The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  She wandered about Erik's home a bit, trying to figure out what to do with herself. She walked over to the piano and plinked a few of the keys, smiling at the thought that Erik would be irate with her if he knew she was tampering with his beloved instrument. It made her want to sit down and play a concerto. But truth be told, Jenna did not really know how to play piano, so she tired quickly of her illicit game, and wandered over to the bookshelf.

  There were so many titles on Erik's shelf, and so many subjects covered. She searched among the well-worn tomes on architecture, medicine, art, and of course, music until she came to his collection of novels. She selected one she had not yet read and wandered over to curl up in Erik's reading chair. She snuggled deep into the overstuffed leather, drinking in his lingering scent and tucking her feet up beneath her. She opened the ornate cover and began to read. After scanning the same page several times, and still having no idea what she had read, she realized she was not really in the mood for a novel. She felt a nervous energy, and she knew that it would not be calmed until she saw Erik. She still did not really enjoy being in Erik's home alone—not because there was anything uncomfortable about it, per-se, but more because she enjoyed his company so much. She did not want to spend her time without him. You better get used to it, Jenna, chimed that voice inside her head, that she had begun to loathe. Christine's debut is in a week, and after that Erik will be working full time on finding you a way home!

  Jenna sighed heavily at the thought. She looked around the lair that had seemed so strange when she had first arrived. Now as she took in the majestic grand piano, the bursting bookshelf, and the myriad glowing candles, she wondered how she would ever find it within herself to leave this place. She did not have much choice, however. She knew that, being the genius he was, Erik would find a way for her to get back home in no time. Soon, her days here would be over.

  Suddenly, her eyes fell on the little corridor off the kitchen through which Omid always entered and a smile lit on her lips. Soon her days here would be over, she thought. But not yet! She scrambled out of Erik's chair and dashed back into her room. She donned the extra cloak Erik always had her wear for their travels in the opera house and pulled the hood over her hair. When she was satisfied that she looked every bit the ghost that Erik did, she made her way to the passage that she had traveled with Omid the day she accompanied him to the market.

  She recalled the winding route that they had taken through back ways of the opera house and was confident that she could find the offshoot that would lead her to Box 5. There she was certain she would find Erik enjoying the morning's practice. Oh, he would be angry with her—she was sure—but she could also imagine the glimmer of respect in his eyes when he realized she'd navigated the treacherous tunnels alone, always mindful to sidestep the traps and hazards he set for intruders. Most importantly, she would be with him, and not wasting a moment of their precious two weeks alone.

  The tunnel was dark, and steep, and with its rough stone walls and uneven, earthen floor, it was certainly a harsher way to travel than crossing the lake in his boat. Jenna snickered to herself when she thought that perhaps that was why Erik had taught this particular route to Omid! It did require some extra care to avoid the pitfalls that could befall a less observant traveler, but she was cautious to hold to the left side of the tunnel and lift her skirts a bit with her fingers, so that they would not be snagged on the snares Erik had planted.

  She had just ascended into the first cellar passages, still so wholly focused on evading Erik's perils, that she was entirely taken by surprise when a slurred voice uttered, “So, Ghost, we are finally face to face.”

  With a gasp, she looked up in horror to find a dirty, middle-aged man jeering at her. He was shorter than Erik, but still taller than her, with a round, paunchy middle and stubble covered jowl. His head was mostly bald, with the thin wisps of hair he still possessed floating around his head in a mousy gray cloud. He stank of whiskey and filth, and Jenna found herself naturally backing away. “Who are you?” she asked.

  “Me?” he let out a disturbing chortle. “I'm no one. Just good ol', good for nothing, Buquet.” He beamed a toothless grin at her as he took a step closer. “And you're not a ghost,” he said in something akin to wonder. “You're a girl.”

  “Stay away,” she said, putting her hands out in front of her and taking a few more steps back. “I may not be the ghost, but I know him, and he would not want you here.”

  “But he wants you here?” A wolfish gleam entered Buquet's eyes as he continued to advance on her. Though his steps were unsteady with drink, his gaze was determined. He enjoyed having the upper hand on the ghost, and was looking forward to taking something from the specter that had already taken so much from him. “I didn't know the Phantom had himself a woman.”

  “It's not like that,” she blurted, continuing her retreat.

  “'Course it is. The Opera Ghost would never let a girl stay with him if he didn't want her.” Buquet reached out to touch a grimy, gnarled finger to her flinching cheek. “And how could he not want such a pretty girl?”

  Jenna recoiled from his touch as she spat, “Don't touch me!”

  With more speed than she would have expected, Buquet leaned forward and grabbed both her arms with his thick, fleshy hands. “I bet you let the ghost touch you,” he leered over her. “I bet you let him touch you real good.”

  “No,” she whimpered, as she pulled away from his grasp, and setting him momentarily off balance. She turned to run back down the tunnel. Blinded by fear, and twisting to peer over her shoulder, it was much more difficult to be mindful of Erik's traps, and she soon found herself tumbling to the unforgiving ground after a wire caught her ankle. She landed hard on her knees, her hands splayed out before her.

  “Oh, this is going to be real fun,” purred Buquet, who had caught up to her. He began to loosen the belt that held up his filthy trousers. “A spirited wench who's already on her knees.”

  She tried to scramble away on her pulverized knees, but his hands were on her hips too fast. Never before had she wished so fervently for the little can of pepper spray she would carry on her key chain at home. One squirt of that, and a good swift kick to a very strategic spot, and it would be lights out for this brute. Oh God, she thought to herself why didn't I just wait for Erik to come home? She'd thought herself so careful, so clever, and yet, she had fallen prey to an attacker. The cold realization hit her that nobody knew where she was, and nobody would hear her scream. Help wasn't coming. She was going to have to take care of herself.

  She shifted her weight to one arm, thinking to elbow him in the gut and take his breath away, but before she did, she suddenly felt his nauseating form being lifted from her. At the sound of a gurgling scream, she turned, to see Buquet struggling against the catgut lasso around his neck, as Erik loomed menacingly behind him. “You scream, Buquet?” Erik seethed through clenched teeth. “You were about to abuse an innocent woman and you scream when you are caught?” He twisted the noose in his hand, tightening its hold on Buquet's neck even more. “I should have done this long ago, you pig,” Erik spat as Buquet strained and twisted in his efforts against the lasso. But it was no use. “Your lifeless carcass will be a boon to the opera house,” Erik growled as Jenna saw him begin to pull his hand upwards, yanking on the lasso, intent on extinguishing Buquet's miserable life.

  “STOP!” she shouted, clambering to her feet, ignoring her screaming knees and ankle so she could stand closer to Erik's great height.

  Erik paused, looking at her. “Why? He was about to violate you, Jenna!” he bellowed. “Why does he deserve to live?”

  “He doesn't!” she implored him, “But you do.” She saw Erik's expression become quizzical as she continued to explain herself. “He is a piece of subhuman excrement that doesn't deserve the life that still runs through his veins. But you are no longer the type of man who would take it from him.” She reached out and put a hand on his forearm that was taught with the desire to squeeze the
breath out of Buquet's lungs. “You've come so far,” she continued, in a softer tone. “I don't care about him. But please, don't do this to yourself.”

  He looked into her pleading eyes a moment longer before gently nudging her hold loose. Without warning, he dropped Buquet hard to the floor. Bending over him menacingly, he seethed. “You should thank the lady for your miserable life, because I would have gladly relieved you of it. But know this, Joseph Buquet. If you ever lay a hand on her again, if you ever look at her, or so much as dare to allow her memory to play across your mind, there will be nothing and no one that can save you from me. Go now, Joseph Buquet. Go now and leave this place.”

  The terrified former stagehand scrambled to his feet, scurrying away from them as fast as his inebriated legs would carry him. Once he was entirely out of view, Erik turned to her with wounded eyes and uttered a single, heart wrenchingly confused word. “Why?”

  At that moment, the passageway began to swim around her, as the pain shot through her head once again. Her last coherent thought, before the world went black, was that she was grateful to feel Erik's arms closing around her before she could hit the ground.

  31 MISSING YOU

  “Erik, stop it!” Jenna protested, as she felt him lift her out of the boat. She remembered blacking out in the tunnel, and waking up, some time later, to steady rocking beneath her as they glided across the lake to Erik's home. Erik was, of course, steering the boat, but he would not answer her when she called out to him. “You can put me down now. I'm FINE!”

  “I seem to remember hearing those words before, Mademoiselle.” Erik made his first response to her in a clipped tone, slinging her over his shoulder. “I regret believing them then. I will not repeat that mistake.”

  “Erik!” she yelled, outraged at the indignity of being treated like a sack of potatoes. “Put me down this instant!”

  Erik quickly closed the distance to the sitting room and dumped her unceremoniously on the floor, the Persian rug softening the worst of her fall. “As you wish, Mademoiselle,” he seethed, stalking off in the direction of the piano.

  “Oh great,” she called after him as she rose to a standing position, smoothing her skirts and blowing an errant strand of hair away from her eyes. “Are we back to Mademoiselle?”

  She heard the beginnings of a wild concerto in answer to her question.

  “Of course we are!” she spat, storming over to him, her voice rising with her annoyance, “You always call me Mademoiselle when you're angry with me! It's your favorite trick for pushing me away!”

  “Should I not be angry with you, Mademoiselle?” he questioned, his fingers never stopping their furious dance on the ivories. “After what you did?”

  Even though she knew to what he was referring, she was angry enough to want to hear him say it. “What are you talking about, Erik? The sin of taking a walk? I was not under the impression that I was a prisoner here.”

  For the first time, Jenna thought she heard him play a sour note, and she noticed the look of frustration on his face grow darker. “Have I never told you, Jenna, that the tunnels are dangerous? That there are scores of traps and perils laid specifically by me for the purpose of ensnaring intruders who happen to wander in?”

  “I didn't realize you still thought of me as an intruder!” she snapped purposely being obtuse in her annoyance with him.

  “I do not!” he retorted, “but if you wander the tunnels alone, you are just as vulnerable as if you were.”

  “But I wasn't vulnerable!” she insisted, trying to plead her case. “I made it all the way to the first cellar, traveling the passages myself, keeping a watchful eye for your pitfalls and hazards, veering to the left always—as you taught me. I wore the black cloak and pulled the hood over my hair, so as to blend into the shadows, and I moved quietly, so as not to draw attention.”

  “And yet,” he snapped, at last abandoning the piano to glare at the true target of his ire. “You did draw attention, didn't you? Of the worst kind!”

  Jenna balked as she remembered Buquet. “That I did not expect,” she admitted, her voice faltering a bit as she recalled how close she had come to real harm.

  “But still, the danger found you,” Erik reminded her, as if she could forget. “Why is it that you were in the tunnels anyway, Jenna?” he demanded, with a tone of great frustration.

  “Erik, I just…” She paused and took a deep breath. “When I woke up, I wanted to see you. But you weren't here.”

  “Well, of course not,” he answered incredulously. “You told me to go! You basically said you could not rest with me here, and you wanted me gone.”

  “Oh Erik,” she shook her head, “I didn't mean it that way.”

  “But, that's what you said!” he shouted in exasperation. Raking his fingers through his hair, he asked, “Why did you need to see me so urgently, that you elected to risk your life by traversing booby trapped tunnels unaided?”

  “I missed you!” she blurted out, before thinking. When she saw the shock that lit his features, she added, in a smaller voice, “I woke up feeling much better, but I found that I was lonely without you.” She looked down sheepishly before telling him, “I decided to make my own way to Box 5 to surprise you.”

  After a moment of tense quiet, Erik responded in a dark tone, “It is never a good idea to surprise the opera ghost, Mademoiselle.”

  Jenna looked up, surprised that his tone remained so icy. “Erik, I don't understand why you are still so angry with me. I told you, I only went out on my own because I missed you. I wanted to be with you.”

  “Well you have an interesting way of showing it!” He shot back at her, feeling his fury rise once more.

  “Erik?” she asked in confusion.

  “You push me out of my own house, refusing my offer to stay and care for you, but then you want to be with me?” he ranted, beginning to feel his hands tremble.

  “But Erik, you had to get to rehearsals…”

  “You cause me to feel as if I should not even consider venturing back to my own home, for fear of disturbing you,” He rose from the piano to a standing position, “but you go traipsing around places I had warned you about because you wanted to surprise me?”

  “Erik, I told you…”

  “That you missed me,” he hissed, his eyes glowing in their rage. “Last week, you were ready to leave here and forget all about me, bidding me to forget all about you. But this afternoon, after being alone for just a short time,” his voice grew to a roar, “you put your life at risk because you MISSED me?”

  “Yes!” she cried, too alarmed by his anger to say anything else.

  “Why?” he demanded in painful confusion. “Why ever would you miss me?”

  “Because, Erik I…” she trailed off, unable to give voice to the feelings in her heart, knowing they would simply complicate the situation in which they found themselves.

  “Oh, please don't stop on account of me!” they both heard, from the corridor off the kitchen, as Omid walked in with a cheery smile on his face, munching on one of Erik's apples. “I know I'm interrupting something. From all the yelling echoing about in the tunnels, it sounded like it was something really good, and I would hate to miss it!”

  “Ah, Daroga!” Erik called, turning his face from Jenna. “For once I find your arrival rather fortuitous!”

  Omid's brow knotted as he looked at his masked friend in concern. “Are you quite alright, Erik?”

  “Yes. But I have somewhere I need to go, and it appears my houseguest needs some minding.” Jenna opened her mouth to protest but before she could, Erik added. “Do not let her step one foot out of this house, Daroga. If she tries, tie her up.” He threw the shocked Persian the length of rope that he always carried in a pocket in his cloak. “And if she says anything about missing me and needing to see me,” he added, glaring straight into Jenna's eyes, “don't believe her!” With that, Erik grabbed a stack of papers from the piano bench and stalked back over to his boat, heading to his lesson with C
hristine, trying to put the afternoon, and his infuriating houseguest, behind him!

  As the new prima donna, Christine now found herself in possession of Carlotta's former dressing room. She was slowly transforming it from the pigsty Carlotta had maintained into a respectable respite from the grueling schedule of the stage. As such, Erik had decided to move her lessons to this room, as it afforded more comfort and privacy than the small, cold chapel.

  Erik stalked back and forth behind her wall. His hasty departure from his home had placed him at the mirror about a quarter of an hour before their lessons were to begin—which worked to his advantage, when he slipped inside to deposit the new sheet music onto her dressing table. He'd returned to his hiding spot, expecting Christine to arrive posthaste. However, now it was about fifteen minutes past when their lessons were to begin, and the irritation Erik had tried so hard to quell on his journey from his lair was now coursing through his veins with renewed vengeance. Was his time so undervalued by his youthful student that she saw fit to waste it?

  The door to the dressing room opened and Christine burst in, a bundle of energy. “Angel, are you here?” she called, looking up and around the room before closing the door behind her.

  “I have been here, Christine.” he answered, his celestial tones somewhat cold. “Where have you been?”

  Christine smiled and said, “Oh, forgive me for being late, Angel. The managers kept us past the hour. They had a grand announcement to make,” she informed him excitedly.

  Erik rolled his eyes, wondering what bumbling managerial decision he was going to have to clean up this time. “Oh what, pray tell, was their announcement?” he asked, his angel's voice still sounding somewhat perturbed.

  Christine practically gushed. “They are holding a grand masquerade ball after the first performance, to celebrate opening night!”