Author's Notes: All characters and references are copyright Sierra On- Line. Only the interpretation of events is my doing, and is all based on material from Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers.

1 Calm Before the Storm

June 16, 1993

10:47a.m.

Why was she here? Hell, when she was in college, she never knew that part of the job description for an orthodontist would be "aiding local police detectives in hunting down secret voodoo cults which murdered out-of-town drug dealers." It wasn't even proven that the cult was nay threat to the citizens of New Orleans, yet she felt somewhere inside her that this cult shouldn't be left alone. Even though the newspaper reported that the voodoo was fake, there was no way in hell she would start to believe that. That still didn't explain why she was in the swamp at the site of one of the murders, looking for any sign of a clue the police might have missed. It was starting to get dark, and she began to make her way back to her car.

She stopped, feeling as though she was being watched. She looked behind her, and came face-to-face with

"NO!" Gabriel put his hands in his face, hoping in desperation that he could keep his train of thought open to new ideas.

Nope, it was gone.

Gabriel stood up, walked over to the unmade bed, and fell face down on the mattress. "Why, oh why do these things happen at the wrong time?" He wasn't making the progress he'd hoped for. He had finally made it to the fourth chapter of his book, spending most of the past two weeks in seclusion, not wanting to lose each precious thought. Of course, most of what he'd written so far was just fiction, not really derived from the murders, but still, that's what a novel is, right?

The murders have yet to cease. So far, two more bodies were found. The last one was found two days ago, but Gabriel hasn't been able to see Mosely yet; he was bogged down in paper work, and so was Gabe, for that matter. He needed to see him today; his own imagination had run short. Hopefully, his friend wouldn't ask too many questions concerning the book's plot; as much as he did it, he never liked to lie to people for such a long time. Still, he feared that he'd lose his "press pass special" should he reveal to Mosely the true nature of his book. As far as he'd come now, he couldn't afford losing the information providing the fuel for his imagination. And from the looks of his latest writer's block, he needed a complete refill.

Might as well refill on caffeine while he was up, too. Gabriel headed out to the store and filled one of the cups with coffee. Grace kept her attention on the book she had taken down from the shelf. Gabriel picked up the paper, scanned the headlines, found nothing new or interesting, and search for the horoscope section. Not finding it in the usual place, he looked in another section, and another, until he discovered that it wasn't in today's paper.

"Grace, where's the horoscope section?"

Grace looked up from her book and stared at Gabriel with a sarcastic expression. "I thought you didn't believe in that, Knight?"

"I don't, but I like looking at all of them and laughing at the stupid sayings and the people that believe in them. Now hand it over."

Grace's expression went back to seriousness. "Grow up, Knight. I don't have it. There must not be one today."

As much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to depend upon the horoscope. Maybe he should join Horoscopes Readers Anonymous before Grace found out the truth.

Quit being so paranoid, Knight! Just because you've been having trouble sleeping because of those god-awful nightmares doesn't mean you should lose all of your senses. I mean, at least you haven't had the nightmare. Thank God for small favors.



"Gabriel, can I ask you something?"

"Yes, I am free tonight."

"That's good to know, I'll think about that when I'm feeling depressed and need a good laugh." Nothing's going right for him today. "I found this book on the case by the door. It's some nice poetry, what little I could translate. Where'd you ever get a book full of German poetry?"

Gabriel had to think back a long way for that one. In fact, it's been such a long time that he'd forgotten.

No, wait. Now he remembers. "It was Gran's. She gave it to me when I opened this shop. She said she wanted me to sell it because the writer of most of the poems was never recognized much while he was alive, yet she liked his work so much. I could never see what she saw in it. Still, she's my Gran, and as much as she's done for me, I couldn't say no."

"The writer, Heinz Ritter? Is that the one she was talking about?"

"I guess. Don't know why she liked him. I pull it out occasionally. I do like one of them, one by Heinz Ritter, but it's only in German, and I'm not fluent in German. Still, I like the sound of it, so there's no sense to bother translating or learning to speak German."

"Wow, someone like you having an interest in German poetry. Hard to believe your grandmother trusted you to sell the book, since you obviously didn't inherit her trust."

"Look, if you're still mad at me for not letting you in on the book, get over it! You know as much as Gran, so should feel privileged. I usually don't reveal that much to people outside my family, of which she is the only other member. Now, just drop it!"

Grace's face had a hurt expression on it, one he'd yet to see on her. "I'm sorry, Grace, but I've been living on my own for such a long time, and even as a child I've had to deal with things on my own. Now, I don't know what I would have done without you lately, but I need to do this on my own. If I do need your help, I'll ask for it, okay."

Grace just looked at him, with a complying, almost defeated expression. "Fine, Gabriel. Be that way."

"Thank you. Now, I'm going to see Mosely. I wish I could give you something better to do, but I can't. Just try to find something to do."

Grace nodded. Gabriel wrapped himself in his jacket, then headed for his bike. As soon as she heard the motorcycle drive off, Grace stood up. "Sure, Knight. I'll find something to do." She moved the curtain out of the way and walked into Gabriel's room.



A few reporters were gathered inside the station. No claustrophobic nightmare, today. Gabriel didn't see Mosely, so he walked over to the desk officer, a man who appeared to be Mosely's current future. Glancing quickly at the man's name tag, Gabriel said, "Good day, Officer Frick. My name is Gabriel Knight. I'm here to see Detective Mosely."

"Good for you. Hold on." The man picked up his phone, pushed the button, and said, "Detective Mosely? A 'Gabriel Knight' to see you." The officer paused, gave a "okay", and hung up the phone. "He's in his office. Go on back."

Gabriel walked back, made a quick glance in the mirror outside Mosely's office, then walked in. "Sorry, Knight. Your hair still looks like a lawn mower malfunction."

Gabriel quickly remembered that Mosely's window was a mirror on the outside. "And I see why you keep the mirror side on the outside."

"Sit down, Knight. I guess you're here to talk about Poor Dumb Stiff #6, right?"

With a heavy English accent, Gabriel replied, "Blymie, Holmes! You've done it again!"

With a worse English accent, Mosely continued, "Elementary, my dear Watson. The culprit has a one-track mind and a bad hairstyle."

Reverting back to his normal, New Orleans-accented voice, Gabriel continued the conversation, "Now, how about telling me about the recent murder?"

Returning to his normal, southern-chauvinistic voice, Mosely replied, "What's to tell? Same M.O., Chicago Mafia drug dealers invading on local territory. Same method, heart ripped out. Same locale, out-of-the-way but public enough to be discovered. Same items found at the site: blood, chicken feathers, and a pattern made in flour. However, there is one difference. The pattern isn't the same pattern. In fact, after I looked at the five previous patterns, they're all different. I'm going to have a sketch artist make copies of each pattern on paper for the files."

"Are you saying that all six murders were done by six different cults or groups?"

"I thought about that, but I don't think so. Everything else is the exact same thing. It seems highly unlikely that six different groups would keep everything the same except for that one piece of evidence. I'm thinking that the patterns are parts of a single symbol which was etched out, and maybe was distorted by people stepping on it. If we could recreate the full pattern, then maybe we have our perps."

"Sort of an economical style of graffiti, right?"

"I guess; however, I've never seen a symbol like this before, so we may have trouble recreating the full pattern or determining the group that goes by it. Still, it's a start. Better than just waiting for more fatalities."

"Mind if I see the patterns when you get them?"

"Don't see why not. Maybe a couple of days, though. I'll tell you when you can see them."

Gabriel smiled, satisfied with at least some advancement. Mosely leaned back in his chair, a grin forming on his face. Gabriel became worried, knowing what he was about to say. "Need any help with the character background, Knight?"

Great, just when his day was starting to look up. He thought quickly, trying to think of something to keep Mosely from discovering the truth. Unfortunately, his troubled mind could only form one idea, and what a bad idea. "Actually, yes. I was wondering what your mother's maiden name is?"

Mosely's face went to an expression normally seen when he ate something which didn't quite agree with him. "My mother's maiden name? What for?"

Gabriel had to think even quicker now, but once again, all he could manage was something which didn't sound convincing at all. "Well, since your parents are divorced, and you normally look to your mother for advice, I need to know her last name."

Since when do I look to my mother for advice?"

"Mosely, I'm writing about you, which means I need to make you look good in the public eye. Not many people read about men who have family troubles all around and don't want nothing to do with their families. However, men who look to their birth mothers for support during hard times are most appealing, especially to eligible bachelorettes." Why did he come up with such a stupid idea? He'll never fall for it.

"I see your point, Knight. You should move to Hollywood and work as an agent if this book doesn't work like you want."

He fell for it? Gabriel once again doubted the maximum capacity of his friend's intelligence.

"It'll take a while, though. I don't know it off-hand, and Mom is on vacation. She'll be back Thursday night, so I'll tell you Friday. Anything else you need to know?"

"Yeah, how is your family life right now?"

Mosely's face took on an expression of extreme depression. "Why'd you have to bring that up? Hell, its over. My wife and I have already separated. Now she's trying to arrange an official divorce and work on the alimony charges. I tell you, Knight, I almost wish I would be Poor Dumb Stiff #7. Let the jerks who kill me handle the divorce. Let me guess why you asked. You want to portray my family like and show how even during personal crisis, I was able to put an end to the Voodoo Murders, right?"

"Not bad, Mosely. Wish I'd thought of it. As a matter of fact."

Gabriel reached into his pocket to get his notebook, but he couldn't find it. He checked all of his other pockets. He must have left it on his desk back at the store. "Terrific! I wish that stupid tape recorder would come soon. Gettin' tired of forgetting that notebook. Look, can I get back to you on that some other day?"

"Sure, I don't feel like talking about it anyway. I think I'll go drink the problem away."

Gabriel felt deja-vu from Mosely's words. "I wouldn't recommend it, pal. Best to just sleep on it. Besides, that could be what's making your wife leave."

"That a fact? Maybe you're in the wrong line of work, Knight."

Gabriel stood up and began to leave. "Look, Mosely, don't let this get to you. I really don't want to see you like you saw me." And I don't want to risk the chance of you getting fired and me losing information.

Mosely smiled, obviously touched by Gabriel's unusual concern for someone other than himself. "Thanks, Knight. I'll try to get a hold of you tomorrow and update you on anything new."

"Sure Mostly!" Gabriel left, and Mosely couldn't help sneaking a sip from his private flask in his desk drawer.



Grace didn't meet Gabriel with the usual "welcome back" insult when he arrived back at the shop. Gabriel looked towards her desk, and found it unoccupied. It wasn't closing time. Where was she? "Grace? You here?"

To his surprise, Grace emerged from behind his bedroom curtain, a solemn expression on her face. Gabriel himself had a serious expression on his face. He knew the answer to what he was about to ask, but he wanted to ask it anyway, "Grace, what were you doing back there?"

"Knight, you know what I was doing back there."

Gabriel's voice took on an annoyed tone, "Grace, why did you read my notes? I told you I could handle everything, and I don't need your help."

"Knight, I didn't read your notes just because you wouldn't tell me anything. I'm concerned about your health."

"My health? What the hell does my health have to do with your snooping through my notes where you don't belong?"

Grace held up the newspaper with the headline about the sixth victim in the Voodoo Murders. "I was wondering why you suddenly began to develop nightmares, especially after you started on your new book. I read your notes by your desk, and figured you were writing about the murders. Reading today's paper and your current plot synopsis by the typewriter confirmed that."

Gabriel's voice went from annoyed to angry, "Grace, I don't know who the hell you think you are, but you're not my mother nor my grandmother. Therefore, my personal health and job is none of your business."

Grace winced at Gabriel's words. This was worse than when he left and came back drunk. But Gabriel wasn't finished, "Ever since the day I hired you, you've been insulting me and mocking me. I eventually got used to it, since you did such a good job around the shop and never did get too personal. Now, though, you've gone too far. Why in the hell did you do this, Grace?"

Grace was about to say something, but held it in. "Well?" Gabriel shouted so loud that Grace recoiled.

Finally, she said, in an almost weak tone, "Because.because.I care about you, Gabriel."

Gabriel's face went from anger to confusion. "You what?"

"I care what happens to you, Gabriel. I thought you were such a jerk the first time I met you, but after Mosely brought you in and explained what was happening, I felt guilty for judging you so quickly. I wanted to make it up to you by helping you with your next book."

Gabriel began to feel guilty for rejecting Grace. He thought that she was acting like such a stuck-up witch, but now it was only because he was acting like such a jerk. He never felt this way towards any woman before. He actually cared for her too. "I'm sorry, Grace, I didn't know. I.I didn't want to get you involved because Mosely made me promise not to spread the information about the murders. Of course, that was before the papers found out about it."

"So that's why you were so mad over the paper the other day."

"Uh-huh. You wouldn't believe the picture Mosely showed me, Grace. The man didn't die until one minute after the heart was ripped out! I kept having nightmares that I would end up like that should the cult be discovered, or maybe even you."

"Why are you writing about such a horrid subject? Surely you can think up something better than this?"

"That's the problem, I can't. I've been having problems with the current plot as is. I can't turn back now. A whole month's work would be for nothing." Grace seemed to understand. "Besides, the public loves reading about voodoo, and I figured that this book could be the best-seller I need to keep from losing my publishing contract."

Grace nodded, fully understanding Gabriel's intentions. "I still think you should drop the book, since the murders seem to be the cause of your nightmares. Still, what can you do?" Gabriel nodded.

They stared at each other from across the desk for a few minutes, neither saying a word. Finally, Gabriel said, "Look, why don't you take the rest of the day off. I need to close up early and see if I can do anything with what I've got."

"Sure, Gabriel. And I'm sorry about reading your notes."

"Don't worry. I should have trusted you more that I did." Yeah, and if he had that stupid tape recorder, he wouldn't stupidly leave his notes out in the open anymore. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Grace gathered her things and walked towards the door. "Try to have pleasant dreams tonight, Gabriel."

"Thanks, Gracie." The door closed.



Gabriel stared at the typewriter, wondering what to do next. He knew he wouldn't be able to think of anything else to write about, so he just stood up and lied down on the bed. All his thoughts went back to the confrontation with Grace. Why didn't he trust her? She was obviously very capable of defending herself (anyone studying Tai Chi should). Maybe, Gabriel felt an attraction to her, not like the women he'd slept with before. It was as if they would be partners, as if their future depended on one another for survival.

Wait a minute! Survival? What the hell are you thinking, Knight? You're a writer, she's your assistant! What do you need survival from? Gabriel didn't know what made him think of such a thing, but somewhere, deep within his soul, a drastic change was about to come, and it would change their lives forever.

That's it, Knight! You need to sleep. You're starting to confuse fantasy with reality. It's time for you to go to sleep! As if obeying his consciousness, Gabriel's eyes shut, and his mind prepared for the inevitable nightmare.



June 17, 1993

9:32a.m.

Gabriel's eyes adjusted to the light which shone into the room. It couldn't be time to wake-up; he hadn't had the nightmare yet. He looked at the clock beside his bed. It was early, but there was no chance he was going to fall back to sleep. Not only was his body fully awake, he didn't want to risk the chance of having a nightmare. This was the first time since starting on the book that he didn't wake-up in a cold sweat. Seeing this as a sign of good things to come, Gabriel stood up, stretched, and headed for the bathroom. He examined himself in the mirror. Not bad. Still, there was no situation which couldn't be made better after a nice warm shower.

After showering and shaving, Gabriel headed out to the store. Grace was reading the morning paper. Gabriel glanced at the headline on the front page and noticed no sign of any story related to the Voodoo Murders. Despite the macabre fact that he needed people to die in order to help continue his book, he was glad that there wasn't anything like that today. After starting out so good today, he really didn't want to talk with Mosely about PDS#7 (as he so eloquently put it yesterday).

He headed for the coffee pot and poured himself a cup. The black liquid woke up any remaining part of Gabriel which still lingered between sleep and consciousness. "Now that's good coffee."

Grace lowered the paper and stared at Gabriel. "What did you expect? Isn't that what you hired me for?"

Good old Grace, back to her normal, annoying self. How he loved her for that. "Well, I don't pay you for sitting down all day reading the paper and admiring my physique."

Grace smiled, glad to see Gabriel was back to his normal, chauvinistic self. "You got some calls while you were asleep."

"So early?" Who were they?"

"Put it this way: all of them were women, and when I asked them to describe you for my reference, they had you on four legs and rolling around in your own filth."

"Toss 'em!" He didn't want to ruin a good day by talking with women he didn't remember. "Anything good in the paper?"

"Not if your definition of 'good' involves drug dealers being ritualistically murdered. The murderers seem to have taken a vacation."

"Can't have that now, can we?"

Grace shook her head, more in disgust than in agreement. "Here's something.They hired a new writer for the horoscopes. Seems the old one was fired because his predictions were too far-fetched to be true."

Gabriel laughed, "Well that explains a lot." Maybe this meant that all of the previous horoscopes were fake too. Good, cause he still wasn't sure if they were true. "Mind if I read today's prediction?"

Grace handed him a section of the paper. "Sure. Guess you want to laugh at them, huh?" Gabriel ignored her and turned to the section. He read the Aquarius prediction.

"Enjoy today, for it is the calm before the storm. Your life will soon change, and only you will be able to change things for the better."

If the prediction hadn't been his, he would have laughed so hard until his sides hurt. Throwing the paper to Grace in disgust, he walked towards the door, folding his jacket around him. "Don't you think you should leave the jacket here? The days are getting hotter, and that jacket is black leather, which is supposed to keep you warm."

After what he paid for it, he should be sleeping in it. "Thanks for the advice, Grace. Did you consult the dead to come up with that piece of info?"

"Fine, burn up in it for all I care. Then you'll be roast ham!"

Touché, Gabriel thought. "I'll be back in a little while." Gabriel rode off on his bike, and Grace returned to the paper.



1:24p.m.

Gabriel had walked around Jackson Square for the past three hours. He normally came to Jackson Square when he wanted to relax. Sometimes he found inspiration from just spending a day walking around. Two of his books came about that way. Today, however, he just couldn't find inspiration. The bands played same songs over and over again. The only good thing so far was the fact that the stupid mime wasn't here today. Last time Gabriel was here he nearly punched him out.

Gabriel noticed an artist in front of St. John's Cathedral. The man was good; he seemed to be halfway through a technical drawing of the cathedral. It'd look good in one of those art books.

Suddenly, Gabriel realized what his book needed: pictures! A picture of one of the victims would add a great effect to his book! Maybe he could coax Mosely into letting him use one of those pictures.

Gabriel walked towards his bike and pointed it in the direction of the police station. Suddenly, he realized he didn't feel like driving all the way to the police station. He'd probably wouldn't be able to get the photo today anyway. He decided to just call him from the store; maybe this way Mosely wouldn't ask him about the book. He always lied better when he wasn't face-to-face with the person he was lying to.

Gabriel pointed his bike in the direction of the store, and drove off. What he didn't realize was that the drummer had been watching him the whole time. After Gabriel had left, he began to beat out a new beat, one which meant nothing to most people, except to those who could interpret its true meaning.



Grace had started on her paintings when Gabriel arrived. "Honey, I'm home!"

"Good, for you. Don't expect me to kiss you hello." The thought had crossed his mind.

Instead of keeping up the little insult chatter, Gabriel headed for his room. Gabriel picked up his phone and dialed the police station. He talked to the desk officer and waited while being transferred.

"Detective Mosely."

"I know you are or I wouldn't have called you."

"Knight! What do you want?"

"Just seeing how things were going."

"If you were calling in hopes of a seventh victim, then you're out of luck."

Gabriel suspected as much; still, that wasn't what he called about. "I figured that out, Mostly. I wanted to ask you for something for the book."

"Sure, whatcha need?"

"You know the photo of the victims? You think you could get me a copy of one?"

"I don't know, Knight. You weren't even supposed to see it. I don't think I should be handing out copies."

"Mosely, I need it to add a bit of realism to the book. I think if people saw this in the book, they'd realize just how serious these murders were, and they'd like your character more for such bravery."

"Well, I'll see what I can do. Anything else?"

Gabriel was glad he didn't ask about his character, but something in Gabriel's mind told him he should ask for something about Mosely, just to keep Mosely thinking that the book was about him. "Yeah, Mostly. Do you think you could also provide me a photo of yourself? I maybe able to do something with that, too."

Gabriel swore he could here Mosely doing back-flips and cheering. "Sure, Knight. I should be able to get both of them for you tomorrow. I'll call you to tell you when."

"Thanks, pal. Oh, one more thing. I ordered a tape recorder which should be in sometime soon. Do you think I could talk to you about everything we've gone over so far so I could have it on tape."

"Sure, no problem."

"Thanks." Gabriel hung up, feeling like kicking himself for asking for a photo of Mosely. He knew he'd never use it. Still, it would probably keep Mosely off his back about the book.

Gabriel looked at the typewriter. He tried to continue with what he had so far, but it just wasn't working. He needed to find out if the voodoo was authentic. Somewhere in his mind he knew it was, but he needed an expert to tell him that it was. Besides, he felt like he owed Mosely for all the help he was giving him. Might as well help him prove that the voodoo is real. But how can he find someone who could confirm it? He had no luck with the books and he really didn't have time to drive around New Orleans looking for proof.

Then he realized what he had to do. He didn't want to, but he realized it was the only thing he could do. He walked out to the store.

"Grace? Are you busy?"

"Not really, why?"

Gabriel felt a knot in his throat. He could barely form the words, "I.need you to."

"What?"

"I need you to do some research for me." He almost strung the whole sentence in one word. He was glad to get it out.

Grace looked at him with an expression of zeal and disbelief. "Are you serious, Knight?"

Gabriel couldn't stare her in the face. "Yes, I need you to find some place which deals in voodoo. I need help to find out all I can about voodoo."

Grace's face took on the concerned face Gabriel was getting used to. "Are you sure, Knight? I don't think you should get so deeply involved in this."

"Grace, I need to know if this voodoo is real or not. Do you want to help me or not?"

Grace sighed, realizing that this was the one chance she had to prove how good of a researcher she was. "Okay, Knight. I'll try the best I can."

"You can take the rest of the day off, Grace. I'll look around the shop to see if there's anything I can find here which might help me."

Grace gathered her things and headed for the door. "I really wish you'd reconsider, Gabriel. I have a feeling about this book."

"Yeah, I do too. I feel that if I don't write about it, then we'll both be together in the unemployment line. Thanks for helping me, though."

Grace smiled. "Anytime." Grace shut the door, and Gabriel started to look through the books on the shelves.



9:56p.m.

The man took off his jacket. He never realized that the summer nights of New Orleans would be so hot. They seemed hotter than the days. He wished he was back up north. He wish he wasn't here waiting for the drug deal to go down. Ever since he came here two months ago, he felt nervous, as if he was constantly being watched by someone. He would rather push drugs on his home turf of Chicago than to try and make a deal with the local scum. He'd received a call from someone claiming to be a part of the local drug dealers who wanted to join up with the Chicago men. This was good, since six of his men had disappeared. He needed as much local support he could get if he was to try to invade into New Orleans. Many of the major providers were already pulling out, scared of the disappearances.

Man, he wished whoever was going to come would come. He heard that the shores of Lake Pontchartrain were home to snakes. Why'd he agree to meet here anyway? He was sure there were other places which were away from the public.

A rustle behind him alerted him to another presence. He spun around fast and came face-to-face with the tallest, darkest man he'd ever seen.

The dark man spoke in a deep, deep voice, almost like the voice of that one man in that science fiction TV series. "Are you here from the Chicago Mafia?"

"Y-yes."

"Good." The dark man reared his head back, then spit a powder into the other man's face. The man started to choke, then fell to the ground unconscious. The dark man took his shirt off, displaying across his broad back a tattoo of bird wings.



10:15p.m.

Gabriel was halfway through the first three bookcases when the phone rang. Good, he wasn't having much luck finding a book he needed.

He walked over to the desk and answered the phone. "St. George's Books."

"Gabriel, it's Grace."

"Hey, Grace. You all right?"

"I'm fine."

"I know that."

"Knock it off, Knight. I'm at home. I just wanted to call and tell you that you can stop looking through your books. I found two places which should help you out nicely with your research."

"Great!"

"I'll give you the addresses tomorrow when I arrive at work."

"Thanks Grace. I'm sorry I doubted you before."

"No problem, Knight. Pleasant dreams."

Gabriel hung up the phone. This was great! He locked up the shop and headed for his room.

Gabriel laid between the covers of the bed and went over his good fortune in his mind. First, his nightmares had finally appeared to subsided. He was able to coax Mosely into giving him a photo of the murder for his book. And Grace had found not just one voodoo place, but two! He knew that he'd finally be able to work out a best-seller from the information he would be getting. This was the start of a new beginning for him. Gabriel closed his eyes. He needed to be well rested for tomorrow. It was going to be a busy day.

Things were finally looking up for Gabriel Knight.

And then, the nightmare began.

The End.

To be concluded in Gabriel Knight: Sins of the Fathers by Jane Jensen.

A Final Word of Thanks: First, I'd like to thank my family and friends who encouraged me in writing this and helped me to edit it. I would also like to thank Raymond Chitolie, the site creator of The Domain of the Schattenjägers, an excellent Gabriel Knight Resource Page, who first hosted this fanfiction back in 1997, where it won the awards. I'd like to thank Jane Jensen for creating a thought-provoking game and encouraging me to continue writing. Finally, and definitely not least, I'd like to thank God for the many blessings He's given me, which I would never be able to count no matter how long I lived.