THE MUSIC OF THE NIGHT
Midnight Rose 1994

Part 2

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“Nighttime sharpens, heightens each sensation…
Darkness wakes and stirs imagination…”

---Phantom, Act One, Scene Four.

The hour is late.  The still cold air hangs every breath in a frosty billow. A dark shadow moves silently across the flat roofs of row houses under a sliver of winter moon that gives no light or warmth to the bitter night. Tiny snowflakes fall lazily to the frozen earth coating railings, roofs, and a midnight black cloak with Arctic dust. It is his privilege to witness the first white magic of the season, a sight the city would have to wait till dawn to see. For now, the pleasure was his alone to enjoy in tranquility.  

Perhaps not…

The wail of a siren intrudes the night stillness. Flashes of red and blue light dodge madly through the maze of buildings and alleys below. Instinct draws him safely into the shadows as the sounds and lights loom ever closer, whirling in chaos beneath him. They pass and he moves away in the opposite direction to the increased safety of another rooftop, an easy jump away.  A round of gunfire echoes nearby, turning him into an alert statue. Cries of pain put his feet in motion, against his will, to the edge of the invisible barrier that separates their world from his.  

A policeman shot down, his body lying still in the alley below. A killer with a young rookie on his face begging for his life. The pistol is cocked and ready to end another life as a billow of black descends like a bat of death.  A growl of justice behind causes the killer to pause and turn. Thud! An unconscious body crumples to the ground beside his intended prey.  

The dazed rookie scrambles to life, retrieving his revolver lying within reach. He turns and aims---an empty alley, a quiet street, and silent rooftops.  

***

“Angel…or father…Friend…or Phantom?”

---Christine, Act Two, Scene Four.

The Kenworth abuse case had taken a turn for the worse. Dana Kenworth, having been released from the hospital for treatment of head trauma, broken ribs, and a broken arm, changed her mind and no longer wanted to press charges against her abusive husband, Joseph. Without an official charge, Joseph would be freed from jail to do it again. Dana’s blind love for her husband was overriding her common sense and her ability to stop him from abusing her again. The poor woman was haunted by the fear that Joseph would retaliate even harsher for causing HIM more pain.  

Catherine gently gave Dana her---all-to-well-rehearsed---speech of why Dana must not go back to her husband and to persuade her to testify against him in court to prevent him from ever, EVER hurting her again. And at the same time, she had to convince the woman that a man who beat his wife did not love her, that he enjoyed the power of domination and control. Dana’s life, well being, and happiness were most important. But despite Catherine’s best efforts, Mrs.  Kenworth was convinced Joseph would behave after putting her in the hospital and after he spent two weeks in jail. The young attorney knew all too well that this would not be the case. If Joseph got his hands on Dana again he would surly kill her the next time he became drunk and angry with her.  

Catherine’s heart went out to the battered, broken women in each of the abuse cases she had handled. Fragile lives and emotions twisted into helplessness by the one person who was to give love and uplift them. How betrayed they were.  

Dana was left in the able hands of one of the woman’s closest friends and Catherine prayed that the friend could convince Dana, whereas, she could not. Meanwhile, Catherine had twelve hours before Joseph would be released from jail to get Dana to press charges or, at best, have a restraining order and police protection.  

Once again, Catherine had to track down the arresting officers and case detectives for their recommendation statements and signatures. Unfortunately, they too had seen too many abuse cases end in tragedy and had become complacent. If the victim did not want to help themselves why should they care?

*

“Detective House,” Catherine said stopping beside the man’s desk amid the noisy department.  

“Yeah, what do you want,” he hissed without looking up to see who was standing there.  

“I see you are back to your old, grumpy self again, Detective,” Catherine returned dryly, while trying to keep the tiredness out of her voice.  

House looked up with a scowl on his face until he saw it was Cathy, then he smiled.  “Oh, Chandler, I didn’t realize it was you…What can I do for you?”

Catherine handed him the recommendation for the restraining order. “Joseph Kenworth…His battered wife has decided not to press charges. I want to keep her alive long enough to convince her otherwise. If not…”

“Yeah, I know…I’ve had to clean up after too many of those creeps. ” House spat as he scribbled out his statement. “Maybe, I could get you some pictures of the results of the wrong choice to persuade her. ”

“Thanks, but I’ve already tried that approach,” Catherine said sadly.  “He has her so scared that she is afraid to think for herself without HIS approval. ”

She still got a lump in her throat whenever she thought of the thousand of battered women out there with no one to turn to for help. Each year hundreds of abuse cases crossed her desk and they were always the same, but it never got easier for Catherine to handle emotionally. Where was the end to the hurt? Where was the hope?

Catherine had gotten a taste of the hatred and cruelty of men that dark night.  If it had not been for Vincent, where would she be? Would she have survived without his gentleness and compassion giving her the courage to face her fears?

“Oh, by the way, would you like to hear the latest on the Phantom?” House offered signing his statement.  

“Phantom?” The name jarred her out of her momentary reverie.  

“Yeah, The Shadow that Roars…Remember?”

“Oh, right, your ghost,” Catherine said, “Tell me ALL about it. ”

House had Catherine’s full attention even though she looked like she was interested just for the sake of curiosity. “Two nights ago, he saved the life of a rookie. Can you beat that?The rookie and his senior partner were chasing this killer when the guy ambushed the older cop in an alley…”

“You mean Sergeant Allan, who was shot in the chest three times?”

“Yeah, he’s the one. He’s still in intensive care at St Vincent’s,” House replied. “Anyway, the rookie runs blindly into the alley right into the killer. He is forced face first onto the pavement and the killer stands over him with his own service revolver ready to shoot his head off. All of a sudden the rookie hears this thundering roar and the next thing he knows…the killer is lying beside him out cold. ”House paused for a breath. “The rookie said there was not a sound of anyone coming or going…not even footprints…the Phantom just vanished. ”

“Into thin air…” hissed McGee coming from the clicking printer. “Where are the Ghostbusters when we need them?”

“Very funny,” House frowned.  

“New York is haunted! What a joke,” laughed the detective’s partner.  

“Yeah, yeah…There is a logical explanation for everything,” defended House, “I just haven’t come up with one yet. Besides, the lady likes to hear exciting stories. ”

Catherine smiled as House handed her his signed statement. “It is quite a tale, Detective. At least the ghost is on our side. We need every friend we can find out there on the streets. ”She turned to walk away.  

“Just what we need, vigilantes from the nether world,” exclaimed House dryly. Catherine threw him a wicked grin over her shoulder as she left.  

***

“What endless longings echo in this whisper…”

---Christine, Act Two, Scene Five.

Six weeks and counting until Winterfest. The nights of pillaging construction site dumpsters had yielded a stockpile of discarded building materiasl suitable for reuse Below.  Cullen had the backbone structures for the stage done. The stage area filled one end of the Great Hall floor to the base of the staircase, which was also to be used in the play. The front of the stage was marked off with an arc of railroad ties, behind it was an area roughly twenty by forty, half of which was designated backstage and a narrow side stage area. Starting at the left front corner of the stage, a mix of metal poles and wooden posts anchored by sand bags supported the rods for the stage curtains that ran between the stage area, side stage, and backstage all the way around to the top supports of the staircase landing. The Manager’s Box, a narrow, three sided box built waist high, stood in the left front corner just off-stage. The old piano had already been moved to its permanent stage position beside the box.  

The resourceful ladies of the tunnels had secured enough fabric to shroud all of the curved rear edge of the stage and the front of the side stage area with a colorful patchwork of quilts, blankets, and bedspreads. These would to be collected from everyone’s beds on the morning of Winterfest.  

Cardboard box scenery was everywhere in various stages of painting. Most intriguing was a rather large cut out spread in the center of the stage floor and rumored to be the beginnings of an elephant. The backstage area was rapidly filling with props, tables, chairs, a bed, and other items gleaned from storage chambers and personal possessions.  

Rehearsals were going well; the actors well on their way to memorizing their parts and many of the individual scenes were beginning to come together. It would be another couple of weeks before the transition between scenes was to be added to the brewing pot of organized chaos.  

*

Catherine limped into Vincent’s chamber late one evening after rehearsing the ballet routine for the Opera’s opening scene of Hannibal. She had spent a day in court on her feet and an evening on her toes---not on Pointe, but tiptoe. Her feet hurt.  

She plopped down on the yielding softness of the green velvet day bed and laid back into the pile of large luxurious and worn throw pillows, a collection of new and old. She lay her head back and the burnished glow of stained glass washed her fine, smooth features in its warm, amber glow. Her green eyes found her leonine mate across the chamber in front of the tall, Chinese wardrobe pulling on his heavy gray sweater. He turned and smiled at her as he freed his bushy golden flax from the neck hole with a graceful sweep of his clawed hands.  

“Did Rebecca leave you any feet?” he quipped.  

Catherine groaned, “I think they have fallen off…or are seriously thinking about it. ”She made no move to lift them onto the bed, but let them dangle just off the floor.  

The huge tawny man turned the ornate high-backed chair around to face the day-bed and sat down. He bent and palmed each of her tiny feet to untie the ribbons of her dancing slippers and remove them for her. Then taking one delicate foot in his large, claw tipped hands; he began to gently massage the tender pads. Catherine’s eyes fluttered closed and her slow sigh purred with welcome relief.  

“Are you going to Lawrence’s tonight?” she asked after a moment.  Vincent was dressed in preparation to going Above in the winter cold.  

“Yes,” he answered simply.  

Catherine opened her eyes to look at him and adjusted a pillow beneath her head.  “This is the third time this week,” Catherine said softly in observation.  

Her magnificent golden husband cocked his head, just so, in an elegant and sophisticated gesture Catherine adored. “Lawrence does not have the time to come to me; therefore, I must go to him,” Vincent explained. He set down her one foot and picked up the other to continue his soothing ministrations of her digits. “As you know, we are having some major problems with the singing in Hannibal, Il Muto, and Don Juan. ”He chuckled, “We are not opera singers by any definition of the word. ”

“Jeremy has a great voice for a teenager…He fits the role of Piangi well,” Catherine said, “and Jamie…she cracks me up with her interpretation of Carlotta. ”

A chuckle rumbled deep in Vincent’s chest as he envisioned Jamie’s performance.  “Yes, Jamie is truly inspired…It is good Carlotta is NOT a very good opera diva. ”He said this with warmth and all his love for the charming young tomboy.  

He finished the foot massages and settled his furred hands on his soul mate’s smooth round knees. Her emeralds caught his smoky gaze of the deepest azure peering from beneath his bushy mane framing his unique features. “You, my prima donna, have the most beautiful voice…pleasant to the ear and heart…as sweet as a bird’s love song in spring. ”

Catherine blushed from his overly dramatic compliment. . She was too tired to challenge him with what she thought of her singing; although, her talent even surprised her. She mused that Vincent would love her voice even if it were scratchy, uneven, or if she was unable to carry a tune in a bucket.  

Catherine sat up and leaned forward to kiss her lifemate on his sensuous, beckoning lips. He responded, cupping her face in his furred hands demanding a deeper kiss. The underlying passion unleashed by so simple a gesture always left them breathless. The sensations between them when they touched was always electric and would always be so.  

“Must you go,” Catherine whispered, she kissed the tip of his flat feline nose as he pulled back. Vincent stayed within reach of her hands that were tangled in his thick mane. She lovingly arranged his disheveled bangs.  

“I shall not be long,” He promised, his blue eyes dark pools beneath his deep topaz brow. He rose and gathered up his black cloak from the chair by the low entrance to their chamber. If Lawrence were not expecting him tonight, he would have been easily tempted to stay and give his exhausted beauty his undivided attention. By the time he returned, she would be asleep in the grand canopy bed and he would not be able to bring himself to wake her.  

Catherine watched him as he settled the heavy garment upon his broad shoulders with a graceful billow of motion. “Be careful, my secret and strange Angel,” she said borrowing from the play.  

The tawny, leonine giant stopped in the doorway and turned, his reflective cat eyes catching the candlelight in a fiery glow of red. “Always, my love. ”

“I should warn you,” Catherine went on, “there are a couple of detectives nonchalantly looking into the mysterious cases of a Phantom prowling the shadows of New York. ”Catherine had forgotten to mention Detective House’s case until now, though she had intended to warn him days ago. She chided herself for being so dangerously forgetful. Vincent was frequenting the same part of the city night after night and needed to be on his guard.  

“I heed your warning,” was all he said and then he was gone---before he changed his mind.