Here we go, another installment! Thanks to all who reviewed (and purchased copies! To those individuals in particular, I would be incredibly grateful if you could leave reviews on Amazon as well!)
Anyway, for a while I think we'll stick with Monday/Thursday updates to ensure some consistency. So without further ado...
Onward!
ii
Christine had little concept of time, but it did not seem overly long before three men came towards them. Two were in uniform, their badges still readily visible even in the slightly dim lights of the theatre. The third, a man of middling height in a trim tan trench coat, made the introductions first. "Miss, I'm Detective Abdul Nadir, and these are Officers Mitchum and Grady. You say that you've witnessed a murder here?"
She was grateful that he made no attempt to shake her hand, and she untwined her limbs to sit properly as she offered confirmation. "Yes," she affirmed, her voice shaking only slightly.
The detective's eyes glinted oddly. "Can you direct my officers as to the location of this event?"
Christine blanched. "You want me to go back down there?"
He took the other vacant seat beside hers and patted her shoulder in what she assumed was intended to be a soothing manner. "Not if you don't want to; if you could simply supply directions I'm sure that will do."
Christine swallowed, wanting nothing more than to forget the entire horrible experience and pretend there was no prop department for her to so foolishly have ventured into. But the sooner she spoke to them, the sooner she could be home—cocooned in a pile of blankets as she relied on childhood comforts to frighten away her nightmares. For nothing could touch her if her head was beneath the blankets. Nothing could see her, nothing could happen.
And she very much wanted to believe that now.
She supplied as detailed a description as she could of the path she had taken, and Raoul offered to show them the door she had come through lest they make a wrong turn in the hallway, negating her instructions.
Christine watched them go with grim resignation. Either they would return and confirm that the dreadful deed had taken place, or they would chastise her for telling falsehoods.
At the moment the latter seemed far more appealing.
"Now, miss, can you tell me your name?"
"Christine Daaé," she answered automatically, her thoughts still on the men currently making their way to the lower levels. She shuddered to think of it.
"Now, Miss Daaé," the detective continued, pulling out a small device and holding it before her. "We can continue this interview back at the station, or we can do so here. Whatever would make you most comfortable. But it would be helpful to both of us if I could record your testimony to ensure its accuracy." He offered a wry smile. "And so you do not have to repeat yourself. Is that acceptable to you?"
Christine hesitated, unsure if there was any reason to object. Did she need a lawyer?
"I didn't do anything," she assured herself, the detective's dark eyebrows rising as he caught her mumbled words.
"I never suggested you did."
Christine frowned. "Then why would I need to go to the station? Am I going to be arrested?"
The detective sighed, his thumb hovering over the record button, before he replaced the device in his coat pocket. "Miss Daaé... have you heard of the Phantom?"
Christine blinked. "The Ghost? Of course. Everyone that works here has heard about him."
Detective Nadir grimaced. "And what have you heard? That he's simply a specter? A curse upon this theatre?"
Christine shrugged, wondering at the relevance of his question. "Theatre people are often a superstitious lot. There were tales of him when I was just a girl and my… my father was working here. And what man would actually spend his life haunting an opera house?"
"What kind of man, indeed," the detective replied, that strange glint in his eyes once again. Again he pulled the recorder and nodded toward her. "Do I have permission to tape this?"
An uneasy feeling had settled in her stomach, but still she nodded, though at his prompt she gave a vocal, "Yes."
For the sake of the accuracy, he voiced her full name and their current location, before bidding her to recount her past experiences of the last hour.
Christine thought she might be sick.
It was one thing to be aware of what had transpired—the vivid images having not left her consciousness since first she had spied the man struggling for breath—but to have to describe them... to put into words the way she felt, the details of his face for the sake of consistency and potential identification...
It was all too much.
"Your father's ring?" he remarked eventually, and Christine realized she had been stroking her bare thumb in an effort to find some small comfort. Tears welled when she remembered once more that it was lost.
"I just wanted it back," she explained helplessly. "That was all. I didn't... I didn't mean for the rest to happen."
Detective Nadir gave her hand a sympathetic pat. "We'll keep an eye out for it," he promised, but Christine felt little hope in the matter. It was gone, and she would have to accept it. Even if the very thought sent a lance of pain through her heart.
It was with great relief that the officers and Raoul reappeared, their faces solemn and Raoul's holding an extra measure of understanding when he looked to Christine. "No one should have to see that."
So, the masked figure had left the body after all. Christine didn't know if she was grateful for his carelessness or not. At the moment she could only nod apathetically, fully ready to return home. Her body ached in strange ways, as if she had suffered a great strain—her muscles overly tense.
Tea. With honey. And perhaps a bath. To wash this entire horrid day off her.
"Can I go home now?" she asked the detective, interrupting his instructions to the officers. Any other day and she would have been sorry for her rudeness. But not today. She couldn't manage even that.
Detective Nadir had risen to speak quietly with his fellow policemen, but he returned to her side, his expression earnest. "I know you're tired and upset. But the more information we have, the sooner we can bring that man to justice."
Christine closed her eyes, feeling trapped and thoroughly overwhelmed. She didn't have anything else to offer. She had told him of creeping into the room—of how the man had looked as he died, of the tightness of the rope, of the figure whose gaze had chilled her so completely.
And now she wanted to be home.
Christine rose from her seat, her resolve growing. "And I'll be happy to help more tomorrow. But right now... right now I need to go home. Please," she tacked on at the end, trying to appeal to any compassion he might have for her state.
The detective frowned, glancing at the men about her before sighing. "Tomorrow then."
Gladdened by the sudden reprieve, Christine began to walk past everyone and head for the exit, but a sudden hand upon her arm gave her pause. "Miss Daaé," the detective stated almost apologetically. "Where do you live?"
Christine's gaze flickered to Raoul, a moment's recognition going through him. She looked away.
"Not far. I usually take the bus if I don't feel like walking."
The detective glanced toward one of his officers and gestured him forward. "I'd like for Officer Grady to be allowed to escort you home."
Christine opened her mouth to protest, but Detective Nadir cut her off with a pointed look. "You need protection, Miss Daaé…"
She tugged her arm away and took another step toward the doors. "What I need is a cup of tea and a hot bath and to just forget all of this! And having an officer at my apartment is just going to..." her hands balled into fists as she tried to keep from crying.
The detective eased her into the closest seat, pulling out a phone from his pocket. She glanced at it wearily, but quickly averted her attention when she saw yet another gruesome figure flash before the screen.
"Murdered. By the Phantom." He flicked his finger and another man appeared, this one crumpled in an alley, his face as swollen as the man downstairs. "All strangled. No bystanders, no physical evidence. Just a string of murders with loose ties to organized crime. But even here, in your lovely theatre, you know of him. He extorts your managers, he trespasses, he plays his little tricks And now… now he has killed one of your own. And you, Miss Daaé," he leaned a bit closer, and Christine thought if he showed her one more body she might start screaming again. "You are the first witness we have that this man even exists. You know his height, his build. If I get you a sketch artist you might even remember more of his features."
"He wore a mask," she protested lamely.
The detective smiled ruefully. "You may not have seen his face, but you may rest assured that he knows yours. Do you think a man so careful in his line of work would leave you unharmed?"
Christine paled, her early concerns returning tenfold. She wasn't safe. Not here, not at home. And if this detective proved correct, she may never be safe again until this... this Phantom was put behind bars.
"What do you want me to do?" She hated how weak her voice sounded, how despondent, but already she felt lost in a world that was suddenly darker—more desperate.
And she hated it.
"You can start by letting my officer take you home. You live alone? Your young man doesn't live with you?"
Christine flushed and shook her head, not even bothering to look in Raoul's direction. "He's isn't mine, so no, he doesn't. And I don't have a roommate."
The detective sighed. "Grady, you'll stay stationed outside her home then. I'm going to contact the marshal's office and see if we can arrange a more permanent solution."
Christine's head jerked upward. "Marshals?"
He gave her a placating smile. "Let's not worry about that yet. You'll only need Witness Security if we can't find him, and I'm feeling rather hopeful tonight."
Christine wished she agreed.
Raoul tried to speak to her as the officer ushered her out toward his squad car, but Christine was too tired and overwrought to pay him much heed. "Just... rest up, and we'll talk at the next rehearsal, all right?"
Christine glanced back at him, a tremulous smile on his lips and she swallowed thickly, uncertain how she felt about his sudden interest. A very great part was elated, yet the rest of her... she grew only more weary.
"Ma'am?"
Officer Grady held the door open and she hurried out, the night having grown cold during her late night sojourn at the theatre. Doubtless the managers would still have to be called so they could fret and fuss as the prop department suddenly transformed into a restricted area. There was much still to be done tonight, but not for her.
She was done.
It was awkward driving with the officer. For a moment she worried he would put her in the back, behind the heavy cage that offered him protection from any arrested miscreants. But instead he held open the front passenger door, waiting patiently for her to catch up before taking his own place and turning on the heat.
Christine couldn't bring herself to muster much in the way of conversation, nor did he prove overly effortful in attempt, other than to ask for directions to her residence. His frown deepened when she revealed the neighborhood. Christine shifted uncomfortably in her seat and turned her attention out the window, the city lights blurring either from his speed or from her mind turning fuzzy. Possibly both.
"This it?" he asked less than ten minutes after their trip began.
Christine blinked dazedly before her eyes focused on her building. "Yes," she confirmed, her hand already on the handle. "Thanks for the ride."
"Ma'am," he began hesitantly before she could exit his vehicle. "Maybe you'd let me come up for a moment? Make sure that... all is as it should be?"
Christine's breath caught at the implication, and she turned back to look at him. "You think he could be inside?"
His lips thinned. "I wouldn't want to take any chances. Once you're safe inside alone, and your doors and windows are locked up, I'll be right out here if you need me." He pulled out a card from one of his uniform pockets. "Just have to call."
Christine nibbled at her lip, torn between gratitude and abject terror that such a gesture should be required at all. "Come on then," she finally choked out, trusting that he'd follow as she made her way to the front door, fishing her key from her pocket as she did so.
She felt self-conscious as they made their way up to her apartment, certain every noise or bit of dirt clinging to a floorboard would confirm that even in selecting a dwelling of her own she proved incapable. She certainly couldn't be expected to fend off a murderer, nor was she able to help a man before said murderer killed him...
Her apartment was on the second floor, and after inserting her key, the officer bade her take a step backward. "No roommates, right? No pets?"
"No..."
He removed his gun from its holster—a startling thing to be sure—before he slowly opened the door, his hand seeking and finding the light switch before he entered.
What would he find?
Christine waited with what she hoped was a semblance of patience until the officer emerged once more, studying his expression carefully as he emerged. She relaxed as he proceeded to return his gun to his belt and gave her a satisfied nod. "All clear."
It felt odd to have a man in her apartment when at last she was allowed to enter. She had not lived here with her papa, and she coveted her solitude too much to entertain. Not that any would have relished being in such close quarters anyway.
"Thank you again, then," Christine prompted, hoping that he took notice that she hovered by the door so that he might exit. She felt bad for her reaction, but he made her nervous. She knew he was there to protect her, but his uniform was intimidating, even as his eyes were kind.
"You be careful now, all right? If you hear anything or just get scared, call me. I'll come check it out."
Christine flushed, but agreed, wondering if she'd ever be able to do such a thing when there was a strong possibility that she would appear foolish at the end of it. A man like they described, he wouldn't really bother with her, would he?
"Officer Grady," she called out just as he was about to shut the door.
"Yes?" he answered, his head poking through the door but not crossing the threshold again. She was glad of his consideration.
"What did the detective mean by 'Witness Security'?"
He sighed and glanced fleetingly at the hallway, and she wondered if the answer was so distressing that he hesitated to answer. "You probably know it as Witness Protection. If the State deems your testimony valuable, and you're in imminent danger because of it... You'd be relocated. Given a new name, a new everything."
Christine paled. "I... I don't want that."
Officer Grady grimaced. "No, I don't imagine you would." He gave her apartment a dubious glance, and despite herself Christine rankled at his obvious disapproval.
"Do I have a choice? If it... if it came to that?"
"You always have a choice, ma'am. But sometimes it comes down to what will make sure you're alive to make the next one."
Sooo... Looks like a certain Detective has some pretty nasty things to say about someone... At least take it to the station! Think he's right to push her into testifying?
Until next time!