Here's part one of Swan Song, written down over several short breaks today on my day off devoted to outside work on my farm. However, it's 104 degrees. I love the heat, don't even have air conditioning, but I did take many, many drink breaks over the day, just to stay safe, so I got chapter one written down. The computer is behaving itself, and hopefully all electronic hassles of the last few months are over. Swan Song will be updated more slowly than usual for me. It is competing for time slots with another work to be written down, and the other one takes priority, so this one will only get blocks of time too short for the other. Also, sorry for the extensive notes at the beginning, but they are necessary with this one.
Title: Swan Song
Rating: T+
Disclaimer: CSIM and its characters are not mine. Rosalind is totally mine. There are several characters in this story who are based to different extents on actual people, and in all cases, names and some details have been changed to preserve privacy. Sam, Sarah, Tom, and Lynella are all purely fictional creations.
Series: This is the 21st story in the Fearful Symmetry series. Fearful Symmetry, Can't Fight This Feeling, Gold Medals, Surprises, Honeymoon, Blackout, the Hopes and Fears, Anniversary, Framed, Sight for Sore Eyes, Trials and Tribbulations, Premonition, Do No Harm, the CSI Who Loved Me, Complications, Yet to Be, More Deadly, Photo Finish, the Caine Mutiny, Calleighella, and Swan Song.
Story Note and Request: Swan Song was conceived in early November 2004 and written (though not yet written down) in November and December. It was a wonderful story to work with, cooperative and flowing like music, although it also is the closest in the FS series I have ever come to killing a story unborn. More on that at the final chapter. I wrote it, finished it, admired it, and put it aside in line to be written down, and I expected everything to stop there, but it refused. I have dearly loved this story since the beginning, and instead of just parking it, like a normal finished story, my muse apparently wanted to do more with it. Swan Song split itself and was reborn as a full-length novel, original fiction, with a slightly different case and focus, not a CSIM story at all. It is much more developed that way, deeper, and is, in fact, still being finished. The original fanfiction story wasn't touched, but the novel developed alongside it independently. Someday, when I finish the novel and get it all written down, I will probably try to get it published in the real world, and that's what brings me to the requests. SSFS and SSOF are entirely independent stories, and the story lines are hardly identical, but nobody reading both could fail to see the resemblance and even what would be called flagrant plagiarism if they weren't both mine. The entire last scene in particular will be transported almost verbatim to the novel, and Circle of Starlight is critical to both versions. So if you ever see something looking much like this in a bookstore (and you would recognize my real name), don't be surprised. However, to avoid any possible problems with copyright on the novel down the road, I am asking on this one story that it absolutely is not to be distributed in any way or shared beyond posting on the H/C group list, Lonely Road, and Those of you who make your own copies, do not share them with anyone. Even though SSOF is separate from SSFS, I do not want countless copies of this out there. Please cooperate with me on this one and be extra careful with it. Thanks.
Musical Notes: The music is almost a character in its own right in this story. I wish you could hear the songs, but I'll have to do my best to take you there in mere words. All songs mentioned anywhere in this story are real, and with the exception of Circle of Starlight, none of them belong to me. (This also will be dealt with appropriately in SSOF when I get to real-world and remunerative publication.) To avoid an incredibly long list now, I will put a musical notes section at the head of each chapter, appropriately crediting the creators of each song before the chapter in which it is first mentioned. Mentioned in chapter one: The Awakening is by Joseph Martin, both words and music. It is a musical setting of a nightmare of a world with no music at all, and it is more an experience than a song. Intricate, complex, challenging to both singers and accompanist, but I have never in my life heard any song that expresses in a better nutshell exactly how much difference music makes. The music is just as rich and powerful as the words, perfectly expressing dreamscape, growing agitation, horror, entrapment, and finally, relief and resolution. Circle of Starlight is mine. It was written especially for this story and is inextricable from it and the characters in it. You will get annoyed with me for the piecemeal way it is introduced, but I promise, you will get all of it in one concerted whole at the perfect time in the plot. There is a reason why my muse presented it this way, and I think you'll see it when you get there. As an unintentional (honest!) side effect, it will add a bit of realism to the story. Anyone who has ever been involved in performing arts knows that rehearsal involves much more start and stop and detail work than it does one seamless whole like the audience eventually hears it.
Dedication: To the Singers, who make Tuesday night the one unfailing highlight in every single week.
(H/C)
"I dreamed a dream.
I dreamed a dream, a silent dream,
Of a land not far away,
Where no birds sang, no steeples rang,
And teardrops fell like rain.
I dreamed a dream, a silent dream.
I dreamed a dream of a land so filled with pride
That every song, both weak and strong,
Withered and died."
The Awakening, Joseph Martin
(H/C)
Rain chased the car along the road, lashing the metal as if to whip it to greater effort, sensing the urgency. The man gripped the wheel firmly with both hands, eyes alert as the headlights cut the rain-fractured darkness. He allowed himself one quick glance at the clock on the dash. Why didn't she have her cell phone on? He had to find her, had to catch up with her before they did, had to try to reverse what he had unwittingly set in motion. His own danger never occurred to him. He had put her at risk, and now, she was entangled in this web along with him, helpless. No, not helpless. She at least could be helped, and even if he went down for his obliviousness in the past week, she would escape. Provided that he found her in time. His foot pressed harder on the accelerator, his eyes watchful for other traffic. The road was oddly deserted tonight. He knew the traffic would come later, once he was fully in Miami. Now was his chance to make up time. As the windshield wipers arm-wrestled the rain, their rhythmic squeak joined the pounding of his heartbeat to repeat one name, over and over. Sarah.
(H/C)
"Home," Rosalind sang cheerfully, sitting up in her car seat and straining against the straps to watch the rain-splashed windows eagerly. "Home, home, home."
Calleigh smiled, watching her daughter in the rearview mirror. Rosalind had been able to carry a tune even before she could talk, and people would sometimes stare at the golden-haired baby reproducing a recognizable melody on some wordless syllable. Now that she could talk, she had quickly started fitting her own words to tunes she knew, and tonight, all of her songs had one common theme. "Home! Dada! Home!" They were the same thing. Horatio was home. Wherever he was, that would always be home for Calleigh and for Rosalind.
The song stilled momentarily, and Calleigh smiled again. Rosalind, like her father at the piano, hated to stop in the middle of a piece and fracture the wholeness of it. She carefully finished the current reworded melody before pausing to speak. "Home soon, Mama?"
"Not too much longer, Angel. See the glow up there?" The horizon radiated the electricity of the city. "We'll be in Miami soon. And Dada will be waiting for us, I'm sure."
"Dada! Home!" Rosalind picked up a different melody, and Calleigh hummed along with her. Home. How much of her life had been spent with no positive feeling attached to that word? She couldn't even remember and didn't try. The past was over. The present was here, literally a gift to her, to be lovingly unwrapped, day by day. Up ahead, Horatio was waiting. At home.
He hadn't meant to stay behind. He and Calleigh both had a week's vacation scheduled for October and were going to drive up the East Coast through the Smokey Mountains, along with an invitation to Norfolk to meet her brother Peter's fiancée, but the job, as so often, wedged itself into their plans at the last minute. Just days before their departure, the call had come from the district attorney. A trial, a critically important trial, had been suddenly rescheduled, and Horatio was needed to testify. He would have to be on standby for that whole week.
Calleigh wanted to reschedule the entire trip, but Horatio had insisted that she and Rosalind go ahead without him. Peter was expecting them. Becky was expecting them. With his unfailing consideration, he refused to disrupt everyone else's plans just because his had been upset. So Calleigh and Rosalind went on and even enjoyed the trip, although Calleigh called him every night. Not only did she want the caressing touch of his voice herself, but Rosalind wouldn't go to sleep at nights without his benediction.
Now he was up ahead, just miles away, and those separating miles were disappearing one by one. Miami was just ahead. Home. Horatio. Home.
The lights of an approaching car swept up behind her, and Calleigh glanced at her speedometer. She was hurrying herself as much as was prudent in the rain; he had to be speeding. The lights were perfectly steady, though, with no drunken waver, and he flicked on his blinker as he shifted into the other lane to pass her. Whatever he was hurrying to, he was not disregarding other traffic. She edged over a bit, to give him plenty of room to slide by her.
"Home!" Rosalind sang. "Dada! Ho-"
Rosalind and Calleigh saw the rain-streaked world erupt at the same time, and both were uncomprehending for a second. Dark shapes leaped from the side of the road. As the passing car put on his blinker again and started to shift back over, the pavement ahead was suddenly no longer empty, and the headlights drew answering sparks. Deer. Calleigh's mind started to function again, racing ahead while the world continued to fall apart around her in slow motion. She applied the brakes as firmly as she dared, trying not to slide on the wet blacktop. The car ahead suddenly jolted sideways, and then its tangent and speed combined with the impact to spin it almost clear around, the tires hydroplaning. For one second, Calleigh and the other driver were nearly face to face above the headlights, and she saw the horror and apology in his features. She jerked the wheel right as he fought to regain control of the skid, both of them desperately trying to avoid the collision. They almost succeeded. The other car struck Calleigh's Jeep on the driver's side, just behind the driver's door, and the Jeep, caught with two wheels already off the pavement, rolled. One flip, two flips, and Calleigh reached back reflexively with her right arm toward Rosalind in the back seat, praying that the car seat was worth all the statistics the box had quoted at her. The Jeep finally came to rest off the road, upright but battered. The oblivious rain continued to pour down.
"Rosalind!" Calleigh fought her seatbelt as she twisted around. "Rosalind! Are you okay?" The car seat seemed to still be in place, but there was no answer. Calleigh hit the dome light, and it slowly, uncertainly lit up the interior. The car seat had held, and Rosalind was still securely in it, looking back at her mother with eyes wide with fear. Only fear, though. Calleigh could not see pain. She wrestled the seatbelt, finally managing to get the snap loose, and climbed over into the back seat, reaching for her daughter. "Are you okay?"
Rosalind blinked, and her throat bobbed as she swallowed. "Mama," came the tentative voice.
"I'm here." Calleigh undid the straps one by one, thanking each one silently as she released it. The car seat was worth every cent they had paid. She would have to send the manufacturer a note of thanks. She freed her daughter and carefully ran her hands over her. Nothing was bleeding. All limbs straight. No spot provoked a complaint. "Does anything hurt, Rosalind?"
Rosalind's eyes were still almost bigger than the face that held them. "No," she said after a moment. "Mama?"
Calleigh read the question mark correctly. "I'm not sure, Angel. It happened so fast." She knew that a group of deer had started that chain reaction, but she didn't think it would be the best idea to try to explain that to Rosalind at the moment. Telling her that Bambi had wrecked their car and lay broken and probably dead or at least injured in the road would hardly reassure her. She finished her inspection, then hugged Rosalind to her tightly. "It's okay, Angel. We're okay."
Rosalind pushed back a bit to study her mother carefully, and the eyes suddenly turned into Horatio's. "Mama, you okay?"
Calleigh took a minute for a quick mental inventory of self. A few minor aches, but nothing really hurt. "I'm fine. The seatbelts saved us."
And what about the other driver? Reassured about her daughter, she abruptly remembered him, the mixed horror and apology in that face. She looked around and spotted the shape of the other car at a distance on the dark rainscape. She tried to open the door and realized that the driver's side of the Jeep was horribly jammed. She doubted the front door would open; the back door certainly wouldn't. "Hold on, Rosalind. We're going to have to climb over the car seat and get out on the other side." She parked Rosalind in the middle of the back seat, scrambled over, and tried to open the door. It considered and declined. Calleigh flipped onto her back and gave it a firm kick with both feet, and it popped open. She turned back to collect her daughter, as well as a flashlight from under the seat, and started through the rain, snuggling Rosalind against her. She couldn't see the other driver outside, but his doors were probably jammed even worse than hers had been. His speed had been greater, and he had had two impacts at least, not just one. She played the flashlight over the windows as they approached, then suddenly froze.
Abruptly, she turned around, retreating to the Jeep, and thrust Rosalind back into the car seat. Rosalind started wiggling, becoming agitated for the first time as Calleigh buckled her back into place. "Mama!"
"It's okay, Rosalind." Calleigh schooled her voice to a reassuring croon. "You just wait here for me while I go check on the other man. You're fine. We'll get home to see Dada before much longer."
"Mama! NO!" Rosalind began to cry as Calleigh turned away and started once again for the other car, her hand fumbling for her cell phone as she hurried through the rain.
"911 emergency."
"This is Calleigh Caine, CSI. I need an ambulance out here right now. There's been a car wreck. One person badly injured." She gave the location, surprised herself on some distant level at how calm her voice was. She thought of asking for a helicopter but instantly realized that it couldn't fly in this weather.
"Paramedics are on the way, ma'am. Are you hurt yourself?" Rosalind was wailing in the background, and Calleigh pressed the phone more tightly to her ear.
"No, I'm fine. Could you contact Lieutenant Horatio Caine for me? Tell him I'm not hurt, but I need him out here. My car isn't drivable."
"I'll do it right now, ma'am. Do you want someone to stay on the line with you?"
"No, just hurry. Please." Calleigh snapped the phone shut. "It's okay, Rosalind," she called over her shoulder as she reached the mangled car with the mangled man inside.
The blood had been the first thing she noticed about him earlier, even at a distance, and it was much worse now. His face was a mask of red, quick flowing currents visible in it. The car had hit a tree in its flips when it left the road. The driver's side window was shattered, and Calleigh removed her jacket and carefully reached through the remnants of glass, trying to wipe his face clear and find the source. She wasn't even sure where she should be holding pressure yet. Slowly, the cut revealed itself, a jagged gash on his forehead, blood pouring from it in a river. Far too much blood. He didn't seem to have an artery cut, but even for a head wound, this bleeding was excessive. She wadded the jacket up, pressing it tightly to his forehead, and he groaned and shifted slightly. The flashlight wedged under her elbow caught a metal gleam as he moved, and Calleigh spotted the bracelet around his wrist, with the snakes entwined around the staff. The caduceus, international symbol for medicine. She released one hand from the jacket long enough to catch his wrist and turn the silver plate over for whatever emergency information was vital enough that he wore it in plain sight at all times. I take anticoagulants. She returned both hands to the jacket, pressing tighter as her lips moved in a silent prayer. God, please, let them hurry.
The man groaned and shifted again, away from the pressure. His eyes opened slowly, sluggishly, and stared at her with a dazed expression from the mask of blood.
"Hold still," Calleigh admonished. "Help is on the way. You've got to stay still for now."
Panic dissolved the fog in his gaze. "Sarah," he croaked hoarsely.
"My name is Calleigh, Calleigh Caine. What's yours?" The jacket was quickly getting saturated. She shifted it and pressed more tightly.
"Sarah," he repeated. "Got . . .to. . . warn. . . her."
"Warn her about what?" The urgency in his voice gripped her. This man was bleeding to death here, and his concern was only for Sarah, whoever she was.
"Mistake. . . It was . . . a . . . mistake. . ." He sat up suddenly, his hands coming up to grip her arms, his eyes widening. "They'll kill . . . her." Abruptly, he slumped back into the seat, and the eyes fell closed.
"Hey, you've got to stay awake on me." Calleigh took one hand off the soaked jacket to find the carotid artery. The pulse was still there, but it felt weak, fast, and a bit fluttery beneath her fingers. He didn't stir. "Come on, where are you?" she scolded the paramedics. The only answer came from Rosalind, still crying in the Jeep. "I'm still here, Rosalind," Calleigh called. "It's okay." It was far from okay. Where was that ambulance? Where was Horatio? Where was the rest of the world? It might have just been their two cars alone on the planet tonight.
And who was Sarah?
After an eternity, the ambulance swirled up through the rain in a splash of red and blue lights, accompanied by two police cars. Paramedics and officers jumped out, and Calleigh stepped back gratefully as someone took over with pressure on the wound. "He has a bracelet that says he takes anticoagulants," she notified them.
A medic pulled her gently away. "Are you hurt yourself, ma'am?"
Calleigh stared at her bloody hands. "No. It's all his." Behind them, Rosalind's cries doubled. Another medic had gone down to the Jeep to check on her, and Rosalind never liked strangers. "My daughter's in the Jeep. I think she's just scared, though; I already checked her over. I buckled her back in so I could have both hands free – and so she wouldn't see him."
The medic nodded. "Good thinking. Here, let me wipe off the blood some, and then you can go to her. You'd scare her yourself right now." Quickly, she cleaned Calleigh's hands, then turned back to join the beehive of activity around the man as Calleigh rushed to the Jeep.
"Easy, now. Let me get a look at you." The medic at the Jeep had managed to get Rosalind unbuckled and was trying to examine her, but she was fighting him with surprising strength, trying to get free to go find her mama.
"Rosalind." Calleigh took her quickly, and the cries died down into sobs as Rosalind buried her face against her. "It's okay, Angel. I'm fine. I was just trying to help the other man until the people came."
The medic reached into the embrace, running his hands along the child's sides. "Here, let me sit down. That will make it easier." Calleigh sat on the edge of the seat, her back against the car seat, and held Rosalind in her lap. "Let the man look at you, Rosalind. He just wants to help. I checked her over earlier and didn't find anything." She was perfectly willing to get a second opinion on that, though.
Rosalind had just about stopped crying, although she was still clinging to Calleigh. She eyed the medic suspiciously as he examined her. "Rosalind? Is that your name? It's beautiful. How old are you, Rosalind?"
Rosalind stared at him silently, and Calleigh replied. "She's one and a half."
"Beautiful little girl. Let me know if anything hurts, okay, Rosalind? She was in the car seat during the wreck?" A mechanical whine came from the other car where the jaws of life were starting to chew their way to the man.
Calleigh nodded. "Strapped in tightly. It did its job."
"It sure did." His eyes swept over the battered Jeep for a second before returning to his patient. "I can't find anything wrong with her. Probably just scared. What about you, ma'am?"
"I'm fine. I was buckled in tightly, too."
The Hummer pulled up quickly on the side of the road, and suddenly, Horatio was there, naked fear in his eyes and his voice as he ran through the rain to the Jeep. "Calleigh! Rosalind!"
Rosalind, still sitting in Calleigh's lap, perked up. "Dada!"
Another few seconds, and he had them, his strong arms wrapped around them both. "Are you okay? Rosalind? Cal?" Fear retreated as they held each other, Rosalind buried between her parents and not objecting a bit for once.
After a minute, Calleigh trusted her voice again. "I'm fine, Horatio. I told the 911 operator to tell you I was okay."
"She did, but she didn't mention Rosalind, and you saying it doesn't necessarily mean much, Cal. She said she could hear a baby crying, too."
She squeezed him more tightly. "I'm sorry, Horatio. I should have told her to tell you Rosalind was okay, too. She was just scared. I had to leave her here when I went to help the other driver."
A police officer approached. "Ma'am? You were the other driver, right? Can you tell us what happened?" He didn't recognize Calleigh, and it was mutual, but she saw him stiffen slightly when his eyes landed on Horatio. The hug of frantic relief had been broken by now, but her husband still had one arm around Calleigh's shoulders, pulling her tightly against him, and his other hand stroked Rosalind's back soothingly. Rosalind still hadn't let go of her mother.
"The other car had just passed me, and some deer jumped out into the road. He hit them or they hit him, one or the other, just as he was changing lanes, and it knocked him into a spin back around to face me. I tried to take it into the ditch, but I wasn't quite fast enough, and he hit the Jeep. I don't know exactly what happened after that. We were rolling, and I couldn't keep track of him." Horatio shuddered and pulled her more tightly against him. "The other man, how is he?" She was hoping the greater skill of the medics would have more success at stopping the bleeding than she had had.
"Not good. They've almost got him free now, and they'll be taking him to the hospital."
"He was talking about someone named Sarah. Said to warn her that her life was in danger."
The officer shook his head dubiously. "He has a serious head injury, even aside from the anticoagulated state and the cut. He's totally unconscious now. He was probably delirious."
Calleigh's lip set stubbornly. "He didn't sound delirious. Just panicked, and not for himself."
"What is his name?" Horatio asked.
"Sam Carpenter. The address on his license is in Miami. We were about to send a unit there to see if anyone's home."
"I'll do it," Calleigh insisted. "I have to find Sarah. He was really concerned about her. Come on, Horatio." She started toward the Hummer parked on the side of the road.
Horatio's infinitely gentle yet strong touch stopped her. "Are you sure you're okay? Maybe we should go to the hospital, too."
"I'm fine, Horatio. One of the medics already checked over Rosalind, too. You didn't hear him; he was absolutely frantic. He really thinks someone's trying to kill Sarah. We need to at least try to pass the message along."
He studied her, reading the stance, the signals of her body, as well as her words. He knew that Calleigh was still caught up in dealing with the crisis, as she had been since the moment of the wreck, and hadn't really stopped to consider herself or process the accident yet. She didn't seem to be favoring anything, though, her shoulders were square, and her steps had been easy, just determined. She was pretty wet, but they both kept a change of clothes in the Hummer in case of especially messy crime scenes. He would see that she changed at some point. "Okay," he conceded. "But I'm driving. Just in case something hasn't caught up with you yet."
"Fine." Calleigh headed on toward the Hummer, still holding Rosalind.
Horatio turned to the officer, handing him a card. "We'll have our cell phones on, in case you need us. She'll come by the station tomorrow to sign the accident report, and I'll call a tow truck to come for the Jeep. What's that address you pulled from the license?"
The officer yielded, confronted with two personalities that were both stronger than his. "Here it is, Lieutenant Caine." He handed over a paper from his pocket quickly before the rain could assault it too badly, and Horatio tucked it securely into his own.
Up in the Hummer, Calleigh already had Rosalind buckled into the other car seat, glad that they had one for each vehicle. The one in the Jeep seemed undamaged, but she would want it thoroughly checked before they used it again. She slipped into the front seat, turning back to find Rosalind's eyes still absolutely fixed on her, not giving her a chance to disappear again. "It's alright, Angel. We've got an errand to do, and then we'll go home."
"Home," Rosalind repeated, but it was no longer a song. The music had been jolted out of her at the moment.
Horatio briskly entered the driver's seat and shut the door quickly against the rain. He looked over at his family, savoring their presence for a moment. They could have been killed tonight. He pushed the thought back with a quick prayer of gratitude and smiled at them as he started the engine. "All set? Let's go find Sarah."
(H/C)
Sarah shifted uneasily, her attention wandering. It had nothing to do with the fact that this was the eighteenth run at the same four measures of music; she, like everyone else in this group, loved the precision and detail work. The end result was worth every minute it took to get there. No, this was an undefined restlessness, one she had had through an afternoon of shopping and errands and now through the first part of rehearsal. She couldn't keep her mind on the music, and that was almost unheard of, especially heading into pre-concert week.
"No." Brian, their conductor, shook his head in frustration. "It's still not quite there. We have two different pronunciations of the vowel in the word when. Sing it with an eh in the middle; it comes across to the audience more clearly that way. Also, second basses, warm the tone up on the line 'when I think of you.' You're singing it as a lover, not as Count Dracula. Okay? Sing!" He snapped his hand down, and the choir started their nineteenth run at it, all but one member. Sarah missed the cue. It had been sudden, but no one else missed it, and they were all used to Brian's grasshopper abruptness by now. She should have been ready. His eyes found hers, holding them just long enough to make sure she realized the mistake, and she gave him a slight nod of apology. He didn't say anything, just kept conducting. Although he knew every voice in the group individually and could sort them effortlessly from each other, he never called anyone down by name for a mistake without giving them a chance to correct it anonymously first.
"Better. Once more, and I think we've got it. You had the vowel just right there." They launched into the twentieth run, and Brian kept going that time. The choir, happily escaping the four mastered measures, headed on for the conclusion.
At the back of the auditorium in the church they borrowed for rehearsals, the door opened. The choir, facing the doors, saw a long-haired and somewhat flustered woman hurry in, trailed by an equally flustered 5-year-old. The song ended, and Brian turned to see who had dared to be late to rehearsal. He already knew, actually. There was only one chair unfilled in the choir loft.
"Sorry, sorry." Kim set her purse down on an empty pew. "I waited almost an hour for the baby-sitter. Last time I use that one. I just left her a note finally and came on." She pulled several matchbox cars from her purse. "Matt, you play out here quietly. Remember, I can see you from up in the loft. I'm facing you. Disrupt this rehearsal, and you won't be sitting down tomorrow."
"Can I get on the floor? They make good tunnels." He waved a hand at the pews.
"Okay, but stay in the first few rows, where I can see you. Don't go to the back." She climbed the steps to the platform, dropping a final "sorry" as she passed Brian.
"Not a problem," he assured her. "Glad you could make it. Okay, choir, next . . . Oh, I almost forgot. We have a very important business matter to take care of tonight. I've been sorting through our library of music, and I found several illegal Xeroxed copies of pieces in the library. Most of it is legit, but we did have 13 illegally copied songs in the file cabinets. Now, in case any legal penalties ever arise from this crime committed, I'm sure, by other members of the choir years ago, I thought it would be a good idea if our group officers included an official jail officer, who would be the designated person to serve any prison sentences arising from any of this group's activities, past or present."
An alto voice rose over the approving murmur of the group. "I nominate Rick."
"Second!" called a tenor.
"All in favor?" Brian asked.
"AYE!" The chorus was thunderous.
"Rick, you are now official jail officer of the group. Thank you, as always, for your volunteer spirit."
"Speech," a soprano demanded, and several other voices took up the cry.
Rick still looked a bit startled, but he rose to the occasion. "I appreciate your confidence in my talents, and I accept the position with one request. Send fruitcake. With file blades, of course."
A cheer went up, and Brian gave them a few seconds before speaking again. "Next." Instantly, they were serious professionals again. Brian glanced at his folder of music, running a mental checklist of what hadn't been rehearsed yet. "Circle of Starlight." As the group found that piece in their folders, Brian stepped back from the conductor's stand, yielding it with a ceremonial bow to one of the tenors, an older man with hair more silver than gray who came forward out of the loft. Thomas Schaeffer, well-known musician and composer, had written Circle of Starlight as an anniversary gift for his wife, Lynella. The date of the upcoming concert happened to be their fiftieth anniversary, and that night, she would hear it for the first time as he conducted the premier with the group that he called the best choir he had ever been a part of.
Brian settled down on the front pew and tilted his head slightly, preparing to listen. Tom set the tempo, nodded to Joy, the pianist, and started the piece that he lovingly referred to as his swan song. His first piece that had been published had been written for his new bride, and now, fifty years later, life was coming full circle.
Brian closed his eyes, sifting through the harmonies. Music to him had always been a tapestry, a whole consisting of many parts, and he could trace each thread equally while still holding the overall pattern. It was this stunning gift that made him a brilliant conductor, in spite of his relative youth in a field that valued experience. To adjust each line, bring it into one seamless, matchless whole, each thread vital yet none sticking out, was a challenge he never tired of.
"And when life's landscape falls into shadows,
A circle of starlight serves as our sun,
Illuminating all that surrounds us,
And the horizon of love still remains."
The choir held the last note as Joy gave a final caress to the piano keys. Tom gave them the cut-off, then turned to Brian, silently asking the opinion of a man half his age.
Brian nodded. "Very nice. Just a few little tweaks, and it will be brilliant. On top of page four, the second altos need a little more force on their entrance. Top of five, one first tenor held the release just a second longer than everyone else; it's off on four, not four and a half. At the ending, be sure to keep the tone straight, everyone. It takes more air and control to sing softly than loudly. Tom wants the feeling at the end to be gentle strength and commitment, not, 'Oh, God, how much longer until I can breathe?'" A chuckle ran over the group, led by the composer himself. "Also, there's something not quite right on top of the last page. I think one of the second basses is thinking staccato instead of just a regular quick release. Not that you're singing it staccato, mind you, but I think someone is thinking it. Try that again."
Tom turned back to the group. "Top of the last page, everyone." He hadn't heard anything there the first time, but this time, he heard the difference, felt it. They all felt it. The river of the song flowed a little more smoothly. "You're right, Brian, that helped. Thanks." He stepped back from the conductor's stand, letting them all relax. "Thanks again, everybody. This means a lot to me, and I'm sure it will to Lynn. At the moment, it's driving her crazy that sixty other people get to open her present before she does, but she'll love it at the concert." He nodded to Brian and returned to his place, and Brian glanced at his watch.
"Four and a half minute break, everyone." He meant it, too, and the group fractured into quick-moving subgroups, some heading for the restrooms or water fountain, others for people they wanted to speak to. Seats were assigned in the choir by Brian so that everyone was between the two voices their voice would blend best with, so many people had their best friends in the group in a different area. Sarah quickly pushed down to the floor of the auditorium to catch Kim, who had gone down to check on her son. Fragments of conversation drifted out of other knots of people as she passed them.
"The kid didn't show up for his contest piece. Just didn't show up. Can you believe it? I work for weeks with him, and he says he just forgot."
"Love the new shoes, Joy. They remind me of Dorothy's ruby slippers in the Wizard of Oz."
"Unfortunately, it doesn't work. I clicked my heels together just this afternoon and repeated, 'There's no place like home,' but when I opened my eyes, I was still teaching junior high music."
Sarah finally reached her friend, stumbling over a toy car just as she got there. She caught herself on a pew and pushed the car back out of the aisle. "Lost one, Matt?"
"Thanks, Sarah." He grabbed it and vanished under the pew again, making engine noises.
Kim looked up from fishing through her purse for something. "You okay, Sarah? You look a bit worried."
"I'm not sure. I keep having this feeling that something's wrong."
"You mean like you've forgotten something?"
"No, with Sam. Or like he's worried. We have a connection, you know." Kim nodded. "It just doesn't feel right for some reason. I'm even having trouble focusing on the music, and that's crazy."
"Don't let Brian hear you say that."
"Brian already knows. He knows if your toe starts itching during a piece. The thing is, I can't decide what to do. Sam's out of town at a conference upstate. Am I supposed to just call up into the middle of his professional meeting and say, 'What's worrying you?'"
"Has he called you?"
"No, but my cell phone's run down. I just noticed it tonight."
"When does he get back?"
"Not until mid week. He'll be here for the concert, at least. But it's not like I feel like he's in danger or something. He just feels worried, getting stronger. Maybe it's something to do with his work. I mean, he's at a conference, after all."
Kim glanced at her watch. "Look, you know these three-hour rehearsals end really late. By the time you get home, he won't be still doing something with his colleagues, so you wouldn't be disrupting his business. Why don't you call his hotel then?"
A logical, definite solution to an ambiguous feeling. Sarah gave her a smile of gratitude. "I'll do that. Thanks, Kim."
"Okay," came Brian's call to the troops, and everybody hurried back to their seats. "The Awakening."
Sarah opened the piece, trying to focus. It was getting harder, if anything. The uneasiness was growing, not her uneasiness but his. What on earth were they discussing at that conference? She forced herself to pay attention to the music as Brian gave the downbeat.
The piano started with a minor chord repeated four times, then a pause, then four more times. Exactly, Sarah thought. Like something was wrong, but the audience would not know what yet. She was there right now. After the chord, the piano part started high, dreamy, almost ethereal, drawing the listeners in, wrapping them in gentle ropes of sound that would quickly become chains of restraint, leaving them helplessly trapped in the music by the time they realized it was a nightmare. Brilliant writing. Was this uneasiness the beginning of a nightmare? Had she just not realized it yet? The choir entered, and the nightmare progressed, agitation rising. The music became her uneasiness, and for the first time that night, she found herself totally wrapped up in a song. At the height of the nightmare, the chord returned, the same chord as the beginning, only in major key this time, not minor, and the relief of the awakening freed the piece. It was Sarah's favorite part, the triumph at the end, but she found herself still trapped back in the first part, the nightmare. Something was wrong.
And then, suddenly, sharply, she knew that something was wrong. Not just worry but danger, panic. She missed an entrance, and Brian caught her eye. It was her second major error of the rehearsal, and his look was concern as much as correction this time. Are you okay? he asked silently. She closed the music with sudden certainty. I have to go, she replied by look, and he nodded, accepting it and sending good wishes for whatever was wrong, knowing that anything that would draw her out of rehearsal was major. She slipped out of the loft, collecting her purse from its pew, ignoring the truck sounds from the playing child as she hurried out the door. She was okay, but Sam wasn't. She was sure of it. She would slip out, go down to the nearest convenience store, and call his hotel on her credit card. Even if he was upstate at a conference, he needed her right now. The door to the auditorium fell closed behind her fleeing steps, sealing off the music.
(H/C)
The Hummer sat in front of the house as Calleigh and Horatio waited for anyone to get home. Rosalind had fallen asleep long since, and Calleigh had changed into dry clothes. She and Horatio sat in the front seat, their hands touching, both of them needing the connection. For the first time in the last few hours, Calleigh had time to think. "It was so sudden, Horatio, but it was like it happened in slow motion, too. I was trying to do everything to avoid that crash, and I knew it wouldn't be enough."
He raised her hand to his lips, kissing it. "You couldn't have done anything differently, Cal. It was the deer that caused it."
"That's just the point, Horatio. I was absolutely powerless." She shivered, suddenly taken back to her childhood. "I hate being powerless."
"Come here." He pulled her across onto his lap, a bit of an awkward fit behind the wheel, but neither of them minded. He held her tightly, not with passion this time, just with love and reassurance. They stayed there entwined in silence until headlights came down the street and turned into the driveway. The driver didn't even notice the large vehicle parked at the curb. She was out of her car almost before the engine was completely off, her heels clicking quickly toward the house.
"Ma'am?" Horatio extracted himself from the Hummer, and Calleigh climbed out of the driver's door after him, giving one glance back to make sure Rosalind was sound asleep.
The woman never turned around, fumbling with the keys at the door.
"Sarah?" Calleigh called.
That got her attention. She spun, startled to suddenly notice two strangers and a large vehicle in front of her house. "Who is it? I've got mace."
"Sarah, we're here about Sam," Horatio called. He came up within the circle of the porch light.
Sarah instantly accepted them, concern outweighing caution. "Is he okay? I spent forever trying to chase him down at that hotel from a pay phone."
Horatio closed the distance to come up on the porch with her. "Well, no, he's not. There's been a car accident. He's been taken to the hospital."
Sarah turned back to the door. "Let me grab a few things, and I'll drive upstate tonight. That's what I swung by here for anyway."
"He's at a hospital in Miami," Calleigh corrected.
"Miami? What's he doing in Miami? He's away at a conference for several more days."
"Well, he apparently was returning to Miami tonight. He ran into a group of deer and then ran into my wife shortly outside the city."
Sarah looked at Calleigh, eyes still stunned. "Are you all right? Is he all right? How bad is it?"
"I'm fine," Calleigh assured her. "He's in pretty bad shape, although we don't have all the details. He was bleeding . . . "
Sarah cut her off. "Oh, God. He takes Coumadin for atrial fibrillation. Even a little cut is a problem." She swallowed the bitter taste as an undefined fear was replaced with a well-known one. "I'll go down to the hospital now. Which hospital?"
Horatio gave her the information the medics had given, and as Sarah turned to retrieve her keys from the lock, Calleigh returned to the subject foremost in her mind.
"Sarah, Sam was conscious briefly after the accident, and he was trying to tell me something. He wanted to warn you. He said your life was in danger."
"That's crazy. Who would want to kill me?" Sarah dismissed it. She had reached shock saturation point tonight already; nothing additional would phase her. Her only concern was for Sam. Just as his had been for her, Calleigh thought.
Horatio recognized the futility of this tonight. She needed information on Sam's condition before they could really question her. At least, in a hospital, she would be surrounded by people and safe. "We'll drive you there, Sarah. And tomorrow, maybe we can talk some more about what he told Calleigh."
She nodded, stuffing her keys back into her purse and heading briskly for the Hummer. "I'm sure your husband will be fine," Calleigh soothed, although she didn't believe it even as she said it.
"Oh, he's not my husband," Sarah corrected. "He's my twin brother."
(H/C)
It was after midnight when Calleigh unlocked their own front door. Horatio carried Rosalind through to the nursery. She didn't wake up, even when he changed her diaper and put her sleeper on. "You want anything, Cal? Tea? Something to eat?"
She shook her head. "I just want to go to bed and have you hold me." She could still see the horror and apology mingled on Sam's face, could still feel the Jeep rolling. She needed the reality of Horatio's body next to hers to remind her that it was over. Once they were in bed, he pulled her tightly into his side, and they just lay there silently. Her body was quivering slightly, and he held her until the shivering stopped, his hand tracing her hair soothingly. Finally, much later, she fell asleep. Even then, Horatio was awake, a watchful sentinel in the darkness. He listened to her soft breathing, the reassuring rhythm of life, but it was a long time before he fell asleep himself.