Two.

Scott peered down the aisle in disbelief.

He was crying. Roger Parker was bloomin' well crying. Sitting in his seat, face flushed bright red, dabbing at his eyes with a tissue. But that wasn't the worst part, the worst part was Cully, one arm around him, the other rubbing his back comfortingly, looking both concerned and touched.

Scott snorted a little too loudly, and fell back into his seat with a groan.

Three seats up, Roger took a deep sniff, dabbed at his eyes, and flashed a pitiful smile at Cully and Louise,

"Oh dear, I'm sorry. It's just that number, just before the curtain, it's so sombre, it's just such a fitting musical commentary of Catherine's raging emotions. One note says more than a thousand words -," he trailed off, voice breaking once more, and lifted the tissue to his eyes again.

Scott let out a deep sigh and threw his eyes skywards.

Beside him, Louise turned her attention away from her crying friend, her face soft, amused and deeply touched,

"He's always been this way, even at school," she said to him, gazing fondly back at Roger for a second, "He's always been so easily touched by music, and the plight of others, he's such a sensitive person,"

Scott gave a disinterested nod.

"I don't doubt it," he replied dryly, keeping his eyes on the stage, praying for the second half to start so that it could finish. Louise didn't pick up on the sarcasm however, and carried on,

"But I suppose there's one in every school isn't there?"

As Scott realised that she was asking him something, he turned back to her,

"Hmm?"

Her face was serious, questioning,

"A sensitive child in every school? There was one in yours I bet?"

Scott nodded,

"Oh err – several,"

He didn't like to mention that at his school, those types of children usually spent their days being roughed up behind the bike sheds, or pelted with food in the canteen.

"If you'll excuse me everyone," sniffed Roger, levering himself from his seat, tissue in hand, "I think I need to compose myself for the second half,"

Scott rolled his eyes. How pompous could one man be?

Louise was straight out of her seat, grabbing at her handbag,

"I'll come with you Rogey!" she cooed adoringly. Scott let the relief of having the pair of them out of the way wash over him, and turned to Cully, who smiled over at him, her face sympathetic,

"Poor Roger," she said softly. Scott gave a slow, single nod, deciding it would be better to stay quiet. She looked at him playfully, and he could see a hint of amusement flickering through her eyes. He smiled back, glad that some part of her at least found Roger amusing, even if she would never admit it.

"So what about you?" she asked, "Feeling emotional?"

Scott grinned and sat back, stretching his legs as far as they would go and relishing the space and chance to straighten up after the last one and a half hours of being cramped in the small uncomfortable wooden seats with spasms running up and down his legs.

"Even if I was I don't think I'd be able to top Roger," he yawned and glanced at Cully, who was smiling pityingly,

"Yes. Poor Roger," she repeated, as if trying to convince herself. She turned to look round up the rows behind her as the lights dimmed slowly, "They'd better hurry, otherwise they'll miss the second half."

Scott moved up a seat, grinning cheekily in the dark as he sat down next to Cully.

"Wouldn't that be a disaster," he muttered, grinning wider as she turned to look at him in disapproval.

"Dan!" she hissed, unable to stop the smile from spreading across her face as she shook her head at him in defeat.

The curtain opened in a series of jerking movements, revealing the set, and two actors perched awkwardly on old chairs that looked like they needed a good beating out.

As the actors began the scene, and bustled backwards and forwards, Scott let his gaze wonder over the finer points of the play. The programme, in its short introduction to the play, had described the main character as 'young.' He looked up, the woman before him was easily in her late forties, and she was the youngest. He watched as a flimsy set door opened in the background and an elderly man shuffled out, gasping for breath at the short exertion. Behind him, a hand appeared and banged the door shut once more.

Scott resisted the urge to die in his seat. To him it seemed more of a comedy than a serious dramatic production.

He glanced behind him as a light shone down the aisle, and sighed as he watched the figures of Roger and Louise emerge out of the double doors, carrying drinks.

However, as he watched Roger and Louise peer down every aisle in search of theirs, something else caught his attention. His and everyone else's.

There was a scream.

Someone on stage let out a terrified scream.

He spun at once. The main character had her hands clamped to her face and her eyes were focussed on the ceiling above, hidden by the stage curtains and plaster façade. Scott frowned, wondering what he'd missed, and why her acting hadn't been so convincing in the first act. It was as the audience began to shift uncomfortably, and as all the other actors to turned their attentions to the ceiling with gasps and looks of horror, that a familiar feeling began to rise.

Surely not?

Suddenly, the screaming intensified as a figure fell from above and landed on the stage with a thud. Scott narrowed his eyes on the figure, hoping it was a dummy, all a practical joke. His hopes were dashed however on seeing the knife protruding from the figure's back.

On stage, more people screamed, joined by the half-stunned, half-terrified audience, and at once actors and actresses began rushing to move away from the scene.

Beside him, Cully looking stunned, turned to him in shock.

Scott was up at once, moving towards the stage, the policeman inside him taking full control. He needed to check the victim, in case they were alive, though judging by the fall he seriously doubted it. Then, if his worst fears were confirmed, he needed everyone to stay where they were.

He pushed past panicking middle-aged woman clutching at their handbags, and confused old men struggling from their seats and vaulted up onto the stage.

He studied the body, curled in a heap before the prop-staging fireplace complete with fake flames made from tissue paper. His fingers rested briefly on what he could see of the neck, feeling for a pulse.

Nothing.

He sighed.

"Here we go again," he muttered, standing up, "Ladies and Gentlemen!" he shouted above the confusion. Luckily no one had left, stopped by confused theatre staff who were crowding the exits, "Ladies and Gentlemen! Please stay seated…Stay where you are!" he bellowed, relieved as a quiet sense of bewilderment settled..

The actors and prop hands were gathered on the stage, horrified, comforting one another and shaking their heads in shock. All eyes were fixed on the body, and Scott grabbed at a sheet that was being used as a curtain, pulling it from the scenery to drape gently over the body.

He sighed. Was a simple night at the theatre too much to ask?

He pulled out his phone, dialling the number at the top of his phone book.

"Sir? It's Scott, I think you need to come down to the Marette Wilson Theatre Sir, there's been an...err…there's been an incident."

"Rogey!"

As Scott snapped shut his phone, there was a breathless moan from the audience, and he looked up in time to see Roger collapsing to the floor out for the count.

He threw his eyes to the heavens. Typical, that was all he needed.

What did she see in that man?