Disclaimer: I own nothing. Don't sue! Please don't sue!

A/N: We come to it at last. The almost end of the story. Weary of the journey, yet? Well, it is almost over; only three more chapters after this one. I hope you all have enjoyed it. My thanks for all the kind reviews. Oh, and don't kill me because of this chapter. Please! I want to live…

Chapter 29: A Heart on Its Own

Have you ever heard that dreams are the forbearer of events? I'd heard that statement once or twice from some New Age people, but never believed it myself. I was not a superstitious person by nature. To me, dreams were dreams; entertainment while I slept. A few weeks after taking Erik to place the rose on Christine's grave, though, I had an awful dream.

Black mist swirled around me as I wandered through the graveyard of Paris. Giants surrounded me and blocked my every way. They were leading me somewhere; somewhere I did not want to go. An angel protected with her wings a gravestone at the far end of the line of giants. She looked remarkably like Christine. Tears of black coursed down her cold stone face. I screamed when I read the name on the stone: Erik. I fell to my knees and sobbed.

I woke up with sweat dripping down my face and heart racing. Erik, who had been awakened by my tossing and turning, asked what the matter was. I did not want to distress him, so I just said I had a nightmare and wanted to forget it. Honoring my request, we both went back to sleep.

Three days later, my nightmare became a reality.

I woke up that morning shocked to find Erik still in bed next to me, asleep. He was a morning person and was typically out of bed before I woke up (if he even came to bed at all). I decided old age was finally catching up to him and left him to sleep.

I knew something was wrong when he missed breakfast and lunch; the time being around 2:00 in the afternoon. I rushed upstairs, wondering what was the matter with him. I was greeted by the sight of my husband lying in bed, eyes wide open, breathing fast, and deathly pale.

"Erik, what's wrong? Do I need to go get the doctor?" I gasped, falling on my knees next to his bedside. He stared at me for a few seconds, trying to place me in his mind. My questions went unanswered.

"Elizabeth. Elizabeth, my love, it is time. It is time." Horror washed over me. Denial found its way into my head. We were both still young by future standards. There was plenty of time still left. Right?

"No, Erik. No. Let me go fetch the doctor. You just have a cold and nothing more. Stop that foolish talk about dying." I made a motion to get up, when he caught my wrists with surprising speed and strength.

"No. It is time. I've lived two years, waiting for this day. Elizabeth, I love you. I love you. You've shared these past years with me and I'll never forget them. You gave me reason to wake up each morning. Your smile brightened my day. My music was for you. My life was for you. But, my soul belonged to her. And it has fled. You knew. You knew this. You knew my first love would always be her. I love you still, but it is time. Let me go." My tears made little water marks on the bed sheet. My nightmare was coming true. He was leaving me. And I cried.

"I'm sorry, my love." His hand stroked my cheek and he pulled gently on a strand of my graying hair. "I love you. I always will. But, I loved her, too. Now she is gone. Two years! Two years she's been gone. Now, my time has come. Let me go, beloved. Let me go."

"Please stay. There is still so much time ahead of us." I cried. Tears burned their way down my cheeks. He was dying and I was powerless to stop it. What would I do when I was alone?

"I'm sorry, Elizabeth. I love you. I love you so much. Wait." His eyes stared off into some distant place; a place I could not enter. "Do you see her? Oh, Christine, my angel. She is waiting for me. Let me go, beloved. Let me go. She is calling. I cannot ignore her. I'm coming, Christine…" His voice trailed off.

"No!" I screamed. Sobs racked my body. I laid my head on his chest, pleading for one more second, one more minute, one more of anything. "Please don't leave. Please! I love you. Erik, don't leave me!" He smiled at me and was gone.

I don't know how long I sat there with my husband's corpse. Hours. Days. Months. Time streamed by me like a river I was barely aware of. I was just in too much shock. I cried every tear out of my body. I looked at Erik, so peaceful in death. When I came to my senses, I did what any lover does: said good-bye.

"There'll never be a day when I won't think of you. I promise, my love." I kissed his cold cheek and went for the undertaker.

They buried him in the Parisian grave yard. Only his name, birth year, and date of death were placed on the tombstone. I was asked if I wanted to put an epithet of some kind on the tombstone. I couldn't think of anything that would do him justice, so I declined. Only Jack came to the funeral. He was my sole comfort those few days.

When I walked past Erik's final resting place after the funeral, I was struck by a thought. What would happen if Raoul, going to see Christine, should see this stone? Would he know who Erik was? Would he even pause? Or were his thoughts only consumed with Christine, like Erik's had been? Those thoughts haunted me as I took a car ride home. Jack asked if I needed him to stay with me, but I told him to go home to his family. I wanted to think.

Closure, I thought to myself. That is what this whole thing needs: closure. An idea formed in my overly shocked and tired brain. Erik would most likely have killed me if he knew what I did. But, I had to do. I just had to. It was something to keep my mind from plunging into the dark abyss.

I obtained the addresses of the Raoul and Madame Giry, the only two participants of the opera house fiasco still alive, and sent them each a letter. The letters each contained one simple line: "The Phantom of the Opera is dead."