Your reviews have spoken, so an update it is! And the Destruction sale has begun, so if you want a more "true to novel" read, you might want to take advantage!

Now, onward!

XIII

Deliberations were as difficult and exhausting as she anticipated. The only bright spot within the hours spent pouring over evidence and arguing with other jurors about what could have really happened that spring night, came in the form of lunches brought to her by Joe. He often threw in an additional treat for her that she hadn't ordered, and she surprised herself by how much she was growing to appreciate his thoughtfulness.

Evidently all it took to woo her affection was the promise of food.

She wondered if that made her easy.

But what worried her was the way her performances had suffered since deliberations had begun. Tensions were high in the jury room and by the time she dragged herself to work she was so emotionally exhausted that it was hard to imbue her songs with any semblance of the life and passion they deserved.

It came as little surprise to her when Travis pulled her aside and suggested she voluntarily take herself off the roster until the trial was over, lest Carlotta do it for her and there was no telling when she would deem her fit to perform again.

Christine took no pleasure in lying, but still she claimed a sore throat as the reason for her inability to sing, but she comforted herself with the knowledge that it wasn't a complete falsehood. Never had she argued so much in her life, and her vocal chords did twinge and protest even from the simple process of greeting guests and taking orders.

What hurt her most, however, during the entire process, was that each day they continued to have difficulty reaching a conclusion was another long day that Boo had to spend locked away in her apartment without company. He was a good boy, only mildly terrorizing their home in her absence, but his loneliness was plain whenever she returned. At first he had taken to shunning her, sleeping only on the farthest edges of the bed and refusing to purr when she pet him and tried her best to apologize for her busy schedule.

Yet every morning she would awake to him tucked up against her, sleeping soundly and clearly happy to have her near, no matter for how short a time.

And for eight days she had dragged herself from that very same bed and gone to court. She had sat in a room that she was certain would become her sarcophagus if they did not reach a verdict soon.

Then on the ninth day, with the jurors tired and patience thin, a final vote was cast. Officer Ryan was called in, and with a nod of his head he led them back into the courtroom, the judge and the attorneys settling in for the last time.

Christine wondered if they simply sat in here, waiting for the jury to return or if they were allowed to leave, tending to other affairs but ever ready to return to the court when the verdict was in.

And what did Erik do during that time? There had been very little time between when they had finished and when they had returned to their jury box. Was he kept in a solitary room, somewhere safe and private where people wouldn't stare? Or perhaps there was a cell in the bottom of the courthouse for defendants awaiting trial.

Visions of dungeons and rats filled her mind, and she pushed them away firmly.

He did not look particularly nervous as he stared at Officer Ryan conversing quietly with the judge. He was dressed as nicely as ever, his suit of the finest quality, the black a stark contrast to his otherwise pallid complexion.

Yet to his side, Mr. Chagny fidgeted, straightening his polka dotted tie and fiddling with his cufflinks in some kind of nervous rotation.

The judge cleared his throat and nodded his thanks to the bailiff who stepped away and returned to his usual position,

"Would the jury foreman please rise."

Stephan obeyed, and Christine offered him her silent support. He had done his absolute best over the course of their discussions, trying to keep the arguments productive instead of merely hurtful. It was amazing to her how many conversations had dissolved into accusations flung amongst jurors, Erik's supposed actions forgotten as perceived slights were argued instead of facts or evidence.

"Officer Ryan tells me that there have been some problems in the jury room, is that correct?"

Stephan smoothed his suit jacket. "That's correct, your honor."

"You have been deliberating for nine days. Nine. Rather an incredible number."

Christine's stomach did an uncomfortable flip. She had tried to remind herself frequently that their decisions had to be based on conviction, and a lack of consensus did not necessarily equate to a failure as a juror.

Even if that was what inevitably had occurred.

"Your honor, despite our best efforts we have been unable to reach a unanimous decision, on either charge."

The judge frowned. "I see. And you do not believe that given more time or further clarification you could reach such an agreement?"

Stephan glanced almost imperceptibly in Richard's direction. "No, your honor, I do not."

"Fine, then I have no choice but to declare a mistrial, and call an end to these proceedings." He picked up his gavel but hesitated before allowing it to make contact with the sounding block. "But first, I'd like to say something to Mr. Sorelli."

The prosecutor looked surprised, but stood all the same. "Yes, your honor?"

"Doubtless this will not be the last time you appear in my courtroom, and a word of advice before it happens again. Cases have been made using circumstantial evidence before, but in my experience they lead to situations like these. Next time you decide to bring charges against this man, I suggest you have something more concrete. Do you understand?"

Mr. Sorelli's mouth pressed into a firm line, but he managed a quiet, "Yes, your honor."

"Excellent, then I would like to thank our jurors for the time and effort they have put into this case. Please do not think that because you could not reach consensus that you were in any way unsuccessful in fulfilling your responsibilities. I am certain you did your best with what was put before you."

Mr. Chagny rose. "Your honor, I'd like to make a motion to release my client from custody. It could be some time before the DA's office is prepared to proceed with a new trial, and he has spent months in lockup as it is—to the direct detriment of his health and wellbeing, I might add."

The judge nodded. "Given the thin nature of this trial's evidence, I find that I agree with you, counselor." He gave one last glance toward the prosecution, his displeasure with his case obvious. "Court is adjourned; Erik, you are free to go."

Christine glanced over at him, a bit in shock that it was all suddenly over. Mr. Chagny was offering his congratulations and while Erik nodded and quite begrudgingly shook the man's hand, there was no sense of relief, no joy at being able to walk out of the courthouse of his own free will.

Officer Ryan approached, interrupting her view of Erik's reaction. "Jurors, please pass forward your notepads. After that you're welcome to head out."

She was a little surprised that they didn't get to keep them. She had grown rather fond of her legal pad with all her scribbles and pictures. It was like a journal of her time here at the courthouse, and with some reluctance she passed it to the bailiff.

The other jurors began collecting their things and shuffling out of the jury box, but Christine was still deciding if she could ask Officer Ryan for her notes back when Richard's voice interrupted her consideration.

"He can still be tried, you know. Maybe this time with more mature individuals who can see guilt when it's put right in front of their faces."

Christine turned and glared at Richard, tired of his incessant need to sound superior to her. "Or maybe he'd be faced with people who didn't feel the need to judge him solely on supposition! After all we talked about, how could you continue to sit there, day after day and call him guilty? What evidence was there that unequivocally proved he had committed those crimes? Was there any? Because I certainly did not see it!"

She gathered her purse, her own emotions frayed and she wanted nothing more than to be free of this courtroom. But as she stood, her hands shaky and her temper short, her purse tumbled and its contents spilled and rolled across the floor of the rapidly emptying jury box.

And Christine wanted to cry.

No matter how she and the others who were convinced of Erik's innocence stressed that reasonable doubt easily applied given the lack of direct evidence, some members refused to be swayed.

They had decided Erik's guilt the moment they had first sat within the jury box, and no manner of discussion or imploring could affect them.

So now it was possible for him to be tried again. And what if the next time more jurors were selected that were as blinded by prejudice and he was found guilty on the same inadequate evidence?

She stooped to scoop up the contents of her bag, and with a groan she noticed that some of her lip balms and pens had rolled down the step to the lower section. But before she could retort, Richard felt the need to continue the argument. "And you don't think you've approached this entire process with your own set of biases? You feel sorry for the man so you're prepared to overlook anything he's done just so you can feel good about yourself. Well, I'm sorry, missy, but that's not good enough for me. You were lookin' to accuse that widow because she didn't cry enough on the stand, so she must be somehow involved. But I'm tellin' you that the man over there has plenty of evil in him, and you're blind if you can't see it."

Officer Ryan approached, his face set and all trace of the saucy smirks completely gone. "Is there a problem here?"

Richard shook his head, brushing past Christine as she still knelt on the floor, too stunned to form any kind of reply. "No, I'm done here."

And then he was gone.

Officer Ryan entered the jury box and helped fish out the rest of Christine's items that had fallen too far for her to reach on her level of the seats, and he handed them to her with a worried expression. "You alright? Trials can be tough."

Christine took them, a numbness overtaking her that was not at all pleasant. "Did I do that? Did I see what I wanted to see and that's why we couldn't reach a decision?"

She glanced over at the defense table, half expecting Erik to have fled the courthouse already to enjoy a taste of his reinstated freedom. Instead he was watching her, his expression inscrutable.

"Look, the judge was right. This was not Sorelli's best work and it was a tough call."

Christine sank back onto her heels as she peered up at him. "But what if he did it?"

Joe offered his hand to help her back up to her feet. "Then they'll find more evidence and charge him again. But if he didn't do it then there's likely nothing to worry about." He smiled then, this time his good humor readily evident. "Now, I believe we agreed to coffee after this messy business was over with."

Christine stuffed the rest of her belongings back into her purse, trying to settle her nerves. She was grateful for his sympathy but she still felt anxious and overwrought. She did want to go out with him, she decided, but if she was going to make it through the dinner service she was going to need time to collect her thoughts.

"I know, and I want to. But I have to catch my bus to get to work and I can't be late."

Joe hummed thoughtfully and glanced down at his watch. "Well, how about I buy you a cup for the road. It'll be quick, I promise. And then…" he added, a touch of mischief in his eyes, "you can give me your phone number and we'll set a time for when it doesn't have to be so rushed."

There was such an easy manner about him that she couldn't help but return his smile. "I see, so all this to wheedle my number out of me. That must be a very good cup of tea you're buying me."

She hoped it wasn't too presumptuous for her to assume he was buying, but from the way his grin grew at her response, he did not seem overly upset by her banter.

"And you seemed to think your discernment was lacking. Regular Sherlock Holmes over here."

She blushed. "I really do have to catch my bus."

"Well then, let's not delay! It would be a terrible thing for you to have to hitch a ride from a stranger from the courthouse."

They walked toward the exit, Joe holding open the swinging door that separated the trial area from the spectator seats. But before she passed through she gathered up as much courage as she could and turned to Erik.

She didn't know what possessed her to do it—she really was pressed for time and it was doubtful he'd want to hear anything from her. But she couldn't let him walk away thinking that she had voted against him.

"Excuse me?" She didn't intend for it to sound like a question, but Erik and Mr. Chagny were still talking lowly and she saw the attorney pass something inconspicuously toward Erik. She wasn't sure if she was meant to witness the exchange, and she didn't know if her interruption would be welcomed.

Yet they both turned, Mr. Chagny smiling warmly. "Yes?"

"I just… um…" She managed a shy glance in Erik's direction. She had known he was tall, but now as she stood so much closer, she realized just how tall and it dwarfed her frame considerably. "I just wanted to say that I'm sorry we couldn't reach a decision. And that I… I didn't think you were guilty. That's all."

Joe was practically laughing at her as she rushed passed him and hurried out the courtroom doors, although he caught up to her quickly. "Well that was very nice of you! I'm sure he feels much better about things now."

She glared at him but it lacked any true feeling behind it. "I didn't want him going the rest of his life thinking that I considered him a murderer."

"And a blackmailer. Can't forget that part of it."

"Right. I just… we run into people every day. The other jurors, the attorneys… you… and then we just go about our lives. I just… if he thought about me at all afterward, I wanted him to know what I really thought."

He was quiet for a moment as they walked together, Christine following as she had not the least idea which of the many shops about the courthouse he had selected. Finally she could no longer take the silence so she added, "You think it's stupid."

He shook his head in disagreement. "No, I don't. I think it's kinda sweet. Like I would have wondered what would have happened if I hadn't asked you out—if you'd have said yes and then I'd regret it forever."

Christine rolled her eyes. "You're setting your expectations awfully high. I don't think it would plague you forever." She nibbled at her lip before boldly adding, "But I'm very glad you did."

He smiled down at her. "Me too."

The coffee shop he selected was completely unknown to her, and looking at the daunting menu with its infinite variations as well as hearing the complicated orders those in front of her conveyed, she was almost glad that she had never acquired a taste for coffee. Instead, she could only somewhat haltingly order a cup of black tea, feeling relatively confident that it would be drinkable.

When she moved to rifle through her purse in search of change, Joe waved her off. "My treat. You're giving me the honor of walking you to your bus stop—wouldn't be right for me to make you pay for more than enduring my company."

His own selection was a simple cup of black coffee, and while he waited patiently for Christine to doctor her tea with cream and sugar, his drink remained unchanged.

"You've got that down to a science. Maybe tea drinkers are just fussier."

This time she was leading them toward her stop, and she supposed he must have a car of his own since he didn't know where the bus picked up passengers. "Careful, you don't have my phone number yet. I'd hate to have to withhold it because you were being rude."

He gasped in mock horror. "I should hope not!" But then more seriously he added, "You really want to go out with me? You didn't seem so sure about it when I asked the first time."

Christine fiddled with the lid of her cup, the hot beverage warming her hands soothingly from the otherwise biting cold of the afternoon. "Sorry, I'm just… nervous. I've never really done this before, and I just… I have my routine, you know? But I'm finding that it's kind of lonely and…" She took a sip, pleased that the tea was in fact a good strong blend. "I'm ready for a change."

"I'm sorry about your dad," he responded quietly.

She glanced up at him, surprised. "How did you…"

He shrugged easily. "Jury selections. Not much else to do but listen to all the interviews." He smiled again, this time rather impishly. "And let's face it, you stand out."

She hoped her red cheeks would be mistaken for a reaction from the cold wind that was picking up rather than the embarrassment it really was. "Thanks. It was a long time ago but sometimes it still..." She took another sip, her throat feeling tight. Her determination to make more of life might have brightened her outlook, but evidently it still hurt to talk about him.

She wondered if it would be different if she could speak with someone who knew him—had witnessed what a kind, talented man he had been. But instead there were only strangers, and while they meant well, there were no shared memories, no fond anecdotes to be shared.

And still it caused an ache in her heart to think of him.

"Well, this is my stop."

He glanced around, and she wondered what he saw.

They had reached the dingy bench and shelter, but Christine made no move to enter it. While it would have been nice to get out of the wind, there were always crude things written inside as well as unidentifiable substances clinging to the worn partition, and she rarely subjected herself to the confines, let alone expose Joe to them.

"I'm sorry if I made you sad. I just wanted you to know I understood. My dad died too when I was young—killed in the line of duty. But at least I had my mom. Sounds like you had an even rougher time of it."

She gave a little shrug. "I think it's hard, no matter what. And I'm sorry about your dad too."

Joe nodded and pulled out his phone. "So… now that I've managed to make things depressing and awkward… can I still have your number?"

She pushed away the lingering thoughts of her papa and mustered up the brightest smile she could. "I think so, just so long as you promise to use it."

"Now that you can count on."

She urged him to return to the courthouse but he insisted on waiting until her bus arrived, and they chatted about much more pleasant things until finally it pulled to the curb.

He helped her up the steps with a promise to call for a proper date, and with a final thanks for her cup of tea, Christine was once more on her way to work, her heart pounding.

She had no idea if he'd really call or if things would work out in any way. But the prospect of it was nice, she decided. It made her feel less forgotten, and that was something quite refreshing.

Work was long and tedious, but she had at least felt gratified as Ewan looked pleased to hear that she could return to her previous schedule.

"Not that you're not welcome back here at dinner!" he assured her. "But the lunch service has been rather… lacking in talent while you've been gone."

She laughed and assured him that she'd be more than happy to take back her regular shifts the following week.

The walk home was bitterly cold and she tucked the collar of her coat more firmly up about her ears. This was one particular aspect she would not miss now that the trial was over.

Boo was pleased to see her, demanding food and plenty of cuddles that she was only too happy to provide. There were no strange gifts, no notes that suggested that anyone was watching her. Ever since the fresh rose and note had arrived, all such gifts had halted—which merely proved to her that it was all some sort of misunderstanding.

The rose was looking sad and droopy, but still she had not yet had the heart to get rid of it—the last vestiges of excitement in her otherwise monotonous routine. But Boo must have somehow managed to climb onto the counter in her absence, for the notes that had once been propped against the glass had been pushed to the floor.

"That's very naughty, Boo. Kitten paws do not belong on the counter!"

He blinked lazily from his spot on the bed, clearly waiting for her to join him.

She picked them up, and before shoving them in a drawer she glanced at the contents, her brow furrowing.

For hours she had poured over the letters for the trial, the handwriting argued about for far longer than she had even thought possible. And clearly deliberations were causing a strange form of madness in her, for it looked remarkably similar to the notes she currently held in her hands.

Frustrated, she placed it into the drawer, determined to look at it again in the morning after a long night's rest. Her thoughts were muddled enough as it was, and there was no point getting hysterical when likely her eyes were merely playing tricks.

But when she awoke the following morning, she was no longer in her little apartment or her familiar bed.

And it didn't seem quite so hysterical to think that a madman had been stalking her after all.

Especially not when a figure in the corner of the room began to move.

Sooo... We have a verdict! And Christine actually spoke to Erik directly! (Progress!) But now I think I've left you on an even worse cliffhanger... Who do you think has Christine? So many options! Officer Ryan? The security guard? Erik?

See you next Saaaattturday!