Who's ready for more answers? We'll get some real ones this time! Promise!

Now, onward!

XXI

Despite her tremulous participation, it was still difficult to sit idly by as she watched Ms. Poligny struggle and cry out as Erik eased the cloth between her lips and tied it behind her head.

And from the way she winced, it was clear that some of her hair had tangled within the knot.

"Is that necessary?" she asked softly.

Erik hummed again, going to Mr. Debienne and working at the knot that held his own gag in place. "I am afraid so," he answered. "We would not want them to contaminate one another's testimonies."

She supposed that made sense, but it made it no less uncomfortable to witness.

But still she mouthed I'm sorry to Ms. Poligny, who only looked away from her pointedly in response.

Well. That was uncalled for.

The knot finally gave way and Erik held the soiled cloth with only the tips of two fingers, his distaste evident as he regarded the wetted portion.

And while Christine would not have liked to touch it either, it was only there because of his own intervention, and it seemed only fitting that he be the one to deal with it now.

Except instead of tucking it somewhere on his person, he leaned forward and shoved it into the breast pocket of Mr. Debienne's jacket, patting it with a satisfied smirk on his face.

"That's for drooling unnecessarily," he explained, although the wary glances the owner was giving him did not require any such clarification.

The manager sighed, shaking his head tiredly. "What are you going to use on me to get me to talk? I can assure you, I have no children running about to use for leverage."

Erik shrugged. "I would not be so certain of that. You were not exactly faithful to your wife either. Are you certain that one of your mistresses never conceived?"

To Christine's surprise, Mr. Debienne snorted derisively. "Yes, I am. Because there's no chance in hell that if one of them had gotten pregnant, they wouldn't have shown up here demanding child support."

"How dreadful for you," Erik responded dryly, and Christine was inclined to agree with his rather sarcastic assessment.

She knew how difficult it was to make a living in this city, and to have the added expenditure of a child…

She'd heard enough stories from her fellow waitresses to understand how challenging it could be.

Christine got that sinking feeling again as she thought of her job at the restaurant. She had no way of knowing how much time had passed, the darkness making her body's natural rhythms all muddled. Had she missed a shift? Would she find calls from Ewan ranging from concerned to resigned as he apologetically informed her that she no longer was employed?

It made her feel all the more trapped, for if she did succeed in convincing Erik to let her go, now she would not have a job to return to. An apartment that would be paid for by him, but no other means to support herself, not to mention poor Boo who still needed food and litter and the occasional toy to play with…

She shook herself. Now was not the time to think of such things. She would play along with the trial for now, then when they had returned down below she could broach the subject properly.

Mr. Debienne was looking anywhere but at Erik, his eyes lingering sometimes upon her, his brow furrowed as if trying to place where he had seen her before.

Erik stepped slightly to the left so as to disrupt his view. "It is rude not to give your attention to the one who is speaking to you, Debienne."

He cleared his throat awkwardly and managed a small glance upward. "S-sorry," he muttered.

Erik sniffed. "I am certain you will be."

Christine shifted uneasily in her seat, not at all liking the sound of that. He had promised not to harm them, hadn't he?

But then… he hadn't really. He'd only said that she might not wish to make him promise once she'd learned what he'd done.

She nibbled at her lip and tried to rally her courage in case her intervention proved necessary.

"Now, I do not think that I shall have to employ such unsavory methods in order to persuade you into speaking. I think that this has been pressing on your conscience for months now. You've been looking a little sickly… lost weight, have you?"

Mr. Debienne swallowed. "Maybe a bit. My doctor says…"

"Ah, but it was not for your health that you did so. No, I would venture that the guilt, the terrible, overwhelming guilt of what you have done turns food to ash in your mouth. That you cannot sleep at night without thinking of the man that you betrayed. The man you called friend that you allowed to pay so dearly for your selfishness."

Christine did not miss the glance Erik gave Mr. Nadir as he said this, and she was reminded once again how hurt he must have been because of the trial. To be falsely accused, to be judged so harshly by strangers and friend alike…

Mr. Debienne's lips thinned. "I…"

"Tell me, was your conscience prickled when first you concocted the plot, or did the guilt only surface after your partner's demise?"

He frowned. "What are you asking?"

Erik scoffed. "I thought it quite obvious. I am asking if you were enough of a monster that you thought nothing of plotting to kill your dear friend. That your hatred of him was so deep and pervasive that it was only afterward that you stopped to consider the dreadful act you had committed."

"I didn't hate him!" Mr. Debienne insisted, this time facing Erik fully. "He… he just…"

Erik took a step nearer, his voice gentling to a persuasive caress. "He just what, Debienne? Deserved to die?"

"No! No, he didn't! He hadn't done anything wrong and yet we…"

Ms. Poligny screeched then, the sound barely muffled from the obstruction of her mouth, and Erik pinned her with a glare. "Madam, do control yourself. We are finally getting to the heart of the matter."

Christine watched all of this with her pulse racing. It seemed too easy—that without doing anything at all, Erik was masterfully extracting a confession of murder.

But what was the common phrase? Confession is good for the soul?

And how much would having planned and implemented a murder weigh upon one's conscience?

She had naively thought that a murderer would be a cold, calculating individual. That they were incapable of feeling much of anything at all if they were able to snuff out the life of another.

But as she watched the man before her, perspiration at his temples as he warred with himself about whether or not to speak the truth of what happened last April, it was clear that her belief had been very wrong indeed.

She half expected Erik to shout at him, to cajole him into confession with threats of violence. Or perhaps he would provoke a heated argument that finally persuaded Mr. Debienne to blurt out the truth of his involvement.

But instead Erik placed his hands on both of the chair arms as he leaned forward, Mr. Debienne casting fearful glances about the room—at her—obviously uncertain as to what Erik intended to do.

"You were upset at my trial, were you not? It was clear that the guilt had taken hold of you already—that it pained you to lie while under oath. Yet you did. And even now you long for relief, for the blessed respite of speaking the truth you wish so desperately was not so…"

Erik straightened, his tone still soft and persuasive, and it sent a shiver down Christine's spine as even she felt some niggling need to spill out secrets of her own, simply because he had asked it.

"I am offering that to you, Debienne. Simply tell me what you did…"

Words of objection were not necessary as Mr. Debienne glanced toward Ms. Poligny's, her eyes clearly threatening harm upon him if he said anything, and yet he turned away from her, his eyes over-bright and glassy.

"It shouldn't have come to this," he finally admitted. "I never thought I was capable of something like this until… until I was already too involved. Too caught up in all of it to just… stop and think rationally."

This time his focus vacillated between Erik and Christine, his expression pleading. "You have to understand, I will regret this the rest of my life. I'm not a bad man, I just… things got away from me!"

"A supreme tragedy," Erik interjected. "But do save your pretense of remorse and simply state what you have done."

Mr. Debienne sighed, whatever vestiges of strength seeming to leave him. "I killed him," he murmured, almost too quietly for Christine to hear. "I went to him that night, to try to convince him to sell. I had a buyer, good buyers that would have taken care of the place, but still he wouldn't give in! 'This was our dream,' he said. As if I didn't remember! But things started getting bad and we were hemorrhaging money." He cast an accusing glance at Erik. "And your salary certainly didn't help matters."

Erik gave a derisive laugh. "Do not place such responsibility on me, Debienne. If you had listened to me, this place would have flourished! But you insisted on casting talentless fools, on pandering to patrons and making concessions."

"We had to do that! So much of business is politics, of favors and relations with the right people. Some things you couldn't possibly understand!"

Erik scoffed. "Ah yes, because I have not already proven that I know all of what happens in my theatre. Obviously the subtle nuances of business are far beyond my ken."

Mr. Debienne flushed, and Christine couldn't help but cut in. They were finally getting somewhere—he had confessed to having killed his partner, and yet now that Erik was insulted they seemed to be digressing.

Feeling rather stupid, she raised her hand into the air as if waiting to be called upon in school, only for both men to be so busy glaring at one another that her action was ignored.

"Excuse me," she tried again, although her voice wavered as Erik's frown settled upon her. But she had a question and this was apparently her court, and she would not be silent in it. "You say you killed him—that you just went there to reason with him. Then why had he received a note beforehand threatening to kill him?"

Erik's attention returned to Mr. Debienne, who looked mildly sick at the whole situation. "Yes, please do enlighten us as to why my good name was sullied so distastefully."

Christine would not have gone that far, the moniker of Opera Ghost hardly having been synonymous with motives considered beyond reproach. But still, it was that letter which seemed to assure the prosecution of his guilt, and if Mr. Debienne had anything to do with it, she supposed Erik was justified in his indignation.

At least in part.

Mr. Debienne's eyes shifted to Ms. Poligny, and if Christine had not been watching so closely, she would have missed the almost imperceptible shake of the woman's head that appeared to convince him to cease his cooperation.

"I shall say no more on the subject," he finally replied. "You got what you wanted, I've confessed. I hardly see the importance to draw out the matter further."

Erik glowered. "I see a very great need. You have yet to fully explain yourself to the court, which is precisely the point of this little exercise!"

But he seemed to have found some bit of courage, or perhaps it was pure obstinance, for he shook his head and refused to say more.

She was going to intercede, nervous as she was as Erik growled and reached into the man's pocket before securing his gag once more. But despite her worry, he did not strike him, although she rather thought he caught some of his hair within the knot on purpose, as he smiled rather smugly as Mr. Debienne winced.

And yet as she watched it all happen, her questions still unanswered as to the full nature of Mr. Poligny's death, she did believe that his partner had killed him—although she had yet to believe it happened the way he had confessed.

"Very well, I had hoped to be finished with our trial today, but it appears that some of you have decided to become uncooperative. As such, all of you are going to enjoy your generous accommodations until the court reconvenes." His eyes flickered to Christine. "Would you care to make it official?"

She was momentarily confused, the abrupt ending to the day's strange beginnings leaving her flustered and uncertain. But quickly she remembered the judge's final words of the day, and at Erik's expectant look, she hastened to comply.

"Court is in recess until… tomorrow." It came out more as a question than the commanding tone of a true judge, but Erik appeared pleased enough and she supposed that was what mattered most.

As long as he was satisfied, he wouldn't do anything rash. And a calm Erik meant better things for all of his captives, including her and Boo.

That's what she told herself, in any case.

He walked to the side of the stage and pressed the button once more, lowering his hostages back into the recesses of the floor. Belatedly she realized she would need to move as well, but she watched the three of them descend into the blackened depths with a shiver.

And before she could move, Erik had reached her, holding out his hand to help her from the platform.

"Are you going to leave them there?" she asked timidly.

Erik shook his head, and ever so gently she felt his thumb rub soothingly at her knuckles. "No, they will be returned to their respective guestrooms until we see fit to continue the trial. Who knows," he added, his voice growing fond and teasing, "with your sleeping habits, we may not see them again for another few days."

"Ha ha," she responded dryly, cursing herself as she felt her cheeks warm. She had never been ashamed of how much she slept before, and she certainly didn't wish to start now. "But you'll… feed them, won't you?"

He rolled his eyes. "They will not starve," he assured her, his voice slightly exasperated. "I will however need to escort them to their rooms before we return home."

She thought again how dark it seemed below the stage, and how he would not be the gentle, attentive man she had grown somewhat used to. He would bluster and seek to frighten, and that was not something she wished to witness.

He led her toward the side of the stage, past the luscious curtains and toward the darkened recesses that presumably would open to the inner works of the impressive structure.

Only for her to fall back and balk at the very idea of venturing down below.

Erik stopped, and looked at her questioningly. "Christine?"

There was a circular staircase that seemed to disappear into the very floor, inky blackness surrounding the opening—almost as if it was waiting to swallow her into the very bowels of the earth.

She shuddered.

"Please don't make me go down there."

Erik frowned. "The defendants are down there," he reasoned slowly. "I must tend to them before we return home."

She nodded numbly. "I don't want to go down there," she repeated.

He seemed torn, his gaze alternating between the stairs and her eyes as he considered her plea.

"If I leave you here, you will not… be here when I return."

Honestly, the thought of escape had not even crossed her mind. All she knew was that she most certainly wanted nothing to do with what happened downstairs.

And was she willing to forego her possible one chance at freedom to avoid the frightening blackness?

She swallowed. And with a sinking heart and disappointment in herself, she realized that she was.

"I'll be here," she promised, her voice as firm as she could make it even as she knew her demeanor revealed nothing remotely confident. She felt shaky, her breath short as she continued to vacillate between the terrifying stair and Erik's own hesitant visage.

"We are to build… trust, you and I." He responded questioningly.

She nodded furiously. "Yes, trust. And I… I won't break that, Erik. I will not leave the theatre, I swear it."

His eyes narrowed, and she felt almost that he could see into her very soul as he searched her expression for any sign of deceit.

Did it make her terrible for knowing unequivocally that he would find none?

For in this moment, she had no intention of running from the stage, of fleeing to the entrance and testing the great doors to see if they would be the means of her escape.

Did that make her a coward, already succumbing to Erik's wiles?

She didn't know.

He took a shaky breath and released her hand, his eyes betraying how much it pained him to do so.

"You will not leave the theatre," he confirmed. "You will not try to run." His smile was shaky and so very hesitant, and some part of her longed to soothe him, to promise that she would never try to do so. "We cannot hold a court without our judge, you know."

Her answering smile was just as tremulous. "I know. So go tend to your defendants and then we'll go convince Boo that we're not terrible people for having an adventure without him."

Erik grimaced at that. "He is likely not to believe us," he warned, and Christine was grateful for his change in tone, for if he continued to look at her so mournfully, she probably would have relented and faced the terrors of below, clinging to some part of him all the while.

And with a last glance at her, one that left he with the impression that he was trying to memorize her every feature in case she did not keep to her promise, he disappeared beneath the stage.

Leaving her entirely alone.

If it was a strange thing to hold a mock court in one of the most grand and opulent theatres in the country, it was stranger still to suddenly be alone upon the stage. He had left the lights on, for which she was very grateful, but her every footstep echoed in the empty hall, the rows of perfectly aligned seats staring at her as she shuffled across the stage.

Did her papa dream of her performing here? Of her working, practicing, breathing the music he loved every day before an audience who appreciated song as much as he.

But instead of filling her with anticipation and excitement, she merely felt small and frightfully alone. Now would be the time to test the acoustics, to even so much as hum an errant tune so she would at least claim to have experienced the grandeur of such a magnificent place, but as she stood there, her arms gripped together tightly as she surveyed the theatre, all she wanted to do was leave it.

She did not run, did not even hurry her steps as she walked through the neat aisle and through the doors beyond. The entrance was of the finest marble, her boots making her presence known in the great expanse, although she tried to be silent.

There was no need for artificial light here, the tall, paned windows that faced the street allowing enough illumination to quell any fear of shadows or hidden things. It was much later than she would have thought, dusk settling in, her view of the setting sun obstructed much as it was always done by the tall buildings throughout the city.

But still she crept closer, her eyes lingering on the world beyond—a world that while not particularly kind to her, was familiar and appealing in its own way.

Her hand fell to the gold handle of the door, polished to a bright shine from the many patrons that had come to this theatre seeking a momentary respite from the drudgery of their lives.

To be swept away, if only for a moment, in a world of music and art, of passion and tragedy.

She gave the door a half-hearted tug, simply to see if it would open.

Christine did not know what she would have done it if had opened, but when it resisted her feeble effort, she felt no need to force the issue.

She had given her word to Erik, and while she would have liked to have at least breathed the fresh air, she doubted it would be worth his anger at finding her on the front steps.

So she contented herself with gazing out the window. There were few people milling about, and she vaguely wondered if she should try to garner any of their attention.

But soon she felt a presence behind her, and she was glad that Erik had not caught her doing something so undignified as waving her arms about and shouting.

"Enjoying the view?" He asked, his voice betraying no displeasure at her chosen spot to wait for him.

"It snowed," she replied, surprised at that fact. The days had grown colder to be sure, but she had thought that winter was farther away than that.

More would have to come to blanket the city in its crisp freshness, to blur the grime that clung to rooftops and streets and stone with a layer into a sheet of pure white.

But it was a beginning and one that she realized now she might not be so fortunate as to experience.

Not that she would mind being spared the trek through the wet slurry on her way home from work.

But it was a difficult sacrifice she had to make all the same to but be freed of such things.

Erik was studying her carefully when she at last turned to look at him, his expression inscrutable. She managed a small smile, although she knew it was a rather pathetic attempt. "Are your defendants all situated?"

"Quite so," he replied.

He offered his arm, and with a quiet sigh she accepted it, giving one last fleeting glance to the outside world.

She would ask for more in time. She would suggest they go for a stroll and enjoy the new world the snow had created. Then perhaps mention that she would like to stay the night in her apartment and she would see him in the morning if he would care to join her for breakfast the next day.

And just as easily as he eased her through the darkened tunnels, thoughts of Boo and food and warm covers reminding her of the necessity of facing the inky blackness within, she would ease him into the idea of starting their relationship again.

This time where she was given a choice in the matter.

Sooo... Christine took quite a risk wandering off like that! Erik seems rather calm, doesn't he? Wonder if that's going to last...

And we have a confession! Think he's lying? Or is there more going on? Hmm...

Next up, our lovely couple are going to need to talk about some... things...

Please review!