Nightingale’s song

Illuminated silver, the rain spat and flickered like liquid fire as it pounded the dark cobbles with unrelenting force. Mixing with the surge of water, the melancholic lament of jazz music filtered through the darkness. Haunting the back alley with its intransient solitude, an ironic pathetic fallacy of the moment.

Beneath the shelter of an overhanging roof, Detective John Lazarus lit a cigarette, the flame briefly illuminating his worn face. He puffed circles into the sodden air as he contemplated the scene before him. The suited body of a man, unmoving. suspended mid-air, as if gravity had deserted him during a fall. There were no signs of any attachments. No strings. No rope. Nothing.

“Interesting” Lazarus asserted, turning to the figure behind him. Dr. Elizabeth Loftus, more specter than woman, adjusted her thick-rimmed spectacles, peering at the scene with an obsessive curiosity, “It’s an absurdity, Lazarus. A defiance of the physical laws as we understand them.”

The detective took a final drag of his cigarette, the smoke twisting into the air like pixelated dust, before stamping it slowly into the ground “Or a mockery of them,” he countered.

The voice of Mela Nightingale drifted through, swirling and twisting around the hovering man, before dissipating and settling into the dank walls of the alley, fossilized in time. Instinct told Lazarus that the song may be more helpful with investigations than Loftus’ science or any logic they might have accumulated over the years.

As the rain dispersed into a whimpering drizzle, he stepped closer to the body, his dark eyes tracing the curves of the seemingly impossible. There were no signs of injury, no bullet holes. No blood. He was confounded. A marionette hung with invisible threads. Dr Loftus shuffled behind him. “Remarkable” She whispered, peering into the blank eyes of the body.

Scratching his head as if the friction might force his frontal lobe awaken, Lazarus circled the body, his black trench coat sweeping over the wet cobblestones. “No signs of struggle, no visible wounds,” he noted to the air. “It’s as if he was plucked from life and just paused. How?”

Her gaze never leaving the levitating corpse, Dr. Loftus spoke gently as realization dawned, “Perhaps we’re approaching this in a somewhat dissonant manner, Lazarus. Perhaps, rather than contemplating the interrogative, ’How?’ We should fixate more on the, ’Why?’

“Why…” he repeated as if encountering the word for the first time. He paused, his gaze shifting from the body to the pink neon signage of the, ‘Blushing Nightingale’ further down the alley, “Why indeed…And we begin,” His voice a steel blade slashing through the uncertainty of the night, “with Mela Nightingale. This city. That song. it’s a clue.”

Lazarus’s eyes still fixed on the gaudy flickering sign, “Let’s pay a visit to ‘the Blushing Nightingale’,” he announced decisively. He took a step backwards, his eyes realigning with the suspended body. “But first, let’s make sure our friend here is taken care of. We can’t have him hanging around all night.” He chuckled gruffly to himself.

Dr Loftus rolled her eyes. But chose to ignore the quip, “Yes, you make a valid point Lazarus. The physics of this is quite phenomenal and I dare say it will confound me for the rest of my existence.”

As they reached the exit, Lazarus gestured to the officer on beat, who had been keeping watch at the mouth of the alley. “Get the lads in forensics down here now. And be careful with him, we need to preserve all evidence we can get”

The officer nodded, “Sure thing, Detective. But, uh, how are we supposed to um. You know get him down?”

Lazarus shrugged. “Do I look like a bloody squint? That’s their damned job. I have other things to concern myself with”

Stepping out of the alley, Lazarus and Loftus entered the main street. The city, a conclave of prismatic glass and corrugated steel, was oblivious. Cars sped through the roads in a streak of red and gold light, heading home or away in a directionless frenzy. Horns beeped. The street drones flickered into existence as they passed, casting light amongst the shadows. The front entrance to the Blushing Nightingale was just a short walk away.

As they approached the club, the fragmented tears of jazz intensified, the sultry chords of a saxophone spilled waywardly into the street. The club’s bouncer tensed as they approached. Confident in his own mission, Lazarus stepped forward, flashing his badge. “Detective John Lazarus and Dr. Elizabeth Loftus. We need a word with Mela Nightingale, if you don’t mind.”

The bouncer eyed them for a moment, he minded but nodded, stepping aside. “She’s on stage,” he rasped, gesturing to the back of the dimly lit room.

Inside, the air was asphyxiated by cigar smoke and sickly saccharine perfume. Patrons were silhouetted against the steady hum of their table tea lights. Most were leaning in to each other; seduced by wine and song.

On the stage, under a lone pink spotlight, stood Mela Nightingale. Her arms raised into the air in mid crescendo. Her deep doleful eyes spoke of the sorrow of the city. Her voice carried through the fog of the room; holding the heart of man within it.

Lazarus felt a familiarity that he couldn’t quite place. Had he heard it before?

As the song ended, the crowd applauded, gently at first, as if being released from a spell, before collectively heightening their enthusiasm. Lazarus made his way through the tables towards the stage, Loftus following closely behind.

Nightingale sashayed down the steps, the white sequins of her dress flickering into iridescence as she moved. Her eyes rested on Lazarus.

“Detective Lazarus, I presume?” she said, her voice harmonious even in speech. “I’ve heard rather a lot about you. What brings you to my neck of the woods?”

“We need to talk about the man in the alley,” Lazarus responded, succinctly. “The one, how shall I put this? The one, defying gravity.”

Nightingale’s expression remained unchanged. She stared at him unflinchingly, “Ah, the city’s latest mystery. One of many. And you think I have something to do with it?”

“Not necessarily. But the timing of your song, the name of this club, it’s all a little too coincidental. And in my line of work there no such thing as coincidence”

She smiled knowingly, “Ah, but detective, coincidences are the only way for the universe to remain anonymous. But, please, let’s talk. I have nothing to hide. Perhaps though, I can provide some… enlightenment. But first, I’ll need a drink” She winked at the bar man who promptly set about fixing her a Martell on the rocks.

She gestured to a secluded booth. Lazarus and Loftus followed silently.

Nightingale sipped her brandy delicately, “So, Detective, you think my song has something to do with your little mystery?

Lazarus leaned back in the booth, placing his hands above his head confidently, his eyes never leaving hers. “I’ll tell you what I know Ms Nightingale. That song. The timing. The mysterious body dangling at the back of your club. That tells me that this whole scenario was orchestrated. And it would seem that somehow, you are at the centre of it”

Dr. Loftus nodded.

Nightingale’s gaze drifted to the stage, “What can I say Detective? I just have the kind of voice that brings the room to a standstill. Leaves people in animated suspension, you could say” She laughed, a delicate tinkle laced with a more ominous undertone, “Detective” She stared at him intently, “In all seriousness, I am nothing more than a conduit. This city breathes through its people, my songs, well, they are just an echo of that. Nothing more.”

Lazarus shifted position. “Echoes that somehow end up with a man flouting the laws of gravity in a back alley?”

Nightingale’s smiled softly, “Perhaps”

The conversation was interrupted by the crash of the club door swinging open, a dishevelled figure stumbled in shouting incoherently. Lazarus stood up swiftly, his hand instinctively reaching for his badge. “Stay here!” As he approached the frantic man, he could feel the eyes of the patrons following him. “What’s your name, sir? And what do you mean by ‘the man from the alley’?”

The man, glanced around, confused by his surroundings, “I saw him… the one in the alley. He… he was talking to her,” he stammered, his gaze settling on Nightingale who had moved behind Lazarus with Doctor Loftus. “Right before it happened.”

The club erupted as insinuation settled. Lazarus turned to Nightingale. The singer was calm, an enigmatic smile resting on her rouged lips.

“Is this true?”

She sighed, her gaze drifting towards the exit, “People here, Detective, they come and go. This place, it attracts all sorts. But an argument? That’s not my style.”

Lazarus turned to Dr. Loftus, “Get a description out, see if anyone else saw this man.” Turning back to Mela Nightingale, “And you, stick around. We may have more questions.”

Dr. Loftus moved to speak with the officers outside, Lazarus lingered, watching Nightingale. He knew she had something to do with it. But what?

The singer spoke, snapping his train of thought in two, “Detective, sometimes the city, it tells me things. I just sing what I am told.”

Lazarus stared at her, trying to decide if she was deranged or honest. Something in the back of her opaque eyes told him it was the latter. He nodded, “Good night Ms Nightingale”

He stepped outside, the cool night air intensified by the petrichor of subdued rain. The skyscrapers shifted melodiously, like a slide show –one filtering into the next. Following time. The drones lit his path, ensuring safe passage to wherever he was headed. He did not know. His mind infiltrated with memory and sub memories and her words. He had heard them before, “I just sing what I am told,” ricocheted through his thoughts. He felt drunk. Was he drunk? He hadn’t drunk anything? The blurred lights of the intoxicating city nights blinded him into submission as he stumbled waywardly through the streets. In his pocket, his phone buzzed urgently. He felt the vibration before he registered the heightened sound, an unknown number, “H-hello. Detective Lazarus speaking”

“Detective Lazarus,” the voice was tentative, young, “you’re looking in the wrong places. The answer isn’t in the sky, it’s beneath your feet.”

Lazarus’s senses heightened, snapping him out of his stupor, “Who is this?” he demanded, but the line was already dead. He stared momentarily at the fading screen. Shaking off his unease, with a new sense of purpose Lazarus began to walk with determinedly. The neon lights of night sputtered above. In a city where he had always been taught to look up, he now had to recalibrate his mind.

As he walked, his mind raced. Images of the levitating man. Nightingale. The club. The voice on the end of the phone. They were all connected. But how?

He walked through the station, oblivious to the shoulder slaps and usual greetings of his men. Slumping into his desk, he pulled up the phone records. Tracing the call would be tricky, but not impossible. As the computer whirred, so too did his mind. Was Mela an orchestrator or a pawn?

The computer beeped, dragging him back to reality. The call had originated from an old, abandoned part of the city, as he had suspected there was no name connected to the number.

He grabbed his coat.

As he drove through the rain-slicked streets, the antagonistic neon lights blurred into a surreal rainbow stream, the buildings, sharp and angular, melded into each other.

The abandoned district loomed ahead. He pulled up near an old warehouse, its windows stared at him with an oblique detachment.

Lazarus moved cautiously through the silence.

He approached the warehouse, its door hanging on one hinge. Inside, the darkness swallowed the beam of his flashlight. The walls were covered in graffiti, the art of the voiceless’ it smelled of urine and ethanol. He couldn’t decide which was more overwhelming.

SCRUNCH.

He spun around, flashlight poised. “Who’s there?”

A figure stepped into his beam, a young woman, barely 18, Detective Lazarus?” she whispered,

“Yes,” he replied cautiously. “And who might you be?”

“I’m… I knew the man in the alley,” she stammered. “He… he told me if anything ever happened to him, that I should, that i should find you”

Lazarus was not quite ready to believe her, “What happened to him?”

She swallowed hard, her eyes darting around the space, as if looking for an escape or a hidden enemy. “He… he got himself involved in something. Something big. He said it was going to change everything, but he was scared. Said they were watching.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Lazarus pressed.

“I…I…I don’t know,” she admitted.

“And beneath my feet? What does that mean?”

“He told me to say it. That I should call you –he gave me your number. Said I should say it and hang up.”

“And who is he –this man?”

“He was a regular at the club-we would talk, when I was on break. And sometimes after shut down. I only knew him has Dave. But I guess that’s not his real name. I mean most of our patrons prefer to remain anonymous”

The woman held out a small, crumpled piece of paper. “He gave me this. Said it was important.”

Lazarus took it from her, carefully unfolding it to reveal a cryptic set of numbers and letters. His eyes narrowed.

“Stay here,” he instructed, his mind churning. “I need to make some calls.”

He stepped back into the ambiguity of night, his mind awash with potentials and possibilities, but nothing tangible.

“Loftus, it’s Lazarus. I’ve got something. Meet me at the station.”

The scientist and the detective pored over the scrap of paper. Loftus scribbling and crossing out various symbols and letters in her own notebook. The etching of her pen scraped the air. Lazarus stared at the code, trying to decipher the meaning behind it.

Lazarus’s phone broke the silence. The forensics team. “Detective, the DNA from the levitating man… we found a match. “

“Great! Who the hell is he?” He snapped, tired and exasperated.

“Detective. Sir. It matches yours.”

“My what?”

“Your DNA sir. He matches your DNA”

“That’s absurd”

Lazarus stared at the phone as if it has just bitten him. His mind was completely blank.

Dr. Loftus, always the voice of scientific reason, looked equally stunned. “That’s… that’s highly improbable, Lazarus. There must be some mistake. Perhaps a familial relation, but an exact match? It’s unprecedented!”

Lazarus rubbed his temples, “There’s no mistake,” he murmured, “This case, it’s personal somehow. This ‘Dave,’ the clues, Nightingale the call… it’s all interconnected.”

He stood up, pacing back and forth, “Loftus, we need to figure out what the hell that code means”

Loftus nodded, “It could be coordinates, a cipher, a date, or even an alphanumeric code. We need to cross-reference it against different databases – maps, city records, criminal databases”

Lazarus leaned over her shoulder, watching as she methodically worked through possible interpretations. “Check it against everything. Any known criminal codes, map grids of the city, anything.”

Outside the darkness of night shifted into the red spill of morning, Lazarus, exhausted but determined, drank his third espresso. As the light drones retired, Loftus finally had a breakthrough, “Wait, look at this,” she said, pointing at the screen. “If we treat this as a cipher, using a rotational shift, it corresponds to a set of coordinates.”

Lazarus leaned in closer. “Coordinates to where?”

Loftus quickly entered them into the computer. The screen displayed a map of the city, zooming in on a location. “The Blushing Nightingale.”

Reaching for his coat, Lazarus motioned for Loftus to follow. “Let’s go. This time, we finding out the truth.”

The club, in the starkness of daylight, looked less foreboding, entirely ordinary, in fact. The gaudiness of neon, nothing more than impervious plastic tubing. They bypassed the now-unmanned bouncer’s post and entered, which was closed but not deserted. A cleaning crew were working diligently, barely registering their presence.

They made their way directly to the back of the room, examining the area. Lazarus’s gaze fell on the floorboards near the stage, noticing an odd patterning, “Beneath my feet” he muttered, “Loftus, look at this,” he pointed to a section of the flooring, less worn than the rest.

He crouched down, running his fingers over the smooth wood. “It’s a trapdoor,” He pulled it open, revealing a narrow staircase.

The air grew colder as the pair descended, their flashlights penetrating the void. At the bottom, they found themselves in a large, underground chamber.

“Bingo” Lazarus whispered.

Sifting through the paper on the central desk, Lazarus found photos of himself, the levitating man, and several others he didn’t recognise. There were also notes, written in a code similar to the one on the paper the woman had given him.

“He picked up a photo of the levitating man. “This guy… he looks familiar. I didn’t see it on the night. But now…”

The sound of footsteps from above startled them. They quickly extinguished their flashlights, moving into the shadows. The trapdoor opened, and a figure descended the staircase.

“Detective Lazarus, Dr. Loftus, I had a feeling you’d find your way here.”

Lazarus, regaining his composure, stepped forward. “What is all this, Nightingale? What are you involved in?”

“The truth, Detective Lazarus, Dr. Loftus,” Mela spoke melancholically, “is far more complex and, dare I say, otherworldly than you could imagine.”

Lazarus, his patience waning, “Enough of the cryptics, Nightingale. What are you saying?”

Mela sighed heavily, “This city, it’s not quite what you think. The man in the alley… they’re not. He’s not.” She paused, “He’s what you might call a manifestation of something far more profound.”

“Manifestations? Are you proposing that a supernatural phenomenon is at play?” Dr. Loftus, questioned

“Not supernatural so much as interdimensional. The city sits on a rare intersection of quantum fields. What we’re witnessing are currents from parallel realities. They are essentially bleeding into our own.”

Lazarus struggled to digest this information. “Parallel realities? That sounds more like science fiction to me Nightingale.”

“It does, indeed. And I thought the same thing but I’ve been monitoring these occurrences. Trying to understand them.” She gestured to a stack of printed papers.

Lazarus and Loftus exchanged glances.

“And your song?” Lazarus cut in.

“My song. Well, I am not entirely sure. It appears to be a bridge sorts. It’s more than just melody and lyrics; it’s a frequency, a vibration that resonates somehow with these quantum fields.”

“You’re saying your music interacts with these… fields?” Loftus couldn’t hide the excitement in her voice. Fascinating”

“Yes,” Mela nodded. “I discovered it by accident. Certain notes, certain harmonies, they seem to harmonise somehow. My performances have unintentionally become a catalyst for these events.”

“But you said you sung what you are told”

“In a way yes. The words. They just come.”

Dr. Loftus, still astounded the enormity of this revelation, clarified “So when you sing, it’s not just for an audience. You’re, in essence, activating or amplifying these interdimensional occurrences?”

“Exactly,” Mela confirmed. “I didn’t understand it at first. I still don’t fully. I thought it was a coincidence, but then I noticed the patterns. Every time I sang certain songs, peculiar events followed. That’s why I began researching, trying to understand what was happening.”

Lazarus’s fast mapped, trying to connect the dots. “And the man in the alley, the one who defies gravity…my DNA match?”

“I didn’t know he was a DNA match” Mela paused, “But that would lead me to only one conclusion. He is a physical manifestation of the convergence of realities. And your DNA match… it suggests a connection to you that’s more than just physical. Perhaps in another reality, you’re entwined in ways we can’t comprehend here?”

Lazurus interjected earnestly, “But why would my DNA match lead us here?

Mela Nightingale paused, considering Lazarus’s question, “Your DNA match leading us here isn’t just a coincidence or a random twist of fate. It’s a sign of the deep entanglement between your existence and the anomalies occurring in this city. They want you to find it.”

Lazarus leaned in, intrigued. “Entanglement? You mean like a connection?”

“Yes,” Mela replied. “Think of it this way: this city acts like a kind of mirror reflecting alternate realities. Your presence, your DNA – The man in the alley could be an alternate version of you, brought into our reality through the disturbances.”

Dr. Loftus, always seeking the scientific angle, nodded thoughtfully. “It’s a hypothesis consistent with quantum theory, albeit on a scale and complexity we’ve never seen. If Lazarus’s DNA is somehow resonant with the quantum fields here, it could explain the identical match and the bizarre occurrences.”

Lazarus rubbed his chin, absorbing the new information. “But why me?”

“That’s what we need to find out. We need to study the patterns, the occurrences, and especially the effects of Mela’s songs on these fields.”

Lazarus nodded. “Right. And in the meantime, we keep this airtight. No leaks to the media or the public. We can’t risk causing a panic or drawing the wrong kind of attention.”

As they prepared to leave the underground chamber, Lazarus’s phone buzzed with a new message. He glanced at the screen, his expression darkened “It’s from the station. They’ve found another body. And, Loftus” He paused, “You may want to take a look” He held up the photograph on the screen.

Loftus gasped as she stepped away from the image, “It’s me.”