Chapter Nine: César

Christine was stacking the supper dishes when she heard the front door open. Erik stood in the doorway, looking disheveled. Christine frowned.

"I thought you were taking César out for a ride. Is everything alright?"

Erik raked his fingers through his hair. "We pushed him too hard today. He wasn't ready for a trip into town." He let out a heavy sigh. "Christine, he's not eating. He's not even standing. Whatever was troubling him, it's come back."

There was a moment of silence, neither daring to voice their fears aloud. Christine's eyes darted to the sofa where Mélodie was curled up with one of her favorite books, blissfully unaware of the seriousness of the situation. She lowered her voice and motioned for Erik to come further into the kitchen where they might have a bit more privacy.

"I thought he was over it," she whispered. "He seemed fine this morning…."

Erik sighed again. "So did I. But apparently we were both wrong."

"Should we send for the vet?"

Erik shook his head. "No. It would take too long. It would be a day's ride out and a day's ride back at the very least. By then he could worsen."

Christine approached her husband hesitantly. This was a delicate matter, and after all he'd been through in the past week, she didn't want to upset him. She laid a hand on his arm. "Erik, César is…well, he's an old horse and…."

He turned away from her touch, leaning against one of the cabinets. "I know. His chances of survival if things get any worse are…low." He took a deep breath. "If it's alright with you, I think I'm going to stay up with him."

"Do you want me come with you?"

Erik turned back to face her, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "No. You rest. I'll be fine."

"Do you think he'll be alright?"

She looked into his eyes, hoping for the reassurance that was always there when she needed it. But this time he disappointed her.

"I don't know."

xxxx

Erik had been sitting in the hay for nearly four hours. He'd given up on trying to feed the old stallion when, after repeatedly ignoring the bucket of oats placed under his nose, César had decided to simply knock the whole thing over. Even in his weakened state, he was a stubborn old horse. Perhaps that's why they'd gotten along so well over the years, Erik pondered—they were both too stubborn for their own good sometimes. Under other circumstances, he probably would have laughed at the annoying antics of his four-legged friend, but tonight things were different. [1]

Leaning against the back wall of the barn, he watched the labored rise and fall of the stallion's barrel-like chest, his dark coat glistening with beads of sweat in the moonlight. He remembered another night, thirteen years ago, when the moon was as bright as a lantern's glow, its silvery beams leaving streaks of gray and blue in César's dark, windswept mane as they'd galloped over the hills of the French countryside. He remembered the first time he'd laid eyes on him, a willowy black colt born in the opera house stables in the dead of a cold winter's night. The owners didn't think he would live. He was too small, too thin, too early to survive. But Erik had believed in him. Somewhere, in the depths of those dark eyes, he'd seen potential. He'd seen a fighting spirit that the world had condemned to death, a lively spark that left to itself would soon burn out. He'd stayed up with César back then, too. Every night after all of Paris had fallen asleep, he'd slip out to the stables, cuddling and coddling this tiny foal who didn't seem to mind his face until the first pink rays of dawn streaked over the horizon and stars began to fade. He hadn't given up on him then, and he wasn't about to give up on him now.

This horse had seen him at his best and at his worst. When Antoinette had gotten married, leaving the opera house for the arms of an aspiring doctor, César had been there to keep him company. When he first saw Christine, young and innocent and in need of a friend, César had listened to him go on and on about the child who somehow saw an angel in his hideous visage. César had heard him stumble and stutter through a thousand professions of love that he knew he'd never have the courage to say. On Christine's first visit to the underground lair, César had helped him make her feel like a princess. César had seen the diva's rise to fame and watched the opera house go up in flames. He'd witnessed the opera ghost's "death" and Mélodie's birth and all the years of her childhood. When it came right down to it, César was as much a part of Erik's family as any human was—a sort of four-legged brother and best friend—and now he was dying.

In the distance, the golden light of a lantern was slowly approaching. He watched as it drew nearer, bathing the walls in a soft yellow glow and casting shadows out of the darkness, their still forms becoming animate in the flickering light. He could tell from the silhouette that it was Christine before she even reached the stall door. Hooking the lantern on a peg near the main entrance, she unlatched the gate and walked over, leaning against the door to the stall. Her eyes lit on César's prostrate form. He was unnaturally still save for the heaving of his sides, his breaths coming in harsh, irregular intervals.

"How's he doing?"

"He's getting weaker." Erik's voice was barely a whisper, as if by keeping it a secret he could somehow prevent the hand of fate from intervening.

Christine opened the gate and stepped inside the stall. There was an old gray blanket draped over her arm. "I brought you this." She held it out to him. "I thought it might make things a bit more comfortable."

Erik accepted it gratefully and wrapped it around his shoulders. Despite being early summer, the nights were still cool, and the peals of distant thunder signaled another storm on the horizon.

Christine knelt quietly by his side and slipped her hand in his, giving it a gentle squeeze.

"I'm losing him, Christine," he whispered. "I'm losing him, and I…I don't know what to do."

Surprisingly, there was no quaver in his voice. He couldn't cry right now. It was all happening so fast—so unexpectedly—that he was still in shock.

Christine leaned over on his shoulder, her eyes shining brightly with unshed tears. Though she hadn't known César for as long as Erik, she too had come love the old stallion, and it broke her heart to see his once proud eyes clouded over in pain and desperation. A single silver tear slipped down her cheek.

"Sometimes…sometimes the kindest thing you can do…is to let go."

Erik closed his eyes. "I can't. He's always been there for me, and I…I can't just give up. I can't just stop fighting for him."

"For him or for you?" Christine sat up so that she was facing him. "Erik, I know you love that horse…and he loves you. That's why he's lasted this long. He's holding on for you, Erik. And as long as you let him, he'll keep holding on until he's either too weak or in too much pain to fight. I know because that's what my father did for me…and it was a very long, difficult process for the both of us. Death is not a choice, Erik, but whether we accept it or fight it is something we can choose. He chose you. He's always chosen you. And now, if you truly love him as I know you do…then you must choose him."

She kissed him softly on the cheek and stood to leave, brushing the hay from her skirts. She turned to open the gate.

"Give me until morning."

Christine looked back over her shoulder. The pain she saw reflected in his eyes was almost more than she could bear.

"I want to say goodbye."

Christine nodded solemnly and once again started to leave.

"Christine?"

She turned at the sound of her name.

"Don't let Mélodie out of the house tomorrow. And keep her away from the windows. I don't want her to see it."

xxxx

Before the first red rays of dawn pierced the clouded horizon, Erik was up and moving. He gently slipped a halter over César's head and, attaching the lead, encouraged him to get up. It took two or three tries, but eventually the old stallion gained his footing, standing on wobbly legs and looking very much like the gangly little foal Erik had seen take his first steps in the opera house stables. It was difficult just for him to stay upright, but somehow the horse managed.

Erik slipped something off the shelf into his pocket, the silvery gleam catching the horses' attention. He led César forward with one hand and took a shovel in the other.

Toulouse whinnied anxiously as they headed for the door, upset at being left behind. Erik stopped suddenly, pitying the creature. Toulouse and César usually did everything together, and now he would have to face the world alone. Erik gave the young gelding a gentle pat on the neck.

"No, Toulouse. Not this time. You have to stay here."

The older stallion stretched out his neck so that his nose barely touched the chestnut's left shoulder, and for a moment, they simply seemed to stare at one another in a sort of silent goodbye.

The walk to the hill was long and silent. César was tired, and Erik was in no particular hurry. Even though he knew it was incredibly selfish, he wanted their last few moments together to stretch out as long as possible. Every step the old horse took required great effort. Every breath he took was labored. But he never once stopped or slowed down. And Erik knew then that even if he'd asked his old friend for a ride to the ends of the earth, the horse would have continued to put one foot in front of the other for as long as it took to reach their destination.

By the time they reached the old maple on top of the knoll, the inky black sky was just beginning to turn a pale, smoky gray. The clouds that had rolled in overnight now blanketed the sky. It would not be a particularly beautiful sunrise, but it would be the last one they spent together, and Erik intended for them to make the most of it while they could. The sun would be coming up just over the rooftops of the house and barn, and as they turned to face it, Erik caught a glimpse of Christine peeking out one of the windows just long enough to let him know she was there. Mélodie was probably still asleep.

As the first light flooded the eastern sky, Erik turned to César and wrapped his arms around the horse's neck, burying his face into the thick black mane that cloaked the stallion's sweat-slicked neck. He inhaled deeply, breathing in the scent of a thousand memories—hay and manure and dirt and summer sun. The first of many tears were already starting to fall. He stroked the warm black silk for one last time.

"Forgive me," he whispered.

The sound of a gunshot pierced the morning air. There was a moment of silence followed by an almost inhuman cry of despair. And Christine knew without even looking that César was dead.

[1] The instrumental theme for this chapter and the first part of the next one is "One Family" from Disney's Tarzan soundtrack.

*Hides under the bed* Okay guys, please don't kill me! Please? If it makes you feel any better, I literally cried writing this chapter...