Angel: WAIT! DON'T GO! IT'S NOT OVER YET!

Erik: Angel! (Wipes spittle off face) Say it, don't spray it!

Angel: Sorry, Erik... Anyways, I'm sorry I didn't update sooner. My internet has been down for the past two days. But it's working today!

Erik: Good job, Captain Obvious.

Angel: Oh, do shut up... Anyways, this chapter is a bit of a tear-jerker, so if there's any sensitive readers out there, you might want to have a tissue handy... Sniff... This is the last chapter... Wah! (Cries on Erik's shoulder).

Erik: Sigh, there, there, Angel... Since Angel is in no fit state to continue, may you enjoy this final chapter (Tries to remove blubbering teenage girl from his person).

26. Epilogue: The Story's End

Comte Elijah Chalifoux died a week after his daughter returned to him. He died peacefully, with Fantine by his side, content with the knowledge that his daughter was alive and being cared for by a man who loved her more than life.

Mere days after his death, Chalifoux was returned to the ground, beside his wife, under the cover of darkness. The old dog was wrong about one thing, though – there were people at his funeral. His daughter and son-in-law, his grandson and his wife and their daughter, even the de Chagnys, the Romards, and Madame Giry came to pay their respects.

Not long after the funeral, Erik and Fantine took their share of inheritance and built a home for themselves, far beyond the reaches of the city. It sat in a field of gold, surrounded on all sides by a thick forest. A crystal river ran through it. In the spring, wildflowers grew in groves by the river, splashing the landscape with pools of brilliant colour. Monsieur and Madame le Fantôme, now simply Erik and Fantine, had finally achieved their freedom.

Eli and Rose continued to live in the caves beneath the Opera Populaire with their daughter. Eli continued his father's legacy as the new Phantom of the Opera for many years. Every few weeks, Erik and Fantine would come to visit their children, or Eli and Rose would visit them. The Phantom Clan could not have been happier, for at last everything seemed as it should be.

Then, in the summer of 1908, tragedy disturbed the peaceful lives of the small family. Fantine fell ill with typhoid fever and, despite the ceaseless care she received from her husband, died early in the fall. Fantine saw her last summer flowers…

Eli and Rose came to that house by the river to help Erik put her to rest. Eli suggested letting her grave reside within the vaults of the Opera Populaire, but Erik wouldn't allow it.

"No one should be left for eternity in that darkness," he had said.

They ended up bringing her back to Paris, where the rest of her family and friends still lived. She was put to rest in the cemetery, not far from the graves of her parents. The falling autumn leaves drifted softly to the earth, covering her grave as they lowered her into the ground. Her tombstone read, simply: "Fantine Marie Chalifoux, 1854-1908, Beloved wife and mother…" Beneath this, Erik had a dedication written: "Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…"

Erik returned to his home by the river and everyone else returned to the steady routine of life… He returned to Paris only once after that to pay his respects to Madame Giry, who passed away quietly only two years after Fantine.

Erik never forgot his Fantine, or the love that had bonded them through the years. He felt the pain of her loss every single day. He missed her smile, missed that way she could make him laugh. Every night, as he laid down to sleep, he would stretch an arm out to pull her close… but his hand would only touch cold sheets instead of her warm body.

Then one evening, as Erik sat in his chair by the fireplace reading a book, he heard a strange sound. A soft hum at first, then growing in volume and intensity.

"Say you'll share with me one love, one lifetime…"

Erik raised his eyes and saw Fantine standing before him. Not the old woman he had tended when she was sick, but young Fantine… the way she had looked when he first met her. Her face was still scarred, but there was an ethereal glow about her that made her breathtakingly beautiful.

"Fantine…" Erik whispered, unable to tear his eyes from her.

"Erik… I love you…" Her voice was the purest, sweetest thing he had ever heard. The voice of a true angel…

Erik reached out a hand to touch her, then drew it back, shaking his head. "This must be a dream…"

"Come to me, where chains will never bind you," the lovely spectre sang, extending her hand. "All your grief, at last, at last behind you… Lord in Heaven, look down on him in mercy…"

Erik's voice caught in his throat as he felt tears threatening to spill down his cheeks. "Forgive me all my trespasses and take me to Your glory…" Trembling, Erik reached out and took Fantine's hand. As he did so, the book slipped from his cold fingers and fell to the floor. When he looked down at his hand, he barely recognized it. It was no longer mottled with raised veins and age spots. A younger Erik rose from his chair and stood before Fantine.

"Say you'll share with me one love… Eternity…" She began to lead him away. "I will lead you from your solitude… Say you want me with you, now and always…"

"I am ready, Fantine," Erik choked. His own voice now held a celestial resonance. "Anywhere you go, let me go too…" Erik silently recalled the first time he had sung those words to her. They had both been so young. Their story had only just begun. Now, it seemed, the story was ending… Save for his son, who would continue his line down through the ages.

"Elijah!" Erik suddenly cried. "I can't leave him now… He needs me!"

Fantine placed a finger to his lips, silencing his cries. Erik immediately understood her meaning. Their son did not need them anymore. He had found love in his life, as they had. He had a family that would see him through his grief. They had done their best to raise him, and now he was ready to face the world.

"Take my hand and lead me to salvation," Fantine sang. "Take my love, for love is everlasting…"

Erik's voice joined hers in a heavenly duet. "And remember the truth that once was spoken… To love another person is to see the face of God…"

Fantine led him away from the cold room… into warmth… into light… glorious light…

"Love me… that's all I ask of you…"

Erik felt tears of joy flow down his cheeks as he leaned down to kiss his wife for the first time in so many years…

Eli found him the next morning, when he came for his monthly visit. Erik sat very still in his chair, his book still lying on the floor. A peaceful smile was etched into his features. His eyes saw nothing. His lungs no longer breathed. His heart no longer beat.

Erik was brought back to Paris and laid in a grave beside Fantine. Only Eli and Rose, their daughter Erika, Raoul and Christine, and the Romard family were left to grieve his loss. Eli had a tombstone erected, but no one knew what it should say. Erik had had no last name, as far as anyone knew… And even Erik himself had not known his exact birth-date… Finally, they settled on the words:

Erik

O.G.

A fine carving of a rose was etched into the stone. At the very bottom, Eli requested the following words:

"Anywhere you go, let me go too…"

Eli and Rose lived for a few more years beneath the Opera Populaire. In the fall of 1917, Christine de Chagny succumbed to consumption. She was laid to rest not far from Erik and Fantine. After her funeral, Eli sat at his father's old organ… not playing, just sitting and staring… Finally, Rose came to sit beside him.

"Eli? Talk to me."

Eli turned to look at her. "I think we should leave this place."

Rose drew back in surprise. "Leave?"

Eli nodded. "All those years ago, my mother spoke of desiring freedom… I have spent all my life living in these cellars, and I desire freedom too!" He looked at her. "Tell me you feel the same way, and we'll take Erika and leave."

Rose was quiet for a moment. "But this is your home… this is where you were born, where you grew up… Don't you want to stay close to all those memories?"

"You and Erika are all that matter to me, now," he said, taking her hand. "Let's go… Let's take our belongings and go back to my parents' home in the country. Let us learn what it means to be free. I don't want to live out all my days down here in this darkness. I want to see the world! I want to see it with you…"

Rose closed her eyes. Then she gave a firm nod. "Yes… Let's go…"

By the end of the week, Eli had moved his wife and teenage daughter from the cellars of the Opera Populaire into what had been Erik and Fantine's home for so many years. The Phantom of the Opera was dead, and the caves beneath the opera house stood empty and barren.

Eli still visited Paris on occasion. When he did, he always remembered to visit his parents' graves. One fall in 1919,

Eli, now forty-two years old, came to the cemetery on the anniversary of his father's death. While he was there, he passed the grave of Christine de Chagny. Uncharacteristically, he stopped by her headstone. He looked from the grave to the rose in his hands. At last, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a diamond ring.

It had been the first ring Erik had given Fantine, but it had belonged to Christine first. Slipping the ring onto the stem of the rose, Eli laid it on the tombstone.

"My father bought another ring for my mother," he told Christine quietly. "He had wanted their love to be new… fresh… without the pain of your rejection tainting it…" He sighed heavily. "I know my father felt love for you, once… And I believe, until the day he died, you still held a special place somewhere in his heart… This ring is yours… I think, if my father were alive today, he would want you to have it back…" Eli took a step back from the grave and bowed his head. "I vow, for now and eternity, that I will love and care for your daughter… all of my life…"

Eli turned his head to look at his parents' graves. His heart leapt into his throat, for, just for an instant, he thought he saw his mother and father standing there.

It was just for an instant… but he was certain… yes, they had been standing there! But they had both looked so young… they stood mask-less, holding hands, fingers entwined, just watching him…

Then they were gone. But before they disappeared, Eli was certain he had seen his father smile.

The Vicomte de Chagny came upon his wife's grave later that same day. He paused, seeing the rose and the ring that lay upon Christine's headstone.

"How can this be?" he wondered. The Opera Ghost was dead. Raoul had been there when they put him into the earth.

He turned to look at the graves of Erik and Fantine. Upon Fantine's grave lay a dozen blood-red roses. Raoul's eyes scanned the cemetery, but no one else was there.

"Eli…" Raoul thought to himself, a smile ghosting his lips. The Vicomte de Chagny nodded his respect to the graves of the former Phantoms, and then quietly left the graveyard.

Eli had watched from behind the Daaé mausoleum while Raoul paid his respects. Then he returned to his own home by the river, a solitary life, the last of those who had witnessed for himself the legendary tale that took place far below the Parisian streets, all those years ago.

The story of the Phantom of the Opera still lives on within the walls of the Opera Populaire of Paris. It changed and grew as time went on, just as Comte Chalifoux had said it would. It was handed down as legend at first… then it was cast off as superstition, the product of the over-imaginative minds of the girls in the Corps du Ballet. For the people of Paris, the Opera Ghost was just another great fairy tale – a story to tell one's children at night, to pass on like a lie to spread like a fire. But sometimes, when one enters the lower cellars of the theatre, in that deathly silence and dark, the ghostly whisper of an old love story can still be heard in the cold air…

"Love me… That's all I ask of you…"

THE END

Angel: Sniffle... Erik, this is the last time you get to commentate on this story. What did you think?

Erik: Sniffle... It sucked...

Angel: Are you crying?

Erik: No! I just got something in my eye!

Angel: Are you sure?

Erik: I'm positive!

Angel: Only fools are positive.

Erik: Sniffle... Shut up... (Blows nose in tissue... Which begs the question, how does he blow his nose when he doesn't have a nose?)

Angel: Well guys, you've all been great. I love every single last one of you and an e-hug goes out to everybody! Thank you to those who left such lovely and often entertaining reviews. May God bless you all! Peace out! Keep yer stick on the ice!