To Those Without Pity
"As the demon raised its arms to deliver the first blow, it said, "In time you will remember even this moment with fondness."" -Neil Gaiman
There was no time for anxiety regarding the trial, for it came before the week was out. It didn't seem to matter how prompt the proceedings were, though, for time dragged on endlessly as each day passed by. Every night was a dreamless haze, and the days were drowned in an abandoned fog that Christine could not escape.
But in truth, she had no interest in escaping her misery. Even when she saw Nadir in the house, she didn't seem to truly see him, and merely walked on without a word. Hours upon hours were spent outside, staring down the drive as he prepared a defense, and when the day finally came to face the trial, she barely felt a part of her body. Her limbs felt frozen and numb at her sides as she sat motionless in the carriage across from Nadir. Her expression was hollow and her mind was blank, a mere shell of what it had been.
"You will not be allowed to hear the opening statements." Nadir's words barely caught her attention, but she let her eyes drift towards him indolently in vague questioning. "You are a key witness, and they will not let you into the room until you testify." She opened her mouth to object, but he caught her before she could. "I have convinced the judge to make you the first witness so that you will not be kept in the dark."
"Thank you," she said in a soft tone, her focus moving back out the window to the trees that passed by the carriage. She had so many questions—what would she be asked, would she be able to speak to Erik, who would be in the room, what was Nadir's defense? What was going to happen in the end? But her voice seemed caught in her throat, and she could not bring herself to utter one word.
"It is the Cour d'Assises," he continued without prompting, but she did not look at him. "There will be a jury of nine people, and three magistrates." She only vaguely knew what this meant, but she asked for no clarification.
"Philippe will be acting as the prosecution," he went on—more words she did not understand. "When he found out that I had taken on the role of the defense, he insisted." Finally, she looked at him once again and he seemed to read her lack of comprehension.
"He will be the one asking you the questions and making statements to the judge and jury." She still did not respond, and perhaps due to his discomfort, he wore on. "He studied law when he was in school—but that was over a decade ago. He'll barely know an objection from an opening statement."
Thankfully, he seemed to find no need to inform her what those words meant, and as the carriage rolled to a stop before the courthouse, she knew she was going in blind. But frankly, she was too terrified to know the truth of what was to come, and preferred blissful ignorance to unyielding truth.
They were not allowed to enter the courtroom when they first arrived, which seemed unbearable at first. But what was even harder was when Nadir was summoned to make opening remarks, leaving Christine sitting in a hard chair just outside the door, a bailiff standing stiffly beside her. She could feel him watching her, more than anything else, but she kept her eyes stoically ahead as the minutes ticked by.
It was only when the bailiff stood her up, readying her to enter the courtroom, when her heart began to race and doubts whirred through her mind. Nadir hadn't said a word about what she was meant to say and what she should neglect to remember. And what would happen if Philippe came after her with questions she dreaded answering? But somehow, when the thick wooden doors opened and she saw the barrage of people before her, her mind went blank and she walked in silence to the front of the courtroom.
"May I present Christine Daaé." It was Philippe's pitiless voice, sugared and styled to appear empathetic, and she felt a chill run down her spine as she was led to the stand. "You must be sworn in, Ms. Daaé—to bind your conscious," he told her smoothly. "You understand."
But she did not—she did not understand one word that had been said all day, and numbness took over again as she sat down on the stand. She looked out over the sea of spectators and jurors that stared at her with judging eyes and felt her mouth run dry. Nevertheless, she merely blocked out their looming gazes as she laid her hand flat on the Bible and swore her oath.
She felt his presence before she saw him, and it sparked life within her. It was inexplicable, but as she pulled her hand away, her eyes fell quite suddenly and easily upon Erik. He was seated next to Nadir at a wooden table before her, his hands bound by shackles and his eyes weary with sleeplessness. Despite his appearance, she felt her lips spread in a smile, and somehow he managed to muster a small one in return.
"Miss Daaé?" Philippe's sharp voice pulled her out of her reverie, and her focus shifted abruptly to the Count's cold form.
"I'm sorry?" she breathed, her voice small from her lack of speech over the course of the week.
"I asked what you would prefer to be called. As I told the jury, the Viscountess de Chagny is certainly inappropriate, given my brother's senseless killing." The extra descriptor in the sentence did not go unnoticed by her, but no one else seemed to mind.
"And I know you have married since the event, but I was never informed of your husband's surname." She could tell that he was performing for the jury, who were already sitting on the edges of their seats with intent eyes.
"But then, given the nature of your marriage, I wondered if you wouldn't rather be called Miss Daaé." She could see out of the corner of her eye that Erik remained intentionally still and expressionless at this comment. In turn, she let a warm smile, so characteristic of her, wash over her face.
"Christine would be just fine," she remarked amicably, hoping that it would throw him off guard. It did not, though, and he merely smiled back.
"Do you renounce your husband's name, then?" Philippe asked, cocking his head as he turned towards the jury casually.
"Objection, your honor—that is immaterial," Nadir said simply, and for the first time, she looked up to the judge. He was getting on in years, but the traditional powdered wig on his head made him appear decades older than he probably was.
"State your purpose, Monsieur de Chagny, or move on," he replied dryly, his eyebrows rising lazily as he pursed his lips.
"Merely an indication of the character of the accused. I barely call a marriage under the pretense of kidnap honorable, after all." There was a small murmur amongst the jurors, and she felt herself lean forward anxiously.
"It wasn't under the pretense of—" she began, but Nadir cleared his throat to stop her.
"Do you have something you'd like to add?" Philippe asked Nadir, sudden irritability evident in his words.
"I just wanted to remind the witness that she needn't say anything if a question hasn't been asked," he replied pleasantly, and her eyes drifted momentarily to Erik. He seemed to be watching Philippe too closely to notice, though, and she followed suit.
"Thank you, Monsieur Khan," Philippe said with a small and bitter bow of his head, turning back to Christine.
"Could you tell us your current relation to the accused, if anyone missed it?" he asked simply, his face surprisingly void of malice.
"I am his wife," she said proudly, aware of the uneasy looks the jurors exchanged.
"And, to further reiterate, what was your relationship to the deceased?" That detached word, deceased, shook her, and she felt herself stop momentarily.
"I was his fiancée." More murmurs and glances that she had to block out.
"When did you first meet the accused?" he asked, clasping his hands behind his back diplomatically.
"His name is Erik," she murmured, and she could feel Erik turn to look at her slowly. "I met him when I worked in the ballet corps at the Palais Garnier." Her voice was gaining strength, but she could tell that it didn't seem to bother Philippe a bit.
"And in what capacity, precisely, did you meet him?" His words were just slightly pressed, and she could feel that he was searching for a particular answer.
"I'm not sure what you mean," she replied, her eyebrow furrowing in honest uncertainty.
"What was his role at the Palais Garnier?" he redirected, and Christine glanced at Erik for a fleeting moment before looking back to Philippe.
"He looked out for the well-being of the Opera House," she replied tentatively, to which she heard the jurors murmur amongst themselves.
"He did not terrorize the employees or the audience at any point during his tenure at the Palais Garnier?"
"Objection," Nadir called out, rising from his seat to punctuate his statement. "Calls for a conclusion—he's asking for an opinion, not a fact."
"I believe Erik's actions can be factually identified as acts of terrorism, Monsieur Khan," Philippe responded without turning around.
"Overruled," the judge responded, and Nadir sat down silently. "Please answer the question."
"I'm not sure I can," she said, finding more defiance in her words than she expected. "I cannot speak for all of the employees or every audience member that has entered that building. I can only speak to what he was to me." She could feel Nadir smile, but she made an effort to remain expressionless.
"And what was he to you?" Philippe bore on, unfazed by her statement.
"He was my teacher," she replied easily, unashamed of the fact. "He taught me everything I know. He fostered my voice and helped me in a time of great grief."
"A time of great grief, interesting," he muttered, though she knew this was not even remotely interesting to him. "Was he still merely a teacher to you on the night of your fiancée's murder?" Philippe came nearer to her now, going so far as to place a hand nonchalantly on the witness stand.
"Objection—the question is too vague for the witness to answer properly."
"Sustained," came the rusty voice of the judge, and she let out a small breath of relief. Once again, Philippe didn't seem to mind and he switched gears easily to a new subject.
"Christine, where were you on the night of Raoul's murder?" He watched her with a careful and reproachful gaze, but she refused to look away.
"I was underneath the Opera House." She chose the words carefully and deliberately, and her stare was still and focused as ever.
"And why were you there?"
"Erik brought me there after the performance of Don Juan," she relied candidly.
"After?" he challenged, an eyebrow rising in question as a smirk began to form on his lips.
"During," she corrected, looking down to her hands.
"Were you married to him at that time?" He took a step closer to her, trying to catch her gaze. Knowing the game he was playing, she boldly looked up and met his eyes unapologetically, unwilling to let him shake her.
"No," she said tersely.
"Then why did you go with him?" he asked, his voice laced with feigned concern. The question took her off guard, and she felt herself lose a bit of her steam.
"He…He forced me to go," she admitted, though she didn't give Philippe to satisfaction of averting her gaze.
"And Raoul followed you down in order to save you, is that correct?" he dared, and she swallowed nervously.
"I…I can only assume…" she stuttered, her eyes fluttering between Philippe and Erik, who was still sitting silently, his eyes set hard on Philippe.
"Did you know that Erik had a gun on hand at the time?" Philippe challenged, and her eyes snapped back to him.
"No…" she murmured as her nerves began to race.
"Under clause 296 of the Penal Code of 1810, every murder, committed with premeditation, or with lying in wait, is denominated assassination. Do you believe that this accurately represents the events that occurred?"
"I don't know what that means…" she said almost inaudibly as her eyes shot to Nadir, who had stood up the moment he saw her fright.
"Objection—under clause 297 and 298 of the same Penal Code, to be lying in wait, the defendant had to, quite literally, be waiting for a period of time in order to kill the deceased. This clearly couldn't have happened, given that the witness was with the defendant at the time of the murder. Furthermore, premeditation would imply that the defendant had an established plan to murder the Viscount de Chagny."
"I believe you get your chance to speak after I do, Monsieur Khan," Philippe responded with deriding kindness.
"He didn't plan it," Christine exclaimed quickly, but Philippe waved his hand to silence her.
"Are you defending the man accused of kidnapping you, then?" he asked, raising his eyebrows. "I will remind the jury that clause 354 of the Penal Code of 1810 states, "whoever, by fraud or violence, shall steal, or cause to be stolen, any minors; or shall spirit away, seduce or remove them, from the places where they were placed by those to whose authority or direction they had been submitted or entrusted, shall undergo the penalty of solitary imprisonment."
"He was not a seducer, he was my teacher!" she shouted, nearly jumping up in her frenzy.
"Your teacher? And where did you meet for these lessons?" Philippe asked, cocking his head to the side in seemingly genuine interest.
"Objection—the question is irrelevant, your honor." This was the first time that Nadir had sounded at all irked, but Christine was thankful for his protestation.
"The question is regarding the kidnapping accusation," Philippe snapped back, his eyes narrowing on Nadir momentarily.
"Overruled."
"In my dressing room," she said slowly, painfully aware of the scribbles coming from the jurors as they made note of her reply.
"In your dressing room?" Philippe reiterated, his eyebrows shooting up in mock surprise. "Why not one of the many practice rooms that the Opera House boasts?"
"I'm not sure," she responded, her jaw hanging slack as she began to understand where he was directing this.
"Fair enough," he said, nodding curtly. "And were you aware of the mirror mechanism that your dressing room was equipped with?"
"Yes," she said cautiously, her eyes catching those of the jurors momentarily. They looked disgusted, and some even looked over to Erik in horror before turning away in repulsion. He did not seem to notice, and instead had his eyes locked on her.
"Could you explain that to the jury?" he asked, far too pleased by her numb expression.
Christine's eyes met Nadir's for a moment, but she knew she had no choice in the matter. "It was a two-way mirror that could be opened from the other side through the use of a hidden switch."
"And on the other side of the mirror?" he asked, turning to Erik momentarily with a pleased expression. It was shocking, really, to see him so subdued—his eyes didn't so much as flash at Philippe's blatant stab. Clearly disappointed by the lack of reaction, the Count turned back to her, the triumphant expression still lingering on his features.
"A passageway that led to his home," she answered, clenching her jaw in hopes of quelling the overwhelming feeling of helplessness.
"And how many times have you stayed with him there?"
His words were unassuming, and yet she hadn't been prepared for them—she had never told anyone about her extended stays in Erik's home due to the mere impropriety of it all. Except Raoul, of course, but he was dead. She felt her jaw drop in open shock, barely able to muster a response. "How did you know that?"
"Objection—fruit of the poisonous tree," Nadir said as soon as the words left her mouth.
"Ah, no—I obtained that information legally, Monsieur Khan," Philippe said with a smile as he turned to the Persian. "It seems that Christine told my dear, deceased brother everything. And he was always quite the chatterbox with his older brother, God rest his soul." His tone didn't reveal his condescension, but his words were more than enough to send venom through her veins.
"Overruled," the judge droned once again, and the jurors continued writing away.
"I don't know…" she said slowly, struggling to push aside her embarrassment. "It's hard to say—I always seemed to lose track of time when I was there…" Another thing that she shouldn't have said, for she heard a woman gasp in the back of the room.
"Naturally," he agreed, nodding solemnly. "And when was the first time he raped you?"
And then the courtroom exploded in a flurry of shouts.
Many things, many things: as always, my apologies for the wait, but there was so much to research! As per the court proceedings, the Penal Code of 1810 is real and all of those writs were straight out of it. Unfortunately, it was nearly impossible to find concrete information on the court proceedings of the time, given my resources, but I tried to stay close to the court proceedings of today at the very least. But again, it's a story. I've said it once, and I'll say it as long as I write—I write for plot, not filler, so most dramatic license I took was to ensure that the readers didn't have to sit through unnecessary narrative and legal jabber.
I hope you enjoyed it, though, because there is more to come! Thank you for all the reviews, and I hope to hear from you all. This was likely the hardest chapter I've ever had to write, so I'd love to hear what you all think. Thanks once again, and happy reading!
Until next time,
Christine