AN: I really do believe this is the hardest chapter I've had to write for this story, not just because of a little writer's block, but because it's time to say goodbye. This story has taken nearly a year of my life to come together, and I can't imagine letting go quite yet. Forgive me if I feel the need to add a little more to this sad little love song ...
Disclaimer: I wish I did own PotO, but I don't.
REVIEW! It had made me so happy to read your remarks, and know that people have enjoyed my writing.
Joseph had stumbled on that cold winter night. Without purpose, without plan. He abandoned his car and walked through the pain he felt for miles, no one stopping him. Erik had empathized with him, had turned out to be the better man. What was he now that his well-laid revenge had crumbled into dust?
And he wept. Tears of an angry, lonely child whose father preferred the bottle to his family. Bastard, Joseph realized, not worth the hell I've put so many through... And then he thought of himself. Despicable, dirty, useless. He slumped back against a brick wall and slid down into the snow. More flakes kept falling, coating his shoulders and hair. It was getting worse.
I am my father's son. He deserved all of this. He knew he did.
"Are you all right?" Her question caused him to look up wearily. And he saw a young girl about his age, an auburn braid dangling down low enough to almost touch. Her gray eyes looked slightly concerned, and she moved the pink umbrella to cover him a little, too. "You shouldn't be out in the cold like this."
"Go away." He spoke softly, but made sure his anger was evident. But she didn't move, as if she was sure he needed her help. Frustrated, he grit his teeth and forced himself up from the ground. Surprisingly, he felt her free hand reach out to grab his elbow, lending a little support. "I said I'm fine, Jammes." At his use of her name she nearly let go, then tightened her grip.
"You're Joseph, aren't you?" Jammes finally put it together. "Carlotta's cried her eyes out for days because of you." She accused him, but still helped him stand all the same.
"Then why are you helping me?" He smirked, forced it through his teeth.
"Because you're in pain." She shrugged, as if it was such a simple thing. "I don't like seeing people hurt when I might be able to do something to help." Then, in complete contradiction to what she'd just said, she slapped his arm with the hand that had helped raise him.
"What–"
"That was for making me deal with Carlotta." She huffed, then grabbed his wrist and proceeded to walk with him in tow. "Now be sensible. We're going to sit down and have a cup of something hot somewhere andwait out the snow storm." She didn't wait for any reply, and he didn't hesitate to follow her under the safety of her umbrella.
He didn't understand it. She wasn't pretty. She wasn't frightening. Jammes was a secondary character, a second thought as he'd studied that stuck up peacock Carlotta. Then why was she the one pulling him out of the snow?
"Did Carlotta really cry for days about me?" He asked, and to his surprise, she paused.
"About two. Now she's dating the star of Pirates of Penzance." She shot him a little look. "So don't you dare think you've ruined anyone."
No, this was probably not going to be the start of a beautiful romance. It would, most likely, be a cup of coffee in a little shop filled with short conversation and, from time to time, little glares. But that was something more than he'd expected to have, and for that this plain, redheadJammes looked like the incarnation of Spring. He would see her as beautiful andlively for the rest of his life after this.
Alive ...
Three weeks later...
Mrs. Giry and Nadir sat at a corner café, just beyond the hospital. They'd ordered strong coffee, but neither moved to take their cups. Antoinette held her child in her lap, and Nadir strummed his fingers along his knees.
"He's gone." It had been some time since the event, but it was the first time Nadir said it. It surprised them both. She raised her head to look at him as he spoke, a sad smile on her face. "I still can't believe he's gone."
"It was time." Mrs. Giry thought back, to when he'd been a child locked away from the world. Then she remembered him as he'd grown– trapped and resentful. But that had all changed in the end. Christine had returned to him a very vital piece of his soul and he'd used it. He didn't kill that boy. Erik had returned the favor, and delivered him. "It was time for him to let it all go."
"But all alone!" Nadir murmured. "Even when he lived in that apartment, we could see him, try to be by his side." The boy hadn't been his religion, his race, or his blood, but damned if the detective didn't love him. And that very thing had caused the friction in their lives. When Erik was bad, when he failed at living a normal simple life, even then he'd been precious. A treasured friend and son.
"He's not alone," She corrected him, giving him an honest smile. "Wherever she is, I know he's not far behind."
Madeleine garbled in her lap. Words had begun to fascinate her. One in particular. "Erik." She managed to say, earning a laugh from Antoinette. Nadir had to join in with a grin.
"We'll see each other again," he concluded. "I've no doubt. Until then, I'm sure we have a few stories to tell petite Mado about big brother Erik."
Yes, life would have to continue. The world, both understood, was made of meetings and partings. Thatwould always bethe way of it.
One year later...
The warm spotlights were trained on her, as she rose in her prison clothes, summoned to wake by Faust. She was Marguerite, awakened by the call of her love, and her voice rang true.
Sa main, sa douce main m'attire! (His hand, his sweet hand attracts me!)
Je suis libre! Il est là! (I am free! He is here!)
Je suis libre! Il est là! (I am free! He is here!)
Je l'entends, je le vois! (I hear him, I see him!)
Oui, c'est toi, je t'aime, (Yes, it's you; I love you,)
oui, c'est toi, je t'aime, (Yes, it's you; I love you,)
Les fers, la mort même (The irons, death itself)
ne me font plus peur! (No longer make me afraid.)
Tu m'as retrouvé; tu m'as retrouvé, (You have found me; you have found me,)
Me voilà sauvée, Me voilà sauvée! (See, I am saved; see, I am saved!)
C'est toi, je suis sur ton coeur! It's you, I am next to your heart!
She sang with her entire being. This was her night- this was the moment she'd promised herself and her maestro! Christine rose high above everything she'd done before, and gave everyone around her a momentary vision. The angels encircled her, ready to take her soul to heaven during her invocation. The divine revelation found in the beauty of song-- that was the legacy of their love!
Erik ...
Silence, a long second's worth, greeted her as the opera ended. Then, the thunder of a packed house erupted. The audience stood as the cast bowed, clapping and throwing bouquets onto the stage. But Christine studied every one as it fell at her feet. Marigolds. Sunflowers. Mixed bouquets. From time to time, single roses would be tossed, but never in the right color, and never with a black silk ribbon.
Then she saw it. A perfect red bloom mixed in with the rest. And it looked like there was a note tied to it.
Don't expect it's from...her heart drowned any rational thought, and she picked it up gently. Hope had dulled her senses, and she stumbled to open it.
Mademoiselle Christine Daae,
Thank you for sharing your gift with us. Good luck on all future endeavors.
Your Fan,
Martin Lebrun
The manager of the opera house had thrown it to congratulate her.
She'd been so sure this time...the red rose that had been thrown to her as the curtain fell had made her so hopeful. But this was such a small theater, with a small release of the night's performance, that it would have been very unlikely to have had any real press at all.
It's all right, Christine reminded herself. Time had passed, but her resolve was solid- she would live on as she promised, but she would always carry a secret hope to find him again. And life had not been cruel- she had found friends in this new world, and had pursued her great childhood dream. Really, it was wonderful. Really.
Christine was already outside the theater, and about to hail a cab, when she realized she'd left her purse inside. With a groan, she began to look about and try to find a way in. Perhaps the back door, she thought. It might still be open, and one of the stage hands might let her in. To her dismay she rattled the door to find it locked.
"Is Mademoiselle in need of something?" She gasped and turned around in alarm, only to see a human form in the dark.
"Y-yes, I left my bag inside the theater, in my dressing room." She still remembered the last time she'd been in a dark alley with a man, and moved warily to the side. She was surprised to hear a small laugh as the man stepped into the streetlight. He was tall, wearing work trousers and a collared shirt. His face was slightly covered by the brim of his paperboy hat, but judging by his friendly smile, he was around her age.
"Well, you are very much in luck, Mademoiselle. I have the keys here." with a little nod he moved past her, and unlocked the door.
"Thank you very much!" She smiled in relief. The dark cap bobbed in assent, and she wondered what color hair might be hiding under it. His voice wasn't musical, but his french was a perfect native speaker's, and she guessed his accent from somewhere like Marseilles.
"Forgive me if I'm being rude, Mademoiselle, but aren't you the diva?" His words caused a quick blush to form.
"I was the lead soprano for the company, if that's what you mean." The door finally opened, and he stepped in before her. "Thank you," she smiled again before walking towards the room. When she heard his footsteps behind her, she turned around. "Are you going to follow me?"
"I happen to be headed in this direction," he spoke playfully, in a tone she did not like. She turned back to walk to her dressing room quickly. "Why did you say 'was'? They didn't sack you, did they?"
She sighed. "No, of course not. I just...have my reasons."
"Are you bored with singing?" The young man joked.
"Of course not!" Even if he'd helped her in, he was being awfully nosy. "If you love music, you never grow tired of it."
"Then, perhaps, you've decided to marry and retire from the stage." He noticed her flinch and laughed. "He will be the envy of every man who has heard you sing."
Once she'd reached her dressing room, she whirled around. "Thank you for helping me, but I can see myself out." She wanted nothing more than to have him leave before he flustered her further.
He mocked a bow. "Then, I bid you goodnight, Mam'selle." Without another word he walked past her and towards the backdrop. She opened the door and locked it, leaning on the door only slightly.
Whether he knew it or not, his words were painful to hear. No, she was not renewing her contract. The offer had been made, but she'd declined it. She'd sung in Paris, and made her little dent in the world, but it had taken time and now...she felt lonely. More than at any other point in time after she'd left Erik. She'd made her dream come true, but it suddenly hadn't been enough for her.
I miss you. She understood she would when she'd made her promise, but how could she have known that he'd make her wait so long? But she had no choice- she'd fallen in love with him the way he had with her. She understood now that for her, there would never be another love.
Heaving another sigh, she walked over to the loveseat and picked up her small purse when something caught her eye. A red rose waiting on her vanity. But it was not like the one that had been tossed on stage. This one was a deep red, with a black silk ribbon tied to it. And something glinted on the bow. She took it in her hands and gasped.
The ring tied to the bloom flashed brilliantly in her eyes.
No one else could have left that rose.
She ran out, searching the corridors with the kind of desperation she'd secretly felt all along. "Erik!" She called out, looking for moving shadows or his beautiful green eyes. Where was he? She held fast to the rose, her only real proof that Erik was still alive and in the opera house! She wanted to cry, could feel the tears beginning to form, but knew it was not the time. Right now she needed to find him. Everything else could wait until after.
Through the dressing rooms and halls, down to the orchestra pit, and behind the backdrops, Christine wound through all of it in the hopes of finding Erik. And every single time she was disappointed. Erik was nowhere to be found within the walls of the opera house. Her lips trembled with a desire to cry, but she refused. There had to be one more place she hadn't looked, where Erik was sure to go!
The rooftop! It was the only place left, and Christine put all her hope in it. She gathered her long pink skirt about her, and raced up the stairs. Erik...would he cry as she probably would? Would he kiss her, or would she have to ask? Had the scent of his clothes changed? It all went through her mind as she ran, and she felt she couldn't breathe as she swung the roof door open to see ...
No one. Snow had stopped falling, but it had blanketed the roof, making it difficult to walk in. In her desperation, Christine did not care. She raced out and looked wildly about her. The statues were her sole companions atop the roof. Christine brought the flower to her lips with both hands. He was here...he was!
"Erik!" She shouted the name, looking at the beautifully lit city below. "Where are you!" This was too painful to bear anymore, after this little hope. "Erik...," She sobbed quietly, "is this 'goodbye'?" Maybe he'd only come to give back the ring. Why else would he have left?
She felt cold and for the first time since they'd met, forgotten.
"Have you forgotten your angel...?"
The soft sound of this voice made her shiver, not the cold. Her eyes widened, and she turned away slowly from the city and back towards the door. The stagehand took a few steps from the door, smile still on his face.
"What did you say?" She whispered. He raised his hand to his cap.
"I said," His voice still retained an accent, but it was changing somehow, morphing into another's voice. Slowly, he lifted the cap from his head, freeing his dark hair and letting her see his face, "have you forgotten your angel, Christine Daae?" His green eyes watched her, drinking her in. "Because I've never forgotten you."
She found the strength to take one step forward, then another. Then she ran, dropping the rose in the snow.
There would be time to pick it up later, and put on the ring. There would be time to scold him for his childish game and cry. There was time now, for all promises to be fulfilled, to make up for their loneliness with soft touches and scents. At this moment, though, there was only one thing she could do.
She flew into his open arms.
AN: ...did you guys really think I'd kill him off just like that? Come now, I've grown far too attached to my Erik. But, if you would be so kind as to review, I'll be the happiest authoress with a happy ending anywhere. Thank you all for reading and going along for the ride with me. It's meant so much to me.
