Chapter Summary: Erik sits down at his piano to play the music he has composed for Tallis and an unseen Maestro weaves Erik's tune through the lives of others …

Author's Note: I think I had better give a "Tissue Issue" warning with this one as it does get a bit weepy at toward the end. Consider yourselves warned!

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

Erik sat at his piano, the morning light coming in through windows that did not need to be protected against the world outside. Papers no longer lay scattered about him but were stacked in neat, orderly piles all around the piano bench's legs. Above the keys, leaning against the backrest, more papers were spread out from one side of the piano to the other, small black bug-like shapes dancing from one paper to the next in never ending motion. Sharp eyes followed those movements, searching for any fault, anything that would mar the perfection. He listened to the movements blend, each flowing into the other, creating a whole. Satisfied with what he saw, what he heard, Erik sat a bit straighter on the piano bench, poising his fingers over the keys. He paused for a last moment of introspection before his fingers lowered, lovingly caressing the ebony and ivory, the somber tones of a requiem, a goodbye, beginning to filter through the garret…

Christine slid the rocking chair along the floor of her bedroom toward the small trunk that rested against one wall. She let out a long breath through pursed lips when she had the chair in place, a hand going to the stitch in her side. "That was more work than I thought," she said softly, holding to the back of the chair for one moment longer before moving to sit in the chair. She reached up and lifted a chain from about her neck, slipping the key at the end of the chain into the chest and unlocking it. Christine heaved a deep sigh as she looked at the contents. "Oh, Raoul," she breathed as she surveyed what remained of her dreams.

Christine reached in to touch the ivory sweater, pulling it up and holding it to her face. She frowned slightly, the spicy scent that would draw her back to happier days, beginning to fade away. Christine placed the sweater over her child and once again reached into the chest, pulling out a pair of gray kidskin gloves, slipping them over her own hands. "I had forgotten how small my hands were when in yours," she said a frown momentarily creasing her brow. Christine clasped her hands together. "And how safe they felt there." She kept the gloves on as she continued to gaze into the chest.

So many little momentos, so many memories.

A tiny book of Shakespeare sonnets that had always been carefully packed into their picnic hamper.

A shaving kit that Raoul had allowed Christine to use on him, all the while swearing she was trying to lovingly do him in.

A hairbrush with gold and chestnut hairs tangled in the bristles spoke to peaceful evenings spent chatting behind the bed curtains, hands tangled in each other's hair.

A dark blue - nearly black - hair ribbon that had been part of a masquerade costume.

Christine sighed and took the gloves from her hands, tucking them back into the trunk. She lifted the sweater and folded it before placing it gently atop the other things in the trunk. She reached down to caress her precious butterfly. "It will be all right," she whispered, unsure of whom she was reassuring – her child or her self. "And someday you and I shall sit in a sunny room and look through these things and I shall share my dearest memories of your father."

She closed the lid of the trunk and turned the key one last time. Christine kept the key in her hand as she pushed herself up from the rocking chair and went to the dresser. She opened the top drawer and took out the small velvet box that had held the Saint Joseph medallion, slipping the key into the box and placing the closed box in the back reaches of the drawer. Christine closed the drawer and looked out the window at the ocean that was rolling away under the winds of autumn.

"Time to say goodbye forever," she whispered as a hand moved gently over her child. "Time to let the past go. Time to let your father rest in peace. Time to look forward." Christine sniffled. "I can only hope that someday you will find someone who will be that gentle and that good and that loving to you." Christine laughed and looked down as her child poked at her a bit harder than normal. "I take that to mean that you wish such a thing, as well!" She smiled. "Just do not grow up too quickly," she said. "Slowly, please. Slowly."

… Slowly the sad music that Erik coaxed from his piano turned a bit brighter. It was a subtle difference as minor chords left their flats behind dancing forward to the next note in progression. The slow, somber pace of the requiem continued as the music began to hesitantly explore a new facet. It reached out - searching, probing, wondering – as it found new territory. A ghost of a smile passed over Erik's lips, pleasure at the effect he created rising within his breast…

Antoinette looked at her daughter sitting beside her on the sofa. The mother took note of Meg's fashionable hat perched at a saucy angle and the uncertainty in blue eyes. Antoinette put her teacup back on the silver tray and laid a hand upon her daughter's knee. "Do you wish to speak of it?" she asked.

Meg turned to look at her mother and smiled slightly. "Am I going to be a good mother?"

"Oh my dear child!" Antoinette exclaimed with a laugh, sobering somewhat at the look on Meg's face. "That is a question each and every mother has asked since the Garden of Eden." Antoinette patted Meg's knee. "You will be a wonderful mother." She turned to look over her shoulder at the man standing by the window. "And Valery shall be a wonderful father."

Val turned to smile at his mother-in-law. "Thank you," he said. "Such reassurances coming from you mean a great deal." He walked over, placing his hands on the back of the sofa. "We have not yet told my own mother."

That statement earned a look of reproach from Antoinette. "Do you think such an action is quite wise?"

"We just want to be certain nothing happens before we tell her," Meg said.

"And we want to enjoy this time a while longer," Val finished as he placed a loving hand on his wife's shoulder.

"You know," Antoinette said, "you begin to sound like Christine."

Meg sighed. "And that is another thing – Christine and I always planned on our children being the closest of playmates and friends. How is that going to happen when she shall be halfway around the world and not just a short carriage ride away?"

"I think that Christine shall yet surprise us all," Antoinette said, a wise little smile playing at the edges of her lips.

"Tallis certainly surprised us," Val muttered. "As did Serge." He looked at Antoinette with curiosity. "Do you have any idea why they acted as they did? I would never have expected such behavior from either of them!" He paused in thought for a moment. "You do not think they…"

"Most certainly not!" Antoinette interrupted him. "I do not think any such a thought entered either of their minds!"

"Good," Meg said.

"That is a surprise coming from you," Val said to his wife.

Meg pursed her lips. "I just think that Tallis should follow her heart and we all know where her heart lies."

"We do," Antoinette agreed with a nod, "but that does not mean it is always wise to listen to your heart. There are times when it is much the smarter thing to heed that small voice that speaks so softly in our minds. Should there come a time when you realize that the person you love cannot see beyond their own heart, then you must let them go."

"Oh Maman," Meg said reaching out for her mother's hand as her husband's hand gently squeezed her shoulder. "Poor Tallis," she breathed, "and poor Erik."

… Erik closed his eyes and let his fingers dance over the keys as the music moved forward from its hesitant beginning. It picked up pace, adding a lightness in the grace notes carefully scattered throughout. He drew a deep breath to steady a heart that began to dance along with the music. Erik could feel her touch as his fingers played out her life on the keys. He could see her in his mind's eye, the gray of her eyes that sparkled like the first evening star, the gold highlights in her hair that reflected the sun, the warmth of her smile, the heavenly sound of her laughter…

Echoing in the silent stillness of the great house, Tallis' laughter rang like that of fine crystal until she clapped her hand over her mouth, gray eyes twinkling merrily. "Pardon me," she managed between her fingers.

Serge smiled at her, his delight written all over his face. "For what, Fraulein?" he asked. "For bringing such a wondrous sound to this long-dead house?"

Tallis blushed as she lowered her hand. "For making such a commotion," she said. "There are times when I forget myself. It is deplorable and I am sorry."

Serge took one of Tallis' hands and bowed slightly over it. "Forgiven and forgotten," he said and straightened. "Yet I find the sound of life and laughter within these walls quite lovely." Serge returned Tallis' hand. "I think I shall make that one of my first orders to you – there shall always be laughter within these walls. I expect you to make that your first order to your staff."

Tallis shook her head in wonderment. "My staff," she breathed. "I do not think I shall ever become accustomed to that phrase." Her eyes took on a worried look. "Or that responsibility."

Serge nodded – a curt, controlled gesture. "You shall; of that I am quite, quite certain." The curtness disappeared beneath his returning smile. "Would you like to see the cottage?"

Tallis returned his smile. "Yes, please!"

Serge held out his arm and Tallis took it. He walked her through the center hall and toward the back of Trevinny, exiting through a door that opened onto a stone patio. Serge guided Tallis through the gardens, describing the sparse but elegant plantings dictated by the weather and the countryside. In the distance they could hear the sound of the waves pounding against the rocky coastline, the sound growing ever closer as they approached a sprawling one-story gray stone house.

Tallis turned to look at Serge in amazement. "This is a cottage?"

Serge looked at the house before turning to Tallis, his face open and honest. "It is a cottage to one such as I who looks upon Trevinny as a vacation home."

"It is a mansion to me!" Tallis said and allowed Serge to walk her around the front of the house. "Oh," Tallis breathed as she realized she could see the ocean from the small wind-swept front garden.

"Come, Fraulein," Serge said gently and walked Tallis through the front door.

Tallis roamed through the cottage in amazement. There were four bedrooms on one end of the long building, a huge open room at the other. There was a sunny kitchen and a comfortable parlor. Each room was still furnished, dust covers hiding the treasures beneath. Tallis stood in one of the bedrooms and thought the house was just sleeping, waiting for the right person to awaken it once again. A bittersweet feeling began to rise in her chest for she felt at home within the walls of the cottage; yet there was something missing. Tallis shook her head, the tears gathering at the corners of her eyes – there was someone missing.

… Missing, Erik thought as he stared at the notes dancing over the lined paper, there is something missing. He closed his eyes, listening to the music in his head, feeling it with his heart. A frown crossed his face as he struggled to feel, to understand. He clasped his hands together, intertwining fingers, tightening his grip, turning his knuckles white. Erik raised his hands to his head, bending forward slightly to rest against them, his lips moving in an unspoken prayer…

Raoul kept his eyes closed, trying to not listen to the words spilling forth from Nico's lips, trying to remember his angel, trying to remember how to pray.

"No, no, no," Nico chanted and pushed on the new wound in Raoul's shoulder, smiling as Raoul groaned and his eyes snapped open. "I did not give you permission to leave."

"Let me die," Raoul pleaded.

"Oh," Nico purred, reaching up to stroke sweat-soaked hair. "Are we not feeling well?"

Raoul fought to keep his eyes open, desperate to avoid any further pain. "Let me die."

"I am letting you die," Nico smiled and shook his head. "I just do not think it is as fast as you would like." He sat back on his heels. "But the timing pleases me; everyone must suffer to get into Heaven." Nico turned his head to look at the casket resting atop the bier. "I think poor Edouard has already suffered enough in your place." He turned back to Raoul. "He deserves some company, do you not think?"

There was no answer.

Nico's knife flashed beneath the scar he had already left beneath Raoul's collarbone, opening a new wound, adding another scar. He smiled at the loud, scratchy sound that issued from his prisoner. "Have you forgotten so soon what happens when you do not answer me?"

Raoul gathered what little energy he had left. "Kill. Me. Now!" He shouted.

Nico was stunned at the physical and emotional strength his hostage had mustered. He sat silently on his heels for a moment before jumping to his feet. "No one orders me around!" he screamed, hands reaching for the coffin lid.

Raoul's eyes closed and he held his breath.

Nico slammed the coffin lid up and down, the noise echoing loudly in the small crypt, causing the Presence lamp to sway lightly. "No. One. Orders. Me. Around!" he screamed again, continuing to slam the coffin lid, using it to punctuate his words. Finally the anger and madness drained from Nico and he trembled as he held the coffin lid open. He studied his hostage for a moment before turning on his heel and walking from the crypt, allowing the iron door to slam loudly behind him.

The sound of the slamming door caused Raoul to open his eyes. He turned his head, the movement making him to groan in pain. Raoul looked at the Presence lamp, the coffin resting beneath it. He frowned as he tried to make out what rested atop the coffin and slowly the knowledge dawned upon him. "Lily," Raoul whispered, his breath ragged. "Christine," came the softly spoken answer as Raoul's eyes closed and he surrendered to the quiet darkness.

And out behind the crypt - in the shadowed darkness of the trees - a young man sat with his hands over his ears, frightened tears streaming down his cheeks. Henri raised his eyes to the sun filtering down through the changing leaves. "Leave me my sanity!" he whispered angrily to the Heavens before rising to his feet and walking back toward the stables, his steps shaky and uncertain…

… Uncertain tones were coaxed from the keys beneath Erik's fingers. They were faltering and unsure beneath the trembling hands of the maestro. Erik raised his hands, tightening his muscles, turning his hands into talons. He let out an angry breath as he opened his eyes and looked at the sheets before him. Facial and hand muscles relaxed as Erik found where he had made his mistake. His hands once again lowered to the keys, beginning to move lightly, uncertain tones fading, turning into a happy dance. Erik's fingers lightly tapped keys, moving the music forward, his heart dancing along with the joyful melody…

"I do not believe I have seen you quite so happy in months," Monique said as she watched her husband and his best friend scan the latest papers from Paris.

Philippe looked up, favoring her with a smile. "It has been awhile, has it not?"

"It seems like it has been ages since we have seen you smile so much," Xavier told him, briefly raising his eyes from his paper and smiling at Philippe. "I will say that planning this upcoming trip is rather exciting."

Philippe folded his paper and placed it on the table beside him before leaning back in his chair, his hands relaxed over the chair's arms. "I had almost forgotten how exciting a season in Paris can be." He sighed. "The symphonies."

Monique's eyes twinkled. "The parties."

Xavier looked up and winked at Philippe. "The salons," he said knowing perfectly well that Philippe would understand his meaning.

His wife did not miss it. "Oh you horrid men will find a way to escape into those types of places to lose money and smoke cigars."

"Drink brandy," Xavier added.

"But I think we are both far too old to flirt with the young ladies," Philippe said with a perfectly straight face, allowing himself to be drawn in to the happy emotion of the moment.

"I should certainly hope so!" Monique feigned shock. She returned the silly smiles of the two men looking at her.

Philippe turned to Xavier. "I thought we would be leaving such things to Henri and Didier." He shook his head. "But Henri is insisting on returning to England and to his parents."

"Didier is planning the same thing," Xavier admitted. "He has emerged from whatever dark hole into which he fell but he is still sullen and withdrawn." He grimaced. "My young cousin is saying he will return to his parents and may not return for some time."

Now it was Philippe's turn to grimace. "What has happened to the two ne'er do-wells we know and have grown to love?"

"I wish I knew," Xavier sighed as he leaned back on the loveseat he shared with his wife, turning to smile at her as Monique's hand clasped his own.

Monique looked at both of the men she loved, giving each of them a slight smile. "Perhaps, when Didier and Henri hear of the fun we are having in Paris - the parties we give, the events we attend," she twinkled at Xavier and Philippe, "the girls with whom I know you will flirt despite your protestations to the contrary, they will not be able to resist. I know they will join us when such news reaches their ears." She leaned back, closer to her husband. "Do not give up on our young men just yet."

Philippe smiled at the sight of his two best friends sitting happily together, their pleasant conversation helping to keep his attention focused on the future and not the past. "Ah, the intuitive wisdom of the fairer sex," Philippe told them as he breathed a happy sigh.

… A happy sigh escaped Erik's lips as the movement he had written to express those first heady days of loving Tallis drew to an end. The small error he had corrected had accomplished what he wanted and now there was no discordance to interfere with his music, his memory. The music was light and airy, wrapping the listener in his joy, pulling them into the ecstasy, the glowing knowledge of knowing that there was another that loved you. Erik smiled slightly, pleased with himself, the smile slowly disappeared as the music mellowed and grew wistful…

Henri slipped easily from his saddle and wrapped his mount's reins about the hitching post. He gave his horse a gentle pat on the neck before turning and walking across the courtyard of a familiar inn. Henri opened the door and paused for a moment as his eyes adjusted to the dimmer lit inside. A smile grew on his face as Arlette sashayed across the crowded floor to his side.

"Henri! We have not seen you here in such a long time!" she exclaimed happily and grew somber. "What is wrong?"

"Nothing," Henri told her, "and everything." He favored Arlette with a sad smile. "One glass of your best wine and a quiet corner, should one be available."

"I think you can find just what you are looking for toward the back," Arlette said as she stood on tiptoe to whisper into Henri's ear. "And another young man with whom to share your drink." She planted a kiss on Henri's cheek and moved toward the bar, disappearing into the crowd.

Henri knew exactly what corner Arlette had meant and he walked toward the back of the inn. A strange look lit up his eyes as he saw Didier sitting at the table. Henri paused near the table. "May I join you?" he asked.

Didier looked up, a smile quickly lighting his eyes and just as quickly disappearing. He waved a hand to the chair that Henri held. "Please."

Henri sat down, saying nothing as Arlette approached, placing a glass of wine before him.

"These are on me," Arlette told them as both young men turned to her and she smiled sweetly. "For my two favorite men," she said softly and disappeared back into the inn.

Henri paused momentarily before reaching for his glass and raising it. "To friendship," he said.

Didier let out a long sigh, raising his own glass. "To us," he breathed, taking a small swallow of the deep red burgundy before setting his glass on the table. "What brings you here?" he wondered.

Henri took a sip of his own wine but kept the glass stem in his hands. "I came for a last drink," he replied and was rather disappointed when there was no reaction from his friend. "I leave tomorrow for England."

The corners of Didier's lips turned up slightly. "I am glad," he said. "You need to be away from here." He took another sip of his wine. "I need to be away from here."

Henri was shocked. "You are leaving, as well?"

"At the end of the month," Didier admitted. "I am accompanying my cousins to Paris and then I shall continue northward until I reach my parents' home near the Belgium border." He shook his head. "And I am never leaving there again."

"We are never going to see each other again, are we?" Henri asked as the knowledge dawned upon him.

Didier shook his head back and forth.

Henri swallowed down his own feelings in the face of his friend's all-too-obvious pain. Once again, he raised his glass. "To the best friend I shall ever know," he said softly.

Didier's chin trembled but he raised his own glass. "To what might have been," he replied and sipped at his wine, holding the glass to his lips, whispering into it. "For all the generations," he finished sadly.

… Sadly and slowly Erik's hands moved over the keyboard and into the next movement of his music. Skilled fingers found the beauty in parting as they played a simple, uncomplicated melody. There was truth in the way Erik had strung together whole notes, no flats or sharps or grace notes to mar the simplicity of the whole. He could feel the tune, the slow rhythm as a steady rumbling deep within his gut. It spoke to him of the one who was missing, the one whom he had come to depend upon. The nearly child-like melody reaching in to break and heal his heart in the same moment…

Raoul stared at the red light emanating from the Presence lamp before turning his eyes to the casket beneath it. "I am sorry," he breathed to the person within. "Thank you for what you tried to do." Raoul moved his head slightly, his eyes slowly beginning to close.

"Raoul," a voice called gently.

Raoul opened his eyes to find his angel materializing next to the coffin. "You came back," he breathed.

The angel awkwardly went to her knees beside the coffin, her swollen middle hindering graceful movements. "I came back," she acknowledged with a crooked smile.

"I cannot do this anymore," Raoul breathed, unable to keep the cry from his voice. "I am so cold." His breath was ragged. "I cannot move anything. I cannot feel anything." A smile briefly crossed his face, the effort drawing away more strength. "I can barely see you."

"I know, I know" the angel whispered, a hand going to smooth the hair from his forehead. "It is almost over."

"I am so sick," Raoul told her. "And so tired."

The angel shook her head at Raoul, leaving her hand resting against his clammy cheek. "It is all right to let go," she told him.

Raoul's eyes traveled from his angel's face to the visible bulge beneath her white gown. "Baby," he breathed. "He wants to hurt you and the baby." He raised his eyes back to her face.

"No one," the angel insisted. "No one will ever harm either of us. I will never let anyone touch your child. I would die before I let such a thing happen! We are safe and we will stay safe." Her fingers brushed away the lone tear that slid down Raoul's cheek. "I swear to you!"

Raoul nodded. "Thank you." The effort taken to speak a few words took its toll on Raoul and his pale complexion turned a ghastly shade of gray.

"Close your eyes," the angel said as she reached up to move his eyelids down. "It is almost over."

Raoul did as she asked, watching as his angel disappeared from sight, behind his closing eyelids, repeating her words. "Almost over."

… Over. The beautiful piece of music that Erik had composed was over. It ended as softly as it had begun. Yet this time the notes were not the melancholy sounds of a requiem but just as rich and as full. They were mature notes, played with a strength of emotion that came from a place that Erik did not know. He sat still and silent on his bench as the last notes faded away in the lengthening shadows of the garret, a puzzled look on his face. Erik struggled to understand from where the melody had come. He stared at the notes on the paper, recognizing his own notations but unable to remember placing them there. He rose to his feet and began to methodically pace back and forth across the small garret. Erik worried his bottom lip between his teeth, clenched and unclenched his hands and then he paused in mid-stride. He turned back to the piano, moving to resume his seat on the bench. Trembling fingers reached out to trace the sweet melody he could not remember writing. Erik could hear the tune in his head and heart, in his very soul. A smile crossed his face as he nodded to himself.

"Tallis," he said simply.