Where I Want to Be

by L'Phantom

Nick watched the funeral from a grove of trees in the distance. It was a beautiful day, he noted... far too beautiful for such a horrible occasion. Natalie, his beloved Natalie, was gone forever. And he had killed her.

Their love had saved him. Ironic, he thought, he had used Janette's cure after all. And, like Janette, there was a price to be paid. And he knew, watching as they lowered his love's lifeless body into the unforgiving earth, that the price was his; forced to live without her, knowing that she had given her life to give him what he had been searching for for a century.

He turned and walked back to his car as the guests began to break up. He couldn't afford to be seen. He knew he was the prime suspect in Natalie's death. He got in his car, put on a pair of sunglasses and drove off.

He drove with the top down all the time now. It didn't matter that it was November and there was three inches of snow on the ground. He had to feel the sun beating down. It was a constant reminder of what Natalie had given to him. He ate and ate; he had gained five pounds in the past two weeks alone.

Everything that was denied him as a vampire he reveled in as a mortal. Things he wouldn't allow himself to hope for were now like addictions to him. He had accidentally cut himself slicing an apple and stood, fascinated, while his finger bled, almost enjoying the pain.

He had become very lecherous now, too, without realizing it. Now that he could look at other people without seeing them as blood-filled vessels, he found he became very aroused by attractive women, and was prone to stare. Sometimes, his stares were returned, and he understood that, in the light of day, he was quite good-looking himself.

Sex, too, he had rediscovered as more than just a means to an end. Caught up in the grief over Natalie, he found himself in the arms of an attractive brunette who was lonely, too. She had had to help him put on the condom, as Nick had never had to use one, but that was trivial next to the experience of having sex with a woman without the urge to tear her throat out.

That "relationship," if it could have been called that, had self-destructed in less than two weeks, because, as she had put it, "You only want me around 'cause I'm a good lay." And while that wasn't entirely true, from Nick's point of view, it was close enough that the words stabbed like a stake.

Just over a year later, Nick was in much the same position. After a string of whirlwind romances in a dozen different cities, looking for that special "something" he had with Natalie (never finding it, of course), he had met Patricia.

Unlike his previous encounters with women since his mortality, Nick had moved very slowly with Patricia. He had begun to learn that, while it was okay in the 14th century to simply take what he wanted from a woman, here in the 20th the lines were not so clearly drawn.

Their relationship had gotten off to a slow, but promising start. Nick played the part of the gentleman to the hilt, and Patricia ate it up. She even insisted on calling him Nicholas, saying, "Nick is something you do while shaving. Nicholas is a name for a gentleman."

Nick was careful then, stoking the fire of the relationship carefully, lest it explode in his face. Patricia was wonderful to him, and he to her. Only once in the nine months they were together did he ever slip and call out 'Nat,' and he was able to convince her he really said 'Pat' anyway.

But for all of that, where were they now? She was on a plane headed for parts unknown, and he was walking into an empty house on the edge of town. His keys echoed in the stillness when he tossed them on the coffee table. On the refrigerator was a note for him.

She even dotted the 'i' with a little heart.

Sitting alone in the silent stillness of his darkened bedroom, Nick realized that, with the exception of his mortality, nothing had changed in the past two years from the previous 800. He was still alone, and he was still feeling guilty, and he was still afraid of LaCroix.

"Damn you, Nicholas!" LaCroix raised the stake over his head, held it there for a moment, unwavering, and then lowered it slowly, astonishment betraying his voice. "Nicholas... your heart. It's beating." He touched the back of his son's neck tentatively. "You're warm. Ye Gods, Nicholas, you're mortal!" And for the first time in his life, Lucien LaCroix backed away in fear.

But only for a moment. "Enjoy your moment, Nicholas. That's all you'll have." He tossed the forgotten stake to the ground in disgust. He had lost Seline, lost Fleur, lost Janette, lost Divia... twice. He would be damned if he'd lose Nicholas, too.

But Nicholas had used LaCroix's moment of hesitation to snatch the remote from the table and the stake from the floor. "You will not take this from me, LaCroix!" Nick threw the stake at his former master, who batted it from the air with ease, and pressed the button on his remote opening the windows to the rising dawn.

In LaCroix's stunned confusion, Nick dove into the elevator, into the Caddy, and sped from the garage into his first sunrise in 800 years.

And he'd been running ever since.

Two years from that fateful night, here he was back in Toronto. It was very different from the city he left, and not just because he was seeing it in the daytime. Vachon's church had been demolished and turned into a parking lot. The Raven had been sold and was turned into a disco joint called Inferno. CERK had been bought out by an easy listening station and now insisted on playing a Barry Mantilow tune every fifteen minutes.

His loft was still intact, though. He'd made arrangements to have the De Brabant Foundation take care of the upkeep, just in case. It was much the same as how he'd left it; he even found a bottle of LaCroix's Special Reserve hiding in the bottom of the refrigerator. He poured the liquid down the sink and threw the bottle into the recycle bin Natalie had convinced him to get.

Why had he come back? Why now, after avoiding it for so long? After Patricia left him, he just left his home in Victoria and drove aimlessly. Or seemingly aimlessly, considering his meanderings had led him right back here.

Nick didn't miss being a vampire, really he didn't. It was just that, when he was a vampire, he at least had people who cared about him; Natalie, Schanke, Tracy. Where were they now that he was mortal?

But mortality was all he ever wanted. His long sought-after redemption from the hell of darkness he had been subjected to. And he did relish in it. The daytime world held wonders that he'd never imagined. Everything was so much warmer, brighter, like it was somehow more "there" than in the nighttime. He had fun for the first time in centuries.

So, again came the question, what the hell was he doing back here?

He was tired of hiding; that must have been it. The echoes of his bond with LaCroix still linked the two, and the vampire had used it more than once to track him down. Nick had had to restrain himself from strong emotions; for LaCroix could feel those easiest of all. He spent most of his time alone as a result, not being able to enjoy his new life too much, out of fear of having it taken from him again.

So, he wanted to reason with LaCroix; attempt to dissuade him from dragging Nick back down into his circle. He'd assumed that LaCroix had remained in Toronto and only occasionally strayed to track him down. Now he began to realize that his former master had packed up everything, left the secure place he'd had, for the sole purpose of following his wayward son. 'Was he that obsessed with condemning me?' Nick asked himself over and over.

"No, Nicholas. Not condemning you." LaCroix stood at the entrance to the loft. He looked very different from the powerful master vampire he was just two years ago. He looked tired, haggard. Lines had managed to etch their way into his marble-tough skin. Nick could see he hadn't been feeding enough, hadn't been caring for himself at all.

LaCroix walked toward Nick and unceremoniously dropped into a chair, motioning for Nick to sit as well. "I left Toronto to follow you," he continued when Nick sat, "because once you left, there was nothing to hold me here. You were the reason I came to Toronto in the first place, and you were the reason I left." His voice sounded strained, a far cry from the self-assured voice of the Nightcrawler that Nick had come to expect.

"Why, LaCroix? Why can't you let me be?"

"Because, Nicholas, I am a stubborn, lonely, old man!" he shouted, obviously louder than he'd intended, because he continued in a much lower voice. "When you left... I had nothing. In all the years, I sired many progeny, but you... you were my son. Look at me, Nicholas. Look at what your leaving has done to me."

And Nick looked. And Nick saw. And Nick understood.

Nick extended his hand to his master, father, friend. The two of them stood and, after a silent moment, embraced. Nick whispered, "You don't have to be lonely anymore," in the instant before he felt two familiar fangs pierce the skin of his neck, bringing him back to his family; his father.

*********

"And so, dear listeners, we see that life is a circle. All comes back to that place from which it started. Ashes return to ashes, dust returns to dust. So if you feel directionless, if you can see nowhere else to go, then perhaps it is time to complete the circle, for in the circle is peace. Until tomorrow night, this is the Knightcrawler saying, 'what goes around, comes around.'"

Nick switched off the microphone. "How'd I do?"

"Not bad. For your first time."