All of the actors, actresses, and stagehands gave a round of cheers when Edwin Blackgaard reappeared. Some asked where he had gone, but these were few, and their questions were swept away in the wave of words. Most simply congratulated him. "Didn't know you had it in you," ragged Cortie with a grin, slapping him on the back (a little too heartily for Edwin's preferences).

As he navigated the crowd of a class, Edwin found to his surprise that popular opinion named his performance in the third act as the saving stroke of the play. This was only reinforced when they went out to greet the audience. Nearly everyone that came up to shake his hand had something complimentary to say of his performance.

When he had first rejoined his theatrical colleagues, he wasn't quite sure what to do. The rush of words, from a lot of people who had rarely complimented his acting (or much of anything else), for something he did not try to do and would never have wanted to undergo, was a little overwhelming. But a glance back at young Walter gave him a bit more confidence. And so he pushed on with his plan.

And it had been his own plan, too. After the shadow had passed, Walter had gone back to wrapping his wrist. The dark moment had violently interrupted that task, and much of the bandaging on that hand had to be redone.

There had been a silence as this process was completed. A moment after as well. Then, Edwin had spoken up, though not far up.

"I suppose I must go back out now."

Walter had frowned, and there was concern in it. "Are you sure you want to, sir? I mean, so soon after… after all that?" Again, he chose words carefully. "If you don't feel you should, I can go and tell them you aren't feeling well, and had to go home early."

Edwin smiled. "Ah, I see. 'If your mind dislike any thing, obey it: I will forestall their repair hither, and say you are not fit.' Act Five, Scene Two," he added, once his quotation was done.

Walter shrugged, as who should say, 'All right, you caught me.'

But Edwin shook his head. "No. No, I think I must go. The show is not quite done yet."

"But what about him, sir?"

He did not have to say the name "Regis" to make his meaning clear. Edwin understood, and he considered it uneasily, fingering the white bandages. On the one hand, he dreaded the sight of him. To be laid open to that sight again, so soon after what happened, might have been too much for his splintering nerves. He would fear, at any moment, to see that black, wicked look again, perhaps even more than what he might actually do.

On the other hand…

That look of dark hatred (he shuddered to think) had passed over him as well. But it was gone now. Its shadow had passed, and certainly would not return at the sight of his brother. At least, he did not think it would. But if it did… if it did…

He would enjoy it.

The thought staggered him. If he had gone out there moments before, with his vengeant thoughts still black about him, Regis would have been pleased. He would have liked to see it so. And why? Because he would know that he had left a stain on his brother's weak soul, a scar upon his mind, something that had changed him to a feebler image of Regis himself. Because he would know he had succeeded.

Edwin sat up straight and spoke at last, in a sharp, decisive voice. "My brother is the very reason I must go."

This seemed to baffle Walter. "He… is?"

"Look at it, Walter! His entire scheme was all to the purpose of seeing me scarred. He would like to know I was too terrified to face him. I daresay he would've liked to see me so deadly as I thought myself not long ago. Any of those options would lend him his victory!" He shook his head. "I won't take my revenge on him, but I cannot let him win."

Walter seemed uncertain of this, but no longer baffled. He fixed an eye on him. "So… what is your plan?"

His smile was almost a smirk as he spoke. "To do the very thing that will frustrate his plan entirely."

So, here he stood, bowing graciously to a lady from the audience, thanking her in the brightest tones for her kind words, and standing straight as the next person in line came up to shake his hand.

"So, you're the sensation of the night, eh, Edwin?"

This was said by the girl cast as Elaine—Nella Hudkins, as he now remembered—who was standing next to him in the line of actors and actresses.

"Well, it certainly appears so!" replied Edwin, beaming grandiosely, then added, to a man in line, "Thank you, sir, you are most charitable!"

"I still don't know how you managed that third act," she half-murmured. "Yes, thank you, sir! I mean, you were never really as energetic in rehearsals. Not like tonight, I mean." She fell awkwardly silent, still perplexed by his running with her all the way back round to the wings.

"Yes, well, perhaps the divine frenzy was not upon me at the moment, as they say," he replied laughingly, taking on the superior and somewhat hammy tone he usually gained (whether intentionally or not) when trying to really act. Acting was, after all, exactly what he was doing. Even Walter had not expected it.

"But sir, are you sure?" he had stammered, after he'd heard the plan.

"Unquestionably sure," Edwin had replied with relish. "The last thing Regis would expect or want to see is a triumphant actor enjoying his greatest success. He will be at a total loss. Brazen merriment, my good man! That's the sole countermove that will thwart his plot."

Walter looked down, seriously considering this solution. "It does seem like it could… potentially work. But," and he looked back up at him, "do you think you'll be able to do it?"

Edwin laughed, affecting a scornful tone. "Oh, come now. I am an actor, a professional. Do you really think I am so feeble a one as that?"

Walter seemed disheartened by this manner and glanced down, retreating to his servant-like composure. "No, sir. I'm sorry."

Edwin winced at this reaction. But he touched the other's arm briefly, catching his attention. "You see, it even fooled you," he added in a more quiet and earnest tone, smiling an awkward apology.

This, to Edwin's gladness, seemed to brighten the boy up again. "Yes, sir," he replied, almost laughingly, "I suppose it did."

And it fooled everyone else, as well. No one seemed to find anything amiss with his attitude, either in the cast or the audience. He acted genial and appreciative toward the people going past. He acted confident and very pleased, if a little proud, toward his fellow actors. And if he were honest? He was beginning to enjoy himself.

At last, the crowd thinned out, and the cast began to gather together for a final meeting with Mr. Elm. Edwin saw Walter heading in that direction, almost straight toward the teacher. Likely watching for an opportunity to tell him what happened. The boy glanced at Edwin and gave him a nod, which verified the thought in his mind.

As he looked around, he also saw Regis, and the sight revitalized him. There he stood, still in his place in line, and he was absolutely fuming. The cool, dark confidence from earlier had sizzled into frustration. You could nearly see the black plumes of smoke coming from his ears.

Edwin smiled in self-confidence. His plan had worked. Regis was robbed of a public reaction—the reward he expected from his actions—and thus, his victory was incomplete. His scheme had failed. Edwin's had succeeded.

He was about to cross over and say something very patronizing to ice the cake, when he was suddenly met by a large, middle-aged woman, who he recognized as the owner of a boarding house in town—Mrs. Busby, he thought. Yes, she was Cortie's mother, wasn't she? She immediately grasped his hand quite warmly.

"Young man," she began, in a loud voice (more of habit than intention, it seemed), "I have to tell you, I haven't seen a performance of Mortimer that good since I saw the movie!"

"Oh," Edwin chuckled, retrieving his hand, and hoping for a quick exit, "well, I most graciously thank you, Mrs. Busb—"

"I've done a bit of acting myself, back in the day." And she chortled.

"Yes, you certainly seem the histrionic type," he replied, trying to master patience, but also trying to find a way out. Regis had noticed him, and was watching. He would miss his chance if he did not hurry. "But I'm afraid I must—"

"How in the world did you manage that scene with Jonathon? The way you looked, and reacted? It gave me chills." As if to demonstrate, her entire body shuddered. "It didn't even need the spooky music."

Edwin stopped, stock still, at the stark reminder. "The scene… with Jonathon?"

But Mrs. Busby at any rate did not seem to notice this of his reactions. "I would love to pick up a few tips about acting from what you did in that scene." And she looked at him eagerly.

Edwin paused, his façade shaken. When he spoke again, it was in a quieter voice. "Well… madam… I must confess that… it wasn't acting."

The woman blinked blankly, clearly confused—why, how could it not be acting?

Though Edwin had been shaken, his disposition had been fortified by his plan and by the help he'd found in young Walter. He quickly recovered his affectation. When he continued, though, he was more subdued in tone.

"You see, madam, the art of acting is, truly, the art of becoming. When one steps upon the stage, one must in effect become the character. All else in that moment is secondary. One must become something one is not, and nothing else, until the curtain is lowered for the last time. And then, one must become fully one's own self once more. That is the greatest skill one can have in theatre."

The woman looked at him in awe, though she clearly did not understand much of what he said. "That was beautiful, young man."

Edwin smiled, quietly amused by this, then cleared his throat. "Ahem, yes, well, thank you, Mrs. Busby. I fear I must join my fellow actors for a class meeting now, however, so…"

"Oh! Yes, wouldn't want to keep you from that!" She took his hand again. "Thank you so much for your performance tonight." She beamed at him, released his hand, then began to amble off. Before he could go, however, Mrs. Busby turned again and added, "If you have any more acting tips, you're always welcome!"

"Er, of course, madam! I will remember that! Good night!"

Once she was out of the doors, Edwin breathed a (successfully silent) sigh of some relief. Then, he turned to go and join the others. To his surprise, he found Regis staring at him still. He hadn't moved a step nearer, but seemed to be studying him closely. Regis' own expression was inscrutable.

Edwin lifted lofty eyebrows and smiled slightly. Straightening, he made his way toward the knot of student actors. But he passed by Regis without a word.

I don't think I will rub it in, he thought to himself. Not yet. Perhaps not at all. The victory of this night isn't quite won yet.

He did not turn to see his brother's reaction.

Author's Note: just a quick thing. I may add more to this later, but it'll probably be at some random unexpected time, because I have other projects to work on, and not all are entirely fanfictional. As it is, I wanted to put these three chapters out completed, since they sort of lead right into each other. Besides, the fourth one's not written yet, and happens a bit later. Hope you enjoyed it thus far, though!