Darkness was slowly enveloping Coney Island, its icy limbs banishing the last rays of light. Everything was deathly still. The silence was broken only by my hurried footsteps along the wooden pier and those of the small figure trailing behind. It was all finally coming to a close. My final curtain call. All the long nights spent toiling away at some salacious dance routine had been for nothing. All my earnest efforts, my desperate and, I now realize, utterly futile attempts at pleasing them, pleasing him, were for nothing. How blind I was, how completely and foolishly blind! For he was always preoccupied with Christine. Always Christine! Ah, but never mind all that. They will watch me now.
The boy pleaded with me. In vain, little one. You shall not be harmed; it is my time to be in the spotlight. My attention was drawn to the sea beneath. How calm and kind it was! I closed my eyes for a moment and listened to the quiet swoosh of the waves. I have always liked this haunting melody they create. It is so simple, yet seems to hide some unutterable secret that will forever be lost in the grey sea.
I heard shouts in the distance; a commotion was getting nearer. I remained transfixed, watching the soothing motion of the waves. There was no need for me to look up: I instantly knew who had arrived. A distraught Christine, followed by the fuming Phantom and my own befuddled mother, had at long last found me. Then everything escalated to nothing short of the circus I had grown so accustomed to on Coney Island. Voices overlapped in a most obnoxious crescendo, and everybody made mad, unrestrained gestures.
My Master made to approach me, but I pointed the gun at him. I had yet to say my part. Having so much power was an intoxicating sensation. I began the story of my wretched life on Coney Island. For once, his eyes were on me. He was listening to me. Well, I thought, if this is what it takes to get your attention, then you're no better that the lot of them. Even my mother looked disturbed. "My little Meg" whispered she brokenly. Hmph! You did not know either, did you? Oh, of course you didn't! You were forever engaged in matters more important than your daughter.
The boy wriggled away and ran to his terrified mother. The Phantom's eyes strayed to Christine and then turned to glare at me once more. What was that I saw? A momentary intimation of panic crossed the fearsome Opera Ghost's features. I had not yet relinquished hold of my gun. He started to move towards me as if he were approaching a frightened kitten but was wary lest it should lash out. He assured me so very gently that he could still see the beauty underneath. And I believed him. As I had done before. I nodded feverishly, trusting him with the last shreds of sanity I possessed, trusting that it could be right again. That I could be right again.
"…we can't all be like Christine."
Time stopped. Christine. Yet again, it is all about Christine. And I actually believed him. Such a foolish girl I am! I believed him… Blinding red rage clouded my vision, and I felt my blood begin to boil in my veins. How dare she take even this away from me! In my impassioned state, the feeble grasp I had on my emotions shattered.
"Christine, Christine, always Christine!"
The gun went off. I can still hear the horrible, hollow sound of the bullet wheezing through the air. I can still see all their faces, frozen in mute horror. It was as if we were submerged in water: everything unfolded before my eyes in an agonizingly slow fashion. Christine stared at me with a puzzled look. As I watched, her expression morphed to one of torturous pain, and she looked down at the dark crimson stain swiftly spreading across her chiffon dress. Her eyes snapped back up to my face, utter disbelief deeply embedded in each line of her blanching countenance. Her weak legs gave way under her. She started to fall, clutching frantically at her midsection.
The gun itself seemed to recoil in terror from the heinous crime it had committed. I, however, remained rooted to the spot, numbly, unable to comprehend what had just occurred. I averted my gaze from the terrible sight, glancing towards the sea. Waves plunged down onto the cold rocks below, breaking into a tumult of froth. It seemed so black now, devoid of gentleness and tranquility; just like my vile soul.
Then, all hell broke loose. Wild shouts and bloodcurdling screams echoed incessantly through the dark night. I am able to recollect only fragments of what happened next, for I was roughly shoved to the side as a mad crowd desperately fought for a better view.
I tried to make my way through the ever-increasing throng of spectators, but I was continually diverted from my course. As I struggled to flee the harrowing scene, realization slowly began to sink in, wrapping its frigid fingers around my miserable heart. Christine Daaé, the frightened chorus girl whom I befriended on her first day, with whom I laughed and cried, who was there for me as I was for her all that time at the Paris Opera House… Christine Daaé, my best friend, was dead… and I had killed her. I lifted my hands to my pale face and discovered I had been crying. A strangled sob escaped my quivering lips. I could take no more.
I ran like the mad woman that I had become through the deserted streets of Coney Island until I collapsed in a heap into a shadowy corner. The ground was damp, and the hard concrete scraped my skin. I pulled my knees into my chest and began rocking back and forth, muttering fervent yet unavailing apologies in between sobs and coughs. I thought maybe, just maybe, it had all been a horrid nightmare. But I knew deep down that I truly was a cold-blooded murderer. Incoherent thoughts raced through my mind, but I could focus on naught except my atrocious crime. The world around me began to spiral into a much-welcomed abyss. Then darkness mercifully engulfed me.