A/N: Thank you for reviews, always appreciated. And to those of you reading and not reviewing, thank you, and I hope you're enjoying the ride… but it's nearly over.

I've decided to reply to reviews individually when this is over… so not long to go.

Some of you won't like the ending to this. I can't please everyone, but I try.

Thank you again.

'He who has never hoped, can never despair' – G.B Shaw

Chapter 63- Earthbound

The sun flashed streaks of orange through the open window and cast stretched shadows along the top of the oak dining table. Antoinette Giry sat alone, staring out onto her once carefully tended garden, now overgrown with brambles and weeds. The greenery was almost blinding in its brightness and, although not neat, she found something oddly attractive about her neglected garden.

It was the one thing she used to do for herself, would not allow her husband to hire some help for. The garden had once been her joy, and despite her pain, she would spend long hours tending to the flowers that adorned its edges.

The maid knocked before she entered, placed a plate of freshly baked croissants at her right hand, a strong coffee to her left, and then walked from the room, without speaking a word. Antoinette looked down at the croissants, which were hot and lightly buttered and smelled just as glorious as always.

Carefully she lifted one from the plate and took a small bite. The taste was creamy and smooth but as soon as she swallowed her stomach turned and she decided against eating anymore.

It had become almost a ritual now, a tradition.

The maid would come in with the food, Antoinette would revel in its strong and magnificent smell, she would stare at it, take a chunk from it, sip at her coffee and then leave the rest untouched. Occasionally, when she was feeling a little better, she would take a bite out of the second croissant, but she never ate more than that for breakfast.

Then the maid would return, glance at Antoinette to check that she was finished, to which Antoinette would give a simple nod, and then she would leave with the left over food. It was just not the same without Scott to share it with and every time she thought about eating another meal without him, her stomach would lurch and a wave of nausea would take her over.

Another look out of the window only reminded her that he was gone and that she was now spending the summer, almost five months after his death, alone. Probably the worst thing of all was that she knew, deep down, that it was her fault that Scott was dead. Instead of begging him to stay that night she had allowed both her brother and her beloved husband to chase the mob into the cellars, and why? Because she still loved Erik enough to want him to be rescued.

She had no idea that her husband was in the danger that he was in, having not spoken to Erik she had no idea about Gabriele and his fiends, she had no idea what she was allowing Scott to walk into.

Often, since that day, she questioned herself. Why did you let him go? Why didn't you stop him? Why didn't you try to speak to Erik before?

And most of all, even had she known the full extent of the danger that faced her husband, would she still have let him go?

The thing that made her sick the most is that, even had she known Gabriele was there, she would probably still have let Scott go down to the cellars. Had she known he would have died, she would not.

Of course, the police blamed Erik for his death and for every other death that occurred that night. There were three bodies found when the mob led the police down to the trashed lair that was once Erik's home.

Only one was a death at Erik's hands and Antoinette was left with no doubt that he had killed in defence of himself. Even if Laurent had not told her, she knew that Erik would never harm her husband because, despite his protestations and denials, he was actually a good man. As for Nadir, Erik would no more hurt Nadir than she would harm Meg. The two men, though often at each other's throats, were true friends and had been for many years.

When Laurent had returned that night, bloody and battered, she had taken one look at him and her heart had crumbled. She knew about Scott, Meg had been the one to tell her, but she feared that Laurent was gone too. When she saw him alive but hurt, there was a mixture and unrivalled relief and pure anguish.

She missed Scott with every beat of her heart.

If there was one good thing to come from the whole event it was that she and Laurent were now close again, but it was no real consolation for losing her true love. Scott's death had been hard on Meg but she was resilient, more so than Antoinette had ever given her credit for. Her daughter was strong and she was the only thing that kept her going, if it wasn't for Meg, Antoinette feared that she might simply give up altogether.

There was so little left to live for now.

The police discovered the bodies at the farm building a little short of ten miles away. She was amazed that Laurent had made it in time, amazed more so that only three dead bodies were found at the scene. One of which was Gabriele, for which Antoinette was eternally grateful.

The world would not miss such a man as he.

Though she had tried, Laurent would give no details of what happened in that barn and she was finally beginning to understand that he never would. She saw very little of Raoul and Christine but when she did, neither of them would speak either, it was as if the three of them had developed their own code of silence.

There was a knock at the door bringing her abruptly from her thoughts.

'Come in,' she said, and her voice sounded croaky. She wondered if anything would ever seem normal again.

Meg stepped in and forced a weak smile. 'Are you alright?'

Antoinette nodded, forcing a smile of her own.

'Diane said that you hadn't eaten your breakfast again,' Meg prompted.

'I wasn't hungry,' Antoinette explained.

Meg was silent for a moment before she came around and sat in the chair next to her. 'You can't go on like that, mama,'

Antoinette said nothing but she felt the sharp prickle of threatening tears at the back of her eyes.

'Please,' Meg pleaded. 'I know… I know you're hurt…'

'I'm fine…'

'Don't lie to me,' Meg said. 'I'm not a child now and I see what you're doing. It's as if you want to die,' when Antoinette did not contradict her she added, softly. 'And then I will be alone,'

'You won't be alone,'

Meg shook her head. 'I will be if you keep starving yourself,'

'I'm not starving myself,' Antoinette said softly.

'You've lost so much weight,' Meg said, 'I know you're not eating anything,'

'I ate some croissant this morning,' Antoinette defended herself, but she knew that she was sounding like a child. The situation was almost a complete role reversal.

'Half a mouthful does not constitute eating, mother,'

Antoinette nodded.

'I know you miss him,' Meg swallowed hard. 'We all do,'

'I'm sorry,'

'Please try,' Meg said and then added, 'For me,'

Antoinette reached out and touched her daughter's cheek as Meg rose to leave. 'I'd do anything for you,'

Meg smiled, a genuine and warm smile, one Antoinette had not seen for a while. 'I know that,'

'Have Diane bring me some toast in, with jam,' Antoinette suggested, although the thought of eating made her stomach twist into a knot.

Meg nodded and walked to the door and just as she was about to leave she said, 'I almost forgot,' she walked back in and handed Antoinette the morning newspaper.

When she was gone Antoinette opened up the pages and skimmed over them, taking in the interesting articles and drifting over the rest. As she arrived at the bottom of the last page she saw something that stopped her heart.

She placed the paper on the table and allowed herself to cry… one last time.

Christine's knees were tucked tightly into her chest as she gazed out of the gap in the curtains, her eyes drifting over the huge garden and settling on the shimmering pond in the distance. She now lived in a wing off the De Chagny residence with her own maid and her own butler and her own feeling that she did not quite belong.

It raised a few eyebrows, she knew that, but they were not to know that Raoul and she barely ever saw each other. Her side of the home was hers and hers alone, it was something Philippe had insisted on, it was something Raoul had finally agreed to. They were still engaged and she still loved him but the last few months had been some of the most difficult of her life.

Leaving Erik dying was the hardest thing she had ever done. Laurent had sworn he would help but Erik's face had paled so dramatically, and there had been so much blood that, though she knew the young man would try, she had never held out much hope for Erik's survival.

Despite this, she still prayed for it nightly.

She was determined to make an effort with Raoul but it was hard for her when she thought of Erik, thought of him being out of her life. She wore black, mostly, and quietly mourned the loss, whether by death or distance, of one of the truest friends she had ever known.

Raoul was a wonderful and kind man, patient to a fault as he allowed her the long stretching months to herself to think of Erik. His understanding was something she feared ever losing, his warmth so genuine that she knew that at least she was in the right place.

Still, it did not stop her thoughts of Erik.

Although many people thought her circumstances were peculiar, Raoul's sister in particular, Raoul and Philippe remained supportive of her. She was surprised that Philippe had been as open and as accepting as he was being but it was as if that night had changed them all.

The wounds were almost all healed now, barring a scar here and there, she felt no different physically.

Emotionally, she was a wreck.

Some nights the tears simply would not stop and she would remain awake the whole night, only thoughts of that night, of Erik, of Gabriele, of Raoul's pain… to keep her company. She would lie there, eyes wide until the bright sun shone through the windows and the birds sang.

On the occasions when she did sleep, nightmares broke into her mind and tormented her all through the night. Nightmares she could not wake from, no matter how hard she tried. Nightmares that drenched her in cold sweat and shook her to the core.

She could not win, either way, she could not get over it.

Something had changed in Raoul that night, as well. Not necessarily for the worse. He seemed more open to her, freer, more willing to listen to what she was saying. It was as if the whole thing had given him a level of trust in her that he didn't have before.

Christine knew it was because when he had not listened to her there had been an almost unmitigated disaster. It felt good to have his trust yet she felt guilty, as though she did not deserve it.

Perhaps she didn't.

There was a knock at the door and her new maid entered, carrying fruit and bread, with freshly squeezed orange juice. The smell of breakfast was always welcome because it was the most relaxed she ever felt.

Her maid smiled warmly, wishing her a good day as she handed her the morning paper. Christine smiled back and once the maid had gone, she set about chewing slowly on her breakfast and reading the paper.

She read almost every word because she needed to be in something that wasn't her reality. Though the news was rarely ever good, it was not her news, it was not something she was dealing with and sometimes it made her value her own life much more.

She finished her breakfast just as she turned to the last page. When she got to the bottom she read and paused, feeling bile rise to her throat.

The print was clear, bold and concise and no amount of re –reading changed the words. It was a message for her and it said:

'Erik is Dead'

A/N2: This is not the end. One chapter to go.

Bear with me