A/N: Long but absolutely necessary. Ever since "Songs of Love," I have wanted to write a full-length story set in the world of music, but for months, my muse stubbornly turned her back on me. She's a hyperactive but temperamental muse, and probably her primary rule is that she suggests story ideas to me, not vice versa. This is why I'm such a lousy challenge writer. The most I can ever do is tentatively offer an idea, sit back, and apply absolutely no encouragement or pressure, and even then, it fails 95 percent of the time. She refuses to write on assignment. This was the state of things at the beginning of November 2004, when the adult professional choir I'm in started rehearsals for our Christmas concert. At that first rehearsal, a singer by necessity brought her 5-year-old son, who played under the pews. At the same rehearsal, in getting the new music, I learned that we would be singing a Christmas song that had been written by a veteran of the group who had been a very active and vital part of the choir for decades, much longer than my brief experience with them. Like lightning striking, my muse grabbed those two ideas, rolled them into a story seed, and had Swan Song already half outlined by the end of the drive home. I made up a fictional anniversary, a fictional song, a fictional crime, and fictional main characters to thoroughly differentiate the story from the actual choir and events I was in and ran with it. Swan Song was written over the next month and a half, flowing easily, and rehearsal every week was a neat parallel to the story, confirming the choir atmosphere. From the beginning, this last scene was my favorite in Swan Song, was conceived that first night of the idea, and was fully worded well before our December concert.
The night before our Christmas concert, the composer of that special piece we were singing died (of natural causes, not murder). The next night, we did the concert in his honor, with his song as the highlight, a tribute to a great human being, and I found myself living out a scene in real life that I had already written. The detail matching even in small areas is eerie, to the point that I was forced to conclude that the entire idea for this last scene had been some weird kind of premonition on my part. At least 95 percent of what you read actually took place, with only the CSIM-related areas differing. I did not plagiarize life; my scene was already fully written before then, but the experience shook me up, and I came closer to killing Swan Song, purely out of respect for the real events of that evening and the real man, than I have ever come to killing an FS story. After much consideration and even bouncing the dilemma off a few people, I let it stand in order to, as someone put it, "not let anything he inspired, even in a small way, die." My story is in no way meant as disrespect to the original events or people and did not copy from them. I will forever remember that concert as one of the most special musical experiences I have ever been privileged to be a part of. It was a celebration, a tribute, and ultimately a victory, and that view was expressed even by those closest to him. Music expresses completely what is beyond words, even all the multiple facets of grief, and the moods before and after that concert were quite different, though their subject remained the same. Swan Song cannot fully convey this musical journey, as a print of a painting cannot possibly share all the depth and overtones of the original. Life is the real work of art, the true song. With deepest respect, this chapter is dedicated to the memory of CF, whose music, like his soul, still lives.
(H/C)
"Let music never die in me.
Forever let my spirit sing.
Wherever emptiness is found,
Let there be joy and glorious sound."
"The Awakening," Joseph Martin
(H/C)
Brian gave a sigh of frustration and stepped back from the stand. He looked totally out of character in a formal tux, but the outfit wasn't the cause of his discomfort. "No. It's just slightly ragged; you aren't quite in sync with each other. It's good, but this choir doesn't settle for good. Again, from the top of page five."
The choir shifted uneasily and turned back the pages. Even Joy's playing, though technically perfect, was lifeless. The spirit just wasn't in the music tonight. They started again from the top of page five and sang on. Abruptly, Brian let his hands fall, not even finishing the piece, and the sound collapsed into silence. He sighed again and closed his music folder, then glanced at his watch. "Okay, people, and I'm including myself in this lecture. None of us are on tonight, and we have good reasons, but it's time to get it together anyway. We are giving a concert in 45 minutes, a concert in Tom's memory, and we are NOT going to be sloppy." The entire group flinched at the offensive word. "We don't need practice; we need to get our heads on straight. So I'm cutting rehearsal off 15 minutes early, and we'll go ahead and clear the hall for the audience to start coming in. Go off with your thoughts if you need that, talk to each other if you need that, and when we get back in here, even if you don't feel like it, pretend so well that you fool the audience. Regardless of what happened this week, it's time to get your act together. You're better than this. We meet in 35 minutes in the green room to line up." He turned away and walked off without a trace of his usual bounce.
"Sorry, Brian," somebody said, and he turned and smiled slightly.
"It's okay – now. The audience isn't here yet."
The group slowly broke up, heading in different directions, with little conversation. Sarah closed her music and aimed for one of the side doors, looking for a water fountain. Normally, there was anticipation and eagerness before a concert, looking forward to that indescribable moment before the audience, touching their lives with the music, but she felt pulled in two directions tonight. There was relief over Sam, mixed with shock and still some guilt over Tom. She had moved back into her house last night and had stayed up until 3:00, trying to clean up and put things back in place. If only life could be sorted out and restored as easily.
The area in the foyer outside the concert hall was already filling up, she noted. It looked like they would have a full house tonight. She found the water fountain and didn't even recognize the people in front of her in line until Calleigh spoke.
"Hey, Sarah."
Sarah jumped. "Oh, hi, Calleigh. Hi, Horatio. I didn't recognize your backs."
Calleigh gave her a smile that warmed her from the inside out and untied a few of the knots. No pity, but pure understanding. Sarah smiled back at her, a genuine smile this time.
"How's Sam doing?" Horatio asked.
"Much better. He keeps gaining on memory. He knows now that he was supposed to tell me something about the necklace, but he still doesn't remember Monday night. I told him about you, Calleigh, and that you and Horatio had worked everything out from what he said." She put a hand up reflexively to her neck, then froze in horror. "It's gone! It can't be gone again."
Horatio eyed her concert outfit, black pants, black shirt, and a nearly transparent black jacket with spangles on it, not silver spangles but black ones, gleaming darkly in the lights. "Did you take it off when you got dressed for the concert?" He looked around. "None of the other women in the group are wearing jewelry."
Sarah relaxed. "That's right, I did. We're supposed to match, so everybody removes necklaces and big earrings. I remember now; it's in my nightstand drawer at home." She gave a half-hearted laugh. "You two must think I need a keeper."
Horatio smiled at her, and like Calleigh's, it warmed her with understanding. "No, I just think organization isn't one of your strong points. Music, on the other hand, obviously is. I'm really looking forward to tonight." The line continued to inch forward.
"Music," Rosalind piped up from Horatio's hip. She had been so quiet up until that point that Sarah in her distraction hadn't even noticed her.
"Oh, hi, Rosalind."
Rosalind eyed her for a minute, considering, then finally said, "Hi."
Sarah grinned. "Somehow, I don't think she'll be a disruption in the concert."
"She won't," Calleigh assured her. "She'll sit still for hours listening to Horatio play the piano."
"How is Mrs. Schaeffer?" Horatio asked.
Sarah's grin faded. "Doing as well as can be expected. I called over there this morning and talked to her son. He said she hadn't decided whether to come tonight or not. At least the man was caught quickly." She frowned thoughtfully. "You know, the one thing I still don't understand about all this is how that man wound up at the church Thursday night. How did he know to look there?"
Horatio's eyes held hers for a moment, with the look of understanding suddenly deeper for some reason, then fell to his shoes. "I guess he followed me there, and I just didn't notice him." He turned around abruptly, as they had reached the water fountain, and bent to get a drink and let Rosalind have one. He stepped aside, leaving room for Calleigh. "Enjoy the concert, Sarah. I'm sure we will."
"I will," she said, suddenly half believing it. She touched his arm lightly. "Thank you for everything, Horatio. Don't blame yourself over Tom. Remember what Calleigh said about criminals." She bent to get a drink herself.
He nodded. "There's nothing any of us could have done to prevent it." There was absolute conviction in his voice.
Sarah glanced at her watch. "I've got to get around to line up in a few minutes. I'll see you later."
She darted off, music folder in hand, and Horatio turned toward the entrance to the hall. Calleigh came up beside him and touched him lightly in the small of his back. "Horatio, have I told you today that I love you?"
He looked down at her. "She couldn't deal with it, Cal. Not that on top of losing the necklace."
"I know. And I asked you a question."
He relaxed and gave her his crooked smile. "Yes. I don't mind hearing it again, though."
(H/C)
Brian was in the green room, eyeing the choir, which stood in rows in front of him. He glanced at his watch. "Two minutes. Everybody remember, folders in your right hand, even spacing as we walk in. Let's make this special." He nodded to the end person on the back row, and the group filed out, starting the walk through the back hallway of dressing rooms around to the stage doors.
The house lights had dimmed, and every eye was on the stage when the choir entered. Off to one side of the risers was an empty music stand with a rose on it, and a spotlight illuminated the display. The choir never looked that direction. In absolutely even spacing, they filed on by rows, folders in the right hand, and faced the front, although they couldn't actually see much of the audience at all against the stage lights. Last of all, Joy and Brian entered. Joy took her seat at the piano, and Brian opened the folder on his stand to the first piece, then looked up and smiled at the choir. Every eye was on him; he felt their focus now, as he hadn't felt it earlier in rehearsal. He set the time, nodded to Joy, and the concert began.
The entrance was superb, the precision tight, the expression eloquent. If some of them were pretending, they were doing a good job of it. Even though the audience wasn't seen, the choir could feel the response as the audience settled into the music, opening up to it, and the choir fed off their enjoyment and enjoyed it more themselves, loving what they were doing and doing it well. By the end of the first piece, nobody was having to pretend.
Rosalind was spellbound. Horatio glanced down at her shortly after the song started, and she was sitting motionless in his lap, head tilted slightly, eyes wide. He and Calleigh smiled at each other, then returned full attention to the stage.
The music wove around the audience, creating a tapestry of emotions. Love, joy, pain, humor. The hall was rippling with chuckles during Hey Nonny, Nonny, and during Prelude to Peace, Calleigh reached out and took Horatio's hand into hers, squeezing it tightly. Rosalind was so engrossed in the music that she didn't even notice.
With one piece left to go, Brian turned around to face the unseen audience. "To my right, you will notice a single rose on a music stand. That was placed there tonight in tribute to Thomas Schaeffer, a long-time member of this group, who composed our final song as an anniversary gift to his wife, Lynella. Tom had planned to conduct it tonight, but two nights ago, he was murdered simply because he was in the wrong place at the wrong time. The criminal was trying to silence Tom, but he failed. Tom may be gone, but nothing about him could be silenced by a mere bullet. The memories still live. His love still lives. His influence still lives, and his music still lives. In tribute to him and celebration of his life, we are proud to give the premiere tonight of Circle of Starlight by Thomas Schaeffer."
Brian turned back to face the group, and the audience was respectfully still behind him. He raised his hands but held them still for a moment, not starting the beat, as his eyes ran over the choir for a final check. Every eye was on him. He already knew, actually, could feel the silent focus, the readiness. He held 60 voices in one voice in his hands. Satisfied, he spared one thought for Tom watching, then gave the downbeat, and Joy began.
Tom's song of love rang out in peaceful clarity through the hall, the best they had ever done it, finally perfect. For once, there was nothing that could have been improved upon. They were singing with their hearts, but all the technical precision and control were there, leaving nothing to distract the audience from the pure music. Horatio's hand, still captured in Calleigh's, tightened on her fingers.
Far above, at the back of the second balcony, at the farthest possible point from the stage, Lynella sat in a row with her children. Closing her eyes, she could hear his voice again, hear him playing just a few nights ago, but suddenly, the door between them was removed. No longer muted, his voice was clear, his melody louder, his song complete as the choir sang the different harmonies he had given voice to. Tears tracked down her face, silent tears this time, and the living, breathing music swirled around her, completely filling the room, as the barrier fell and he sang to her once again.
(H/C)
Next on CSIM: Fearful Symmetry – "Betrayal." In all her life, there had only been two men who stood out as the embodiment of integrity, two men she had known she could count on in an unreliable world. And now, within days, they had both failed her.