So this is the official ending to the story. It's been wonderful to see how all of you liked it. I mean, 300 reviews on my first story here! So, this is my good-bye to this story and to the reviewers who so graciously reviewed it! Thank you all so much!

Chapter 38: Back Home

It had to be a mistake. Erik knew it. There was no other explanation. Why in the world would he get a letter? Especially one delivered directly to the abandoned opera house. But it seemed real. And it was from Dmitri Zayachkov. Erik sat in his burnt-out lair, examining the envelope. There had to be something wrong. How did someone even know he was down here? It had been nine years since that night and the opera house was almost completely broken down. The soft candlelight provided some examination light. He slowly opened it and looked at the carefully written words.

Dear Monsieur Erik,

My wife told me to write you. Yes, Amile. We have been married five years now. But now I write to you in severe desperation. Apparently, you and Madame Giry and her daughter are the only ones other than myself and my daughter that knows Amile personally. And the reason I write this is because Amile is severely sick. The doctor says she has had this sickness for awhile now. Something to do with frequent ulcers. And even though ulcers seem like something that can be rid of with the right mixture of medicines, I fear it is almost too late. We are not very sure about what is going to happen, but Amile may die soon. She requested that you come to our home and visit her. The address is on the envelope. Amile also suggested you come at night.

Thank You,

Dmitri Zayachkov

It hadn't even taken the first five sentences to make tears come to Erik's eyes. First, Amile was married and had a child, and second...she was dying. He should have known it from the first time she had ever gotten sick when she was a child. She had gotten sick in the stomach many times before. But he had been so blinded by obsession to notice the pattern in her sicknesses. At least he knew that she had made it through the years, even though this was the first time anything had come up about her. He had to visit her. No matter how much he was in ruin, this was his daughter from God's sake! He had to.

Amile lay in her bed, a cold rag held on her forehead and her eyes closed. She was twenty-five now. As beautiful as she was nine years ago, if not more. The lights were dimmed so they wouldn't hurt her eyes if she opened them. Her daughter, Erika, held her mother's hand in both of her own. Erika was the stunning replica of her mother. Long blackish-brown hair and bright turquoise eyes. But tears filled her eyes. The four-year-old looked at her sick mother with sadness. Madame Giry and Meg Giry stood behind her, the doctor next to her, and Dmitri across from her on the other side of the bed, stroking his wife's hair. Erika touched her mother's pale arm gently, wanting her mother to be okay.

There was a knock on the bedroom door. It opened and in came one of the servants. He coughed into his hand and looked around the room.

"Madame Zayachkov has a visitor."

Behind him was Erik. He had his old mask on. Madame Giry and Meg gasped at the same time. Dmitri looked surprised and Erika was just confused. Erik entered the room shyly. He looked to his sick daughter and frowned. So it was true, she was really dying. The doctor looked at Erik oddly. He didn't exactly see people in masks come in a lot. Erik approached the bed slowly, looking at Erika and smiling gently. This was indeed Amile's daughter. She was identical to her mother.

"Is...is she alive?" he asked quietly.

Dmitri nodded. Erik got an odd smile on his face.

"I always pictured our reunion a bit differently than this."

Erika tugged on the side of Erik's shirt and looked up at him innocently. If he hadn't known any better, he would have thought that it was twenty years ago and he was looking at Amile again. Erika's eyes glistened with tears.

"Are you mommy's dad?"

He smiled and nodded. Erika nodded and looked all the way up at him.

"She talks about you a lot. She said I'm named after you too 'cause my name is Erika. So that means your name is Erik, right?"

"Yes, that's right."

"Oh okay. So this means you're gonna make mommy all better so she can play with me again?"

Erik frowned and looked at Amile.

"I don't know."

Erika frowned too and looked at her mother. Erik felt terrible. No four-year-old should have to deal with this.

Suddenly, Amile's eyes fluttered open, but only reached the half-way point. She looked sleepily at Erik and smiled. Her voice was soft and gentle, "Hello daddy."

"Hey Amile. Are you feeling any better?"

"If by better you mean am I not throwing my brains up, then yes, I'm feeling better."

He let out a small laugh. Even in the most painful and desperate of situations, Amile always managed to make it a little bit better. She coughed a few times and looked over at her daughter. She smiled at Erika who hadn't let go of her mother's hand.

"Hey sweety. I see you met your grandfather."

"Y-yeah, I did mommy."

Amile let out a soft sigh and looked at the ceiling. Her vision blurred in and out. She closed her eyes and coughed again. She let out a very gentle sigh and began speaking again.

"Erika, do you want to hear a story?"

Erika nodded, "Yes." Amile smiled and began her story, word for word like she heard it.

"Once upon a time, there was a boy who was born not very far away from Paris. His father was a blacksmith and his mother worked at home. But they boy was born with a curse. His face was disfigured, but only in one part. He was ridiculed for it, beaten and rejected. His mother hated him for it, hurting him mentally. She gave him a mask to hide everything from the world. He became very quiet and never talked to anyone. His father died after awhile from a disease. His mother began to feel sorry for him. One night, he was crying in his bed, holding onto his mask. She came in and held her to him. Then, for the first time ever, she kissed him on his head. He felt a love that he never knew could exist. Then she left him. She never talked to him again. He became upset and ran away, not bothering to take anything but the clothes on his and his mask.

He wandered for days and days aimlessly. Then some gypsies found him and took him in. He became part of their freak show and they called him 'The Devil's Child'. He was treated horribly, beaten constantly. He thought he would die and he wished for it too. He was underfed and everyday he was hurt some more. They took away his mask and replaced it with a bag so they could take it off easier. Even if he did everything the gypsies said, he was still beaten.

One night in Paris, some little ballerina girls from the nearest opera house watched him. One girl stayed after the crowds left to watch him. She was not afraid of him, but pitied him. When he thought she had left, he killed his master with his own belt. Voices raised and the little girl took him away. He took the money the disgusting old man had made and ran. She took him to the opera house's basement and left him there. He made a home for himself in the lowest parts on an underground lake. He spent his days building his house and making traps in case anyone tried to find him. For years, he composed music and wrote stories. He made tons of artwork of anything he could think of. But he was very lonely. Until one night, he found an angel behind the opera house. She took his lonliness away from him. In exchange, he sheltered her from the world.

She stayed with him for many years until she knew that she would soon have to leave him. For she was being called back into her real home. Though he did not want her to leave, she had to. The world was now changing and forcing them apart. And when she left, both were very sad from parting with eachother, but they silently promised eachother they would see eachother again.

And soon, God said that he would let the angel see the boy again. She was so happy. They talked with eachother and played with eachother. The angel showed the boy the other wonderful things she had been able to do since they had left eachother. They wanted to stay together longer, but God said the angel had to go back home again. This time, she had to stay. She looked to the boy and told him that maybe one day, he would get to visit her in her home. And they looked at eachother for a minute before saying a sad good-bye. Then the angel flew back to heaven to be home again. The end."

Erik felt tears in his eyes. The story was ending. Amile opened her eyes with what little strength she had and smiled at her father.

"Yes, maybe one day daddy, one day."

Erik walked over to his daughter who closed her eyes again. He removed the rag and kissed her forehead gently. He stroked her long brown hair then whispered quietly to her,

"The end."

She smiled one last time before she took one breath and let it out slowly, loosening her grip on Erika's hands. She went back home. Erika looked up at Erik with tears rolling down her face.

"Is she gone grandpa?"

Erik placed one hand on Erika's head and nodded. Dmitri let out a choked sob. The doctor lowered his head. Meg was sobbing on her mother's shoulder and Madame Giry was stroking her daughter's back. Erik felt a tear roll down his cheek and he wiped it away. But even through his sadness, he smiled. Her mission was finished. She had died happy, with everyone she loved standing around her. And now she was more happy than she would have ever been on earth. She was no longer a ratty opera house girl, but an angel. Even though she was an angel, Erik would never think of her like that. He would always think of her as his child in the snow.

THE END