Ch 19: My Life is Over

Somehow my Angel surpassed her opening night triumph, her voice commanding the auditorium as she cast a lyrical spell upon us. I succumb, noting every breath, emotion, and articulation as she pulled me into Margarita's world. And the pain she felt so tangible like that snowy night on the roof we first met. And then her ascent to heaven as her soul found its freedom, solidifying my decision. I would not bind her soul to one that dwells below. I observed many handkerchiefs and hands raised to wipe away tears.

How fitting that the Vicomte should grace his box this night pulling me back to that night long ago when she had sung the role of Elissa. I dare not see her in person again. I couldn't bear it to see her cry over me when I was trying so hard to be a better man for her. I was making a better choice for her. She would find my farewell note in her dressing room with the panels painted with her mountain meadow. She might touch them as she pleased and they would never die or lose their vibrant color for her. The Vicomte was on his feet, the curtain having barely settled closed. No doubt his eagerness to beat the crush backstage vying for the newest diva's attention.

Very soon the auditorium was vacant, the stage empty. Many a night I stretched my legs by touring my domain. I would miss the Palais Garnier. I lingered savoring the silence and peace waiting for the outside crush of carriages to depart. I wished Christine the best. I had not doubt she would thrive. The Vicomte would be here should she wish to wed. He was so devoted to her.

The air was crisp in contrast to the warmth of the building when I stepped outside. I scanned the darkness. The street lights cast a familiar glow as I walked into the night. I stopped, turning in the shadows to catch my last glimpse of my home. I walked along the Seine, biding it farewell and then made my way north to the outskirts of the city, to the Montmartre Cemetery once more.

I was almost to the tomb when a shot rang out, creating a dust cloud that rained on my right shoulder. Who? Where? I moved low to the ground and behind the nearest grave marker that could conceal my form. Another shot rang out striking the top of the gravestone I hid behind. I calculated the angle of my pursuer. Clearly they knew my position. I needed to move to change my odds. I reached to the ground, scraping gravel, dirt, whatever I could gather into my right hand. With a quick flick of the wrist I sent the mixture flying. Stones bounced and I ran deftly to the left. I made for a great headstone, high enough to conceal my standing form. The darkness would be my protector once more.

"Angel of Darkness, hide no longer." A shot fired out once more this time far from my position. The Vicomte had gone mad.

I silently moved further to the left and up the little hill of the quarry.

"Cease your hold on her. Stop destroying Christine's life." Another shot rang out. This striking a headstone not but 8 ft from where I was concealed. I had not been as quiet as I had supposed.

He was walking up the hill. I reached my hand into my pocket, feeling the familiar Punjab lasso. I could slip it around his neck and bring an end to all of this. We were both being tortured. It's touch brought me sorrow instead of comfort this time. I wanted to tell him he was wrong. I wanted to live though I knew not the reason to do so. The world would be better off without the opera ghost.

He cried out. "She was going to marry me. Then you stole her. You deceived her." Yet another shot, his fifth I believe.

Nothing. Silence except for the sound of his breathing as he drew near. I spoke believing his chamber to be empty. "Vicomte, I let her go."

"But still you have a hold on her. She weeps for you. She pines for you. Meg heard you talking to her. You profess to love her and she throws herself at you. You will haunt us until you are dead."

"She is free to make her own choices," I shouted. "She is free. I have no hold or say on her future." Then I felt him collide with me. I pushed at him, kicking him off. He pulled at my opera cloak and I stumbled to the ground. I struck his legs from behind causing him to fall to the ground. I pushed to stand, as I reached to unclasp my cloak, freeing myself from its folds. The boy scrambled to his feet as well. He was preparing to point the pistol at me when I noticed another pistol on the ground. He made to fire the new one and I dove down tossing dirt to his face. His shot went wide and he stumbled backward, falling to the ground.

I gripped the punjab lasso as I advanced on his form. The boy was still but blood was puddling beneath his head. He did not stir. I picked up both pistols. I emptied the chamber of the new one. I had always hated guns. My heart beat wildly but then I felt relief as the heightened sense of awareness began to recede from my veins. I was safe. It was an accident. But then her face came into focus and I pictured myself telling Christine that her boy had died. I saw my Angel dissolve into tears once more over the loss of someone important in her life. I sighed and put the punjab lasso in my pocket. I reached a hand to his face and felt his breath. He yet lived. I reached around his form, hoisting the unconscious boy across my shoulders and carried him to the tomb.

xxx

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Historical note- I tried to research antique firearms. I found conflicting information regarding the number of bullets. If anyone knows please message me the website or the information. I found five and six. I am wondering if this is due to the manufacturing of a newer firearm at the time. So for my story I have chosen five because I think Roaul would have an older gun. If six is the correct answer then let's just say Roaul fired it twice and one point.