| Subject: WTTS2 - 63 |
Author:
KT
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Date Posted: 20:58:32 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 63
By KT
Copyright June 17, 2000
The start of the week was normal, or at least as normal as could be for some. Michael was abruptly thrown back into his busy schedule at the Hall after a particularly sleepless night. Madeleine was interviewing for a substitute pianist while Nikita was hospitalized, and Paul Wolfe was meeting with George and Adrian to present his public relations strategy, leaving the task of fielding the flood of calls from the media to the unflappable Christopher.
Sabine and Gwen met with Detective O'Brien and gave their accounts of the shooting. Sabine knew that only she, Gwen, Roberta, Nikita, and the doctors knew about Nikita's present condition. She hoped that it would remain so until it was no longer a problem. But just how that might be accomplished, she had no idea. She didn't think she could out-and-out lie to either Michael or Walter. She didn't offer the information to O'Brien either.
The two discussed the possiblities as they left the precinct. If Nikita didn't regain her mobility, could Karen be sued for damages? It didn't seem feasible, as it appeared that Karen didn't own anything or have much money.
"You can't get blood from a stone," quipped Gwen, but stopped abruptly with a mortified expression as she realized how accurately the morbid adage applied to their situation.
They agreed. It seemed like a good idea to keep it under wraps for now.
* * * * * * * *
At the hospital, Roberta and Nikita were having a discussion of their own.
"Mom... I'm scared."
"I know, dear. I'm scared too."
"What if..." Nikita hesitated as she struggled with the unthinkable. "What if I don't get better?"
Roberta looked at her daughter with deep concern and love. How could she tell Nikita that she was just grateful for her life and the rest didn't matter? Everything was so crucial to the young.
The ward secretary interrupted their conversation as she poked her head in the door.
"Hi, ladies." Her tone was cheerful. "I have a note left here for Nikita."
Nikita raised her hand and the secretary handed her the envelope with a pleasant smile. "You two need anything?" she asked brightly.
They shook their heads. "Thanks," Nikita returned. The woman ducked back out.
Nikita gazed at the envelope, realizing that she'd never seen Michael's handwriting before. She recognized it instantly. It had a sort of squarish style, half script, half print, with an uncramped graceful sweep. She ran her fingertips over the letters of her name, then pulled out the note.
"Had to see the police about the shooting. Meeting with Paul and Madeleine went late. Came to visit as soon as I could but they wouldn't let me see you. Please call me at work tomorrow. Know that I am thinking of you. Sweet dreams, my Nikita." He had sketched a little swan at the end. She smiled her first real smile of the day. His grandmother's spirit indeed lived on.
She pressed a delicate kiss to the paper, then slipped it back in the envelope. Nikita glanced over at her Mom, but Roberta was asleep. She laid the envelope over her heart and drifted into sleep herself. She would call him later. So tired...
* * * * * * * *
O'Brien sat in his office, musing once again as he reviewed the details of Zalman's case and the shooting at the Wirth residence. The accounts given by Gwen and Sabine were clear enough, but Marcus was disturbed by too many loose ends. Karen's weapon was untraceable - the serial numbers had been neatly filed off. The toxicology report on the body had revealed residual traces of heroin and the autopsy confirmed severely bruised tissue.
The door opened and the office messenger plopped a large brown envelope on his desk. It was labeled "Eyes Only" - the transcript of Karen's interview. He knew Price was doing him a huge favor, and that the information contained therein would be inadmissable. But it would give him the edge he needed to obtain his own record of her confession.
He opened the packet. On top was a note: "Shred this as soon as you've read it."
Minutes later he was on his way to the County Lockup.
O'Brien entered the interrogation room and set his tape recorder down on the table. Karen was ushered in by the guard, who left them alone together. As he took his seat across from Karen, he steeled himself to look once more into those black holes that passed for her eyes.
"What, you too?" Her sullen tone dug into him, but he kept his reaction under control. "Wasn't the first time enough?"
Marcus spoke evenly, ignoring her rudeness. "Miss Kent, I'd like you to answer my questions as honestly and completely as possible. Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law. You have unofficially been charged with the murder of Jaime Zalman, and the attempted murder of Nikita Wirth. Your level of cooperation may at this point be the only thing in your favor when you're arraigned, so I'd advise you to make it easy on yourself.
Karen sat slouched, her eyes narrowed in a downward stare, as if the table had some cryptic message written on it that only she could read. As O'Brien watched, the corners of her mouth widened ever so slightly into an expression that could have been mistaken for the beginnings of a smile, though it didn't involve any of the other features of her face.
Marcus pressed the "record" button.
Now, she thought, now I've got him exactly where I want him.
"Sure, Detective. Whatever you want to know. Now, let's see..."
* * * * * * * *
Michael was finishing up his paperwork as the day wound down. He still had to put in some hours at the Café, and was itching to be done with everything so he could get over to Weiss. He'd practiced his cello for an hour during lunch and it helped, but he still had way too much physical energy to slough off. He felt like a class at the dojo would be just the ticket to help release his tension, but he opted for the hospital visit instead. Seeing Nikita was a priority now. He couldn't risk another sleepless night.
Nikita hadn't called. Maybe she didn't get his note. And his phone had been busy all day. She might have tried but couldn't get through. He picked up the phone.
His concentration was broken by the sound of whistling in the hallway. A knock at the door was followed by the voice of his least favorite employee at the Hall. The doorknob twisted and the door opened just a fraction. Michael put the phone down.
"Hello, Michael. Uh, could I come in?" Mick Shtoppel's heavy eyebrows appeared from behind the edge of the door. Mick stepped through without waiting for a reply, a small cardboard box under his arm. The weary look on Michael's face daunted his usually brash manner.
"I heard about wha' happened to Nikita." Mick searched Michael's expression for a reaction. He'd heard rumors about Michael and Nikita seeing each other and thought he might get a scoop, but Michael's face was carefully composed. "A shame is wha' it is... a real shame that." Mick seemed quite sincere.
Michael nodded, his eyes straying to the box. "It is." He drew a deep breath. "So. Mick. What can I do for you?" Michael restrained his irritation at being interrupted when he was nearly ready to leave.
Mick laid the box down on the corner of Michael's desk. "A package for you. It's been sitting at the loading dock. Must've come in late Friday."
"OK. Thanks Mick." Michael went back to his paperwork. Mick didn't depart.
"So aren't you going to open it?"
Michael looked up, almost amused. Mick was acting like a little kid at a birthday party.
"Be my guest."
"Really? Oh, I couldn't."
"Then don't," Michael shot back, already tiring of Mick's game.
"Oh all right, if you insist."
Mick took out his pocket knife and ran it under the mylar tape. He pulled out the crumpled newspaper and dry ice he found under the flaps...
And froze.
Michael heard Shtoppel's gasp as he slowly pushed the box across the desk. Their eyes met, and Michael stood up and shifted his gaze to the contents of the box. There, nested together and sealed in plastic, were the severed hands of Jaime Zalman.
* * * * * * * *
Michael didn't make it to the Café to work. Or to the hospital to see Nikita. He called Detective O'Brien, who instructed him to wait at the Hall until he could get there to collect this latest evidence. He phoned Walter and told him that he had urgent police business to take care of, and apologized profusely. Walter responded easily.
"Jeez, Michael. You know I can take care of everything. In fact, I interviewed someone today to come in part time and help take up the slack." Walter's heart ached for his friend. "You've been through the wringer lately. Just do what you need to do, and don't worry about things here." He paused as Michael thanked him. "And take care of that special blonde, will ya? She needs you more than I do! By the way, how's she doin'?"
"I don't know. I'm going to call her next."
But when he called, Sabine answered, explaining that Nikita was in physical therapy. She noted the stressed quality in Michael's voice and promised to tell her he called.
"Did she get my note?"
"Yes, she got it today." Sabine chuckled mildly. "I came back after lunch and found her asleep with it still in her hand."
"Is she OK?"
Sabine tried not to hesitate, but it was too late. "Yes, she's... fine."
Michael sensed something in Sabine's hesitation, but decided to let it go. "Please tell her that I have some business with the police that I need to take care of. I'm not sure how long it will take. It's not something I can ask someone else to do."
"Don't worry, I'll tell her. I'm sure she'll understand. Thank you for calling." She signed off.
Michael frowned. It wasn't like Sabine to back away from a conversation. She was holding something back, he was sure of it. Something to do with Nikita. He clamped down on his rising misgivings. There was nothing to be done at the moment.
* * * * * * * *
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