The Cult of Romeo

XXI. Here's to My Love!

Act 3, Scene 4

Hugo D'Angelo entered through the door as though the stage directions had called for him. He was light on his feet, floating inside rather than walking. Suddenly, Khaleel's words from earlier came back to me and I wondered how the hell I'd missed it before.

D'Angelo had told him to write that on the mirror and here he was now. His blue eyes were wide and calculating as he watched our every move. He almost seemed nervous; too elegant, too fidgety and so unlike D'Angelo. 

It sent soars to my chest to even think about the fact that this man - the director of all our productions, the one who lived and breathed Shakespear, was the one to end it all. He'd killed Elijah, the very boy whose memorial he had directed tonight. But, why? He was excited for tonight, so eager to see the scouts and make a name for himself. Was that the point? To garner attention by killing the golden boy in order to show off his skills?

The thought made me sick and even though my eyes were still slightly puffy, I wasn't crying anymore. Now, I was stone again.

"I didn't think you'd have it in you to kill, D'Angelo," I spat.

He flinched against my words as his eyes flickered from us and to the door as though waiting for something.

"You don't know anything," D'Angelo warned as his German accent licked every word.

I scoffed aloud and saw the dark splotches of sleep decorate my vision. Khaleel pulled at our tied hands in a warning and it woke me up.

"There's an interval without a pianist!" A voice called from the other side of the door, and someone walked in. He froze at the sight of Khaleel and me.

"Francis?" I called weakly.

Francis Zhao stood tall like a looming shadow as he blocked the light from behind him and cast darkness over me. Dressed in a smart black suit that was tailored to perfection and silver cufflinks that shimmered against the faint light behind the door. If I squinted my eyes, I noticed his skin had paled and brown eyes were wide with panic and confusion.

By now, I was so tired, so confused and so angry that I could have passed out.

"Francis!" I cried. "You have to untie us, D'Angelo isn't who we thought he was! He killed Elijah and Jackie, he's the one who took those photos and told Khaleel to put up the threat. Quick, help us!"

D'Angelo wouldn't look at anything but the floor and the ceiling as his head bobbed up and down, waiting for something to happen. Francis seemed too shocked to answer and only the warmth of Khaleel's hand that flushed into my own pale skin reminded me of his presence.

Francis' face softened from its usual sharp features. His eyes overflowed with adoration and pity. I tried to shimmy my hands from the binds but it helped nothing but to burn against my wrist.

"Oh, Lottie," Francis cooed softly, waking from his trance. He walked towards me slowly, like a predator would approach prey at first. Quietly and slowly and softly. It made my heart race. "I'm so sorry, Lottie. It wasn't meant to happen this way."

At his words, I snapped. I thrashed against the ties and stomped my feet against the floor, breathing deeply before screaming out in frustration.

D'Angelo scoffed weakly and it cut across my tantrum.

"God, Charlotte. It was him that did all that. He told me to kill them, he- he planned it all. I just..."

Then, he pointed at Francis.

My heart stopped. It wasn't true. It couldn't be.

Francis cupped my cheeks gently and with the thumb of one hand, he stroked the puffy red skin under my eyes. With the other hand, he ran his fingers through my dark hair and pulled it forward gently over my shoulder.