| Subject: WTTS2 - 78 |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 21:48:51 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 78 (Warning: A little language and violence)
By KT
Copyright September 25, 2000
Michael spent the rest of the day at the Hall catching up on paperwork. He felt relaxed and centered as he mentally put the day in order, satisfied that he had almost everyone who knew him worried about him. He called the hospital and spoke with Dr. Spence, telling him about Nikita's progress with physical therapy and piano practice. He told him about her experience in the bath, leaving out the more intimate details.
The doctor confirmed that he had already spoken with Sabine about Nikita's activities, and had received positive reports. But when Michael also told him about Nikita's dejected state, and that he thought that the longer she remained home the worse she would get, Dr. Spence agreed, pending his own examination of Nikita's condition, to send a release to Madeleine, allowing Nikita to return to full active status at the Symphony. They made a plan for Sabine to bring Nikita in for consultation and evaluation. Michael thanked him and signed off.
Now all that remained was to implement the last part of his plan. He dialed a number and a male voice answered.
"Hello Gray."
"Michael. To what do I owe the honor of this call?" Wellman's voice was pleasant.
"I need your help with something, and you are the only person who can do the job."
"Certainly. Whatever..." Wellman answered without hesitation.
Michael smiled. Gray Wellman was the assistant principal French horn player. He had been struck with polio at a young age and had spent much of his life in a wheelchair. He knew everything there was to know about handicapped problems and services. He was also a gentleman with a great sense of humor, and a man who didn't take any crap from anyone.
Gray had learned his life lessons the hard way, and had fought for every hard-won inch of respect. An excellent musician, he and Michael rarely had contact outside the orchestra, but enjoyed a good working relationship. Michael had called on him several times to help with orienting disabled personnel. As orchestra mentor, Micheal made it his business to know when players were faced with difficult personal situations, so that erratic behavior would not be misinterpreted or allowed to interfere with the smooth flow of rehearsals and performances. Gray had been on leave of absence due to recently becoming a widower, and had not yet met Nikita.
"Sorry to hear about your wife, Gray. How is your daughter doing?" Michael's voice was softly sympathetic. Gray's wife had died suddenly of an aneurism. Michael felt great empathy, reliving the sight of Nikita falling in slow motion as Karen's bullet grazed her skull. Images of Simone's body in the morgue were as fresh as if seen yesterday.
Gray was quiet for a moment. "Casey is doing OK, but she is missing her mother badly. I try to be there for her, but it's just as hard for me as it is for her. Thanks for asking."
A pang of longing flashed through Michael as he pictured his son's sweet face.
"I... understand."
Gray had no idea about Simone's accidental death or the existence of Adam. But something in the tone of his voice told him that Michael truly understood.
"I think maybe you do. Now, Michael, what was it you needed?"
"Nikita Wirth, our new Principal pianist, will be coming back to work next week. Perhaps you are aware that she was involved in an accident, and is temporarily confined to a wheelchair. I need you to mentor her." Michael paused, considering. "I'll warn you. She is a handful right now."
Despite his recent absence, Gray was not ignorant of the buzz about Michael and Nikita. It was generally observed that since he had joined the Symphony, Michael had not been involved with any female counterpart. Gray, along with the other players, was amazed that the "ice man" had finally thawed. This Nikita must be some woman.
"Mentor? Isn't that your job?" Wellman teased Michael as much as he dared. He was met by silence on the line. Gray got the impression that this was a tough request and eased up with a light laugh. "Just kidding, Michael. Glad to be of help. And don't worry about the "handful" part. I've been there, done that."
"I know. That is exactly why I'm calling you."
"I've heard she is a tremendous talent."
Michael outlined his requests. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just basic orientation. But he felt confident that Gray would be the right person to handle Nikita just now. And it would free him to concentrate on his full work schedule and personal practice.
"No problem, Michael. I look forward to working with her."
"Thank you."
The conversation terminated and Michael sat back. He took a deep breath, not altogether sure that minimizing his contact with Nikita right now wouldn't push her further away. But he had to take that chance. She had to see that his love for her existed far beyond the physical realm. He had to change her focus to their emotional and spiritual connection. She would come to value these above all else, as he did.
Or so he hoped... Michael smiled wryly. He was missing her already. He put his papers in order and headed for home.
* * * * * * * *
Nikita called Michael at the Hall. His line was busy, and she left a message on his voice mail. She thought she would ask him over for supper so she could apologize for her unreasonable attack on him. Somehow, face to face seemed more appropriate than over the phone. She'd been back and forth to the piano all day, but he hadn't returned her call. Frustrated, she finally called his answering machine at home and left another message.
As Nikita sat rehearsing how she would say the words of apology, the phone rang. Roberta was asleep, and Sabine had not yet returned from her errands. Her heart was in her throat, but instead of Michael's caressing tones, Nikita was greeted by the cool voice of Madeleine Duprés.
"Hello Nikita."
"Madeleine. Hello."
"How are you doing?"
"Well, I'm... fine, I guess."
"Michael tells us that you're ready to come back to work, and that you've been keeping up with your musical commitments."
"Michael? You've... seen him?"
"Yes. He met with Paul Wolfe and myself today. He seemed very encouraged by your progress, and explained about your practice sessions and therapy. Mr. Wolfe is quite pleased with your choice of solo material."
"Well, actually, Mi..." Nikita was about to say that Michael had chosen the material, but decided that since he didn't mention it, she wouldn't either. "Yes, we've been playing every day. Michael has been most supportive." Nikita had to admit it, as much to herself as to Madeleine.
"Well, he's just doing his job." Over and above the call of duty. "We look forward to your return. Of course, we'll need a release from your doctors."
"Oh, I'm sure Sabine can take care of that."
"Sabine?"
"Sabine de Lac. She's the hospice nurse who has been assigned to my mother's case. She does everything around here.. now." Nikita's voice dropped a bit as her guilt about Sabine's increased work load surfaced.
Madeleine warmed up a bit. "She sounds like a very nice person."
"Oh, yes. She has been wonderful to us. And she and Michael have become good friends. Lots in common, both being natives of the same country and all."
"I see." Back to business. "Well, let me know when you're cleared to return. You can report directly to Michael on your first day back. I'm sure he'll have some specific instructions for you, as well as brief you on our current rehearsal schedule."
"Of course. Thank you."
They bid each other goodbye. Nikita went to the piano and dug in to the de Falla once again. This waiting for Michael to call was giving her a stomach ache.
* * * * * * * *
Marcus O'Brien reviewed the coming week's schedule. Court first thing Monday morning. Egran Petrosian would be officially charged, and he, as the officer in charge of the case, would be required to be present. It would be interesting to see how Petrosian handled himself. O'Brien had no illusions about Gerald Price, knowing that in spite of his shady clients, he knew his way around a courtroom and would conduct himself accordingly. A shrewd character, that Price.
The main thing he wanted to accomplish on Monday was to keep Petrosian in jail. He had already notified the D.A.'s office, and they had assured him that bail would be denied once again. In the meantime, Petrosian's weaselly partner Chernov had been practically invisible. So far, Vice had no hard evidence of illegal activities at his apartment building. Maybe he could stir up a little action. Besides, he wanted to do a little reconnaisance of his own. He called Cossins to accompany him, and they took off toward Greektown.
As they approached the building, Patrick spotted Chernov getting into his car. They quickly pulled over and waited. Chernov, oblivious to his surroundings, intent on his mission, started his car and drove off. They tailed him easily. As they made their way back north, and Marcus frowned, realizing they were very close to Michael Samuelle's address.
Chernov parked at the end of the block and sat in his car. O'Brien and Cossins parked at the other end of the block, just around the corner. Marcus glanced at his watch. Five o'clock. He didn't see Michael's bike parked anywhere, and decided to take a spin around the block to see if he could spot it. They circled the block, then drove down the alley. No bike.
They parked behind the building. O'Brien decided to stake out the back entrance, Cossins walking around to the front. They agreed to communicate by radio only if necessary. As Patrick scoped out the street from down the block, he saw Michael parking his bike in front of the building. As Michael entered the doorway, Chernov quickly moved in behind him, saying something and crowding Michael through the entrance. Cossins knew that Michael could defend himself, yet saw him make no move to repel Chernov. The door closed behind them.
Cossins cued his radio as he broke into a run. "Marcus! Suspect and Michael on their way up to the apartment! Go!"
"Meet me there!"
O'Brien took the rear stairs two at a time, and reached the back porch quickly. He tried the door, but it was locked. Peering in the rear window, he could only see the kitchen, but then heard a voice through the open transom above the door. Chernov was speaking rashly, apparently finishing a conversation they'd had on the way up.
"I know it was you who told the police about Petrosian and me. Why are they holding him without bail? And why are they sneaking around my building? And the gallery? Don't pretend you don't know what I'm talking about!"
Silence.
A struggle. A thud. Then a groan.
O'Brien had heard enough. Michael was obviously hostage. He knocked the door handle hard with his gun, breaking it off, then burst in, identifying himself as he aimed his gun. "Police!" He raced through the kitchen, down a short hallway and into the dining room, to find Chernov on the floor, a S&W .38 lying next to his hand, and Michael bending down to recover the weapon, Chernov's arm pinned in a painfully unnatural position by the weight of Michael's knee.
Chernov looked positively terrified as he croaked, "You broke my arm!"
There was a pounding on the front door as Cossins sought to back up his partner. O'Brien unlocked the door, keeping his weapon trained on Chernov. When Patrick entered and saw Michael coolly twisting Chernov's arms behind him, pushing his face into the floor, he grinned and glanced at his partner.
"Maybe we should recruit this guy. Mild-mannered musician, my ass."
O'Brien cuffed Chernov, reading him his rights. He turned to Michael. "You want to press charges on this guy? Breaking and entering. Assault with a deadly weapon."
"Yes."
"Good. Come down to the station and we'll take your statement." He hauled on Chernov, who yelped as his arm protested with pain. "Well, Mr. Chernov, maybe we can get you a nice comfy cell next door to your dear friend and associate. I'm sure you two will have a lot to talk about. Patrick, call dispatch and tell them to notify Lockup. One suspect in custody." O'Brien and Cossins headed for the precinct.
Michael called his landlord to report the broken back door, assured by O'Brien that the police department would pay for the repair. Ever since Jamie had spotted Chernov at Roberta's, Michael had had a bad feeling about him, and was glad that he was being taken out of play. This was one less thing to worry about. He ignored the blinking light on his answering machine. Messages could wait. He followed the officers on his bike, anxious to see Chernov behind bars.
* * * * * * * *
Sabine returned from her shopping. Roberta was up, listening to Nikita practice, and there was a pot of tea on the kitchen table. From the sound of Nikita's furious notes, she had not had a good day. She sat down and poured herself a cuppa before starting supper.
Sabine checked the answering machine. She returned a call from Dr. Spence, setting up an appointment for Nikita for first thing Monday morning. He informed her of his conversation with Michael and she confirmed Nikita's depressed state, agreeing that it was time to get her back to work. She assured the doctor that all the logistical details were being handled, and that she would see to it that Nikita would indeed get to work.
Gwen arrived and the two of them set about cooking. Supper was a relaxed affair. The three ladies had easy conversation, but Nikita was quiet. She could not hide her disappointment when the evening passed and Michael had still not returned her call. She excused herself and went to bed, laying awake until far into the night, the house quiet around her, staring dry-eyed into the darkness.
Nikita spread her arms out, but there was only emptiness to either side. She turned her head, but no passionate green eyes gazed lovingly back at her. She closed her eyes, but no soft kisses marked every inch of her body. How could she have grown so accustomed to him that she missed him so terribly, and the night was only half over? Darkness at last won out, and she drifted into dreams, jumbled with images of passion and terror, hope and sadness, joy and despair.
* * * * * * * *
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