Chapter 6

"Lives Left Behind"

Maxwell Sheffield was tired.

Actually, it was more like he was exhausted, and it was only eight a.m. on a fine Monday morning.

Honestly, part of him simply couldn't believe that, up until three weeks ago, this had been his life — waking up early in the morning, a nice breakfast, a brief meeting with his business partner, and then work at the theatre until the evening.

Not anymore.

Today marked the third week since C.C. had gone missing. The third week of near-constant worry, countless phone calls, visits to the police and an absentminded butler that spent more time at the police station than at home. Not that he blamed him; C.C.'s disappearance had hit everyone like a blow to the gut, but in Niles' case it was more like he'd been gutted. Maxwell had never seen him so distressed — he was a shell of the witty man he'd once been.

Niles might've been impacted upon until he was all bent out of shape, but he wasn't the only one in the house that had been, either. The entire family had been entirely thrown off-course by C.C.'s sudden absence from their lives.

Miss Fine was the most open about it, even without intending to be. She often started crying before she could help herself, mostly when someone accidentally mentioned C.C. or something related, from where her terror was so great. And she might have come downstairs every morning looking like she wanted to start a new day, but Maxwell saw the dark circles under her eyes from sleepless nights, and that couldn't be completely hidden by makeup.

The children all had their own ways of...not coping, but thinking about and letting the news act upon them. Maggie had tried at first to insist on calling all of her friends, to see if anybody knew anything. But, once that idea hadn't been able to come to fruition, she mostly kept to herself and kept quiet about it. Brighton had been much the same, though he tended to sit around the house instead, not really talking to anyone.

Little Gracie had been the most quiet of all on the subject. She'd only spoken about it once, very quietly to him after she'd needed a hug one time.

She said she missed Miss Babcock, and she wanted her to come back.

Max couldn't help but agree, and had hugged his youngest girl until they'd both managed a few tears.

Everybody had known that even if C.C. was...interesting to get on with, at times, she had been a day-to-day member of their household. Family, almost. And not having her there anymore had taken some of the life from the place...

Maxwell truly didn't know how he was going to cope with the business, either. He wasn't proud to admit that he'd left much of the day-to-day running to C.C. (considering it was his company and his surname came first in the title), but she had simply been better at the process than he was! She'd been more business-minded, she'd known how to keep deadlines...

He shook that particular line of thought out of his head. He didn't like the way everything was making him refer to C.C. in the past tense.

It wasn't right. And it implied that he'd given up already, which certainly wasn't true!

Not that it was easy to communicate that, given the decision he was about to make. But he could hardly continue with the production either, considering the circumstances (even if C.C. might have disagreed).

No, the musical had to be cancelled. There wasn't anything else to be done about that, and he had gone down to the theatre himself to see to it that everything was brought to an end smoothly.

Just like his very much missed business associate would have done.

Glancing one more time at his wristwatch (which now read a quarter past eight), Maxwell downed the last of his tea in one gulp and then deposited his empty cup in the dishwasher. Had he had any knowledge of how to operate the contraption, he would have put it to work, but alas, he was no better at housework than his nanny was.

He only hoped his butler wouldn't mind when he woke up.

Niles should have been up almost two hours ago, but since Miss Babcock's disappearance he'd decided to cut him some slack. He knew how to make a decent cup of tea for himself anyway.

Sighing, Maxwell pocketed a small apple, grabbed his car keys and then set out for the theatre. He knew better than to lose time scouting the empty pantry for some sort of pastry or baked goodie — Niles had not gone grocery shopping. Neither had he nor Fran. He'd been meaning to ask Niles to please write him a list of the things the house needed, so he could go and get them, but he always forgot to do so...

And the times he hadn't forgotten about it, his butler had looked so crestfallen and exhausted that he'd decided against asking him.

So, chores were sort of officially-slash-unofficially on hold in the mansion. Not that anybody particularly minded or cared - they all knew that there were more important things going on in everybody else's minds.

Mostly because it was going through their minds, too.

Its presence in his own mind made Maxwell's drive difficult, to say the least. It was hard not to look harder at the pedestrians, trying in vain to see if he could spot that familiar face in the crowd, going about her business like there was absolutely nothing wrong in the world.

At least then, he'd know that his friend was safe.

But of course, there also came the uneasy thoughts. The wondering if she'd been near there on the day she'd gone missing, or if he was occasionally glancing around from his driving, only to lock eyes with the person who had seen her last, for whatever sinister purpose.

On that day, it happened to be the latter that plagued him all the way to the theatre. The thoughts made him so uneasy, he was grateful to get out of the car and into the building.

At least work gave him something else to focus on.

The workers bustling around the place at least gave the sense that something was happening in the world, other than the one thing that seemed to have made it stand still.

Maxwell couldn't help his stomach feeling like it was turning over itself. He hated to do this to them, especially when they'd worked so hard on what they'd managed to achieve so far.

But he had no choice. It wouldn't be right to keep going. Even if nothing else, it felt like continuing would be a horrible insult to C.C..

She wouldn't have minded so much, having to tell everyone that work was ceasing for whatever reason. If anything, she'd be more likely to be more upset about the idea of work having to stop, rather than the impact it would have on everyone else...

But then again, he was on his own for the time being. The responsibility to ensure that everyone involved in the production was alright fell on him and him alone, and as thing currently were, the best was for the production to come to an early end. He couldn't face a box office flop (with all the financial trouble that entailed) on top of having a missing business partner and friend.

He simply couldn't stand the pressure to deliver when he knew he couldn't.

He'd apologise profusely to the cast and crew, and promise to pay them some sort of monetary compensation for the effort dispensed and all the trouble they'd gone through. Still, his decision to halt the production was final. He had more than enough money to never work another day in his life; cancelling one play (especially if the circumstances surrounding it were considered) would not represent a terribly hard blow to his prestige as a producer. Even if it did, he was a man who had his priorities straight – friends and family came before his business, no matter what.

He could only live in hope that his employees would understand…

By the time he arrived at the 49th Street Theatre most of the crew were already in, but unlike every other rehearsal there was an unsettling tension in the air. Almost everyone was silent, perhaps thinking about what everyone knew was coming, and the few who weren't, were huddled in small groups, whispering. Their faces only conveyed worry and unease at the atypical situation; the entire crew was unsettled by the recent developments, and since this was the first rehearsal since Miss Babcock had disappeared, nobody held out hope for Maxwell to be the bearer of good news.

Which would have given him some sort of relief if they'd told him so, if he was honest. Considering the fact that he had no good news to really give, and he was feeling the pressure of everything he was about to say.

He'd been trying to rehearse the best way to say it all in the car on the way over. He just hoped that it was the right way...

Seeing as he had nothing left to do but start, he cleared his throat to gather everybody's attention.

As the employees fell completely silent and came closer to hear him, he noted that he still had authority, but it was probably nothing like them listening to C.C., the minute she came through the door.

But she wasn't there. And he couldn't hesitate, so he had to begin.

"Thank you, everyone, for being here and agreeing to meet like this," he said. It seemed as good a place to start as any. "I know that this would usually be your rehearsal time, but...well, given the circumstances surrounding Miss Babcock's disappearance, I am afraid that I have to tell you that will no longer be necessary. I'm sorry, but I'm cancelling the production. You will all be compensated for your time, of course, but I can't go ahead with it in good faith..."

He suddenly found himself unable to look at them. It was like his heart, as heavy as it was, had dragged his gaze to the floor as well.

And that was where he finished, "Not when my friend is missing."

Missing, and probably being hurt by a selfish bastard as he spoke. He tried not to think much about what C.C. could be experiencing, because whenever he did so, his imagination would more often than not run wild and come up with the most terrible, nightmarish scenarios. If he dwelled too much on them, he could feel the world crumbling all around him, and he couldn't afford that. Not when he had a family to support and a strong front to present in front of the kids.

And, as it were, he also had to present a strong front in front of his employees.

"I would like to thank you all for all the effort you've done, and also for your understanding," he continued after clearing his throat and looking back up at his crew. "Please, do come by my home during at your earliest convenience and I shall give you your checks."

After noting that everyone appeared to be nodding and murmuring in quiet agreement (and feeling slightly relieved that no one was protesting), he then turned to leave. He was starting to feel like he wanted to get out of there as quickly as possible, and it wasn't just to get home so he could wait for the cast and crew to come by, either.

But as he was nearing the exit, a voice yelled out to him, and made him stop.

He was afraid that someone had decided to protest after all, but as the familiar frame of one of the production assistants (...Thomas, was it? He thought it was Thomas) jogged over to him, he realised that the man didn't seem like he was ready to pick any sort of fight.

"I'm glad I caught you in time!" Thomas smiled slightly, reaching out and barely tapping the producer on the arm. "I just...well, I just wanted to thank you for everything, really. And if you need anything, I'm always here to help out."

He said it with such conviction, if Maxwell hadn't been looking him in the face, he might have considered genuinely thanking him and leaving it at that.

But it struck the producer as...odd. The look in the man's eyes wasn't right, and he found it strange that someone so low down the ranks in the crew would be so...eager and determined to help...

It was...unsettling. But there was nothing Maxwell could do, apart from nod, mutter some kind of thanks that he wasn't sure he meant, and leave without looking back.

Had he looked back, he would have caught Thomas wearing a small, unsettling, half-smile.

A smile that gave away that he knew a lot more than he let on.