Chapter Thirteen

When We've Said Goodbye

I jerked up from my tear-drenched pillow at the sound of soft knocking on the door. The valise lay forgotten on the floor, and clothing was scattered chaotically about the vanity and bed. After dressing, I had collapsed on the bed in anguish, crying till I thought I would break.

At first, I had thought, He can't make me leave. I'll refuse to go. But then…What if he was right? What if I really didn't love him? What if I still loved Raoul? Could I have deceived myself into thinking that I was in love with Erik? But how could that be, when I knew how I truly felt? Maybe returning to Raoul would be the only way to find out who I really loved. I would go, and then come back, despite all my doubts… here to this candle-lit cavern. This was my home. Thisplace was a part of me. I could feel it. No one would keep me away.

So there I had lain for a few minutes, exhausted with my weeping. Only did the sound of knocking wake me from my stupor. Jumping off the bed, I flew around the room, picking up the remaining articles of clothing and stuffing them into the valise. I would not have Erik see me so upset.

"Come in," I said hoarsely, sliding onto the vanity's stool and nervously running a brush through my hair. I did not turn at his entrance, but saw his reflection in the vanity mirror. My heart twisted in anguish. In the space of a few minutes, he had gone from being sensuously beautiful to old and worn with pain. His eyes, glistening with sorrow, met mine in the mirror. I longed to throw my arms around him and cry, telling him that I would not go, and that I would stay here, with him, but imaginary chains of misunderstanding and confusion kept me locked to my seat.

Tension hung heavily in the air between Christine and me. There was so much that I wished to say to her that would now remain unsaid. Perhaps it was better this way. It was best that I let her go now while I still could. Clearly, I had left my mark upon this beautiful young lady. It was not likely that she would soon forget the angel in hell. She had matured a great deal in the time that I had known her, but perhaps I had forced her to grow up too quickly. Deep inside, she was still only a child. Her heart had been awakened to love and passion, to terror exceeding her most horrible nightmares, to pity of one beyond help, and to heart-wrenching agony, all in so short a time. No wonder she was confused. But the change in her had not been entirely bad. Christine did have my music. It was the one truly good thing that I could give her—for I could not give her my love if she did not wish to receive it. But no one could take my music from her.

I gazed at her for several minutes, as she brushed her long curls in silence, our eyes locked by way of the mirror. Something about the look of grief in her cobalt eyes added a bittersweet flavor to the pain that I felt. She did not wish to leave me alone. After all that I had done, Christine could still feel sympathy for me. Oh, she was a good girl! In truth, I doubted that I would be left alone in this world for much longer. My heart could not go on beating forever. As it was, the vital organ seemed to be giving way. Over the past three days, its rhythm had grown steadily more irregular. The end could not be far off. That thought, at least, was a comfort to me, but I could not tell Christine. It would bring her no consolation to know that I was dying of love for her.

With a long, melancholy sigh, I lowered my gaze to the floor. My very soul shuddered at the sight of the valise. Frantically, I seized the suitcase thrusting it onto the bed, tearing open the latch, and removing its contents, scattering garments haphazardly over the bed. A fresh deluge of tormented tears poured from my eyes as I came across the deep blue gown that she had worn on our first carriage ride together. Clutching the fabric to my heart, I sank into a sobbing heap on her bed. Was it not enough that she was leaving and taking my battered heart with her? Must Christine take the clothing as well? True, the things in her room were of no use to me, but I could not bear to be parted from her possessions as well. Each gown that she had worn was a memory, and each outfit that she had not yet graced with the presence of her flawless body was a fantasy, a hope for the future. She could not take them from me. They were very little, but they were all that I had left.

In a few moments, I recovered from the alarm that had temporarily shaken my mental stability. Standing to my feet, I brushed away the tears that streaked the unmasked half of my face, not bothering with the hidden and disfigured half.

"Pardon me…" I rasped, turning to Christine. "I would rather you leave these things here with me. I assume that you have other clothing to wear at home. Please… I would like to keep them." At her nod of acquiescence, I turned my attention to putting away the precious pieces of clothing, hanging each gown lovingly in the wardrobe, and folding the smaller pieces with greatest care, replacing each one into its proper drawer.

When that task was finished, I stepped to the door and motioned for Christine to follow me. Her footsteps echoed dainty on the flagstones behind me as I led the way to my organ. I rummaged through the endless stacks of scores and sheet music until I found the composition that I had been looking for. A feeble smile played at the corners of my lips as I placed the manuscript in Christine's awaiting hands.

"This is for you," I told her, stroking the edge of the thick stack of papers. "It is a nuptial mass. I composed it for…"—the tears were extremely difficult to swallow back—"for us, but now I would like you to take it, and have it performed at your wedding with the viscount."

I smiled weakly, taking the manuscript from him. Wedding with Raoul? There isn't going to be any wedding with Raoul! I don't love him! I love you!This was his way of saying goodbye. He really was shutting me out of his life. He wanted me to stay away forever. Despair sank into my bones, like the life was being pressed out of me, and my eyes glazed over with tears. I wouldn't be coming back. This was the way it was going to be… forever. I placed the music on the organ bench. Looking down, I slid the beautiful diamond ring off my finger. Taking Erik's hand, I placed the ring in his palm, closing his fingers around it, and held my hand on his.

"I… I want you to take this back. I can't wear it any longer." I caught my breath trying to hold back the tears.

My hand trembled visibly as I removed it from her grasp, slowly opening the palm and gazing down at the ring with all of its shimmering diamonds. A single tear trickled beneath my mask, followed closely by its companion falling from my left eye. Christine's return of that piece of jewelry could hold so many meanings, but to me the reason was clear. She was saying goodbye. Our love was never meant to be.

Think of me, think of me fondly when we've said goodbye.

Remember me, once in a while. Please promise me you'll try.

When you find that once again you long to take your heart back and be free,

If you ever find a moment, spare a thought for me.

We never said our love was evergreen or as unchanging as the sea,

But if you can still remember, stop and think of me.

Think of all the things we've shared and seen.

Don't think about the way things might have been.

Think of me, think of me waking silent and resigned.

Imagine me, trying too hard to put you from my mind.

Recall those days, look back on all those times, think of the things we'll never do.

There will never be a day when I won't think of you.

Flowers fade, the fruits of summer fade, they have their season, so do we,

But please promise me that sometimes you will think of me.

The words from her aria at the gala performance of Hannibal rang in my mind as I repeatedly turned the ring over in my hand. I could see Christine standing on the stage wrapped in the folds of that flowing white gown. She was the very essence of beauty, and she sang for me as she had never sung before. Her voice was angelic, her tone perfect. Our hours of work were evident in her every note. And now… now the words stung at my heart like a thousand daggers. In some ways, they were true. I would think of her every day… all day. I would remember every joyous hour of what had been, and I would fantasize about all the wonderful things that we had never, and now would never, have the opportunity to do together. But I would never wish to take my heart back and to be free of her love.

I raised the ring to my lips, kissing it lightly before removing the gold band on the smallest finger of my left hand and replacing it with the diamond ring. "And I… I would like for you to have this," I choked out. Still fighting against the tears that burned at the rims of my tired eyes, I knelt before her and slipped my mother's ring onto the fourth finger of her left hand. "Keep it to remember your Erik. Thank you, Christine. Thank you from the bottom of my soul. Over the time that you have spent with me here, you have given me more happiness than I could have ever imagined, much more than I can ever merit. I will hold the memory of these days—particularly this morning—in my heart until the day that I die. I love you, Christine." Closing my eyes, I pressed her hand to my lips, showering her fingers with kisses and bathing them in my tears.

No… this can't be happening. Weakly, I fought back burning tears. Nothing I could say would be able to express what I was feeling right now. I closed my eyes, shuddering with intense grief. Erik's lips seemed to burn the tender skin on my fingers, their heat flying to my heart, causing it to melt in anguish. Finally, I could bear no more, and I pulled my hand from his grasp.

"Stop… please…." His touch was killing me. The longer he held me, the more hopeless I became. Turning, I wiped the tears from my eyes. "Let's just go… please…. I want to go."

In agonizing silence, he helped me into the boat, and soon we were gliding through the black, glassy waters, propelled by the long pole held firmly in Erik's hands. Memories of my first time down these ghostly passageways flashed unmercifully before me. Then, I had been awed by the gothic splendor of these tunnels; now they seemed angry and forbidding, as if they were condemning me for leaving.

Shivering, I wrapped my cloak tighter around me, and allowed my mind to wander aimlessly until it was brought back to reality by the sharp jostling of the carriage. Oddly, I was not surprised that I could not recall when we had left the boat or come to be in the carriage.

In a few minutes, I would be standing outside Raoul's door. I had dreamed of this day from the moment Raoul had vanished from my sight, but I wasn't excited. I was filled with a dread… a dread of being alone. I would be alone without Erik. Even though Raoul loved me, Erik knew my heart… my soul… my entire being. Yes, Raoul loved me, but not the way Erik loved me. And now that love was casting me away and keeping my heart locked in its iron grasp. Bitter tears rolled down my face. I couldn't live without his love.

A cold and distant state of silence had settled around me. I felt nothing. Not the icy winds that whipped around my skeletal form, not the continuous tossing of the carriage, not the freezing leather seat at my back thrusting mercilessly against my stiffened spine. Nothing. All of my senses seemed to be numbed indefinitely. I heard nothing but Christine's quiet weeping and a strident throbbing in my chest. I did not cry; I could not. There was nothing left of my soul with which to feel pain or agony, or so I thought at the moment. And surely my bleeding and broken heart could not hold up much longer; it was beating, but that was all that could be said for it. Beating the slow, unsteady rhythm of a heart that wishes to stop and know the rest of death.

Starring unseeingly out of the window, I became lost in a turbulent sea of ponderings. I did not dare to turn and look even once upon the woman I loved. Doubtless, she sat at the far end of the seat, as distant from me as possible. Even if she had possessed the courage and the inclination to touch my hand, I most likely would have pushed her away at that point. I was a wounded caged animal, a frightened creature that would strike out at any who dared to threaten me with further injury. Perhaps a cage was where I truly belonged… a cage, or a coffin…. Yes, a coffin would be nice… buried deep in the ground where no one would see my abhorrent face again….

"Erik…? Erik?" At last, the sound of my beloved's voice began to draw me out of my morbid world of thoughts. It was no surprise to me that I had taken no notice as to when our carriage had stopped. Absently, I wondered how long Christine had been attempting to gain my attention, how long ago we had arrived. The diffident touch of her hand on my arm brought me fully to the present. Shaking my head, I peered out of the window, seeing real shapes in the late-morning sunlight for the first time since we had left the Garnier.

We were parked in the shelter of a small grove of trees at the edge of the Chagny estate, just as I had instructed our driver. As if of its own accord, my hand came to rest on top of Christine's, pressing her gloved fingers tightly against my arm. At least she did not leave without my noticing, without saying goodbye, I thought. An unbelievable pang of anguish shot through my chest, and at that moment all of my previous despair returned. I realized, quite suddenly, that here Christine and I would say goodbye… forever. That thought was more than I could bear.

With trembling hands, I unlatched the brougham's door and stepped to the ground. I fought to no avail to hold back the tears as I lifted Christine to stand at my side. Keeping her hand firmly in my own, I lead her throughout the miniature forest. There was so much that I wished to say; yet I could not seem to speak. My voice, like every part of my being, was broken. I remained merely a fragile shell of the man whom she had once called her Angel of Music.

The silence was excruciating, but still we walked on, neither of us breaking that cursed stillness except with an occasional stifled sob. After what seemed to be an eternity, we came to the end of our journey. My steps halted at the edge of the trees. The château was only a few meters away. My heart seemed to shatter yet again as I watched Christine taking in the sight of what was to be her new home, and then her gaze returned to me. Our eyes locked.

Letting out a heavy sigh, I shut my eyes for a few moments, unwittingly squeezing her hand even tighter. And then I slowly opened my eyes. I was ready to tell her now. "Christine, I have one last thing to give you." The strength of my tone surprised me; only a short time before my voice had been completely lost to me. Never moving my eyes from those brilliant sapphire spheres, I reached into the recesses of my cloak and withdrew a small key.

"Here it is," I said, placing the object in her free hand. "It is the key to the Rue Scribe entrance to the Opera. If you recall, it is the route that we took today." Her helpless expression told me that she had no memory of the passageway. "There is an iron gate on the lower side of the building facing the Rue Scribe," I explained with uncharacteristic patience. "This key will open that gate. That passage will lead you directly to the lake. If ever you should wish to return, for any reason, the boat will be waiting for you… I will be waiting for you. But there is one last thing that you must know, my angel. If you wish to return to me, you must do so in the near future. There is no easy way to say this, but I am dying. I am dying of love for you. It is only a matter of time…" Tears soaked my mask as I placed her right hand to my heart, allowing her to feel its abnormal rhythm.

"If you do not return, then I have one final request. When I am gone, I will send you a sign, an advertisement in the Époque proclaiming my death. At that time, you may return my ring and with it my memory to be buried forever. Please see that I am buried where no one will ever see my face." That said, I pulled my Christine into a close embrace one last time, weeping bitterly into her curls.

Several minutes passed with no sound other than our muffled cries. Then, when I could maintain the faintest impression of self-control, I drew back just enough to look into her eyes. "I love you," I whispered, tangling my fingers in her lush brown hair. "I love you, my sweet Christine. There, there… you must not blame yourself. None of this is your fault. I am happy, my dear. For the first time in my life, I am truly content. You have given me all the happiness that this world has to offer." I was hesitant to make the next request after asking her to perform such a difficult task, but something within me compelled me to ask her. "Christine, may I kiss you goodbye?"

I looked up at Erik through tear-blurred eyes, and in an instant my lips were hungrily devouring his. More tears slipped ungraciously down my face as we kissed. Visions of that morning flashed before my eyes as my body awakened to his touch, even in such an anguished state. I clung to him desperately, not ever wanting to let him go, wanting to keep the memory of his embrace forever. Our bitter goodbye was tearing my heart in two.

Unable to bear the sweet torture any longer, I broke abruptly from our kiss, stepped back, and choking on my tears, I whispered, "Goodbye Erik..."

With that, I turned and half ran towards the château, not daring to glance back for fear I would break down in hysterics. Finally I stood before the massive door, the brass knocker gleaming in the sunlight. Gingerly I took the cold metal in my hand. Don't look back…. Whatever you do, don't look back. Swallowing my remaining tears, I knocked firmly, daring to hope that Raoul wasn't home, and I would be forced go back to Erik. Don't look back… don't look back. Unconsciously my fingers were nervously twisting the fabric of my cloak. Raoul… please don't be home. The opening of the door startled me, and there stood the butler, his eyes glazed over with the unemotional indifference of one about his duty.

"I am here to see Raoul de Chagny." I scarcely could command myself to speak.

"May I ask who is calling, Mademoiselle?"

"Christine… Christine Daaé." The butler's starchy expression turned white, his eyes giving away his enormous shock.

"Please Mademoiselle, do come in!" He stepped aside hastily, taking my cloak when I had entered. Then he bade me follow him. "Right this way, Mademoiselle." In a moment, we were in the parlor. "Please Mademoiselle, make yourself comfortable. Monsieur le Vicomte will be with you in a moment." The butler left the room, half slamming the doors behind him in his haste. My lips curled into an amused smile. I must have given him quite a fright.

My gazed wandered about the richly decorated room coming to rest on an ebony grand piano that seemed to lend the room a feel of solemn dignity. In the fireplace, golden flames danced merrily, inviting one to warm himself in the heat of their glow. I stared into the gleaming brightness, sighing with grief, yet forbidding myself to cry.

"Oh Erik," I moaned. "I'm here before a fire, and here in my love's house… yet I am as cold as ice." Hearing shouts I turned, staring at the door handles, waiting with bated breath. The French doors jerked open violently, revealing Raoul's figure in the doorway.

A poignant sigh passed from my lips as the enormous oak door groaned shut, sealing off my final chance at seeing Christine. This was it: the end of all dreams of our happiness together. I could entertain no more fantasies of awaking to find Christine lying beside me, her arms encircling my neck, her head resting on my chest, her lips curved slightly upward, and her mind and body wrapped in peaceful slumber. Nor could I imagine that one day she would stand in my kitchen cooking one of our favorite meals while I sat composing at my organ, and the children—all looking like their beautiful mother—played quietly nearby. There would be no normal life for me, no joy for us together. Such happiness was meant for the angels and those whom they saw fit to bless, not for a miserable wretch such as myself. It was all over now. Christine was gone, and she carried with her all of my hopes and dreams and what little remained of my heart. Only a throbbing mass of agony lingered to pound in my chest.

It took all of the energy left in my worn body to push myself to stand. No longer leaning against the sturdy tree trunk, I began to walk, slowly and with labored steps, feeling ever so much older than my nearly forty years of age. I did not look back. I did not look at all; the forest around me no longer existed. Tears coursed unmercifully down my cheeks, yet I scarcely felt them. Nothing seemed to matter anymore. I only wished to return to the Opera—to my home, my hole in the ground—and to curl up and die in peace.

Eventually I reached the hidden barouche, and muttering a command to return immediately to the Opera Populair I stepped inside. The carriage lurched forward as its driver urged his horses to a trot. I sat stiffly, once again oblivious to the constant thrashing of the seat against my back. There were other things on my mind. The same scene played through my thoughts over and over again.

Christine's lips were warm on mine as she kissed me. My body ached for her as my hands ran lightly, caressingly over her back and through her hair. I could not give in to the longings that her response evoked. I could only imagine one last time that she would willfully choose to stay with me. Honestly, I had expected her to refuse my request of a farewell kiss, but she did not. She granted me that one last moment of bliss. And then, she was gone.

"Goodbye Erik..."

Her parting words fell like innumerable knives upon my heart, piercing the throbbing organ from all possible directions and wrenching fresh tears from my eyes. Sinking back against the rough trunk of one of the many trees, I allowed one hand to drift to my lips and trace the marred skin of my mouth where her perfect lips had been only moments before. The sweet taste of her kiss still remained, and the febrile flesh, never touched by another human being before that agonizingly beautiful morning, burned against my fingers. Her warmth was everywhere, all around me even as I watched her go, helpless to stop her. Her graceful strides quickened as she approached the immense building, the home of her lover. I had not seen her run like that in quite some time. She seemed so eager to go, never once glancing back towards me.

'No!' My bleeding heart entreated silently, shuddering with its every beat. 'No, don't go…. Please do not leave me…. I need you! Stop… please…. Come back, my angel…. If you ever cared for me in the slightest, come back…. You would not want your Erik to die, would you? You cannot go now, knowing that I am dying! You can save me… save me with your love…. I love you, Christine! I love you…. I love you….'

The tension was unbelievable, but although my heart was breaking there was an implausible yet undeniable peace that went to my very soul. I knew that I had done the best thing for Christine when I let her go. I had granted her freedom, and I could not take it back now. Everything within me yearned to cry out to her, but I simply could not bring myself to do so. I could not hurt her any further. This burden was mine alone to bear. Still, my lips would not move even to return her farewell. It would be selfishness to call to her now, and I would be a fool to do so. It was for love that I had first carried her off, and now love bade me to remain silent.

Time had seemed to stand still as she stepped onto the veranda, looking intently at the large brass doorknocker before taking it into her hand. I observed the subtle movement at her throat as she swallowed back her tears. Doubtless these fresh tears where of joy rather than grief. She knocked once, and then released the metal object, her delicate fingers twining anxiously in the material of her cloak and gown. And then the door opened, revealing the Chagnys' butler. I had watched unmoving, as the scene unfolded before me. I could not look away, though my heart burned in anguish. My hazy mind seemed scarcely able to process all that was happening. Then, all too soon, Christine had stepped inside, never looking back, and the door was closed.

By the time the Chagny estate was out of view I was sobbing desperately, clinging to the windowsill with all of my might. If only I could see her once more. The pain was so real, so physical, literally burning in my chest. I could not live without Christine. Without her love I would die. I could only hope that the end would come quickly and without further sufferings. Leaning back against the seat, I allowed my eyes to fall shut, whispering my farewell although she could not hear me:

"Goodbye Christine…"