The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  “Mademoiselle,” he said, his voice tentative—quavering, “That carriage was seconds away from running you down in the street. Would it have been worth it,” he asked, trailing off into a guttural whisper, “just to get away from me?”

  Her head lifted and her sorrowful eyes met his vulnerable ones. “I… I was only trying to get home, Erik,” she asserted, her voice strangled with tears. “I was not trying to get away from you. I just wanted to get my life back—but I didn't necessarily want to leave you.” She broke down at the end of her phrase and threw her arms around him, burying her head in his chest.

  Erik looked down at the woman who was presently blubbering into his shirt and wondered how on earth he had managed to get to this point. He had set out to catch frogs, and had wound up terrifying his houseguest. He had wanted only to protect her, and yet, he had managed to make her cry.

  Erik finally allowed his hands to gently pat her back. “There, there,” he said, awkwardly, “It's alright, Jenna. Everything is going to be alright.”

  She looked up to meet his eyes. “I'm sorry, Erik.”

  “I know,” he said calmly, hoping an even tone would convince her to stop crying.

  “I wouldn't ever betray you,” she said to him with such earnestness, that he felt ashamed he had ever thought it of her.

  “I know, I know.” He said again, because he truly did not know what else to say.

  “I really only wanted to go home,” she said again, and he felt pained to hear the anguish in her voice.

  “I know, Mademoiselle. Please, hush.” He tightened his grip around her, desperate to make her stop crying.

  “But now I realize that home is very far away.”

  “She became very agitated, Doctor,” the nurse explained nervously, as Jenna's doctor furiously unfastened the leather restraints that had been placed on her arms. “We had to restrain her for her own safety.”

  “Really? For her own safety?” he fumed. “Did anyone try to just sit in here and talk to her? Sometimes the sound of a familiar voice can help quiet a coma patient's agitations. Did it ever occur to you to try to treat her like a human being, instead of tying her up like some dog?”

  “We're sorry, Doctor,” the nurse began again, trying to make him see reason, “but the restraints are standard protocol when dealing with coma patients that have become violent.”

  “Violent?” he asked, having to remind himself to remain professional.

  “Yes, Doctor. She was flailing her arms about and convulsing—we were afraid that she could fall off the bed.”

  The doctor looked down at Jenna now that all the restraints had been removed. She was no longer agitated, but she did not look exactly right. There was something tense in the way she was laying there, but he couldn't quite put a finger on it. “In the future, please call me or have me paged if she becomes agitated again—before you apply the restraints.”

  “I'll make a note on her chart, Doctor.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Do you need any assistance with her, Doctor?”

  “No, I'll be just fine.”

  The nurse nodded as she quickly left the room.

  “Jenna,” He began in a gentle voice, taking a seat next to her and grasping her hand in his. “What's got you so tense? Rough day at the office? Come on,” he smiled, as he stroked little circles on her hand with his thumb. “Kick back, relax, and tell me all about it. I promise I'll be a good listener…” he paused for a moment, not really knowing why, but compelled to give her at least the chance to respond. “No? OK, I'll go first. It's been a long day for me! So many patients, such little time! But still, if the nurses had just called me I never would have let them…” The doctor stopped mid-sentence, as he looked up to see silent tears falling from her eyes. “Jenna,” he whispered, wiping her tears with his fingers, “It'll be alright now. I'm here…everything will be alright.”

  When her sobs had quieted to occasional hitched breaths and her tears had finally ceased to fall, Erik pulled away slightly to look at her. With her blotchy face and red-rimmed eyes, she was a sad sight to behold, and once again, he was reminded that he was an ogre. To have caused her such agony with his unfounded assumptions and unchecked rage… No wonder she had run away from him!

  And that was the crux of the issue, was it not? Looking at her pitiable form, he knew his suspicions had been absurd. If the managers and they had inserted her into his lair, then they already knew everything she could have told them. And truly, they were not competent enough to concoct such a devious plan to ensnare him anyway. No, revisiting the situation logically, he knew that there was no way she could have betrayed him in the manner of which he had accused her. But still, she had run away.

  After the time they’d spent in the marsh, he had begun to think that perhaps she enjoyed his company—that there was a chance he would not always remain lonely. But when she ran, he recognized the folly of hoping that she—or anyone—would ever be inclined to do something other than flee his presence when given the chance. It had always been thus, so how could he even think it would change?

  Without a word he pulled her up and began to lead their way back to the dock. She clung to him as they walked, leaning her head lightly against his shoulder. Occasional hiccups in her breathing illustrated her still unsettled emotional state, and Erik desperately hoped she would not start crying again.

  This time, Erik lifted her into the boat before deftly untying it and setting them on their way. There was silence between them as Jenna stared blankly before her with hunched form and glassy eyes. Was she so despondent at the prospect of being returned to the demon's lair?

  When they reached his home, he lifted her from the boat and she once again leaned on him for support as they made their way to the settee. After depositing her there, Erik retreated into the kitchen, only to return a short time later with a cup of hot tea. When she still only stared, unseeing, ahead of her, Erik bent to put the tea on the side table, and turned once again to leave the room.

  “I'm scared, Erik.” The tiny voice stopped him in his tracks. In the short time she had been a visitor in his home, he had heard her sound brash, confused, amused, and insane, but he had not yet heard her voice sound this defeated. He cursed himself, once again, for being the cause.

  “Mademoiselle,” he began in a guarded tone, forcing himself to face her, but unable to quite meet her eye. “I did not mean to frighten you, but when I saw that carriage…”

  “Why wasn't it a car, Erik?” Jenna asked, cutting him off.

  Erik looked at her in confusion. “A car, Mademoiselle?”

  “Yes, a car!” She repeated, with growing exasperation. “Where I'm from, it would have been a car.”

  Erik sighed again, and shook his head. “Mademoiselle, I don't know what a car is.”

  “That's just it, Erik.” She looked at him with a worried look on her face. “You should.”

  “Mademoiselle, I…” He began, but she cut him off.

  “You should know what a cellphone is too. You should have one. And a television. And a computer. And…electricity!” She stood up and pulled on the skirts of her dress. “And I shouldn't be wearing clothes like this. I should be in a t-shirt and jeans. I bet you don't know what those are either.” She paced a little back and forth, reminding Erik of a female version of himself. “I thought you were just eccentric, Erik. Actually, I thought you might be a little crazy.” She clarified, apologetically, as Erik marveled that she thought he was the crazy one. “I figured that was why you didn't have any of these things—but tonight, Erik…” she paused and shook her head. “A horse-drawn carriage? They haven't been used as general transportation in well over a hundred years. And the driver, Erik, his clothes—they were so. . old-fashioned. And cobblestones on the street? Erik, where was the asphalt? This is not the New York I know.”

  New York again! Erik sighed in exasperation. It was apparent that her grasp on reality had not improved. The things she was speaking of now were complete gibbe
rish and were beginning to make his head spin. He had, however, thought that they were at least making some headway in her acceptance of their geographical location. Had she not been the one who recognized that he was living beneath the Paris Opera House? “I have told you, Mademoiselle,” he repeated once again, rubbing his temples with his forefingers, “we are not in New York. We are in Paris.”

  “What year, Erik?” She asked him.

  “What year?” he repeated her question. Certainly, he thought, she must already know this.

  “Please, just answer my question.” She asked again, more forcefully. “What year is it?”

  “It is 1884, Mademoiselle,” he answered, deciding to placate her.

  Jenna put a trembling hand to her mouth as Erik heard her exclaim nervously, “Oooh Toto, we're not in Kansas anymore!”

  Erik shot up and the last remnants of patience tumbled from his mouth as he blurted, “Oh, come on now, Mademoiselle, who the hell is Toto, and what is this sudden talk of Kansas? Weren't you just going on about New York?”

  “You're going to think I'm crazy, Erik, “ she warned him.

  “I wouldn't begin to fret about that now, Mademoiselle,” he answered dryly, knowing that he had thought she was crazy from the moment he'd found her.

  “It's supposed to be the year 2014.”

  10 INTOXICATING TONES

  She was crazy. Erik knew this. First, all of these made up inventions, and now to claim it was 130 years into the future? Erik had hoped that as her head wound healed her senses might clear, but to listen to her rantings, they were just getting worse.

  But her eyes…they were bright and they held the fire of intelligence. They were not vacant or wild, like those usually possessed by the deranged. No, the windows to her soul were alert, and sharp, and emotive and…not reflective of insanity. As Erik stared into her wide, sincere, but utterly terrified eyes, he was finding it difficult to simply dismiss her fears.

  He took a seat on the settee and motioned for her to join him once again. After a moment, she did and they faced each other for a short time, not speaking, until Erik finally said, “Mademoiselle, I cannot pretend that what you say makes any sense to me.”

  Jenna looked down, “I knew you were going to think I was crazy.”

  “Well,” Erik responded with the hint of a crooked grin, “you just admitted you thought it of me.”

  Jenna glanced at him, and immediately felt a little of the tension ease. “I did.” she admitted again, adding sheepishly, “I'm sorry.”

  “Oh, you aren't the first.” Erik continued with the self-deprecation, since it seemed to be calming her down a bit, and he wanted her to be calm for the conversation he wished to have. “The Daroga has been denying my sanity since the day we met—but to be fair, I think his mental faculties are the ones that should be called into question.”

  Jenna actually heard herself giggle a bit. “Yes, that's an interesting friendship you two have.”

  “Oh, I wouldn't call it a friendship.” Erik began, thoughtfully. “I think of him more as…an affliction. An irritating one. Much like a rash.”

  Jenna laughed fully then, and Erik could not help but smile at the sound. “Oh Erik!” she giggled, her eyes crinkling endearingly at the corners. “How have you managed to get me laughing, in the midst of one of the most terrifying, confusing experiences of my life?”

  At her comment, Erik sobered a bit. He couldn't believe he was actually going to do this, but it was necessary, and it was…right—and while doing the right thing didn't always matter much to him, in this case, with this girl, it did. He took a deep breath and looked her straight in the eyes and said, “I apologize, Mademoiselle, for my behavior on the street. It was unwarranted and I regret being the cause of your terror and confusion.”

  An unfamiliar emotion clouded Jenna's eyes, and Erik was surprised to feel her touch his hand. “Apology accepted, Erik. Your temper did scare me a little, but that's over now, and I have much bigger things to worry about.”

  Erik just stared at her in shock. After the boorish way he had treated her, he could not imagine her dismissing his rage so simply. And there was still the matter that she was touching his hand. “I…thank you…Mademoiselle for your…forgiveness…” He stumbled, unsure of what words to use to accept forgiveness, since he had certainly never asked it of anyone before.

  Thankfully, Jenna interrupted his pathetic attempt. “I do have one favor to ask, Erik.”

  “What is that, Mademoiselle?” Erik asked, grateful for the distraction from his pitiful loss for words.

  “Please stop calling me Mademoiselle.” She smiled when she saw his brow furrow in confusion. “Even if you're screaming it at me, I would much prefer you call me Jenna. That's what all my other friends call me.”

  Erik felt a blush—an actual blush—creep over his cheek at her words. Her other friends? The way she said that, did it mean the girl— Jenna—thought of him as a friend? “Is that what we are?” Erik asked in disbelief. “Friends?”

  He thought he detected a bit of a blush enter her cheeks now as well. “I would like to be, Erik,” she admitted, averting her eyes from his.

  “As you wish,” Erik croaked in a gravelly voice, “Mademoi—Jenna.”

  They both laughed a little at his near slip. “Thank you, Erik.” She said with a smile.

  “Well, Jenna,” Erik began with a little smile, steering the conversation back to his original intent, “like I said earlier, I cannot yet make sense of the things you told me.” When he saw the crestfallen look in her eyes, he quickly added, “But I want to understand. What more can you tell me about the night of your accident?”

  Jenna nodded and took a deep breath before answering. “It was dark, and it was raining…and I was driving…a car, that is,” she added, realizing her words needed some explanation. “It's kind of like a carriage, but it's powered by an engine, not a horse.”

  “Ah,” Erik responded, nodding. “Very interesting.” He was sure that he'd like to hear more about these cars some other time. “Please, go on, Jenna.”

  “OK, well, like I said, I was driving and I was…upset. I had come home early from work and found…” she stopped for a moment and swallowed hard, “my boyfriend in bed with another woman. And I…I had to get away. “

  Erik felt his fingers tighten and his fury rise at Jenna's words. He imagined this fool boyfriend of hers had much to do with Jenna's accident. “I had been driving for awhile, and before I knew it, I was down by the river. And I had had this horrific headache all night, and I was so tired. I…must have nodded off—fallen asleep—briefly, because the next thing I knew, I heard a loud horn, and there were headlights coming toward me—headlights are how we light up our cars at night, so we can see each other on the road.” Erik nodded his understanding, encouraging her to go on. “I swerved to get out of its way, and I wound up going over the guardrail and into the river.”

  “And what happened next?” Erik asked, leaning a little in to her, eager to hear this part of her story. “What precisely do you remember after you swerved into the river?” He knew this had to be the key to what had happened to bring her here.

  “Well…” she paused as she stared off into the distance, delving deep into her memory to attempt to answer his question. “I remember falling into the water. I heard the splash. But then everything went black. The next thing I knew, I was in the tunnel I told you about that led to the door which opened into your cavern.”

  “Good, Jenna. Now, can you describe the tunnel?” he pressed gently, urging her for more detail.

  She tried to remember but was met with a terrible pain in her head. She shook her head back and forth, in frustration. “It was dark, Erik, I couldn't see much and I…”

  He saw Jenna becoming agitated and realized that if he wanted to get any information from her, he was going to have to calm her down once more. Erik hated the idea of using his voice to manipulate her. He had driven many an enemy to unwitting deaths with his masterful vocali
zations alone. His carefully crafted inflection had gained him the obedience of the most unlikely servants. His voice, lauded in the courts of Persia as almost akin to that of a god—or a demon—could bring about great delight, but could also be his deadliest weapon. Nevertheless, he allowed his intonation to take on that hypnotic quality which had mesmerized so many others to their very souls.

  “Try to relax,” he adjured, in that voice like liquid gold, squeezing the hand that was still inexplicably clinging to his. “Try to concentrate. For me,” he added, in an almost seductive whisper.

  She closed her eyes and expelled a long, shuddering breath, feeling herself falling into a trancelike state, induced by Erik's mellifluous tones. “Well, like I said, it was dark, and cold…and damp.”

  “What were the walls like?” His voice was dripping with honey, enticing her to look deeper into her mind's eye. “What about the floor? Any details at all will help.”

  “I…I thought the walls were made of dirt—as well as the floor. But…”

  “But what, Jenna?” Erik said her name like it was a song, sending her deeper into the dream he was trying to conjure.

  “Well, now that I think about it, they almost seemed to…undulate…they sort of…rippled.”

  “Rippled, Jenna?” Erik's low murmurs washed over her.

  “Yes…almost like waves.”

  “And the floor? Did that move too?” He coaxed, gently.

  “Well…” Jenna paused, sinking deeper into the lush feeling of being wrapped in his voice. “Yes. Almost like the sand beneath your feet when you're in the ocean. The floor was solid, but bits of it seemed to crumble away with every step I took.”

  “Was the tunnel long?” he prodded, beginning to use his deft fingers to trace small circles on her still lingering hand.

  “It seemed endless—it was so dark and cold. But then there was the door.”

  “Tell me about the door,” that velvet voice commanded. “What was that like?”