Legal twaddle, I own not Forever Knight, nor any of its characters,
yet I still presume to own this, my story, if thou would’st like to
archive it, pray do, just keep my name on it and tell me where fore
thou hast placed it. If you object to this decree, may a thousand
unwashed rats find their way to your bathtubs! **Note: this is –not-
an open invitation to those with Ratpacker tendencies! <g>

Forgiveness (1/1)

By: Cousin Mary 

Feb. 1998

 

Tracy was in a back room of her gym. It was close to two in the
morning but she was friends with the owner so she was there after
closing, alone. And that was good because Tracy was very, very angry
and she didn’t need witnesses. Her partner was a freakin’ vampire! She
stepped up to the sand filled bag shaped like a seven-foot tall man,
and kicked it in the chest. How dare he lie to her? Using another
move, she swung her leg in a wide arch and kicked it in the neck. Who
the hell did he think he was? What gave him the right to keep that
from her?

Tracy wasn’t just angry; she was furious. She smashed her fist into
where a kidney would be. After she’d confronted Nick with her
knowledge he’d just given her a sheepish grin and told her he’d
thought he was protecting her. ‘From what?’ She’d screamed at him. He
had known she knew about vampires! She was no danger to the community.
Why the hell hadn’t he told her? She slammed her the heel of her hand
up into the dummy’s jaw. ‘Obviously he didn’t think very much of me.’
She thought to herself.

Just then she noticed someone standing in the shadows. She swung
around in fighting stance. After that serial killer had grabbed her
last year she had earnestly renewed her dedication to her self-defence
classes. Beyond the normal police training courses, she had enrolled
in a series of kick boxing, Aikido, karate, and judo classes. As well
as going to see some of her old friends that knew a few of the ‘less
established’ forms of fighting. And boy, was she ever ready for a
fight!

"Whoa, Tracy it’s me." Vachon stepped forward, hands up in a non-
threatening gesture. He’d been watching her from a distant and had
been very impressed. Vachon looked around the gym. It was a huge
warehouse type building in a bad part of town, full of antiquated
machines. He’d known Tracy came here, but hadn't realised just what
kind of place it was. This was a place for fighters, serious fighters.
The place was a temple to the fight. It was full of mats and rings.
Posters advertising various types of matches covered the dingy walls.
There were lines of different kinds of punching bags, and long-skinny
bags that he thought must be for kick-boxing. And a lot of stuff
Vachon had no idea what it was used for. But judging from what he’d
seen, Tracy knew how to use them all. Who knew Tracy had this side to
her?

Tracy looked at him, she wasn’t stupid, if Nick was a vampire, Vachon
–must- have known. Therefore he lied to her too. Tracy seriously
considered attacking him anyway. Instead she turned swiftly and kicked
the dummy in its sand-filled groin.

Vachon watched with a look of acute discomfort on his face. It took
him a minute to recover, "Ah…Trace? We had a date remember?" 

Tracy glared at him. "Nick-is-a-vampire." She said slowly, venom
dripping with every measured word.

‘Uh-oh,’ Vachon thought. He knew the implications. He took a step
towards her. "Look Hon," He began. "Nick told me not to say anything!"
He racked his hand through his dishevelled hair. He took another step
in her direction.

Just then, using a move she’d learned from someone not long ago, Tracy
straightened her fingers and locked them into place. Thrusting her
hand forward from her body she sunk her entire hand into the middle of
the dummy’s chest. Her fingers ripped through the heavy canvas. When
she withdrew her hand, she had a fist full of sand.

Vachon watched in horror as she slowly let the sand trickle out from
between her fingers. She’d just ripped its heart out! Vachon decided
not to get any closer just yet, He’d never she her so angry! "Ah
Trace, I’m really sorry." 

"You should have told me." She said in a small voice. 

Vachon looked at her. She looked like she was about to cry. Gone now
was the fury of a moment ago, replaced by a very hurt woman. "I know,
I know." He went to her and pulled her into his arms. "I know Trace."
She cuddled into his chest.

"No more secret Vachon." Tracy whispered, "Promise me."

Vachon looked down at the girl in his arms. He leaned down and kissed
the top of her golden head. "I promise."

They stood there silently for a long time. Gently rocking back and
forth, as the anger drained out of Tracy. Vachon felt her finally
relax in his arms. Taking her chin in his cool hand he tilted her face
up to his and gave her a gentle kiss. "Hey, kiddo, Where’d you learn
all that?" Indicating her dummy-smashing abilities.

"I used to run with a pretty tough crowd in my rebellious teens, you
know." She confided.

Vachon smiled down at her. "You rebelled?" He shook his head, "Can’t
see it, thought you were Daddy’s little girl."

Tracy smiled sadly, "For the most part I was." She looked thoughtful.
"But from about 14 to 16 I was a real terror." She laughed. "I had a
17 year old friend who rode this great big black motorcycle. I pretty
much ran wild with him and his friends." She smiled at the memories.
"Finally Dad put his foot down. He sent me to an all girls’ school for
the last two years of high school, made me see a bunch of
counsellors." She took a deep breath, "After that, I settled down,
went to college, the academy." She shrugged, "Lost track of most of
the old gang."

"What happened to them?" Vachon asked, expecting stories of prison and
death.

"Oh…um, let’s see." Tracy screwed up her face as she thought. "Jean
owns a tattoo parlour down on ninth. Mave is married with three kids.
Carlo works in construction in Vancouver. And Spike owns this place."
She said, throwing her arms wide to indicate the gym.

Vachon raised an eyebrow. "I thought you lost track."

Tracy shrugged. "I looked them up again, I –am- a detective you know."
She told him with aplomb. She chewed her lip. "Most of my friend’s
from college are gone, Jody disappeared, Bruce is in jail." Tracy
sighed. "Sometimes you’ve got to recognise who your –real- friends
are."

Vachon searched her face. She sounded so world-weary now. He than
realised she must have been seeing these friends of hers during the
days, when he couldn’t be with her. He gathered her close against him;
not sure he’d ever let her go again. He found he didn’t like the idea
of her having secrets from him either. "Do you forgive me for not
telling you?" He smiled down at her.

If he’d expected her quick smile back, he was sorely disappointed.
Tracy stared up into his eyes, judging him. 

Vachon felt vaguely uncomfortable under her steely gaze.

"We’ll see Vachon." She said slowly. "We’ll see."

>>>>>>

Okay, I took some liberties with Tracy’s past. But here’s my
rationalisation…remember how Tracy said she had a friend who was
really into tattoos? =That’s Jean. <g> And Jody was a sorority sister,
so I’m assuming they met in college. As for Bruce, when Tracy rebelled
he would’ve been in college (probably on the hockey team.) And her
father, used to his good little Button, hadn’t realised for a while
what was going on (too involved with his career.) She would’ve had
free-reign for a bit. Hey! It could’ve happened! <g> 

Send comments (and moral objections to my toying with Tracy’s past) to
anteros@juno.com