Authoress calls: Hi there. Sniff, no reviews to come? Do not worry, you only have to endure two more chapters. Still, LEAVE A BLOODY COMMENT, will you please? Thanks for those who did. So here comes the drama queen, literally! Oh, yes, I know this is very short, even for me.
La Carlotta Guidicelli seemed to believe that she was returning to glory. She swooned in carrying herself like a queen. And the look on her face almost expected applause. I almost wanted to shout "Hello, this is my trial, not your performance!"
"Your name?" the judge almost sighed, as if he did not know it, she was the reason his wife had carried him into the opera populaire for the last four years and he had to endure what in his ears sounded remarkably like a cats meowing.
"Carlotta Bernedetta Guidicelli" she spoke pompously.
"Not related to the accused?" she sneered "Thankfully non." "The same goes for me" I thought.
"Tell us, when you saw the accused for the last time before the murder happened." Something inside me protested against the word "murder".
"At about ten. Monsieur André looking very confused, running like chicken and asking me whether I see Monsieur Firmin. I tell him Monsieur Firmin gone into buring opera, do not know why, idiota directore. Then Monsieur André running off in there too."
"How did the accused behave? Did he display rage? Hatred?" Carlotta gave a short laugh.
"Oh, non. Monsieur André always scared and nervous, not very manly, understand? But still go into fire, looking for Monsieur Firmin. Stupido, but brave, I think."
Was it my ears or had Carlotta just said she thought I was brave. What a wonderful time to start getting some sort of compliment from women.
"Thank you, Madame Guidicelli. You may leave." The judge seems slightly displeased with her answers. Are they not supposed to be unbiased?
Carlotta dramatically crosses the room to get back her doggy and fussing over it.
"Now I ask the accuser and eye-witness to come forward." The judge proceeds.
It was, of course, the young man, who had been caught by me. He stood there and told the court and all the speculatours, how he had seen me finishing off my partner. Then he dramatically sniffed on about how he wanted to save Monsieur Firmin, but was unfortunately too late.
And he was so damned convincing. If it had not been myself whom he was describing as the heartless murderer, I would have believed him at once.
But I had seen this man, Gregory Fields he had said, as he had been scrubbing off golden greasepaint from the walls, letting small statues glide into his pocket. I knew about his true nature.
The world seemed decidedly unfair to me. I would not have taken any legal steps because of his stealing valuable goods. And yet he accused me of murder.
The only question I asked myself was "Why?"
Finally his story, for it was a fairy-tale, but a good one, one that sufficed to convince children of its truth, featuring me as the murderer for money, ended.
"Now the accused will be given the chance to defend himself." Terrific, what kind of chance was that? I was terrible at public speeches, if I would have to talk for my life, I could only fail.
Everyone stared at me, which was enough to make me feel even more awkward. "My name is Giles André." They would at least have to believe that. I swallowed, it still hurt, but it might be my one and only try. "Richard Firmin was my business partner for over twenty years. When we were offered the chance to be directors of the opera populaire, we were overjoyed to leave the oldmetal firm. In our contracts it was always stated that each would own half of the business and in case of" I was laying my heart on a platter for them, I hoped they at least knew its worth "death, the other would be entitled to all of it."
"I did not kill Richard Firmin!" the desperate part of me shouted, my rational mind, if ever I had one, completely disappeared. "He was my friend, my only and best friend. I am not interested in money. Yes, I enjoyed the glorious living, the fame, the power and the women. But I would not have commited a crime for that."
"Monsieur André" the judge interrupted,. When had he discover that I had a name besides "the accused"? "Tell us your version of what happened that night?"
I gulped. " I was talking to Richard, when he suddenly was gone. I had not noticed and went searching for him. Carlotta told me he had gone back into the opera and I followed him."
Gods, I was so pathetic, noone would believe me, I was doomed. Flashes of his dead body zoomed through my mind. I hoped I was not going to throw up. "When I finally found him, he already was dead." I closed my eyes and opened them again, to get the pictures out. " I tried to revive him, but I was either too late or I simply" I began to stammer "lacked any skill in that area. Madame Giry found me and it was her who discovered the paper he held in his hand. She saved my life there."
And if I somehow made it through this, I would be eternally grateful to her. If I got sentenced, my last breath would be used to curse her for not letting me end that day, next to my friend.
All left for me to do was to stare at those twelve people I did not know, who were watching me with the interest one held for a peculiar interesting animal in the zoo. And they huffled off into the neighboring room to decide over my fate. They held my life in their hands and that was something I did not like at all.
"I want to live in freedom, to maybe still find some sort of happiness, a real one, not the flittering, glittering pretense of luck." my mind blared. And I felt entitled to it, I had a right to receive these things."
A part of me wished for Madame Giry and her solemn, comforting presence to be standing next to me, for Megs endless happy chattering or even for Carlottas dramatic screeches. And having to await the decision, that would change my life forever, alone, was the worst of all.
Finally the twelve came out again, it had seemed like hours to me, even days or years, though in truth it had only been a matter of half an hour.
"The court asks for your decision" the judge stated and expectantly looked at those ordinary people who had to suddenly say whether I was innocent or guilty.