward her. After soaking a washrag in water, she gently dabbed the cool compress to his exposed swollen abrasions and cuts on his back. Recalling a childhood lullaby her father used to hum to her as she nodded off to sleep, she quietly recounted the melody, bringing back memories of her father and lulling Nottingham to sleep in the process. His beautiful mocha-colored eyes wavered for a short while, but then he was down for the count. His muscles relaxed and his breathing had become rhythmic and steady. She knew he no longer heard her singing but continued for a long while after he had fallen asleep.
A part of her knew Nottingham had never been sung to sleep before…until now.
*****
Unable to sleep, visions of Nottingham's torture still fresh in his mind, Irons sat bolt upright in bed. Had it all been a nightmare? No, his recollections had been too vivid. He had done it all right, as he had many times before, always followed by the accompanying guilt. Mercifully, the guilt did not linger. Kenneth Irons did not do guilt. It was a sign of weakness. Laying back the comforter on his custom-made bed, he pulled on his black silk robe over matching pajamas, and headed down the hall to young Nottingham's room.
Ian's room was dark and cold. Dawn would not arrive for another two hours, pouring its warm rays through the windows across the room. Feeling for the lamp atop the console table to his right, Irons illuminated the room. His servant was no where to be found. His bed lay rumpled where he had collapsed earlier, his blood still staining the comforter. Irons quickly searched the room, fearing Ian had passed out on the floor. He found nothing. Nottingham was gone.
His anger boiled to the surface again. His loyal servant had chosen another to serve. Irons knew he would have to deal with this betrayal once and for all.
