Chapter Four – Alliance
"Always remember…the less emotional attachment you have, the less vulnerable you'll be. Isolation is safety. Virginity is invulnerability."
Kenneth Irons (to a young Nottingham)
The upper floor to the old warehouse had not been occupied in a very long time. It smelled musty and damp. His footfalls echoed in the cavernous space as he stepped inside. The door to the west section of the floor creaked as he quietly entered, setting down the canvass bags he carried, containing hastily grabbed articles of clothing, the money he had taken from his father, the illegal arms evidence, and a few well chosen weapons and ammunition from the Estate. All his worldly possessions were held in these bags with much of it stolen. It was a sad commentary, he thought. Yet, this was the life he had chosen…in order to serve her.
Ian Nottingham had a total of eight 'safe houses' set up throughout the city of New York and in a few outlying areas. He had saved money through the years to acquire them, knowing he would need them eventually, taking a cue from his master when he would change bedrooms every night. Each one of the locations had a floor safe installed. He had stocked many with clothing, weapons, ammunition, food, water, medical supplies, money, and sundry hidden reserves. Over the years, Ian had been patient to secure these sites, using the same secretive measures his father practiced when acquiring his wealth and properties. He had learned well from the man for Irons knew nothing of these locations. Irons' own ego and presumption had kept him from suspecting his minion of anything other than complete and unwavering allegiance. A couple of these hideaways were within eyesight of Sara's loft or the Eleventh Police Precinct. He had acquired these locations most recently, once he had known the identity of the next wielder, Sara Pezzini.
The room was growing dark. Only a faint orange haze was cast upon the brick walls of the chamber as the sun was making its descent, fading for one more day. He had spent the daylight hours scouring the alley where Sara had fought her attackers. He found no trace of the weapon. The police had the area cordoned off with their yellow tape and investigators had spent their time looking for clues and evidence. The bodies had been taken to the morgue before dawn, but the crime scene photographers had remained for part of the day preserving and cataloging even the smallest details of the incident. He had to be careful not to be spotted. Many of Dante's own men had been there…and would know him on sight. He remained hidden for much of the daylight hours, choosing his times to do his own investigation from nearby rooftops and under cover of darkness after the police had completed their initial investigation…but to no avail.
The blade was gone.
The police could have confiscated it as evidence, but if this were the case, Dante's men could have their hands on it. Would Irons have let Dante know he was looking to secure the bracelet? Knowing the man, he suspected his master had not been so forthright about it. He had planned a visit to Captain Dante anyway. Perhaps he would ask him directly about this…along with other points he would want to make clear to the Police Captain.
Nottingham had killed the only other remaining witnesses. Sara had been unconscious and may not be of help in this regard. His thoughts drifted to the three homeless people he had recalled seeing in the alley. Having a photographic memory, he would remember their faces if he were to see them again. Perhaps they would know what had happened to the blade. It would give him something to take his mind off what his beloved must be going through by now.
He had resisted peering out of the dirty west windows towards Sara's loft, but now he just wanted to see her face. With his gloved hand, he cleared some dirt from the nearest windowpane. His stomach growled for he had not eaten all day. He searched the windows across the street, looking for just a glimpse of her. The loft was dark, except for the room nearest the fire escape. He knew from experience that her kitchen and living room area were just inside. He had spent one night in Sara's bed, holding and comforting little Annie, a small child that had recently lost her mother to a crazed serial killer. Little Annie had touched him deeply, and having Sara to awaken to, made him yearn for something more…making him question his choices to blindly serve Irons. It was also Ian's custom to sit on Sara's fire escape or use it to make small overtures of groceries and other treats for her, without her knowledge. She had affectionately started to call him her stalker.
He still had not seen her.
His back was beginning to ache. Even the old scars under the fresh wounds had begun to hurt. He was burdened by the memory of just how he had acquired his most recent injuries. His master had found him being less than honest about his recent trip to Paris on Irons' behalf. Nottingham had returned home from a highly successful trip, one that made his father a richer man…if that were even possible. Nottingham had made him millions of dollars in arms sales, far exceeding expectation in that regard, yet Irons had reacted to his deceit, for Ian had tried to cover up the fact he had returned a day early…to see Sara. Irons had not tempered his anger. He chose to administer a brutal lashing as punishment. Nottingham's mind drifted to that day…He could almost feel the pain once more.
Ian fought to stay upright, but could not stand. He had sunk to his knees as the Estate's security personnel freed him from the shackles that bound his cut wrists. Shaking with the pain, he could not raise his head.
"You put up with this to stand between me and the wielder. You know this…and I know this." Irons revealed, attired in clean clothes once again. The clothes he had worn earlier had been stained by Ian's own blood.
Nottingham could not see him, nor did he want to see the man that had just lain open his back. It took him a long while before he could stand with the assistance of a nearby wall and a strategically positioned chair. Still, he had not cried out in agony, not wanting to give his abuser the satisfaction. Irons had watched his exertion without aiding him. He almost did not hear Nottingham's faint response.
"Do with me what you will…I have long since stopped caring." Ian left the room with as much dignity as he could muster.
Blocking the painful memory from his mind, Ian tried to remember the last time that he had cleaned the wounds. Perhaps it had been two days. He had at least a week's worth of antibiotics remaining of a supply generously provided by Irons' and his physician, the one who had stitched him up after the beating his father had also been generous in giving. Growing up under Irons' tutorship, it had never been difficult to acquire antibiotics or pain medications…a side benefit he wished he had not found necessary. Retrieving his medical supplies, he found a bottle of peroxide. Removing his long, black coat and his black turtleneck sweater, he poured the stinging solution down his back, hoping it would be enough to stave off an infection. It would have to be. He winced with the pain, yet he knew there was no comparison to the agony she must be feeling with the excruciating anguish of withdrawal from the ancient weapon. He had heard of this from Irons' own experience once he was old enough to appreciate his father's confidences.
Shirtless, he began to shiver with the chill in the room as the effervescing action of the peroxide had intensified. Closing his eyes, in this ever darkening and lifeless space, he deepened his breathing, thinking of the last time that he had been truly happy. It had been the last day he held little Annie in his arms…and kissed his beloved Sara for the first time.
"Farewell, Sir Ian. I love you." Annie had conveyed to him telepathically.
"No more than I love you, My Lady." Nottingham would miss his angel.
Nottingham's eyes welled with tears, making it hard for him to see Annie's face as it grew smaller and smaller. Genetically enhanced sight did no good if tears obscured the view. Nottingham and Sara stood together on the curb long after the cab carrying Annie away had rounded the corner. They both knew that their reason for being together the last few days had just departed. They would have to find another reason to stay together.
Looking into Sara's eyes, Nottingham had wanted to kiss her, but knew he had no right to expect it. It was as if a prayer, that he would not have dared to vocalize, had finally been answered. He gasped with the first touch of her lips to his…for Sara had taken the initiative. Wrapping his arms around her, he did not know where to put his hands, anxious that he might hurt her in his zeal. He drew her to his chest only to find her body fit perfectly into his. As the tip of her tongue parted his lips gently, he was astonished at the sensation. Chills shot through his body as their tongues intertwined. He gained more confidence as she reacted to his growing desire. He never wanted this moment to end.
Yet, it had ended…and here he sat, alone…unable to comfort her.
His alert eyes caught movement in Sara's loft across the street. He knelt by the window to get the best view. By the light of a solitary lamp in the living room, he could see his beloved as she clutched her stomach in obvious pain. Her face was contorted with it. As she rocked with her anguish, Nottingham found himself moving in the same fashion…in a different kind of agony. He desperately tried to will her pain to cleave to him, freeing her of it. If this were possible, he would have done it long ago.
Wracked with her suffering, Sara would not be able to function like this. His mind and body had been trained to protect the wielder…but his heart had grown to love the woman behind the blade. Given his situation, he could do nothing for her, not as a protector, nor as a man. His mind filled with his own disdain for he was powerless to help her. Even from this distance, he could see her tear streaked face. His own tears had started to course down his cheeks, as he rocked in silence.
Nottingham had long admired Sara's courage and strength of character. Her fearlessness far surpassed his. Just the fact that she was willing to unselfishly give her life in service to others, first in her police work and now with accepting the Witchblade as its wielder, trying to stalwartly bring justice to a chaotic world. As he was reminded of this, he wanted to take a page from her book, to find a way to change their situation. Surely, there was a way to do this.
Earlier in the day, Ian had noticed one of Dante's men in surveillance of Sara. Just as he had suspected, he would not be able to make contact with her without being scrutinized. It would only be a matter of time before Irons would know where he was hiding, for he would never be far from his beloved. Irons would surely see to it that he was killed or severely beaten, neither option would provide any assistance to Sara in her search for the blade. Having seen the Witchblade choose Sara, Ian knew she was a true wielder, without question.
He had faith in her…but now he would have to have courage as well. He needed to trust another soul…besides Sara. He could not remain in isolation. Growing up under Irons' thumb, he had been brainwashed to believe that isolation was safety. His heart rate escalated just thinking about reaching out to another person…to make contact and ask for help. He had sought Gabriel Bowman's help before with Sara…trusting his beloved to the man. Now, he would have to trust his own safety to him…and Sara's future. All he knew, at this moment, was that he could not continue to see her deteriorate. He would not stand idly by and watch her suffer.
He would have to borrow a piece of her courage. Her life depended on it.
*****
The doors to Talismaniac had been closed for at least two hours, but Gabriel Bowman was not a slave to the clock. He enjoyed his work and was busy with a new display of illuminated manuscripts. The lighting on the display case needed to be just right to capture the soft, radiant pages of the gilded text. He stood back and admired his work. The brightness of the light blinded him for a moment. His attention was totally on the manuscript; otherwise he might have seen a dark figure moving soundlessly towards him in the shadows just beyond his peripheral vision.
"Good evening, Gabriel." Nottingham's voice was quiet, almost a whisper. Yet, the sound of it made Gabe jump a foot. Spinning to his left, the young man turned to see Irons' assassin within his reach…or rather; he was within Nottingham's reach.
"How did you get in here? I thought I locked the door. The store is closed." His attempt to appeal to Ian's sense of fair play with adherence to his store hours was futile. He failed to realize that prosaic rules did not apply to Nottingham.
The larger man clad in black started a slow roam throughout the store, but even though his eyes seemed to be focused on the rare inventory, Nottingham never lost sight of the young man. Those eyes made the hairs on the back of Gabe's neck curl. Gabriel realized after several minutes that he had not taken a breath. Only his burning lungs forced him to gasp, bringing in some much-needed air. Gabe was amazed at how quietly Ian moved…as if he were floating in space. If he had not seen him with his own eyes, he would swear he was still alone surrounded by the silence of his store.
"I am sorry to intrude." Nottingham was now less than two feet from Gabe. If he were intent on harm, now would be the time to inflict it. Why would an assassin be here unless it was to do what he does best…assassinate? Gabe thought. Seeing the fear in the young man's eyes, even though Gabe was trying to hide it, made Nottingham soften his stare. He looked down and tried to trust this young man to do the right thing. He had come too far for Sara's sake.
"I have come to ask…" Nottingham turned his head, as if he were struggling with the proper words. "I need your help, Gabriel." Ian's jaw tightened but he kept his eyes downcast.
"You? You need help from me? What? You having a music CD crisis and need to find just the right party mix?" Gabe was still in shock with Nottingham's request. "You thinking of having a kegger with some retro 70s music and want to check out my collection?" Gabe thought his own voice sounded like that of a stranger.
"I am assuming that you are attempting to lighten the tone with a bit of humor, Gabriel…but I am really not in the mood." Ian raised his eyes to look directly into the young man's soul.
Oh great…just pissed off the most deadly man on the planet…besides Arnold Schwarzenegger…Not a smart move, Bowman! Gabe thought.
"Sara's life is at stake. Please. Assist me in helping her." Ian pleaded. "I cannot risk her life by aiding her directly…I need you to act as a go-between…so I can serve her through you." Nottingham seemed almost human, operative word being 'almost', Gabe thought. Gabriel strengthened his backbone and his resolve when the conversation shifted to his friend Sara, under the pretense that he had more courage than he actually possessed at the moment. Every time he looked into Nottingham's eyes, he felt a chill that seemed to grip his heart with icy, malicious fingers.
"Look…I don't know what your intentions are with Sara. She was pretty…banged up the other night." Gabriel raised his voice and squared his body off, facing the man he feared. He gave a false sense of bravado that was soon dashed when his voice cracked like he was still in puberty.
"How is she?" Ignoring Gabriel's insolence, Nottingham asked what he truly wanted to know. His concern was apparent. It was all reflected in his eyes…when he wanted it to be.
What was up with this guy? Gabe wondered. He stared at the larger man for a long moment, not sure what to make of the situation. Trying to get his heart back in his chest and keep his breathing from sounding like gale force winds, he calmed down.
"She's fine…just some bumps and bruises. She took a pretty good hit on the head." Gabe watched Nottingham's reaction. It seemed to pain him to hear of her injuries. Gabe thought it was about time to take the offense.
"Tell me something. Did you take the Witchblade from her? Does Irons have it back?" Nottingham's reaction to his words seemed genuine. His head snapped up, as if he had been slapped. Anger flashed in his eyes at the impertinence of Sara's friend. Stepping to within inches of Gabriel, pinning him up against his lighted manuscript display case, he coldly confronted him…more force of habit than out of any real animosity for this man. He had to force himself to understand Gabriel did not know about his devotion to Sara or he would not have accused Ian of such a transgression.
With Irons' assassin in his face, Gabe caught his breath and held it, being reminded just how fragile life could be.
"I would never betray her like that…She is the true wielder. I am sure of it." Ian spoke with such conviction. "I have been…" He paused, catching the words as they came from his mouth. He was not used to trusting anyone else…but he must…for her sake. Trust him, Nottingham reminded himself. He backed off of Gabriel, giving the man an opportunity to release the breath Ian knew he had been holding.
As Nottingham stepped away from him, Gabe emptied his lungs and closed his eyes giving a brief moment of thanks to all that was cosmic in the universe. Gabriel had never seen such a passionate reaction from a man that Gabe thought could kill with the same detached ease as throwing out a discarded gum wrapper. Despite his anxiety around Nottingham, Gabriel's attention was now totally given to this dark and enigmatic stranger that truly seemed to care for his friend Sara.
"I have been looking for the Gauntlet…to place it back in its rightful place…on Sara's wrist." Nottingham was not sure Gabriel believed him. He must find a way to gain the man's trust…just as he struggled to place his trust in return. Ian needed to speak candidly with Gabriel…say what was in his heart. Sara needed their alliance.
"It is my belief that the men in the alley were connected to Captain Bruno Dante. He is the leader of a corrupt band of police officers calling themselves the White Bulls…who sometimes work in conjunction with orders from Kenneth Irons, my former…employer." Nottingham had never spoken against Irons in this manner. Even though his master had severed the ties between them, it pained him to betray him like this. Yet, for Sara's sake, he would do the unthinkable.
"Sara is still in danger…and you, if you continue to help her. She is under their surveillance." Nottingham conveyed the unvarnished truth, wanting to know just how determined Gabe was to stick by Sara.
"Being a friend of Pez has not been the safest move I've ever made, but you don't expect me to turn my back on her, do you?" Gabe turned his head toward Ian with concern in his eyes as if asking for the man's guidance.
"No…it is my hope that you continue…to be Sara's friend. She needs you…to give her what…what I cannot." He replied fervently but with a catch in his voice. He fought back the tears at having to say these words…that Sara needed someone other than himself.
"Why? Why would they single out Sara…and try to kill her?" Gabe really wanted to know the answer to this question. He wondered if Irons' protégé would provide it.
"I believe that my father…my employer was seeking retaliation against me…for departing the Estate…the way I did." The anguish in his eyes was also reflected in his carefully chosen words. Father? If Nottingham thinks of Irons as his father, then how can this man be trusted? Gabe thought.
"Why did you leave, Nottingham?" It wasn't just idle curiosity. Gabe must know his answer if the dialogue was going to continue. He did not want to intrude into the man's private affairs, but if the reason for Nottingham's departure had brought this hell to Sara's door, then he wanted to know if this arrangement to act as go-between with Nottingham would add fuel to an already out of control fire.
Ian knew he must answer this truthfully, but this was all too personal…too agonizing to reveal to this stranger. He would have to stop short of the complete truth. He wasn't even sure that he himself could face the complete and unvarnished truth.
"My master…severed the ties that bound us together…irreparably, I am afraid. I could not stay any longer." A solitary tear rolled down his cheek. Images of that day flashed into Nottingham's head…His own father asking him to commit suicide and providing the very weapon to do it. He turned his head to hide the tears welling in his eyes, but Gabriel had caught the glistening trace of a single tear as he turned to look away. "Please…do not press me to say anything more."
It was obvious to Gabriel that his question was an intrusion into something quite personal for Nottingham. Trusting his judgement, he let it drop and moved on to his next question.
"Why do you want to help her?" Gabe asked, more willing to listen to Ian's response. In quiet reflection, it took Nottingham a moment to respond.
"Since I was a boy of eight…I have been in training to serve the next wielder. I was there in the Midtown Museum when the blade made its choice. It chose Sara Pezzini…just as it had been foretold. Irons never understood that. In his insolence, he wanted to circumvent the blade's will, intervene somehow. He was wrong then…and he is wrong now to interfere." Nottingham's voice was thick with his conviction…and his love. Gabe wondered if the man knew he was in love with her.
"What if she isn't the true wielder? What if she is just Sara, the cop…not destined for anything but a lousy pension?" The man named for an archangel was playing devil's advocate…with the devil himself.
Gabe watched Ian carefully. If Nottingham had trained his whole life to serve the wielder…and had fallen in love with Sara the woman, then he must be in agony over this. Would there be room in Nottingham's life for Sara, the Pretender? Gabe wondered.
Nottingham had been pacing the aisle next to Gabe. His breathing had escalated.
"Call it an act of blind faith, Gabriel. There is no doubt in my mind that Sara Pezzini is the true wielder. She must be! I have seen it…had dreams about her from other lifetimes…we have known each other in other lifetimes." Nottingham stepped within a foot of the younger man, beseeching him with his eyes, as if Gabriel had the power to make it all true.
Gabe had gotten the distinct impression that Nottingham was trying to convince himself. There was no room for doubt because there couldn't be. In Nottingham's mind, life would not exist for him if Sara were not a part of it…with or without the blade.
Before passing judgement on the choices Nottingham had made in his life…from his very childhood to now, Gabe wanted to speak to his friend Sara. Surely, she and her self-proclaimed protector would have spoken about his feelings for her. He had observed Ian being so cryptic with her that maybe this was not the case. If he had been as ambiguous as Nottingham when asking women on dates, he would still be a virgin for cryin' out loud, Gabe thought. How did this man ever get laid?
As he now looked upon the man himself, Gabriel was reminded that he had looked into Nottingham's background out of his own curiosity after having a conversation with Sara. His natural inquisitiveness and concern for his friend compelled him to launch his own research campaign into the sketchy details of the assassin's life. Even with all Gabriel's abilities and affinity for detail, he could find no birth certificate. It was only Kenneth Irons' love for the camera that permitted Gabe to find photos in the news media of Irons and his protégé in various stages of Nottingham's upbringing. Irons himself never seemed to age. Gabe also noted that when Nottingham was in the photo, it was never in the forefront. As he grew older, Ian's presence could only be found in the obscure background behind the unconventional billionaire…his father, as Nottingham had just admitted. Gabriel also noticed that Nottingham's facial expressions had grown more submissive and passive over the years.
And something else could be seen if you looked hard enough. A growing sadness was present in the assassin's most expressive eyes, even now. Gabriel had guessed that Ian was nearer his age than what was reflected in his demeanor. He could only imagine how his own life would have been influenced by the unthinkable upbringing of Kenneth Irons.
Gabe was beginning to understand that Ian had done something extraordinary however…he had opened up to another person, knowing how difficult it would be…taking the risk to selflessly help Sara. He had witnessed a metamorphosis tonight as the legendary assassin Ian Nottingham had transformed into a real human being. Gabriel extended his hand to the man.
"What can I do to help?" Gabe offered.
Nottingham knew why Sara valued this man's friendship. His integrity was there in his eyes and in the simple gesture he was now making. Removing the leather glove and his ring Excaliber from his right hand, clutching them both in his left, he grasped Gabriel's hand and shook it solidly.
"Thank you, Gabriel." Ian simply replied. "I will not betray your trust."
The alliance had been struck, but would the two of them be enough to make a difference.