| Subject: WTTS2 - 75b |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 21:39:26 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 75b
By KT
Copyright September 5, 2000
Michael closed the door to Nikita's room. He stood motionless before her, staring, bracing himself as he saw her forces gathering. He waited. Michael was nothing if not patient. Nikita's eyes were averted, intense and distant all at once. She obviously had something she wanted to say. And he didn't think he was going to like it.
Nikita couldn't get the images of their intimate bath out of her mind... the mixed feelings of happiness at being able to satisfy Michael's need and the frustration at her own irreconcilable longings. She needed to sort this out.
"Michael..." Her voice was deliberately measured. "I know we've been through this before but I... I want you to go home now... I need some... time... to think about... things."
Michael blinked as the words registered. Go home now?? He thought they had got this all worked out. Now she was pushing him away again, in spite of his best efforts. He couldn't let her do this.
Nikita looked up as Michael started toward her, his expression announcing his imminent protest. She couldn't face the hurt in his eyes, and spun herself sideways to his approach, stopping him dead in his tracks. Her next words were as swift arrows, wounding him further with their pointed anguish. She hadn't realized the strength of her feelings until she spoke.
"Michael, please! I can't live like this! It's just too hard!"
Michael stared. She was up, then she was down. This hot and cold emotional carousel was truly beyond his control. His gaze accused her.
"Too hard?" he echoed. He was very nearly provoked. "Too hard for the woman who spent her whole life fighting just to stay alive... in spite of everything she had to endure?" Michael shook his head, refusing to accept her words. His usually calm voice was edged with disbelief. "Too hard for the woman who became the Principal pianist of the Symphony? The woman who realized her dream?" He breathed quietly. "Too hard for the woman who..." he finished in a whisper... "fell in love?"
Nikita caught her breath at his words, then her eyes hardened unreasonably as she focused on him. "Yes. She fell in love. That other Nikita... the one who could walk, and laugh, and make love." Bitterness colored her self-pity. "What's left for this Nikita?"
Michael's body began to vibrate with an emotion he hadn't allowed himself to feel in a long time. Genuine anger. His stormy eyes assailed hers with gale force. He saw her flinch.
Michael's voice turned stony with a deadly softness. "What indeed?" This was pointless.
"Good night, Nikita." He turned and left the room before he lost control completely. The door closed firmly behind him.
As he strode down the hallway, he heard Jamie taking leave of Sabine at the front door. Michael quietly packed up his cello, stuffing his music and stand into his pack. He knew it would be rude to ignore them, and he slowed as he neared the door. But when he looked at Sabine, words failed him. Her eyes were too penetrating, reading his serious distress. Michael was overcome by the concern in her face. He walked out and sped down the steps to his bike.
Sabine and Jamie exchanged a troubled look, and she nodded as he indicated that he would find out what had happened. "Go." Jamie ran out after Michael as Sabine closed the door and retired to check on Roberta and Nikita.
"Michael, wait."
Jamie accosted him as Michael strapped his instrument to the bike. He finished loading and donned his pack, avoiding Jamie's gaze. A hand on his shoulder caused Michael to turn and face him, eyes veiled, face steely.
"Look, I know it's likely none of my business, but..."
"You're right." His curt reply took Jamie by surprise.
Michael straddled his bike as Jamie stood defiantly, considering his next tangent. He could see Michael's pain clearly, and decided that he would get nowhere with him right now. Instead, he took a different tack.
"Michael, there is something I think you should know." The urgency in Jamie's voice got Michael's attention, and he paused as he set his foot on the starter.
"Yes?" He looked at Jamie expectantly, indicating that he would listen, but said nothing. The distress on Michael's face startled Jamie, and he spoke a bit more gently.
"There was a man here today, when I arrived earlier. He seemed... as though he was watching the house."
"What?" Michael's flags went up. This incident with Karen Kent would never end!
"But he left when he saw me. I made eye contact with him, and I must tell you, it didn't sit well with me. I had a vague feeling of danger... Do you have any idea who it could be?"
Michael ran through his mental list. It couldn't be Petrosian. He was in jail. Michael described Detective O'Brien to Jamie and determined that the man was not him. He couldn't be certain from what Jamie told him, but perhaps... Petrosian's associate, Chernov, the one whose conversation he had overheard at the bistro... Michael had only seen him from the back, and only his profile, at that. But he remembered that the man was stocky and rather balding. Jamie confirmed his sketchy description with what little he had to go on.
Michael decided to give O'Brien a call in the morning. He relented a little.
"I am sorry, Jamie. But I'm not really in the mood to talk. I do thank you for telling me about this."
"Of course. And I think we should not upset the ladies as yet. Would you agree?"
Michael spoke slowly as his brain worked. "Well, I suppose not. I don't want to alarm them unneccesarily. But I also don't want them to be the unwitting victims of another criminal. I think there has been quite enough of that already. Perhaps we'll let the police handle it. I'm sure they could provide some protective surveillance... perhaps investigate. Detective O'Brien has been most accommodating."
Jamie heard Michael's heartfelt concern amidst his own suffering. It wasn't difficult to respect Michael's deep feelings. He let their former conversation lie. Another time.
"Good. I think that sounds like the right thing to do." Jamie turned toward his car. "Well, I'll say good night. Take care, Michael."
As Jamie drove off, Michael started his bike. Without conscious thought, he headed for the lake, parked in his usual spot and strolled toward his bench. The night was a cloak, the new moon shedding its feeble light through wispy clouds, the water a mysterious void, the wind calm. The traffic from Lake Shore Drive was a vague white noise in his ears.
Michael's heart was sore. Nikita's words burned in his mind. Perhaps that was all she needed... some space, some time to think... He tried once again to put himself in her place, but he knew it was impossible. He had his martial arts training to guide him through his dark moments. He had thought that her life experience would help her with her difficulties, but now he could see that it was not enough.
Not enough...
The music was not enough...
Love was not enough...
There must be some way to give Nikita what she needed to get through this. Counseling perhaps. Michael resolved to speak with Sabine. Much as Nikita's unreasonable rejection had angered him, he decided he would comply with her request to be left alone. There was plenty to do the next day - he could help Walter out at the Café, he could practice - he had to keep his mind occupied or he would lose it.
Michael sat, and using all of his training, disconnected from his body, reined in his desires, put his feelings away, and returned to that place reserved for himself alone, where he had lived for so many years... where those he loved lived within him, safe from the hand of Fate.
There was one other thing he needed to do: meet with Paul and Madeleine to arrange Nikita's return to work. There were several other disabled musicians in the Symphony. As mentor, he would recruit them to help her maneuver and integrate. Better if he stood back and let her do this on her own. Better for his own survival...
Michael looked up, but the stars were held captive by the clouds, one or two peeking through here and there. He rose and returned to his bike, so preoccupied with his thoughts, that he never noticed the car that had followed him to the lake, then home.
He called and left messages for Paul and Madeleine before retiring. Michael shut off his brain and went to bed, his heart aching. The car moved off into the night.
* * * * * * * *
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