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Date Posted: 20:17:21 09/13/03 Sat
Author: Spin
Subject: Chapter Seventy
In reply to: Spin 's message, "Revelation" on 22:34:06 05/20/02 Mon

~*~

Dozens of lit candles set atop tall, ornate candelabras and the hissing fire burning in the large hearth were the only source of light in the desolate room. The double doors suddenly opened, and the flames on the candles flickered, struggling to stay lit as a small draft of wind drifted through the room. A repetitious tapping sound echoed throughout the room every time the bottom of the cane encountered the solid floor. The tapping stopped when Irons made his way to the leather chair. He stands the cane against the arm of the chair, then moved around to sit down. After letting out a wearisome sigh, Irons composed himself and concentrated on the chessboard in front of him.

He leaned back into the chair; legs crossed, and fingers interlaced together. Staring down at the board pondering over his next move. Irons sat there for what seemed like hours until finally he made a move. Just another hapless pawn captured by his knight. He set the captured piece aside. Irons returned to his deliberation, unaware of the second presence in the room.

The shadow separated itself from the wall, sailing across the room on silent footsteps. Before Irons realized what was happening, agile fingers reached across the chessboard. Grabbing the opposing bishop, and capturing Irons knight. “Check.” Irons followed with his eyes as the person sat down across from him. “Hello my dear,” he smoothly greeted, hoping his voice belied the apprehension he felt.

Faith nodded her reply. She sat back into the plush leather chair, legs crossed, her fingers still toying with the ivory chess piece, and familiar azure eyes transfixed on the man across from her. “If I had known you were coming I would have made the necessary arrangements to… greet you properly, my dear.”

She waved her hand, “I wouldn’t want you to go through so much trouble just for me.”

“It would have been no trouble at all. It is not everyday I get to see my only daughter…”

“Alive?” She coolly added, yet her eyes were blazing with anger.

“As delighted as I am seeing you again, my dear. What do I owe for this fortuitous visit?”

Faith slammed the chess piece down so hard onto the table; it rattled the rest of the pieces, some nearly tipping over. “My presence here goes far beyond a ‘frotuitous visit’. You’re a smart man, you’ve already figured out why I’m here.” She fingered the piece, a clear sign that one of the reasons why she was here was because of Ian. But there was more to her return.

Irons pressed his forefinger against his pursed lips. The corner of his mouth lifted into a grin. “So you have risen from the grave to seek revenge on your father. Rather cliché don’t you think my dear?”

“Perhaps, yet it all depends on how you look at it. For one thing, to rise from the grave one would need to be dead. As you can see,” she spread her arms out, “I am very much alive. Not some zombie or ghost. And secondly, how does one seek vengeance on a person I no longer consider my father?” Faith didn’t bother to hide the animosity in her voice.

“My dear sweet, Faith. You wound me.” Placing a hand over his heart.

“If only,” she added with a smile.

Irons smirked at her remark, “touché.” She grinned, tipping her head slightly forward. “I believe it is your move,” Faith pointed at the chessboard. Irons ponder over his pieces, and the list of possible moves running through him mind. “What’s wrong? Can’t seem to calculate your way out,” she paused then spat out, “Father?”

“If you stopped being the impudent child that you are, you will learn that there are many ways to win.” Irons admonished, as he captured her bishop with his knight.

“Tsk, tsk, tsk, father.” She shook her head; teasing him, “Do not revert to name calling. Such mockery is for children. It is definitely not suitable for someone so advance in age. And believe me I’ve learned a great deal over the years.” Faith stared at the board no more then two seconds and was already making her next move. Irons was seething, chiding himself for not realizing he had unknowingly placed his chess piece in danger. He watched her capture his last knight. “You’re turn,” she yelled.

“I am not deaf, Faith. I am perfectly capable of hearing just fine.” Irons pursed his lips and concentrated on the board. He was getting rather annoyed from her continuous mockery. She always had a way of getting under his skin. And she loved every minute of it.

“My apologizes. You see from what I have heard, the hearing tends to be the first thing that goes when one gets older. And I must say how the years seem to be taking its toll on you.” He narrowed his frigid eyes on her, his hand tightening around the handle of the cane. Most people would have frozen under his stare, but not Faith. She smiled innocently, unperturbed by the look Irons was giving her. Irons swore under his breath. “So tell me, just how do you plan on winning against time old man?”

Irons grinned, “Check,” he said after his move.

“Let me guess,” She started, picking up the queen and holding it in her hand.

“As I recall, there is a great test called the Periculum. If the wielder manages to pass this test, the Witchblade not only bonds with the wielder it also bestows upon the chosen woman with special…gifts. Genetically altering her body.”

“Is there a point to your rambling?” he asked.

Faith smiled, shaking her head. “For nearly three decades you have feasted on Elizabeth Bronte’s body like some scavenger. Using her blood to maintain your youth. Now, with Sara as the new wielder, your well has become obsolete, dried up in fact. So you’re seeking a new well, a new fountain of youth that spews red. Am I right, father?”

Irons shook his head, “If you already knew of my plans. Why did you come here?”

She shrugged, “Confirmation I suppose. Yet, that isn’t the only reason why I came here tonight. It’s the means of how you would obtain these gifts. This thing, this creation you’ve let loose out on society.”

“Ah, you mean Ian?”

“That freak is not Ian!” Faith stood up from her seat, pacing back and forth. “You know, father, I’ve always admired your intelligence. Only a truly smart man could survive the way you have. But,” shaking her head, “I can see that your lust for control has clouded your judgment.”

“What are you implying my dear?”

“I guess sight is the next thing to go when you get older. Can you tell me how many fingers I’m holding up?” Faith flipped him her middle finger. Irons stared daggers at her. “You’re delusional to think that you have any control over this clone of yours, to think that you will win.”

“In the end, I always do my dear. Always.” He retorted.

“Perhaps, but not this time around. By the way,” she walked over to the table and placed the chess piece down into the appropriate space, “Checkmate.” She declared before tipping the king over.

“We shall see my dear daughter.” Irons said aloud, watching her retreating back. He looked down at the board, upset that he had lost the game. He ran the cane across the table, knocking the chess pieces everywhere, all except one, the ivory queen. Absently, Irons started rubbing the back of his right hand. Faith’s mockery of his appearance ran through his mind along with his earlier conversation with Dr. Immo.

“Her cells may be degenerating, unraveling.”

“That's why we're using a larger piece this time.” He had said.

“You may be developing a tolerance, an immunity to her.”

Irons shook his head. His own fountain of youth had dried up, lost its potency, and now he needed fresh blood. He needed Sara Pezzini’s blood. Irons stared into the flames. Finally, coming to a decision, he picked up the phone and dialed.

“Yes, master?”

~*~

“Tell your sister I said hello. I love you too, Marie. Bye.” Joe said before hanging up. He wiped the tear from his eye, and walked over to his chair. Just as he unscrewed the cap off the bottle, he heard a noise in the background. With a heavy sigh, Joe started pouring himself a glass of his favorite whiskey. He sat patiently, casually sipping his drink.

“What took you so long?” Joe looked up at Dante. His old revolver held in Dante’s hand.

“You finally grew some stones, huh, Joe?” Dante teased.

“Yeah. Feels pretty damn good, too.” Joe took another swig of his drink.

“What? Telling a girl her dad's a hero instead of telling her the truth?” There was no hiding the distaste in Dante’s voice.

“That is the truth. Jim was a hero.” He poured the rest of the whiskey into his glass.

“And you're a schmuck. All you did was sign Sara's death warrant.” Dante warned, his mouth smacking away on his gum. “Not to mention my own,” Joe added, raising his glass. Dante gave him a nod, considerately letting the man finish his last drink. After three large gulps, the glass was empty. Joe set the glass down and waited for the inevitable but not before saying, “You're right, Bruno. I did sign two death warrants tonight, but they weren't mine and Sara's. They were mine and yours.”

Dante snorted, shaking his head. “Whatever, Joe. By the way, I found this in your room. You don't mind if I use it, do you?” Dante placed the bullet in the chamber and closed it. Joe spread his arms out, a ‘be my guest’ expression on his face.

~*~

Sara and Jake exited the café and started for her apartment just a few blocks away. Not far behind Nottingham followed. An ominous grin spreading across his face as he listens to his master over the phone. His orders were specific, retrieve the wielder and return to the mansion. “I want her alive, but use what ever means necessary.” Irons ordered before hanging up. Nottingham’s grin grew wider. He shoved the phone into his coat pocket, quickening his pace to keep up with Sara and Jake. Both unaware of his presence.

“You ever notice how people who say, "Everyone in the world is dishonest" are usually dishonest themselves?” Sara openly stated, while walking down the alley near her apartment building.

“And folks who think people are basically honest tend to be honest?” Jake added.

Sara grinned, “Yeah, exactly.” The easy camaraderie quickly faded when Sara spotted her buell or rather what was left of her precious bike. She crouched besides the heap of metal, speechless and shock that someone had purposely destroyed her buell. Jake shook his head. Placing a hand on her shoulder, he said, “This was no accident, Sara.”

Sara knew it wasn’t a random act, she was even certain the White Bulls were responsible. Jake on the other hand knew that it was. Just hours ago Dante had asked him what he thought Sara loved the most. He responded by saying that she loved her bike. This was Dante’s plans. To take away everything she loves, hoping to push her over the edge, forcing her to make a mistake, and Dante was going to be there when she did. From the looks of things it was working. Sara’s shoulders were trembling, trying hard not to cry. Jake pulled her to him and hugged her tightly.

Nottingham smirked, recalling a black SUV repeatedly running over Sara’s bike. Then the burly driver stepped out of the vehicle, walked over to the trashed bike, and pissed on it. A satisfied smile plastered on the man’s face.

Jake ushered Sara into the building, guiding her to her apartment. Jake took the keys from Sara’s shaking hand and unlocked the door. Nottingham hurried up the fire escape. By the time he reached her apartment window, Sara and Jake were already in the living room. Jake watched Sara pace back and forth. “You okay?” Sara shook her head, not bothering to say anything.

Jake ran a hand through his hair, “Okay, here’s what we’re going to do. Pack what you need for a couple of days because you’re staying on my couch until further notice.”

Sara’s head shot up, “What?”

“We’ll stick together.”

“Jake, if they want to get me…”

“They’ll have to get the both of us.”

Sara thought for a moment then said, “How can I say no to that?” she smiled.

Nottingham pursed his lips into a tight line, his brows furrowed in frustration as he listened. The situation had just gotten complicated. If he was going to fulfil his duty he needed to act now, regardless of the little obstacle that stood in his way. His only order was to return with the wielder. The other detective was obsolete. Nottingham unlocked the window and quietly crawled in.

Sara pulled out her backpack and started stuffing it with clothes and anything else she would need for the next few days. Sara zipped up the bag and tossed it on the bed. “You got everything you need?” Jake asked. “Yeah, I think so.” She looked around her bedroom, making sure she didn’t forget anything. “Give me a minute, I have to use the bathroom.” Jake nodded, grabbing her bag, and waited in the living room.

Nottingham silent maneuvered around the apartment. His eyes locked on Jake sitting on the couch. Nottingham neared closer coming up from behind. He pulled out his digger from his coat, holding the hilt tightly in his hand. Nottingham grinned, thinking that soon the gleaming blade would be tainted with the detective’s blood. And just when he was about to reach out to slit Jake’s throat, a crash was heard.

Jake quickly got up from the couch and rushed across the room over to the bathroom door. He knocked once, “Hey you okay in there?”

“Yeah, I accidentally knocked over my glass cup. Shit,” Sara swore aloud.

“What’s the matter?” Concerned Jake reached for the knob.

“Nothing, tell you what Jake. Why don’t you take my stuff to your car. I’ll be down in a minute.” Sara suggested.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea. We should stick together.”

“Rookie, what’s going to happen, huh?” She snorted, “Go on I’ll be down in a few.”

“All right, but if you’re not down in five minutes, I’m coming back up.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Sara answered.

Reluctantly Jake moved away from the door. He grabbed her bag and headed down the stairs. After hearing the door close, Nottingham stepped out from the corner. Thinking how lucky Jake was. Now, with Jake gone, getting to Sara would be much easier.

Sara swore again, looking down at her injured hand. While picking up the pieces of broken glass, she had managed to cut her hand. Thankfully, it wasn’t a very deep cut but her wound was still bleeding profusely. She grabbed a small washcloth and wrapped it around her hand, making a temporary bandage. “Where the hell is the first aid kit?” she wondered while rummaging through her medicine cabinet.

That was when she rememberd she had moved it over to the kitchen. Sara carefully walked around the mess, promising to clean it up after she tended to her wound. She opened the door and was alarmed to find all the lights in the apartment were turned off. “Jake?” she called out but there was no answer. She looked down at the blade which remined quiet.

Cautiously, Sara walked around the apartment, searching for a lamp to turn on. Just as she was about to reach for the switch, a steely hand grabbed her wrist. Nottingham whirled her around, so that her back was pressed against him, her left arm trapped between their bodies. “Good evening, Sa-ra,” Nottingham whispered into her ear. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on ends. A frigid chill ran down her spine, and her heart started racing. A low ominous laugh escaped Nottingham’s lips. Enjoying the feel of her body against his and the fear emitting from her.

Sara started to struggle, unmindful of the pain that was shooting up the arm he held behind her back. He tightens his hold and Sara hissed in pain. She started kicking his shins, eliciting a groan from his lips, but he didn’t relinquish his hold. “Don’t do that again.” He ordered his voice tight and irritated.

“Or what?” She angrily retorted, belying the fear she was feeling. Already knowing what he’d do to her if she didn’t stop.

“If you don’t,” Sara froze when she felt a solid object gliding up, over her body. “You’ll push me to use some unnecessary force.” He said, the edge of the knife veering around her breast. His hand purposely brushing against the mound. “What the hell do you want?” Sara hissed through gritted teeth. She held her breath when she felt the cool metal brush against her neck.

“My master wants a little taste.”

“What…” Sara’s voice trailed off, grimacing when she felt his tongue run up the side of her face. And purposely nicking the side of her neck with the tip of the blade, a small trickle of blood flowed down her neck. “Flesh and blood, Sara.”

Sara panicked, her breathing becoming harder, heart racing even faster. She closed her eyes, concentrating on the blade. Willing it to help her. Nothing. Nottingham chuckled, “Haven’t you learned, your toy won’t work against me.”

“But mines will,” a female voice spoke out.

Sara and Nottingham both looked up to see where the voice was coming from. Their eyes wandered over to the silhouette near the window. All they could see was the gleam of a blade winking back at them. Nottingham pulled Sara closer, the blade pressed so dangerously close to her neck, that Sara was sure if she swallowed she’d accidentally cut herself.

“Who are you?” Nottingham demanded. Yet, knew that this was the other person who had been watching over Sara.

In hopes that she can help Sara, Faith cautiously moved around the apartment, calculating where she should position herself, making sure to keep to the shadow. From what she could assess using force was out of the question. There was no doubt Sara was going to get hurt, or worst killed. And there was still the uncertainty of how skillful this clone really was. Faith had to think of another way to get to the clone. At least find a way to distract him long enough for Sara to escape. Everything after that would be a free for all.

But what could she do? She couldn’t exactly negotiate with the man. He has no moral conscious, no control…and that’s when it hit her. When one loses control, they tend to make mistakes. Faith stared at the clone. The man radiated with over confidence, and cockiness. Perhaps a few hints on the man’s ego might do the trick. Might.

“It’s me, Faith. I’m insulted you don’t remember, Ian.” Faith started, feigning disappointment.

“I don’t know you,” Nottingham replied.

“Yes, you do Ian. No, wait a minute, hmm,” she paused, her finger tapping against her chin, pretending to contemplate. “Ah,” she finally said, “I can see why you wouldn’t remember.”

“Please do explain,” he asked. Even Sara was curious where this was going.

“How can someone recall a memory when one does not possess any to begin with?”

“Meaning?”

“You’re NOT Ian.”

“I am Ian Nottingham!” The clone declared through gritted teeth.

Faith grinned, shaking her head, “No you’re not.” Her voice calm and leveled. “You may walk around, looking like him, sounding like him, even using his name, but never will you be him. Let’s face it, you will always be the second rate freak that you are. Irons may call you the ‘successor’ but in less terms it just means you’re the alternative, the substitute.”

Nottingham sneered. Sara could feel Nottingham’s body tense up behind her. She could hear the leather stretch as he tighten his hands. A thin red line formed as the edge of the blade dug into the side of Sara’s neck.

“Come on, doppleganger, let’s see what you got, huh?” Faith coaxing him on with her middle finger. “Because honestly, you ain’t shit just some pretender.” Faith started to laugh.

“Nothing would please me more then to release you from your earthly bonds.” He said dreamily. Faith swore inwardly, the taunts didn’t look like it was helping. Only getting the man more pissed off. Damn it now what?

At that moment, the ring around Sara’s neck glowed. Then suddenly the sound of metal clicking together echoed in the apartment. The Witchblade had come alive. Without a second thought, Sara reached up, wrenching the blade from Nottingham’s hands. For a brief moment, Nottingham was caught off guard. His hold on Sara loosened. Everything was happening so fast, and luckily, Faith was quick enough to react before Nottingham could.

She rushed towards them, reaching out to grab Sara’s arm. While pulling her away from Nottingham, Faith delivered a roundhouse kick to his face, the blow sent him staggering backwards. Faith pushed Sara behind her, placing herself between the two.

Nottingham looked up at Faith, the right side of his face covered in blood. Nottingham felt a painful sensation, reaching up he traced the long slash with his gloved fingertips. Pulling back, he stared down at his blood-coated glove. His angry and confused eyes darted towards the curved blade sticking out from the tip of Faith’s boot.

“Fucking bitch, you’ll pay for that.” He venomously threatens.

Faith only grinned; readying herself for a fight she knew was coming. Nottingham took a step forward before the front door burst opened, “Sara!” Jake yelled out, hurriedly running up the stairs. Nottingham and Faith stared at each other. “Until next time, Faith.” Nottingham was about to run out when he spotted the blood soaked towel on the floor. He picked it up and ran, crashing through the window. Faith and Sara rushed over to look out the window. Gone.

Faith turned to Sara, pointing the blade she still held in her hand at her, “What the hell was on that cloth?”

Undisturbed by the sharp object pointed at her, Sara showed Faith her injured hand and said, “My blood.”

“Shit!”

“What’s wrong?” Sara asked but before Faith could answer, Jake showed up, gun drawn and aimed at Faith.

“Sara look out!” Jake yelled and without hesitation fired at Faith. Sara ducked for cover. She watched in horror as Faith fell through the open window. After scrambling to her feet, Sara rushed out the window and quickly descended the fire escape. Jake following behind.

Sara ran towards the area where Faith would have landed, surprised to find it empty, no body, nothing. “Where did she go?” Jake wondered, looking up and down the alley.

“Uh,” Sara shook her head, running a ran through her hair, “I don’t know.”

“You okay?” Jake asked, putting away his gun.

“I’m fine,” she said then rounded on him, “Just what the hell were you thinking, rookie?”

Dumbfounded Jake started, “That’s the welcome I get after saving your life? Sara, the woman had a knife on you what was I supposed to do?”

Sara thought for a moment, trying to picture what Jake saw when he busted into her apartment. She really couldn’t blame him but still. “She wasn’t going to hurt me, Jake.”

“Yeah, and how do you know that?”

“She saved my life, Jake.”

“What?”

Sara gave Jake a rough explanation about what happened omitting some parts. She could only hope that it was enough to satiate his curiosity. Sirens could be heard in the distance. Someone in the building must have heard the gun shots and called the police. “Just fucking great,” Sara swore. She had a feeling Dante was going to have a field day with this.

“Listen Jake story is someone broke into my apartment. We didn’t get a good look at the person because it was too dark and the perp managed to get away. Got that?”

“Wha…” Jake started shaking his head, “That’s bullshit, this was no break in, Sara. Nottingham came into your apartment intent on killing you. And you want me to just lie about that? What are you hiding, huh?” Staring at her as if she’d lost her mind.

Frustrated Sara snapped, “Just do it, rookie!”

Jake pursed his lips together, “Fine!” Irritably he walked off, heading towards the front of the building, waiting for the police to arrive. Sara sighed as she watches Jake walk away. Before following, Sara moved over to inspect the area were Faith would have been. There was no evidence that anything landed here besides the glass shards from her window. She shrugged her shoulders and walked away. Just as she was about to turn the corner, the blade hissed on her wrist. A long red smear marked the wall. ‘Faith,’ she thought.

~*~

Nottingham stood in front of Irons, the saturated washcloth held delicately in his gloved hands, and his unattended wound seeping blood down his face. Irons got up from his chair and moved closer to Nottingham. He looked down between the cloth and the cut on his servant’s face. “Explain yourself,” Irons demanded. Once again, Nottingham became angry as he recalled the confrontation earlier.

“So this,” Irons motioned to the soiled fabric, “Is Sara Pezzini’s blood.” Nottingham nodded his head yes. “And this,” tapping the side of Nottingham’s face none so gently with the handle of his cane, “Is a gift from Faith?”

Nottingham growled, “Yes.”

“Pathetic,” Irons whispered before stepping away. Nottingham sneered, staring daggers at Irons’ back. “Immo,” he bellowed and immediately the doctor appeared in the room. Irons sat back down in his chair. He stared up at Nottingham, “You failed to bring me Sara Pezzini, but thankfully all is not lost.” Irons turned his head towards the doctor, “If you’d be so kind, Dr. Immo to extract the blood from that wash cloth and prepare my little hors d'ouervre. Then we shall see if our little experiment works, hm.” Immo nodded his head. He motioned Nottingham to place the cloth on top of the silver tray.

Before getting to work, Immo inquired about Nottingham and the wound on his face. Irons contemplated for a moment. Purposely taking his time, letting his servant wait. After a few minutes, Irons waved his hand, “You’ll tend to him when you are done taking care of my needs.”

“Very well, Kenneth.” Immo spared a worried glance at the clone before starting on his work. ‘Careful, Kenneth,’ Immo thought, after seeing the disdain suspended in the clone’s dark eyes.

~*~

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