A/N: This chapter killed me to write. After almost two months of writers block, it's finally done. Thank you for your comments and feedback, especially with this chapter since it caused many sleepless nights and distracted days.
Please read [special instructions for this chapter]: This is a very interact chapter, which will really be aided by a specific piece of music I need my readers to listen to as this chapter progresses. The song is called "Hearing" by Sleeping at Last. It's purely instrumental with no lyrics but this song is the heartbeat of this chapter. Please listen to the song... it's pure musical poetry come to life.
Chapter 15: Erik's Solace
Hungary - Winter 2004
Erik couldn't focus. His mind toyed with him: was Liliana a reincarnation of Christine meant to torment him for all eternity? Was Liliana truly the one Erik was meant to be with instead? His stomach rolled in knots, his dry throat tensed whenever she drew near to him.
The free cadenza of Liliana's rendition of "Think of Me" sent Erik's soul soaring. Her glassy, crystalline voice rich with experience hung suspended in the air, echoing off everything in the concert hall. Erik watched from his second chair next to the concertmaster, his violin tucked under his chin, his bow shaking unsteadily as Lilana's voice rang clear. He was late on the entrance, which immediately drew the ire and scorn of both maestro and concertmaster alike. Wrath would have to wait until the end of the performance. The audience launched to their feet in deafening applause. It was the perfect ending to opening night. The afterparty was another grand performance. White tie for Hungary's elite class, the social imbalance of Budapest obscenely clear. It made Erik uncomfortable. The ire and wrath of the maestro was gentler than anticipated with the free flowing of wine and spirits. Perhaps no punishment would be needed after all.
As the afterparty began to dissipate, Erik found himself alone in the auditorium sitting at the piano. A melody quietly playing which echoed a song he had sung to her. He stopped when the gentle clacking of high heels and swish of tulle fabric reached his ears from behind. "That music," Liliana observed, "I hear it is very sad… perhaps, oh what you Americans say, full of regret?"
Erik chuckled, "Remorseful?" Liliana slightly blushed in embarrassment. Her timid smirk sending Erik's heart fluttering. She came to sit beside him on the piano bench. "I must confess, Liliana, you sang beautifully," Erik replied. She smiled again and Erik's heart leapt into his throat as Liliana reached her arm up to curl around his.
"Good night," she said as she placed a soft kiss upon the masked side of his face.
# #
They spent every waking moment together, engrossed in conversations of music, of life, of travel. Erik wasn't quite sure when it happened, but it happened abruptly. Perhaps it was during a New Years Eve Masquerade Ball when Erik really saw Liliana for the first time. She descended the staircase of the opera house dressed in an exquisite gown of sapphire blue, the golden spun overlay was a map of stars and constellations. A star princess, she called herself. Erik dressed in scarlet red garbs, mocking of the Red Death. A waltz played as the two danced, dark reds and blues blending together in the low light to become hues of purple. The room had grown too warm, and as always, Liliana offered, "Walk with me outside."
Arm in arm, they escaped the madness of the masquerade, shrieks of wine-induced laughter and taunting echoed on the staircase outside the opera house. They idly chatted when their conversation was broken up with a gasp escaping Liliana's throat. "Look!" she pointed upwards, "a shooting star! Oh stars of wonder, have you ever seen anything of such beauty and elegance?" It was so out of character for him, but he couldn't stop himself. He found her lips very awkwardly, his black mask bumping and shifting against his face as his lips stumbled onto hers. Liliana abruptly pushed him back. "Erik?" And his gaze grew frantic.
"Liliana… Ms. Papp, dear madam, Oh God, forgive me. I am so very sorry. Forgive me. I didn't… I wanted…" he was quickly collapsing into himself. She must have noticed his absolute fear and panic as he flinched away as she brought her hand to the bare side of his face.
"Édesem," she whispered softly. Erik didn't understand. "Em, how do you say, sweetheart." And pressed a small soft kiss upon his cheek. "Come, we must return. They will be missing us now."
# #
After every performance, Erik and Liliana fell into an odd routine. It wasn't until their third afterparty encounter that Liliana asked Erik out for a nightcap. "Come, have a drink with me. A small cafe down the street, about two kilometers from here. Walk with me."
Erik was nervous. He closed his eyes as Liliana turned to leave. This felt strange. Shouldn't it have happened this way with Christine instead? Erik was tormented. Liliana's voice broke through, "Erik?" She held out her hand and Erik followed, and watched is awe as Liliana again wound her arm through his. She wasn't shocked or embarrassed or even afraid of what anyone would think being seen with a tall, masked man in public. She thought nothing of it; nothing shocked this woman. And Erik wondered how this could possibly be. All he could think was the night Christine's eyes froze wide with shock and horror upon seeing his mask that night in the music building. He had to fight back the urge to run away from Liliana and the rest of Budapest for what he feared should be a typical reaction towards him.
Erik tensed even more and Liliana felt his body go rigid upon exiting the Magyar Opera House onto the gaslamp-lit street. She slowed their gait and stopped, turning to face Erik. Her own towering height matching his, her gorgeous mahogany brown curls illuminated by the lights. "Erik, be not afraid. I welcome those who are different." And she smiled, placing her hand upon his mask. His eyes fluttered closed as he let out a small sigh. "Come, let us walk."
Once at the cafe, Liliana dove into her past and regaled Erik tales of her family, her heritage, her music.
"How does it not bother you to be seen with me?" Erik blurted out after Liliana took a long sip of hot tea. She chuckled.
"Édesem, you must not understand what I've been telling you. Did you not understand?" Her smile tinged with sadness. "I tell you these things and hope you would see. I am an outsider. My name Papp, it is not mine."
It all made sense. Everything she said; every interaction with him; every ounce of understanding she bestowed of course pointed to this. "Édesem, I changed my last name. My family name is Abonyi; my nagyapa killed in Auschwitz."
"Nagyapa?" Erik pressed.
"Eh, how do you say, father's father?"
"Grandfather. Your grandfather was killed in Auschwitz."
She laughed. "You are a true English detective Homes!"
"Holmes, Liliana. I believe you mean Sherlock Holmes," Erik corrected quietly. Liliana laughed animatedly. She knew and understood what it was like. Something inside Erik made him feel… understood.
"Tell me, Erik," she responded wiping her laugh-induced tears away. "What happened to you? Your past…"
"No. I cannot tell you," Erik cut her off abruptly. Erik recalled only telling one other soul what happened that dreadful night on his fifthteenth birthday. Only Raoul knew and he was sworn to silence. No one was to know that Erik was a murderer.
# #
The rest of the winter in Budapest made Erik feel not as cold. Liliana sought him out after every performance, with the two of them sitting in near silence on an empty stage, her arm entwined with his. He felt warm and craved her presence. Spring was coming and with the new season brought a new destination. It wasn't until their final performance when Erik asked her at dinner one evening, "Come with me? Come with me to Florence."
Liliana was rather surprised. "Erik, I cannot go with you. My life is here; my career…"
"You can sing in Florence! I can't bear to…"
"Be alone," Liliana continued for him. "Édesem, whatever you are running from, I am not your answer." Her voice was gentle yet firm, like a parent embracing a child in a reassuring hug while offering firm guidance and advice.
"You know nothing of what you speak," Erik spat back quietly, swallowing the lump clogging his throat. Tears threatening to escape.
"Then tell me, Erik… tell me who she is. Walk with me." They quickly paid for their meal and exited the restaurant. It was the end of February, and a new soft blanket of snow began to fall. They walked for a long time in silence, the dusting of powder crunching softly beneath their feet.
"I can't, Liliana… I just can't."
They walked again in silence, but somehow Liliana knew. "Édesem, how your heart aches. And how you lost someone," she responded softly. It was the end of February, and Italy awaited the New York City Chamber Orchestra in a week.
Italy - Spring 2005
Closing night of their final performance in Florence went beautifully, and by the end of April, the orchestra was about to make a remarkable performance in Tuscany. Erik's symphony was starting to take form, and Maestro Yanich was eager to give a sneak peak before their year-long tour was to come to a close.
Erik and Liliana exchanged multiple emails and kept in touch. Erik felt he might be falling in love with her, but wondered constantly why Liliana was holding back and potentially not returning his feelings. She often probed him to talk more about the mysterious someone she knew held Erik's heart and about his life back in the United States; she wanted to know more, which unnerved Erik. Nothing good ever came from poking around and asking heavy questions, but he tried to brush it off as a cultural difference. Perhaps all Eastern Europeans are like this?
The orchestra took the train from Florence to Tuscany. During the ride, that's when Erik received an incoming Skype call. "Hi Raoul, hi Meg! Wow, it's so good to see you both! How are you?" And without a word, Raoul grabbed Meg's left hand and held it to the camera. "Shout from the rooftops of the world, you've finally asked her to marry you!" Erik grinned ear to ear.
"Yeah, it took him long enough!" Meg giggled.
"And somehow I convinced her I was the best option," Raoul jabbed back.
"I had no better offers at the time, Raoul. You were the ONLY option!" And the tricky trio erupted in laughter.
"Oh my friends, I'm so incredibly happy for you. Have you decided on a date?"
"We're thinking a beach wedding in early October of 2007, in about another two years, which gives us plenty of time to plan and make arrangements for our guests. Raoul will be halfway through law school by then and clerking somewhere so the timing will work out best," Meg offered.
Raoul chimed in with a proposition. "Erik, we'd be honored if you could write a song for our wedding day. And I would be very happy if you would be a groomsman. Obviously Phillipe will be the best man, if he can get his act together and show up. But most importantly, we need and want you there to share our day."
Erik smiled, and bringing his hands together in a movement of humility said, "I would be honored to bestow this to you both. I love you dearly." Meg and Raoul responded with smiling thanks and love and graciousness. They shortly thereafter ended their conversation, leaving Erik feeling an empty longing in his heart.
The train slowly lurched into the station, and just as Erik was about to disembark, he peered out the window and there, standing before him on the platform, stood a beautifully tall woman, luxurious mahogany brown curls wound up into a loose bun. "Liliana!" gasped Erik as his arms found their way around her. "What on earth are you doing here?"
"Édesem! Oh, Erik, did Maestro not tell you? He invited me to finish out your performances in Italy and make a debut for your final concert series in Paris in the fall. Is that not exciting?" Her long arms found themselves wrapped around her tall friend's, her hands seeking their way to his face, and she placed a soft kiss to his exposed cheek.
The pair navigated their way through the streets of Tuscany, catching up and sharing laughs. God it was so good to see her, to touch her, to hear her. "So Yanich wants you here for 'Think of Me?' I'm not at all surprised, Liliana. With that song, you sing like an angel."
# #
"Signore, a package arrived for you. Please sign," chimed a voice behind the concierge.
"Oh, grazi," responded Erik. He signed his name and inspected the rather damaged and overstuffed bubble mailer. "Hmm, Dr. Reyer. Wonder what this is?" Erik headed out to the garden terrace and ordered a hot tea. The mug clinked onto the table as he ran his long fingers under the tape. His brow furrowed further as he reached into the envelope and pulled out… "No, no," he whispered in shuttered breaths. The worn down notebooks were stacked neatly together with a note placed on top:
Dear Erik,
Thank you for taking care of the house during my travels the past two years. The time away was welcomed, but I'm happy to be home. As I was getting some organizing done around the house, I found these under the bed in the guest room. I assumed they were yours and accidentally left them behind, so I wanted to get these back to you. Very exquisite work, Erik. You have an artist's eye.
I hear Dean Piangi has demanded changes to your PhD structure. I will try to advocate for you as much as I can but I'm afraid I don't have much pull or say.
I send you my best. I look forward to seeing you when you return next year.
Respectfully yours,
Monty Reyer
Erik sprung to his feet, breath shaking unsteadily, and hurled his body towards the elevators, the sketchbooks clutched tightly to his chest. He didn't notice Liliana standing inside the elevator when the doors opened. He barreled through and plowed into her. "Édesem?"
"Do NOT call me that!" And she watched astounded as Erik's tightly balled fist punched the button to his floor. "Stop calling me that. Stop it, just stop!" Liliana crumbled into the corner, wide-eyed and shocked. The elevator dinged and the doors opened; Erik took off down the hall. He fumbled with the key to his room, his breathing ragged with rage and sadness and panic. Liliana cautiously approached, and gently took the key from Erik. A drop of his tears fell upon her hand as she reached to open the door and guide Erik through the threshold. Upon entering, all the notebooks clamored to the floor as Erik staggered into the room, standing in front of the window which overlooked the busyness of Tuscany below. Liliana picked up the notebooks carefully and sat in the chair next to the window, glancing up at Erik. His eyes were closed, sobs coming freely but quietly; she didn't dare speak. Cautiously, she opened the sketchbook and gasped. Staring up at her from the stark white page was the most beautiful young woman she had ever seen. Page after page after page, she saw long, flowing curls, the most sad eyes of this young woman. Liliana opened the second sketchbook. More sketches of the same young woman. Finally getting to the last page of the last sketchbook, she let out an audible gasp which broke Erik from his turmoil. The picture was dark, ominous… the site of a horrific crumbled car smashed against a building, a bunch of smaller sketches loomed in the corners of the page. It wasn't until her eyes reached the bottom right corner when she saw the same beautiful young woman who had graced the multitude of pages earlier, but this time, she lay in broken carnage, the ethereal glow Erik had sketched previously had been extinguished. The young woman had lost her glow.
"Oh Erik, this is… is this? Is this the one?" Liliana could barely speak above a whisper. She watched as Erik's shoulders slumped downward and let out a sigh. The sunset caused the room to be illuminated with hues of pinks and purples and yellows. Under normal circumstances, perhaps the colors would have been romantic. However, on this evening, it was like the sun knew it was about to set on this chapter. Just as he was about to speak, the phone rang. "Yes, we will be right down." Erik turned to Liliana. "That was the front desk. The orchestra is assembling to catch the shuttle to the concert hall. I need to get ready." Lilian silently exited Erik's room and waited with the others for Erik.
The shuttle ride to the concert hall was in complete silence between Erik and Liliana. She watched his movements and she could tell his mind was working furiously, reliving something he could never tell her. The finale of the concert was Liliana singing "Think of Me," and Erik didn't miss the tone of her performance as she sang with saddened honesty. By now it was the beginning of May, which meant springtime in Italy and the spring concert series had come to an end. This was their last night in Italy before heading to Austria for the summer. The quick summer tour would be followed by a long autumn and Christmas grand finale in Paris to conclude the year long tour. Tonight, however, served as the night of confessional as Liliana had settled on getting answers.
After the performance, Erik and Liliana hung back as they always did. The pair sitting together on the empty stage inside the empty concert hall. But tonight, Liliana kept her distance as she stood before Erik, his fingers completely still upon the keys. "Erik, the young woman in those drawings… tell me that is her."
Erik sat completely still, unwilling to meet Liliana's eyes. "I won't talk about her; I can't."
"You must, Erik. You have been running for so long away from my questions. You refuse to speak of her, and today, she reappeared to you. Tell me about her. Who is she? After everything, you owe me that much."
"I owe you nothing."
"Be as it may; but you owe it yourself above all." At that, Erik's eyes locked onto hers. The overwhelming sense of defeat and guilt and heartbreak finally broke him. "You cannot carry this alone anymore. Please, tell me."
Erik finally broke down. He spilled everything: how he first heard Christine singing in August 2003, how her voice inspired him; how she would disappear for weeks on end and then suddenly appear like an angel; how they sang and played together without ever meeting. And finally, he retold the details of the horrific night exactly one year ago this night. How he heard her screams and cries of agony and pain caused at the hands of her lover; how he pulled her from the carnage of the accident; how he held her on the dimly lit sidewalk; how he sang to her…. How he failed her; how he disappointed her; how he couldn't keep her safe. Liliana sat upon the stage floor, tears pooled in her eyes but she didn't dare say a word.
"And then, after Raoul and Meg dropped me off, I snapped. I destroyed everything. I destroyed whatever notes I had composed. She had unknowingly suffered at my hands. I could've stopped the whole night from even happening. I could've saved her," Erik sunk to his knees with a crack onto the stage floor, his hands shaking, reaching and wanting to rake and rip through his face again just like they had that very night. He reached up to his mask, wanting to rip the damned thing off and expose his full ugliness to Liliana as almost proof that he was to blame based solely upon his face. Liliana fell before him, catching and grasping firmly Erik's wrists, shoving and pulling them away from his face.
"No, do not…do that. Do not place blame upon yourself. People like that lover of hers would have found a way to destroy her, whether or not you had gone to her that night. People like him, NOT YOU, embody true evil and ugliness. It is not your fault," she pleaded, bringing his hands up to her lips. "It is not your fault." Another soft kiss to his hands. "It is not your fault." And Erik plummeted into Liliana, his hands breaking free from her grasp and cradled her face with his long fingers. His lips parting in a ragged huff against her own. He wanted to lose himself and drown in the depths of this woman before him, he wanted to escape, to keep running from the hauntings of his life.
"No, Édesem, no… no," he heard Liliana whispering under his desperate pants. She broke him away from her as gently as she could, watching Erik achingly slink away from her, pushing himself onto the piano bench. "Your heart is elsewhere, with another; and her heart is forever with you. You love me because I remind you of her, yet I will never become her. You are meant for another," Liliana confessed quietly, reassuredly. Erik sank back onto the bench, his mind and his heart finally admitting what he had, for so long, run away from. No matter what attempts he made to forget, to ignore everything about her, he finally relented: I still love her.
"Play something from your symphony," her request came quiet yet stern. Erik grimaced up at her flushed face. "Do this for me - play something from your symphony."
Erik caressed the keys beneath his shaking fingers. "I don't understand; why are you asking this of me?"
"Play," she commanded as she leaned against the piano. Erik pressed upon the keys and the robust chords of a song that began almost like an aching lullaby. A lullaby to not calm one to sleep, but a repeated melody to calm a raging storm, one that begins to fade into the horizon once its fury is unleashed upon the earth. The bright sun breaking through clouds of black and gray, golden rays springing forth blinding light, a melody of dance and illumination. Erik lost himself in the chords and notes, his chest heaving in anticipation of what he wanted the world to hear. What it was like the first time he ever heard Christine. The voice of an angel breaking through the fortress built around his heart and soul after years of turmoil, of hatred, of darkness. He abruptly stopped playing and his eyes shot open. "There it is," Liliana smiled at him.
"What is? I don't understand… what is it?"
"That, dearest Erik, is what she sounds like. That is her song. She is your symphony." Erik turned his hands over, exposing his sweating palms, his fingers trembling at the music birthing from him. He looked up at Liliana who moved to sit next to him.
"This is goodbye, isn't it?" Erik quickly glanced up into Liliana's eyes but just as quickly broke his gaze. "I'm sorry, Liliana. I didn't know… I didn't realize… I hurt you."
"Erik, you did nothing of the sort. I'm only sorry I couldn't make you realize it sooner."
"What happens now?"
"You finish your symphony. Erik, my love, music is the very air you breathe, is the very blood running through your veins… it's what gives you life. But what sparks creativity and gives you the fuel to keep creating is your Christine. Share with her and give her the air you breathe and the lifeblood that courses through your veins. Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go."
The pair again fell into silence. A voice rang from the doors at the entrance to the concert hall notifying them the shuttle was about to depart. Erik sighed as he looked up at Liliana. "And here, Édesem, is where I leave you. Goodbye, Erik." Liliana placed a soft kiss upon Erik's lips, and he watched as she departed the stage and walked up the aisle. The sound of the doors closing behind her echoed through the hollow chamber.
# #
"Singore, I must close and lock the theater," a manager's voice broke the silence laying heavy in the auditorium. Erik picked up his violin case and made his way outside. A light rain had begun to fall, the air heavy with a rich sweetness of the surrounding vineyards and the crispness of fresh rain. As he began the long walk back to the hotel, Liliana's words rang in his ears: Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go.
The streets were dark and empty, the sound of the rain getting heavier and pelting the brim of his fedora. Each step became heavier with more resolve. She was right. He knew she was right. Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go. He entered his darkened hotel room and was met with open sketchbooks on the table, and something else that wasn't there before. Atop the books lay a dark red rose tied with a black ribbon, a large leather-bound portfolio housing a multitude of blank, staff-lined pages. There was no note, but he knew from whom they came: Liliana.
He reached for the window latch and pushed the creaky window open, allowing the heavy, sweet fragrance of vineyards and rain to fill him. His eyes slid closed as he permitted, for the first time in a year, to let his ears remember her sound, her voice, her breathing. Picking up his fountain pen, the sounds of his life, the abuses of childhood and adolescence, the twinkling of hope upon meeting Meg and Raoul, the tormented creativity of his college years, the sound of hearing an angel sing… all his life was being written upon the staff lines of the pages beneath his hands. The music illustrating and bringing to life his entire existence. "Christine," he breathed out a quiet sigh of reverence. "Christine…" as he furiously composed and wrote. Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go.
Austria - Summer 2005
The 45 minute shuttle flight from Tuscany to Vienna was uneventful. Upon landing and getting settled into a new place and routine, Erik found himself fully immersed with Maestro Yanich and Concertmaster Gregory Barto. He wanted to learn, to develop, and to create… and create, he did. The first time Erik permitted both gentlemen to read small snippets of the score to Christine's piece, they fell into silence. "I must hear this for myself, full orchestra. Erik, with your permission, may I share the score and we can possibly do a sightreading run through after rehearsals this evening?"
"Yes, Maestro. I've heard the orchestra in my mind, but to actually hear it with gusto would be thrilling," Erik consented.
After rehearsals one evening, Maestro handed out copies of the score. "Mind you, everyone, the score is indeed incomplete at the moment. However, we will make do until Mr. Destler has made more revisions and completes his composing. Erik?" Much to Erik's surprise, Maestro Yanich motioned to Erik to the conductor's platform. "The composer leads," Yanich explained and Erik consented.
Coupling his violin under his chin, Erik motioned to the pianist to begin the opening three repetitive notes, the celesta chiming with the piano. Bow in hand, Erik conducted the professionals before him, watching them as the ethereal sounds of Christine overcame them, eyes glistening with realizations of how ethereal the music of Erik's world truly was. Erik raised his bow to strike in the prominent violin counterpart of the piano, the robust, full chords from the cellos and contrabasses vibrating excitedly, a build up on monumental significance, energy thrumming from the fingers and breaths of the musicians before him. The incomplete piece came to a somewhat abrupt end and the entire orchestra was held captive in complete silence, eyes watchfully staring at the young genius before them. Erik's eyes remained closed, images and movements of Christine forever imprinted in his mind. The eruption of applause and whistles broke Erik from his musical stupor and was greeted with an onslaught of compliments and handshakes. Maestro Yanich ran to Erik with enthusiasm, "My dear boy, pure poetry. Pure genius. Whatever has sparked this beauty, endeavor to never let it go!"
Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go.
Paris, France - Autumn and Christmas 2005
"Erik, it's so good to see you! We've missed you so much!" Meg's voice chimed over Skype. "We have a surprise for you!"
"You're pregnant," Erik responded deadpan with a mischievous smirk.
"You are such a turd sometimes," Raoul chuckled. "No, she's not pregnant. We just bought plane tickets and made hotel arrangements for a surprise trip to Paris. We're coming to see you for your last performance so we can spend Christmas together!"
"Oh my friends, this is so very lovely to hear! I cannot wait to see you! When do you arrive?" Erik was relieved. As an incredible experience this past year had been touring with the orchestra in Europe, Erik yearned for home and his family.
"We arrive December 23rd! I'll email you our flight information," Raoul responded. "We've really missed you, brother."
"This is wonderful news, my friends. And I'm so very eager to see you both." The trio said their goodbyes, and Erik prepared for an evening at the opera.
The late October night air was crisp and fresh with the tinge of chill warning of the change of seasons soon to descend upon the city. Erik treated himself to tickets in Box 5 for a performance of Faust. It was the last performance for the season until after the holidays concluded and new season would begin. During the entirety of the performance, Erik felt distracted: all he could see when he looked upon the stage was Christine, performing the role of Marguerite, to hear her voice soaring through the crystal menagerie of the gigantic chandelier hanging from above. Suddenly it dawned on him: he could hear her sing. There will be a way to see her on the stage. By the end of the performance, Erik was eager to get back to his hotel room and write the most perfect song for her.
Find her. Tell her. Show her. Love her. And never let her go.
# #
The New York City Chamber Orchestra's final performance was Christmas Eve. This performance would finally wrap up their year-long European touring extravaganza, with an enticing and highly anticipated sneak preview of its protégé's first movement of his symphony.
Raoul and Meg's flight arrived right on schedule. The pair eagerly entered the long line of taxis of their choosing to navigate the decorated city of Paris to finally see their beloved friend and brother. Arriving to the hotel, Erik eagerly awaited them in the lobby.
"ERIK!" Meg shrieked as she ran into Erik, embracing him a hard hug. "Oh my God I've missed you! You look amazing! You've actually been taking care of yourself! Let me look at you!"
Standing back awkwardly while Meg ogled, he responded, "I swear she becomes more like her mother every day." He extended a hand to Raoul and the two brothers embraced with laughter. "Oh how I have missed you both. Come, get checked in. I've made reservations for dinner if you're hungry."
The evening passed quickly with dinner and dessert consumed and jetlag setting in, Erik motioned for a walk through the Jardin des Plantes before heading back to the hotel. It was frigidly cold but the evening sky was crystal clear and the stars began their twinkling dance above the trio of friends below. "It's incredible really," Erik spoke, "how much I have learned from both Maestro Yanich and Concertmaster Barto. And on our last night in Austria, Maestro Yanich had the orchestra run through an incomplete final movement to my symphony. I knew it was good, I just didn't realize how pure it would sound coming from a full piece orchestra. I am honored you are both here to hear the first movement in its completion tomorrow night!"
"What of Liliana, Erik? You haven't mentioned her once," Meg's inquiry pulled uncomfortably at Erik's heartstrings. Him and Liliana hadn't spoken since their last evening together in Tuscany. Erik looked back on that evening with mixed emotions; the evening served as such a breakthrough but also a crux to a bigger problem: he had hurt another person because of who, and what, he was.
"It's a long story Meg, and one I feel not quite ready to share," he paused, watching Meg sleepily stumble over her feet. "And perhaps a story best served after a full night's sleep?" Raoul chuckled in response. "It's getting late, and you two much get some sleep. This is where I leave you." And Erik departed their company and walked towards him room.
# #
It was Christmas Eve morning, and Erik raised his eyes to find Raoul joining him at the table in the hotel's cafe. "Do I dare ask how you are feeling? Did you sleep?" Erik mused.
"I feel like I got hit by a truck, but I slept. Meg is still out cold, snoring way too loudly. Why invest in an alarm clock when your fiancée serves as an alarm for you? I need coffee…"
Erik raised a hand towards the waiter, "Un café s'il vous plaît." French easily rolled off his tongue. As the waiter returned Raoul glanced at the notebook under Erik's arm, a sketch peering up from the page.
Raoul took a steadying breath, bracing himself for the verbal assault he felt would spring forth. "Erik?" Another sigh. "It was her that night, wasn't it?" A shiver coursed over Erik's body.
"How did you know?"
"I knew the night you left, right after the accident, I had a feeling it was her. I definitely knew the next morning when we went to the house to check on you. We found your ripped composition ripped up and when I saw your violin…" Raoul sighed heavily again. "Why didn't you tell us… or me?"
"I can't explain it or put it into words, Raoul. But, you'll hear it all tonight during the encore performance." Erik stood to leave, but Raoul placed a hand on his shoulder.
# #
"Monsieur, Mademoiselle, a message for you," the concierge motioned to Meg and Raoul. Both finely dressed in appropriate attire for the final concert performance.
My friends,
Please enjoy the seats tonight. Box 5. See you afterwards!
Yours,
Erik
"Oh he got us box seats!" Meg was ecstatic. And the pair made their way to the Opera Populaire.
The entire performance was perfect. Every entrance, every note brought about a new magic on this Christmas Eve in Paris. But it wasn't until the encore performance when the audience would be brought to the brink to darkness, bearing witness to the life unfolding of the genius leading his work.
The quick overture began with the simplicity of two violins dancing between a light echo of mimicking notes, but each so uniquely succinct from each other. The overture quickly birthed into a darkened despair, with rich undertones of dissonant chords that told the story of absolute heartache, pain. Towards the end of the first movement, the audience held tearfully captive, nothing like this had ever been heard before. It wasn't until the second movement began that it was the first glimmer of hope and light which the audience welcomed with relief. The movement continued on but stalled abruptly, the underlying forlorn melody faintly echoing underneath complex layers of brightness. The incomplete second movement came to an end before it could effectively bridge the transition to the third and final movement. The ending notes of that movement released a collective sigh of relief which was tinged with a dire need to continue. As Erik stood at the conductor's podium, his violin tucked confidently under his chin, his bow extended, his brow dampened with sweat, all he could hear was silence. In a moment of confusion, his eyes shot open to only see the audience rioting to their feet. He could feel the violent vibrations of the thunderous applause beneath his feet. Finally the silent barrier crumbled before him and he was almost knocked off the platform as the sounds of applause and shouts of "Bravo!" and "Encore!" and "Brilliant!" enveloped him in such an embrace.
He bowed slowly before his adoring audience, acknowledged with humble reverence and respect the musicians behind him, and bowed in tutelage to Maestro Yanich, who grabbed Erik into a fatherly embrace of congratulations.
# #
The after-party was an extravagant event of Paris' elite, again echoing memories of his first night in Budapest with the lovely Liliana. Erik found himself glancing up at the cloudy sky and watched peacefully as a few snow flurries began dancing their way to the streets below. From behind he heard Raoul and Meg with shouts of congratulations and love and adoration for the brilliance their ears had witnessed.
The look on Erik's face must have given away to Raoul that he was planning something. "Erik," Raoul said quietly as Meg started talking to one of the orchestra members. "How… how did you write something like that? How did you do it?"
"Life, Raoul… it's the story of my life."
# #
It was well past midnight when Erik's computer chimed of a new email. "Liliana," Erik whispered as he clicked on the message.
Dearest Erik,
Congratulations on a triumphant debut in Paris! Maestro Yanich has shouted your praises. I know this is your last day in Europe before heading back to New York. However, I wanted to share something with you that I randomly found on some website. I believe this is who you are looking for…
Yours,
Liliana
Puzzled, Erik clicked on the link she had provided. The caption read: "open mic night 2004, NYE." The video was blurry and the quality appallingly terrible. It must have been a low quality cell phone video as the content started abruptly in the middle of someone singing. Erik's breath caught in his chest as the very familiar voice rang in his ears. His mouth opened as he gasped for breath… Christine. And the words she sang sunk into his soul:
Let the bells keep on ringing
Making angels in the snow
And may the melody surround us
When the cracks begin to show
Like the petals in our pockets
May we remember who we are
Unconditionally cared for
By those who share our broken hearts
As gentle as feathers
The snow piles high
Our world gets rewritten and retraced every time
Like fresh plates and clean slates
Our future is white
New Year's resolutions are reset tonight
"Oh Christine…" and the words of Liliana which she had so adamantly told him in Tuscany screamed evermore: Find her. "I found you." Tell her. "I will…" Show her. "I promise…" Love her. "I'll never fail you again…" And never let her go. "It's time…"
Two days later, Erik, Meg, and Raoul boarded their flight back to the United States.