Chapter Two:
Sympathy and Moonlight
"There truly is no Right or Wrong in the world- only perspectives and opinions."- Jacqueline Christine
The moon was large and perfectly round that evening. Her light filtered in through the dusty windows of a lone flat. The glass panes covered so thickly in much it was difficult to distinguish the moonlight on the hard wood floor. But it was enough to illuminate the dirty white walls and outline the sparse furniture in shadows.
What was most notable in this vacant flat was the serenity. There was only silence and stillness. That is, until there was a rattling of keys outside the door, and an offensive boot, which gave the aged, wood a good kick. It sent the door swinging madly on its hinges into the wall, causing a loud thud.
Dianna pressed the door closed, having to lean nearly all her body weight against it to properly shut and lock it. Panting and exhausted she collapsed on a near by chair.
And it collapsed under her. She sat still on the remains of the chair, looking up at the filthy windows from her vantage of the carpet and began to laugh.
The perfect end to a perfect day. Only she would be amused by this. It took every ounce of energy she had to stand up again, grab her suitcases and haul them into the next room.
She sat gingerly on the bed, hoping against hope it wouldn't give out as well. Still fully dressed, she stared up at the crumbling ceiling.
Her first case. Well, not truly. Her first case without Holmes' assistance. Here she was, in France for only the second time in her life. And not only here for a case, but certainly an intriguing one.
Murderer. Extortionist. Hedonist. Cynic. Intellectual. Musician. Man. Most importantly, a man. And of course, this gave her a slight edge, in being female. At least, that was what she had come to expect.
What sort of man are you? There is a great story of love here. A story of tragedy and anger, jealousy and madness. Of course, she assumed, he must be mad.
First things were first. Find those who knew him best. Christine the chores girl and Raoul the Viscount. Question staff members. No, first I have to slip into the opera unnoticed.
Of course the plan is simple. Get into his head. Find out what he's about. Catch his attention. Catch him of guard. Put him in the clink.
For what must have been the thousandth time that evening Andre's words came back to her. If you can't draw him out, kill him. Of course, there was nothing she couldn't do if she put her mind to it. She could draw him out. The alternative was much too unfair and gruesome to consider.
Granted, she had killed before. He was a Vagabond and she had been in danger. And in truth she wasn't certain he had died, though it was likely. But to calculate and purposely murder a man, even a murderer, that she would not do. She still had scruples, didn't she? Or had she left them back in that grand cathedral?
But now was not the evening for judgment. At least not her own. Dianna's eyes were already loosing the battle to stay open. Tomorrow, tomorrow was a new day. A day of questions and answers.
* * * * * * * * * * * *
In all her twenty-six years Dianna Aragon had never discovered anything so soothing and exhilarating as a bath. Never mind how long it took to heat the water over a stove, it was heavenly. The heated water could cleanse nearly anything.
Too bad it can't save this flat. The contrast of the meager surroundings and their disorderly state was shocking.
But the nearly sensual feeling of cloth damp with warm water rubbing across her skin was enough to silence her practical mind.
Today was the day she would visit The Happy Couple. Who was Christine? Was she a sensual goddess of a woman with gorgeous exotic eyes? A delicate beauty with the voice of an angel? Why had he loved her?
And the sudden realization came to Dianna that why he had loved her was not truly an issue. It occurred to her she was not only seeking to understand him in order to catch him, but also to make her own judgments on him. She wanted to know if he was truly guilty.
Murder. Murder, Dianna, cannot be excused by love, no matter how great.
She searched through her suitcases. Only Four gowns, nightwear and one set of men's clothing to her name. Well, plus all the franks she was carrying.
She dressed in a navy blue dress with a black petticoat. Accompanied by the usual stockings and boots. Quickly, she tied her hair back into the bun that was so typical of middle-aged women. She had wanted to appear friendly. Now, she looked like a strict old maid.
With a sigh she let her hair back down. There, that helps. There were many random moments where Dianna felt a great dislike for whomever had first had the grand idea that long hair was an attractive feature on women. It was too messy, to impractical (or so she told herself. Deep down she was as vain as any other woman and adored her dark hair.)
She grabbed her traveling bag quickly and was out the door and on her way to see the infamous Christine.