Yes this is the next chapter! Woooooo!
The Phantom folded his arms and raised his dark eyebrows at me. "You didn't actually think the note was from Claire, did you?"
I was sitting in my desk chair, my legs crossed, and wearing a clean gown. I was also frowning.
Madame Giry was standing next to the balcony door, looking out at the clear night, wearing a clean dress. We had both taken a bath in our respective rooms and changed before coming here, as the Phantom had sent us both notes that he would be waiting near my room after we had "gotten all that cake off yourselves". Madame Giry had refused my offer of a chair, explaining (snidely, and in his full hearing) that she'd rather stand while around the Phantom.
"Something," she said, "might explode, and then where would we be?"
I understood her feelings completely, but my feet hurt from the too-tight shoes I had been wearing at the dinner, so I was sitting.
"I had never seen it before," I said stiffly, in response to the Phantom's query. "I assumed it was one of Luke's old love letters from her; something from the past."
"It was not," the Phantom said, for the third time, growing more irritated by the second. "I wrote that note. I found the letter Claire had sent you, remember? So I used it to copy her handwriting. It was not that hard. And now Garmin is afraid, and that is how we want it, correct? So why all the fuss?"
Madame Giry cleared her throat. "If you had wanted Katelienne to be calm about it, Phantom, then you should have told her beforehand."
I knew she knew his name, because of how she stumbled over "Phantom" every time, and it irked me that she wouldn't say it.
"Enough with this Phantom rubbish," I said. "You have a name, don't you? Why don't you use it? We know you're not a ghost, for heaven's sake."
The "Phantom" only looked at me.
Madame Giry said nothing.
I waited, but there was no response from her, and no expression from him.
There was absolutely nothing from either of them.
I threw my hands in the air. "Fine. Never mind. I won't bring it up again. Tell me about Luke instead. You said you had something new?"
The Phantom abruptly smiled, and his eyes went from gray-green to emerald. "You'll like it. But I think we should go outside. You two look rather... warm."
Madame Giry and I glanced at each other, then glanced away.
"Yes, the dining hall was hot," I said. "But thankfully, some dolt decided to blow up all the cakes and set us free."
"It was so courageous for him to do so," Madame Giry added. "But, perhaps next time he'll destroy the disgusting pastries instead and spare us from having to eat them."
The Phantom's face was very innocent.
I gave him a look. "We know it was you."
"No, really?" he said. He had been waiting, it seemed, for me to say something negative. "I'm amazed you two managed to figure it out. What gave it away? The explosions? The screaming of the Opera populace? The sound of my eerie laughter from the ceiling?"
I narrowed my eyes at him, got up, unlocked my balcony door and went up the stairs.
Madame Giry stayed behind to deliver an impromptu lecture. I could hear them arguing even when I reached the roof, and I was laughing as I turned to look at my garden. I thought it would be a good idea for us to sit in there and have our discussion.
Unfortunately, someone else was also on the roof.
"Luke?" I said, very loudly, hoping the Phantom and Madame Giry would hear me in time and not follow me blindly up the stairs. "What are you doing up here?"
The sound of arguing from below abruptly cut off. It did not seem that Luke had heard it, as his expression did not change.
Luke was sitting on the base of one of the statues a few feet away, and he was staring directly at me. He did not look well. His face was pale, and his hands were clenched around the edge of the statue, and his eyes appeared to be bloodshot in the dim light from the stars. I thought I could see a thin line of sweat dripping down his forehead.
"This is my Opera," he said quietly. "And this is my roof."
I was rendered momentarily speechless by the bizarre nature of his words, so much so that I forgot about the two people below on the balcony. "That's… nice. Are you… all right?"
"I don't know why you suddenly care so much." His words were stilted and slightly slurred.
I felt for the banister on the staircase, intending to leave as soon as possible. "I'm sorry about the dinner. I didn't expect it to turn out… to turn out like that."
I had chosen the wrong topic, obviously, and I wanted to backtrack, but I didn't know what to say.
But Luke didn't seem to care. "Neither did I," he said, and his voice did the odd hiccuping slur again. He rose to his feet and walked to the edge of the roof.
I found the banister, took firm hold of it, and prepared to swing around down the stairs. "Well, I'd better be going. Goodnight."
"Goodnight, Claire."
It was as though someone had punched me in the stomach: I could not breathe.
"What did you call me?"
Luke turned his blond head towards me, blue eyes seeking for my face as if he was blind. "Claire. You - are Claire, aren't you? Why did you take - so long to come back?"
The volume of his voice had risen with his words. I clutched the banister for dear life, stammered out, "I'm not Claire!", and ran down the stairs.
There was no sound of pursuit, only a ragged cough.
The Phantom stopped me on the stairs, holding me back with one hand on my shoulder, and put a finger to his lips.
I caught myself before speaking and waited, wondering what he was thinking. In the distance, from the roof, I heard the sound of gasping, strained breaths.
"He's ill," the Phantom said softly. We both turned to look up the staircase.
Luke was slumped over the railing, blond head drooping towards the street, hands twitching on the metal struts. As we watched, he slipped limply down behind the railing onto the rooftop. The gasping breaths grew fainter.
The Phantom went past me up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time. I followed him, moving more slowly, afraid of what I might see.
He had knelt next to Luke's twitching body, and was feeling for his pulse when I reached them.
He raised his head to glance at me. "He's been poisoned."
"What?" I gasped, kneeling next to him. "Can you do something? Can you help him?"
The Phantom didn't answer.
I was about to ask again when it hit me.
We could just let him die here, on the roof. No one would ever know we hadn't helped him. We wouldn't be held responsible for his death. We could sneak down the staircase and let him breathe his last, and Claire would be revenged.
The Phantom turned his head and looked at me, and I knew he would agree. I knew he would walk away if I asked him to, if I told him it was better this way.
"Fix him," I said, at last. "No one deserves to die like this. And... we have to bring him to justice."
The Phantom looked down at Luke, at the man gasping on the rooftop like a dying fish, the man who had ruined two lives and nearly a third.
He nodded, slowly. "I think I can help him. But we have to go back to my house. I need my things."
He bent down and hefted Luke to his feet, grimacing as the invalid coughed up something horrid-smelling on his shirt, and glared at him. "I am not doing this for you, you..."
I turned away, the better to ignore the rest of the Phantom's soft sentence (it was probably profane) and nearly ran into Madame Giry.
"He's been poisoned," I said.
She sniffed. "It does smell like that, doesn't it? What are you two planning to do?"
"We're going back to my house," the Phantom said from behind me, as Luke coughed wetly again. "We'll bring him back after we get the poison out of his system."
Madame Giry nodded, briskly. "I'll pack you a bag," she said. "Wait here."
I was about to follow her and explain that I could pack my own things, but Luke spat up more fluid and the Phantom said something nasty under his breath.
"Please stay here," he said, propping Luke up against the wall. "If he wakes up, he's not going to be happy to see me."
I obliged and found a space several feet away from Luke (he did smell awful), but directly in his line of vision. "What do you think he's been poisoned with? And did you see anyone put something in his food tonight?"
The Phantom eyed Luke's strained, exhausted face. "I would assume it was strychnine. I can treat it, but I need my tools. And no, I didn't. I was planting explosives during most of the night."
"Can we make it down to your house in time? Before - before he dies?"
"We?"
"I'm coming with you," I said. "You said I need to stay here in case he wakes up."
He sighed, and took Luke's pulse again, dropping the limp hand back to the stones. "Very well. But it depends on how fast you can walk."
"I'll run if I have to," I said. "I'm coming with you."
I heard footsteps: Madame Giry hurried up the stairs and thrust a bag into my hands. "Toiletries, clothes, other necessities," she said breathlessly. "Now get out of here."
We reached the Phantom's house in about twenty or thirty minutes. Luke was beginning to convulse.
The Phantom pushed the door open and hurried down the hall with his burden, taking care not to bang his patient's legs against the walls as he passed, and I dropped my bag at the entrance and ran after them.
Luke had been propped up against the bed in my old room, arms hanging limply by his sides as he panted for breath. His eyes were shut tightly, and his skin was a milky white.
The Phantom had disappeared.
I knelt down in front of Luke, unsure how to help, and stared at him, wondering if I was supposed to be wiping his forehead or something. Was this how one felt when someone was dying? Revulsion, and pity, and terror?
Luke murdered Claire, I thought. Of course you'd feel different things when he is dying than if someone you loved was dying.
The Phantom came through the door, carrying a black bag and wearing a grim expression, and ordered me out of the room.
"I can handle it on my own," he said, turning his back on me and rummaging through his bag. "Go get some sleep. Take that blanket with you."
I picked up the blanket and left, shutting the door behind me, and sat down in the hallway against the wall. I had no intention of sleeping while Luke was this close to death. I would stay up all night if I had to.
There was a meow to my left. I looked over. It was Wednesday.
She stepped over to me and curled up against my side, purring. I stroked her back, monotonously. What if Luke died?
He had to pay. He couldn't die.
But what if he did?
I could hear soft noises from inside the room, vague sounds of retching and harsh breathing and little cries of pain.
I hoped the Phantom wouldn't give up and let him die.
Did I trust him to be in there alone with Luke?
The answer came slowly, rising almost imperceptibly into my mind. Yes, I trusted the Phantom. Yes, he would not lie to me about this.
But what if Luke died?
When the Phantom came back out of the room six hours later, his shirt spotted with bile, his dark hair ruffled with sweat, both Wednesday and I were asleep in the hallway.
"Katelienne," he said.
I stirred slightly, and opened my eyes. Wednesday stretched and went over to the Phantom, purring as she wrapped sinuously around his legs.
"He'll live."
"He's going to be okay?"
"He's going to live. And I doubt he'll remember anything of this night. I gave him a sedative."
I sat up straight, wincing at the soreness in my back and legs. "Thank goodness. We have to return him to his room, though. Someone will eventually come to check on him. What time is it?"
"Three in the morning. And you don't have to come. I'll bring him back alone."
I got to my feet, and saw for the first time how tired the Phantom looked, how dark the circles were under his eyes, how lined his face was. "No, it's all right. I'll come. I can carry his feet."
The Phantom stretched like a cat, grimacing as several bones cracked audibly, and shook his head. "No. I'll do it. I'm sure you're more tired than I am."
I didn't want to make him go alone; I shook my head too and took a deep breath to wake myself up more fully. "I'm coming, I said. Bring him out: I'll take his legs."
It was clear that he wanted to argue with me, but he was either too tired to do so, or he had seen the fire of determination in my eyes. "All right. But I'm warning you, Garmin is heavier than he looks. He must eat rocks for every single meal."
On the way back, we didn't talk much: both of us were too weary to think of sentences beyond "Take the next right turn" and "He's slipping again, watch out; catch his legs."
Garmin was deposited ungracefully in his bed; I had begun to regret my part in saving his life, but it was too late to change it now. Besides, I told myself, he's better off living the rest of his life in jail. Just think of it as if we saved his life in order to make him suffer more.
The Phantom dropped me off at my room, and I was pleased to see that no one was there. I staggered over to my bed and sat down. Madame Giry had left me a note.
Katelienne,
I know you have a lot of things on your plate right now. I'm sorry, but I can't be around tomorrow to help: I have to get ready for the performance, warm up my dancers, etc. However, I will keep an eye on Garmin for you. He'll probably be stumbling around the auditorium yelling at us anyway.
I was wondering if you also shared a sneaking suspicion about Count Le Nansen. He was the one sitting closest to Garmin last night (well, besides you, but obviously you didn't poison him) so perhaps he dropped something in his drink.
Oh, and I know Garmin's alive because I heard you two galumphing past in the hallway and grumbling about your burden. Perhaps you should try and keep it down.
I'm only joking, of course. Actually, I waited for you next to your room, but only the Phantom saw me: I think you were too tired to notice little old me in the dark.
Sleep well,
Madame Giry
P.S. The masquerade is in two days - you need to buy a costume!
