Master of the Opera, Act 5: A Haunting Duet Read Online Free PDF Page A

haven’t lawyered up, have I? They’ll be here soon, though—so we should probably discuss what you really want to know.”
    He fell silent, waiting for her to say something. She knew this from theater. The long silence that prompts the guilty party to confess because she can’t stand the shouting of her inner voices. Or the imagined thump thump, thump thump of the undying heartbeat of her victim under the floorboards. Except the police station was floored with tile. She smiled, amused at her train of thought.
    “Something funny?” Sanchez looked irritated.
    Score one for Christine—he’d broken the silence first.
    “Just waiting for you to ask me questions.”
    “I already did—who were you with last night?”
    “My lover, and then my friend, Hally Roberts.”
    “You’ll say her name but not his.”
    “That’s right. But you already know her name.”
    “We’ll find out his, too.”
    “I doubt it.”
    “Why’s that?”
    “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.”
    “Try me.”
    “Okay, he’s a semicorporeal being who lives under the opera house. Last night he took me to another realm, where we performed ritual sex magic to help restore his strength as a demigod.” She reviewed it in her mind. “At least, I’m pretty sure that was the purpose of what we were doing. We didn’t really discuss it in detail.”
    Sanchez made a note in the file, not looking at her. “Are you waiting for me to tell you how crazy that story is?”
    “Yes, actually. I know how it sounds.”
    “And you’ve been down this road before, haven’t you, Christy?”
    “Christine.”
    “Excuse me?”
    “I prefer Christine now. Or Ms. Davis would be fine.”
    “I have your records, Ms. Davis.” He closed the file and tapped it with a blunt finger. “This wouldn’t be the first time you’ve experienced mental and emotional difficulties.”
    The AC was cold, drilling into her stomach. She stared at the file, willing the dread away. The sight of those old papers, what they likely said about her, robbed her of her courage.
    “You’re a cutter. I understand that doesn’t go away.” Sanchez was trying to sound kind. Back to the fatherly approach. “Maybe the stress is making you cut again. Or you’re purposely seeking out dangerous situations.”
    All the protesting she’d done in the past—no one had ever listened. That was the thing about people starting to think you were crazy. Everything you said sounded bad. Some of the old panic began to eat away at the edges of her newfound confidence. Christy the cutter was her crippled self. Christine didn’t want to be her anymore.
    “I’m not.” But her voice wavered, ever so slightly, and Sanchez heard it.
    “Maybe I should take you into protective custody, have you evaluated—for your own safety.”
    Asking for a sweater now would be a sign of weakness. I’m not a cutter. I never was a cutter. A few little cuts and that was how my father punished me. The tears pricked at her eyes and she fought them back.
    Sanchez’s face wore the fog of sympathy, but the truth of his canny maneuvering shone through. Sanchez thought this was the way to get to her. By making her feel crazy. Just as her dad had.
    Words lie . But her gut knew the truth.
    “Thanks, but I’m fine.”
    “If I think you’re a danger to yourself or others, I can have you involuntarily committed.”
    She laughed, and it warmed her considerably. Now she rubbed her arms briskly. “If you read my file, you know I’ve been down that road before, Detective. Believe me, I know the rules. I’m also no longer a frightened and confused thirteen-year-old girl. You’d need a hell of a lot more than what you’ve got to do that.”
    “I can do a lot.”
    “Yes. But not that. You can arrest me, but you can’t make me insane.”
    He leaned in, but she thought she saw a gleam of respect in his eyes. “Even if I don’t arrest you, you’ll be placed on administrative leave at the opera. The board feels