This story is based on characters from the "Forever Knight" television series. I'm merely borrowing them for a short time with the very best of intentions. ===================== The Shadow Lengthens by Cindy Ingram January 1999 ===================== And now his shadow reach'd her as she run, His shadow lengthen'd by the setting sun. -- Alexander Pope, "Windsor Forest" ========================================== He had been drawn to her the first moment he'd seen her. Her face, illuminated as it was by the pulsing lights of a nearby squad car, had glowed with a purity of spirit he had sought but feared never to find. Her eyes, large and luminous, had at one point turned toward the crowd of bystanders in which he'd hidden himself, and that brief glimpse into her soul had told him everything. He had known instantly, this one was different. This one was worthy. Not like the others, those who had enticed him with false promises only to disappoint him in the end. To betray him in a way that demanded payment in kind. But now he knew, this was the one truly meant for him. For weeks he had followed her, watched her comings and goings, memorizing the routes she took, making note of each place she frequented. Until finally, the moment had come and it was time to make himself known to her. The parking garage adjacent to the building where she worked had seemed an ideal place for first contact. A careful glance around, a few seconds under the hood of her car, and the stage had been set. All that remained was to await his cue, and he felt certain it would not be long in coming. Suddenly, she was there -- moving toward the car, fumbling in her purse for the keys, sliding behind the wheel. He allowed her to turn the key in the ignition once, twice, three times, before opening the door and climbing out of his own vehicle. But he halted when he caught a flicker of movement from the corner of one eye. In a flash, the movement had resolved itself into a figure, strong and confident, striding purposefully across the lengthy expanse of the parking garage. He saw her welcome the other's approach with a relieved smile and a slight wave of the hand. A brief conversation took place between them, followed by a vain attempt to undo his carefully planned handiwork. Then, she was led away to another car where she settled into the passenger's seat with an assurance he had found quite disconcerting. As if she belonged there. He had followed them at a discreet distance, but their final destination had not been her apartment. Instead, the other had taken her to a warehouse -- a place he knew she'd visited many times before. And though he sat outside until long after the sun had risen, she had not emerged again. He had taken it as a sign -- a sign that despite his earlier certainty, he'd been mistaken; she was not the one. And he had left, his spirit burdened by the bitter disappointment he had come to know all too well in recent weeks. He had left, to begin his search anew. But her presence here tonight changed everything. Amid the controlled chaos of the crime scene, she stood out like a shining beacon meant for his eyes alone. Why else would she continue to cross his path in such a way, following in the wake of each mistake, as if to say, "I'm here. I'm the one. Why are you keeping me waiting?" Now, he was certain. Now, he finally knew what he had to do. His avid gaze followed her as she made her way down the steps of the brownstone, flanked on either side by two men. The blond one again, and another. They'd been with her before, and each time, he had duly noted their existence then just as quickly dismissed it. But this time, his attention focused on the blond one -- the one who had thwarted his plans mere days ago, fooling him into thinking he'd been mistaken in his original assessment. A dark anger welled up inside him. He didn't like that one. He didn't like that one at all. With clenched fists and tightened jaw, he contemplated the blond one's maddening behavior. Earlier observations, so unwelcome at the time, returned to taunt him -- the way he always seemed to hover around her, never far away and often far too close. The way he watched her, even at a distance, in a manner that spoke of more than casual interest. Hardest of all to tolerate was the familiar way he touched her, the solicitous hand supporting her elbow, the guiding arm around her waist, the way his body seemed drawn to hers -- like iron to a magnet -- stopping a mere hair's breadth apart so that she had no choice but to brush against him as she turned to greet him. There was something far too intimate in such seemingly innocuous contact. As if he had the right. As if he thought she belonged to him, when nothing could be further from the truth. Yes, *that* one could get in the way, if he let him. But with a grim shake of the head, he dismissed the thought almost before it had formed. Nothing could stand between him and the one he wanted. They were fated to meet, destined to be together. They were kindred souls, and once she saw him she would realize this and turn away from the other. But if not ... well, he would help her to understand. In the meantime, he would do whatever was necessary. He would watch and wait, and someday soon, the time would be right. He could be patient, especially now that he knew the prize was so close at hand. The sweet sound of Natalie Lambert's voice drifted across the street. He closed his eyes, savoring the keen anticipation that was ripe within him. Then, with a final look, Roger Jamieson turned away from the site of Toronto's latest homicide and faded into the shadows. ====================== Finis If you've never seen first season's "Only the Lonely," then this story probably didn't make much sense. But for those who have, I've always thought the "accidental" meeting between Roger and Natalie outside the grocery store was a little too coincidental. And that's how this little "excerpt" came about. Comments, complaints and lavish words of praise to: "Cindy Ingram" ======================================================== My FK fiction page: http://people.mn.mediaone.net/nancykam/cific.html ======================================================== What's another word for thesaurus? ("Say good Knight, Gracie." -- G. Burns)