Chapter Twenty – Descent from Heaven
Underground Lair – Late July 2005
Christine pulls her mouth from Erik's and whirls around, looking for another presence in the chamber, the owner of the guilty weapon, though to no avail. She nearly falls over in surprise and horror as she hears Erik moan beside her. Christine turns around to face him and finds herself nearly face to face with a gaping, bloody wound in Erik's chest, clearly from a bullet. In an effort to keep him standing, Christine wraps her arm under his and around his shoulders, but his greater weight drags her to the ground as he falls with a sickening thud.
Gently, Christine leans takes Erik's hand and checks his pulse. It hasn't changed yet, but she's sure it will, and dreadfully so. Laying a soft kiss on his forehead, Christine turns to the wound in his chest. The bullet's penetration has ravaged the skin and muscle underneath Erik's shirt, and it bleeds with reckless abandon, staining the once-beautiful white shirt with crimson. "Damn weapons," she murmurs, ripping a piece of fabric from her skirt and pressing it against the gash. Erik emits a cry of anguish at her ministrations, grabbing her hands with one of his own, and she eases up, only to hear sounds coming from the entrance to the lair.
Christine turns around to see André, accompanied by Monsieur Friar, appear at the portcullis. "Christine!" he shouts, running over to her, barely noticing Richard or Erik. André catches sight of the rip at the hem of Christine's skirt and shouts, "Did you do that?" Christine nods to him, a little confused as to the subject of which he speaks. "You'll be forking over good money for that!"
Standing up to her full height, though it is no match for André's, Christine asks, her expression full of loathing, "André Destler, do you not realize that your son is…dying on the floor?" Christine cringes at the word she's used, hoping that Erik didn't hear her, though she knows he probably has.
"And that should be important to me why?" Christine cannot stop her mouth from dropping open.
"He's your son, damn it!"
"And?" Christine comes very close to slapping André across the face like she did with her son, but she worries that his greater adult authority would get her into trouble for it. But he deserves it. "He does not have my love or my sympathy."
"He's your son and you should love him not matter what! I know his mother would…"
"Don't you bring Erik's mother into this!" André snaps back. "He is undeserving of my love, and of yours. He locked me in a goddamn closet, he shot your grandmother, and he lied to the whole of the city! How should I love someone who did all of that? Why should you?"
"First of all," Christine starts, advancing on André, "you cannot tell me who and who not to love. Secondly, Erik is your son, and fathers love their sons no matter what they do to them. He is your flesh and blood, André Destler and whether you like it or not you will always be bound to him. If he dies, you will feel guilty for the rest of your cursed days. Now get him a paramedic, damn you!"
"You are a meddlesome girl, Christine Landry. Let him die!" André leaves Christine speechless as he turns on his heel, walking back down the beach. "Come, Richard. Let's get you dried off." André, Richard, and Friar get into the gondola, none looking back, and glide out across the lake into the darkness.
"I hate you, André Destler!" Christine calls after them. "I hate you!" Burying her face in her hands, Christine cries pitifully. She cries for Erik. She cries for André. But mostly she cries for the rest of their lives, forever changed by the night's events.
"Christine…" Christine hears Erik's weak voice from behind her and runs to him, falling to the hard-packed floor beside him. Erik's hand comes up to trace her jaw line with a shaking finger. "You didn't have to do that. You didn't have to say those things to him."
"You heard all of that?"
"Of course I heard it," Erik replies, laughing a little but stopping out of pain. "And I know that hate's a very strong word."
"Erik, he was condemning you to death. He had no right to do that as your father." Christine takes his hands in her own, squeezing them tightly.
"He wasn't condemning me." Christine opens her mouth as if to retaliate but Erik stops her. "You don't have to hide it from me, Christine. I know just as well as you do that I'm dying."
"No!" Christine shouts, pulling Erik to her chest, his head on her chest, but he shouts in anguish and Christine lets him back down. "I'm sorry, Erik."
"Don't be sorry. It wasn't your fault."
"What're you talking about?" Christine cries. "If it weren't for my naivety you wouldn't be here. If anyone deserves this," she says, motioning to his wound, "it's me."
"Christine, please. I betrayed your trust and killed your grandmother without reason. A life for a life, Christine. It's my time." Christine shakes her head sadly. "Please, Christine. Let me know that you won't feel guilty after this is over."
"No, Erik, you're not dying."
"Yes, Christine, I am. Stop denying it, Christine. Do it for me." Christine leans over him and buries her face in the crook of his neck, remembering the first time she did so and how she'd felt like they were meant to be together, that they were two parts of one being. Now her other half, she realizes, is dying, and fast. "You know," Erik says, stroking her hair with his hand, "you remind me of my mother. I've thought so since the minute I met you, and I know my father did too. She was so beautiful." Christine sits up and again tries to stem the flow of blood from Erik's chest, but, with whatever strength he can muster, Erik forcefully pushes her away. "I'm sorry, Christine. I didn't mean to do that."
"Christine!" Madame Garnier's voice penetrates the heavy air of sadness.
"Madame Garnier! Get a paramedic, please!" Christine shouts, whimpering almost.
"Don't, Antonia. It's too late for any of that. By the time you get back…" Christine covers Erik's mouth at once with her hand.
"Don't say such things!"
"Would you rather I lie?" Christine shakes her head sadly. "There's something you should know about me, Christine," Erik says, ignoring Madame completely. "My mother, she was a wonderful woman. A great dancer, a glorious singer. She taught me everything I know about music. But that's not all she taught. Her name was Kayla Diana de Chagny Destler. Her great-grandparents were Raoul and Christine de Chagny. That's why I know so much about the Phantom and why I've striven to find out more. It's my past."
Tenderly this time, Christine draws Erik up to her level, holding him close but gently. "Oh, Erik. All you've been through…"
"Don't go into this again, Christine, please." She nods, but before she can do more, Erik emits a loud cough, and his breathing takes a turn for the worst, breaths coming in short intense gasps.
"Erik!" Christine lays him on the ground. "Don't leave me, please."
"I'll always be with you, Christine. I'm always going to be right here," he says, placing his shaking palm on the place where Christine's heart is. "And though the life may leave my body, you're going to be right here," he adds, taking Christine's small, cold hand and pressing it to his chest in the same place, "like a handprint on my heart." Christine feels tears brimming over her eyelids, and Erik wipes them away. "Don't cry, my beautiful Christine. Please don't, mon ange. I will love you no matter what, and not even death can change that."
"You don't have to convince me," Christine replies, a small smile spreading across her face, "I know." With the strength he has left, he takes Christine's head in his hands and pulls her down into a kiss, passionate, scary, and climactic all in one.
Erik pulls away, as if he's afraid he'll spread the disease of death to Christine through their kiss. Christine chances a glance at Madame Garnier whose expression isn't readable, though she knows she's crying. Jumping with surprise, Christine feels a little band of cold metal against her palm. Looking down, she sees Richard's ring glittering in the candlelight. Out of the darkness pressing in on them, Christine hears a familiar tune in a raspy but recognizable voice. "You alone can make my song take flight." Christine looks down at Erik, his once earth-shattering voice reduced to a cracking and breathy mess. Erik takes Christine's hand and touches his lips to it, like a perfect gentleman. "It's over now…" Erik's hand goes dangerously limp in her own.
"Say it…" Christine whispers in a half-sob, taking a moment to lean down and kiss Erik's lips, which have gone unnaturally cold. "Say it!" she shouts, her voice breaking over the short two syllables. "Say 'the Music of the Night,' Erik. I know you can." But she's lying to herself, she knows. He's gone and there's nothing left to be done but remember. Laying her head for a last time in the crook of Erik's neck, feeling for one final moment that they are one, Christine whispers, "I love you, Erik Destler. I will love you until the day I die." As she prepares to stand up and run into Madame's awaiting arms, she adds, "Mon ange…"