UNSUITED CHALLENGE Close Call: The Unspoken Epilogue by Nancy Kaminski (c) August 1997 Don Schanke wandered out of the CERK studios feeling simultaneously better, confused, dazed, and overwhelmed. That spooky Nightcrawler guy had explained everything so clearly--he thought so, at any rate. Those penetrating, chill blue eyes had bored into his soul, the silky voice had poured over him like honey, and suddenly everything was clear. Nick *wasn't* a vampire, he was just a guy with a bad skin condition, an iffy stomach and *really* fast reflexes. And he was just about the best damned partner a guy could want. Why had he felt so funny when he shook the guy's hand? It was like his brain had lurched off balance for a second. What *was* the guy's name, anyway? He'd have to ask Nick, maybe write a thank-you note. Schanke couldn't believe he had been so deluded. He sighed. It was just because he had had to blow away a perp, and he had gone into shock for a while, he told himself. That was it. He was all right now, just tired as all get out. Time to go home, hug Myra and fall into bed. As he got into the Caddy to drive home, he suddenly remembered there was one more thing he had to do before he could crash. He headed to his favorite wash-it-yourself place. An hour later, carefully polishing the Caddy's fins with a nice, soft towel, Schanke found himself staring off into the distance. He thought he was over his obscessing about Nick. So why couldn't he get the image of him wearing a ridiculous outfit--all white, with puffy shorts, some kind of tunic deal, stockings and an air filter around his neck--out of his head? It was like someone was showing him a really bad period movie... It was pretty funny, though. He snickered quietly, stretched, and drove home to sleep. Finis Nancy Kaminski nancykam@pioneerplanet.infi.net