Disclaimer: I do not own Phantom of the Opera. The rights belong to those who have legally acquired them.

I slowly wrung my tightly folded hands between my knees, the cold sweat on my brow slowly drying. My heart began to slow and recover from the shock. I sighed.

Lifting my eyes, I regarded my friend lying on the settee across from me. His legs were loosely crossed, his left hand resting on his belly and his right hand crumpled on the floor, elbow bent. His head, turned slightly to the side, was cradled by a soft Persian pillow. His eyelids were closed. The half mask was strapped to his face, his hair groomed and immaculate. He even wore his typical dress coat, cotton shirt, black trousers and polished shoes.

Even in death, Erik maintained his elegance.

My eyes traveled to the coffee table, to the glass tumbler containing a small remainder of whiskey. Beside it sat an empty little vial that had once held a lethal substance Erik had concocted himself. A silver spoon lay beside these two items, and beneath the scoop on the tabletop sat a small, glistening puddle of the whiskey and poison.

I gently rubbed my chin as I envisioned Erik a mere thirty minutes ago, alive, sitting on the settee with the items before him. I could almost see him, removing the cap from the tiny vial, sniffing it to assure himself of the contents, and slowly adding it to his full glass of whiskey. He would have been as calm as ever; death, even his own, did not sway him. I could see his brown eyes watching the clear, seemingly harmless poison stream into his drink, his hands still and relaxed.

Erik's ghost stirred the deadly recipe with the little silver spoon, and he even tasted from it to ensure its proper mixing. I could see his slender hand take the glass in his hand, lift it to his lips and swallow it smoothly down his throat.

Knowing my friend, he wanted to look presentable in death. He'd laid down immediately after taking the drink, arranging the pillow beneath his head and making sure his mask was in place, so as not to frighten the first person to discover his body. Perhaps he'd given a final, exhausted sigh before he closed his eyes and died.

I blinked, feeling an uncomfortable wetness on my chin, and I realized I was weeping. Though I was greatly distressed, I also had anticipated Erik's death. Christine Daae had left a week ago, and within that week Erik had plummeted into the darkest chasms of his mind, and as hard as I tried, I could not pull him out. I had seen it in his eyes. He had died when she left.

I stood from my seat, wiping my tears, my body suddenly feeling incredibly heavy on my legs. I approached Erik and sat on the coffee table before him, looking at his colorless face and his closed lips. With every ounce of respect, I touched his cheek, shuddering at the coldness of his flesh. This was not the Erik I had known. I remembered a rare hug I had given him once, and I recalled how warm and human he had felt. The body that lay before me was only a shell.

Taking a deep, shuddering breath, I rose and gently slipped my arms underneath his body to pick him up. His head dropped horribly over my arm and his arms and legs hung loosely towards the ground. I pushed back the nausea that filled my stomach and throat.

I reverently carried him into his room and laid him carefully in his coffin-bed, a sad smile touching my lips as I realized that the thing could now serve its intended purpose. I arranged Erik's head and placed his hands atop his chest.

Feeling faint, I cast my eyes around the room for Erik's most treasured possessions. I immediately found his Don Juan Triumphant still sitting on the pipe organ and I delicately took it into my hands. I tucked it beneath Erik's right arm, and I imagined his hand closing firmly around the spine.

I stood there for a long time, staring at my dead friend, reflecting on the past, our first meeting, the day he told me about Christine Daae, with that terrifying look of madness on his face. It was so strange to see this man inanimate now, never to wake again.

I prayed for his soul. Surely Allah would take pity on such a disturbed, destroyed man who only wanted someone to love him? I could not even fathom Erik being sent to Hell, where he would burn for all eternity. He had been burned enough on this Earth.

When I concluded my prayer, I sighed, took the lid of the coffin, and shut it. I took the tapestries hanging on the walls and tightly bound the lid shut with them, as I had no nails or a hammer. I gathered all of my remaining strength and dragged the coffin out of Erik's home, my heart burning with guilt at this indignity. I pulled it to the lake's edge, and reentered the house to fetch one of Erik's large stone gargoyles that he had always seemed to like collecting.

Taking the end of one of the tapestries, I fastened the gargoyle to the coffin. I stood and prepared myself for my next and final action.

"Khoda hafez, Erik."

I dropped to my knees and pushed the coffin into the water. The lake eagerly welcomed its master, slurping and gurgling softly as it swallowed the dark coffin, embracing Erik into its icy depths. I sat there on my knees, watching the bubbles rising to the surface.

I smiled sadly. His pain and his suffering had come to an end.