No!
THE EMPEROR
A fatal error. One I cannot pass up. We were confused before, we can be so again – and who would blame me for slaying the murderer of the woman I love?
(Before DENNIS can move, THE EMPEROR takes a step back, raises his saber, and thrusts it into ANN's back.)
Her eyes widened, not in surprise, but in fulfillment.
'Now?' she asked him gently, and he knew she had made no mistake. She had known him all along. And she had known too what the Emperor would do. 'Now?'
She fell, and the movement pulled the blade out of her back, revealing the Emperor standing behind her, holding the bloody sword.
THE EMPEROR
All gone now, Dennis. No one left. No reason for you to live on. Let us waltz again. I must become you for the last time.
Air surged in and out of his lungs like a bellows fanning a fire to fury. When the flame leaped, hot and bright, from his soul, that air burst out of him with a shriek of such hatred and savagery as had never before been heard on a stage.
The Emperor flinched before it. Dennis saw the sword tremble in his hand. Still, in another second the creature leaped over Ann, advanced upon Dennis, trying to drive him back into the wings again, to repeat the subterfuge that had once before confused them in the audience's mind.
It was like trying to harry the wind.
Dennis would not be driven back an inch. He parried, then attacked, not thrusting, but slashing. He was filled to bursting with emotion – loss, grief, fury, and above them all, hatred. Hatred for the Emperor and for himself, hatred that he had not been stronger, that Ann had had to make him reach inside himself with her own self- sacrifice.
'You… royal… bastard!' he shouted, advancing on the Emperor. It was Robin's voice and Ann's voice, Donna Franklin's and Tommy Werton's and Harry Ruhl's, all the voices of the Emperor's victims, all of their strengths. And it was Dennis Hamilton's voice, Dennis Hamilton's strength as well.
It was Dennis Hamilton driving the Emperor back, back where he had come from, and the Emperor paled and weakened, and seemed to shrink, and his arms did not come up as high to parry Dennis's attacks, and at last a cut flew through the defense, bit into the Emperor's side, and another followed like a silver flame, burning into the shoulder and neck, so that the Emperor's saber clattered on the wooden boards of the stage, the Emperor's body fell, spurting blood not his own, but made from Dennis's soul, now reclaimed, restored, and forevermore at war with itself.
He looked down at the dying Emperor, scarcely feeling the arms grip him from behind, only dimly hearing the audience's cries. Tears sprang into his eyes, and he blinked them away, trying to turn back toward Ann, seeing Dan Munro holding him, and, over his shoulder, Ann lying on her side, people all around her, Terri crying, Evan standing near, John Steinberg, arms crossed, a fist to his forehead. The stage seemed full of people now, running, crying, and he said to Munro, 'Let me… let me…'
The policeman knew what he meant, and he staggered to where she lay, fell on his knees beside her, his hands held out in pleading, afraid to touch her. 'Oh,' was all he could say, less a word than a breath. 'Oh…'
'Dennis,' she whispered. 'It's you? All… of you?'
'Yes… yes…' Every word was an effort for both of them. 'Live,' he sobbed. 'Oh Ann, live, I can't lose you again…”
Her hand reached up and grasped his, trying to stay. But she could not obey his last command. Her grip weakened, her eyelids quivered, then closed, and she was gone.
Wrenching, desperate sobs broke from him, but no grief, no emotion, however strong, could bring her back.
'Mister Hamilton…” He heard the familiar voice, Munro's voice, like wind in his pounding ears. 'I'm sorry. God, I'm sorry. But I have to know. Is he the one?' Dennis looked up at Munro standing above him.
'He's still alive. Is he the one? The one who did it all?'
Duty. He would have stayed at Ann's side till they dragged him away, but there was duty to be thought of. He did not look at her face again for fear that if he did, he could not leave her. Instead he rose to his feet, walked over to where the Emperor was lying, smiling, bleeding, breathing.
'No,' Dennis said, with a cold that seared his throat. 'He's not the one. He's nothing, no one at all. An imposter.'
The smile shivered away, the teeth bared, stained with brackish blood. 'I… am…' the voice said with hellish pride, 'Emperor Karl… Frederick… Augustus!… Of Waldmont… of this theatre… of the world!'
'You are nothing.'
'I am who I claim!' He coughed, and blood sprayed. 'And I… execute without mercy… those who doubt.'
'You execute them?' Munro asked softly. 'You executed the others?”
“All…” The word was weak, but audible.
'Donna Franklin?'
'All… all of them…”
Dennis closed his eyes. Duty. He had done his duty to Sid. The creature on the floor had taken his pride, and now that same pride found it guilty and freed his friend. Keep the pride, Dennis thought, and prayed the thing heard. Let it die with you. When he opened his eyes, the Emperor was staring at him.
'The king is dead…” the Emperor said, and spoke again. The words were soft, but very clear. Unmistakable.
'Long… live… the king…' it said, and died.
They were the most terrible words that Dennis Hamilton could imagine.
He turned from the dead monster back to his dead love, and stayed with her, knowing that he would never leave her.
His soul was his own again, and he gave it to Ann.
CURTAIN
Warwick. So bad a death argues a monstrous life. King. Forbear to judge, for we are sinners all. Close up his eyes and draw the curtain close; And let us all to meditation.
Dan Munro, although he was only partially aware of the audience, was surprised at their reaction. They merely sat in their seats, or stood where they had risen in sympathy to the action occurring on the stage, until someone finally thought to bring down the curtain on the grim tableau. Then, as if they had just witnessed a particularly moving tragedy rather than an actual slaughter, they filed silently, almost reverently, out of the auditorium. A few remained where they were, weeping quietly, or just standing, stunned. Even the vultures of the press and media seemed subdued, walking rather than running toward the telephones, the cameras waiting outside.
There was little need to keep any of the audience for questioning, since Dan Munro had seen the slaying of Ann Deems as he came through the inner lobby and down the aisle. Even though Dennis Hamilton's savagery at the end had startled and disturbed him, it was as clear-cut a case of self-defense as he had ever seen.
When the first ambulance came, Hamilton remained by Ann Deems as the attendants lifted her body onto a stretcher and carried it to the ambulance. He would not yet let them bandage his wound. 'I'll talk to you tomorrow,'
