The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  “It was…” she sighed. “It was made of wood—but not solid wood. More like…planks. And they were tied together by some kind of rope. I could see light shining though between the planks, and its top was curved. When I turned the handle, it opened easily.”

  “Now, think, Jenna,” he whispered, slow and smooth, continuing his ministrations on her hand. “This door—did it move too?”

  “The door it…” Jenna stopped, as Erik's voice broke through each barrier in her mind and she had a vision of the door before her. Only this time it wasn't the solid object opening from corridor into cavern. Now when she saw it, it too oscillated and flowed, the light between the wooden slats shimmering back and forth. She saw herself reach for the door handle, but this time the door didn't open. It dissolved. “Oh Erik,” she said, breathing heavily, her entire body suddenly shaking as she began to awake from the stupor Erik had been purposely creating. “It wasn't a door! I can see it—I can see it now. It didn't open and lead me here. I touched it, and it disappeared!” Her eyes were wide and terrified once more, and she shook her head back and forth. “Erik, what is happening to me? It seemed so real. The door was so real. But it wasn't real at all!” Her voice became shrill, as she shook even harder, “How can I know what is real? What if nothing about this is real? Erik, I just don't know anything anymore.”

  Though Erik had never known loving comfort in his own life, when he saw Jenna so near to another breakdown, he instinctively let go of her hand and wrapped his arms around her. “Shhhh,” he whispered soothingly in her ear, pulling her close, stroking her hair. “It's alright. It's going to be alright.” He pulled away a little to look her in the eye, pulling her out of the last vestiges of the trance he had woven around her. “Jenna, look at me. I'm here,” he said, “and I'm real! I promise you, we are going to work this out.” She leaned toward his chest again, and he allowed her back into his embrace. “Everything is going to be alright.”

  It had been another long shift, but that did not stop him from going to visit Jenna for a few moments before leaving for home. As he expected, when he entered her room he found her alone. He walked over to her bedside and sat once again in the chair, taking her hand in his and stroking it gently. “Hello, Jenna,” he said, in a sweet, whispery voice. “Do you know what time it is? It's almost midnight. The moon is out, and the stars are shining, but it's so hard to see them with all of the city lights twinkling everywhere. You know what New York is like. It never sleeps—and the lights never go out in the city either.” He smiled a little as he looked at her. “It's time for me to go home—it was a long shift, and I'm exhausted. But I couldn't leave without saying goodnight.” He reached up to smooth the hair away from her face and he stood to tuck her blankets in a little more tightly. “Have pleasant dreams, Jenna. Maybe you'll dream of the Frog Prince,” he paused, searching his tired brain for other possibilities, “or of puppies or kittens or anything else that makes you happy.” He took her hand again, “But remember your dreams, Miss Wilson. When you wake, I want to hear all about them.” He squeezed her hand again and smiled as he whispered, “Good night. I'll see you in the morning.”

  He turned and walked out of her room, hoping tomorrow would be the day that she would open her eyes. Jenna's nurse shook her head and smiled as she watched him go.

  Erik held Jenna until she had finally stopped trembling, and shortly thereafter, she was asleep. For a moment he marveled at the fact that this girl—in truth, that anyone—could be so comfortable with him that she could rest in his arms. But in recalling the events of the day, he realized it was likely that exhaustion had simply rendered her able to sleep anywhere at that moment. Gently, he rearranged her in his grasp so that he could carry her to the spare bedroom—the one made up with his mother's old furniture. He laid her carefully in the grand feather bed, and for the first time, he was glad he had kept it. All these years it had confounded him that he felt so compelled to retain the possessions that his mother had valued so much more greatly than she had him. For the memories they held, these sticks of wood and lengths of fluffed fabric deserved to be on a funeral pyre instead of in his spare bedroom, but tonight, he was grateful for his mother's incessant desire for beauty and comfort. He knew Jenna's troubled mind would be eased by the warm bedclothes and her depleted body would be refreshed by the soft cushions. Erik stayed long enough to be sure that she remained sleeping, then soundlessly crept from the room, closing her door, but not completely, so that a shaft of candlelight would illuminate the darkness of her boudoir.

  Erik made his way once more to the settee, staring blindly at the final throes of the fire in the hearth. Although he now had more reason than ever to believe Jenna was mentally impaired, he no longer did. No, something unfathomable was happening to her—something that was without reason. But somehow, he had to find the explanation. 2014. That was the year Jenna claimed it had been when she had her accident—the year her boyfriend—why did he find himself seething at the word?—had grieved her so unforgivably, and caused her to drive her…car…into the river—in New York. And yet, when she surfaced, she was here, by his lake, in the year 1884. How had it happened?

  He searched his brain, trying to think if he had ever read of similar scenarios in his scientific volumes. He knew that instances of time travel had appeared in stories and legends since the earliest days. But they were simply constructs—fictional devices that were used to create interest in a text that was merely the expression of an author's imagination. He needed to find something that would reveal how a person could travel through time—and surely novels and myths could not be the answer.

  Water. Erik was certain that water had something to do with Jenna's journey. It had started in a river and ended by his lake, and the interim was spent in a tunnel with a door that ebbed and flowed like waves on the ocean. Yes, water had to have something to do with this—but what?

  Erik tossed the matter round and round in his head until he felt his own lids droop as the final flames in the hearth began to die away. Sleep was calling him, as it rarely did, and because he knew his muscles would punish him in the morning if he reposed all night on the settee, he dragged himself up and staggered to his bedroom. He went into the washroom attached to his chamber, to wash the grime from his face and hands, quickly divesting himself of his soiled clothing when he returned to his room. He replaced them with the black silk pajamas he had taken to wearing since his time in Persia. Pulling aside the black sheets, he crawled into bed, placing his mask on the bedside table before he, himself, succumbed to sleep.

  11 MORNING DELIVERY

  Jenna wanted to rest for a hundred years. Her sleep had been dreamless and deep, and as she felt wakefulness tickle at her senses, she protested opening her eyes. She was lying on a warm and cozy cloud, wrapped in a billowy veil of cotton, but there was a funny sound in her ear, and a slight cool spot on her chest. As she tried desperately to cling to the last remnants of slumber, she felt the spot move and heard the funny sound once more. What was it? A creaking…a rumble…. Her eyelids fluttered open to see two golden eyes, with black slits across the middle, bulging out of a flat, olive colored head. As she slowly registered what she was seeing, the bottom of the head opened and out came a low, rumbly ribbit.

  “ERIK!” Jenna bellowed

  Sure enough, he appeared out of the shadows of the room, laughing guiltily at her alarm. He came forward to lift the frog from her and cradled it gently in his hands. “Good morning, Jenna.”

  “Good morning?” she questioned, as if it was anything but. She hurriedly drew the blankets up around her and glared at him. “Erik, how could you?”

  “Well, Jenna,” he said, a smile still spread across his face. “You were sleeping so soundly,”

  “You know,” Jenna interrupted him in an annoyed tone, “Most people follow that phrase up with 'and I didn't want to wake you'.”

  “Well,” Erik's eyes went wide with feigned innocence, “I didn't want to wake you. But our friend here,” he continue
d, patting the frog on the back of his head, “was just itching to make his debut in La Carlotta's dressing room, and thought the only way to hurry that along was to rouse you from your slumber.”

  Jenna huffed, “You're wicked!”

  Erik made a little bow, “Guilty.” He bit back a snicker when he saw Jenna roll her eyes. “Now make haste. The rest of your dresses are hanging in the armoire. We must hurry to get to La Carlotta's dressing room before rehearsals start.”

  “We?” she raised her eyebrows at him.

  “Of course!” he answered, with almost boyish excitement. “After all, you're already an accomplice—don't think you're getting out of this now! I am certainly not willing to leave you here alone. Look at what happened yesterday.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes again. “You're not going to let me live that down, are you?”

  “Certainly not.” Erik retorted, his eyes still glistening. “Now, hurry, Jenna. We really don't have much time to lose.” His eyes took on just a touch of apology, “I really did let you sleep as long as I could.” And with that, he left the room, still stroking his little frog's head.

  Alone once more, Jenna blew some errant strands of hair away from her eyes and shook her head. “Apparently,” she said to herself in a sarcastic tone, “mischief makes him giddy.” She reluctantly rose from the decadently comfortable four-poster bed and took in her surroundings. She was in a richly appointed bedroom with plush cushions and luxurious fabrics gracing the delicately carved rosewood furniture. She crossed over to the graceful armoire and pulled on the dainty handles to reveal the dresses that Erik had procured for her yesterday. She rifled through the selection of gowns once again, this time taking in the fine fabrics. She chose a royal blue gown with black velvet adorning the neckline and blue eyelet lace at the waist, sleeves and hem. There was a soft bustle all tied up with a bow in the back. She felt like she was going to a Victorian costume party.

  She was fastening the last of the black velvet buttons when she felt a sudden chill run down her spine. The realization hit her that Erik's choices had not really been that strange after all. The furniture surrounding her was not antique, but the current trend in fine furnishings. The dresses in the armoire were not vintage styles—they were high society fashions that were worn in the best of circles. Erik's lair was not lit with candles because he liked the smell of burning wax—it was because he had no electricity. No one did. 1884. How could it even be possible? Would she ever find her way back home? Jenna felt a little dizzy, and held onto the wall a moment to steady herself.

  There came a knock on her bedroom door.

  “Yes, Erik,” Jenna called and the door opened.

  When Erik saw Jenna standing by the armoire, head lowered, hand resting on the wall, he rushed over to her. “Are you alright?”

  She nodded, “I am, I was just thinking…I saw this type of furniture in antique shops and museums growing up—these dresses were pictured in history books. But now…” she trailed off, not really knowing what more to say.

  “Jenna,” Erik said softly, looking into her troubled eyes, “I promised you last night that we would figure this out, and the Phantom always keeps his promises.”

  Phantom, she thought. I do know that name. Jenna swayed on her feet as she suddenly felt a little light headed and foggy, destroying any hope she had for recollection.

  Erik grabbed her shoulders to steady her, immediately regretting his slip of the Phantom title. What if she somehow knew of his reputation? Of course, he doubted there could be any chance his name would live for over 130 years. Still, the way she reacted…maybe it was her injury? “Jenna, are you absolutely sure you're all right?” his gaze was full of concern. “How is your head?”

  “I'm fine, Erik,” she assured him, not certain herself what was going on.

  “Well then,” he let go of her shoulders awkwardly and led the way out of her room, “Follow me.”

  Jenna followed him out to the lake. Once again, he helped her into the boat, where she saw a large blue dress box tied with a black ribbon and bow. She smirked as she remembered Erik's plan from the night before.

  When they were underway, Erik reached into his cape, and produced an apple. “Here,” he said, handing it over to Jenna. “You were lightheaded a moment ago, which likely means you should eat.”

  Jenna smiled as she took it from him, “Thank you, Erik.” She took a bite from the crisp apple as they turned down an unfamiliar canal—one they had not traversed the night before. After a short time, they were tying their boat to a new post. Erik retrieved the box and took her hand with his free one, to guide her as they entered a tunnel.

  “Follow my footsteps, Jenna.” He glanced over his shoulder to meet her gaze. “Believe me, you do not want to go off course.” Erik began to slowly move forward, keeping to the left side of the tunnel.

  “Why is that, Erik?” Jenna asked, curiously.

  “Well,” Erik answered as he carefully navigated them through the labyrinthine inclines to their goal. “There are many traps in these tunnels.”

  “Like mouse traps?” Jenna asked confused.

  Erik snickered lightly, “Well, I would say rat traps, but truly, their quarry is even bigger than the oft-maligned long-tailed rodents.”

  “I don't understand.” Jenna continued to prod.

  Erik sighed. “Jenna, they are traps for those who might try to enter my home uninvited.”

  Jenna stopped, causing Erik to stop as well. “Why would you need traps for people?”

  “There are those,” Erik began carefully, “who would not be happy to know that I was living here.”

  “Well, why are you living here?” Jenna asked. Truly, with everything else she was processing, it had not struck her odd until that moment that he lived beneath an opera house.

  “This is my home, Jenna.”

  “Yes, but why do you make it your home?”

  Erik sighed. “I built this place. The Palais Garnier. I worked right beside the architect—much of the design is mine, and my blood and sweat are in every stone. I built my home below as well, because I…” Erik paused with a faraway look in his eye. “I no longer wanted to be a part of the world above.”

  Jenna thought she sounded like a broken record as she once again heard herself ask, “Why, Erik?”

  “Because the world above did not want me.” He answered curtly, beginning to walk, giving Jenna no choice but to follow. “And so I live in the bosom of my greatest love—music. And I have learned to be perfectly happy alone—with only the errant Daroga darkening my door once in a while.”

  “Don't forget the wayward time traveler.”

  Erik glanced back to her with a crooked smile spreading over his face. “I will not forget you, if you promise to keep up.” He gave her arm a playful yank as they continued on their way, causing her to stumble just a little, but not to fall. “Now we're almost to Carlotta's dressing room. Remember, keep quiet—watch and listen. It's not every day you'll see such a show!”

  In a few moments, they stopped again and Erik looked at her once more, putting his finger to his lips. He let go of her hand, indicating that she should stay right next to him. He reached up and pressed a spot on the wall that looked like any other spot on the wall, but suddenly, the surface moved aside and opened onto a window of sorts, which revealed an extravagantly furnished, but very untidy dressing room. There were racks and racks of opulent dresses and shawls and shelves full of shoes, at least two rows deep. Every flat surface in the room was scattered with baskets of bows and ribbons and hairpins, and on the opposing wall was a shelf full of mannequin heads bearing wigs and headdresses and the most ridiculous hats Jenna had ever seen. Many of the heads also bore ostentatious necklaces, and boxes brimming with jewels cluttered the dressing table that was already crowded with lipsticks and powders and rouge. Affixed to the wall near the table, to the side of the oval mirror, was a plethora of yellowing newspaper articles with titles of “La Carlotta's Triumphant Debut” or “Carlotta Giudic
elli Graces the Paris Stage.”

  Erik moved the window aside, and entered the disorderly room and Jenna followed only to realize their entry way was the full-length mirror. “A door in the mirror, Erik?” Jenna asked.

  He glanced back at her. “It is the only place she has not jumbled up with her accoutrements, is it not? She enjoys looking at herself too much for that,” he shuddered as if the thought disgusted him. “It certainly looks as if a brothel regurgitated its contents in here!” Erik commented, looking around the chaotic changing room for a place to lay the box. He settled on the chaise lounge, strewn with furs and cushions.

  “Erik,” Jenna asked as they made their way back to the crawl space behind the mirror, “Are you sure she'll even notice the box, with everything else in there?”

  “I'm sure,” Erik replied as he pulled the mirror opening closed, leaving the inner wall of the passageway open, so they could spy on any activities that might take place in the dressing room. “Carlotta's vanity is rivaled only by her laziness.”

  They settled themselves behind the mirror to wait. “Do you do this type of thing often?” Jenna whispered since there was still no one in the dressing room.

  “Only when I feel it necessary to ensure the quality of my opera house, or the obedience of my staff,” he whispered back. “Carlotta has long been unnecessarily cruel to those she deems beneath her. It's time someone taught her a lesson.”

  At that moment they heard a noise at the door, and they both fell silent, so as to not alert Carlotta to their presence.

  “I shall be at rehearsal when I am ready,” they heard the heavyset diva call over her shoulder. “And not a moment before.” She shut the door and sashayed to her racks of clothing, muttering under her breath, “Silly fools. Thinking they can rush perfection!” She thumbed through the selection of dresses, smiling when she found one that met with her approval. She walked toward the mirror, unbuttoning the first two buttons on her bodice. Jenna had to stifle a giggle with her palm when she saw Erik make haste to cover his eyes, only peeking through slightly parted fingers when he heard Carlotta exclaim, “Che cos'è? What is this?”