Nightside - Nightingale lament

      "Thank you for all your help, John. I do appreciate it, really. I would have phoned, but I've been very busy putting the new set together."
      "I was out there," I said. "It went over great."
      "It did, didn't it? John . . . don't take this wrong, but, I don't want to see you again."
      "There doesn't seem any good way to take it," I said, after a moment. "What brought this on, Ross?"
      "You remind me too much of bad times," she said bluntly. "I need to move on, leave it all behind. Now I'm alive again, I see things differently. I live only to sing. It's all I've ever wanted or needed. There's no room for anyone else in my life, right now. And especially not for you, John. I am grateful for everything you've done, but... as near as possible, I want to live a normal life now. I'm not staying in the Nightside. It was only ever somewhere to make a start. I'm going places, John."
      "Yes," I said.
      "I'll write a song about you, someday."
      "That would be nice."
      She turned away and started removing her make-up again, pulling faces at herself in the mirror. "You never did say - who hired you to look after me?"
      "It was your father."
      She looked at me sharply. "John, my father's been dead for two years now."
      She dug into her bag and found an old photo. It was unmistakably the man who'd come into Strangefellows to hire me. So - a ghost. Not all that unusual, for the Nightside. Rossignol was touched.
      "He always was very protective."
      "Well," I said, "I guess I don't get paid for this case, either."
      I gave Rossignol a goodbye kiss, wished her all the luck in the world, and left her dressing room. Humming the blues.