A/N: I posted 9 chapters yesterday, so I waited with these last two and the epilogue so that everyone had a chance to catch up. I think I posted so many previously because I felt guilty for Christine's untimely demise and I was afraid everyone would be so angry with me they would quite reading.

Once again, this was a difficult chapter to write. I am not Erik, and so I do not deign to believe myself worthy of writing his opera. This was as close as I could get.

phantomann: Let me just say that I have enjoyed your insightful comments throughout the story. I was only teasing when I called you a "suspicious reader". Actually, I was pleased that you were able to pick up on all my subtle little clues along the way, although it made it very difficult to shock you. I hope the ending meets your expectations. I did consciously try to keep the dialogue between the characters consistent with the time period, so I am glad you felt I was successful in my efforts. (Don't you wish in sometimes that people still talked that way?) And yes, I am proud of Erik too for loving one woman completely for all of his life. It is just one more thing that makes him so special. I have enjoyed our dialogue immensely. By the way, if you have a fic, I would love to read it. Your comments have all been so well written, I am certain any fic you attempted would be the same.

romancebookworm4ever: Okay, Frederick is yours in more of a spiritual, metaphorical sense. Really, you are his true love, I'm sure.

Pertie: Honestly I think that is the most humbling review I have received so far. I am so honored. Thank you for staying with me to the bitter end.

MadameOG: Great to hear from you. Wow, what a compliment! And I am sorry I made you cry. Love your screen name.

Ch. 48 – Let My Opera Begin

Finally, March arrived, and with it, the first signs of spring. Though still very weak, Erik was out of bed and moving around the house once more, albeit slowly. He was never quite sure what the doctor had said to everyone when he had been ill, but he definitely noticed a change in his family and staff after his visit. To his great displeasure, they all treated him now as if he were made of glass. The boys visited constantly, and he was seldom without a son, daughter-in-law, or a variety of grandchildren close by. Alexander and Lizette had stopped already that morning with his latest granddaughter, little Erika Elizabeth de Chagny. The staff made an unusual fuss over him. The cook insisted on serving all his favorite meals, Sara and Gerard were nearly insufferable with their attentions, and even his normally ill-tempered elderly chauffer seemed to be unusually concerned with his health, often suggesting he close the windows of his automobile so that he didn't catch a chill.

Erik snorted derisively. He was unused to the attention, and it often made him irritable. He despised being treated as an invalid almost as much as he despised feeling like one. At the same time, he had to admit in some ways it felt good to be so well looked after, and he knew deep down that they only did it because they cared about him. Strange that a man once so alone and cared for by no one, now found himself coddled and doted on by so many.

He noted the suitcase by the door with approval. Just as he had instructed, all was being made ready for his departure later that morning. Tonight was the opening night of "Voyage dans la Lumière" and more importantly, tonight was Bella's debut as leading soprano of the Marseilles Opera. He missed her sorely, and knew without a doubt that tonight would be a great triumph and the beginning of a long and illustrious career for her. She had written often to tell him of how much she was learning, of the friends she had made, and of the scandals of life in the opera house which intrigued her. He had to laugh at her righteous indignation. He had no fear that Little Bella would succumb to the temptations of theatre life. She had her mother's strong moral compass and her father's stubbornness; between the two, no one set to lead her astray stood a chance.

She had however, written often of the special admiration she had developed for Monsieur Du Prix, or Pierre as she now called him. She wrote her father of his capable handling of the opera business, something she knew he would appreciate, and of his kindness and respect for the staff. On more than one occasion, he had acquired the idea that Bella had been seeing quite a lot of Du Prix outside of working hours, but that was her life and her business. Du Prix was a good man, and if he had been fortunate enough to win Bella's heart where so many others had failed, so be it. Erik would be grateful to know she would be well cared for after he was gone.

Erik checked the clock in the hallway. If he was to arrive in time to change into his evening clothes he would have to leave shortly. Pulling on his coat and gloves, he donned his hat and moved gingerly down the steps to the awaiting motor car while the driver loaded his suitcase. Knowing he would see Bella performing tonight on the opera stage had put new spring in his step and a smile on his face.

As the carriage pulled away, Erik watched his beloved home fade into the distance. So many years had gone by, so much had happened. Strange now he was heading to the opera debut of his daughter and over fifty years ago he had been witnessing the debut of her mother at the Opera Populaire. That life now seemed worlds away.

As the motor car rattled on, Erik thought about the strange dance that had been his life. For the first thirty-four years of it, all had been darkness - denied his rightful place in his family due to his deformity, years spent in an orphanage, even more years spent traveling with a gypsy caravan through exotic lands filled with mystery and horror, then solace for a time beneath the Opera Populaire. There he had met Christine, and his long journey into the light had begun. From the moment she had entered his life, the curtain of darkness he had always known had gradually been pulled back to reveal the wonders beyond. Christine's kiss, Christine's love had made it possible. Then later, after her death, when he would have crept back into the comfort of that familiar seductive darkness, his children had forced him to move forward, ever closer to God and his salvation.

Yes, Voyage dans la Lumière was his story. He had made the long journey into the light, where he stood now. Long ago, he had taken each child in turn and told them all the story of his past, leaving nothing out. To his great relief and humble gratitude, each and every one had promptly reassured him that the man he had once been and his past sins were of no consequence today, and that he was loved now for the man he had been as long as they could remember. This was his redemption. He was at last bare before his family, every scar and every sin visible, and they loved him anyway. The little abandoned boy with half a face who had been scorned by all for his imperfection had now grown to be a man loved by many in spite of all his imperfections. God had taken his great tragedy and turned it to a great triumph as only He could do. Erik smiled to himself. He and God had reached an understanding now. He had forgiven God for the first thirty years of suffering. And in turn, he had asked for God's forgiveness for the sins of his past. He knew with certainty now that when his time came, he would join Christine in the land of the light forever, and that knowledge as always humbled him and overwhelmed him with gratitude.

As his carriage arrived at the inn, Erik quickly found his room and went inside to change. As always, he washed and dressed carefully. He combed his hair back and pulled on his evening gloves. He straightened his cravat and slipped on his coat. Looking in the mirror with satisfaction, he donned his elegant top hat and pulled on his cloak. Locking the door behind him, he stepped nimbly down the stairway and out the front door to his motor car once more. On the way, Erik stopped at a flower stand, taking time to select only the most perfect blooms. Satisfied, he returned to the car and they continued to the Opera House.

As he stepped out of the car, taking care not to crush the flowers he had purchased, he was met by an enormous surprise. Standing on the steps of the Marseille Opera House was his entire family, all dressed for the occasion. Erik-Philippe and Bridget, Alexander and Lizette, Frederick and Gabriela, and all of his grandchildren, of which there were now six. He smiled at them all, and then looked to Erik-Philippe for an explanation. His eldest son stepped down to meet him, "Father, you are far too modest. We would have come anyway, of course for Bella's debut, but when she wrote to tell us that the opera she would be performing in was your work, we knew we had to be here to celebrate with you."

As he began to understand, Erik surveyed the wonderful group of young people before him and once again marveled at his fortune to have so many that cared for him so much. With tears shining in his eyes, he stepped forward to embrace and thank each one.

When he had kissed the last grandchild's cherubic ringlets, he raised his eyes to see before him a beautiful young woman with long auburn curls dressed in shimmering silver. At first, in the dim light of the street lantern, he could have sworn it was Christine, but as his eyes adjusted he noticed that this figure was slightly taller and the love-filled eyes were blue-gray like his own, instead of chocolate brown. "Bella." he whispered. She seemed to float down the stone steps to him, embracing him tightly.

She had missed him so much. Inhaling deeply, she breathed in the scent of her father that she had known from her childhood – a mixture of his favorite cologne and of the fine fabric of his clothes. She buried her face in his chest, wanting to never let him go, but at last she drew back. He reached up to touch her face, now covered in special sparkling stage makeup that gave her a slightly other-worldly appearance. There were jewels in her hair, and everywhere her skin had been dusted with a fine glittering powder. The effect when combined with the exquisite silver of her dress was breathtaking.

Erik swallowed hard, his voice filled with emotion, "That dress..." Bella smiled gently. "It was Mother's, yes. I had Erik-Philippe send it to me. As a child I used to sneak into her closet and drag it out just to look at it. It always seemed to me that Mother must have been an angel, for this was surely an angel's dress. I thought it would be perfect for tonight." She reached for his hand, her eyes searching his face. "I hope you don't mind, Father. I thought that this way, a part of her could be with us tonight."

Erik squeezed her hand and whispered, "My dear, she is with you always. Remember, she lives on in you." He leaned forward and kissed her gently on the cheek, then handed her a bouquet of exquisite white roses. Bella took them reverently in her hands and inhaled their sweet scent. "My first bouquet of flowers as an opera diva," she smiled with adoration at her father and whispered, "I am so glad they came from you."

Bella returned to her dressing room to prepare while the family headed to their seats. As much as he adored his grandchildren, Erik was relieved to know they would not be attending the performance. The nannies had taken them back to the inn for supper and a good night's sleep while the adult's enjoyed a night out in each other's company. Their seats were the best in the house: a private box very near to the stage, compliments of Monsieur Du Prix. The mood in the box was jovial and Erik found he was having a wonderful time long before the curtain opened. It had been so long since they had all had a night out together.

Soon, however, the lights dimmed, and a knot began to form in Erik's throat. Though he knew with certainty that Bella would be wonderful, he also knew she would be nervous, and his own stomach twisted in sympathy. His nerves were also on edge for another reason as well. In this opera, much like Don Juan Triumphant so many years ago, he had laid himself bare before the world. Unlike his previous two operas prior to Christine's return, this opera was personal. It was the story of his life, of his music, of his family. If the audience rejected his work, it would be as if they had rejected him. He felt suddenly naked before a thousand eyes, and wondered in horror if he would be sick. But then the overture began to play, and he was lost in the sound of his work performed to its full glory. If he had looked around to see the faces of the audience and family around him, he would have known immediately that his worries were unnecessary. From the first note, the audience was spell-bound.

As the curtain opened, the stage was swathed in darkness. A shadowy figure emerged, his movements clumsy and grotesque. The music reflected his pain, lamenting his anguish. But from the cursed form, a haunting voice emerged, singing of his loneliness and despair. Then, one by one, others appeared on the stage: spitting upon him, taunting him, kicking him, laughing at him – rejection at his every turn. The dark figure hunched his wretched form into a desperate ball on the stages, his howling sobs of pain and anger echoing throughout the theatre.

The audience was riveted, many with tears in their eyes. Suddenly, at the side of the stage, a tiny light appeared and an ethereal voice, clear and pure could be heard calling to the wretched creature in the darkness. Slowly, he raised his head to the sound, and the audience saw for the first time that which had been the source of his rejection. The creature's face was a mass of distorted flesh.

There was an audible gasp from the crowd at the revelation. Erik winced visibly in his box seat at the audience's reaction, and his hand unconsciously lifted to touch his right cheek, vividly remembering when he himself had been the source of disgust.

But then, as the heavenly voice became clearer and stronger, the audience forgot about the ugliness before them and became conscious only of the beauty of the sound. The figure on the stage seemed to feel the same way, gradually dropping his hands from his face and crouching like a curious animal before the ever brightening light. Suddenly, a silver figure appeared in the center of the beam. The figure shimmered and glowed – a woman entirely celestial in appearance, her divine face filled with compassion for the pitiful creature before her.

The twisted dark figure knelt in awe of her, trembling visibly. Her angelic voice began to call to him once more: beckoning him forward, drawing him from the shadows and encouraging him to join her in the warmth of the light. The figure drew slowly forward, then hesitated, frightened by the unforgiving honesty of the light as it fell upon his twisted face. He drew back and dropped to his knees, unable to find the courage to leave his dark comfort. Seeing his uncertainty, the angel stepped forward from the light to join him in the darkness, as the music reached a deep crescendo.

The spotlight shown dimly down on the pair in the center of the stage, the music

quieting to one gentle violin, as the silver angel knelt beside the dark creature and touched her lips to his marred flesh. The creature's body racked with sobs. The angel then began to sing a song just for him, drawing him up with her until he stood tall alongside her and his voice joined her own, hesitant at first, but then bursting forth with wonder and beauty. The breath of the crowd caught as the two voices intertwined, spiraling together upward to the heavens. And as they sang, gradually, the dark figure began to seem less and less a monster.

As the duet reached its conclusion, the angel began to step backward slowly toward the light. She reached out her hand to the dark figure, and uncertainly he took it, following as she sang to him softly, continuing to love him with her voice, lending to him her courage.

As they drew closer to the light, his hand flew up instinctively to hide his distortion, but the angel reached out and gently lowered it, tilting his chin to the heavens so that his entire being was suddenly bathed in a radiance so blinding that the audience could no longer distinguish the forms of the two contrasting figures. The angel's voice became more and more distant, and the light to gradually dim. When the dark figure turned to face the crowd at last, the audience gasped once more – the horridly disfigured creature now stood tall before them miraculously healed and whole, no longer a monster, but a man. And next to him, clinging tightly to his hand stood a little girl dressed all in silver with the same auburn ringlets as the angel before her.

The man held tightly to the child's tiny hand. All other lights in the theatre dimmed once more and the two stood alone, staring toward the tiny light in the distance to which the angel had returned. Kneeling down beside the little girl, the man softly sang to the child the words that Erik had written so many years ago for Bella on the day he had first heard her sing:

Child of blameless heaven

Born of darkness and of light

In you all the sin and sorrow of the past have been made right

Angel of the daylight

Soaring here on fallen earth

In you even wretched demons somehow find rebirth

Strength of the mountains

In your tiny gentle hand

Holding tight the tethers binding God to mortal man

Sacrificing all of heaven-

Immortality, peace, and God's perfection

Down to chaos you have flown

To save this man from sin's infection

Standing now and turning back toward the light from which the angel had come, his voice strong and clear, he continued his face rapt with joy:

Fly now Angel

You are free

Your sacrifice lives on in me

Soar to heaven

Return to light

All in you has been made right

Looking down at the child once more, he sang softly:

All in you has been made right

As the two stood alone on stage, the angel's voice could once again be heard clearly. The man bent down and picked up the little girl and she wrapped her arms around his neck, kissing him gently on the cheek. Together, they raised their faces to the ever-growing light. They closed their eyes as the voice from another world lifted them and the audience higher and higher, ending in a joyous triumphant crescendo as the curtains drew closed.