Death of a Muse
Chapter 6
Legal Disclaimer-The character's are Jonathan Larson's. My character is Mary Blaine.
Author Note-Oh my, the muse got me out of bed, to the computer and six pages later…here I am updating again…Now, my reviewers. I love all of you. I do. You make me smile when I think of how into this story I have gotten. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Also, words of warning. The lights have gone out. It's dark in here.
Roger saw it first. He and the band had just gotten into their first song of rehearsal when Roger spied the story on the TV over the bar. Something happened at the American Ballet Theater. Ballerina found dead had been the teaser he could read, the band stopping when they realized he was distracted.
"Mickey, can you turn up the volume?" he asked the bartender,watching the screen and trying to follow the story from across the room.
Luckily, Channel 9 was playing it over and over. There was a murder at the American Ballet Theater. That was the only thing that they were saying, no names, just another horrible death in the Big Apple.
"Sorry guys," Roger said, looking at his band with his face paling, "I can't stay."
Mark Cohen was literally having dreams of Sugar Plum fairies dancing in his head. The lead sugar plum danced toward him, her eyes as green as the trees and her smile warming his heart. The interruption of the phone was enough to shake him out of the scene, the voice pulling him back into the reality of the loft.
"MARK! Pick up the fucking phone, goddamit, Mark, its important…" Roger's voice was calm, yet Mark could tell the edge of intense frustration coming from it, "Pick up the phone."
"I'm here; I'm here," Mark said groggily, "What's wrong?"
"Have you heard from Mary?" he asked quickly, "It's important."
"No, her rehearsal must have ended a few hours ago, but I haven't heard from her, why?" Mark replied, "She's supposed to call."
"Mark, I don't want to tell you this over the phone, come to the bar, now," Roger begged, "It's not good."
Mark started to yank on his shoes and find his scarf while still on the phone.
"I can be there in a few," Mark said.
The tone of Roger's voice scared him. It was bad. The look on Roger's face was worse when he got to Mickey's bar a few minutes later. Roger stood there waiting.
"You need to sit," Roger said, "There's been a ballerina found murdered at the ABT, they aren't releasing the name."
Mark found himself searching for a quarter to make a phone call. Roger handed him one, and stood with him while he tried to reach the theater. Its constant busy signal drove Mark crazy. He was shaking by the fifth attempt, the shock and panic setting in.
"Let's go down there Mark," Roger said, yanking on his leather jacket, "I'm going with you."
Mark kept trying the phone. Roger stopped him, repeated himself, and looked at Mark. His friend's eyes had gone cold and he was one-tracking.
"She can't be," Mark muttered, "Dammit Roger she can't be."
"She's not until we know, Mark," Roger said, "Come on."
As they started to leave the bar, Collins joined them. Roger had called him right after Mark, making sure that he had some help with Mark and at the same time, he knew Collins would do what he could to find out more information. The unexpected arrival of the Land Rover at the bar stunned Roger. He hadn't called Benny, Collins must have.
Benny didn't say much, except the words that Roger didn't expect to hear.
"Get in; we're going to the theater," Benny said, "It'll get you there faster than the subway, guys."
Mark nodded. Woodenly he got in the car, Roger and Collins following. Collins put a hand on Mark's shoulder while Roger watched the scenery go by. The silence seemed to be helping.
"She's going to be okay, Mark," Benny said, "You've not been able to reach her?"
"No," Mark said softly, "I tried every number I know."
"The news report said that another ballerina found her," Roger added, "You know Mary, she might be that one."
Mark nodded. While he appreciated his friends support, his mind was reeling. He could still feel her in his arms from the morning, he could still smell her hair, and he couldn't or wouldn't let himself think that she was gone. He had started to shake, hoping that the car would go faster.
"I would love to know how you met her," Benny started, "Allison has seen her dance before, said she was amazing."
"Is," Mark said, his voice a near bark, "She's not dead, Benny."
"I didn't mean that," Benny sighed, "Sorry."
The car pulled up on Broadway, three blocks from the theater. Mark remembered the area well; he had shot film of the ballerinas from here. As the Land Rover stopped in traffic, Mark opened the door and bolted out, jaywalking till he reached the sidewalk and then bolted into a dead run.
He was at the police tape in minutes, not hearing the voices of Roger and Collins for him to wait so that they could catch up to him. Mark found himself nearly hyperventilating by the time he reached the tape, the lack of air and the sore muscles that screamed at him wouldn't allow him to talk.
The police officer manning the tape looked at him. He recognized him from Buzzline.
"Nothing to see here, Mister," the officer glared at him, "You can take your camera crew and go up to the front of the theater."
Roger put a hand on Mark's shoulder while he tried to catch his breath. Collins had his breath and felt more like the diplomat then Roger did.
"He's looking for a ballerina, Officer, not a story," Collins added, "His girlfriend, Mary Blaine. She dances here."
The officer stepped forward and lifted the tape.
"You three, under here now," he said, pulling the mike to his radio, "Jeff, we got people here for Mary Blaine. It's that Mark Cohen guy from Buzzline."
For the first time, ever,Mark was grateful that the job gave him that level of recognition.
"Let them through, Mike," the voice came back, "I'll meet them at the front of the theater."
Mark started shaking uncontrollably as he found himself able to talk.
"Shit," he said, "Roger, what if…"
"I thought we agreed not to think that," Roger said, "Come on Mark; let's find out what's going on."
Roger took one of Mark's arms while Collins took the other. While he wouldn't admit it, the support was just what he needed. He was very lost.
The officer met them at the front of the theater. The banner for Nutcracker floated in the wind as Mark heard the officer ask for his name and ID. Mark pulled it from his coat and looked at Roger.
"Come with me, all of you," Officer Palmer, the voice Roger recognized as Jeff from earlier, "You Ok Mr. Cohen?"
Mark nodded. The officer lead them past the investigation, the blood on the floor of theater an indication of where the murder had taken place, the pictures of a crime scene being taken, the ballerinas that called the school home huddled in a corner crying. It was a horrible scene, one that would be imbedded in Mark's memory for the rest of his life.
The officer kept him walking into a series of offices that lead from the main entrance. He stopped at one door, knocked, and when it opened, Mark found the ability to breathe again. Mary was at the window, her back to them, staring out into space. Roger and Collins stepped into the room, holding Mark back slightly, as the officer looked at Roger.
"She's been asking for him," He said softly, "She found the body."
'Shit,' Roger thought to himself.
Collins' look sympathy extended to the woman who looked blankly out the window.
"Mary?" Mark asked softly.
She turned to him, sobbing and collapsed in his open arms.
When Mary came to, Mark was there, holding her in his arms, Collins, Roger and Benny sitting on the other side of the room. She had curled up in Mark's lap.A medic had checked her, determining her healthy, but telling Roger to make sure that she wasn't alone tonight. Mark sat with her, silent but gently rocking her as she started to cry again. He was working solely on instinct.
"Shh, it's going to be okay," he said, able to find his voice and gently wiping the tears that had formed in his own eyes, "You're okay Mary."
He kissed the top of her head and rocked her. She was gathering herself together, trying to speak, but the words didn't come out.
"Thanks for coming," she finally said, "I didn't know who to call, they wouldn't let me use a phone, and I was a little too hysterical."
"I came as soon as Roger told me," Mark said, "I thought that…"
"I thought you might think that," Mary admitted, taking a swipe at the tears that rolled down her face still, "I'm so sorry that had to happen to you, Mark."
"Hey, you're okay," Mark smiled, "That's what matters now."
"The cops still want to talk to me," Mary said, "They said something about questioning me."
"That's pretty normal in this situation," Collins said, "You found her, therefore you might have some of the answers that they are looking for. Did you know her Mary?"
Mary was so upset earlier, she didn't even realize that there were other people in the room.
"Yes, she's I mean was, my roommate," she replied, her voice catching as she changed the tense, "Thank you guys for coming. You must be Benny."
"Benjamin Coffin the Third in the flesh," Benny replied, "Sorry we had to meet this way."
"Me too," Mary said, "This just sucks all the way around, doesn't it."
Mark laughed. In the few weeks that he had grown to know Mary, she had a great way of putting a situation in crystal clear clarity.
"Mary, you have an attorney or something?" Collins asked, "Because I never speak to cops unless I have one."
"No," Mary replied, "Should I?"
Benny, Collins and Roger all nodded. Mark knew what they were thinking but also knew she would be there in a flash.
"I'll make the call," Collins offered, "She's still at the same office, right Mark?"
"Yeah, she is," Mark replied, "Tell her, well, tell her everything."
Mary followed the conversation but looked confused.
"Who are you calling?" she asked.
"My ex's girlfriend, Joanne," Mark replied, "She's an attorney."