This is the kind of sad chapter.
Arabelle: STAY AWAY FROM MY PAPA!!! *waves very large stick*
Hey, how'd you get my oak staff?
Arabelle: *blinks* Good question. Don't hurt Papa. Or Charles, or Mama, Or -
It's not that sad. I promise. *looks at Destler family * Just read on, guys.
And that goes, too, for everybody else. I hope you all don't hate me after this.
Enjoy!
Largo
XxX
Erik came home from an evening with Christine to find Arabelle sitting beside Phantom's basket next to the fireplace, quietly sobbing.
Her back was to him, but he could hear her, and see her shoulders shaking.
From his position by the door, Erik couldn't see if the dog was in its bed, but a distinct feeling of dread settled over him.
He started forward, but a hand touched his shoulder.
"Erik? Erik, what –"
Erik heard Christine's quiet gasp of understanding, and motioned for her to stay where she was.
Silently, he walked forward, stopping perhaps three feet away, and called to his daughter.
"Arabelle," he whispered, and when Arabelle turned to look up at him, her hand lingering in her precious dog's fur, his heart broke.
Carefully, he knelt, and took her into his arms, pulling her onto his folded legs, into his lap, and rocked her, stroking her hair as she buried her face in his chest.
Over the top of the teenager's head, Erik glanced at the dog. He could just hear Phantoms shallow breathing, and when the animal whimpered quietly, Arabelle sobbed.
She tore away from her father's embrace, and dug herself into his fur, her shoulders shaking.
What little life was left in the dog's eyes was fading.
Erik was aware of another, small presence behind him, and turned just enough to see Christine gently hold Charles.
It was true that they loved Phantom, as well, but Christine understood that he was Arabelle's dog, and such a moment was for her father to ease.
Christine gently, quietly moved Charles out of the room, and up the stairs, with promises to sit with him, read some of his books together, as they'd done when he was younger.
In the living room, Erik gently reached for Arabelle's shoulder. How, as her father, could he let her continue like this?
"Arabelle…"
The girl wrenched her shoulder away from her father's hand, the voice that usually calmed her, and was perhaps the sound she cherished most, sending her further into hysterics for the quiet finality in it.
"Leave me alone!"
Eyes like molten gold blazed at him, pained and furious.
The venom in her voice struck him motionless for several minutes after she'd run up the stairs, Phantom's large body cradled in her arms.
Never had Arabelle turned away when Erik offered her comfort, or understanding. Always she had run to him; taken her comfort and solace in his thin, loving arms.
Clearly this went deeper than ought else.
But he understood. She wasn't angry at him. He'd seen the loss in her eyes, furious as they'd been. Arabelle was angry at fate. Fate was taking away her best friend. Her companion since she was small. How was that fair? She had every right to be hurt and mad.
"Erik?"
Erik sighed.
"Let her be," he murmured, sinking into his own chair. "She wants to be alone."
Christine had come down when she'd seen Arabelle run into her room and slam the door. Now, she stood in the living room, eyes dark with concern at the look in her husband's eyes.
She walked forward, and perched on the arm of Erik's chair, wrapping her arms around him.
"That dog has been her friend since she was small," Erik sighed, pressing a sad kiss to the soft skin around Christine's collar bone.
"You miss him, too," Christine whispered gently.
"If only for all the smiles and laughter he gave her," Erik replied just as quietly.
They sat there for some time, silent.
"Charles is alright?" Erik asked. "He does not know?"
Christine shook her head.
"He guessed, but I spoke to him," she replied. "He's upset, but he understands. I think it helps that he has his books."
From above them, the quiet strains of a violin could be heard. It was not the requiem Erik remembered singing for his own Sasha years before, but it was haunting nonetheless.
And to Erik, familiar.
"Largo," he whispered. "I'd no idea she knew that song."
Slowly, he stood, and Christine watched him go, knowing where and why, and almost certain he'd be successful; once Arabelle turned to music in a moment of sadness, she could be reached by her father.
-
-
For a long time, Arabelle simply sat on the bed, and stroked the fur of the old dog.
Phantom – her Phantom – was dying.
"It's not fair!" she hissed, glaring out the window. There was that one star, still winking brighter than the rest above the wood, but instead of bringing her peace as it always had done before, it only fuled her hurt.
Phantom had been more than a pet since she'd first seen him. He was her friend. The dog had always been her closest friend.
How could this be happening? Oh, she'd known Phantom would live forever, but it still didn't seem fair.
"Oh, Phantom," she sobbed, kissing his grey head again and again.
The old dog snuffled weakly, and opened his mouth to gently lick her cheeks.
So dogs like tears, she thought, a sad smile crossing her face, and pained, quiet laugh escaping her that sounding more like a spluttering hiccough.
And yet, by the time the eyes emptied and became like emotionless glass, there was not half the sorrow of a moment ago.
Standing, Arabelle took up her violin, and began to play. She'd never bothered to learn the Requiem (raised Christian, rather than Catholic, she did not believe that a special mass had to be played for a soul's salvation), but she knew another song. Sad and sweet, but ultimately joyful.
Largo. Mrs. Inghram had mentioned it earlier that week, and when Arabelle asked about it, the teacher had directed her to a local library where she found a score for the violin.
It had taken her very little time to copy it down onto her own paper, and almost as little time to learn it.
Because with Phantom actually gone, she was free now to realize what she couldn't while her dear dog lived; they would meet again one day. It might be so very many years, but her parents, and that simple little place on Church Street, had taught her that she would meet her old friend on the way to Heaven.
She was well aware of her father's presence at the door by now. Arabelle always knew, somehow, when her papa was there.
She shouldn't have yelled at him downstairs, she knew it, and was sorry. Certainly such a violent refusal would have hurt him.
Turning, she offered up a small smile.
Erik could see that she'd stopped crying, but her face was still wet, and when she stopped playing and set down the instrument, he came forward. Sitting on the edge of the bed, he took her in her arms and held her.
Arabelle wrapped her arms around her father's shoulders, and sighed into the hollow of his throat.
"I'll miss him, Papa," she whispered.
Erik tightened his grip, rubbing her back softly.
"I know, dearest," he replied as softly. "It is always painful to lose a pet you love."
Arabelle nodded. She knew he understood.
"Sasha," she murmured.
Erik froze, his eyes snapping wide open.
"What did you say?" he hissed in shock, breath catching. "How did you know?"
Her words were soft, mumbled into his shirt, but Erik was sure he heard 'mama'.
He sighed. Maybe it was better Arabelle knew. It seemed she had for some time, and had yet to show her horror of his past.
Yet another woman he did not deserve; who should, now for obvious reasons, want nothing more to do with him.
That made two. Two women who should have run away forever the moment they heard anything about his past, but hadn't.
-
-
The house seemed emptier a few days later, with Phantom buried in a corner of the back yard. Arabelle especially seemed subdued. For the next two days, when she played her violin, Largo, by Antonin Dvorak, was the first and last piece she played.
Erik watched her, and sighed. At least she hadn't taken the death of her pet as badly as he'd feared.
She was sad, certainly, but not so broken as she might have been, and Erik was grateful for that.
And yet, when the subject was broached, Arabelle refused the offer of another pet.
"It's not replacing Phantom, I know that," she said softly, smiling faintly, "but I just don't want another animal now. I'm not sure why, Papa. I just don't."
She'd said it all with quiet normality, with only a twinge of sadness for the dog she'd loved.
Erik watched her leave the room, heard her mutter something about going to see her bird.
He wished this hadn't happened. But at least it wasn't one of her human friends.
But the whole ordeal had given Erik a headache, and he wished for Christine to be there. Somehow she made everything easy, and when she was around, he knew exactly what to say to anyone.
-
-
When Christine returned, she found the living room dark, save for the fire, and Erik in his chair, staring blankly at the flames.
"She's more upset than she'll say," he murmured when he heard her light step on the floor. "And she understands more than she ought. I know she knows," Erik sighed, turning to his wife. "Just sixteen years ago, I think I would have been furious, Christine. But somehow, I think she found out the best way possible. From you. God knows she would have had to hear it sooner or later."
Christine gently touched his shoulder.
"I'm sorry if my telling her upset you," she offered.
Erik shook his head.
"No," he sighed again. "I was just thinking. The similarities are striking, and yet the differences are incredible."
Christine looked down at him in sympathetic understanding, glad, though, that the life of pain he'd led for fifty years was well and truly behind him.
Erik surprised her slightly by reaching out, and pulling her onto his lap.
"I suppose death is always with us," he muttered, burying his face in Christine's shoulder.
The morbid words startled her, but Christine knew Erik better than to worry. There were moments, like this, when that old depressed attitude from his previous life would rear its ugly head, but they always passed.
She sighed, and shifted her hold on him, running the fingers of her right hand through the strands of dark silver hair she so loved. In the fire light, or in bright sun, sometimes, the short locks shimmered a bit. It absolutely entranced her.
"She'll be alright, though," Christine whispered. "You know that, Erik."
Erik smiled up at his wife.
"Yes," he breathed.
That girl will always be alright. Whatever may come her way in life, she'll pull through.
For several days afterward, the strains of Dvorak's Largo faded into memory.
XxX
See, I warned you all it would be a bit sad. But just a bit.
Arabelle: o.o *sniff* You killed my dog...?
*Shrugs* Sorry. Everyone and everything does die, eventually.
Arabelle: *pouts*
I hope you guys liked it. Review, please!