Manifestations

Sara couldn't think of the last time she'd laughed so hard. If Conchobar hadn't been sitting next to her she probably would have fallen on the ground, her arms around her sides, gasping for breath, just so she could laugh more.

"Wait, no," Danny said with an outrageous smile. "It gets better! She follows me into the bathroom and keeps hammering at me."

"Sara," Conchobar said, impressed at her audacity.

"And of course, the guys are out of there like rats on a sinking ship and Sara just stairs at them, like it's their problem, you know."

"Oh, Sara," Danny's wife, Li, said, rolling her eyes as she chuckled.

"Then," Danny said between his own hearty laughs. "She looks at this one guy who's getting out of their as quickly as possible you know, and says 'Hey, buddy, wash your hands!'"

For well over a minuet the table was hopelessly lost in a fit of laughter.

Finally, Li composed herself enough to stand up and start clearing the table. "Conchobar, could you hand me the rolls."

"Ah, Li, let me help you with that," Sara said, standing.

"No, no, why don't you all go into the living room. I'll bring the coffee out in a minute."

"You don't want any help?" Sara asked.

"Look at you," Danny said laughing, "married for less than a month and you're already domesticated."

Sara opened her mouth to object but her husband beet her too it. "I certainly hope not! My wife has a damn good job, and she's damn good at it too. I'd much rather tell my buddy's back in Ireland that my wife's a detective then a house keeper. Make's life more interestin.'"

Sara smiled broadly at Danny, essentially saying 'don't I have the best husband in the world?'

Danny smiled and chuckled and said, "Come on, let's go sit in the living room."

"Hey," Sara said as the made the short trip from one room into the other. "Speaking of work, I meant to ask you but I got swept up in this new case; anything interesting happen while I was gone?"

"Yeah, actually," Danny said, lowering himself into an armchair while Sara and Conchobar, their hands intertwined, sunk into the loveseat. "There was a Pimp, murdered, but it was . . . suspicious."

"Suspicious?" Sara asked. "When the bad guy gets murdered it's usually pretty much cut and dry."

"Yeah, that's the thing. It's not. For starters the guy was killed by a 45, standard cop issue."

Sara shrugged, "So what, lot's of people have 45's."

"There were no shell casings at the scene."

"We got a pissed off street walker who gets fed up with her pimp and just happens to be smarter than the average hooker."

Danny laughed, "That's pretty much what Jake said. But we also got a witness."

"Oh," Sara said a little sarcastically. "That could be useful."

"She won't talk."

"Or not."

"But I know she knows a cop did it."

Sara leaned forward, her voice hushed. "A cop?"

"Yeah," Danny said, "The girl, her name's Charlene, she's scared to death. Won't say a word unless we can protect her."

Sara suddenly got a very strong image of a young girl with blond hair in a skimpy skit and a tight t-shirt. The girl was behind bars, looking scared and frightened. Detective Orlinsky swaggered by and Sara heard her own voice say, 'Just between you and me, that guy was our killer wasn't he?'

"Sara?" Conchobar asked softly and kindly as he put his hand at the base of her neck and squeezed gently. "Y'alright."

"Ah, yeah," Sara stuttered. "Just a little shocked."

" Don' the police have an Internal Affairs unit or somthin'?" Conchobar asked. "Couldn' they help?"

"You don't just accuse a cop of abusing his power on a suspicion. I mean, even if we could get Charlene to point the finger it'd be a hooker's word against an officer's. Who would you believe?"

"I see the problem," Conchobar said.

"More than that," Sara added, as if she were coming to a realization. "They mostly kill people we'd label as bad guys. Who's gonna miss a pimp here or a drug dealer there?"

"They?" Danny asked. "Sara, There's no reason to believe there was more than one guy in on this."

"Dante called off the investigation, Danny."

"Yeah, so, he does that all the time."

"Mostly when pimps and drug dealers are the victims."

"So your saying Dante's been killing all those people?"

"Not just him, a whole group of them. A string of corrupt cops."

"Sara," Danny said frankly. "You're started to sound like a conspiracy theorist."

"It's not a theory, Danny, It's a fact."

"You have no evidence."

Sara opened her mouth and closed it again. She knew she had evidence, she just couldn't remember what it was. Thankfully, that was the moment Li came out of the kitchen with the coffee and the subject turned to more pleasant things, like the boost in Conchobar's CD sales after the article on their wedding and what the best color to paint a nursery would be.

* * *

Sara looked at Conchobar sleeping peacefully in the bed they shared. She stroked his hair, leaned forward, kissed his forehead, and got out of bed. She just wasn't tired.

Sara loved the city at night, the way the streetlights gave everything a sort of soft glow and how the emptiness made her footsteps echo. The city was a different world at night, most people knew that. But most people assumed it was a darker, eviler world. Sara knew enough to know that evil and darkness wasn't afraid of the daylight, they operated pretty much 24/7. As far as Sara was concerned, city nights were just more magical, more enchanted, and more wondrous.

"The darkness calls to you, Sara," the creepy yet familiar voice of Ian Nottingham said right at her ear. "As it calls to me. It seduces us with the promise of secrecy and beguiles us with all it holds within its shadows. We can lose ourselves in it all too easily. At times I wonder if I am already lost."

"Hey Ian," Sara said casually. "Thanks for the sword. Where'd you get it?"

"It was one of the forgotten pieces in Vorschlag's art collection."

"Really?" Sara said. "Irons know you gave it away?"

"He would be a fool not to."

"That doesn't answer my question."

"The sword is truly one of a kind. It was forged for and Irish King to give to his Queen on their wedding night."

"He gave her a claymore on their wedding night?"

"Yes."

"Lucky girl."

"I would be tempted to say that Cathain's love was one of a kind, only I know that not to be true."

"What'cha talking about?"

"What did your Conchobar give you on your wedding night Sara?"

"That," Sara said laughing. "Is none of your business."

"Unfortunately, you are correct in that. My business, it would seem, has turned to a very unsettling affair." They had been walking, side by side, down the dark street. He suddenly pivoted and was standing right in front of her, blocking her path and holding her with his intense brown eyes. "Do you know, Sara, can you imagine what it is like to realize that you are the villain in a cosmic story. That your role is not to aid the heroine but to hinder her. That betrayal and deceit are your stock in trade. Do you know, Sara, what it is to discover your place in the world and find that you despise it?"

"No," Sara said very slowly and very emphatically. Ian was getting creepy, which was normal for him, but there was a desperation in his eyes that was entirely new.

"Of course you wouldn't," Ian said looking away. "I truly do wish all happiness to you and your new husband. I pray that every second fate allows you to share with him will be a comfort and a joy."

"Thanks," Sara said. She suddenly wanted to be home and have Conchobar in her arms.

As if he knew her very thoughts, he said, "Yes, go home to your warm bed and husband's embrace. But before you do, there is something you must know. Gabriel Bowman is not to be trusted."

"What!" Sara said. For the second time that day, Ian had given her something that stretched the bounds of believability.

"He knows this to be true, which is why he will not contact you. If you are wise, you will do all in your power to avoid him."

"Your nuts," Sara told Ian boldly. "Gabriel is one person I know I can trust."

"You will do what you feel is right, naturally, but my conscience, and I do have one Sara, although it is often overpowered by stronger voices, would not allow me to leave you unwarned."

"Well," Sara said hesitantly. "Thanks."

Ian bowed, nobly, turned and was about to disappear into the darkness when Sara yelled. "Wait!"

The man in black hesitated, and looked back at her over his shoulder, "Do you require something of me, Lady Sara?"

"Yeah," Sara said with more bravado than she felt. She wasn't quite sure exactly what she was asking for, but she knew, beyond all doubt, that Ian Nottingham would give it to her. "I want my father's tape."

Ian actually seemed, for a second, startled. "Why would you think I would have anything of your father's in my possession?"

Sara took a deep breath and stepped forward, feeling more confident by the second. "I don't know why you have it or why you took it. I do know I want it back."

"That, I'm afraid, is not possible."

"Yes," Sara insisted. "It is. Tell ya what, you can either get that tape to me by, say, tomorrow. Or I can come and get it."

Ian seemed to consider these two options for a long moment. Finally he said, "Your father's videocassette will be delivered to you tomorrow. I suggest, however, that you carefully consider with whom you view it. Such decisions are a matter of life and death."

"Thanks," Sara said, nodding. She was more curious than ever to know what was on that tape, and more bewildered by the fact she even knew it existed. "I'll keep that in mind."

* * *

Jake put his face in his hands and starred at the video. He rewound it, stared at it some more. It still had the same images. He still had to come to the same conclusions.

"Hey Jake," Danny said, somewhat jovially as he walked into the office. "How's it goin'?"

"Ahh," Jake stuttered. He reached over and stopped the VCR so that the TV screen was nothing but static.

"Is that the surveillance tape from the club?" Danny asked before taking a swig of coffee out of his Styrofoam cup. Danny winced at the heat or the bitterness, Jake didn't know which, and when he spoke again his voice sounded a little forced. "Does our murderer have a face?"

"Ahh, yeah," Jake said dismissively before switching the subject. "Danny, can I ask you a question?"

"Sure."

"Do you think you can know whether or not someone is a murder?"

"Of course you can, evidence, testimonies . . ."

"No," Jake insisted. "I mean, can you know if someone does or does not have the potential to murder?"

"Well, Jake, I don't know. Most people seem surprised to find out someone they know killed another person."

"Yeah," Jake said. "We don't get very many people saying 'He was a total jackass. I saw it comin' a mile away.' But that's the average person, the people that only know about murder through TV and Movies. I mean us, you, me, Pez, detectives. We know what to look for, you think we could spot a murderer?"

"I'd like to think I'd catch the signs. Why?"

"Watch," Jake said as he pushed play on the VCR.

When the tape was done Danny just shook his head in disbelief. "That's just . . . I don't know, he never seemed . . ."

"My point exactly," Jake said.

* * *

Sara kissed Conchobar awake, a much harder task than it seems in the movies. When he did finally wake up he laughed at her, because she was kissing him with a decidedly frustrated expression on her face. Conchobar loved her for many reasons, but one of them was the way she laughed. He was the type of person who could laugh at just about anything. Growing up so close to the death and destruction of the IRA, a good sense of humor was necessary to stay sane. And Sara was not too good to laugh at his crude jokes, even if she shook her head scoldingly as she did it. Nor was she too proud to laugh at herself when he found her funny. Perhaps best of all was that, instead of comforting him or scolding him when he did something truly idiotic, she would laugh with him.

So when she left the apartment for a day's hard work out on the hard streets, the devoted husband couldn't help but find the apartment empty and full of quiet. He had opted to move into her place because, while they both had apartments big enough for two people with comparable rents and equally convenient locations, she had the cooler refrigerator, and he had less stuff. His plan was simple; he would pull all his boxes into the living room and then sort them out into piles by room, and then organize each room individually. If carried out correctly there would only be one very big mess instead of a plethora of small messes throughout the apartment. Unfortunately, as soon as he built up the self-determination to begin he was distracted by the claymore in the middle of the room.

He looked at it for a moment, wondering what he should do with it. Sara hadn't told him what Ian had told her last night, about the sowed being a gift to Cathain from her lover on their wedding night. If he had known that he would have gladly mounted it on the wall, it would have been his prize possession. But all he knew was that it was a very odd gift given by a disquieting man who Sara didn't want to talk about and he wanted to know more. Ignoring his doctor's orders not to lift anything over twenty pounds for three weeks he hoisted the blade out of the box, warped it in newspaper and duct tape and grabbed a taxi to Ulysses Ave.

Gabriel buzzed Conchobar up and was smiling broadly as he opened the door to let the Irishman in. "Conchobar, I'm honored by your visit. I didn't think you'd grace my shop with your presence unless you had the lovely Sara by your side."

Conchobar smiled back, nodded, and entered the shop very cautiously. He didn't know why, but every instinct in his body was urging him not to trust this prolific blue-eyed boy in front of him. "Yeah, well, she's so busy with work. I though' I might run this errand wi'out her."

"And what errand might that be?"

Conchobar looked at the boy for a moment, wondering if this were a joke. For what it was worth, Gabriel looked like he was in total earnest. Conchobar nodded towards the sword wrapped in newspapers lying in his arms.

"Oh, yes, of course," the boy smiled. "Why don't you set it," he looked around the room, as if he were uncertain as to where, exactly he examined artifacts. "Here," he finally said, leading Conchobar to a large oak table that looked like it was older than the Declaration of Independence.

Conchobar let the sword clatter onto the table and ripped the newspaper off. Gabriel's face was twisted into something like horror, as if the larger man's roughness with what was unquestionably a relic of some kind was giving him physical pain. Conchobar noticed and found it disturbingly amusing.

"Sara n'me got this as a weddin' present. I was just wondering if you knew what it was, whether or not it was authentic and, ah, how much it was worth."

"Are you looking to sell it?" Gabriel asked. His tone struck Conchobar as extremely untrustworthy.

"Nah, I'm just curious. Seems the guy who sent this was obsessed with Sara. I'm just a little concerned about how obsessed."

Gabriel shot Conchobar what could only be called a wicked smile. "Jealous are you? It's not very becoming."

"Look," Conchobar said, finally letting a little bit of his dislike for Sara's friend show in his voice. "I love Sara more than I love anythin' and I trust her with my life, and more. And I know, in my soul, that she feels the same way. I don't have to be jealous. What I am, is concerned. The way she describes this guy, Ian Nottingham, doesn't sound like the kind a guy to be trusted with anythin' not to mention the life and safety of my wife."

"What would you say if I told you that 'this guy' Ian Nottingham, is fated to be Sara's true soul mate? That their bond is far deeper and richer than any week link of law and practice you may form."

"I'd say," Conchobar said, trying very hard to keep his Irish temper under wraps for Sara's sake. "Tha' you don't know me, and you don't know Sara."

"I beg to differ, it is you who do not know Sara."

There was a very tense moment while Conchobar forced himself to swallow his rage and Gabriel smiled at him maliciously. Finally, the Irishman said, "You gonna tell me 'bout the sword or no'?"

Gabriel took a deep breath, "No, no I don't think I will."

Conchobar nodded, "Tha's fine by me." He said, as he took the weapon of the table, not bothering to sheath it in the newspaper. He turned around and started walking out of the room, hoping never to see the blue-eyed bastard again.

"Turning tail and running, are you . . . Mick?" Gabriel's voice called after him. "You don't deserve Sara. I always knew that, deep down, but I wasn't convinced until just now."

Conchobar sucked his breath through his teeth and told himself, don't react, that's what he wants, don't give him the satisfaction

"Of course," the little bastard continued. "I must admit that meeting you forces me to reevaluate my view of Sara. I always considered her a lady of, distinction. Perhaps I was mistaken . . ."

"Oh, tha's it," Conchobar said, throwing down the sword and approaching Gabriel furiously. "You can say whatever you want about me, I know better than you how true ya are. Bu' I'll no' hear a word again' Sara."

Gabriel didn't move to defend himself. Before Conchobar realized he was not fighting, but rather beating, the insufferable twerp, he'd already landed three good socks to the head and a forceful gut punch that left Gabriel on his knees.

"I s'pose you're gonna call me a barbarian for doin' tha.'" Conchobar said, furious at himself for letting his temper get the better of him.

The boy made a sound somewhere between a laugh and a gasp of pain, "I deserved it. Is minic a gheibhean beal oscailt diog dunta* right?"

That response, in Gaelic none the less, was the last thing Conchobar had expected to hear. He didn't know if this new humility was a result of the beating, a tactic to throw him off guard, or proof that he'd passed some sort of test. In any event, he was very uncomfortable. He knelt down to see if the boy was ok, but kept his left ready for a quick jab incase it was a trick. "Sorry, I didn'a mean ta hit you so hard."

"No, really, thanks," the boy said, raising his face so that a bloody nose, split lip and brown eye that would soon be swollen shut were clearly visible. Conchobar opened his mouth to ask if Gabriel's eyes had really just made a drastic change of eye color or if his recently recuperated mind was playing tricks on him. But Gabriel kept talking. "I know it sounds crazy but . . . well now I can tell you something," boy said, his voice sounded a little different too, but that could be because he was gasping for breath after the gut punch.

Conchobar relaxed his left hand just a little. "So 't was a test? Tryin' to see if I was good enough for her."

"I know you're good enough for her," the now-brown-eyed-boy said smiling as much as his split lip would let him. "Fate couldn't keep you apart, and it tried. But I need to tell you to get out and never come back."

"Wha'?" that was not what he'd expected the boy to say.

"You have to stay away from me and you have to get Sara to do the same. You're the only one she'll trust. I'm not safe."

Conchobar stared into Gabriel's eyes for a long second trying to figure out where the lie was, was the asshole pretending to be decent now that he had a beating to be afraid of, or had the decent guy dropped the asshole act once Conchobar had proven himself. But those brown eyes didn't testify to any of that stuff. The brown eyes were simply honest, and they were begging. "Please, promise me you'll keep her away. No matter what, don't let her near me."

"Fine," Conchobar said softly. "I'll do what you ask."

"Thanks," Gabriel said before coughing. He spit up blood.

"You need a doctor?"

Gabriel smiled again and shook his head. "Sooner I die, the better."

* * *

Sara came into the precinct with a smile on her face and a spring in her step, despite the conspiracy of corruption she'd remembered last nigh and despite Ian Nottingham's ominous warnings. But before she got to the back room where Jake and Danny were discussing the implications of who they found on the tape, a very beautiful young girl with a complexion as dark as Sara's tan, blond hair with fire-engine red highlights, and large brown eyes distracted her.

"Excuse me, Miss Pezzini," the girl said, putting her hand on Sara's arm.

"Yes?" Sara asked, her voice was slightly annoyed and she glared at the perfectly manicured hand on her arm, the girl didn't retract it.

"My names Maddie Cafaro, I'm a friend of Gabriel Bowman's."

Sara tilted her head and smiled, instantly forgiving the girl for being so forward. She couldn't help but wonder if this is the girl Gabriel had said he was love with. Sara had imagined that Gabriel's lover would have been a little earthier and less polished. "Really?"

The girl nodded. Sara noticed that she looked upset and frazzled under the makeup. Her brown eyes showed signs of crying. Sara's smile disappeared, "Is he ok?"

"I don't know," Maddie said, her voice was trembling. "He's in some sort of trouble he won't tell me about. None of his friends that I know have any idea what's going on. He's not home, or if he is home he's certainly not answering his door. I just . . . I don't . . ."
The girl was trying very hard not to cry, which was pretty much the only thing that was keeping Sara from running out of the room and conducting a city wide search for her mysterious friend. "Shh, it's ok," Sara said, putting her hand on Maddie's shoulder and leading her towards the back. "Whatever Gabriel's gotten himself into, we'll fix, alright. You don't have to worry."

The girl nodded and wiped her eyes, catching the tears before they reached her cheeks and mixed her eyeshadow with her blush.

"You seem to be pretty close to Gabriel," Sara said tentatively, "hun?"

Maddie took a deep breath, "We're dating."

"Really?" Sara asked, reminding herself that falling in love was not always a mater of choice. "For how long?"

The girl looked up at the ceiling and let out a long, shaky breath as she calculated. "Three moths, almost four."

"Do you love him?" Sara asked. She tried to make her voice sound casual, she tried to sound like she wasn't dyeing to hear the answer.

Maddie smiled and made a soft delicate sound that was half laugh half sob, "He's the most amazing person on earth," she turned and looked at Sara and through all the makeup and all the beauty that struck the detective as false, Sara was able to see a gleam of determination and hope and pure selflessness, and Sara understood why Gabriel had fallen in love. "Of course I love him."

Sara nodded and her voice was firm and cretin, "We'll get to the bottom of this."

They'd reached the door to the office and Sara opened it ushering Maddie in. The girl didn't get past the doorframe. "What's that?" She asked, her voice trembling.

"Sara!" Jake said, a little shocked. "How'd you know to pick up her?"

"What do you mean?" Sara asked, confused by everyone's behavior.

"Is that Gabriel?" Maddie asked, stepping in the room and towards the TV with the footage from the surveillance cameras inside The Wet Monkey. "Who's the girl?"

"You speak English?" Jake asked amazed.

"Dianna Baxter," Danny said cautiously. "Do you know her?"

"No," Maddie said. Suddenly it accrued to Sara that the girl didn't look polished and perfect, just frightened and sad. "Who is she?"

"She's dead," Jake said, with a little less caution. "And this tape makes it look like your boyfriend killed her."

To be continued . . . (don't forget to review!)

* "An open mouth often catches a closed fist" – Old Irish proverb