| Subject: WTTS2 - 69 (warning: language) |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 21:17:51 01/11/02 Fri
In reply to:
KT
's message, "Window to the Soul 2" on 20:43:26 01/11/02 Fri
Window to the Soul 2 - Part 69 (Warning: Language)
By KT
Copyright July 10, 2000
Marcus O'Brien raced up the stairs to Karen Kent's apartment. He slipped the key in the door and stepped into her frigid world of dementia once again. There was a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach. Gingerly, he stepped into the kitchen and viewed the refrigerator.
The knot he had tied had been tampered with.
O'Brien undid the yellow tape and opened the freezer.
Clean! Dammit!!
He slammed the door and retied the tape with his special knot. His cell phone bleeped.
"Marcus?" Patrick's voice was breathless. He had news to tell. "Where are you?"
"At Kent's apartment." O'Brien couldn't hide his disappointment. "Seems like we've had a visitor since we left here. The freezer's been cleaned."
"Oh." A moment of silence. "But we have our Polaroids, right?"
"Yeah, but without the hard evidence, who's to say we didn't set it up?"
"I see what you mean. But I was the official witness, after all."
"That's not doing us much good! Where the hell's forensics anyway?!"
"They're swamped. Even the backup units are in service."
"Figures. I finally get close to squeezing this jerk and can't get the evidence nailed down!" O'Brien was bitter.
Cossins was unable to contain his news any longer. "But Marcus, I don't think we're going to need the freezer contents."
O'Brien became excited. "Really? The fingerprint analysis on those items we bagged?"
"Uh, huh. That's partly why I'm calling. We've got them both dead to rights."
"And the DNA?" O'Brien held his breath.
"Perfect match!"
"Now that is music to my ears." Next question. "And Chernov?"
He heard Cossins sigh. "No record. At least not in this country. But I checked into Interpol records, just for the hell of it. He's got a list as long as your arm from before he emmigrated. Weapons, women, drugs, even money laundering. They both do. Same old same old. They got out fast when the shit hit the fan. My guess is that they had a source on the inside and were warned. Still, I'm surprised they haven't been tracked down here."
Marcus gave a dry laugh. "Interpol probably didn't want to go to the expense. Just glad to get them out of their hair."
Cossins snorted. "Yeah, I guess. Now they're our problem."
"Oh but not for long. Thanks a million Patrick. Great work! Oh, and will you get this place dusted asap?!"
"I'm trying... but you know how it is. I'll be in touch." Cossins signed off.
O'Brien locked up and headed downtown. Next stop, the lab.
* * * * * * * *
As promised, Walter called Birkoff and told him about Sabine's visit and her request for use of the benefit funds toward Roberta's expenses. Seymour was happy and sad at the same time.
"I was hoping it would be used for her Mom's medical treatment. But I guess we're too far down the road for that. I think we should give her the whole ten thousand. It's not much but at least it'll take the edge off the hospital stay."
"I'm sure they'll be most grateful," Walter agreed gently.
"Did she say anything about Nikita?"
"Not much. She actually seemed to avoid the subject. I told Michael the same thing."
"That's weird. What do you think's going on?" Birkoff hadn't been able to visit Nikita since he started his new job, and felt a little guilty about not calling either. "I haven't been back to the hospital."
"Neither have I. Guess I should check in, huh? Maybe we should both go over there later."
"OK. I'll meet you there, say at 5:30?"
"Right. See you then."
* * * * * * * *
Gerald Price arrived at the County Lockup and signed in. The officer on duty frisked him briefly, and not too thoroughly, then buzzed him in. He strode down the hallway as the officer shadowed him, and stopped in front of the conference room. The officer returned to his desk, and as Price entered the conference room, he found Petrosian pacing impatiently.
"Gerald, when are you getting me out of here?" Petrosian's tone was raw.
"Sorry, but my request for bail has been denied. What in blazes did Karen say anyway?"
"I wish I knew. But I warned her, and you know what I need you to do."
"I've already set things in motion. I've had her doctor submit a statement to the D.A.'s office, and they should be allowing her medication soon. Don't worry, they'll never trace him back to either of us." Price was dispassionate as he observed Petrosian's agitation.
"Good. Now, what about me?"
Price didn't want to aggravate Petrosian further, but he knew that the police must have some pretty strong evidence to charge him as an accessory and for the court to refuse bail. Price had no deep loyalty to Petrosian in spite of the fat retainers he was paid. He'd already straddled the fence by forwarding Karen's confession to O'Brien, and he didn't really care one way or the other if either or both of them went to prison. He'd covered his tracks. It was time to pay O'Brien a visit.
"I'll need to talk to the police and the D.A's office. There's something you haven't told me."
Petrosian's impatience was beginning to fray. "I have nothing more to say."
"Neither do I. Goodbye, Egran." Price turned on his heel and exited, leaving Petrosian to stew in his own juices.
* * * * * * * *
At the Wirth residence, Nikita was not having a good afternoon. With Jamie's asistance, she got her chair situated at the keyboard, but it was way too low for her to sit in the proper position to play. She couldn't get any leverage, couldn't use the pedals, and was totally frustrated.
Jamie used some pillows to raise her height at the keyboard, and one behind her back as further support, until she finally felt comfortable. Jamie thought she was being rather fussy until he heard her play. As Nikita lit fiercely into the Brandenburgs, he sat out of sight in the kitchen listening to her talented fingers articulate the challenging passages. So that was what a virtuoso sounded like up close! He was amazed at who she truly was, and began to get an inkling of what she and Michael shared.
Roberta and Sabine were silenced by the unbidden "concert". They had been conversing and reading to each other, as they'd taken to doing in the afternoons, but the thrill of the Bach had put them both in a quiet mood, and they sat motionless as the music surrounded them.
Nikita finished her first read-through, her mind and body buzzing with the energy of the pieces. She knew that she would have to practice them on the harpsichord in order to firm up the spacings. She had forgotten how relentless some of the movements were. And how fast they had to go! And how much she loved them.
Her feelings ebbed and flowed as her soul was fed by the music but her body remained a prisoner of its limitations. The feeling of disparity was overwhelming and her eyes filled with tears. She beat them back, lifting her head with summoned pride in what she had just done.
Her back began to tire and she decided not to read through the de Falla. Instead, she went to the CD player and sat listening to the recording and studying the score at the same time. Even though she knew every note of the piece by heart, it was different looking at the notes, especially with the orchestra parts. There were some very difficult moves in this piece, but she felt confident that they were within her abilities.
As the dreamy notes signalled the start of the second movement, Nikita's mind drifted to the intensity in Michael's eyes when he'd handed her the score earlier. He had meant that she should not give up. His message had been loud and clear. But it was her conversation with Roberta that really sustained her. Her mother's inner strength had put her to shame.
She would not give up. But as far as Michael was concerned, Nikita had made up her mind. If things did not improve, she would give him the opportunity to back away from her gracefully. Love was strong, but could it handle this? The mended cracks of her heart were straining against the onslaught of this trial... the cracks that Michael had so painstakingly repaired with his unconditional acceptance of her past. She didn't think she could bear going through that one more time.
"At least we could preserve our friendship," she mused aloud. It was almost ludicrous. She and Michael as friends. Could they ever be free of their unfathomable craving for each other? Could she ever look upon him with detachment, without remembering the explosive fire of their profound physical and spiritual intimacy?
Nikita shuddered involuntarily as these thoughts swept through her, and somewhere inside her, a little cry of desperation was reborn. The walls and bars of that inner prison where she had lived for so long looked all too inviting. To retreat back to the familiar safety and loneliness of that sanctum... was that what she really wanted? She had told herself "No!", but now she wasn't so sure.
Ironically, now that her heart was unfettered, it was no longer free. It truly belonged to Michael. She had only her musical talents left to give. And that would be just about all of her soul as well. Nikita stared into a distant invisible space as the music wrapped itself around her. The score lay unattended in her lap.
She had tried so hard last night not to let him see her despair, but in truth, there had been no way to hide it. And still he had stayed. As her heart began to warm to the memory of his ardent kisses, of his arms holding her tenderly, possessively, Michael, as if called by her thoughts, stepped through the front door, pack on his back, cello in hand. She raised her eyes to him, their clear blue pools shining with a sad inner light.
"Hello Nikita."
The soft raspy sound of his voice made her heart jump. She sighed quietly. No, she would never be free of her untamed reaction to this beautiful being called Michael. Nikita resigned herself. She would do whatever was needed to ensure the happiness she knew he deserved. As for herself, her happiness would come, as it always had, from the music. She would channel the strength of her love for Michael and transform it into the rapturous sounds of devotion. Even if she couldn't be his lover, she would love him with the very core of her being, with the only thing that was real, that had ever been real in her entire life...
"Hello Michael."
Something in her voice made him hurt unbearably. As he looked into her eyes, he saw that the light that had been there earlier had faded and there was only a dim glow. A mysterious air of resignation surrounded her, and the sounds of the music vaguely penetrated his psyche as her greeting fell most gently on his ears. But she smiled, and his spirit was soothed.
Michael looked to the score on her lap. "You've been reading through the "Nights..." then?"
"Not really. Just listening and studying. I did read through the Bach though." Nikita felt like a little child recounting "what she did at school today". Her voice was calm. "It went better than I thought it would."
He set down his pack and his cello. "Good. I know those parts are difficult..." He felt suddenly awkward, as if they were making small talk. Before he could say more, Sabine appeared from Roberta's room.
"Bon jour, Michel. Will you join us for dinner?" She greeted him warmly, clasping both his hands in hers. He could feel her tension as she squeezed his hands harder than was necessary. Her eyes told him that she wanted to talk.
Michael glanced over at Nikita, but she had turned her attention back to the music, and was unreadable. "Bon jour, Sabine. Yes, I'd like that. Thank you."
Sabine padded off to the kitchen to start cooking, and invited Jamie as he prepared to depart.
"Won't you stay and eat?"
He shook his head. "Time for me to go," he said softly. "Take good care. I'll be in touch. I may need some advice in dealing with this next case." Jamie glanced toward the living room. "She certainly can play. They must be wonderful together."
"They are. You be good." Sabine hugged him hard, then turned her attention to her tasks.
Jamie came out of the kitchen and walked over to Nikita. Michael set up his music stand and unpacked his cello, watching them out of the corner of his eye. He looked away as Jamie took her hands in his.
"Goodbye, Nikita. I wish you well in your journey back to health." Jamie's affection was evident.
Her voice was warm. "Goodbye, Jamie. Thank you for all your help. And for being so patient with me. I know it wasn't easy. You'll come back and visit if you have time, won't you?"
"I will if it's possible. I'll be very busy with my new assignment." He didn't want to tell her about the difficult situation he'd been given - a young woman with a young daughter, the mother dying rapidly of a rare disease. "But remember, I'm counting on you to take care of Sabine."
Jamie put his hands on her hair and leaned forward to kiss the top of Nikita's head. She yielded to his caring gesture. He retrieved his coat and turned to Michael. "Monsieur, vous devez savoir que etês un homme tres tres fortuné. Adieu. Goodbye Nikita."
Momentarily stunned, Michael regained his manners. "Ah, merci... merci beaucoup." He watched as Jamie flung his coat over his shoulder and disappeared out the door. Nikita looked curiously at Michael, also startled at Jamie's unexpected remark.
"What did he say?"
"He said I... He said that I am a most fortunate man."
"Oh."
Michael privately observed the shining in Nikita's eyes. He sat down and tuned his instrument.
"Now, could we work on the concerti please? We'll start with Number Three."
* * * * * * * *
Birkoff and Walter met at the hospital only to learn that Nikita and Roberta had been discharged. The secretary at the visitor's desk paged Dr. Spence for them. Walter was mildly disturbed that she seemed reluctant to impart any information to them about the circumstances of their release. His instincts kicked in and a bad feeling began to grow in the pit of his stomach.
Birkoff noticed his discomfort, but decided to just ignore it. He liked Walter and trusted him, and didn't want to put him on the spot.
"So, this is a good thing, don't you think? They got out early for 'good behavior'," he grinned.
Walter shot a wary glance at Birkoff. "I hope that's the case," he reiterated. He couldn't shake off his uneasy feeling, and was relieved to see the doctor approaching.
Walter introduced himself and Birkoff, but Dr. Spence remembered seeing them when they had visited Nikita just after she was released from surgery.
"Yes, we let them go home. The mother is in hospice, and was only staying on her daughter's account. And their caregiver Sabine agreed to take charge of Nikita's physical therapy. I allowed them to leave on the condition that they would accept responsibility for my specific instructions for Nikita's rehabilitation."
Walter's gut tightened a little more as he heard these words. "Uh, could you elaborate on 'rehabilitation' for me?" Birkoff heard the distress in Walter's voice.
"Of course. Her non-ambulatory condition is only temporary, and we felt that she should start physical therapy and massage right away to maintain strength and muscle tone until she regains her mobility."
Birkoff looked at Walter. Non-ambulatory... ? Didn't that mean... ? He gave a little gasp as the implication of the doctors words hit home. Walter was not responding.
"Of course, we're monitoring her progress daily through her nurse Sabine, and so far there's been no change, but that is as we expected. These things have a way of taking their time and surprising us. So, is there anything else I can do for you?" Dr. Spence became aware of Walter and Birkoff's speechless state and suddenly realized that they were hearing this news for the first time.
"Oh, I'm so sorry. I thought you knew. I would have prepared you for this had I known that you were unaware of Miss Wirth's condition. Head trauma often has unpredictable ramifications. We're confident that the bruise to her brain will heal completely, and that she will recover. Of course, we don't know when that will happen, but with rest and care... well, she seems strong and healthy. Her body should be able to repair itself without difficulty."
Dr. Spence waited. After a minute, Walter regained his composure and his manners.
"Yes... well... thank you, doctor. We appreciate you telling us all this." He looked at Birkoff, who still hadn't said anything. "We'll be going." Walter grabbed Birkoff's arm and steering him toward the door, spoke quietly in his ear.
"I know a place where we can get a good cup of coffee, even though it's after hours. Whaddaya say?"
Birkoff nodded. He needed a little time to digest this turn of events. And he needed to see his friend Nikita. He turned his face toward Walter, on the edge of his emotions.
"I think that sounds really good. Uh, do you mind if we walk?"
Walter put his arm around the young man's shoulders and they took off for the Café, their mutual concern helping to forge their growing friendship.
* * * * * * * *
"Thank you, Sabine. Dinner was wonderful." Michael helped clear the dishes.
Nikita was quiet but not unpleasant during dinner, mostly responding to her mother's remarks. She spoke to him, but only when he spoke first. He was shaken by her deliberate distance after their productive practice session. She excused herself immediately after eating, and helped her mother to her room, Roberta leaning on the back of Nikita's chair as she wheeled slowly down the hallway. Michael's feelings were taking a beating and Sabine knew it.
"I am glad you liked it." She gave him a sidelong glance. "She... she doesn't mean to be cruel. Nikita is just protecting herself. This is really very hard for her. Perhaps harder than we think."
Michael was blunt. "Don't you think I know that?? She doesn't need to protect herself from me!" His heart was sore from her negligence. His voice dropped to a whisper. "I love her."
Sabine turned and put a hand on his arm. "I know you do. This will pass, I assure you." Michael's eyes came up and Sabine's heart did a little skip when she saw his pain. She gave his arm a tiny squeeze and smiled gently. "Please Michael. There is something else I would like to talk to you about."
They finished the dishes and sat once again at the table. Sabine was direct.
"I've asked Walter if the funds from the benefit could be used put toward expenses for Roberta."
"Yes, I know. He told me about your visit to the Café."
"Michael, Roberta is nearing the end of her journey here. Upon her death, she has asked to be cremated, and she told me that you have promised to read at her funeral. She wants you to know that she expects you to keep your promise whether or not things are going well between you and Nikita."
Michael started at this remark, but Sabine continued before he could speak.
"Roberta and I both look upon you as one of our own. I know you are a grown man, but for mothers, their children are always their children. Regardless of Nikita's feelings, we care for you, and want you to know that." She saw the question in his eyes. "Yes, Roberta knows that her daughter is in turmoil over your relationship. She cares enough to let Nikita work through what she can on her own, and offer her help only when it becomes necessary. This is the plight of loving parents. Perhaps someday you'll know what that is like."
Michael winced inwardly and his face took on a wistful expression. How could Sabine know that he was thinking of Adam, and remembering his own difficulties in knowing when to help and when to let him solve his problems by himself? He sighed. It wasn't good to dwell on that for too long. Michael pulled his thoughts back to the present.
"Please assure Roberta that I fully intend to keep my promise to her... that I fully intend to keep both of my promises. All right?"
"All right." Sabine wisely decided not to ask Michael what the other promise was. That was between him and Roberta.
Michael quietly exited the kitchen and moved toward Nikita's room. He knocked on the door, then pushed it open at her bidding him enter. She had settled herself in bed, her chair near the foot, and was drifting into a relaxed state.
"The practice session went well," Michael ventured.
"Mmmhmm." Nikita turned her head to look at him. He was so beautiful. Her heart broke a little as she contemplated telling him about her decision. "Michael I..."
He could feel her distancing herself from him again and cut her off. "We should stay together."
She looked at him, willing herself to be resolute. "I don't think I want that any more."
Michael's heart stood still as she uttered the words. His eyes blazed momentarily as he breathed deeply. This was foolish self-sacrifice. He would not tolerate it.
"And what about what I want?" he challenged her, his quiet voice like a double-edged sword. "Or is that pitiful expression supposed to be for me as well?" He was very nearly angry.
Nikita was desperate. "But Michael. I can't even make love to you!"
"Is that what this is all about?" His question was like an explosion contained in a vacuum. "Didn't we just make love out there in the living room playing Bach?"
"You know what I mean."
"So you think this is all over, just because of a temporary setback?"
Nikita slipped over the edge of her emotions. Tears began to steal silently down her cheeks. Michael's heart lurched at the sight. Sabine was right. This was harder for her than he'd thought. Understanding dawned on him. She was in survival mode once again, protecting herself at all costs. But at the cost of their love? All he knew was that he couldn't let her slip away, back into that dreadful place she went to where no hurt could touch her.
Her words eked out between her quiet sobs. "But Michael... what if... I don't get... better?"
He didn't have the answer. His voice turned husky as he fought to control his reaction. "What do you want me to say? That it will be easier if we end it now? I almost lost you. Do you think I will let you go now, after your life was so generously given back to me?"
Nikita closed her eyes against his forthright declaration. He wanted her, no matter what. This kind of love she couldn't fight.
Michael moved to the bed, sitting on the edge, one leg crooked in front of him. He leaned on one hand and reached out with the other to sweep his fingers over her forehead and down the side of her face, his eyes full of love and pain. His whisper pierced her through.
"You must have faith." But if you don't, I will try to have enough for both of us.
Soft lips brushed her eyelids, then her cheeks, then her mouth. Warm hands caressed her face, then her shoulders, her arms, then enveloped her own with delicate pressure, the fingers dancing over hers with sensual lightness. A nose lightly met the tip of hers.
Nikita nodded, opening her eyes, flooding his with their pale blue beauty. "Michael. Will you stay with me?"
"Always," he echoed his promise to Roberta as he stretched out beside her. As he gathered her to him, her breathing slowed until at last she descended into deep slumber.
Sleep, my Nikita. Rest. Heal. Inside and out. I need you.
Michael lay with his eyes wide open until he too finally succumbed, exhausted but hopeful.
* * * * * * * *
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