23:00 ~ The Show

    The Theatre was evil looking. It grinned with satisfaction at Detective Gast. Another night, another horror, another sight that would haunt The Detective till the day he died. He looked at the sky, as if taking a breath, before he plunged into the murk of the dark building.

    ‘Alright boys, now what exactly am I walking into…?’

    He halted as it caught his eye. The Angel.
    It was untouched. No one had dared tamper with it, not even forensics. A heavenly gargoyle, suspended from ropes on the stage. Illuminated by the dry light from the hot spotlights. Barefoot. A huge red blood stripe down the front of his brilliant gown, where the neck had been slashed. Two more on his back, where the shoulders had apparently been gouged out.
    The Detective almost applauded, but managed to stop himself before he did. He wondered why.
    The head was leaning forward, with its face white. His cheeks were like salt, and the entire corps was skeleton dry. It was wearing smudged lipstick.
    Behind the rubber skin, there was a peaceful look to him, he was now wherever he belonged.

    The Detective retreated to the seats calmly - taking paced steps as he went, just as a detective ought to. His wet rain coat flopped about him. Breathing. Thinking. Composing, composing the scene. Recreating the atmosphere.
    An admirer? A distasteful tribute to a fallen star.
    A phantom?
    A lover? Sexual gratitude. A pedestal.
    A jealous peer?
    The image was clear. The motive was not.
    A blacked up figure, sneaking and watching. Like a pervert, he peeped. The feast of an actor had been there all the time. The unclear figure had seen the transformation. Watched the performance - before and after. Possibly even complemented him first to gain trust. They had exchanged first. A kiss - the lipstick. Then the black figure covered the white.
    The two had struggled, wrestled, but The Angel had been overcome. The body would have had to have been completely limp in order to be manipulated in such a way. Knocked right the f**k out. That was why the blood had run down so neatly.
    After the victory, the figure sat back down. In the very seat that the detective was now sitting. From here was the best view of the stage in the entire room. Both the figure in his mind and The Detective got up.
    After a few minutes, the figure left - but not out of the front door. He hadn’t come in that way either. It was too clumsy. He had slipped out some other way, like a worm. The Detective felt like he was being drawn upward, toward the galleries.

    The Traveller had been contacted. Jack had cried out for help. He was breaching the agreement by doing this. “NO CONTACT! We each work alone tonight.” The Traveller should have ignored the request, but was obliged to go. All things considered, The Traveller did owe Jack. Jack had answered The Traveller's cry - Jamie needed to be... taken care of.
    It was Jack who had taken care of the babysitter, which should have been The Traveller’s kill for the night. Yes, it was convenient for him to do so, being in the hospital at the time anyway, but The Traveller still felt awful.
    The kids were stowed safely for later. Now a debt had to be repaid.

    ‘Mike.’
    ‘Huh?’
    ‘His name was Mike. It says so on his dressing room.’
    The Detective awoke from the trance he had been in for ten minutes - coming close to answers, but letting them slip, almost intentionally. He was afraid of what in his imagination could become real tonight.
    ‘I thought it might help you, sir,’ the timid officer carried on.
    ‘Thanks. It will.’ (It wouldn’t).
    ‘Can I help you with anything else Detective?’
    ‘No. I’m fine. Just leave me to my thoughts till I can get a grip on myself.’
    Gast slunk back in the rouge seat. The Angel hadn’t changed. It was the most constant thing in the world and would remain so forever. Stencilled into The Detective’s head.
    ‘Why would anyone do this to him?’ He thought. ‘Who on Earth could destroy such a perfect constant thing, in such an equally scarring way?’
    
    A chill came through the rows.

    ‘Did someone open a door in here?’ The Detective called.
    A man on the stage shook his head in response.
    Gast had felt it. A sudden change in air.
    
    Again he was drawn to the ceiling. He looked up. There it was.

    A black figure.