Ombra

By Chornyi

Not mine.. Not even Ian, unfortunately. You know whose they are.

Is Ian a killer? Sara must decide as she investigates a murder case involving death-by-sword.

....................................................................................

It's early-morning cold and Sara's breath plumes whitely in front of her face.

From the man on the ground, no plume.

He's white, in his thirties, with short blond hair and an expression of twisted horror frozen on his pale features. He appears to have been chopped in the neck by some sort of knife, maybe a cleaver. There is no blood on the ground, but his flesh is marble white- he's lost most of his.

'Did anyone see anything?' Sara kneels beside the dead man and lays her hand on his cold wrist.

Instantly, she is assaulted by a flood of images-

---

-He's walking, smiling, thinking about his wife.

Hearing a footstep behind him.

Turning.

Screaming.

A black shape with flaring edges like wings- a coat?

Light flashing on a blade.

The edge blurring as it sweeps toward him.

Throwing up his arm, too late.

Pain.

Darkness.-

---

She jerks back from the body, and Danny touches her shoulder. 'You alright?'

She tries to smile. 'I'm fine. I just.. need some coffee.'

He doesn't look convinced. Strands of straight black hair flutter at his brow where they've pulled loose from his short tail of hair. His dark eyes hold a neutral expression, but she knows what he's thinking. 'Did you hear about the witness?' he asks, narrowing his eyes at her.

'What? No. What witness?' she asks, pushing back her own hair, trying to make her expression show as little as his.

'I said, yeah, actually, there was a witness to this murder.' he answers.

'Okay. I didn't hear you, but this sounds good. Go on.' She smiles at him and it works-

His poker face finally turns into a reluctant return smile. 'Mmhmm. Well, he didn't see much, but he did see a guy in a long black coat, and get this- the guy had a SWORD.'

'A... A what?' Sara closes her eyes for a second, smile gone.

'A sword.' Danny repeats.

'Shit!' She can't hold back the exclamation.

Something in her voice alarms Danny beyond the simple word. His smile disappears too. 'What? What's wrong?'

He turns, but she is already past him.

'I have to go. Can you handle this?' she calls back.

Danny shakes his head and looks down. 'Sure.' he says to empty air.

---

Outside the alleyway, Sara pulls out her cellphone and dials. It rings once before the line opens. 'Nottingham?' she says before he can speak. 'Meet me. The park. 5 minutes. Be there.'

She pushes the button, cutting off his response.

She stands for an instant, staring at nothing.

Then she folds up the phone, sticks it back in her jacket pocket and mounts her bike. When she looks down at the stone on her wrist, it is dark and cold. 'Don't fail me,' she whispers. 'Don't you fail me now.'

---

This early, the park is nearly empty. Just an old homeless woman feeding pigeons, and a couple of young business men striding towards work.

Looking at her watch, Sara climbs off the Buell and places her helmet on the seat.

Something warns her of his presence before he speaks, and she turns sharply, her hand slipping inside her jacket. 'Stay right there, Nottingham!' she says through his 'You wanted to see me?'

He takes a step back and holds up his hands at shoulder level, smiling a tiny smile.

He wears his usual black overcoat over black shirt, tie and pants. The only relief in the black is the silver ring on his gloved right hand and the looped chain at his hip.

His dark wavy hair is pulled back in a knot, no ends hanging free. The severe style makes his bearded face look harsher then usual. 'I'll come quietly.' he says in that soft, understated voice.

'Shut up.' Sara looks around to make sure they are alone, then leans toward him. 'Where were you last night around 1 o'clock?'

'You mean, this morning, around 1 o'clock?' He leans a little toward her, too, and she draws back sharply.

'Just answer the question.'

'I was at home, in my bed. Are you going to ask if I was.. alone?' He glances up at her then, an almost-caress from golden-brown eyes.

'I know you were.' Sara says, her harsh tone making him drop his eyes before her words register.

He looks up sharply, then down again. 'You guess correctly, Sara.'

'Where's your sword, Ian?' she asks him, getting right to the point, tired of the wordplay, tired of the whole game.

'My .. what?' he asks without looking up.

'Your sword. Where is it?'

He looks at her, shaking his head slightly as if confused. Then he reaches up over his shoulder and draws the sword in one fluid motion, bringing it forward and laying the edge against his forearm. With a slight motion of his arms, he holds it out to her. 'This is a katana.'

'You mind if I borrow this?' She starts to take it, but before she can, he moves it away, bringing the blade up and parallel to his body. It's a graceful movement, but it is also a defensive one.

'Yes, Sara, I do mind,' he answers.

She steps toward him, her hand out, the hand with the Witchblade.

'Nottingham. Give me the sword.'

'No.' He says it softly, almost tentatively, as if unused to the flavor on his tongue.

'And why is that?' she asks him. 'Why don't you want to let me see that blade?'

'I did let you see it. I did not let you take it.' He looks down at his gloved hands on the weapon's long hilt.

'Why not?'

'Because it is mine. You have your own.' Another look up at her, flash of brown eyes, then bowed, submissive head. God, she hates that.

'Don't get cute with me, Nottingham. That weapon is material evidence in a murder investigation. Do I have to get a warrant to take it?'

He looks up at her, but her face gives him nothing.

After a second, he lowers the sword across his body again and holds it out.

Sara takes it by the hilt, unable to keep from brushing his gloved fingers. He looks down at their hands as she lifts the hilt out of his grip and lowers it, holding it blade-down against her leg. 'Thanks.' she says with raised brows.

He stares up at her earnestly. 'Do not thank me, Sara. This will not help your murder investigation.'

'I guess we'll just see about that, won't we. And, Ian?'

The use of his first name startles him slightly, his eyes widen. 'Don't go anywhere.' she finishes. His head lowers again.

Swirling his black coat around him, he turns away from her and begins walking across the park in his peculiar brisk, head-down fashion.

Sara looks down at the Witchblade, willing the stone to show her something, but it remains cold and empty. When she looks up again, Ian is gone.

'Great,' she says to the empty park.

She looks down at the sword in her hands.

The blade is over two feet long, slightly curved, with a chisel tip.

The hilt is five or six inches, made of some hard black substance wrapped in thin cord, also black, with a silver cap at the top of the hilt. The cap and the ornate silver guard are chased with dragons.

How is she going to get this to the precinct unnoticed?

---

'So, Vick. Is this the weapon that killed Summers?'

Vicki looks up from her microscope. 'What? Oh. Lemme see.'

She reaches out and takes the sword from Sara.

'Japanese katana, circa.. ummmm, 1872? Very nice.'

Sara raises her brows.

'Mmm,' Vicki continues. 'Well, it certainly could be.'

The pathologist holds the katana at eye level, examining the edge. 'The blade that killed our boy was very sharp and had a narrow width and slight curve like this one. I'll have to run some tests to be sure, though. Where did you get this?'

'It belongs to a Black Dragon.

'I thought they were extinct.'

'Not quite.'

---

Ian feels naked without the katana. He has had the weapon since childhood. He is certainly not unarmed- he is NEVER unarmed- but without the blade's light weight against his back, he feels vulnerable.

It is a part of him, a part of Irons, a security of sorts.

He wonders why Sara called him to the park, why she took his weapon.

Who has been murdered, and why is he to blame?

He has a feeling he will find out, soon enough.

---

'Oh, God...' The blond woman is crying, her hands twisted together. She shakes her head in response to Sara's question. 'No! No, David didn't have any enemies! Are you crazy? He was a DOCTOR. People.. People loved him.' She breaks down in sobs and sinks into her chair, covering her face with her hands. 'Please.. Please just leave me alone. Catch the man who did this! Catch him, lock him up and throw away the key. He took my David. He took my everything.'

'I'm sorry.' Sara says.

Catch the man who did this? She wishes it were that easy.

But it has to be, doesn't it? If it's Nottingham, he goes down.

'I will.' she tells the woman. When Summers' wife doesn't respond, Sara turns and lets herself out out of the room, shutting the door quietly behind her.

Danny is waiting outside with a cup of coffee in his hand. 'Here,' he says handing it to her.

Sara takes the lid off and sips from the cup. 'Thanks. So whatta we got, Danny?'

He smiles, a wry twist of his lips. 'On this one? No prints, no weapon, no suspect. One witness who is scared out of his mind and swears it was the Archangel Michael. Sounds like one of yours, Pez.'

---

'What do you know about katanas?'

'Hmm?? Umm..' Gabriel leans back in his chair and runs his hand through feathery dark hair. 'The katana was a sword used by Japanese Samurai warriors in feudal times. A Samurai's katana was a very important part of him, and for anyone else to touch or wield his weapon was a really bad insult... Punishable by death.'

'Oh, great.'

Gabriel raises his brows. 'What, you've been handling someone's katana?' He gives a grin that is definitely not angelic.

'Bad choice of wording, Bowman, but as a matter of fact, yes.'

'Uh oh. Of course, we're no longer in feudal times, so... It might not be quite as bad.'

'That's good to know.'

'Umm.. Another thing you might want to know, Sara?'

'What's that?'

'Samurai always fight to the death. And anyone who seriously uses a katana? He probably does the same.'

'Thanks Gabriel.' Sara stands up and grabs her jacket from the back of her chair.

Gabriel turns back to his computer screen. 'Don't mention it.'

---

'Hey. So I ran those tests on the blade you gave me.'

'And?'

'And, it's inconclusive. The blade is clean, no residue, no identifying nicks or wear in the edge. It could be the weapon that hacked Summers, or it could not be. I can tell you this- Whatever blade DID kill him... Was a lot like this one. Same width, same degree of curve. And whoever did it, he was very strong. Summers' vertebrae were severed. The only thing holding his head on on was muscle and skin. And that was one blow.'

'Thanks, Vick.'

'Hey. Don't mention it. One other thing, though?'

'What's that?'

'The blade? It's missing.'

'What?'

'I said, the blade is missing. It's gone. Don't ask me how or where.'

'I don't need to ask.'

Sara hangs up before Vicki can say anything else. Looking down at her phone for a second, she shakes her head and dials another number.

---

'You wanted to see me?' He appears beside her, walking slowly, his head lowered so all she can see is hair and his bearded jaw. His hair is loose now, and damp as if he recently left the shower.

'Yeah,' she answers. 'Why'd you take the sword from the lab?'

He answers without looking at her. 'I did not.'

'Nottingham..'

'I have not been to the... 'lab'.'

'The tests have already been run. You didn't gain anything.'

'Because I did not do it.'

'Then where is the sword?'

'That's the question I should be asking you, Sara.'

'If you didn't take it, it's gone. Sorry.'

He looks up at her, meeting her eyes longer this time. The pain in his face shocks her

Sara touches his arm. 'Look.. I'm sorry, Ian. I didn't mean to lose your sword. If it turns up, I'll bring it back to you.'

He doesn't answer.

'Ian..'

'Thank you, Sara.'

He turns off from the sidealk and leaves her behind, heading across the street. A bus passes between them, and when her view of the street returns, he's gone.

'Shit,' Sara mutters. She doesn't know whether to believe him or not. She doesn't know anything.

---

'Pez? We got another one.'

---

Two victims, and still no suspect. There was no witness to this one. Another white male, dark-haired this time and a lawyer, not a doctor. He's lost his head.

Literally. It lies several feet from the body, wearing a look of startlement and horror. The front of his suit jacket, shirt and tie are washed in blood.

Sara and Danny watch as the crime scene technicians catalogue and bag whatever evidence there is to find. Empty coffee cups, cigarette butts and used matches, mostly. They have nothing.

'We've got to move on this one, Pez.' Danny says. He shakes his head, staring down at his feet, unwilling to stare at the dead man anymore.

'Yeah.' Sara has already stared at him one second too many. She knows she'll see that face in her nightmares. Or her daydreams.

'I may know who did it.' she says finally.

'What??' Danny turns to look at her, brows raised. He seems unshockable, but she knows he's shocked.

'You remember the Black Dragon case?' she asks him.

'But he's dead.'

'One of them is dead. Ian Nottingham is alive. You know, when Mobius died, he said to me, "You've got the wrong Dragon." Now I know what he meant.'

She turns away, looking back at the body. 'Now I know.'

'You know Nottingham killed these men?'

'Let's just say he wears a black coat, he has a sword, and someone could take him for the Archangel if they were drunk enough.'

'So we bring him in.'

'Yeah. We bring him in.'

---