darker_london | Music of an Angel (Greg, Peter)

Peter hobbled through his hospital with his cane, looking a bit too much like Dr. House for his own comfort. Every time someone laughed and mentioned it, he nearly hit them with said cane, but he managed to control himself and say something to the effect of 'haha you're so clever, only 50 other people have said that, aren't you original'. Or something.

Peter wasn't here for them anyway, he was here to visit Detective Gregory Horne, who had gotten himself addicted to Spectre's music and it had made him do some deeply silly things. Including shooting Abby. Katia had said that Greg was 'detoxed' enough to handle conversation, so Peter thought he'd take a shot at it. He entered the room and he went to lean against the wall, offering Greg a small smile, cane twirling in his hands. Greg looked up and him and he looked confused. "What are you here for? You don't look like a nurse."

"More's the pity. You should see me as a French maid." When Greg just blinked, Peter smiled. "Sorry. I have a strange sense of humour. I'm not trying to be perverse. I'm a priest."

"You're not wearing a collar."

"We don't always wear them..."

"You're wearing jeans."

"Geez, you are a detective. It's casual Wednesday at the Abbey. My name is Peter Kemp. I own this hospital."

Greg raised his eyebrows. "Oh. Look...I don't know why I'm here..."

"I thought I might tell you that. Now that you're well enough to hear it. And unarmed." Peter added, a tad roughly.

Greg looked sheepish. "Did...I really shoot someone?"

Peter nodded. "My good friend Abby. Who is fine, by the way. Bullet went high and grazed her neck."

"I just...had no control over what I was doing..." Greg said miserably.

Peter pulled up a chair and he sat down directly opposite Greg. "You were aiming for my dear friend Adrian. Also known to the world as the progressive metal artist, Spectre."

"But...I don't even know why I'd want to hurt Spectre, I love his music."

"Of course you do." Peter said gently. "My dear friend has an incredible desire to make people happy. Adrian is a people pleaser at heart. And, to his great credit, most of the time he succeeds. That's what happens when you are fantastic. The problem here, however, lies in the way he went about making people happy."

Greg leaned up so he was fully facing Peter now. "What did he do?"

Peter had thought long and hard about how he could explain this without explaining the 'Adrian is an angel' side of it. "He used his music."

"He...used-"

"Music can make us feel all sorts of things. A movie without music is like a fish out of water. It flounders and gasps for life. You add music and suddenly you're weeping at a scene without words, or you laugh or you're terrified at all the right parts. Music can instill emotion in us. It can increase our heart rate, or even decrease it. Adrian somehow managed to find a way to make his music do this to people to a greater degree. It's proven that sound waves effect us, even if we can't hear them. A low frequency sound wave can make our hair stand on end and give us feelings of apprehension. Music is just fancy sound waves. It speaks to all of us.

"And I don't know how Adrian DID it, but he managed to find a way to make his music make people happy. Like...subliminal advertising? It releases endorphins and it fills you with a peaceful feeling. Which is harmless to most people because they hear his songs occasionally on shuffle, or they listen to his EP every once in awhile. Some people probably benefited greatly from it. But some people...people who listened to the EP rather a lot, or went to see him live several times, they found themselves needing that feeling of peace. And when they couldn't, they experienced withdrawal. It's just like a drug. Instead of the high you need...to be happy. It happened to another close friend of mine who played in the band who opened for him. That's what brought it to Adrian's attention. He had no idea. He's a good man. He only wanted to see people smile. He stopped, which is why his album wouldn't feel the same way."

"So...Spectre made me addicted to music...and then I shot at him..."

"Uh huh. It's not as crazy as it sounds. And...if you don't count the shooting thing, it's probably healthier than drugs. The lovely lady you shot isn't interested in pressing charges as long as you show the same courtesy for Adrian. And we've already contacted your work and let them know you're here. You can make up the reason why later. Your daughter Juliet has been staying with my sister, Liz. Who is quite happy to let her stay there as long as you need. I think the best thing right now is just to stay here and get some rest. I could have my friend Pierre speak with you. He knows how it feels. Oh, and I'd advise you to get rid of Spectre's EP. The new album is safe. Just...don't listen to the EP again."

Greg finally nodded. "That's...a lot."

Peter smiled. "I know it is."

Greg couldn't help but ask more, since this crazy-hair guy seemed to know so much about fucked up things. "Are you sure you're a priest?"

Peter laughed. "I'm sure I was. Are you going to hold that against me?"

"Hardly. So, Father?"

"You can call me Peter."

"Peter. Do you believe in angels?"

Nice. Peter patted Greg on the shoulder and he stood. "I believe in a lot of things, Detective. Namely, that you should always believe in yourself. So...I suppose the more important question, is whether you believe in them."

"Are all priests elusive like that?"

"They teach us to be slippery bastards in priest school." Peter said with a wink. "Get some rest, Greg. It'll do you good. And we'll see you fixed up in no time."