—A/N—

Clannad's "Celtic Moods" is the song mentioned at the end of this chapter, that Christine references singing. I recommend listening to it. In other news, this is the next-to-last chapter of this story. For once, I actually intend to end something! Can you believe it? ...Neither can I.

I woke with a start, only moments after losing consciousness. Suddenly recalling what had happened, I let out a hysterical scream, and turned to look behind me, expecting to find Erik's body. Instead, I found only empty stair, at the top of which Sonora stood looking dumbly upon the scene before her. Frightened, I turned to look in front of me, and was relieved to find Henri and my husband bent over something at the bottom of the stairs.

Erik lived. So intense was my relief that it did not occur to me to wonder what they looked at; instead, I rose to shaky limbs and half-stumbled down the staircase. Erik looked up moments before I reached him, and just barely managed to catch me as I threw myself into his arms, holding him in vice-like grip. He returned the endearment with no less intensity.

It occurred to me, after a moment, that someone had been shot. It had not been Erik, or Sonora, or Henri, or myself...

Horrified, I looked down at my feet, to find Raoul in a steadily growing pool of blood. Henri was bent over him, attempting to press a towel to the boy's shoulder.

"Oh my god," I whispered, immediately feeling dizzy again. "Erik, is he...?"

Erik tightened his grip on me, and turned my head away. "We had every right, Christine," he murmured. "He came to our home, threatened to steal you away, brandished a weapon at us—at your daughter, Christine!"

Numbly, I nodded.

"He would have killed me, Christine. He had every intention of killing me..."

Excuses. Erik would not have hesitated to murder the boy, even if he had pointed only a water-gun at us. Still, I knew that it was truth—Raoul had intended to kill in order to save me... I let out a sob, and buried my head in Erik's shoulder, arms tightening around him. Of course, I would not have wanted Raoul to take me away... but he had meant only good...

"Come, Christine," Erik said softly, lifting me in his arms as if I were a child and again carrying me up those grand stairs. "You need to rest..." And though I struggled against him, my mind was unwilling to or incapable of denying him, and even before we had reached the bed, my eyelids were drooping.

I turned my head away from the blurry countryside beneath us, to look at the man seated across from me. Sonora was at the other end of the private jet, with Henri, playing a card game. Erik was engrossed in his book—some collection of poetry or another. A similar collection lay in my lap, though I had been staring at the same page for hours.

Alas! for this gray shadow, once a man--
So glorious in his beauty and thy choice,
Who madest him thy chosen, that he seem'd
To his great heart none other than a God!

I lifted a hand to brush away a tear at the corner of my eye. When my eyes again raised to Erik, I found him looking at me from behind his newest mask. I shut the book, and cast it aside, before standing and migrating to Erik's seat. His own book was slowly set to one side, and then he pulled me down into his lap. "What is the matter?" he asked softly, as his arms enfolded me.

I raised the mask, using my other hand to turn his face towards me. My lips found his, drank of that sweet honey for a long moment, before pulling away. I buried my face into his neck, and continued kissing the skin there. "You know I love you?" I whispered.

"Yes, Angel... I know you do..."

I nodded, and lifted my head again, eyes seeking out his own. "Erik," I said slowly, "why are we going to Paris?"

One shoulder shrugged, and he settled the mask back into place. "It is best to escape the publicity involved with the Vicomte's... unfortunate demise." He paused, obviously uncomfortable, and then added, "In addition, there are things that need doing," he said cryptically. "Unfinished business, as it were."

"Erik, tell me the truth. Why are we going to Paris?"

"Unfinished business," he repeated.

I shook my head. "Business you left unfinished for all these years?"

A strange emotion quivered in the air between us for a moment, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with something indiscernible. "Yes," he said slowly. "I have been.. putting it off, for your sake, and for Sonora's..."

My heart skipped a beat. And another. And another. I tried to suck in a breath of air, and quite nearly could not. My vision was fuzzy; I tightened my grip on Erik, shut my eyes, and returned my face to being nuzzled up against his neck. "Oh, Erik, please, no..."

His arms tightened, and he laughed a little. "Do not weep, my angel... It may not be as bad as you think..."

I raised my head to frown at him through my tears. "Please, Erik... Do not leave me! I thought you dead for one sickening moment—I could not bear it if you truly were..."

One finger brushed against my cheek. "I ask'd thee, 'Give me immortality.' Then didst thou grant mine asking with a smile, like wealthy men who care not how they give."

I could not help but smile a little through my tears. "How did you know I was reading Tithonus?"

"Intuition," he answered, eyes crinkling with what must have been a grin. I was suddenly possessed with the undeniable desire for angelic lips upon my own; without moving slowly enough to receive acceptance or denial from him, I slid the mask off, swept his face up into my hands, and kissed him passionately.

When we reached our hotel suite in Paris, Erik stayed only long enough to settle in before giving me a quick kiss and dashing out the door, into the Parisian night. Henri stayed with us, saw to such tasks as supper—and getting his hands onto a movie for Sonora—and then retired to his own room, to leave mother and daughter snuggled down into bed together.

It was almost dawn, when Erik returned, looking haggard. I slipped silently away from Sonora, crossed the room to where he stood, slowly removing his cloak and hat. "Erik?" I whispered.

"Shh," he said immediately. "Do not wake Sonora."

I remained silent for a moment, but when he turned to face me, I caught him by the shoulder and forced him into stillness. "Erik," I whispered again, "where were you?"

He gave a little shrug. "Visiting with old business partners."

I waited for more, but he offered nothing, and so reluctantly we returned to bed. Both of us slept well into the morning, for I had slept only a few moments for fear that he would not return to me. Sonora, however, had woken nearly at dawn, and immediately demanded breakfast and entertainment. Luckily, Henri guided her away from the bed of her sleeping parents and took her downstairs, to mingle amongst a people with whom she could not help but be fascinated.

Erik woke first, and it was only his rising from bed that brought me struggling out of sleep. I sat up, clutching the sheets to my chest, and watching him as he prepared for the day. When he had showered and dressed, and was beginning to open the door, I leapt up and rushed towards him. "Erik, where are you going?" I asked quickly.

He smiled softly, and kissed my forehead. "Out," he said simply—infuriatingly. "I will be home soon."

"Can I not come with you?" I asked with a pout.

He shook his head slowly. "No, Christine," he answered in an odd tone of voice. "You must stay, to take care of Sonora."

"Henri can—"

"No, Christine," he said, fingers brushing my cheek. "You must stay." And then he was gone.

All day long, I paced our room, unable to bring myself to leave. The sun made its steady path across the sky, each circuit of the hour hand causing me more and more anxiety. His words had confused me, had frightened me. Why had he spoken so cryptically? Why had we come to Paris to begin with?

I wrung my hands together, finding the tears of a silly girl tempting to spill down my cheeks. Angrily, I dashed them away, teeth gnawing into my lip.

In an attempt to distract myself, I sat down on the end of the bed and turned on the television. A date flashed across the screen—today's date—and I felt the world rock unsteadily to one side. The same day, all those years ago, that I had dragged him from the Garnier and convinced him to go with me into the world. The same day he had freed Raoul. The same day I had declared myself his wife. The same day we had flown from Paris, hoping never to return.

The same day he had very nearly died.

Letting out a cry, I hurried to fetch my coat and shoes. As I drew my coat out of the closet, I heard a loud crinkle come from the left pocket. Frowning, I drew out a folded manila envelope, from which I produced a thick packet of papers—black type, mostly, mixed in with Erik's awkward scrawl. My mouth dropped as I read the title.

Abandoning the idea of wasting time on shoes or a coat, I threw myself out the door—just as Henri was beginning to open it for Sonora.

"Mama?"

"Christine? Where are you going?"

"I must find Erik!" I shouted for explanation, as I ran down the hall. Just before I ran out of earshot, I heard Henri murmur to himself as he picked up the manila envelope. "Last Will and Testament... Oh my god!"

Too impatient for elevators, I rushed down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time and often leaping past the last few to land, staggering, on the landing.

When I reached the streets, I did not hesitate, but began running wildly down the crowded twilight sidewalks. I knew where the Garnier lay—this city had been my home, after all, and the Garnier the center of my life. I could have found it if one had blindfolded me and dropped me, from a helicopter, into any quarter of the city. There would always be that irrepressible draw towards it, always that pull, as if a string was drawn from my heart to the opera-house.

Or at least, to its cellars.

As I careened wildly down the Rue Scribe, pushing past anyone and everyone who stood in my way, I heard the clock chime. Ten-thirty. Darkness had taken the city, and I had only a half-hour before my half-tattered mind had decided Erik would die. Had he not always promised the end would come at eleven o'clock?

I was horrified to find the Rue Scribe gate half-opened; the lock had been destroyed, clumsily at that. It made me almost falter, for Erik was not one to do things clumsily, but I pushed onwards for fear of being mistaken.

It had been many years since I had descended into those cellars on my own, many years since I had been forced to remember my way through those dreadful chambers. I moved forwards with such purpose that it could have been only yesterday that he had shown me how to navigate. Freshly-disturbed cobwebs secured my worst fears—someone (and who else, but Erik?) had come this way. My only obstacle was the steady flow of tears clouding my vision.

As I broke through onto the shore of the lake, I found the boat moored to the other side. Shivering once, I resigned myself to the cold, and plunged into the icy waters. At first, I felt nothing; it was as if I were moving only through the cold air of the cellars, and not as if I were swimming through subzero temperatures. Soon, however, the numbness hit me like a thousand knives being plunged into my stomach. I felt my muscles cramp, felt my skin begin to crawl, and it was not until I was trapped in the middle of that lake that I began to recall how truthfully frightened I had been of that subterranean world.

Up until that moment, my mind's only occupation had been Erik's safety. I had thought only of my husband, and of his life. But now my own mortality occurred to me, and for one sickening moment I wondered if this had been Erik's intention—for both of us to die. It was certainly operatic, but I doubted that he wished it to be so—after all, had he not commanded me to stay, for Sonora's sake?

Finally, after what seemed to be hours, I emerged on the opposite shore. Every inch of me trembled, every inch of me dripped and stunk of that stagnant water. Pushing ever onwards, however, I struggled to trigger the opening of his house. To my surprise, however, I found the door already open; whether he had left it thus, or whether through disrepair it had become incapable of closing, I will never know.

"Erik?" I called through chattering teeth; my voice cracked. "Erik? Erik, where are you!"

Feeble vocals came from the Louis-Philippe room. "Ch-Christine?"

I let out a loud sob, and stumbled down the hall. "Oh, Erik!" I cried, as I half-fell into the room. He was prostrate on the bed, dressed in funeral clothes, mask lying on the bedside table.

"Christine," he moaned, "why did you come here? Why, my angel? I told you.. to stay..." His sentence was cut off by a loud, rasping cough; he curled in on himself, eyes closing in pain.

"Erik, no!" I rushed to his side, wrapping my arms around him tightly. "You can't," I sobbed. "You can't, you can't, you can't!"

I felt his arms wrap around me, face burying into my neck. "I have no choice, my angel," he whispered. "It is long past time..."

This only increased the violence of my sobs, my entire frame beginning to tremble. "You can't leave me!"

He did not bother to reply this time, merely clutched me tighter. "Oh, my sweet little songbird," he whispered. "I wish I could stay..."

I pulled back, looking at him through my tears, and sniffled loudly. "But you can!" I demanded childishly.

His head shook, hands taking mine. "You will bury me by the little well, will you not, Christine?"

I sobbed, shaking my head stupidly.

Abandoning that argument, he instead moved on. "Christine," he wheezed, "will you sing for me?"

My lips pulled down in a frown. "Erik..."

He shook his head, and then managed a pained smile. "Please, Christine... Will you sing me to sleep?"

Attempting to fight back my sobs, I began to sing an old lullaby my father had once sung to me, the words in Croatian.

How does the dark live in my heart?
How does the ocean hold my tears?

Erik's eyes closed, and I bent over him, hand curling against his cheek. I paused in the song to kiss his eyelids.

Sweetly, sweetly, sing and I will follow you...

His arms wrapped around me weakly, and I lay down beside him, limbs entwining with his own. My voice cracked again, as fresh tears began falling. Erik's face buried into my hair, and with a loud sob, I pressed my face into his neck.

"Sing..." he whispered, and I had to obey.

One day I know, these arms will hold you, here as I sing my lullaby...

The last word broke off in a sob, and I fell silent. "Erik!" I choked out, grip tightening on him. He did not return the sentiment.

Somewhere in his home, the clock chimed ten-forty-five. "S..ing..." he managed.

Knowing this would be the final tune ever he heard me sing, I somehow successfully put on a brave face and began singing an aria.

In childhood's early days
I often heard tell of angels
who exchange the sublime bliss of
heaven for the earth's sun,
so that when a troubled heart
grieves, hidden from the world,
bleeding silently to death
and expiring in tears...

I heard a gasping sigh, felt his body begin to grow even colder—as if I had ever imagined such a thing possible. I felt a similar chill steal over myself, and the room, and I knew that soon he would be forever gone. Tightening my grip on him, attempting to be ever closer to him—as if that would hold him in this world for a little longer—I continued singing.

When its fervent prayer
craves only deliverance,
then the angel floats down
and gently bears it toward heaven.

Barely did I fight back a sob; tears were flowing like rivers down my cheeks. I wanted to stop singing, wanted to shower him with kisses and tell him over and again how much I truly loved him, how much he had meant to me, how I could never live without him.

But he wished for me to sing, and so sing I would.

Yes, an angel has come down even
to me, and on shining wings

Another shuddering breath from Erik...

transports, far from all suffering,

His hands tightened on my body, back arching as he sucked in air with a final gasp of pain...

my spirit heavenwards!

As the last note faded, so did his life; a final, long breath eased from his lungs, carrying a single word on its tide: "Christine..."

I collapsed in on him, sobbing loudly, tiny fists beginning to pound both on his chest and the mattress beneath us. "No, no, no!" I repeated again and again, screaming, begging, pleading with God above to bring him back. "I can't lose you Erik!" I screamed. "I can't! I can't lose you!"

I rose up a bit, hands grabbing his lifeless shoulders. "Please, Erik!" I screamed again. "I will sing for you! I will sing every day!" I shook those shoulders, senselessly. "Erik, please!"

I collapsed again, arms wrapping around his neck, face nestling down into his cold neck. I continued murmuring through my sobs, but to no avail. I knew, even in my hysteria, that he would not return. He had truly left me this time, had left this world long behind.

"Erik," I whispered weakly. "I love you...!"

It was many hours that I lay by him, holding his body, rocking slowly with it and trying to imagine his voice singing softly in my ear. I had believed, somewhere deep within me, that he would always be there singing songs in my head. And now, he was gone—truly, truly gone, and so was that beautiful angel's voice. Would I forget it?

When finally I rose, I went to that little well, and was almost unsurprised to find that he had already dug himself a grave. Something that was almost a smile caused my lips to twitch, as I turned to the task of placing him within that pit and covering him with the wet soil. There were no words to be said, but as I clumsily lowered the coffin into the ground, I murmured, "My nightingale... My angel... May you be in heaven that which you were to me on earth..."

I stood over that mound of earth for a long time, rocking from toe to heel as I sang an old Celtic mourning song. The tune was a haunting ones, the words themselves meaning little, the sound meaning much. Long, low, dipping notes, those that sounded almost better with the untrained, raw voices of the Celtic women than with my trained, pure voice; still, the strain of my tears supplied just enough rasp and edge to my notes to make it worthy of the song.

As I stumbled slowly through the passages, Erik's mask clutched tightly to my chest, I was shocked to find it nearly dawn. My mind was clogged with blinding sorrow, and with lack of sleep. It seemed impossible that he had truly died; only a few moments, and he had gone forever, left me alone in the world—and it seemed even more impossible that I could have been so happily wrapped in his embrace only twelve hours before, when now he lay in the earth without so much as a gravestone.

When I reached the streets, and the sun first tickled my skin, I was filled with numbing certainty. "Oh, Erik," I whispered to the morning breeze. "Erik, mon ange... Je t'aime..."

I could almost imagine his voice whispering in my ears as the wind blew past, crooning my name in that sing-song voice that only he possessed. Christine...

"Christine!"

Dully, I glanced up, to find Henri rushing towards me. When he inquired after my health, beginning to fuss over my state of dress, I merely held the mask out to him.

"Oh, Christine," he whispered, arms wrapping around me. I allowed him to lead me back to the car, following him like a lost sheep. As he steered me into the back seat, I paused, and looked back on the Palais Garnier for the last time.

"With your beauty I am as uninvolved as with horses' manes and waterfalls. I breathe the breathless, 'I love you, I love you', and let you move forever."
—Leonard Cohen.