Angel's Dance

by Heidi Angell

  Tossing herself onto the bed, she buried her head in the pillow as the sobs racked her body. The salty tears ran into her mouth and burned her nose, but nothing hurt as much as her soul knowing that this one man despised her so very much. How could she have ever thought that he could understand? How could she have ever imagined a future between them? She was certain her heart would burst from the agony and humiliation!

  Clear awoke sometime in the wee hours of the morning and groaned. She hated crying like that. It always made her feel worse after. Her eyes were swollen and puffy and burned. Her throat was raw and her head was pounding. She sat up slowly taking deep breaths to soothe the pain. In the early hours of the morning the world was very quiet. Crossing her legs, Clear began to meditate, wiping her soul of all the anger and pain. She slowly released the tension from her neck and shoulders, down her spine and pushed the negative energy out through her arms and legs. Taking deeper and deeper breaths, she cleansed her heart and mind.

  After about twenty minutes she vowed that she would not get so personally involved with Grant. She knew that he must be in immense personal conflict right now and she should not take any of his feelings personally. Shoring up her mental walls between him, she hoped that this would not prevent her from learning more about his daughter. She had not realized how many issues this man had, nor how deeply they were buried. After the routine, she got up and dressed quietly. With Detective Bryce gone and not likely to re-join them today, she opted for a more casual set of clothing. Slipping on a pair of khaki pants and a light green polo, she then slipped into her tennis shoes. She suspected they may be doing a bit of walking today.

  Grabbing her makeup kit, she slipped into the bathroom and closed the door before flipping on the light. She pulled everything out of the bag and sighed. Before Ann had gotten her hands on her, Clear rarely had worn makeup in the past. It was an unnecessary venture, but it made her look older and more grown up, so she went about putting on the makeup. When she was done, she brushed her hair out and opted for a braided bun, deciding it would look more professional than her simple pony tail.

  Once she was done, she took a critical look at herself in the mirror and decided that she did indeed look more grown up and could pass as a profiler. She put everything back in her bag and slipped quietly out the door. Glancing up, she saw that Grant was awake on the couch. She nodded to him curtly and then tried to smile politely. “I’m ready to go when you are.”

  Grant grimaced and awkwardly announced, “Give me ten minutes. I need a shower.”

  “I’ll be waiting downstairs then.” She scooped up the hotel notepad and a pen as she went.

  Chapter Ten

  The lobby was still quiet, except for the man at the concierge desk. He offered a cheerful good morning and Clear smiled back, feeling that he truly meant it. She settled down in the lobby and began writing down some of the points that seemed relevant from what she had gathered at the young woman’s house yesterday. The change in name was still plaguing her. It didn’t make sense, so she put question marks around it all. Maybe there would be something in the journals.

  She felt Grant staring at her from the elevators and glanced up. He had that brooding look again. She sighed and once again attempted to shore up her mental walls between them. Gathering her things, she turned and was surprised how quickly he had crossed the lobby.

  “It’s a bit early, why don’t we grab some breakfast,” he offered, looking out the lobby window. Clear glanced up and saw that the sun was just beginning to rise.

  “Breakfast sounds good,” she replied.

  Grant led the way to a little diner up the street and tried to remain professional. He knew that somehow he had made her cry last night. He was also pretty sure he was causing most of her migraines. He hated hurting her, but didn’t know how he was. Part of him thought this was deeply ironic, since she didn’t seem to care that he was hurting. As soon as the thought presented itself, he banished it before it could crack his calm and cool composure.

  He filled his mind with the facts that he knew of the case and tried to make connections between this girl and his daughter. ‘Focus on what is important, what you can change.’

  They sat down at a two-top and Grant ordered a black coffee. Clear ordered a Chai tea and a muffin. After the waitress walked away, Clear tossed a notepad at Grant and he looked over her notes.

  “What you got from yesterday?” he asked, recognizing some of the things she had already mentioned. She nodded sharply and stared out the window. Grant scanned the list feeling totally helpless. None of this was his daughter, except for the dancing. That was the only thing they seemed to have in common.

  “That you know of,” Clear stated nonchalantly. He stared up at her, knowing he had not said it out loud. ‘She really could read my mind. Crap!’

  She turned to him and her brow furrowed. “Why are you staring at me like that?” she said peevishly.

  He couldn’t help it, he had to see. Mentally he thought, ‘Can you hear me?’

  She arched her brow at him. “Grant? Staring? What’s up?”

  He chuckled to himself. She wasn’t reading his mind, she just thought the same thing he had, that was all. “You are wearing makeup,” he noted, hoping to distract her. She blushed to her roots.

  “Ann says it looks more professional.”

  She looked better without it, in his opinion, but it wasn’t a bad look. “It’s… nice,” he murmured politely.

  She rolled her eyes and picked at her muffin. “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “Hmm… what happened to good old eggs and bacon for breakfast?” he grumbled as he looked at the menu. This was clearly a health food diner. His luck. “Nah… I’ll wait.”

  “You should run that list of qualities by your wife. People change. People are different with those they see every day than they are with people they only talk to occasionally.”

  Grant forced the anger down, knowing she was right. It hurt to hear that he probably didn’t really know his daughter anymore, but he knew the resentment wasn’t at what Clear had said, but at his own guilt. “Yeah, I’ll do that.” He stood up and headed out the door, leaving Clear at the table looking a little astonished.

  Clear picked at her muffin, groaning about Grant’s immediate exit. At least she wasn’t as painfully aware of his emotions. The scowl on his face was about the only hint she got to how he felt. The mental walls she built up were helping. It still hurt, but that was her own emotional reaction.

  She sighed as she picked at her muffin. This was not what was important. Her feelings, Grant’s feelings; they didn’t mean anything, really. What mattered was finding Kat. And Clear didn’t know how she knew; but Bella, or Donna, or whatever her name was, was the only way they would get any clues. She took several cleansing breaths. The dance studio had to have some clues.

  His daughter had been missing almost a week and that was never a good sign. But as far as Clear could tell, Donna had been missing for months, but was still alive until a week or so ago. She hoped Kat could survive that well, then they might have a chance of getting her back. She was certain that the same person had taken them both. If she could figure that out, then they could find Kat. And Kat was the only thing that was really important.

  Clear looked down and found that she had completely shredded her muffin to inedible bits. Sighing again, she scooped all the crumbs up with a napkin and dutifully placed them in a trash container with a cutesy slogan “Trash Your Trash” placed above it. Shaking her chai cup and realizing it was empty, she tossed it in as well. So much for breakfast.

  Clear looked up at the ballerina on the sign in front of Lando’s Dance Studio. Donna’s print was all over this place, even more than in her own home. Clear nodded to Grant as he opened the door. The cool air billowed out over them as they entered. The lobby was artfully done in mauves and beiges and recessed lighting provided focused spotlights for photos of several of the dancers. As Grant went up to the front reception desk, Clear
took a moment to look the photos over. Several were of dance recitals, with several little ballerinas all too far to be clearly seen, but there were also several close shots of other dancers. She wondered if these were the instructors. Several of them appeared to be older. There were three headshots that were also in larger frames with plaques below them. Arthur Lando, Leslie Lando, and a young man, Louis Lando. Louis seemed somehow familiar and Clear searched through what she remembered from Donna’s memories. It was there, tickling her senses, ready to come through when Grant interrupted her.

  “Her dance instructor is in and is in-between classes. Rather convenient, huh?” He ushered her away. Clear swatted away the frustration and went with him. She could always ask the instructor.

  The girl at the desk had apparently paged the instructor and a petite woman in a leotard came out. She looked at Grant and Clear thoughtfully then offered a delicate hand. “I am Ivanna Chofsky.” She said in a thick accent. Clear took her hand and it felt like a cold dead fish. Hmm… this woman did not want to talk to them.

  “Detective Grant Anderson and this is Clear Angel. She is a profiler who is helping us look into the disappearance of Donna Johnson.”

  Clear watched a cold mask of indifference glide over the woman’s face, but she felt the rage and disgust slip through.

  “I thought it was determined that she had run away, yah?”

  Clear jumped in before Grant could respond. “We still look for runaways if they are minors, Ms. Chofsky.” She smiled at the woman and continued. “Especially if the circumstances are… shall we say, unusual?”

  The woman’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. Then she shrugged. “I don’t know what help I can offer. She was only my student for a few months before it happened.” She led them into the back studios.

  The stench of sweat was overwhelming for Clear. This was more than just the normal smell that others would associate with a gym or dance hall. This was passion, pain, sweat and tears. There was vengeance and rivalry here that ran deep and the stench of it was in every board and mirror in this room.

  “Is this the studio you practiced in?” she asked, not really feeling Donna’s presence in this room.

  Ms. Chofsky arched an eyebrow. “No. Why would that matter?”

  “It helps for us to see the world Donna lived in, helps us get to know her,” Grant answered. The woman rolled her eyes.

  “Well, there is a class in there right now, but one room is the same as the other, da?”

  Clear suppressed the agitation the other woman had and continued. “Is that why you don’t use this room?” Clear asked innocently enough. The shock on the woman’s face was profound.

  “How.. I.. Well.. Hmm…” She took a moment to gather herself and then began again. “This room is primarily used for auditions only. It is the room most often vacant. No one uses it, except the Landos.” There was a tone in the way she said the name, part reverence part… spite? Clear couldn’t quite pin it down.

  “You said that Donna had only been your student for a few months, but her mother said she had been coming here for years,” Grant asked.

  “Oh da, sure. She has been coming to this studio for years… but… we all teach different levels of talent. Once the student has surpassed the teacher… well, they move on, dah?”

  “So Donna was a better dancer than you?” Grant probed. Clear nearly gasped at the malevolence that came off the woman when he asked.

  Her face curled back in a sneer. “That girl was not a better dancer than me! She only thought she was,” she scoffed. “She moved forward because there was nothing more that she could learn from me, not because I didn’t have more to teach.” She swatted the air as if waving the malice away. “She was not my favorite pupil and she got far more attention than she deserved. People were always putting ideas in her head. She did not like that I told her the truth about the dancing world. So she asked to audition early to move up. Lando granted it…. Because he liked her.” Ivana’s mouth tightened and she suddenly looked much older and mean. “But she was not a better dancer than me. No.”

  “If you were no longer her instructor, then why didn’t we meet with her instructor?” Grant asked.

  Ivana shrugged, but there was a tension in her that had not been there before. Her eyes wandered the room a bit. “She had taken the requisite exam to advance, but then she auditioned for the recital going to Chicago and that took up all her time. She did not have time for a class on top of school, the recital and the personal instruction needed to get her ready for the recital.”

  “Personal instruction?” Grant pried, “With whom?”

  Ivana waved it off again. “With the director, Mr. Lando. They should not have cast her for the Chicago recital. She was not ready, but Mr. Lando believed in her and said he could make her ready in time.” She shrugged.

  “But you didn’t agree?” Grant snaked a look at Clear.

  “Da, well, I don’t own the place, so it doesn’t really matter what I think, no?”

  “Could we see the room that she was practicing in for the recital?” Clear asked casually. Ms. Chofsky eyed her hesitatingly. “I suppose.” She pointed them towards a rear door and then moved gracefully before them. “It is a small recital room in the back.” They entered a small, dark corridor that led to the rear of a large stage. She pulled a set of keys from her waist and then unlocked the door to the back of the stage area. They moved down another dark corridor.

  Clear began to feel queasy. “What is this area?” She asked, rubbing her arms to keep the cold, icky, feeling at bay.

  Ms. Chofsky looked at her funny and shrugged. “It is where we store the costumes for upcoming performances.”

  Clear tried to subtly run her fingers along the costumes, hoping to pick something up from the contact, but Ms. Chofsky was moving too quickly. All Clear was getting was anxiety, stress and the smell of sweat.

  “Are these from the Chicago performance?” she asked casually.

  “No… those are stored down below now that the show is over.”

  After clearing the corridor, they went through another door into a much smaller dance studio. Ms. Chofsky flipped the light switch. Only one wall had a mirror and bars. There was a small electric keyboard and sound system in the corner and not a single window. Clear began feeling very claustrophobic. It was a strange sensation for her since she did not suffer from claustrophobia. Someone who had used this room sure did, though. It was a pervasive feeling that Clear was having trouble shaking.

  Grant knew there was something wrong with Clear and he suspected she wanted to stay longer, probably to sort out all of the stuff she was picking up, so when Ms. Chofsky went to turn the lights off, he began asking questions.

  “This is a really small room. How many dancers would typically practice in here at a time?”

  “No more than three or four. Often only one. That is why it is a private room.” She rolled her eyes at the question.

  “And did Donna use it by herself?”

  “Mmm… probably not.” Ms. Chofsky murmured quickly. “I don’t really know though as I wasn’t in here with her.”

  “Who would have been in here with her?” He didn’t really know where he was going with the questioning, but it obviously made her uncomfortable so he kept firing.

  “As I said, I don’t really know. I was not a part of the show. She would probably have been in here with her dance partner… any small group dance partners… and.. well of course, Mr. Lando.”

  “Do you know the names of any of the people she was dancing with?” Clear asked suddenly off to the side. She was kneeling on the ground, looking at a spot. “Anyone she might have fought with?”

  There was a haunted look in the woman’s eye as she responded, “How could you… how could I know?” she muttered, staring hard at Clear. “What are you doing?”

  Clear waved Grant over and he looked down. “Well now, who would use bleach on a fine hard wood floor like this? And what could possibly be worth getting out so much
that it was worth ruining the floor?” He looked at the woman, but Clear answered.

  “Blood.”

  “And that is a lot of blood, judging from the bleach stain,” Grant muttered, looking at Ms. Chofsky. The woman had gone white as a sheet. He was on to something here and she knew about it. “Now, ballet doesn’t seem like much of a contact sport to me. Any theories ma’am?” He looked at her pointedly.

  “I… people get injured… sometimes…” She looked away from the bleach stains and straight into Grant’s face, pulling herself together. “As I said, I don’t really use this studio. You would have to speak with Mr. Lando about what might have happened here.” She turned on her heel quickly and exited the room. Grant looked to Clear and she gave one short tight nod, before rising and following the woman out. What had Clear seen with her gift? Was it enough to move this case along? He needed to find his daughter, and the intense need briefly overwhelmed him. Taking a deep breath, he forced the pain back down. He couldn’t focus if he gave in to the overwhelming fear and despair. Squaring his shoulders, Grant quickly followed the women back out to the lobby.

  Clear hated being confined to the lobby. There was so much more to see and sense here, and she knew it. The blood in that dance room had been Belladonna’s. She had sensed it. But she didn’t know how it had happened. There was no visual attached to Bella’s memory, just the immense pain associated with it.