I had Henri fly back with Sonora, to begin to file away all necessary legal matters involving Erik's will. I myself wanted no hand in it; the matter had left me far too heartsick to even comfort my child. I had sat in bed all night, arms around my legs, rocking back and forth. No more tears would come; I had been left alone, and numb, and empty.

Without Erik, I was nothing.

I checked out of the hotel like one of Erik's automatons of old. I managed all the social courtesies, but left with the disdain of the entire staff for my brusqueness, for my slack-jawed emptiness. I was devoid of emotion; they interpreted that as being devoid of civility.

I got into the car that had been flown into Paris on our plane, and revved the engine. For the first time in ten years, I turned on the radio. I caught the end of a rather peppy-sounding song, and had begun to regret my decision, when the next song came on.

I was immediately caught by the haunting, slow rhythm, and the croon of the man's voice. My mind recognized the man as belong to the Smiths, though I had not before heard that particular song.

Sing me to sleep... Sing me to sleep...
I'm tired and I,
I want to go to bed...

I sucked in my breath, one hand clamping over my lips. If I had not known better, I'd have thought Erik was somehow doing this from beyond the grave.

Sing me to sleep... Sing me to sleep...
And then leave me alone.
Don't try to wake me in the morning,
'cause I will be gone...

Without warning, a sob slipped free, and suddenly that one sound was enough to open the floodgates. I began crying loudly, barely able to see the road for my own tears. My hands tightened on the wheel as I hit the highway, as the rain began beating down steadily on the windshield.

Don't feel bad for me,
I want you to know...
Deep in the cell of my heart
I will feel so glad to go...

One hand fumbled to turn up the volume, as my crying grew louder.

Sing me to sleep, sing me to sleep...
I don't want to wake up on my own anymore...

Unwittingly, I turned my head to look at the passenger seat. I saw Erik there, on that night after Faust, mask off, head tipped back, face illuminated by the moonlight. I saw his eyes closed, his lips parted in ecstasy. I saw that beautiful, perfect face, and I felt the ghost of his hand on my leg, and I could almost imagine that perfect union that I had felt on that night that seemed so very long ago...

Sing to me, sing to me...
I don't want to wake up on my own anymore.
Don't feel bad for me,
I want you to know...
Deep in the cell of my heart,
I really want to go...

My other hand curled tightly around my waist, as my left leg tucked itself beneath me. Erik's name was choked out again and again between sobs, as my nails clawed at the skin beneath my shirt. Somehow the pain helped; there is something frightening about crying that leaves one feeling numb all over, despite the resounding pain echoing in one's chest.

There is another world...
There is a better world...

Those lines left me even further demolished—it was, even before he continued in half-hopeful, half-mournful tones, the end of any resolve I had held. The highway stretched out in front of me, running to and far over the horizon, as if promising to lead me beyond this pain.

But there would be no end—not until the final one.

And that was one I could feel coming very, very soon...

There must be...
Well, there must be...
There must be...