Symphony: A Love Story in Three Acts
Chapter 1

Copyright© 2006 by Diola Dragontail

She closed her eyes and could feel the waves of music sweep through her. She no longer heard it, only feeling the vibrations flow through the air, passing through the core of her body. Flowing past out, it was subtly altered after slipping through her body.

She concentrated on the strained notes of just one of the instruments, the violin. She could feel the bow in her fingers, strings dragged across the arch of chords. The exquisite friction that caused the sounds-- the sounds imprisoned in wood before bursting forth in glory.

Each droning reverberation slips from the instrument, playing across her skin, teasing her flesh. Then flowing into her, uncaringly ripping through her nerves as it passes. She could feel the hollow ache as the music left her body.

With the hollowness, came the sweet torture of anticipation in her soul. She only had to wait for the music to assault her again.

But nothing came.

She opened her eyes slowly, reluctantly as the noise of the applause around her assaulted her. The cacophony sounded painful in comparison to what she had just experienced. There was jostling movement around her. It was the audience standing, clapping.

She felt weak and drained, violated by the loss of the music, but she stood anyway. Joining the herd, clapping mindlessly like she felt the others were. There was no way they could have felt the music as intimately as she had.

She could see the stage again, the object of her attention, standing in front of the symphony, holding the violin as if it was a baby. The young woman she knew intimately as well, but no one else in this audience could possibly know that.

"That was really quite good, wasn't it?" The man to her right said.

She glanced at him and smiled, nodding her agreement. Inside she was filled with repulsion. Not with him, but with the farce she had to put up with. She knew his intention. She knew what he wanted, but she also knew that it would never happen. Still she had to encourage him, to keep up appearances. It sickened her that this was what she had to do just to survive.

She stopped clapping, reaching and giving her date's hand a squeeze. He thought it was an escalation of their flirting. He saw it as a sign that things were going well. That the future he envisioned with his date was still a possibility.

To her the gesture was an apology, a fruitless effort to make up for what she was putting him through. The gesture paled against what she knew she was doing to him.

She turned her eyes back to the stage, back to the blonde haired figure. For a moment their eyes met. An unspoken, private conversation ensued, a split second shared across the gulf of people.

She smiled up at her, beaming with pride and excitement. Happy for what her lover had accomplished tonight--overjoyed in the moment of unbridled art. Awestruck with her skill and humbled that she even had the opportunity to know her so well.

Then the moment was gone, the violinist attention drawn away by a young boy handing her flowers that had been tossed to the stage.

She knew that her date would soon escort her back to her flat. They will stand on the stoop and she would thank him for a wonderful evening. He will ask if they could do it again and she would agree. She will give him a demure kiss on the cheek and then retreat up the stairs.

Once in her flat she will wait the painful hour or two that it would take for her lover to arrive. And then, for a little while at least, everything would be perfect.


Something grabbed her, dragged her from the sidewalk. She went to scream, but felt a hand clasp tightly across her mouth. Something cold and metallic pressed to her throat.

"Bernadette Lysette Edwards?" A voice hissed in her ear as she tried to struggle. "Or should I say, Lisa Cook? That is your real name, isn't it?"

The hands released her, pushing her forward, causing her to smash against the brick wall of the alley way. The pain shot through her face, causing her to scream out, but the only noise she heard was a sickening gurgle. She felt something warm on her neck, dripping.

"Don't bother to answer." The voice hissed again. "I already know the answer. I know everything about you. Besides, you couldn't answer if you wanted to."

She turned around, leaning against the wall heavily. A darkened figure faced her, face obscured by a cloth tied around his upper face, leaving just his mouth exposed. In his hand he held a knife coated with a dark substance.

She clutched to her neck and felt the blood seeping out of her. She screamed again, but still nothing more than a gurgle erupted from her. In front of her the figure sickeningly licked the blood, her blood, from the edge of the blade.

"Unclean." He hissed back at her, his teeth stained crimson. "Unclean."

She stumbled forward, trying to run. The figure blocked the exit back onto the street her only path to safety was to run further down the alley.

The figure didn't move, letting her hope that there was an escape. She spotted a door in the alley and started to pound on it. Her fists echoing empty against the metal. She still tried to scream, but only sickening pops of sounds came out of her.

"Unclean." The figure repeated again, stalking closer now. "And no one will help you. You'll die here. Alone. In the dirt of the gutters. Just like whores do."

The door didn't give and there was no sign that anyone was on the other side. She attempted to run further, but felt increasingly weak. She could feel the warm sticky touch of her own blood soaking the front of her dress.

Before she even made it three more feet, he was on top of her.


She woke as the first light of dawn crept through the window and shined down on her face. Her back ached as she stretched. She'd fallen asleep sitting in the corner of the couch. Now the ache in her back would remind her all day of the mistake.

She frowned as realization slowly slipped back into her mind.

She'd fallen asleep waiting for Bernadette to arrive. She couldn't remember when she fell asleep, all she did realize was that Bernadette never woke her. And that was unusual. She walked to her apartment door and looked at the floor. Nothing.

She had expected to find a note there. Something to explain that things had gone late and she couldn't make it. That Bernadette didn't want to wake her. They'd talk later, maybe for lunch or something.

She wanted to share the evening's triumph with Bernadette. She cursed everything that kept them apart. They were unable to even enjoy such simple pleasures together. All she wanted to do was to congratulate and celebrate with her. She understood that they couldn't do that in public, but at the very least she wanted to be able to do it in private.

She looked at the clock and saw she had to be at work in an hour. But she still had enough time to do one thing.

She dug through the drawer near the door and found a penny. She carried it out into the hallway and stopped in front of the phone on the wall and dropped the penny into the box next to it. She then dialed the number she knew so well.

"Good morning. May I speak to Lisa please?" She asked when the phone connected.

"Serena?" The voice at the other end replied, Serena recognized it as Lisa's mother.

"Yes." Serena replied, "I know it's early, but I just wanted to congratulate her."

Lisa's parents thought that their daughter and Serena were just very good friends. An illusion the couple was happy to maintain. They had no reason to question any more. After all, no respectable girl would be anything more.

"We thought she had spent the night at your place." Her mother replied, sounding surprised. "With the concert and all, we thought she might have been late and decided to stay in the city."

Serena blinked at this, confused. She felt a sick feeling curling up in her stomach. That Lisa might have grown tired of her. That all they shared really just was a phase for her. And she'd had grown out of it.

"No." Serena replied, doing her best to try to sound calm. Not let her emotions show. "When she gets in, ask her to call me?"

Serena didn't wait for the answer she just hung the phone up. She felt like collapsing in the hallway.


He thought he'd seen it all. He'd spent three years in the precinct, filing papers, handing out mail. He spent another fifteen walking the beat. Five years as a detective, and he was planning to call it a career shortly.

In the process of those years he'd seen things that would make grown men cry. He'd numbed himself to the sheer barbarism people could inflict on each other. If nothing else, people's creativity seemed limitless when dreaming up new horrors to inflict onto one another.

"The blood trail goes from here..." The younger police officer pointed to a metal door covered with bloodstains. "To back there, where we found the body."

Detective Warren surveyed the alleyway. It smelled and looked like a slaughter house. He couldn't believe that something like this had gone on and no one noticed sooner. The alley way would have normally stunk of human waste, but the acidic smell of drying blood was overwhelming even that.

"We thought she was just another prostitute." The officer commented, impassionedly. "Then we found this."

He motioned towards the small violin case on the alley floor.

"Not the sort of thing your average street walker carries." The detective observed. His eyes followed the blood stain on the alley wall, near the street opening. The pool of blood on the ground beneath it. Then the footsteps tracked to the door.

"Do we have a name for the girl yet?" He asked the younger police officer.

"Lisa Cook." The officer replied, matter of factly. "She's a musician or something over at the opera house. Goes by the name Bernadette. Twenty two years old. We think she was on her way home from the Opera House."

The detective glanced back out onto the street, placing the location on the map he had of the city in had in his head. "Where does she live?"

"Long Island. Brentwood." The officer replied.

The detective thought about it for a second, "Train station is in the other direction."

The officer glanced at him, confused. "What?"

"I said, the train station is in the other direction." The detective shook his head, stepping further back into the alley way, to where the body still lay on top of refuse piles. Thankfully covered with a sheet, but the sheet couldn't hide the blood splashed onto the wall.

He frowned, "Where's the damn photographer? Get his ass over here so we can show this girl some damn respect!"

It was a bad enough that she had to die here, the least they could do was move her body before the rats got to it. The officer nodded and started barking orders.

Worse, he didn't need some rich family to show up and question their procedures too. The last thing he needed was something threatening his retirement.

The detective just shook his head as he looked up at the alley wall, the word 'Unclean' scrawled across it in blood.


With nothing else to occupy her mind, Serena threw herself into her morning work.

The crates from Thimphu would be arriving this afternoon, if everything went according to schedule. Which meant the exhibition hall still needed to be cleared, the contents sorted, packed, and shifted into the Museum's storage for safe keeping.

The Board of Caretakers would have a fit if the new displays weren't in place for the exhibition on Friday night. And all of the new deliveries needed to be checked in, examined, and mounted.

Even with the work to do, she still couldn't shake the discomfort in the pit of her stomach. She knew something bad was coming, but she just didn't want to confront it.

It was like being blindfolded and left on a train track. She could tell something was coming, but she couldn't tell when it would hit her. One moment it seemed like it was seconds away and the next it felt like it could still be hours.

She jumped every time a phone rang near her, each time fully expecting the call to be for her. To be Lisa bearing the dreadful news she felt was inevitable now.

It was just before lunch when a phone call finally did come in for her.

"Serena?" She felt her stomach twist into a ball after hearing the phone ring and then hearing the secretary calling out her name.

"Yes, coming." Serena replied, doing her best to act like nothing unusual was going on.

She took the phone from the secretary and held the receiver to her ear, "Serena Nushipalti, Antiquities."

"Serena!" the voice almost shouted in her ear, causing Serena to jump. "We need... We need to come into the city."

Serena blinked for a second, recognizing the voice of Lisa's mother again.

"Can you meet us at the train station?"

"Yes." Serena replied, a bit stunned. "Why are you coming into the city? Is something wrong?"

There was a long pause and for a second Serena thought the line had gone dead. "Hello? Miss Cook?"

"It's Lisa." The voice finally said. "The police called... We need to..."

Then the line finally went dead for real.

Serena looked at the phone for a long moment, then glanced at the secretary. "I need to go."

"But..." The secretary started to say, looking frazzled.

"Look, I just need to go. Tell Mr. Gibson that something came up. I'll be in early tomorrow to make sure everything is on schedule."

"But, but..." The secretary started to stammer, but Serena had already turned to leave.

She headed up the stairs as quickly as she could without running, almost barreling though a group of co-workers in the hallway.

"Serena?" One of the co-workers peeled off of the group and followed her. She didn't want anything to do with him at the moment, pretending to not hear him.

"Serena!" He shouted louder, speeding up to catch up to her.

She'd slipped into her office, intending to grab her coat and hat and be on her way, but he managed to reach her doorway before she'd escaped.

"Serena?" He asked again, like a chattering parakeet.

She glanced up at him, "I don't have the time right now, Donald."

He blinked at her, surprised by the brusqueness of her reply. "Is this about last night?"

She pushed past him, pulling the office door closed as she exited. "No."

He resisted the urge to reach out to her, clasping his hand on the doorframe instead. "What's wrong then? You look upset."

"Nothing." She lied. "A friend needs me, that's all."

He started to follow her again, "Do you want company?"

"No." She replied again, still walking.

"Well, too bad then. I'll just have to follow you." He stopped for a split second, jabbing his hand into his open office door and pulling out a rumpled grey suit jacket.

He was back in stride following her while he pulled the jacket on and attempted to fix his tie.

Serena stopped at the top of the stairs and closed her eyes, trying to collect her emotions. She didn't want to lash out at him, she wanted to lash out at something, but she knew he meant well.

"Look." She said, while still keeping her eyes closed. "It's something I just have to go do."

He shrugged as he came to a stop near her. It seemed like there wasn't going to be a way to stop him without hurting his feelings. Serena just sighed heavily and decided to just suffer through it.


There was only one train in and out of Long Island every hour, so it wasn't hard to figure out which train to wait for. Unfortunately what was impossible was to figure out what time they'd arrive.

Serena waited at the front the platform as the 12:37 pulled in. She tried to remain in plain sight, even though there were few passengers disembarking. Here eyes scanned the faces of each of them quickly, but none of them were Lisa's parents.

At 12:45 the train started to pull out again, freshly filled with passengers heading out of the city. And Serena felt annoying frustration; the inactivity was chewing away at her mind. She wanted to do something, anything.

"They'll probably be in on the next one." Donald commented now, trying to sound reassuring. He still wasn't sure what this was all about, just that they were waiting for friends of hers.

Serena glanced at him and frowned, she had almost managed to forget he was there.

"I know." She bit out at him, causing him to throw up his hands in mock-protection.

"Why don't you let me buy you something to eat? We have an hour to kill. You can't just stand here the whole time."

She continued to frown at him, why couldn't she stand there? She was more than capable. "I'm not hungry."

"Then let me buy you something to drink." He pressed on still. She felt like he was taking a cheese grater to her nerves now.

"I'm fine."

"Well, I'm not." His frustration was starting to show through. He stalked away a few steps, turned around to look at her. "You can stand here and be miserable for an hour if you want."

He headed up the ramp, off of the platform. Serena frowned as she watched him leave, then shook her head and followed. She wasn't happy with it, but he was right, there was no point in just standing here.

Maybe he'd do something else stupid and it would give her the chance to really lay into him.

She made it up to the waiting area in time to see him walking into the Automat. She followed him in and saw him taking off his jacket and putting it over the back of a chair. As he walked away from the table, she sat down in one of the free chairs and waited.

She only had to wait a few minutes before he came back carrying blue tray laden with food.

"I know you'll probably scream at me for it," He said as he put the tray on the table and sat down. "But I brought you some coffee."

"Thank you." Serena replied, but made no movement to collect the coffee from the tray. He didn't push her take it, he just lifted a sandwich off the tray and placed the plate in front of him. "So you going to tell me what's going on?"

Serena didn't say a word, she just sat, staring at the food.

"I guess not." He answered his own question before taking a bite out of the sandwich and putting the rest back on the plate. "You could humor me, you know. Make me feel like you appreciate my coming along. I know you didn't ask me to, hell, you probably didn't even want me to."

Serena glanced up at him now, holding back the words she wanted to say.

"But everyone knows I'm not the most stellar employee back there. I'll probably end up getting fired for disappearing for the afternoon." He gave a slight shrug like the job didn't matter that much to him. "So this will probably be the last lunch we share. You won't have to suffer through another meal with me."

Serena's expression softened slightly into a smile, that prospect did sound better.

"Oh, you wound me." He replied with mock anguish, then took another bite out of the sandwich.

Serena took a deep breath and decided she might as well him what she knew. It wasn't much anyway.

"The parents of a friend of mine are coming into the city. They asked me to meet them." She stated fairly plainly. "They said the police called them and asked them to come in."

"Oh." He replied, looking thoughtful for a minute. "That doesn't sound good. Who's the friend? Anyone I know?"

She shook her head no.

"This friend have a name?" He asked.

She thought about it for a second then didn't see any reason not to tell him. Or any excuse she could offer. "Lisa."

"Lisa. Lisa." He repeated the name out loud, like he was trying to associate it with someone. She thought he even looked relieved. "Never heard you mention a Lisa before. And she must be a good friend if her parents are going to call you."

Serena nodded with a shrug. She mumbled something under her breath, almost making him spit out his mouthful of sandwich.

"Uh. What did you just say?" He asked, looking at her incredulously.

"I said she's my lover." Serena repeated, setting her jaw and staring at him. Her eyes daring him to say something negative about it.

"That's what I thought you said." He took another bite of his sandwich, finishing it. "Don't get mad at me, I'm okay with it. Just wish you would have told me sooner."

Serena turned in her seat, facing the waiting area, just watching the people going back and forth.

Donald just watched her for a moment, before taking a plate of green gelatin from the tray.

"Want to share?" He shook the plate slightly, making the green mass shake and quiver.

She didn't even bother to look, just shook her head.


He felt the dull gnawing in his belly. It had returned already, much quicker than he had expected. He thought he had been close with the one last night. He could taste something different about her. He thought she would be the one to finally make all the voices go away.

Now it was obvious that that wasn't to be. She had sated him a little longer than others had. But in the end, it was all the same. The voices would be back soon enough. They'd dictate what was to come.

For the moment he could enjoy the peacefulness he had now. It might just be a temporary calm before the return of the storm, but it was all he had. He took comfort in the fact that he already had his next prey in mind, so there wouldn't be a long painful labor. The voices wouldn't grow loud enough this time to threaten his sanity.

He licked his lips as he thought about last night's prey. Her blood was so much sweeter when the terror gripped her. Like she was no more than a bottle of fine wine, he could define the moments when the taste changed.

The initial flavor never really did the true qualities justice. Before the prey realized what was happening, that's when the blood was thin and bitter. Like water from an over ripe tomato, bursting free when the skin was breeched. Still, even then there were hints of what was to come, hidden in the depths of the flavors.

The second flavor bloomed when the terror started setting in. The sweetness began to show. The initial horror of what confronted the prey. That brought out the first true flavors of their depths. It was like nectar, sweet and pungent. Sticky goo that clung to his tongue and throat.

It was when the third flavor presented itself that he felt was the true essence of the prey. That brief moment when the initial terror passed and the prey grasped what it was that confronted them. Those few scant moments when they thought there was still a possibility of escape.

Yes, that was when the blood became the sweetest. It would be tinged with fire, spiced with resolve. Just remembering the sensation of it made his mouth water. This was the moment when all of the prey's unfulfilled potential came to him in one heady, succulent drink.

Then inevitably, the last taste would come. When the prey's hope would fade and their spirit give way. The blood always turned pale, a mere flicker of taste of what it had been. It would finally go acidic and rancid, like an opened bottle of wine after a few days.

It was when that taste touched his tongue that everything changes. It would cloud his mind, turn his rage inside out.

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