Many thanks for your continued encouragement! Just a couple questions that have come up that are probably worth addressing en masse.
First of all, as of this moment, I do plan on us getting a more intimate look from Erik's perspective, but don't expect it to be for a while yet. Don't want to spoil any surprises! And just a… reminder, while this is my plan I'm not the greatest… well… planner when it comes to stories. But I should eventually get to that point!
Secondly, about updates. This is actually a question I've been meaning to pose to all of you. Those who have read my other stories while I was posting them, I've always been a twice a week updater on specific dates/times. So far I've been updating this story willy-nilly… is that working for you, or would you prefer a set day? I can only promise weekly updates since I'm writing two stories at once and the other requires attention too, but if you want to weigh in on preferences (even which day is best for you in terms of reading and… well… reviewing *stares pointedly*) I'd love to hear it!
Okay, enough from me. Onward!
VII
Christine was nervous about the upcoming day. The judge had opened the proceedings by making the prosecutor swear that he would rest his case and allow the defense to have a turn, and to everyone's relief he was indeed ready to concede the floor to Mr. Chagny.
But that step took them closer to deliberations, and Christine did not think she was at all ready for that.
Despite what Mr. Sorelli had reminded them again and again, her opinions were beginning to solidify—the foremost that something deeper was going on. The witnesses were all nervous, all far too ready to blame Erik with little knowledge of his existence beyond rumors and ghost stories told to titillate the theatre girls.
And while she told herself that her focus should be solely on the trial and its intricacies, she could not help but feel apprehensive about making her debut performance to the dinner patrons.
When not sleeping and trying to recuperate from her lack of sleep and free time over the past week, she practiced her singing. One of her neighbors, a particularly intimidating fellow whom she had not opened the door to, had heard her in the hallway and had banged on her door to, "Stop that classical racket, this ain't junior high!"
Needless to say she was not as practiced as she would have preferred.
The trial had been going for almost two weeks now and she wondered how accurate the three week estimate would really be. Were there truly so few witnesses to help Erik's side of the case that everything could be completed by Friday?
While the prospect of the trial ending and her regular life commencing should have filled her with a sense of relief, now she only felt slightly despondent—no more shy smiles, no more studying Mr. Chagny's strange attire…
She would go back to casual friendships at her job and quiet solitude the rest of the time.
And somehow that did not seem so appealing any longer.
"The defense would like to call Dr. Edward Clark to the stand."
Mr. Sorelli rose. "Your honor, this witness was only added to the list three days ago—hardly enough time for us to properly prepare."
The judge's eyes narrowed at Mr. Chagny. "Any particular reason for the delay?"
The defense smiled almost apologetically. "Your honor, his testimony has only recently become pertinent. I can assure you, this was not a tactic to keep the State from prosecuting my client to the fullest extent of the law."
The judge rolled his eyes. "I'm sure. But I will take your word for it, Mr. Chagny, so objection overruled, counselor. The witness may approach."
The doctor was a tall man, and Christine could easily picture him in a white coat that would have nicely coordinated with his thickly rimmed glasses. He was approaching middle age and was a relatively good looking man. His face was beginning to show signs of wear, possibly from his profession, but there were crinkles at the corners of his eyes that showed he was not unfamiliar with smiling and she was glad of it.
He twisted his wedding ring nervously around his finger as he took the stand and gave his word that his testimony would be truthful.
"Dr. Clark, thank you for taking the time to be here this morning, I know you're a very busy man." It felt a little odd to have Mr. Chagny allowed to speak first, but she was certain she would grow used to it quickly.
"My job has many facets, and I suppose this is one them. Can't say that it's my favorite aspect of it though." He glanced apologetically at the judge, who smiled back grimly.
"And for the sake of the jury, what precisely is your profession?"
He cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm a doctor at the Medford Psychiatric Hospital. The defendant… Erik… was recently brought to my facility and I have met with him several times."
"Were you involved in his initial assessment for eligibility for trial?"
He shook his head. "No, that was performed by the prison psychiatrist."
"Dr. Clark, are you aware of what my client is being charged with?"
The doctor's lips thinned. "Murder and blackmail."
Mr. Chagny nodded his confirmation. "In what condition was my client in when he was brought to your facility?"
Dr. Clark sighed. "He had suffered multiple contusions, especially along the face and torso. The guards who had overseen his transfer said that he was clumsy, but it was obvious that such wounds were from a fist. Apparently some people took exception to his appearance in prison."
"Objection, your honor, the doctor can't possibly know the motivation of any alleged attackers."
"Sustained. Keep your testimony to your observations, doctor."
He cleared his throat again. "Fine. The wounds were suspicious and in my professional opinion, they were caused by a fist, not an accidental tumble down some stairs."
"Had you seen the initial report by the prison psychiatrist?"
He nodded again. "Yes, it was a part of his intake form. He was described as being nearly catatonic. He would cooperate in the basic sense, mostly to keep from being touched unnecessarily, but he wouldn't speak and he barely ate."
"And yet your colleague believed him fit to stand trial."
Dr. Clark grunted. "He is hardly my colleague, but yes, evidently he was deemed aware enough of his surroundings to be held accountable for his supposed actions."
Mr. Chagny smirked. "You sound doubtful that he committed these offenses. Why is that?"
"Erik is… showing remarkable changes in the short time he has been meeting with me. He has begun talking, and while he is not the most… forthcoming of patients, his intelligence is notable. Honestly, the messy nature of the case is what concerns me. It seems almost… beneath him."
"Beneath him… what specific examples do you have for the court of Erik's intelligence?"
Mr. Sorelli interrupted, "Your honor, whether or not the accused is smart isn't the question."
The judge waved away his concern with a dismissive gesture. "I'm going to trust there is some relevance to all this and I would like to hear what the doctor has to say. Continue Mr. Chagny."
Christine didn't miss the rather triumphant grin that Mr. Chagny sent to the prosecution.
"Examples, doctor?"
"I cannot give you specifics exactly as the confidentiality of my patients is paramount. However…"
He glanced in Erik's direction. He didn't look up from the desk and Christine was sorry to see that the weekend away from insulting witnesses and hurtful comments had done little to lift his spirits as he continued to stare at anything but the people surrounding him.
"I have a patient… let's call him Marcus. He stopped eating a few days ago and no matter the intervention of the staff we couldn't get him to communicate what had suddenly changed. I was going to have to have him sent to the infirmary and insert a feeding tube but then in my next session with Erik, he tells me that a spider had laid an egg sack in Marcus's room and the babies went crawling all over… burrowing in his bedding, creeping through cracks in the walls, that sort of thing. I changed Marcus's room location and he's eating more than ever."
"Does Erik room with this patient?"
Dr. Clark shook his head. "He's nowhere near him. They share one meal time, but the nurses say they've never seen an interaction and there is also a communal recreational class that most patients are compelled to attend."
"And that is?"
"An art class. Erik is quite proficient; some of his drawings are the best I've ever seen."
Mr. Chagny paused for a moment, seemingly to collect his thoughts. "So how do you account for this knowledge?"
The doctor hesitated. "Despite the report of Dr. Houser, I believe that Erik is indeed capable of connecting with people—with understanding their motives. He has keen observational skills and he knows how to use them to their best advantage. That is what I mean that this crime appears beneath him. I believe that if Erik wanted to commit a murder that we wouldn't be here today trying to determine his guilt."
"So he is observant, but do you believe that this is also evidence that he is able to show care to other individuals?"
The doctor nodded. "He didn't have to tell me what was wrong with Marcus. I never would have asked as I don't commonly discuss other patients during a session. Yet he voluntarily brought up another man's suffering and suggested how it might be alleviated. In my experience, that is not something a man incapable of empathy would do."
"Has he spoken to you about this case?"
Dr. Clark's brow furrowed slightly. "I cannot breach confidentiality unless I believe someone to be in imminent danger—which is not the case. What I can say is that when I have brought up the subject, Erik has laughed at it."
An eyebrow rose. "Laughed? An odd reaction."
The man shrugged. "It wasn't a malicious laugh, as one might expect from someone who has committed a malevolent crime and feels the need to gloat. He found the entire thing more… absurd that he was actually being accused of it."
"In your opinion, doctor, is this man a danger to society?"
He was quiet a long moment but answered before he could be prompted again. "We are all capable of wrongdoing. Erik has suffered a great deal, one look at his initial medical assessment will tell you of great abuses he must have endured. But I do not believe that he is a man without conscience or that he is unaware of his actions. If he truly did commit these crimes then he should be held accountable. However, it is my firm conviction that he did not in fact kill Mr. Poligny."
Mr. Sorelli stood to object to something but Mr. Chagny interrupted. "No further questions, your honor."
The judge nodded. "Very well, you look about ready to say something, counselor, care to share with the class?"
The prosecutor smiled grimly. "Indeed, your honor."
He approached the witness stand with slow, methodical steps, a direct contrast to the impatient expression on his face. "Dr. Clark, are you a mind reader?"
Mr. Chagny's mouth opened but the judge waved him off. "Don't bother. Mr. Sorelli, keep things civil in my courtroom."
"My apologies, I will rephrase. Dr. Clark, would you seriously like us to believe that because of a singular case wherein the accused was able to notice baby spiders in a patient's room, he is somehow too intelligent to have committed this crime?"
The doctor looked mildly impatient himself. "I do not expect you to believe anything. I merely have spoken on what I have observed during Erik's time in the hospital. I was under the impression it was left to the jury to decide on its validity."
His tone was sharp and pointed, and Christine decided that if ever she required mental health services, she would most certainly ask for this particular doctor.
Then she promptly hoped she would never, ever have to seek him out.
"And do you have any evidence that Erik did not in fact commit these crimes? Can you provide an alibi? Another suspect?"
The doctor's eyes narrowed. "No."
"Then really all you can offer if your opinion. I wasn't aware we had begun utilizing personal belief over evidence when it comes to convictions. I'll have to let the DA know."
"Objection. Does Mr. Sorelli have a question?"
"Nothing further, your honor. I think the jury can see through all this… malarkey without more from me."
"Careful, counselor. You've had your turn with witnesses and now it's Mr. Chagny's. He's allowed to conduct his defense in whatever manner he sees fit without your additional commentary. Is that understood?"
"Certainly, your honor."
The judge didn't seem at all convinced, but he allowed the doctor to vacate the witness stand.
Christine was gratified to note that Erik gave him the briefest nod as he passed—the first true sign of his awareness since the proceedings had begun that morning.
She was reminded of her school days when a particularly long lecture did little to hold her attention and she would risk the teacher's displeasure in order to pass a note to her neighbor. Nothing scandalous, just a simple 'hello' scrawled across the page.
Christine wanted to give Erik such a greeting, just to see if he'd give her one of those sweet smiles again, but this time the consequences would be far greater than a stern look and a possible talking to.
Court recessed early that day so Christine had a little time to return home and change before work, and she was grateful for the reprieve—especially when she found her first check for sitting on the jury waiting in her mailbox.
With new exuberance over her unexpected income she listened for any signs that her neighbors were at home before practicing a few of her preferred pieces. If given a choice she would typically avoid love songs as they made her heart ache for things that as of yet could never be, but today she faced them bravely and found that she had missed her music over the past weeks without it.
The restaurant was quiet that night, with no diners that she recognized. Her coworker was busy with a table of eight businessmen, their suit jackets abandoned and their sleeves rolled up as they dined and made ample use of the bar service. Shelly flirted with them shamelessly, her desire to abandon waitressing to be some kind and rich man's wife a secret to no one.
But Christine didn't blame her, especially not since the gentlemen were all very nice looking and from the fine looking fabric of their suits they were gainfully employed.
Christine's own section had only an elderly couple, and while they were very sweet and polite to her, their meager selections meant she would not receive much of a tip, regardless of the percentage. Yet with the check from the court still tucked safely in her wallet she found that she didn't mind the emptiness of her corner, and she even convinced the chef to give them a dessert on the house as a celebration of their anniversary.
"Christine, it's your turn!"
Shelly had just finished her set and scooted Christine out of the kitchen. Another patron had settled into the far booth, but she would have to wait to take his order until after she had performed. If he grew too impatient then he would just have to flag down another waitress as Carlotta did not tolerate tardiness during the routines, regardless of a customer's needs.
Christine didn't quite agree, but she was not about to argue.
During lunch they used recordings to accompany the singers, and Christine had not sung with a live instrument since her father had died. While she was nervous about coordinating with another person again—especially one that did not know every nuisance of her voice like her papa had, she still was grateful that it was not a violin as she didn't think she could handle such strong similarities at the moment.
"Got a song picked out?"
Christine nodded and gave the page number in the approved song booklet that Carlotta updated every so often.
Travis was a good man, much younger than she expected initially. While they had never performed together, he would come in early to have a bite to eat and if one of her tables stayed particularly late she would be able to hear him as she waited to get off the clock.
He was in his late twenties and was very talented. She had asked him once why he chose to play at a restaurant instead of venturing into the more notable musical positions and he had laughed at her.
"I could ask you the same thing!"
She had blushed but did not feel the need to go into any of her more personal reasons for her choices. "I like my tips. Don't get many of those working for a theatre."
He grinned. "Yeah, I'm sure that's the reason. But I'll tell you, Christine, it's a mean 'ole world out there for performers like us and sometimes it's nice to get to play without a critic breathing down your neck."
Christine smiled. "Now there's just Carlotta."
His grin grew. "Exactly. And she's tough enough for me."
Today his smile was bright and genuine as he flipped to her chosen song. "Nice to see you finally join us here for dinner. I've heard people remark about how pretty your voice is—I'm looking forward to hearing it myself."
Her cheeks reddened and she made no reply, knowing it would only make her more anxious.
So instead she took a deep breath and forced herself to relax.
This was music.
This was what she shared with her papa and had once loved with almost her entire being.
None of the diners took particular notice, at least, not that she could tell. She closed her eyes for the most part and tried to feel the music as her father had instructed. He told her that the way to move an audience was to choose emotion of technical perfection—that few would know if you transposed the occasional note, but if it lacked authenticity, none would believe the piece.
Her set was short. Carlotta may have chosen to indulge the patrons who specifically requested she be allowed to perform, but that did not mean she was given many opportunities. She only sang two songs, and of her own volition she had selected some of the shortest options available.
Maybe in a week's time she would feel more capable.
But now as she finished her last note and a few of the sparse diners gave muted applause, she found herself regretting her selections.
It felt good to sing again.
Something in her seemed emboldened, as if sitting on Erik's trial and having the constant reminder that life could so easily be threatened based on the decision of a simple jury, there was no excuse for her to continue merely existing.
Her papa never would have wished for that.
Travis was going on his break and before she could go to the customer in the back and finally take his drink order, he pulled her aside.
"You were wonderful!"
She smiled shyly. "Thank you. It feels different having someone accompany me."
He chuckled. "I'm sure it does, and I hope you're able to stay on dinner service when your jury duty's up. I think you're a real asset to this place and it would great for other people to get the pleasure of hearing you."
She thanked him quietly before hurrying to her table, the performance still making her a bit jittery. Nerves had given way to a feeling of freedom and she didn't know what to do with the excess energy she now possessed.
The man who had entered just before her performance began had disappeared, presumably tired of waiting for service. If another of the staff noticed they would often explain that their waitress would be with them after the show, but Shelly was still preoccupied with her group of men and Christine doubted she would have noted a lone man in a darkened corner of the room.
She hoped he wasn't too upset about it.
The bank was long since closed by the time her shift ended, and she chastised herself for not having left earlier beforehand so she could have visited the ATM when it was light out. But still, she relished the thought of a lunch beyond the meager peanut butter and jelly sandwiches she had taken to bringing to the courthouse so before taking the bus back to her rather shady neighborhood she cashed her check, all the while looking about her to ensure that none took special notice that she now had cash in her purse.
Thankfully she saw no one.
The bus was a later one than she was used to, mostly empty except for some haggard looking people in work uniforms—some which looked like convenience stores and others more janitorial.
This one also made much more frequent stops than her usual, and she leaned her head tiredly against the window as they made slow progress across town.
Eventually they reached her stop and she held tightly to her purse as she hurried toward her apartment. The streetlamps had long since lost their bulbs making for long and ominous looking stretches of darkness, and tonight in particular she felt jumpy and uneasy. She felt as though someone followed her, her skin prickling at the knowledge that eyes were watching her, and she was never so grateful for seeing the slightly dilapidated building that made up her home as she quickly went up the steps and opened the outer door with her key.
But all sense of relief completely vanished when she reached down to pick up a single sheet of folded white paper, her heart turning cold at the words scrawled across the page.
You have a beautiful voice, Christine.
Sooo… looks like Christine has an admirer! And she's just not quite sure about it. Who do you think it was? Hmmm…
And what did you think of a look into Erik's stay at the psychiatric hospital? Did you expect him to be cooperative?
Also, don't forget to give your opinion on posting days! Your preferences matter to me!