Beneath the Porcelain Mask

10. Nothing More Dead 2/2

  "If you can think me capable of ever feeling, surely you may suppose that I have suffered now."

~ Elinor to Marianne.

Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility

 'As these considerations occurred to her in painful succession, she wept for him, more than for herself.'

Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility.

This chapter is a bit longer than the others, but I think the rooftop scene always needs its own spotlight. Also, as exams are coming up this week, I haven't been able to edit this as much as I'd have liked, so please bear with me this week! I've bettered a few things, but not everything.

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I stepped away from the commotion, slipping back into the shadows and finding my way out of the wings into the corridors. Taking a long breath, I leaned against a wall, closing my eyes.

I'd heard the rumours floating about. I'd read Erik's threats. I knew about the Rosy Hours. But I just couldn't link those things to Erik. Why, though? Why couldn't I see the thin hands, that danced over the shining, ivory organ keys, killing a man? Was this my fault? I'd asked him to sort Buquet out; I'd never meant for Erik to actually kill him.

People shook Buquet by the shoulders, trying to awaken him. I stared up into the catwalks.

"Pull your stockings up, it was only a corpse!" Firmin was yelling at some ballet rats, who were on the verge of fainting in their tight dresses. Meg clung to her mother's arm and Madame Giry caught my eye as I glanced over.

'Go,' she seemed to say. 'He won't listen to me.'

I took another deep breath and stood up properly. My racing heart drowned out every other noise around me: the screams of ballerinas, the footsteps of fleeing audience members and those of doctors as they hurried to the crime scene.

I didn't hear the other set of footsteps until it was too late.

A hand snaked around my wrist, catching me and pulling me back into someone's chest. I gasped involuntarily. One hand flew to my dagger as I kicked my captor's shin, the other to his face for the mask. He, as I knew by his body type, pushed his hand over my mouth.

I bit down. The man yelped and drew his hand away, shaking it out and hissing in pain.

"Erik, you're a dead man!" I snapped.

"Shh, Nikki! Are you alright?"

I let out the sharp breath I'd been holding in one long puff and turned to face him. "Jeremy, I—"

"Are you alright?" His words ran into one another as he caught my wrists and checked my arms over. He fixed my cotton shawl and went to pull a glove from my hand. I drew a sharp breath and yanked them away before he could, burying them in the folds of my dark gown.

"Fine," I replied, not realising how sharp I was being until I'd said it. "I'm fine. Thank you."

His eyes softened and he stepped forward to wrap his arms around me in an offered hug. "I was so scared when he... And then I thought that you..." he muttered, his voice cracking.

I bit my lip at his advancements and stepped back, smiling gently when he glanced up in fear. His eyes shone in the candlelight beneath long, dark eyelashes, emeralds in a cave lit by a miner's torch. He nodded and stepped back slightly.