Here's a story to commemorate the arrive of the new millennium. My best wishes to everyone for a happy and prosperous new year! Permission is granted to archive this story on the FK fanfic site and the FTP site. Anyone else, please ask permission. My thanks to TPTB for giving us such wonderful characters to write about. Through them I've met wonderful people, made friends all over the globe, and explored the world of creative writing. It's all quite amazing that a television show could do this, but there you go. For all their faults, TPTB did a good job! The songs quoted and the title of this story come from Sting's new CD, "Brand New Day." The fireworks celebration mentioned is an actual Toronto event -- the Millennium Lights Concert and Fireworks Spectacular is scheduled to start at 9 pm tonight. Wish I could go! Oh, and Natalie's t-shirt? I got mine at the Museum Store. It was a big hit at work! ================================================= A Thousand Years By Nancy Kaminski (c) December 31, 1999 ================================================= ----------------------- 8 pm, December 29, 1999 ----------------------- "I can't believe you aren't celebrating the millennium in some way," Natalie Lambert commented as she drew a sheet over the face of her latest customer. "Mr. Knowles wasn't murdered, incidentally. It was a massive infarction -- not surprising considering the state of his coronary arteries and the size of the turkey dinner he had just eaten. It was just a coincidence he died and fell down the stairs right in front of his rather unpleasant son-in-law. He wasn't pushed." "I'm glad to hear it," Nick Knight replied from his position by the wall where he had been leaning while he watched Natalie finish up the autopsy. "I don't like arresting someone during Christmas." "Like there's a good time to be arrested?" Natalie inquired. Nick shrugged. "He has kids. Lousy thing to do to them, taking their dad away. It's bad enough that they lost their grandfather." "True. And you're avoiding my question. Why won't you be celebrating the millennium? That's a once-in-a-lifetime sort of thing -- at least for most people," she amended. "And it's your first one." Nick shrugged again. "I can't get too excited about it. It's just a number -- there's nothing mystical or especially meaningful about it." "But still..." Nat protested. "But still what? It's not even relevant to millions of people. After all, it's the year 2543 for Buddhists, 1420 for Muslims, 1921 for Hindus, 4697 for the Chinese, 1993 for Ethiopians, and 5760 for Jews." She stared at him. "Where did that come from?" A faint smile tugged at Nick's mouth. "I read it in a magazine." "You...!" Natalie swatted him on the shoulder and chuckled, glad that she had made him at least smile. She shrugged out of her lab coat to reveal she was wearing a black t-shirt underneath that had 'MCMXCIX + I' on the front and 'MM' on the back. She pirouetted, then stood with her arms outstretched. "Well? Like my shirt?" "Very apropos. Maybe I should get one for Lacroix -- he'd appreciate the Roman numerals, at least, and black is definitely his color." She wrinkled her nose. "He probably still has the one from his first millennium celebration, along with the one that says, 'I survived the destruction of Pompeii and all I got was this lousy t-shirt.' " Nick snorted in amusement. She continued, "Seriously, though, I really want to know. Even if it is only numbers, they're the numbers we live by, and it's worth at least a thought, don't you think? Some sort of commemoration? I seem to remember you keeping an eye on the Caddy's odometer when it was close to turning over to 200,000 miles because you wanted to see it happen. This is sort of the same deal. People like to see the zeros roll around." Nick shook his head. "I guess it just reminds me how long it's been. I've seen too many numbers go by on the calendar, seen too many celebrations, panics, and predictions of doom. In the end it's meaningless. I'd rather just let it pass." Natalie crossed her arms and regarded him. "So you're going to spend the night alone in the loft feeling depressed?" "No," he denied quickly. "It's just another night. I'll do the usual stuff, that's all -- I've got a new canvas that I'm working on. Anyway, I'm on call in case something happens, even though I have the night off. Everyone in the department is, especially with all the fuss about those Algerians they arrested at the US border and all the parties in town. That puts a damper on any plans -- that is, if I had any, which I don't." Natalie leaned forward and tapped the pager on Nick's belt. "This is an amazing device, Nick. It beeps when they need you. You don't have to be by your phone anymore." "I know!" Nick said, an exasperated look on his face. The look turned to dismay. "Uh, Nat, were you wanting to spend New Year's Eve with me? Because, I, uh..." He floundered for words. Natalie's expression said that yes, she wouldn't have minded seeing the new millennium in with him, but she shook her head and patted his arm. "Don't worry, Nick, I wasn't fishing for an invitation. Besides, I'm going to be at Sarah and Amy's house, along with a horde of other relatives. I just worry about you, I guess. It's a dirty job," she added with a small smile, "but someone's gotta do it." Nick embraced her lightly. "Thanks for worrying, Natalie, but I'll be all right, really. I just want to let this one pass, all right? I'm glad you'll be with your family." He kissed her brow, then stepped back from her and smiled crookedly. "I'll see you next week, okay?" And with that he was gone. Natalie stared at the spot where he had been and sighed. At least he hadn't said "see you next millennium," as too many of her coworkers had in the last several days. That little jest was getting old fast. Nick might deny it, she thought as she went about her post-autopsy routine, but she was sure he would end up brooding and making himself miserable as only he could, and there was nothing she could do about it. ------------------------ 11 pm, December 31, 1999 ------------------------ Contrary to Natalie's expectations, Nick wasn't miserable. He had spent his day off pottering around his loft in various domestic pursuits, then working on his current painting. He had pointedly not turned on either television or radio in order to avoid the millennial hoopla going on in the outside world, and as a result had succeeded in not giving the event much thought at all. Now, ready to relax and enjoy his midday meal, he stocked the CD player with ten CDs, set them to play randomly, and settled on the sofa in front of the fire. He let his mind wander while he sipped and stared at the flames. A Mozart flute concerto played softly in the background. In spite of his determination not to, his thoughts turned to the imminent arrival of the new millennium. Who would ever have thought he, Nicolas de Brabant, former knight-errant of the Holy Roman See, would live to witness it? Certainly he hadn't -- he hadn't expected to live much past his fiftieth year, let alone his eight hundred and fifth. Idly he wondered what would have been the cause of his demise had he bypassed Paris and gone home. Stroke, like his father? A fever, like his brother? He sighed. It was a pointless speculation. He had been in Toronto seven years now -- seven years in this incarnation as Nicholas Knight. He was approaching that time when he would have to leave, unless Natalie miraculously came up with his cure. And in his heart of hearts, he didn't think that was going to happen, even though somehow he managed to keep the flame of hope alive within himself. Seven years, he mused. It was but a blink of the eye, and yet it was a lifetime. Over those years he had gradually become more comfortable within himself, more accepting of the idea that he wasn't evil incarnate, but a worthwhile person. He still hated his past, hated this *thing* within him, but now he could separate it from the core of his being. Nicolas de Brabant was still there, striving to prevail over the vampire -- and succeeding more often than not. He swirled the dregs in his glass thoughtfully. How had his perceptions changed so much, after so many hundreds of years of self- hatred and black despair? What was different about this life, about him? Natalie. She had accepted him, had not feared him, had chided him when he fell into self-recriminations and despair. She expected so much of him, and in response he found himself doing his best to live up to her expectations. He knew she loved him, and felt humbled. The concerto ended and the CD player quietly moved to another track. A strangely hypnotic rhythm pulsed out of the speakers, and then the song began... A thousand years, a thousand more A thousand times a million doors to eternity I may have lived a thousand lives, a thousand times An endless turning stairway climbs To a tower of souls If it takes another thousand years, a thousand wars, The towers rise to numberless floors in space I could shed another million tears, a million breaths, A million names but only one truth to face A million roads, a million fears A million suns, ten million years of uncertainty I could speak a million lies, a million songs, A million rights, a million wrongs in this balance of time But if there was a single truth, a single light A single thought, a singular touch of grace Then following this single point, this single flame, This single haunted memory of your face I still love you I still want you A thousand times the mysteries unfold themselves Like galaxies in my head I may be numberless, I may be innocent I may know many things, I may be ignorant Or I could ride with kings and conquer many lands Or win this world at cards and let it slip my hands I could be cannon food, destroyed a thousand times Reborn as fortune's child to judge another's crimes Or wear this pilgrim's cloak, or be a common thief I've kept this single faith, I have but one belief I still love you I still want you A thousand times these mysteries unfold themselves Like galaxies in my head On and on the mysteries unwind themselves Eternities still unsaid 'Til you love me Sting's reedy tenor faded out, and the CD player moved on to a Bach concerto. 'A singular touch of grace.' That was Natalie to him. Not an icon of mortality or an unattainable ideal, but a touch of grace. And if he had to move on without her, or wasn't able to join her in the sun, her essence would remain with him -- forever, vivid in his memories, guiding him onward. Stirring from his reverie, he glanced at his watch. Two more minutes before the clocks devised by man to measure and delineate life rolled into another millennium, into the future, into the unknowable. The flames danced and reflected in his somber gaze. In them he saw shadows of the figures of the past -- Janette, Lacroix, the mortals beyond number he had known, had loved, had killed. So many... His mood was interrupted by the sounds of distant explosions. He looked out the window to see fireworks drenching the skyline with color. Brilliant, glittering chrysanthemums and starbursts of light exploded in the night sky to welcome the new age. Laser lights danced against the high clouds and painted the sky in actinic lines of color. It was midnight. He climbed the stairs to the roof to watch. Crunching through the thin layer of snow to the edge of the roof, he stood in the chill breeze and gazed at the beautiful sight. He realized it was the city celebration -- fireworks were being shot off all around and from the top of the CN Tower and the harbourfront to greet the new year and the new millennium in a spectacular pyrotechnic show of joy. Smiling, he raised his glass and mutely offered a toast to the new year, to his adopted city, and to the future. His cellphone rang. He tossed off the rest of his glass, then fished the cellphone out of his back pocket. "Knight," he said, his eyes never leaving the fireworks. "Dispatch here," the harried voice came tinnily over the small phone. "It looks like the harbourfront party is getting out of hand, and we need all the warm bodies we have down there to keep a lid on it. You're to report to the command post at the south side of the Skydome ASAP. Wear your uniform, too -- we need a visible presence." "Okay, I'll be there in twenty minutes." He snapped the phone shut. Duty called. He gave the fireworks one last glance and went inside to change. Fifteen minutes later he was gone. The CD player was still playing random selections in the empty loft. Turn the clock to zero, boss The river's wide, we'll swim across We're starting up a brand new day. FINIS ============================================================== All comments, criticisms, and flying policemen may be sent to: nancykam@mediaone.net ==============================================================