Chapter 7, Swan Song

Musical Notes: The Vacant Chair is a ballad composed during the U.S. Civil War by Henry Washburn and George Root. It tells the story of a family gathering for a reunion, but one of their members was killed in the war since they last all met. Told from the point of view of the family, it runs the whole tangle of grief through denial, pleading that he isn't dead after all, pride at his courage, shattered hopes, and shared memories. Poignant song, beautifully written. It obviously has a war setting, but there is no indication which war or which side the family was on, making the song ageless, a purely emotional tribute to the fallen, not a commentary. Sad but cathartic, too. In the arrangement I have sung, at the very end of the piece after the voices have stopped, the piano plays the first three notes of Taps and leaves it hanging.

(H/C)

"We shall meet, but we shall miss him.

There will be one vacant chair."

The Vacant Chair, Washburn/Root

(H/C)

Calleigh pushed herself up on her elbow and muttered a curse under her breath as Horatio pounced on the ringing phone, graceful and quick as a cat, even while waking up. Calleigh's eyes found the digital clock. It was 12:30 a.m. They hadn't even been asleep for an hour yet. She sighed and wondered if it would all just be a nightmare if she closed her eyes again. Horatio's tone was perfectly even as he answered, nothing in his smooth voice to indicate that this was any different than answering the phone at CSI in the middle of the day.

It was one of the night operators from MDPD. "Lieutenant Caine, sorry to disturb you, but there's a man calling who insists he has to speak to you as soon as possible. He wanted your home number."

Horatio twisted slightly so he could see the clock himself. He gave a silent sigh, which Calleigh felt but the operator didn't hear. "What is his name?"

"Brian Masterson."

Calleigh felt Horatio tense. "Did he leave a number?"

"Yes." The operator provided it, and Horatio recorded it carefully on the notepad of his mind.

"Thank you. I'll call him." He hung up, only to pick the phone up again immediately. "Brian, the choir director," he explained to Calleigh as he dialed unerringly in the dark. "He's trying to get in touch with me."

"At 12:30?" Already, Calleigh was creating mental scenarios, and she liked none of them. As off the wall as Brian had sounded at times from Horatio's descriptions, surely he wouldn't track him down at night without a very good reason.

Brian answered the phone with the frantic grab of one who has been sitting coiled beside it just waiting for the ring. "Horatio, I just had a call from Lynella Schaeffer, Tom's wife. Tom never came home tonight. She's worried about him and wanted to know when he left practice. Can you find him or see if there's been a wreck or something?" All of this came bursting out in one breath.

"Which one is Tom?"

"The silver-haired man you spoke to at the end. He wrote Circle of Starlight."

"What time did he leave practice?"

"About 10:30. He and I were the last two to leave. We got to talking about music and lost track of the time. He went back in the church when I left, though."

"He went back inside alone?" Horatio's breath caught. But no one had been at the church. No one had followed him there. The perps couldn't have known.

"Yes. He forgot his folder. He was locking up tonight. The custodian wasn't there. He told me to go on home."

Horatio closed his eyes briefly, but his voice was still even, trying not to worry Brian more than he already was. "Okay, I'll send someone to check the church and also check if there's been an accident. Give me a quick description of his car, okay?"

Brian complied. "Maybe he just had a flat or something." He didn't believe it. Horatio didn't, either.

"I take it his wife has tried calling his cell phone."

"Yes. No answer."

"Okay, Brian, I'll try to find out something and call you back." For the second time, Horatio barely hung up the phone before he picked it up again to call Dispatch. Calleigh listened silently. "And call me back on my cell phone, not the home number," Horatio concluded. He hung up and leaned over to switch on the light on the nightstand. "Might as well try to let Sarah and Rosalind sleep, anyway. The cell phone is softer."

Calleigh shivered slightly, from possibilities, not from cold. "How could anybody have been at the church? They couldn't have known from Sarah's day planner where rehearsal was."

Horatio shook his head. "I was sure no one had followed me. I must have been wrong. But why stay there, if they'd tracked us that far? They'd be interested in Sarah, not the church after she left." He swung his feet out of bed. They had been sleeping fully clothed tonight in case of any alarm. "I'd better go get the cell phone. It's on the desk." He picked up his gun from the nightstand and left the room.

Calleigh picked up her own gun and followed him down the hall, pausing as he swung Rosalind's door and then Sarah's closed. Considerate even in the middle of self blame – that was Horatio. As he picked up the cell phone and turned it on, she flicked on the kitchen light and made two cups of herbal tea for them. They wound up on the couch together, sipping the tea, waiting in shared dread. Hope came to join them, purring in that solicitous way that only cats who know their people are upset can. It seemed an eternity before the cell phone rang.

"Horatio." There was a definite edge of tension in his voice now, at least to Calleigh's ears. He already knew. They both already knew.

"Officer Santiago. The car was still at the parking lot at the church, and the door was unlocked. Security system was disarmed. He was in the auditorium, Lieutenant Caine, shot once in the chest. I've secured the scene and called for Homicide and the CSIs. No sign of the perps, but something spooked them. They ran over two or three things on the way out of the building."

Again, Horatio closed his eyes for a moment. They must have followed him. No other trail would have led them to the church. But why stay there? He became aware of the voice in his ear. "Are you still there, Lieutenant?"

"Yes." His first impulse was to say he would be right there, but he knew he couldn't leave Calleigh, Rosalind, and Sarah here alone. Chris was a good CSI. He would have to trust his people. "I'll deal with informing the family. Stay there and go by the book." He hit the button to end the call and this time didn't redial immediately. Instead, he looked over at Calleigh for a moment, drawing strength from her. "He's dead."

She reached out to catch his arm. "You aren't going out there again tonight, are you?"

He shook his head. "No point. I've done enough tonight, anyway. I led them there the first time."

"Horatio . . ." she started.

"How else would they have ended up there, Calleigh? Sarah said the day planner didn't give the location."

"That doesn't fit, Horatio. If they'd followed you, they would have attacked you, either going there or coming home. That would have been their best opportunity. They wouldn't have waited there until they thought everyone had left."

He silenced her by dialing. Brian picked up the phone just as quickly this time. "Horatio?"

Horatio tried not to hear the hopefulness in the other man's voice. "He's dead, Brian. He was shot."

There was silence for a minute. "But I was just talking with him a few hours ago," Brian objected. Horatio heard the echo of dozens of other victims' friends and families, that he had just left, had just called, just spoken to them, that life shouldn't be able to change irrevocably in such a short time. Brian moved on past it sooner than many of them did. "At the church?"

"At the church."

"I should have gone back in with him."

"Then you'd both be dead. Neither of you was armed, and you wouldn't have known what you were walking into any more than he did. Listen, Brian, I need your opinion on something. I've never met his wife, and I get the feeling you know her well."

"Yes, we're all good friends. My wife, too."

"Would she rather. . ." Horatio stopped. Of course she wouldn't rather get the news at all. He tried to think of a way to rephrase that. "How do you think she should be told? On the phone? In person? By a friend or by an official?"

Brian sighed. "In person. I'll go with my wife. They have kids but not in the area. We'll stay with her the rest of tonight."

"Thank you," Horatio said. "I'll do it myself, if you think that would be better, but it would have to be on the phone. I can't go over there. I've got Sarah here, and even with the house under guard, I'm not leaving my family tonight. They must have followed me to the church; nothing else would have led them there. They must know she's with me. If someone here as a lookout saw me leave . . ."

"I understand. Lynn needs friends over there tonight, anyway. We'll go."

"Tell her I'll talk to her as soon as I can. Tell her we'll get them."

"I will." There was a long pause. "Thank you, Horatio."

"Thank you, Brian." Horatio ended the call and set the cell phone down. Calleigh came back from the kitchen with another two cups of tea, and he took his from her gratefully, curling both hands around it to feel the heat. Murder always made him cold. Even the anger, the fire that burned in him toward the criminals, was icy fire.

Calleigh slid over next to him, and he put one arm around her, pulling her close. "I'm sorry I got us into this," she said softly.

"You haven't done anything wrong, Cal."

"Neither have you." He didn't answer, but she felt the stubborn denial in him. Hopefully the evidence would turn up a different reason to place the perps at the church. She couldn't imagine Horatio failing to notice that he was being followed, especially not while he was protecting someone. "Tom was the one who wrote that song you mentioned, right?"

He nodded. "For his wife. Saturday would have been their fiftieth wedding anniversary."

Calleigh closed her eyes and leaned into him as he leaned into her. There was nothing to say.

(H/C)

Sarah rolled over and slowly opened her eyes, momentarily disoriented by the soundest sleep she'd had in days. The bed was wrong. The whole feel of the place was wrong. Too soon, her mind caught up with her, and she remembered everything that had happened this week and the reason she was in a strange house.

She climbed out of bed and noted the closed bedroom door. Hadn't she left it open when she went to bed? She opened it quietly, looking at her watch. 6:00 a.m. Usually, Horatio or Calleigh would be up already, but everything was silent.

She found them in the living room. They were curled together on the couch, Calleigh snuggled into his side, Horatio with his head on hers, her hair fanning partway across her face like a curtain. They were asleep. Hope was tucked warmly into the curl of Calleigh's stomach and alone of the three of them looked comfortable. Sarah noted the guns on the coffee table, ready to hand, and she knew that from now on, this would be her image of the police, weary but faithful guardians of the city. Both of them looked absolutely exhausted, and Sarah just stood watching them for a minute, trying to decide which of them looked protective and which vulnerable.

Finally, she turned away, going back into the bathroom, shutting the door softly. As she washed her face, she ran her hands over the scratches on her neck and shivered slightly. She felt like her life had been marked by crime this week, the wounds physically ripping into her, leaving permanent scars even if they ever healed. What on earth could be so important about that necklace? Whatever it was, it wasn't worth the possible cost of Sam's life. For the umpteenth time, she berated herself about letting her cell phone run down Monday afternoon.

As Sarah opened the bathroom door again, she heard a soft, muffled mama from the end of the hall. Rosalind. She wasn't crying, just waking up, but she definitely wanted attention. Trying to give the two weary soldiers on a couch a few more minutes' reprieve from duty, Sarah opened the door to the nursery, slid through, and reclosed it. "Good morning, Rosalind," she said, trying to sound cheerful. She had never liked children much, although she'd been impressed by this one in the last few days. Rosalind was quieter than any other child her age Sarah had ever met, but one look in the eyes, and you saw the wheels turning. There was something eerily adult about her at times.

Rosalind stared at her. She knew Sarah from the last few days, but a few days weren't anywhere close to enough for her to accept someone. "Mama? Dada?"

"They're asleep, Rosalind. Let them sleep a little longer, okay?" Sarah walked over to the crib and reached for the girl. "Come here." Rosalind pulled away. "Hold still, Rosalind. I can get you changed and dressed, at least." The crib didn't offer much scope for escape, and Sarah caught Rosalind, picking her up.

Almost in the same second, Rosalind let out a sharp cry of "No!" and bit Sarah on the wrist, and as Sarah jumped back, startled, trying not to drop the child, the door behind her burst open, and she spun to find herself looking straight down the barrels of two 9 mm police specials. Horatio and Calleigh stared at Sarah as she stared back at them. Rosalind stretched her arms out, seeing only her parents, not the guns. "Mama! Dada!"

Time unfroze itself, and the guns lowered. Calleigh handed hers to Horatio, then took her daughter from Sarah. "Good morning, Rosalind."

Rosalind reached out to tap Horatio insistently. "Morning, Dada."

Horatio stared down at the gun in each hand. "Good morning, Angel."

"Sorry," Sarah said. "I was just trying to let you two sleep a little longer."

Horatio gave her a slight smile, but she could read the tension behind it. "We appreciate the thought, Sarah." He noticed Sarah rubbing her wrist. "Hurt yourself?"

"She bit me." Sarah took her hand away long enough to look at it. The skin was reddened, but Rosalind's little teeth hadn't broken the skin.

Calleigh had finished changing Rosalind at this point. "Rosalind, you don't bite people," she said in mild disapproval, but there was amusement there, too.

Sarah grinned at her. "She did let me know she didn't want to be picked up first. I just didn't realize how much she meant it."

Horatio headed back down the hall. "We'd better get breakfast. Lots of things to do today."

Sarah abruptly remembered that the two of them asleep on the couch instead of in the bedroom. "Is something new wrong? Did anything happen last night?"

Horatio and Calleigh exchanged a look, then both started simultaneously, each trying to spare the other telling the story. They wound up giving it in turns.

(H/C)

Fifty years. Lynella stared at the pictures on her wall, memories recorded from across a lifetime. No, she realized. Not quite fifty years. It would have been fifty years. Tomorrow.

Brian came back into the room with three cups of coffee clutched awkwardly in only two hands, and Cindy quickly got up to save them on the brink of sloshing. She passed one to Lynella, then took her own as she and her husband sat back down. Not much had been said over the last several hours, but they had simply been there, supporting with their presence, the reality of friendship the only warm touch in this unreal, endless night. "Thank you for staying," Lynella said finally, breaking the silence. "Don't you have to go to work, though?"

"I'll call in," Brian said instantly.

"We'll stay here until the children get in," Cindy added. "Unless you want us to go, that is." Calls had already been made to the distant family, and many more people's plans than theirs had been changed today. One son would be arriving in the early afternoon, another son and a daughter that evening. Ironically, all of them had originally been scheduled to arrive Saturday morning, anyway.

Lynella picked up Cindy's thought somehow. "They were all coming in tomorrow. They were going to take us out to eat lunch for the anniversary. It couldn't be the evening, because Tom had to be there early for the concert." She suddenly looked at Brian with eyes brimming with unshed tears. Many had already fallen, but the supply seemed endless. "Brian, what about the concert? Tom wouldn't want you to cancel it."

Brian had already come to the same conclusion hours ago. "No. We'll go on with it, in his memory." He hesitated, then pushed on to a question he hadn't been able to answer for himself, because he had no right to answer it. "We'll do the concert for Tom, but Circle of Starlight is yours."

Her eyes closed on the only memory she had of it. Half-heard music calling her in the dark through a closed door, his soft voice caressing the words, only one of them reaching her clearly. Love. Tears found their way through the closed lids again, tracing silent tracks down her cheeks. But was Circle actually hers? Saturday had been the premiere, next Monday the official publication date. The publisher already had orders waiting for shipment. She had the memories; she couldn't deny the world his music. She opened her eyes again. "Go ahead with it," she said softly.

Brian nodded, accepting the decision and instantly dropping the subject. They all sat there again without conversation but with unashamed tears from more than just Lynella as they remembered the man they all had known. Inside and outside, the unreal, endless night gave way to an unreal dawn.

(H/C)

"Matthew David Russell!" Matt, exiting the bathroom, cringed, as would any child on hearing his complete name from the parental lips. What had he done now?

Matt thought of hiding, but it would only make it worse. He went into the living room to find his mother there, hands on hips, and two strangers, a red-haired man and a golden-haired woman. "What did I do?"

Kim nailed him with her eyes. "Did you find a necklace at the rehearsal Monday night?"

Matt stared at her, wondering why she was so upset about it. "Yes," he finally admitted after squirming a minute under her gaze. "It was supposed to be a surprise."

The redhead knelt suddenly, bringing himself from a frightening height down to Matt's level. The moment caused the light to play off the badge he wore. Matt half reached out for it, then pulled back. "Are you the police?"

"That's right." The voice was gentle, soft, but somehow, it addressed him as an equal, not as a young child. "What was the surprise, Matt?"

Matt looked up at his mother. She still looked mad. "It was a present. For Christmas."

Horatio smiled at him. "You were going to give it to your mother, right? You found it there and wanted to give it to her." Kim's eyes widened, and most of the anger drained out of her as if a drain plug had been pulled.

Matt's eyes were riveted on the badge. The police came after bad people. He knew that. "Do I hafta go to jail?"

Horatio gave a soft chuckle. "No, you don't have to go to jail. You didn't do anything wrong, Matt. You didn't know it was somebody else's, did you?"

Matt shook his head. "I just found it."

"The trouble is, Matt, it did belong to somebody else. Wanting to give it to your mother wasn't wrong. But now that you know it belongs to someone, if you still tried to keep it, that would be wrong."

The child looked down suddenly, then turned and ran out of the room. He was back within a minute, clutching the necklace, and held it out to Horatio. "I'm sorry," he said. "Will you give it back for me?"

"Yes," Horatio promised. "I'll pass along your apology, too, and I'm sure she'll forgive you." He straightened up and smiled at Kim. "That's a good boy you've got there, Kim. He didn't mean anything. We'll let ourselves out, okay?" He jerked his head slightly toward the door, and Calleigh followed him. Both of them looked back just before they exited. Kim had knelt on the floor, copying Horatio's earlier position, and her son was buried in her arms.

Back in the Hummer, Horatio stretched the necklace out, studying it for the first time. Calleigh leaned over from the passenger's seat, just as eager to see it as he was. The emerald and diamond heart caught the early morning sunlight and sparkled. "It just looks like a necklace," Calleigh said, slightly disappointed. "I mean, it's pretty, but it doesn't look worth killing for."

Horatio's face tightened slightly. "No matter what secrets it has, it isn't worth killing for." He handed the necklace to her and started the Hummer. "Log that and put it in an envelope, please, Calleigh. Let's get it back to CSI and analyze it." As he put the vehicle in gear and pulled away, Calleigh caught the barely audible postscript to that sentence. "One day too late."