A/N: Sorry for the delay, everyone! I had a sick little boy here all weekend, and fully intended on posting this last night, when his fever shot up even higher and I had to tend to him, and then I've been running to two different doctors today. -sigh- But now, all is well and seems to be on the mend. So, I thank you for reading and I give you...

Chapter Sixty-Nine

The sky was a dazzling shade of blue, but Christine didn't notice. Erik had attempted to open the drapes in the morning, but she had turned away, pushing a pillow over her face and moaning until he closed them again.

"If you're hungry, I can make you some breakfast," he suggested softly, giving her a timid smile.

She shook her head, still burying her face.

"Are you in pain?"

Christine didn't move. She didn't respond at all. She didn't know how. Of course I am in pain! She heard him step toward the bed and she stiffened at his touch, unsure of why she did so.

Erik felt the familiar sting of rejection at her reaction to him. He tightened his jaw so as not to say something he would later regret. Drawing his hand away quickly, he couldn't stop himself from giving a curt remark as he left the room. "If you need me, I'll be down the hall." The door closed behind him, rather firmly.

Christine knew he was angry, but she was angry, too. Part of her wished to feel nothingness...and the other part of her was glad to at least feel something. Something to let her know that she was still alive. But why? Why am I still alive and not our baby? Why? Why did You do this to me? You have done this before! You have taken what is precious from me more than once! She wanted to cry out, to pound her fists upon the floor, but she was confined to her plush bed, in comfort. Curled in nearly a fetal position, she pressed her body weight into the center of her bed. Her fingers cramped as she gripped the quilt and pulled it upward, fists balled, toward the ceiling. She felt the fabric give, and heard a small tearing sound. It gave her little satisfaction. What she really wanted to do was throw something...shatter something...anything...into a million tiny, irreparable pieces. Like my heart.

Memories of her father's death began to filter into her mind. She had been enraged inside when he passed--enraged at God, enraged at her father for leaving her--but she kept it hidden inside, behind a mask of her own. The only time she let her true feelings show was when she was alone in her room at night in the Opera dormitories, before her mirror. Only I wasn't really alone at all, was I? She thought about it for a moment, wondering what Erik must have been feeling to see her through the mirror in such great pain, he being unable to physically console her at that time. He must be feeling the same way now...

She lost her train of thought as she heard music coming from two rooms down...the piano seemed itself to mourn as Erik played out his own pain. Christine recognized the song, and began to sob. Why? Why! God, let this darkness pass! At last, then, she began to realize that she was not the only one struggling to deal with the loss of their child.

Dies irae, dies illa...solvet saeclum in favilla...teste David cum Sibylla...

Erik pounded on the piano keys, teeth gritted in anguish, his own sobs mingling with his wife's, unbeknownst to him. He didn't understand why he felt the need to play this sort of requiem. Clearly it was not for his son whom had passed...no, he was an innocent. I am the one who has never been innocent. He fought against the familiar thoughts of self-blame and unworthiness that threatened to distance him once again from his God. He knew that condemnation was not a tool wielded by the Divine upon the redeemed, but he couldn't keep himself from feeling that he still must be at fault somehow. His hands seemed to play of their own accord...the Day of Wrath...the Day of Judgment...but there was no one that he could exercise his own wrath upon. Futile...this wrestling with God. Instead, he stood and put his weight into the task at hand, as the furious, deliberate movements of his arms and fingers upon the keys caused the instrument to shudder and groan. After nearly an hour of this continuous assault, Erik opened his eyes to see red streaks marring the pristine ivory. His eyes widened in shock, and he stopped abruptly, mid-phrase, bringing his palms to his face. The skin had been worn down on the pads and tips of his fingers, blisters had formed and begun to bleed...and he had noticed none of it. He had gone numb.

Dies irae, dies illa...oh, God, my world is already in ashes. How can you possibly bring beauty from them?

XXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Erik opened the front door slowly, his eyes narrowing as the sunlight hit his face. "Monique."

"Erik."

The two stared at one another for a moment before Erik got his wits about him. "C-come in. Please."

With a downcast expression, Monique Giry seemed to glide through the doorway, perfectly poised and strong as always. She had always been there for him...and she had come again. She removed her hat as she spoke. "Erik...I don't know what to say. I'm so, so sorry, mon ami." She drew nearer to him, and he shook with emotion as she placed her hand on his cheek. "It will be alright. I promise you."

His eyes moistened, and he fought to remain stoic, but she knew better. Rather than embarrass him, she removed her hand and quickly attended to the reason why she had come. "Christine...has she...spoken to you since yesterday?"

He swallowed, praying that his voice would not falter, as he spoke in low tones. "No. She has said nothing to me since the day it occurred. Yesterday, she wanted nothing to do with me. And when I try to bring her food, she refuses it. She's refusing her pain medication as well, but I can see that she is hurting. I...I don't know what else to do. I want to make her eat and do what she should to recover! But...she is not a child anymore...and I am not her teacher. I am her husband. And she has shut me out." His lower lip trembled. He had not experienced being so emotionally tied to another human being and then being thrust aside. Not since his mother... The pain was so fresh, he could almost taste it, like blood on his tongue. "Please. Talk to her."

Monique nodded, and with a swish of her black skirts, turned and made her way to the bedroom where Christine lay, unaware of her arrival. She stopped at the door and listened before knocking, and hearing nothing, wondered if Christine was asleep. Perhaps I shouldn't disturb her now. Just then, she heard a rustling sound followed by a few muffled grunts. She's awake...or dreaming. She raised her hand and gently knocked four times. No reply. She knocked again...still, there was no reply, and she could hear no more sounds coming from the other side of the door. She pursed her lips. I'm going in anyway. Taking a deep breath, she turned the doorknob slowly and silently, peeking through the small crack in the door. The room was almost completely void of light, save a small stream that had managed to pierce through the gaps in the heavy curtains. At last, the door was open enough for her to step inside, gingerly, her eyes straining to adjust to the darkness. She caught sight of the silhouette of the bed, but could see nothing beyond that. "Ma petit? Are you in here?" she whispered into the darkness.

The covers of the bed rustled again. "Madame?" came a surprised and hollow voice from the same direction as the rustling sound. "Is that you?"

"Yes. It's me, ma cherie. I've come to see how you're doing." She closed the door behind her as her eyes began to distinguish Christine's small form in the center of the mattress, surrounded by three large pillows. She sat down on the edge of the bed and felt around until she found the young woman's warm hand. "I'm so sorry that this has happened...to both of you."

Monique waited and squeezed her hand gently. After a moment, Christine turned her face away and sighed. "I-I want to..."

"Yes?" Monique asked hopefully, leaning in to brush the hair from Christine's forehead with her free hand.

"I want to be alone."

Monique leaned up again, still clinging to Christine's slender hand. She sympathized with her, but she was not going to allow her to wallow in depression. She couldn't. "Give me a good reason, and I'll leave right this moment."

Christine turned toward her again, a surprised expression on her face. She raised her voice slightly. "I want to be alone because I am grieving."

Monique frowned. "I realize that, ma cherie. But if you would only--"

"I want to grieve alone!" Christine spat, causing Madame Giry to startle. Christine yanked her hand free of the older woman's grip. "Please!"

Monique steadied herself and looked into the pleading eyes of the girl whom she had raised, seeing that she was truly a girl no longer. "Christine...you don't understand, do you? You are not grieving alone. You have a husband who would give the world just to be near you right now, and you are not allowing it."

Christine opened her mouth to respond in protest when Madame Giry continued. "Erik has also lost a child. He cannot lose you as well." With that, she got up and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Erik was preparing a light lunch when Monique entered the kitchen. He turned his somber gaze upon her as she shook her head mournfully and sat down at the table. He turned away again in silence, picking up the teakettle as it whistled.

She stared down at the wooden tabletop, trying to think of what she could do to help Christine before she ruined her marriage by emotionally isolating herself. As she sorted her thoughts, a dainty teacup and saucer were set down and pushed toward her slowly. She raised her head and met the tender, blue-green eyes of her friend. He studied her, concerned, and sat down across from her.

"She wouldn't listen to you?"

Monique sighed. "I'm not giving up."

Erik nodded and looked down at his own full teacup. "I don't know what else to do."

She reached across the table and laid her hand atop his larger one, putting on her bravest smile. "Just love her."

He shifted uncomfortably. "Lunch is ready...she needs to eat."

"Let me take it."

Monique headed back down the hallway, tray in hand, bearing a small amount of food and a cup of juice. She knocked again before entering, and this time, the knock was answered.

"Come in."

She maneuvered her way into the dark room once more, carefully balancing the tray. She couldn't find a place to set it down, however, so she stopped at Christine's bedside. "Here is your lunch...take the tray while I let in some light, please."

Christine wasn't the least bit hungry, but she grasped the tray anyway, as Monique strode to the heavy draperies and pulled one back with some effort. They both shielded their eyes as the sun beat through the window. Flecks of dust glided through the air, winking in the sunbeam before settling upon the bedclothes.

"Well," Monique said as she positioned herself on the edge of the bed, "it seems that your husband has made you a very nice meal. Eat. You need to regain your strength."

Christine sighed. "I don't feel like eating right now."

"You're not going to make this easy for me, are you?" the older woman teased her. "Very well. I'm not leaving until you eat. All of it." She folded her arms to further emphasize her statement.

Christine reluctantly lifted her fork and spoke unsteadily. "What...what you said before...about...not grieving alone..." She lifted her watery eyes to her foster mother's. "I...I just don't know how to say what I am feeling inside."

Monique smiled. "Ma petit, you don't have to say anything. Just let the people who love you comfort you. Let us care for you...especially Erik. You are his life."

"I know." She inhaled deeply. "And he is mine. He has been so patient with me through this...he never used to be that way," she said with a small chuckle.

"Things are different now. He is different now. And if you don't want to see him hurting again, you need to let him in. You've lost your child...both of you. And you need to lean on each other to get through the pain."

"I'm...I'm just afraid. I think that--" Christine paused, chewing her lip as she mulled over the proper words in her mind. "I don't know if I will ever be able to bear a child."

Monique moved closer then, laying a motherly hand on Christine's cheek. "Believe me...there is hope." She removed her hand and rested it on her lap. "I...never told you this before, but Jules and I...we lost a baby."

"You?"

Monique nodded. "Before Meg. We lost a baby and I blamed myself. I thought that surely there must be something wrong with me, or I that I had done something to cause it...but none of that was true. I don't know the reason why these things happen. But I can tell you that you can go on. Many women have lost children and gone on to have large families. And you cannot blame yourself." She studied Christine's face. "You have blamed yourself, haven't you?"

A tear rolled down the younger woman's cheek. "Yes."

"It isn't your fault. It is no one's fault. Only God knows why this happened...and you must trust Him. He always seems to know what is best. I have seen God do wonderful things, ma petit. I never dreamed that He could change a man like Erik. I was wrong, and I'm so glad that I was. After seeing what God has done in your husband's life," she patted Christine's hand, "well...I know that nothing is too difficult for Him."

XXXXXXXXXXXXX

Monique quietly entered the kitchen again, in time to see Erik pouring himself another cup of tea. She cleared her throat. Erik turned, mid-sip, to face her. "She wants to see you, Erik."

Immediately he placed the teacup on the counter with a clatter and briskly exited the room. Halfway down the hall, he had second thoughts and retraced his steps to the kitchen. Monique nearly gasped when he came from behind and embraced her.

"Thank you," he said breathlessly, and released her before she even realized what had occurred. Smiling to herself, she sipped another cup of tea at leisure as he again set off to speak to his wife.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

They embraced for what seemed like hours, shedding many tears as they spoke of their fears and sorrow. Erik told Christine of his unusual encounter with the Lord, and what had been spoken to his heart...and she wept, both in grief and joy, as the message penetrated her heart. It had been exactly what she needed to hear.

After a long while, Erik stretched himself out on the bed beside his wife and cradled her in his arms, singing softly and speaking words of reassurance. "Our love is strong enough to overcome this, mon ange...do not lose hope."

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A/N: Okay, so I haven't been able to get back to any "fluffy" stuff at this point. But I hope you're all still enjoying the story. Things will begin to happen fairly quickly in the next few chapters. :) Please review...I so appreciate each one! Thank you!