The Night the Music Nearly Died
Morgan Family Apartment
It was an unassuming evening at Neutral Grounds Café, the kind of night where the world outside feels distant and muted. Scarlet and Joseph sat across from each other, nursing their drinks – a black coffee and a herbal tea, respectively – engaged in casual conversation that drifted from recent City happenings to personal anecdotes. The ambient jazz playing over the café's speakers provided a fitting backdrop to their relaxed demeanour.
Then Scarlet's phone rang, shattering the comfortable atmosphere. Barbara Morgan's voice came through in broken, desperate sobs – something terrible had happened to her father.
They abandoned their drinks without hesitation. The Morgan apartment was only a few blocks away, but each step of their rushed walk felt like an eternity. Rain had just begun to fall, dotting the sidewalk with dark circles that multiplied as they hurried through the neighbourhood. Joseph called emergency services as they moved, his voice maintaining a forced calm that belied the urgency in thier steps.
By the time they reached the third-floor apartment, the scene was chaotic – water pooled across the bathroom floor, reflecting the harsh overhead light, and William Morgan lay pale and still beside the bathtub. Barbara clutched her father's lifeless body, mascara running down her cheeks and water soaking into her clothes as she rocked back and forth, unwilling to let him go.
Joseph gently separated them, laying William on the bathroom floor. With practiced movements that betrayed years of experience, he began chest compressions while Scarlet comforted the distraught Barbara. Against overwhelming odds, William's pulse returned – faint but present. He remained unconscious, but alive.
The EMTs arrived shortly after, efficiently loading William onto a stretcher. Barbara, still in shock but slightly calmer thanks to Joseph's reassuring presence, decided to accompany her father to the hospital.
Left alone in the apartment, Scarlet noticed movement on the bathroom sink. There sat Pierre – a rotund rat with sleek grey fur, casually enjoying some leftovers. When he spoke, his voice carried an unexpected French accent that seemed both absurd and perfectly fitting.
"Oui, I was 'ere," Pierre explained with surprising eloquence in words only Scarlet could hear. "I 'eard some humans talking, then music from a saxophone – not the good jazz, non – and then the man, he filled the tub and..." Pierre made a dramatic diving motion with his paw, "...he just put himself in the water, face down. Like he was listening to someone else, not himself."
Their search of the apartment revealed a story of mounting pressure – overdue bills, a notice from the health department about the rat infestation plaguing the building, and most tellingly, a smug letter from Francis Martin, owner of the rival Burning Heart Club, referencing some "deal" with William.
"The Midnight Smoke downstairs has seen better days," Joseph observed, peering out the window at the street below, as if expecting to see something. "Word is the Italian mob's been making moves in this area. Looks like they roughed up the place when William couldn't – or wouldn't – pay."
Mrs. Hanly, a neighbour with keen ears despite her advanced years, knocked timidly at the door. "I heard the commotion. Is William alright?" Her worried eyes darted past them into the apartment. "There was some strange saxophone music earlier. Not William's usual beautiful playing – this was that harsh, modern stuff. Wrong somehow, almost hypnotic."
The Burning Heart
With the Morgans at the hospital and night settling deeper over the City, Scarlet and Joseph made their way to the Burning Heart Club – a gaudy establishment that stood as everything the humble Midnight Smoke wasn't. A broad-shouldered male bouncer blocked their entry, his eyes narrowing particularly at Joseph's attire, which clearly marked him as not part of the club's typical clientele.
Scarlet's solution was elegant in its simplicity – a few soft words laced with a hypnotic suggestion. Then, a short time later, two women near the entrance suddenly found themselves in an escalating argument that quickly devolved into flying handbags and pulled hair, creating the perfect distraction.
Inside, the contrast with the Midnight Smoke couldn't have been more stark. Where William's club celebrated the intimacy of jazz, the Burning Heart Club was all flash and superficiality. In the back, Francis Martin lounged in a red velvet booth, a woman on either arm, laughing too loudly while champagne flowed freely. Nearby stood Abigail – a stoic mountain of a woman whose watchful eyes scanned the crowd as she provided a human shield between Francis and any potential trouble.
As Scarlet and Joseph observed unseen from the shadows, the question hung between them unspoken: Was Francis Martin simply enjoying another successful night, or was he celebrating the convenient "suicide" of a business rival? And what role did the mysterious saxophone player have in William Morgan's near-death?
The night was still young, and beneath the City's neon-washed surface, darker truths awaited discovery.