Hmm, well this is bizarre. I don't normally have a problem w/
formatting. Sorry about the double post.

If the funky formatting is making it hard to read, you can find this
chapter posted here: http://www.fanfiction.net/s/2735296/3/

Sorry about that!

-Scarlett


--- In foreverknightwritersclub@yahoogroups.com, "Scarlett Burns"
<scarlet8@...> wrote:
>
> Oh, crud. That last one didn't seem to format correctly. Sorry
about that...
> let's try this once more! *crosses fingers*
>
> ~*~
>
> Title: Unnatural Predators
> Author: Scarlett Burns
> Feedback E-mail: scarlet8@ (Mmm, the monkey loves feedback!)
>
> Rated: T (15+)
> Warnings: Violence, Graphic Imagery, Mild Adult Language
> Xover: Forever Knight/Dark Shadows
>
> Summary: Brutal killings and mysterious symbols left at the crime
scenes
> cause Detectives Nick Knight and Don Schanke to track down a
preternatural
> predator.
>
> Many thanks to those who've read and reviewed thus far! :)
>
> ~*~
>
> Chapter 3
>
>
>
> Eric laughed at his own words, shaking his head. "It sounds so
insane, I
> know. If. if I wasn't so upset about everything that's been
happening I'm
> sure I wouldn't be telling you this."
>
>
>
> Nick offered the man a reassuring smile, contemplating on the best
way to
> proceed. "Not as insane as you think," he said, studying the man
seated
> across from him. "Please continue. You said you moved here to get
away from
> your wife's stalker. Where are the two of you from?"
>
>
>
> "Originally? Collinsport - it's a small town in Maine."
>
>
>
> "Any particular reason why you're here in Toronto?" Nick asked,
writing down
> the name of the town. At this point, anything Vanson gave him
could be
> important.
>
>
>
> "Yeah. Amy was looking for a cousin of hers. She said that he was
the only
> one who could help us. he's really the only family she has left."
>
>
>
> "Her cousin lives here?"
>
>
>
> Eric shrugged helplessly. "We - I don't know. I've never met him,
and Amy
> hadn't seen or heard from him in years; since before we got
married eleven
> years ago."
>
>
>
> "His name?"
>
>
>
> "Amy told me that he goes by the name of Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> Nick jotted down the name. "He goes by?"
>
>
>
> "He's a writer, apparently. It's his pseudonym."
>
>
>
> "Oh, I see. What's his real name?"
>
>
>
> Eric frowned, wrenching his hands together nervously. "Amy never
told me."
>
>
>
> 'That's suspicious.' He wondered how much this mysterious cousin
really
> knew, and why he'd hidden himself from the family so well. "You
think he's
> in Toronto?" Nick asked after a moment.
>
>
>
> "Even after hiring a private investigator we couldn't find out
where Mr.
> Grant lived. All we know is that his publishing company and agent
are here
> in Toronto; it's a long shot, I know, but it was all we had."
>
>
>
> "What do you know about the. myth?"
>
>
>
> "Only what everyone knows," Eric said, rubbing his face
tiredly. "Detective,
> I'm not sure how much help I can be. I think you'll find your
answers when
> you find Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> "I hope so." Nick stood, seeing that Eric had been through enough
> questioning for one night. He tucked his pad of paper and pen
away, and made
> his way to the door. "Thank you for talking to me tonight, Mr.
Vanson. It
> really wasn't necessary, but I do appreciate it."
>
>
>
> Eric took a deep breath, standing to see him out. He forced a
pained smile
> as he opened the door to see Nick out. "I needed to tell someone."
>
>
>
> Nick nodded, stepping out into the hall. He turned to face Vanson
once more.
> "I'm very sorry about your wife." At Vanson's nod, Nick
added, "I'll keep in
> touch."
>
>
>
> As he walked out of the building, he realized that he had far more
questions
> than he had answers. Still, he had a place to start.
>
>
>
> Carl Grant.
>
>
>
> Nick flipped open his cell phone and speed dialed Schanke's number
as he
> walked back to the caddy.
>
>
>
> "Hi-ya," Schanke answered after a couple rings.
>
>
>
> "Hey Schanke. I need you to do a little leg work."
>
>
>
> "This is new?" he balked. "You notify the deceased's husband?"
>
>
>
> "Yeah, and he already gave us a lead. Carl Grant."
>
>
>
> "The writer?"
>
>
>
> "Yeah. You've heard of him?" Nick asked, but didn't wait for an
answer as he
> opened his caddy's driver side door. "Get as much information as
possible on
> him. Where he lives, his real name."
>
>
>
> "The whole shebang, eh?" Schanke interrupted. "So this is
officially not an
> animal attack?"
>
>
>
> "I don't know, Skank. It seems that Amy Vanson had a not-so-
welcome secret
> admirer, and was currently in search of her long lost cousin..."
>
>
>
> "Carl Grant," Schanke guessed.
>
>
>
> "You got it."
>
>
>
>
>
> Portland, Oregon
>
>
>
> "Ah, Carl. How are you today?"
>
>
>
> Carl Grant flashed his literary agent - Audrey - a charming smile,
dropping
> a hefty manila envelope onto her cluttered desk. "Much better, now
that I've
> got this damn thing written."
>
>
>
> "Congrats," Audrey said, peeling her eyes away from the envelope
long enough
> to give him a quick wink. She reminded him of a less glamorous
Lucille Ball;
> her exaggerated facial expressions and flame red hair did nothing
to dispel
> the thought.
>
>
>
> Audrey placed a finger on the envelope, then slid it towards her
on the
> desk, giving him a calculating look. "A detective gave me a jingle
today.
> Get into any trouble lately?"
>
>
>
> Carl made himself comfortable in the chair opposite Audrey,
surprised by the
> news. He avoided the police as often as possible; they tended to
be more
> hindrance than help when it came to the kind of mess he usually
found
> himself in. Still, things had been quiet lately, so the phone call
seemed
> rather out of the blue. "You know I've been good. lately."
>
>
>
> She laughed lightly, picking up the manila envelope. "They called
my Toronto
> office. They wanted your address."
>
>
>
> "I trust you didn't give it?"
>
>
>
> "You know the policy. Now, they do too."
>
>
>
> Carl smiled, sinking further into his chair. "That's why I love
you."
>
>
>
> "I know," she said with a grin, flipping open the envelope's flap
and
> pulling out the contents. "I gave them your cell number."
>
>
>
> He nodded. "I suppose you had to throw the dogs a bone. Did they
say what
> all this is about?"
>
>
>
> "Naturally, they didn't say anything to me. Seemed anxious to talk
to you
> though. You probably have a message waiting on your cell."
>
>
>
> "Oh, aren't I lucky," he said, almost as if to himself. He had
that gut
> feeling again; the feeling reserved for when all hell was just
about to
> break loose.
>
>
>
> But then, why should he be surprised? Things had been quiet
lately.
> unnaturally quiet for him. He knew that it wouldn't last. It never
did.
>
>
>
> He stood as his agent happily flipped through the pages of his
latest novel.
> His books were hot right now, and she knew that this meant a good
commission
> for her.
>
>
>
> "See you later, Carl," she said, seeing him stand to leave.
>
>
>
> He turned to face her once he reached the door. "If you're lucky,"
he said
> with a suggestive wiggle of his eyebrows. He turned and closed the
door
> behind him, leaving her office to deal with what was sure to be
another
> Collins crisis.
>
>
>
> He walked all the way to his car without turning on his cell. He
was
> reluctant to spoil his good mood so early in what had started out
as a
> promising day.
>
>
>
> Sliding behind the wheel and closing the door after him, he sat
there for a
> moment in silence before pulling the cell phone out of his pocket.
He stared
> at it for a moment as a thousand possible scenarios of doom and
destruction
> raced through his mind.
>
>
>
> Damn it, would he never be free?
>
>
>
> He feared that he knew the answer to that, but couldn't quite
admit it.
>
>
>
> Making up his mind, he tossed the cell onto the passenger seat,
not even
> turning it on. He started up his car and popped in one of his
favorite
> cassette tapes, feeling a bit nostalgic as he recalled a
particular melody
> from an era gone by. He turned up the current music, determined to
drown out
> the haunting strains that played in his mind, tugging at memories
that were
> best left alone.
>
>
>
> As he pulled out of the parking lot, he cast a quick glance at his
cell, and
> then smiled wistfully as he returned his gaze to the road. "Yes.
You can do
> without Quentin Collins for one more day, whoever you are."
>
>
>
>
>
> Toronto
>
> Nick arrived at his loft just before sunrise. Another day and
night, and
> they'd gotten virtually nowhere in the case. Schanke was convinced
that it
> wasn't even a case for the police department, and it would be
closed by
> tomorrow. Nick hoped that would happen. However, things were
seldom that
> simple.
>
>
>
> He was still stewing about the werewolf murder as he sat on the
couch with a
> glass of his preferred vintage.
>
>
>
> Honestly, he wasn't sure how he was going to go about this. It was
> possible - and even likely - that the attack would only warrant a
brief
> investigation as Schanke had suggested. After a couple days, if
there were
> no more killings, it would be chalked up to another animal attack,
end of
> story. If that was the case, he may actually be lucky. He didn't
want to
> investigate this on an official level. or even an unofficial one
for that
> matter. The last thing he wanted to do was track down, or cover
for, a rogue
> werewolf prowling the streets of Toronto.
>
>
>
> Grabbing one of his many remotes, he hit a button and watched the
metal
> blinds shut out the first rays of sunlight appearing over the
horizon.
>
>
>
> "So, you're here to hunt, are you?"
>
>
>
> "I am," Nicolas said, taking a swallow out of his tankard.
>
>
>
> The man took a seat across from him, sizing Nicolas up. "Young
Basil - he's
> the son of a farmer down the road - made a most disturbing
discovery today.
> A child lay dead in their field; at least, what was left of the
child."
>
>
>
> "Most disturbing. Does this sort of thing happen often?" Nick
asked, trying
> to hide his unease. He was a predator, it was true, but he drew
the line
> when it came to children.
>
>
>
> "Eleven children are dead, all within the year."
>
>
>
> "Eleven!" Nicolas exclaimed, setting his tankard down with a thud.
>
>
>
> "All torn asunder, all taken from their homes. How do you explain
that,
> Mr.?"
>
>
>
> "Norwood. Nicolas Norwood," he supplied. "Am I supposed to be able
to
> explain such dreadful happenings?"
>
>
>
> "The town is most distraught. Something must be done about this
vicious
> beast."
>
>
>
> "I should say. I agree that the abduction and murder of the
children is most
> alarming. I have not heard of such in all my travels abroad."
>
>
>
> Nick sat up with a start, realizing that he'd fallen asleep on the
couch.
> Instantly, he knew that he was no longer alone in his loft.
Turning to the
> left, he froze when he saw a woman standing by his stereo.
>
>
>
> She was no ordinary woman, either. You could see right through her.
>
>
>
> Now, he normally wouldn't be surprised by a ghost. He'd been
tormented by
> enough of them in his long life, though he could never say with
complete
> certainty that they weren't just creations of his own mind;
delusions
> brought on by his own guilt.
>
>
>
> What truly caught him off guard was not that she was a ghost, but
that he
> didn't recognize her. If she had been a victim of his, conjured up
by his
> own troubled mind, he would surely recognize the lady. But he was
positive
> that he'd never seen her before.
>
>
>
> The woman was clearly not from this century, wearing a purple and
white
> ankle-length dress in the style of the Victorian period. Her long
auburn
> hair was pulled up into a loose ponytail, unusual for the era she
must have
> come from. She was of medium height and build, with large brown
eyes and a
> fidgety demeanor.
>
>
>
> She wasn't looking at him, preoccupied with one of his many
artifacts and
> relics on display throughout the loft. The particular object of
interest was
> an old gypsy knife with intricate carvings on the handle. The
small knife
> sat on a shelf beside his stereo, in front of some tapes and CDs.
>
>
>
> Nick sat quiet and motionless, watch with some trepidation as the
woman
> picked up the knife and turned it over in her hands. "Bawari," she
said with
> a hint of fear in her tone. She put the knife down quickly.
>
>
>
> Downing the rest of his dinner in one gulp, he watched her
carefully. He set
> the glass on the table beside him, unsure if he should rush his
unique house
> guest into introducing herself. It just didn't seem like a good
idea.
>
>
>
> Finally, she turned and met his gaze with her own.
>
>
>
> She giggled softly, pointing at him in a childlike way. "You're
not afraid
> of me," she stated happily, making her way closer to him as her
attention
> flitted about the room. It reminded Nick of a curious two-year old
who was
> interested in everything, like only a child could be.
>
>
>
> Eventually she'd managed to meander her way to him, but her gaze
was fixed
> on something behind him. He turned to see what had captured her
attention
> so, and realized it was one of his paintings; a blood red sun,
with fiery
> yellow rays bursting forth. One of his favorites. Returning his
attention to
> the lady in front of him, he couldn't help but feel that she was a
little
> 'off'. Nick wondered if it was possible for a ghost to be mentally
> challenged.
>
>
>
> "Red," she whispered vehemently, the color disturbing her. She
tore her
> stare away from the painting, looking at him with a glint of anger
in her
> eyes. "Your painting is a lie."
>
>
>
> Nick inhaled sharply, but said nothing. He had no idea how to
answer such a
> statement, and decided not to try.
>
>
>
> Her anger vanished as quickly as it had come. She shrugged as if
nothing
> mattered, and her whole mood changed with it. No longer upset, she
moved a
> bit closer to him.
>
>
>
> "You have to find him," she said.
>
>
>
> "Find who?" Nick asked, finally finding his voice.
>
>
>
> She laughed, and fiddled with a stray strand of hair. "What a
silly
> question. Why, the man you're looking for, of course."
>
>
>
> Nick thought for a moment, and he couldn't help but wonder if this
had
> anything to do with the werewolf murder. It seemed unlikely, but
he asked
> anyway. "Carl Grant?"
>
>
>
> She laughed again. "No, no silly. You can't find him if you don't
have the
> right name!"
>
>
>
> The woman walked slowly around his living room table, her head
tilted up as
> if she found something interesting in the rafters. "Funny how he
should use
> his brother's name. He must be feeling sad. So much to haunt one
man."
>
>
>
> She stopped her rambling and turned to Nick. "But you understand
that far
> too well, don't you?"
>
>
>
> Nick nodded once, swallowing hard. There was a hint of madness
behind her
> eyes, but she was incredibly perceptive none-the-less. Perhaps
knowledge
> came with being a ghost?
>
>
>
> "If I'm not looking for Carl Grant, than who am I looking for? Who
are you?"
>
>
>
> "He's been so many people. So many. But he can't escape himself,
just like I
> couldn't escape myself," she said, toying with the end of a ribbon
on her
> dress. "You want to know my name? You're very sweet. But I mustn't
give it
> to you!"
>
>
>
> The lady was deranged, he was sure, but it was apparent she was
trying to
> tell him something important.
>
>
>
> "I'm a Collins, you know. My sister laughed at me when I told her.
She did
> not believe a Collins would marry a gypsy." She shook her
head. "But he did.
> Too bad. He knew and married me anyway. At least, I think he knew.
Oh, I'll
> have to ask him."
>
>
>
> Sensing her fragile mind was getting sidetracked he cut in
gently, "Who am I
> supposed to find?"
>
>
>
> She brought a hand to her breast, as if shocked. "Oh! Didn't I
tell you? Oh
> dear, I'm always forgetting things. Did I ever introduce myself?"
>
>
>
> Nick raised his eyebrows, then attempted to give her a kind smile,
only half
> succeeding in the attempt. "No, I don't believe you have."
>
>
>
> "Well, where are my manners? I am Jenny Collins," she said with a
hint of
> arrogance in her voice, standing up a bit straighter as she spoke.
>
>
>
> "A pleasure, Jenny. I'm Nick. Tell me, who am I supposed to find?"
>
>
>
> "My husband. He'll help you! You'll need help. It won't go away."
>
>
>
> "The attacks?"
>
>
>
> "He's already seen you. He already has designs for vengeance.
You'll need
> help." Jenny stopped, and then tilted her head as if she were
listening to
> someone standing beside her. "I've already told him the name!" she
declared
> hotly. Then, suddenly, she became frightened, as if the voice had
told her
> something bad. She turned her attention back to Nick. "You must go
to
> Collinsport!"
>
>
>
> "Maine?" It was a stupid question, but he'd been thrown off by her
behavior
> and wasn't quite sure what to say.
>
>
>
> "Go now! He is there!" Jenny urgently, beginning to fade away. "Be
careful
> of him. He's most dangerous."
>
>
>
> "Be careful of who? Your husband? Or someone else? Wait!" Nick
stood up, as
> if to stop her from leaving, but just as he did so Jenny faded
away
> completely.
>
>
>
> Nick collapsed back onto the sofa. His ghostly visitor had left
him feeling
> completely bewildered. Clearly, she wanted him to go to
Collinsport and find
> her husband. The thought left a heavy feeling in his stomach.
>
>
>
> Jenny clearly died in the Victorian era; her husband couldn't
possibly be
> alive. naturally anyway. The only conclusion Nick could come to
was that she
> wanted him to find a ghost. or a fellow vampire.
>
>
>
> For once he thought that a vampire just might be easier to deal
with.
>
>
>
> TBC...
>
>
>
>
>
>
>
> --
> No virus found in this outgoing message.
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>