I'm starting the seventh chapter on the same day that I posted the sixth- that's a new record for me, I have to admit. Of course, I won't finish it today, so why should I bother? Eh. Oh well. It is about 9:15 in the evening, I had to keep writing. My dad just yelled at me, so that might have something to do with it...
I hope everyone enjoyed the last chapter. A bit unrealistic, I think, but my friends and I have fights that end up like that sometimes, so it is a bit normal. I added the fight, in case you're wondering, because everyone seemed to have too perfect a relationship. Sorry, dears, but people disagree a lot. So I added it to make my characters a bit more three dimensional, essentially. I can't stand Mary Sues... and Holmes was turning into a bit of one, so I decided to show his biggest flaw.
Well, we delve a bit further into the mystery in this chapter. Someone told me (can't remember who) that poor Watson was being treated like an imbecile. This chapter is going to focus around her investigation of the dancers, so we're finally going to get to see her detective skills. I have neglected to show them in the past, but that is because I try to stay somewhat true to the canon. And you have to admit, the original Watson was kinda naive when it came to the detective matters. He was better at figuring out the heart.
I'm done rambling, just read the darn chapter and review it. Flames will make me feel dejected, so if you hate the story so much, please either refrain from reviewing, or put it NICELY. Thanks much!
This chapter consists of: Deep thoughts from Watson, a quiet moment with Holmes, a quiet conversation with Christine, the interview of dancers, and some quiet talk with Kline.
Chapter Seven: Dance Moves Missing
I yawned and rubbed the sleep out of my eyes tiredly. My bed felt unusually hard this morning, and there was an annoying noise in the background. Opening my eyes fully, everything came rushing back to me.
I was still in Christine's room. We had continued our meeting late into the night, until three am or so. Christine had been the first to fall asleep. After that, we had all begun to get drowsy. I was the next to fall asleep, and so I could only assume that Kline or Holmes had turned on the TV, which was the annoying background noise.
As I was already on the floor, I reached over to the TV and switched it off. Christine, who had been bent over the desk, rocketed up, knocking over a lamp in the process. With a small gasp, she dove over the desk, catching the lamp just in time. Unfortunately, her large movements had woken Kline up. Kline's eyes snapped open, and she promptly fell off the end of the bed- right onto Holmes. Holmes snapped to attention and shoved her off. While stumbling around, he managed to step on me, causing me to howl. I jumped backwards, running into Christine, who then succeeded in stumbling backwards- and hitting Kline in the head at the same time. Kline stumbled into Holmes.
Thankfully, he managed to stop himself from going anywhere else, otherwise we'd have a chain reaction going the entire time.
"Well, that was certainly a comedy of errors," commented Kline, rubbing her head where Christine had hit her. I laughed a bit.
"I promise I'll never turn off the TV again," I declared, smirking at Christine. Christine ran a hand through her hair and rolled her eyes.
"I'm easily startled. So sue me," she yawned. Holmes raised an eyebrow.
"That's what started that entire fiasco? The turning off of a television?" he asked incredulously. I nodded, and he immediately laughed. "I always knew television was bad for your health."
I grinned at him and glanced at the clock.
"Oh! Crap, we're going to be late for rehearsal!" I yelped. Holmes shot a glance at the clock, and then ran out of the room as though the hounds of hell were after him.
I quickly yanked the Muslim dress off of me, revealing my jeans and a tank top. I saw Christine do the same thing. Kline glanced at herself in the mirror, and then shrugged. She could wear her dress to rehearsal.
Without a word, we grabbed our various items (instruments, purses, room keys, and hairbrushes), and ran out the door, slamming it behind us. I saw Holmes come dashing out of his own room, still tugging on a shoe, and we quickly hopped in an elevator.
We were going to be SO late.
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"From a bleak December.... Nothing more than a leaf in the wind.... There's nothing more to remember. A beginning that led to an end...©" I heard the man who played Holmes sing. I tossed my purse into one of the chairs and began to assemble my clarinet even as I dashed down the steps to the pit. Holmes was right behind me, and Kline had already sat down in her chair. I caught a glimpse of Christine rushing to the stage, but then I was in the pit.
Dashing through the assortment of stands, I managed to get to my seat without knocking many of them down. I flopped down next to Claudia, who raised an eyebrow at me even as she played. I shook my head and joined in on the last three measures. It was a pity, really. Act One Finale was one of my favorite songs.
The song ended with a flourish of beautiful voices singing 'light'. I bit my lip in fear as I saw Sallay Jargin come onto the stage, her normal angry look being replaced by an especially angry look.
"Very good, cast. It would have been much better, however, if certain members of both the orchestra and the cast had showed up on time. I must stress the importance of being on time. You know the rules. You cannot be late more than three times. If you are, then you are out of the show. We open in two weeks, people! You must get serious about this, or I will have a personal talk with John. He will not be pleased to know that our Cricket, our first violin player, our second clarinet player, and our fourth flute player are being consistently late!" shrieked Sallay. I winced as she glared at me. Claudia smirked.
"Care to explain why you're late?" she whispered as she pulled out the music for Bottoms Up!. I shook my head.
"Not really, but you won't take that for an answer, will you?"
"No."
"I was up late with my friends. You know, Christine, Kline, and Holmes," I explained as I adjusted my reed. Claudia grinned.
"A threesome, was it?"
"Wha- oh, Claudia! Eww, no! We were discussing... things," I finished lamely. Claudia raised her eyebrows.
"Things. That really narrows it down," she said sarcastically. I shrugged.
"I really don't know if I should tell you. I mean, I trust you Claudia. But I am not sure if I'm supposed to. For all I know, you could be the cause of it all," I said quietly. Claudia looked at me evenly, and then smiled.
"You're trying to solve the murders. That's nice of you. Scotland Yard isn't doing much of anything, really. I don't think they recognize the fact that we've had four murders. Idiots," Claudia said rapidly. I stared at her. Was I really that obvious?
"Um, yeah," I stammered. Claudia grinned at me mysteriously, and then turned back to the music. But I wasn't going to let her go that easily. She had quite a few things to explain to me.
"How'd you know?" I inquired. Claudia looked up and smiled at me.
"My dear, what else could you and your friends have been discussing that you weren't sure you could tell me about? That I could be the cause of? The murders, obviously," she answered. I sighed.
"You're not angry at me for making you a suspect, are you?" I questioned. Claudia shook her head cheerfully.
"Not at all. You have to suspect everyone. In fact, it's rather flattering. If you think I could kill people... I've always been described as sweet. Now I finally have someone who suspects me of murder," she chirped. I nearly protested. I didn't think she could have murdered anyone. I didn't want to burst her bubble, though, so I didn't say anything.
Instead, I turned my attention to the music. Jargin was already angry at me, I didn't need her on my butt for not playing.
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I fell onto my bed tiredly and buried my face into the pillows. I was so darned tired. After being up until three, getting up at eight, having rehearsal until eleven... it was exhausting, that was what it was.
As I stared into the pillow and studied it's whiteness, I tried to go over the facts from the case so far. My mind was drawing pure static, however, and I moaned under my breath. This case was possibly our hardest yet, annoyingly enough. I mean, our first case together had been difficult. But that was because it was so personal. Being shot at, being held hostage, finding out that it was Holmes's own mother doing it all... it had brought Holmes and I closer, though. I suppose that was the only good thing about that case.
The next major case had been personal also. Irene Holmes, Holmes's sister, had been one of the targets. But it hadn't been nearly as challenging as we had made it to be. We hadn't known who had murdered all of the girls before we met the murderer, but that was only because we had run out of time.
The case of Jane the Ripper had been extremely challenging. But there had certainly been more clues. Plus, we knew where everyone was being taken from, and we had met the murderer before the final showdown. The fact that we hadn't suspected her had come back to haunt us, but...
Some of our minor cases had been utterly ridiculous. Even still there was the lingering laughs from it all. Still, there had been the occasional murder thrown into the mix. But they had been so simple, so childish. Holmes had usually been able to solve them within a few days.
But this case... this case was far too close to us. Certainly, the first had been the only other one where it had been so glaringly obvious that someone was after us. But we knew it. This case was... it was hard to describe. It was close, and yet not at the same time. It wasn't our friends who were being targeted. In fact, we barely knew them. At most, we knew their names. Yet there was still the lingering sensation of fear in the air. There was something off about this case, even I knew it.
Maybe it was the fact that we didn't know who the targets were. The first case it had been us, the second case it had been the Moonscape girls, and the third case it had been drunk men. This case? So far we had a violinist dead, a dancer, and two trumpets. We couldn't safely say that the targets were instrumentalists. They had been the main targets so far, but that meant nothing.
Or maybe it was the fact that we could be targets. We were part of the show, it was possible. Yet there had been no open threats to us yet. I didn't even think that we had considered the idea that we could be next. We were too concerned about other people.
Or maybe it was the utter lack of clues! A knife and a piece of thread told us nothing. Absolutely nothing. And Scotland Yard had taken both pieces of evidence, so there was no way we would ever be able to figure out if it was something.
I groaned again and attempted to bury my head further into my pillow. Someone cleared their throat gently, and I quickly rolled over.
It was Holmes, looking just as tired as me. Maybe more tired, since he had dark shadows under his eyes. He smiled wearily at me and sat down on the bed.
"Bit tired?" he asked. I snorted.
"Doesn't take a genius to figure that out."
There was a silence. I looked over at Holmes, who looked a bit off to me. As though he were waiting to tell me something. Sighing, I rubbed my eyes.
"What is it, Holmes?" I asked. Holmes smirked and matched my action by rubbing his own eyes.
"Jackie LeSalle has disappeared. There was no note, and all of her things are still at the hotel," he explained. I moaned sadly.
"What do Kline and Christine say about this?" I queried, already knowing what they would think.
"They seem to think that this proves her guilt, without a doubt." I nodded, figuring that they would say something like that.
"Well, they're known to be wrong."
"They don't seem to think they're wrong about this."
I sat up and shrugged. "I don't think she did it, personally. I don't know, it's this sixth sense thing. I just sorta feel like she didn't do it. She had an innocent aura thing going for her."
Holmes laughed suddenly, and I stared at him in disbelief. "What?"
"A sixth sense thing? Does that mean you can see dead people, Watson?" he joked. I blinked, and then cracked a smile, swatting him on the shoulder.
"Oh, hilarious. Hyuck, hyuck," I replied sarcastically. Holmes smiled at me and lay back on the bed.
"I feel that your sixth sense may be right, Watson. Jackie just didn't have the right... something for murder. You've seen her with the dancers- she didn't have the authority. She would ask them to do something, and if the dancers refused, she burst into tears. Jackie was quiet, but not the sort of quiet that would make one suspect murderer. She was teased, but not teased in the sort of way that would drive her to murder. She just doesn't fit the profile," Holmes stressed, frustration slipping in and out of his voice. I sighed.
"Yeah, well. We've been wrong more than once. It would be nice if we knew the murderer before they managed to kill one of us," I grumped. Holmes studied the wall, his eyes looking sad.
"All of our cases have ended up with one of us in the hospital, haven't they?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Not the vampire one. Or the cat one. Or the ones that involved petty theft. The murder ones? Yeah, we always land in the hospital. More often than not, one of us is in critical condition, and we end up moping over our sleeping bodies for days on end. Gets tiresome, doesn't it?"
Holmes nodded grimly. "You have no idea. The nurses have rooms practically reserved for us, the doctors tease us about it, my father and Charise have even put away part of their income each month just for hospital bills! I've had more injuries than a sixty-year-old man has in only sixteen years... what does that tell you, pray tell?" he snapped, more angry at himself than at me.
"That we're idiots who keep putting ourselves into dangerous positions? It would be nice to deal with a murder case that didn't land one of us in the hospital," I sighed wistfully. I felt Holmes nod next to me.
"I think we should watch out for Christine and Kline more, though," he remarked. I glanced at him.
"Why?"
"Well, how many times have they been in the hospital?" he asked me. I sat back on my elbows, thinking about it for a moment.
"When we were in Michigan was the first time. You know how they work- they spy more than anything. They don't go throwing themselves into dangerous situations like we do. I wonder how they do it...?"
I heard someone laugh dryly from the doorway. "That's easy enough to answer. Our cases are lame compared to these."
Christine sauntered into the room, looking refreshed and alert. I stared at her in disbelief.
"How in the world do you manage to look like you've gotten fifteen hours of sleep?" I questioned. Christine grinned.
"A shower and three cups of cappuccino. You two look like crap. I suggest you try my therapy. It really works," she teased. I rolled my eyes at her, and Holmes smiled.
"So, you're cases are lame, are they?" he asked. Christine nodded, leaning against the wall.
"Please. Way lame. The most danger we've ever been in is when a platform fell on us. And it was cheap, light wood, so it didn't hurt much. Plus," she added laughingly, "we don't go making enemies. We're much more casual about our investigations. Make it look like two stupid teenagers when we have to ask questions. Other than that, we spy. And if you don't get caught when you spy, then you don't make enemies. You two are much more bold with the detective thing," she explained. Holmes laughed.
"I'm sure you've made two perfectly good enemies in Michigan. Thankfully for you two, they're both in a maximum security jail, and won't ever be leaving it. Otherwise, I would think you should be fearing for your life," he replied. Christine shrugged.
"Eh. Life is short enough as it is. Why waste it on worrying about who's going to end it?"
"Christine?" I interrupted her. "Why'd you come here?"
"What, can't I come and see my friends? Is it a crime?" she protested. I looked at her doubtfully.
"You rarely track both of us down to discuss the weather. Come on, what's up?" I pressed. Christine shrugged.
"Kline and I just wanted to tell you that we're off to poke around at our designated arts groups. You know... the crew and the cast. Since we have three hours until next rehearsal, we thought it might be best. Jenny, hate to burst your little happy bubble, but the dancers are at the theatre right now, going over some stuff. If you want to probe them, you'd best go now," she reported. I sighed darkly and dragged myself from the bed.
"All right, that's cool. I'll talk to you later, then?" I asked, looking at Holmes. He nodded sleepily and put his head on the pillows. I glared at him.
"No falling asleep, or I'll use Kline's method of waking people up. See you later!" I called over my shoulder.
Christine walked with me down the hallway in silence, her light brown hair drifting into her eyes. She pushed it away irritably, and focused her eyes onto the ground. She seemed downcast, for some reason. I couldn't blame her, really- the case was going poorly. But the silence was bugging me.
"So, um, how's it going?" I asked, desperate for conversation. Christine looked at me, her dark eyes laughing at me.
"About as good as it is for you. A somewhat stupid question, don't you think? I mean, come on. If you're so desperate for a conversation, you could have said something else," observed Christine dryly. I sighed and ran a hand through my hair.
"Ok, yeah, stupid. But what are we supposed to talk about in situations like this?" I asked her. Christine turned her face back to the ground, and stuck her hands deep into her pants pockets as she pondered the question.
"Not quite sure," she admitted quietly. "We've never been in a situation like this before. Well, we have, but there is usually Kline or Sherlock to keep us talking. In fact, I don't think I've ever spent a single second alone with you when we've been on cases."
I grinned bleakly at Christine. She was right, of course. She had that annoying habit of being right a lot.
"There's never been the time. Whenever we're on cases, we've worked with the others. Heck, even before we were on cases. You know, just when I lived there. We were never very close, were we?" I asked. Christine laughed bitterly.
"No, we weren't. But in case you didn't notice, I wasn't close to anyone," she snapped. I stared at her in disbelief. Certainly, Christine and I had never been very close, but I hadn't noticed her being unsocial, or anything like that.
"No... I didn't notice. What do you mean? I thought you were like a sister to Kline, Rachel, and Kelsey," I responded. Christine smiled, a tight little half smile.
"Not to Rachel and Kelsey. Kelsey didn't like me much, really. Thought I was too dramatic, or whatever. Something like that. And Rachel? She... changed. Rachel grew up too fast. Our friendship has become a bit strained. Whenever it's a one on one conversation, we're just fine. Or when we're in the church. But when we're with the rest of the group? You would think we were complete strangers..." Christine stated matter-of-factly.
"But you and Kline are close," I insisted. Christine shrugged, impatiently pushing her hair out of her eyes again.
"We're as close as partners usually are. We would probably die for each other, and all that crap. We work well together. But we have the stupidest little fights. When I say stupid, I mean stupid. I hate it. You know how it is- she'll get on my back about NOT having a boyfriend, and I'll get on her back for having one. And of course, we have religious quarrels, and sometimes our fights are even worse. I'll correct her grammar or something, and she'll completely freak out. Call me a perfectionist or something. And then she'll tease me about my fashion, or the way I go about things, I just won't want to deal with it. I'll blow up at her. You've seen me when I get really angry... I'm not very nice. I don't know, I kind of feel like the outcast of everyone," Christine pondered, as if forgetting I was there.
I stared at her, my face showing exactly what I felt. I guess I had never really thought about my friend's personal lives. I had always been too busy with mine. I wondered if Kline had these sort of issues, and made it a goal to talk to her later that night. But since Christine was right there, I decided to keep her talking.
"Do you like Kline?" I questioned, confused about their friendship. She painted a pretty bad picture. Christine sort of sighed, and glanced at me, a sardonic smile on her face.
"Do you think I'm going to say no? Of course I like her; I wouldn't work with her if I didn't. But we're complete opposites. She's so big, so bold. I'm... not. I just blend into the background. Screw that- I AM the background. Kline's the life of the party; I'm the one to go to if you need someone to call 911. But Kline is cool. She's nice enough. But we both get into our moods... you've witnessed them."
Indeed I had. Both had strange moods that would last for days. Kline would become exceedingly snappish, and would end up leaving our little clique for days at a time. She would hate us with every fiber of her being, saying that we used her, and treated her like trash. She would rant about how we hated her boyfriend, and couldn't get over the fact that she was the first one dating, and that we were all just jealous. She would swear at us, hit us, and do anything in her power to ruin what little reputation we had. It was a nasty business trying to get her out of one of her moods. Afterwards, Kline always apologized. She would start crying, or something like that. And we would always forgive her.
In many ways, Christine's moods were worse. She wasn't a violent person, so she didn't hurt us in the same way that Kline did. But she would just seem to... disappear... for a while. It was like her mind had gone elsewhere. She would avoid us. When lunch came, she went out of her way to sit alone. When we approached her about it, she would just burst into tears and run away. And if she didn't burst into tears, she had vicious words for us. She would glare at each and everyone of us, declaring us 'imbeciles' and 'a waste of space'. She would insult our intelligence, our integrity, and our pride. She would accuse us of being just like everyone else. And we knew what she meant by that. She meant that we were mean to her, and teased her.
There were times when we wouldn't see that she was in one of her moods. Christine didn't take her moods to the extreme sometimes. But we'd criticize her for something, and she would go into this huge lecture. When Kelsey had accused her of being too dramatic, she blew up. She just screamed at Kelsey- said that being dramatic wasn't her fault, it was just the way she was. And if Kelsey didn't like it then fine, she would change. She would be just like Kelsey- boring and dead. Kelsey had yelled back, of course. That was one of the first times Christine had ever just walked out of our group.
"Christine?"
"Yeah?"
"I never asked. Why did you start to cry whenever we tried to talk to you during one of your moods?" I inquired. Christine grinned at me. A real grin, not one of her sarcastic ones.
"Because I was depressed. I didn't think that I deserved good friends. I didn't think I deserved any friends, for that matter."
I nodded slowly. Another question sprang to mind.
"Have you and Kline ever both had your moods at the same time?"
"Yes."
"What happened?"
Christine's face became thoughtful as she recalled it. "It was during the old woman case. Kline had been having an especially hard day with her wheelchair, the case was going poorly, I was highly depressed, and we slipped into our moods without realizing it. I was working on alienating myself that day, when Kline came to confront me about it. I snapped at her, she snapped at me. She said that I wasn't working hard enough on the case, that I was leaving it all to her. I told her she was being a complete git for thinking that, and that I always worked my hardest on the cases, that it was her that was lax. Kline tried to run me over with her wheelchair, I slapped her... she hit me in my bad arm, I kicked her in the leg... we told each other that the partnership was over, as was the friendship. We walked away from each other, bearing too many grudges to count.
"My mood passed first- it always does- and I went straight to Kline to apologize. Her mom knew what had happened, and refused to let me into the house, said it was my fault her daughter was in a wheelchair. I walked away from her and broke Kline's window. Crawled through it, talked to her. Apologized. She was still in her mood, though. Wouldn't accept it. Said I was apologizing to make myself feel better. To clear my conscience. I yelled at her, told her that wasn't true, that she was being paranoid. She used her wheelchair to back me out of the window, and we ended up not speaking for days.
"Her mood passed then. Came to see me. Apologized. I accepted it, and we went on with the case," finished Christine blandly. I shook my head.
"Sounds pretty stupid to me," I commented. Christine tossed back her head and laughed.
"All of our fights are stupid. They always have been."
"What about last night?" I asked. "Was that just stress, or was it a mood?"
Christine furrowed her brow in thought, trying to remember the night before. The cappuccino had apparently blurred her thoughts of the night before, because it took her a good minute to figure it out.
"A mini-mood. Kind of like the thunder in the distance- you know something big is coming, but it hasn't reached you yet," she explained. I sighed darkly.
"Lovely. I'm hoping you don't have one in the middle of this case. Wouldn't be convenient," I complained. Christine snorted.
"I don't much choose when they happen. If I did, I would have them happen when I was alone. They're embarrassing, frankly," claimed Christine. I smirked.
"I understand. Are you still angry at me?" I asked suddenly. Christine's head shot up and she looked at me evenly. I could see the calculating look in her eyes. She was so much like Holmes sometimes. Always calculating. But she was a bit more dreamy, and much more relaxed.
"Yes. Yes, I am," she confirmed quietly. I sighed. I knew there had been something a bit too distant about our conversation. She had been spilling her innermost secrets, but it had lacked the joking that Christine usually used.
"Look, I'm sorry Christine. You were right, it was that time of the month. Think you can forgive me?" I pleaded, looking and sounding somewhat pathetic. Christine studied me as we approached the theatre. Our talk had taken a while, it seemed. As she pushed open the doors, Christine looked at me directly, her eyes blank.
"We'll have to wait and see. You got me pretty ticked off, Jenny. I understand the whole PMS bit, but I- I need some time. Come by my room later tonight. Just give me some time to mull it over," suggested Christine calmly. And then she walked away, leaving me to shake my head.
She never had been angry properly. No yelling, nothing like that unless she was furious. Just a simple statement, a cool glance, and then a speedy retreat.
It would seem I had alienated more than Holmes in my tirade the night before.
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The dancers were all dressed in pink. Pink, the most disgusting color in the world. Pink, the color of tutus and toe shoes, which all symbolized girly stuff to me. Pink.
What was more- there were so many of them. It was like wading through a sea of pink. I suppressed a shudder. Why had Holmes given me the dancers? Probably just to spite me, but somehow I doubted it. He probably didn't think I would have a problem with them.
Finally, I got up enough courage to just walk up to a girl. She was tall, pretty, long legs. Just like a dancer would be. Perfect. Dancers had always made me somewhat depressed. I was pretty, I was told, and smart. But I just didn't have that nice look that dancers had. They looked... elegant. I looked gawky. But since I was talking to them for a case, I could handle it.
"Um, hi, can I talk to you for a minute?" I asked the girl. She looked at me in surprise, and then nodded slowly.
"Yes, you may. I am Alexis Victor. And you are...?" the dancer asked. I smiled at her. She seemed nice so far.
"Jennifer Watson. I'm the second chair clarinet player," I explained. Alexis laughed suddenly.
"Ah, yes, Sallay spoke of you. Said you had spunk, had energy. Wasn't afraid to defy her. She admires you, in a way," Alexis admitted to me. I looked at her, surprise written over my face. Alexis laughed.
"Sallay is a good friend of mine. She tells me everything. She speaks of you and your little friends often," she announced. I felt myself blush, not really sure of what to say.
"She tells you everything, huh? Has she talked to you about the murders?" I asked quietly. Alexis's face fell, sadness all over her features.
"Yeah, she has. Said they were a pity, that they were all such talented girls. Weird how only girl's have been targeted, huh?"
"Yeah, real weird. I feel weird being in the same building as a murderer, don't you?"
Alexis nodded violently, a few brunette strands falling down the side of her face. "Most assuredly. All I can keep thinking is 'I hope I'm not next'. I know that's selfish, but that's the way humans think. We're very self-centered. Do you know who did it?" she asked me. I shook my head.
"If I did, I'd report it to Scotland Yard immediately, get the killer out of the building. You know, have a nice, normal show production," I endorsed. Alexis nodded thoughtfully, then shrugged.
"You have to admit though, it does add a little bit of excitement. You know, an air of mystery and danger. It does wonders when you're dancing. Extra adrenaline is really helpful sometimes," Alexis added. I shrugged, not really knowing. I was pleased with how the conversation was going, so far. Now to get her alibi...
"What's sad is that I was with my friends the times of the murders. All I can keep thinking is that I could have helped them somehow. You know, that I could have seen the murder, or prevented it," I said remorsefully. Alexis sighed.
"At least you were with your friends. I was always off with Jackie, or with my private dancing instructor. Making myself better while innocent people got murdered. Puts things into perspective, doesn't it?"
I continued my conversation with Alexis for a while, and then excused myself. I talked to a few other girls, not all of them having good alibi's like Alexis. Some of them said they had just been in their room, while others were with friends like I was. A few of them had known the victims- most of the dancers condemned them, actually.
"Gina? Oh God, I'm glad the murderer killed her. She was so annoying. Strutted around, saying that she was the best, just because she made first dancer," snapped Anastasia Amalkov, a Russian dancer. She was fifth dancer herself, but wasn't fond of bragging.
"Lisa and Diane? The second and third trumpet players that were killed? Really annoying, from what I heard. Argued with Sallay, said they were doing everything just perfect. Drove Sallay mad. Personally, the fact that they're gone relieves me. It means that Sallay won't be in such a grumpy mood when she gets here," whispered Mary Gietzen, tenth dancer.
"Gina? I didn't think that she bragged that much, actually. Anastasia had problems with her, but Anastasia has problems with everyone. In fact, the only thing I ever heard Gina say about her position in front of me was that she was proud of herself. I don't know, I think Ana is just being a complete idiot," fumed Judith Beaman, third dancer.
"I didn't know the second chair violinist, but I heard she was pretty nice. I think she was disappointed with her position, and kind of jealous of that Holmes kid, but she enjoyed the music and learned to appreciate her position over time," acknowledged Hannah Yiesha, fourth dancer.
"They obviously did something to bug the murderer. I don't believe any of the crap everyone else is saying. They're making them out to be all saintly- well, except for Anastasia- and I just can't believe something like that. I mean, a person doesn't go around killing for no reason. Those girls had a reason for getting killed," declared Amy Lennox, eighth dancer.
"Personally, I hope the killer murders Anastasia next," Melanie Williams snarled. She was the second dancer.
"Well, I don't really know what to think of the murders," Emily Vouche said shyly. I was currently speaking to her. Rather, she was speaking to me. The last dancer of the troupe had been working on a spin and slammed into me. I rubbed my eyes tiredly.
"Why?" I asked. Emily shrugged, fiddling with her toe shoes.
"I think Gina deserved it, personally. She wasn't a very nice person. But I didn't know the other girl's well enough. I've heard that they bragged a bit, but otherwise, I'm just not sure," Emily murmured. I wanted to scream. I had gotten so many different character analysis's from so many different people... it was getting tiring.
Emily took her toe shoes off and began mending the laces angrily as I thought of my next question. I watched her rapid movements as she stitched a piece of thread into the fraying shoes. Finally, the endless needle motions nearly drove me insane, so I decided to end the interview.
"Well, thanks Emily. Pleasure talking to you," I stated tiredly. Emily didn't even stop fixing her shoes to say good bye, and I walked away, leaving the pink room once and for all.
Those dancers were all so conceited! They had been absorbed with the competition, and were all backstabbing little bullies. I didn't really enjoy talking to any of them. Alexis had been all right, she had actually been somewhat nice. Focused on her performance, but that was all right. A lot of artists were focused on their art.
I stumbled out of the theatre, my eyes half closed. Unfortunately, this ended up with me slamming into someone else. I opened my eyes hastily to apologize, to see the grinning face of Kline in front of me.
"Hey, watch it you bum," she teased cheerfully. I giggled half-heartedly and looked at her quietly.
"Did your interrogations go well?" I asked. Kline nodded, looking excited.
"I'll tell you about it later. I have some exciting news. Christine is going to be so proud of me!" she practically shrieked. I winced, and then recalled my earlier goal of having a deep conversation with Kline.
"What, like she isn't already?" I scoffed. Kline glanced at me, skepticism in her eyes.
"Please. You know how she feels about my methods," Kline replied. I shook my head.
"No, I don't know. Explain."
Kline sighed and tossed her hair. "Christine thinks I'm too brash. She doesn't think that I think things through. Feels that I'm too hasty in my detection. I swear, she's like a second mother at times," Kline griped. I raised an eyebrow.
"What makes you say that?" I inquired. Kline raised an eyebrow.
"Like you don't know. Wait, don't say anything. No, you don't know. Explain. Fine, I'll do that. Whenever I'm around Christine, I feel like a child seeking approval. Or even worse, a child who is just trying to keep the mother happy. You know how uptight she gets at times. She'll raise her nose and sniff if I haven't thought things through perfectly, and she freaks out if I do anything that's a bit unorthodox. She's so annoying sometimes," stressed Kline unhappily. I looked at her oddly.
"Do you even like Christine?" asking the same question I had asked of Christine. Kline laughed merrily.
"Of course I like Christine. She's annoying sometimes, but she's like your own personal psychiatrist at other times. I mean, she's so freaky. Depressing, yet perky. Humorless, yet amusing. Quiet, yet loud. It takes you forever to get used to her moods, you know?" Kline asked me. I smirked a bit.
When Holmes had first met Christine and Kline, he had asked me to describe their personalities. I distinctly remembered using the word 'vibrant' for Kline, and 'clashing' for Christine. They had lived up to their descriptions so far- apparently, even Kline described Christine as clashing.
"Well, your moods are hard to get used to, too," I reminded her. Kline sighed a bit, her icy blue eyes drifting off suddenly.
"Don't remind me. I always feel so guilty afterwards, you know? When you're in the sort of moods that I get, it's like you can't feel any remorse. But when you remember how you made Rachel's face fall, and Kelsey's eyes widen with hurt, or Christine give you that weird wounded puppy thing she does, it makes you feel like trash. Like you're not worthy of the friends you have. Like they're too good for you," she spat.
Christine had said something similar earlier, if I remembered correctly. Except she said that the feeling caused her moods. Kline's came at the end of hers... it intrigued me to see how very alike the two were, even if they didn't realize it.
"Is any person worthy enough of their friends, though?" Kline shot at me suddenly. I blinked at the unexpected question. I wasn't like the others. Rachel would have thought about it and said maybe. Kelsey would have said yes. Christine was certainly a no. Me? I didn't know...
"Um... depends on their mentality," I said lamely. Kline laughed, a perky laugh.
"Now, see, that's the question that will get a different answer from everyone. I asked Christine that once. Want to know what her answer was?" she asked me. I nodded eagerly, though I was certain that I knew what it would be.
"She actually had to think about it! Christine finally didn't have an answer immediately. In the end, she said yes. I thought she was going to say no, personally. She's such a gloomy person," preached Kline happily. I blinked. That certainly wasn't the answer I had been expecting from Christine.
"Did she say why?"
"Yeah. She quoted Aristotle. "A friend is one soul in two bodies". You know how Christine feels about the soul... and she kind of interpreted the question as "Is any person worthy of themselves?"."
"What do you say to that answer?" I asked, intrigued. We were having an interesting conversation so far.
"I don't think anybody is worthy of their friends. But that is what makes people such good friends. Those small insecurities, those needs. The longing for companionship, and knowing that we really don't deserve it. Everyone has it, you know. But that is what drives us to make friends. It's like we're trying to prove to the world that yes, we're worthy. I think it's an unconscious need at times. But it's there. And if you think about it, what do we feel when we don't have more than one friend? That we're not good enough, that there is something wrong with us. That we're not worthy. I'm telling you, I have this thing figured out," Kline crowed. I laughed a bit, surprised at how philosophical she was getting. Kline grinned.
"Now see! People always think that I'm a carefree girl, that I just plow right through life. I do think about these things at times. I'm not an airhead, after all. Hey, another philosophical thing for you. Look at one of those maze things. How do you see each of us getting through it?" she asked me. I had to think about it.
"Holmes would analyze the entire thing, figure out the way to get through, and then do the puzzle. I would just go along and make the mistakes that need to be made. Christine believes in that whole right-hand rule thing, and you? You have a tendency to just go right through it. You would go through the lines and stuff," I said sheepishly. Kline grinned.
"Now put it to real life terms. Pretend that the maze is life. Is it the same?"
I began chewing on my pinkie as I thought about it, trying to remember everything about my friends. Holmes did exactly the same thing that he would do on the maze. He analyzed life, tried to figure it out beforehand. I took life as it came, made the mistakes, and corrected them.. Kline... Kline did cut corners occasionally. So I guess her maze thing was accurate. And Christine did have a tendency to take the long way just to ensure getting everything right... I stared at Kline in shock.
"Yeah... it is. That's creepy. Where do you come up with this stuff?" I asked. Kline grinned at me.
"It's night. The candles are burning. I'm reading a romance novel, having completely ignored my homework to do so. I figure I'll do it in the morning. I glance towards the floor and see my sisters book of mazes. The philosophy of the maze hits me. It's night. The candles are burning. I have just fought with Christine, Rachel, or Kelsey. I'm depressed, and I think I'm not worthy. The worthy thing hits me. Basically, I do my best thinking at night, with the candles burning," she laughed. I laughed with her. I knew Kline had an odd obsession with candles.
"Wow, I didn't realize that you thought like this," I admitted. Kline smirked at me, her eyes dancing with mirth.
"No one ever does. Pity, really. I could be paid for my thoughts. You know what, I think I'll be a philosopher when I get older," she announced, tossing her hair. I grinned at her.
"You would actually want to do that?" I asked, a bit surprised. She shook her head slowly, thinking about it.
"Nah. I want to be a jazz flautist. I can be a philosopher in my spare time. What about you? What do you want to do?" she asked me, seemingly interested. I blushed in embarrassment.
"I want to be a doctor, actually."
"That's cool! Why are you blushing?" she questioned, noticing the fact that my face was blazing. I shrugged.
"It's that whole Watson/Holmes thing. Everyone expects Holmes to become a detective, and Watson was a surgeon, so... I don't know, it just sounds really cliche," I offered lamely. Kline shrugged nonchalantly.
"Not a big deal. It's what you want, so take it. No being passive about your future. Look, I ran into Holmes earlier. He wants to talk about the info we got today.. He told me to tell you that we would meet in his room around seven, he would order some food, and we would throw together everything we know," related Kline. I nodded hesitantly. That would mean I would have to see Christine... Kline must have noticed the look on my face, because she started to laugh.
"Do you really think Christine can hold a grudge for that long?" she giggled. I blushed again, ashamed that I couldn't keep my face blank.
"I-I don't know!" I sputtered. "I mean, what's her forgiveness policy?"
"Always forgive, never forget. That kid has the memory of an elephant, I swear. Hey, this is my stop. Go talk to Christine, I'm sure she's in her room by now. Unless she's been murdered," Kline joked. I swatted her.
"Don't say things like that. I'll see you at seven, ok?" I asked. Kline nodded and unlocked her door, disappearing into her small room instantly. I turned to face the doors across the hall, quickly tracking down 211, Christine's room.
It wasn't a very ominous door. It was made of wood, painted white, had a nice door handle. It had a glass peephole too. So why did the darn thing make me so nervous? Slowly I raised my hand and knocked on the wood three times, in an even rhythm. There was no answer. Frowning, I tried again. Still no answer.
I was beginning to feel a sick feeling of dread wash over me. Maybe Kline had been right! Maybe Christine had been murdered. We shouldn't have split up, we should have stuck together and investigated all the groups together... oh, this was all my-
"Jenny? Are you going to move long enough so I can get into my room?" asked a calm voice from behind me. I spun around in shock. Christine stood there, her black clothes illuminating her pale skin more than normal. I gawked at her for a good ten seconds, and then threw my arms around her, hugging her tightly.
"Ack! Ok, I know that you love me. I have every right to be loved. But let go of me, will you? You're cutting off my air supply," she choked out. I let go of her and looked into her eyes, feeling tears welling up. Christine glanced around nervously and began backing up slowly.
"Ok, Jenny, seriously scaring me here. What's your problem, girl?" she asked. I wiped the tears from my eyes quickly and pouted at her.
"I thought you were dead!" I cried. Christine raised an eyebrow and then pushed past me, unlocking her door and going in. I quickly followed.
"Wishful thinking, Jenny. Not quite, unfortunately. I seem to have missed my appointment with the angel of death by a few seconds. But maybe if you had kept hugging me like that for a few seconds longer, I would be gone," Christine remarked, a bit of sarcasm dripping from her voice. I shook my head.
"No, I thought our murderer had killed you. Kline had said that you would probably be back at your room by now, unless you had been killed. When I knocked and got no reply..." I trailed off, feeling foolish. Christine smiled at me as she flopped down on her bed, putting her hands beneath her head. She closed her eyes peacefully and smiled.
"You thought the worst had happened. Don't worry about me, Jenny. I don't think our killer is after someone like me anyway. And if they were, don't you think I could handle them?" joked Christine, her features remarkably calm. I shook my head gravely.
"No, not really. No offense, Christine, but you can't even fend Kline off," I reminded her. Christine opened her eyes and laughed a bit.
"I'm not quite sure who that insult was towards, me or Kline."
"You."
"Ah. Well. I thank you, then. Now come off it, Jenny. What's the real problem?" asked Christine, cutting down on the small talk. I began to play with my black hair, shocked that she didn't remember.
"You told me to come back later, that you had to mull over it?" I whispered hoarsely. Christine studied me thoughtfully, and then she started with remembrance.
"Oh. That. Please, Jenny. I forgave you about that ten minutes after I walked away from you. You know that I always forgive people," reported Christine. I laughed bitterly.
"But you never forget," I persisted. Christine looked at me languidly, her legs drooping over the side of the bed as she stared at me. Then she laughed.
"Kline told you that, didn't she. Always makes me out to be worse than I really am, I swear. Of course I don't forget! You know how funky my mind is. It always remembers the bad things. Good things? Pshaw. Don't get you knickers in a knot about it. Don't seek my approval either; that drives me nuts," Christine stated calmly. I shrugged.
"I don't like people being angry at me."
"No one does. So, why else are you here? You got the shoulders of someone who has something else to say," she challenged. I grinned a bit. Christine was hard to get past sometimes.
"Meeting tonight in Holmes's room. He's going to order take-out, and we're going to discuss what we discovered today. Around seven," I said, echoing Kline's message to me. Christine blushed suddenly, and nodded.
"Um, yeah... I'll be there. If you'll excuse me, I would like to get freshened up. See you at seven!" called Christine, hastily shoving me out of her door and slamming it in my face. I stared at the wood in surprise. Christine was hiding something.
*************************************************************************************************
"Oh, eww," I muttered, picking apart my egg roll. Kline, who was halfway through hers, looked at me and grinned.
"Come on, Jenny. Live a little. Scarf it," she commanded. I pulled out a piece of shrimp from the egg roll and sneered at it.
"I am not scarfing something that has shrimp in it," I grumbled. Holmes reached over and yanked the shrimp from my fingers, popping it in his mouth instantly. I gaped at him.
"Hey!"
"Well, you certainly weren't going to eat it!"
"It's the principle of the thing," I protested. Christine grinned, chewing on her pizza happily.
"Now, see Jenny? You should have just gotten pizza like I did. Much safer, and you don't have to deal with unknown food. I had a friend who found a cat whisker in their egg roll once," Christine claimed. I felt myself pale, and grabbed a piece of pizza from her box.
"Hey, where's the mushrooms?"
"Oh, gross. Mushrooms are disgusting. Pepperoni is the only way to live, girlfriend," Christine bubbled, removing one of the pepperoni and eating it. Holmes grinned.
"I'm afraid I have to agree with Christine. Mushrooms aren't sanitary," he offered. Kline leaned back in the chair, finishing her egg roll.
"I'm going with my girl Jenny. Mushrooms rock. Pepperoni is not the only way to live; mushrooms are."
I grinned at Kline, and then grabbed the telephone from the cradle, quickly dialing the pizza people and ordering another two pizzas. One with pepperoni, and one with mushrooms. Christine rolled her eyes as she snuggled into the pillow. Holmes cleared his throat.
"Well, as interesting as this conversation about food is, I would suggest that we move on to more important matters. Such as the case. And how we're going to pay for the extra pizza," added Holmes. Kline shrugged and tossed in a ten dollar bill, while Christine added a five. I added another five.
"That should cover it. So. The case. What'd we get today?" I asked. Seeing no volunteers, I grinned.
"Looks like I get to play the role of teacher. Mr. Holmes, please share with the class what you learned from the orchestra," I demanded snootily. Holmes smiled at me, and then nodded.
"Yeth Mith Watthon," he said, faking a lisp. I started giggling, and he immediately dropped it.
"Lisa and Diane were the two trumpet players that had their necks broken. Both were in their senior year of college, majoring in music. They were best friends, and were rarely separated. They were very nice girls, and very proud of the chair positions they had received. However, most of the trumpets didn't like them. Said that they had bribed Sallay to give them first and second chair. A few of the saxophone players felt this way, and most of the French horn players didn't like them either," Holmes finished, flipping through a notebook. I nodded.
"The dancers weren't fond of Diane and Lisa either. Mary Gietzen said that they had a tendency to tick Sallay off, and that she was glad that they were gone. Anastasia Amalkov didn't like them either. There were a few other girls who said that they were all right, but they didn't know much about them," I recalled. Kline and Christine nodded.
"The cast said that they didn't really know any of the orchestra, but they knew that Gina, Lisa, Diane, and the second chair violinist (what was her name?) all had bragged a bit before they were killed. Especially Gina. But otherwise, they couldn't really say why they thought that the girl's had been murdered," Christine replied. Kline shrugged.
"Didn't ask. I didn't even talk to the crew members," Kline declared. Christine turned to look at her, surprise etched on her face.
"What do you mean, you didn't talk to them? You wasted all that time?" Christine asked in disbelief. Kline snorted.
"Oh, please. No, Christine. I spied on them. Found out some interesting yet gross things. For instance, I know why John Goodmena and Sallay Jargin are always sneaking off. They're having an affair... I caught them making out in a closet. Denise was talking to Bubba about Jackie, saying that she didn't know why she disappeared, and that they were going to have to cancel The Nutcracker. Those dancers are going to be ticked..." Kline trailed off, supposedly imagining the dancers revolting against the crew members. Christine smiled gently at Kline and lay back on the bed.
"Nice job."
Holmes stood up and began pacing wildly, running a hand through his hair.
"So, essentially, we still don't have anything. Who else did you interview, Watson?" Holmes inquired, facing me. I thought about it.
"Alexis Victor, who is the first dancer. Melanie Williams, second dancer. Amy Lennox... I think she's eighth or ninth dancer. And who was that clumsy girl...? Oh, yeah. Emily Vouche," I finished. Holmes frowned in concentration and continued to pace.
"Did any of them say that they were glad that the girls were gone?" he asked. I shrugged.
"Most of them said it at one point and time. Melanie said that the girls were dead, so what, and she wished the killer would murder Anastasia Amalkov next. Emily was kind of shy about her opinions, said that she didn't know what to think of the murders. Amy said that the girls obviously were killed for a reason, and that there wasn't a psycho killer running around, and Alexis said that the feeling of danger gave her enough adrenaline to make her dance better," I said, trying to remember all the girls. I had missed most of them, but the most incriminating girls I had managed to remember.
"Who is this Anastasia Amalkov? She doesn't sound very nice," Christine said, standing up on the bed and beginning to bounce on it. I sighed, trying to drag her image into my mind.
"She isn't very nice. She said that she was glad that Gina was dead, that the girl always bragged. I managed to ask her about the other girls, and she said that they deserved it as well. Then she told me to go away, that I was interrupting her practice," I recalled. Holmes frowned.
"We'll have to keep an eye on her. She makes a good suspect. As does Alexis and Melanie. I think we can discard Amy and Emily. Amy just sounds reasonable, and Emily sounds like a follower, if you ask me. So we have three new suspects. Did they have good alibis?" he asked. I shook my head.
"Alexis was with Jackie or her private instructor, she said. But we can't confirm that, because Jackie is gone and she said that her personal instructor had left town. Melanie said that she was alone in her room, and Anastasia said that she was practicing in the theatre. Alone. So none of them have good alibis... but I don't think that Alexis did it," I muttered. Kline looked at me oddly.
"Why not? She had the opportunity, and she certainly had a motive," she reminded me. I shook my head slowly.
"What motive?"
"She wanted to be first dancer. Best way to do that is knock off the first dancer," Kline observed. I didn't agree with her. I just couldn't believe that Alexis would do something like that.
"You guys... come on... if she just wanted to be first dancer, then why didn't she just kill the first dancer and then leave the other victims? It doesn't fit together," I insisted. Christine hopped off the bed and shoved Kline out of the desk, sitting in the chair herself.
"Maybe she had a thirst for blood. You know how it is- once you kill, you can't kill once," preached Christine. I sighed, exasperated.
"No, you guys. Alexis doesn't seem likely." I looked at Holmes for help, but he looked away. He didn't believe me.
"Come on! She didn't want those girls dead!" I shouted. Holmes's head rocketed up as he stared at me.
"Watson, think about it logically. She said herself that she gets a rush of adrenaline from the murders that helps her dance. Couldn't that be her motive? You saw those dancers- most of them are bloodthirsty. They would do anything to be the best. If it comes down to murder, than so be it. They would do it in a heartbeat," he explained to me. I glared at him and sat down.
"Well, I just-"
A rapid knock on the door interrupted me, and I glared at the door. Whoever it was would be getting an earful. Christine jumped over the desk and opened the door slowly.
It was Todd, looking quite urgent. His eyes were wild, and it took him a couple of seconds to give us his message.
"A girl- dead- drowned in her bathtub," he panted. Holmes rushed over and patted him on the shoulder.
"Deep breathes, Todd. Tell us everything that you know," he demanded. Todd breathed for a minute, and then stood up straight.
"They found another dancer about ten minutes ago. She had been drowned in her bathtub. Her name was Alexis Victor, from what they're telling me. Christine was poking around earlier, so I thought you might like to know," he sputtered after a moment or two. I grinned, despite the serious situation.
"Told you she couldn't have done it."
*************************************************************************************************
Alexis Victor didn't look good as a dead body. Her lips were blue, her eyes glossy, and her once lovely skin had become a revolting shade of white. She had been stunning in life. Now she was a mere fragment of that beauty.
Holmes poked around the body, carefully raising her head and studying it, and then observing the bathtub she had been discovered in. There was no blood, unlike all the other victims. This one seemed to be a more urgent killing, one that the murderer didn't have time to create. The style had changed.
"Different killer, maybe?" mused Christine to Kline. They were standing in the doorway of the bathroom, whispering various ideas. Kline had brought up the style change.
"Hard to tell," Kline whispered back. "Our murderer seems a bit unorganized so far. I mean, they have usually made the victims really bloody. This just looks like spur of the moment.
Christine nodded, studying the scene quietly. She seemed harrowed by the death of the person she had been insisting was the murderer only ten minutes ago.
"Maybe she killed herself, in repentance for the murders she committed," Christine suggested. Kline shook her head, her blond hair hitting Christine in the face.
"No. Our murderer, were she to kill herself-"
"Would have made herself bloody. Yeah, I know. I'm stretching here. So sue me," acknowledged Christine sarcastically. Kline grinned and hit her partner lightly over the head.
"Alexis Victor wasn't the murderer, and she wasn't drowned," Holmes announced as he approached us. I looked at him, confused.
"Yes she was. The whole bathtub and being dead part kind of suggests that she was drowned," I murmured. Holmes smiled tightly at me.
"Suggests. There were bruises on her neck. She was strangled, and then left in the water to throw us off course. Poor Todd didn't realize it, not being a medical man," he explained. Kline snorted.
"Or the murdering sort."
"Exactly. Were Todd on our list of suspects, we would most likely discard him," Holmes iterated. Christine raised a finger.
"And why wasn't he on the list in the first place?" she asked, a look of suspicion on her face. Holmes seemed reluctant to answer, but Kline wasn't afraid of Christine's temper.
"Because he looooooovvvvvveeeeee'sssss you!" she howled in mirth. Christine smacked her over the head, and then looked at Holmes.
"Any clues?"
Holmes nodded, suddenly enthusiastic. His eyes glimmered wildly as he raised up a piece of tape.
"A partial fingerprint. Very partial, only a sliver of the index finger, but it shows that our murderer is beginning to get careless. We may have this case solved by the time the production opens," Holmes stated, the excited look remaining in his eyes. Christine and Kline exchanged a glance, their eyebrows raised.
"Let us not be too hopeful. To the room... we have much to discuss!" Kline declared.
Darn that was a long chapter. One of my longest yet... ever. It is the longest. Please review, I would much appreciate it. Thanks to those of you who did review- your reviews mean so much to me. If you're going to criticize me, please do it nicely. My constitution isn't strong enough to take insults. Thanks much!