From: glenn@v-wave.com (Glenn St-Germain) Newsgroups: alt.tv.quantum-leap.creative,alt.tv.forever-knight Subject: "KNIGHT LEAP", part 01/04 Date: Tue, 22 Jul 1997 14:35:11 -0600 Organization: Videotron Communications Ltd. (V-WAVE) Message-ID: <33D5197F.7E36@v-wave.com> Knight Leap A Quantum Leap - Forever Knight Crossover by Glenn St-Germain Author's Note: This story was written in the summer of 1994, after the end of the first Forever Knight series (1992-94, CBS late night) but before the second series (1995-96, syndicated). The events of the second series are incompatible with this story (which, after all, is just a story). Knight Leap Prologue 1. Theorizing that one could time travel within his own lifetime, Dr. Sam Beckett led an elite group of scientists into the desert as part of a project known as Quantum Leap. Pressured to prove his theories or lose funding, Dr. Beckett prematurely stepped into the project accelerator... and vanished. He awoke to find himself in the past, suffering from partial amnesia and facing mirror images that were not his own. His only contact with the present was through Al, the project observer, who appeared in the form of a hologram that only Dr. Beckett can see or hear. Trapped in the past, Dr. Beckett finds himself leaping from life to life, putting right what once went wrong, each time hoping that his next leap will be the leap home... 2. He was brought across in 1228. Preyed on humans for their blood. And now he wants to be mortal again. To repay society for his sins. To emerge from his world of darkness... From his endless forever night! July 12, 1993 The whiteness became tinged with blue, which quickly solidified into the scene of an alley behind tall buildings. It was night. He was carrying a pistol in one hand. Sam Beckett looked around for a moment. He was stooped over behind a dumpster. He started to straighten up in order to look around, but someone pulled on his jacket, yanking him down. "Jeez, Nick, get down!" Sam crouched back down just as a bullet whistled over his head, ricocheting off the wall behind him. "Oh, boy," he muttered. Part 1 A few more shots whistled over their heads. Beside him was a man, dark haired, balding, slightly chubby, wearing a tan trenchcoat, also holding a gun. "Trying to get yourself killed, Nick?" he asked. "I think he's doing a good job of that already," replied Sam. "Yeah... and backup is taking its own sweet time getting here." "He's trapped," said Sam, more to confirm his suspicions than anything else." "Trapped like the rat he is. Hey, partner, if I cover you, can you sneak around one side and corner him?" "I think so." "Good." Sam's partner slowly raised his head and arm over the top of the dumpster as Sam crawled around one side. He kept close to the wall, gun drawn, hoping that whoever had been shooting at them didn't notice. So far, so good. His name was Nick, and he was most likely a police officer. He put his hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and felt a leather folder; inside he could feel a badge. A few shots were fired back and forth as Sam took cover behind a cardboard box. He could make out a figure in the doorway of one of the buildings, furtively looking out and firing shots over Nick's partner's head. Sam continued past the doorway, then stepped out into the alley, gun ready. "Drop it!" he ordered. The figure in the doorway turned, startled. In the dim light, Sam could see that his quarry was very young, probably no more than eighteen. The youth looked at Sam, back at Sam's partner by the dumpster, then back at Sam. He then dropped the pistol he was holding and lifted his hands into the air. Sam's partner approached with a pair of handcuffs, just as a police car, lights flashing, appeared at the end of the alley. "Alright, you," said Sam's partner to the youth, "hands on your head." He turned to Sam. "Nicely done." "Thanks," replied Sam, still not sure where he was. Sam's partner put the handcuffs on the youth and led him to the waiting police car. One uniformed police officer took the youth and escorted him into the back of the car. The other called out to Sam and his partner. "Hey, Knight! Nice work!" Sam looked at his partner, then back at the officer. "Are you okay?" asked the officer. "Ahh, he's just not getting enough iron in his diet," replied Sam's partner. The officer laughed. Sam's partner went to speak with the other officer. "Good thing you and Skank were in the neighbourhood," said the officer. "Yes, it was," replied Sam. "Just doing our jobs." "We'll take him in for you, but you get to do the paper when you come in, hear?" "Works for me." "Hey, I know it's only a robbery suspect, but sometimes there's nothing else for homicide to do." "That's just the way I like it," replied Sam. The officer laughed again, then climbed into his car. The police car backed out of the alley, leaving him and Skank alone. "Good bust, Nick," said Skank. "Come on," replied Sam. "Let's get out of here." "Skank" turned out be Detective Don Schanke (pronounced "Skankie"), Nick's partner with the Metropolitan Toronto Police Department. Nick and Skank were assigned to Homicide Division, on the night shift. Nick drove a 1962 Cadillac convertible (in excellent shape, he noticed), and the year was 1993. As he drove down the streets of downtown Toronto, he smiled to himself; he'd been able to find out all this before Al appeared to fill him in on this leap. He also noticed that his partner talked a lot. They eventually wound their way back to headquarters, at about four in the morning. He read the report submitted by the uniformed officers earlier that evening. The youth they arrested in the alley had just robbed a corner store; Nick and Schanke had been driving by at the time, and gave chase. When the two of them had the youth cornered, he tried to shoot his way out, failing. Sam looked up, then over his shoulder. Al Calavicci, the Quantum Leap project observer, was looking over his shoulder, reading the same report. Sam picked up the telephone; Al nodded, understanding Sam's actions. To anyone else in the room, it would look like Sam was talking on the phone. "So, what's going on?" asked Sam. Al checked his handlink, the calculator-sized gadget that allowed him to communicate him with Ziggy, the project supercomputer. He spoke, reading from the handlink's readout. "Your name is Nick Knight. You're a plainclothes police officer with the Metro Toronto Police Department... that's in Canada..." "I know where Toronto is," replied Sam. "Yeah... Anyway, it's July the twelfth, 1993. You've been with the force for only a few years... you transferred from another department or something... Your partner is Don Schanke..." Al pronounced it "Shankey". "That's 'Skankie'", Sam corrected. "If you've got this all figured out already, then what am I doing here?" "You're going to tell me what I'm doing here." "Ziggy doesn't know yet." "Any ideas?" "Not really. This Knight character, he's not saying much. Doctor Beeks is trying to get him to open up, but he seems to be hiding something. He seems nervous, like he has something important to do here... I'll let you know." Schanke passed by Nick's desk. "Nick, when you're off the phone, the captain wants to see us." Sam nodded at Schanke. "As soon as you know anything, can you get back to me?" "Absolutely. I'll have another chat with Detective Knight. Meanwhile, be careful." "Yes, dear," replied Sam sarcastically. Al snorted, then disappeared as he punched a button on the handlink. Captain Stonetree motioned for Sam and Schanke to sit down, then opened a file folder. Sam looked at the photograph on top, then winced. It was a young woman, most probably dead. Why did it have to be a homicide detective? Sam thought to himself. "This is the third one in as many weeks," said Stonetree. "She was found in an alley not three blocks from where you cornered that robbery suspect." "Same m.o. as the others?" asked Sam. "Seems that way," replied Stonetree. "Dr. Lambert should have her preliminary report tonight." They discussed the case for a few more minutes. The victims so far had been young women, either prostitutes or street people. And their bodies were found drained of most of their blood, a fact which made Sam uneasy. Sam and Schanke drove to the Medical Examiner's facility, located in the basement of Toronto General Hospital. Schanke was still talking a mile a minute, about the case, about the weather, and about "Nat", apparently a woman they both knew. Schanke hinted that this "Nat" had something for Nick. Sam found himself shaking his head, smiling, as he parked the car. Schanke opened the door to the forensic lab. Sam saw an attractive redhead washing her hands at the sink in the corner. "Hi, Nat," said Schanke. "Hi, guys," she replied, drying her hands. "I guess you're here for the report?" Sam noted she seemed awfully chipper for someone who did what she did for a living. He glanced at her lapel; a nametag read "Natalie Lambert, M.D., Medical Examiner". "Yeah, well, you know how much Nick loves to visit," replied Schanke. "Skank!" chided Sam, trying not to smile. He had noticed that Natalie had looked mostly at him, almost completely ignoring Schanke. "What's the story?" he asked her. "It's not pretty," replied Natalie. "Puncture wound in the neck, massive blood loss... just like the others." "Any clues to her identity?" asked Sam. He caught a glimpse of himself reflected in the frame of the overhead lamp. Tall, light brown hair, classical features, good-looking. "Not with this one," she replied. "The way she was dressed, and with the needle tracks... probably a hooker. I've sent a copy of her prints to your department. The lab work will take a while longer." She handed Sam a manila envelope. "My initial report," she said. "Let me know if you find out more." "Sure." She looked at the clock on the wall. "Nick, it's getting late. You should get going." "Yeah," agreed Schanke, "our boy needs his beauty sleep." "If sleep makes you beautiful, Skank, you must have insomnia." "Argh! I'm hit!" Skank mugged, as if hit by a bullet. "Come on, Nick. By the time you drop me off it'll be end of shift. See you, Nat!" Schanke left the two of them alone; as soon as he left, Natalie burst out laughing, Sam joining her. "He's one of a kind," she said. "Fortunately," he agreed. "I'll call you later. But you really should get going." He caught her looking at the clock again, and glanced at it himself. It was nearly five in the morning. "Okay," he said. "Good night." Sam ran down the hall to catch up with Schanke. He dropped his partner off at the precinct, then drove to the address on Nick's driver's licence (after checking a Toronto street map he found in the Caddy's glove box). Driving home, several things were running through his mind. Things such as, what did Nick and Natalie have between them, if anything? She obviously cared about him. But why did she seem so insistent that he should leave? And what was a night-shift police officer doing driving a classic like a '62 Caddy ragtop? Sam reached Nick's place just before sunrise. Nick Knight lived in an old warehouse that had been converted into loft apartments. Inside, the furniture was spartan, yet decorative. And there were some interesting objets d'art on the walls and tables. Whoever he was, Nick Knight wasn't just a dumb cop... the man had taste. Even if he lived in a trendy yuppie loft. Sam went into the kitchen, which took up one corner of the large main room. The cupboards were bare: nothing to eat. Not even junk food, thought Sam. Maybe Knight eats all his meals at restaurants. He then opened the refrigerator, and saw that it was filled with dark green wine bottles. And nothing else. He took one of the bottles, uncorked it, and sniffed... and almost dropped it as he recoiled from the smell. The bottle was filled with blood. "Oh, boy," he said to himself. Sam spent the next few hours making a mental inventory of Knight's apartment. There was a bedroom on the upper level, but the bed didn't look well used. The bathroom had nothing in the way of toiletries save for some cologne and a bottle of mouthwash: no toothpaste, no razor. There was no food to be found anywhere, except for half a box of stale cookies in the back of one cupboard. There was a large-screen television, an assortment of movies on videotape, a stereo system, an answering machine, and a well-stocked bookcase. He spent an hour poring over Knight's book collection. Much of it was either history or archaeology. Some of it were on the level of a university textbook. Definitely not just a dumb cop, Sam thought. Wonder why he's on the force instead of a university somewhere? A book on the Civil War caught Sam's eye, and he flipped through it. Then something grabbed his attention. The page featured a photograph of a few Union soldiers. He stared at the picture for a moment, then went to look in the bathroom mirror. The face in the mirror perfectly matched one of the faces in the picture. Sam looked from the book to the mirror and back again, then shrugged and went back to investigating the bookshelf. Looking at the clock, he saw that it was mid- morning. Nick Knight had heavy metal shutters which closed over the windows, operated by a master remote control which also controlled the television, the VCR, and the stereo. He aimed the remote at one of the windows and pressed a button; the shutters slowly slid open, letting sunlight stream into the room. The door chimed; someone was coming in. A moment later, the door to the elevator opened, and Natalie Lambert walked in. She immediately ran to Sam's side and reached for the remote. "Nick! What are you doing?" she asked, as if she had just caught a child playing with dynamite. "Just looking at the sun," he replied. "What's the problem?" "The problem is that you still can't take more than a minute of daylight." She reached over and pressed a button on the remote, closing the shutters. "I feel fine," replied Sam. Natalie looked at Sam, studying his face. "You know, you do look pretty good. Better than I've seen in a long time. Maybe you are getting better." Sam had no idea what she was talking about, so he decided to change the subject. "So, did you come to talk about me, or was there something about the case?" he asked. "I've got to tell you, Nick, this case is giving me the creeps. It's almost like... like Lacroix over again." Sam made a mental note to look up any file references to "Lacroix" when he returned to work that evening. "You said 'almost'." "It looks like his style. But you and I both know it couldn't be Lacroix... but maybe it's one of the others." "The others?" "Come on, Nick!" she snapped. "You know damn well what I'm talking about!" She paused for a moment. "Are you sure you're okay?" she asked, her demeanour changing in an instant from anger to concern. "You did seem a little off earlier this evening. That's why I came by." "It's been a long day." The sounds of a sliding metal door and air rushing through indicated to Sam that Al had returned to the imaging chamber. Al gave Natalie a long look up and down. "Yes, it has," she replied, "for both of us. Have you been... eating?" "No, actually..." Sam looked at Al. Al shrugged. "Good for you. We both need to get some sleep..." Al grinned broadly, winking at Sam. "... so I'd better go. I'll call you tonight." She leaned toward Sam, kissed him, and left. When she was gone, Sam turned toward Al, who was still watching the door to the exit. "Who was she?" asked Al. "She," replied Sam, "was Doctor Natalie Lambert." "Ooh, I'd love to play doctor with her!" "She's a pathologist with the coroner's office." "Aw, yuck! Why did you have to tell me that!" "You asked for it." Sam sat down in the easy chair. "So, what did you find out?" "A few things." Al began to pace back and forth, reading the handlink's readout while puffing on a cigar. Sam sprawled out onto the couch. Al continued. "According to Ziggy, there was a Toronto police detective named Nick Knight with the force from 1989 to 1993... apparently he disappeared... will disappear... a few months from now." "If it's a few months away, why am I here now?" "Nada. Knight won't talk. To anyone. He won't even let anyone come near him. And he won't eat." "It fits. There's no food here. Just blood." Al did a double-take. "What?!" he exclaimed. "All he has in his fridge are wine bottles full of blood." "I thought the guy was weird, but he's starting to sound like a real sicko." Al went to the refrigerator and stuck his head through the door. To him, the fridge, and everything else in the room, was a hologram in the imaging chamber. "There's more," said Sam. "Apparently, Natalie doesn't want him to get any sunlight..." Al turned toward Sam, a shade paler than he was before. "Tell me about the case," he said. "There's been some murders. Prostitutes, mostly. But the victims were all found with most of their blood gone." Sam stopped to think, while Al frantically pressed buttons on the handlink. "Gushie!" he called into the unit. "Have Ziggy call up records on a series of killings in Toronto in the summer of 1993." Al stood in front of Sam, then crouched so they were eye to eye. "Sam, I've got a funny feeling about this." "Oh?" "It all fits... the blood, the sunlight, Knight's pale complexion... hang on a minute." The handlink beeped, and he checked the readout. "Ziggy says the killings continue for several more weeks. And one of the victims will be Dr. Natalie Lambert." "That must be what I'm here to prevent," replied Sam, suddenly standing up. "Ziggy says there's a 65 per cent chance that's why you're here. But Knight went missing, disappeared without a trace, shortly after Dr. Lambert was killed." "You think that I'm... Knight is the killer?" "Where else did he get the blood?" "Al!" "He works nights. He's got a fridge full of blood. He won't go out in the daytime!" He waved the handlink for emphasis. "I don't know how else to say this... I think Nick Knight may be a vampire!" Sam stared at Al for a moment, then started laughing. "Al," he chided, "there's no such thing as a vampire." "Well, whatever this guy is, it's creepy. Maybe he just thinks he's a vampire." "Why don't you ask him?" "Maybe you're right. I think it's time he started talking."