Chapter Twenty-One – Angel's Will
A Cemetery near Paris – Early August 2005
Christine walks silently into the cemetery on the arms of Madame Garnier and Missy, her head down. At Elle's funeral, she'd been the proud hostess. She'd taken care to ensure her appearance was lively, taking the time to put on some makeup and choose the black clothes best-fitted to her. Now, however, she moves like a living corpse, her face pale, her clothes limp on her body. Erik's relatives' opinions of her don't matter, at least not for the moment.
Through the whole service, Christine leans sadly on Madame's shoulder, too sad and tired to shed even one tear. As the casket is lowered into the grave, Christine bites her lip, trying hard to maintain composure and not jump in the grave too.
When the group disperses, Christine sees André saying farewells with Carla on his arm, though neither looks particularly moved by the service. Rather, they are smiling. Christine, though against her better judgment, walks over to the opera manager. He does not cast her even the slightest glance, but she speaks anyway. "Bonjour, Monsieur Destler. I'm sorry for your loss," she says, but her voice cracks and she's sobbing before the sentence even ends, running away to Missy.
Embracing Missy tightly, Christine hears Madame's harsh voice from behind her. "André Destler, you apologize to her!"
"Antonia, really, you're going to make a scene." If it's at all possible, Christine hates André even more.
"Me making a scene? André, she thinks it's her fault that Erik's dead! And we know that it…"
"Well, it is her fault! If she hadn't acted the whore like she did…"
"André Destler, I'm ashamed of you! It's not her fault and you know it! You owe her an apology, for Erik's sake. You should've heard her down in that lair before he died! She thought she deserved to die, not him!"
"Jesus Christ, woman, keep your voice down!" Christine can almost feel Madame's anger radiating from her.
"Well, if you don't apologize to her you're going to need to find yourself a new dance instructor! Good day to you, sir!" Madame makes her way over to her daughter and Christine. "Let's go, girls." The threesome walks arm in arm down the gravel path from the cemetery to the parking lot when Missy speaks.
"Mother, are you really going to quit?"
"We'll see, Melissa. We'll see." That clearly is the end of the conversation by the tone in Madame's voice.
Just as they near the parking lot, an officially dressed man appears in front of them. "Excuse me; is one of you by any chance Mademoiselle Christine Landry?" Christine raises her hand in acknowledgement. "Ah, I've been looking for you everywhere! I'm Joseph Rawlings, the Destlers' legal representative." He extends his hand and Christine shakes it kindly. "You were on Monsieur Erik's list of people to be present at the reading of his Legal Will. We're meeting at their mansion in fifteen minutes."
Rawlings turns to leave when he is stopped by Madame Garnier. "We're coming with her." Christine is silently glad for Madame Garnier's love and hospitality, knowing that she will always treat her like a daughter. Rawlings looks a little confused, so Madame takes the initiative, extending her hand. "Madame Antonia Garnier. I was a close friend of Erik's mother. And this is my daughter Melissa, a close friend of Christine's."
After a few moments, Rawlings responds. "You may come. But be on time! I'll see you shortly." He tips his fedora to the threesome and walks off.
Fifteen minutes later, Christine finds herself again on the front steps of the Destler Mansion. Her heart beating rapidly, she reaches for the doorknob, but Madame is quicker, opening the door for Christine and Missy. The house is pure chaos of young cousins running rampant, maids hurrying to bring hors d'oeuvres to the guests, female family members crying against their husbands' shoulders.
Missy and Christine situate themselves in small folding chairs by the large table that has been set up in the parlor, on which there are stacks of legal-looking files. Madame, however, walks off to talk with Webber, and Missy's feeble attempt at eavesdropping proves worthless.
Shortly afterward, Rawlings shows up at the table and calls everyone to silence. "Good afternoon. If I haven't introduced myself officially, my name is Joseph Rawlings. I am the legal representative of the Destler Family, and currently it is most unfortunate that I must be reading the Legal Will of one so young." Christine brushes a tear off of her cheek as Rawlings rummages through his briefcase, finally drawing out a large manila envelope. Out of the envelope comes a packet of papers stapled together.
"Here we are. The Legal Will of Erik Raoul Destler as of July Nineteenth in the Year Two-Thousand and Five." Christine pays little attention to most of the reading, not very interested in Erik's small belongings like a cell phone being left to cousins, aunts, family friends, and the like. About a half-hour into the reading, Christine's attentions are drawn back to the Will.
"'As most of you know,'" Rawlings reads, "'I was a great lover of the musical arts, and have been told by many that my talents would do me a great deal of good if I chose to perform. It is rare, in a case such as this, that we find ourselves exposed to one whose talent matches our own. I found such a gem in Mademoiselle Christine Landry, the star of my father's opera. At first I found her overly inquisitive, naïve, and a little annoying, but as time went on, I found out that those feelings weren't dislike at all; they were love. And so, I leave to Christine my piano and all of my musical regalia." Christine feels many pairs of tear-stained eyes on her and suddenly becomes very interested in the tiling on the floor.
Once Rawlings has finished the reading of Erik's Will, Christine stands and heads for the door. "Wait!" Missy runs after her. "Christine, aren't you going to get Erik's music? Mother can arrange to have the piano delivered to our place, but I'll help you carry the music."
"I don't want it," Christine says, her voice full of determination.
Missy looks aghast. "Christine!"
"What? I don't want it. You take it." Missy crosses her arms defiantly, but doesn't respond as such.
"Fine. At least help me gather it up." Christine obliges, leading Missy down into the basement and to Erik's room. Missy immediately hurries over to the piano bench and opens the top. "Wow…are these all his?"
"I suppose," Christine replies, devoid of feeling. She sits down on the edge of the bed, running her hand over the downy comforter yet to be plucked from the bed by Uncle James. Lying down, Christine closes her eyes, remembering how she had once lain here with the feeling of Erik's strong arms around her, his breath in her hair, his lips on her neck. She thinks back to being rocked gently in his arms when she felt lost. And tears come to her eyes thinking about holding him in her own embrace after his nightmare. That was because of his secret. It was because he was the Phantom.
"Oh my God. Christine! Christine, you need to see this!" Christine is drawn from her trance by Missy's yells. She stands up and walks over to her friend who shoves a small packet of paper in her face. "It's for you." True enough, there is a white sheet of paper clipped to the packet with her name on it in elegant script. Pulling it off, Christine reads the first sheet of paper, a note.
My darling Christine,
As you read this, you are probably very angry with me or mourning over my demise. You have every right to be angry, for what I did to you was beyond words, beyond any hope of reconciliation. I betrayed the trust you gave me so willingly, I ruined your life for my own purpose. That is unforgivable, and therefore I deserve not to be forgiven.
You will find in this packet a piece I wrote for us. Not for you, not for me, for us. For the memory of us as a pair. I hoped to give it to you as a gift should we ever marry, but now seems fitting. I owe it to you, if nothing else. I only ever wanted to make your life full of joy and light, but instead I brought it to darkness to quench my own thirst for revenge. But my beautiful, wonderful Christine, know that I will always love you, through joy and revenge, in darkness and in light.
With all of my love, forever and always,
Erik R. Destler
Christine hands the packet back to Missy, unable to look at it any longer. "Aren't you going to keep it?"
"No. Give it to someone with a use for it." Before Missy can make any complaint, Christine adds, "Yes, I'm serious."
"I guess my mom's Cousin Stephen could use it. He's a composer, you know."
"I've had enough of composers," Christine replies coolly. Missy piles all of the music into a bag and stands up to leave. "I'll be there in just a minute," Christine assures her, and is left alone in Erik's room for the last time. She walks silently across the carpet to the piano, her fingers ghosting over the pristine white and black keys, the urge to play a requiem for Erik's memory growing within her. I mustn't. I must forget this.
Instead, she heads to the back wall, now bare, the painting having been left to a distant cousin. Christine reaches her hand up, her fingers tickling the wall where the painting of the mask once hung. "Masquerade, hide your face so the world will never find you…" Christine jumps, feeling as though she's being watched, and whirls around, but there is nobody there. Closing her eyes, she can almost envision having stood where she is now, being held in Erik's arms as she sang, and begins to feel as though she's not so alone any more.