Spirits of Section One

by TraceCat
copyright (c) 1998

DISCLAIMERS: La Femme Nikita and its characters are the property of USA Networks, Joel Surnow, Warner Bros., etc. No copyright infringement intended, all rights reserved. Now, on with the story, such as it is:

Birkoff awoke with a start.  Grumbling and irritated from having his sleep interrupted, it took him a moment to register the source of intrusion.

Sitting up in his bed, he scanned his room.  He could swear he heard static...very loud static...the kind that is produced by an open mic transmission.  But, he thought, that is impossible.  All of the computer equipment and entertainment systems in his room are turned off.  So, where were the sounds coming from?

Pushing his sheets back, and swinging his legs over the side of the bed, he stood up.  As he walked around his room, he realized that the sounds were coming from beyond his door, from the hallway.  He crossed the room, and opened the door.  The sounds are definitely louder, and gathering up his courage, he walked down the hallway towards Section's central command. 

As Birkoff entered the lobby, he is shocked by what he saw.  All of the monitors and computer consoles were on with a snowy pattern playing across their screens.  As he headed towards his console, with the noise now reaching a deafening level, suddenly all the screens went blank.  Sitting down and typing in his password access code, Birkoff performed a system diagnostic. The system comes back with * all systems functioning normally*.

Strange, Birkoff thought.  Deciding that he would check into it more in depth in the morning, he got up and headed back to his room.  Scratching his head, he looked back, and couldn't help but get a cold chill.  Then, mentally berating himself for being so paranoid, he continued down the hallway.

Once he was gone, the screens lit up again, and a muffled laugh could be heard emanating from a speaker...

Madeline walked through the deserted corridors of Section One, feeling what was sure to be the days long effect of another night of interrupted and fitful slumber.  As a psychoanalyst, she knew the cause of her sleep deprivation, but she tried not to think too much about it. 

Turning a corner, she ran head-on into Operations.  Thinking moments before that there were no others in Section this early, she was momentarily startled.

Madeline:  Oh...sorry.  I didn't realize anyone else was here this early.

Operations:  That's okay.  I just came in to get an early start on the oversight committee's report.

Madeline:  Yes...it is that time again...isn't it?

Operations looked at Madeline, noticing that her thoughts seemed to be elsewhere.

Operations:  Are you alright, Madeline?

Madeline:  Yes...just tired.  I haven't been sleeping well lately.

Operations:  If there is anything I can do to help...

Madeline smiled slightly

Madeline:  No...I will be fine.  Thank you anyway.

She stepped  around Operations, and continued on her way.

When she reached her office, she collapsed into her chair.  She was feeling physically, and mentally, exhausted.  She placed her elbows on her desk, and leaning over, began to slowly massage her temples, hoping to expel some of her tension headache.

At that moment, Madeline heard a small child's playful laughter.  She looked up, and seeing that she is alone in her office, wrote the sound off to hallucinations brought on by sleep deprivation, returned to massaging her temples.

She thought to herself that her current bouts of fitful sleep happened this time every year, and wondered why she wasn't  used to it by now.  But, no matter what she did, she couldn't get over the memories...or the feelings of guilt. 

This was the yearly anniversary of her sisters death, a death that occurred at the hands of Madeline...and all over a young child's selfish want for a doll.

Madeline would experience the sleeplessness every year, on this anniversary, but the newest, highly disturbing element introduced this time around, were the sounds of a young child's playful laughter.  Madeline thought to herself that maybe, this year, she might finally be going mad.

She got  up from her desk, and exited her office, on her way to Medical to see about getting something for her pounding headache.

After she left, her computer screen lit up, and from the speaker came the sounds of a small childs playful laughter...

Michael exited his office, on his way to see Operations, then stopped in his tracks.  He had a sudden feeling that someone was behind him, but when he turned to look, there was no one there.   Turning his attention back to scanning his intel report, he resumed his pace, and headed down the hallway once more.

He got ten feet, before the sensation of being watched returned.  But, before he could turn around this time, he heard someone whisper, "Michael..."

Michael wheeled around, his face showing a look of shock and horror.   With anguish in his voice, he said,  "Simone?"

Michael came face to face with Nikita.

Nikita:  Simone?  Michael, who are you talking to?

Unbeknownst to Michael, Nikita had been walking down the hallway behind him. She had overheard him calling out, and now she had a very worried look on her face.

Michael's  look turned to one of comfusion and puzzlement, as if trying to remember who she was.

Michael:  Nikita?

Nikita:  Michael, are you okay?  Who were you talking to?

Michael looked past Nikita, as if to see if anyone else was in the hallway with them.  After a short pause, his gaze returned to Nikita.

Michael:  I wasn't talking to anyone.

Nikita squinted her eyes, as if trying to determine if Michael were telling the truth.

Nikita:  Are you sure?  Because when I came down the hallway, I could have sworn you said...

Michael:  Nikita...

Michael said her name in a short, clipped, warning-edged tone.

Michael:  I said I was fine.  Drop it, okay?

Nikita looked at Michael a moment longer, then nodded her head in agreement.

Nikita:  Okay, but you do know, if you need someone to talk to...

Michael glanced down at the computer readouts in his hand.

Michael:  I have a meeting with Operations.

Michael turned from Nikita and walked away.

Nikita, stealing one last glance at Michael, turned in the opposite direction, and headed to see Walter.

When the hallway was once again vacant and silent, a barely audible crackle came over a nearby wall speaker, followed by a muffled, husky-voiced female, laughing....

Nikita walked up next to Walter, and smiled.

Nikita:  Hey, Walter.

Walter, looking up from his task, smiled back.

Walter:  Hey, Sugar.  What's up?

Nikita:  Oh, nothing...just bored, is all.

Walter:  Well, you could grab that gun and clean it.

Nikita picked up the gun and a cleaning rag.  She started rubbing the barrel of the gun, more as something to occupy her hands while she thought of how to word her next question, than as really helping out.

Nikita:  Walter?

Walter, still concentrating on the gun he was reassembling, didn't look up.

Walter:  Yeah,Sugar?

Nikita:  Have you noticed anything "different" lately?

Walter: Different?  In what way?

Nikita:  Oh, I don't know.  People acting strange...talking to people who aren't there.  That kind of strange.

Walter looked up, and grinned at Nikita.

Walter:  Sugar, strange IS the norm around here, ya know?

Nikita laughed, and looked down at the gun she was absent-mindedly cleaning.

Walter:  Something or someone bothering you in particular?

Nikita:  No, just wondering.

Nikita laid the gun and rag down on the bench and brushed her hand on her pant legs.  Reaching up and pushing her hair back over her shoulders, she turned to leave.

Nikita:  Thanks, Walter.

Walter:  No problem, Sugar.  Talk to ya later.

Nikita smiled, turned and walked away.

She walked across the lobby, and walked up next to Birkoff.  She leaned over, and whispered into Birkoffs ear.

Nikita:  Hey, Seymour.  Whatcha doing?

Birkoff, with his eyes still glued to his computer screen, came back with...

Birkoff:  I've told you, its Birkoff.  And I am running a system diagnostic.

Nikita:  Why?  Is something wrong?

Birkoff looked around, to make sure that no one was near enough to hear, then turned to Nikita.

Birkoff:  This may sound crazy, but I came in here last night, and...well...everything was on.

Nikita looked at Birkoff, puzzled.

Nikita:  And?

Birkoff:  And, before I went to bed last night, I had shut everything off.

Nikita:  Couldn't someone else have turned it all back on after you left?

Birkoff:  That's what I thought, but when I ran a check this morning, there was no evidence of anyone logging onto the system after I logged off.

Nikita:  How could that be, then?

Birkoff:  I ran a diagnostic first thing, and several more since, hoping to figure it out.  But it shows no log-ins, no power fluctuations, nothing.  I have no idea how it could have happened.

Nikita:  Have you told Operations or Madeline?

Birkoff:  No.  I was afraid they would think I was crazy.

Nikita patted Birkoff on the shoulder.

Nikita:  Well, keep running possibilities...and don't tell anyone until you know more.

Birkoff, nodding his head in agreement, turned back to his screen, and resumed his work.

Nikita then walked across the lobby, and headed for Michaels office, thinking it best to inform him of what she had discovered so far....

Walking down the hallway, on her way to Michael's office, Nikita's attention was focused on the floor in front of her.  She was still turning over all of the intel that she had accumulated, so as to present it to Michael in a reasonable manner.

All at once, she experienced a cold chill, and stopped dead in her tracks.  As she slowly raised her head, and looked up, she was startled by what she saw.

Standing about twenty feet in front of her was...Jurgen.

Nikita's mouth dropped open, and a gasp of astonishment followed by his name was all that escapes.

Nikita:  Jurgen...?!?!

The form in front of her shimmered slightly, but no sound emanated from it.

Nikita continued to stare at Jurgens form, with a sudden onrush of grief and lose playing across her face.

Nikita:  How can you be here?  You are dead.  I watched the building explode.

The form smiled sadly, and extended its right hand towards Nikita.

Nikita, not sure what to do, began to walk towards the form.

When she gets within a few feet of it, the form fades, then disappears completely.

Nikita, her senses still reeling from seeing Jurgen's apparition, did not notice Madeline coming around the corner and down the hallway towards her.

Madeline walked right up to Nikita before Nikita even noticed her.

Madeline:  Nikita, is everything all right?

Nikita, looking up at Madeline, blinked and took a moment to register the question.

Nikita:  Huh...uh..yeah...just...well...thinking.

Madeline smiled slightly, as if to tell Nikita in some way that she knew better.

Madeline:  When I came up to you just now, you looked as if you were on another planet.

Nikita smiled weakly, and scrambled for an answer.

Nikita:  I am fine Madeline...really.

Madeline, nodding her head slightly, looked at Nikita for a moment longer.

Madeline:  Okay, just making sure.

Madeline smiled at Nikita, then stepped past her and walked down the hallway.

Nikita, glancing after Madeline, resumed walking, headed once again for Michael's office. 

When she reached Michael's office, she rapped her knuckles lightly on the door.

From the other side, she heard a muffled, 'Come in.'

She entered and slowly closed the door behind her, still deep in thought.  

When she looked up, she saw Michael gazing at her, a questioning look on his face.

As if getting a psychic signal from Nikita, Michael reached under the right- hand side of his desk, and puled on a small drawer.  He typed in his personal code on the small keyboard contained there.   After giving the security feature adequate time to activate, he pushed the drawer back under the desk. He focused his gaze and complete attention back on Nikita.

Michael:  Yes?

Nikita walked over to the chair in front of Michael's desk, paused a moment, then slowly sat down.

Michael:  Nikita, is something on your mind?

Nikita looked directly at Michael, and unflinchingly asked her question.

Nikita:  Michael...do you believe in ghosts?

Part Two

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