The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel
Page 40
The light shining through the slats once again proved deceptive, as a long tunnel suddenly surged and rippled before them. Without moving, their eyes traversed the length of the passage, enclosed by its rough-hewn walls, and ceiling. Standing still, they navigated the path that the earthen floor laid out before them, until at last the shaft opened unto a small room, with walls of white and a single bed. Surrounding the bed were women in the long white dresses and small white caps that signified the medical profession. Within the bed, the still, prone form of a figure with closed eyes and hair of golden flame lay motionless under a cover of white. Her skin was pale, as if she were made of the finest porcelain, her lips barely pink. She looked so cold and breakable—nothing at all like the strong and exquisitely fiery young woman he had come to know.
Erik felt his breath come faster at the vision of Jenna reposing in the hospital bed, and he hugged her to him a little tighter to reassure himself that she was still with him, still breathing, still whole. He felt her nuzzle her head against his chest as she whispered once again, “I'm still here, Erik. I won't leave you.”
In the vision before him, the nurses who were tending her suddenly stopped and moved away from her bed, a look of sorrow on their faces. A doctor came forward into the room, pressing a stethoscope to her chest, and once again, in another position before moving back from her and removing the instrument from his ears. He reached forward and took the sheet in his hands, and slowly, gently pulled it to cover Jenna's face, looking sadly at the nurses and shaking his head. With downcast eyes and defeated expressions, the doctor and the nurses filed out of the room, leaving it empty except for the lifeless body of the woman that he loved, lying covered by a sheet.
Erik knew he was trembling, shaking at the horror that had just played out before his eyes. He clutched his love closer, tighter to his pounding heart, hoping that somehow, her nearness would stop his soul from shivering. Lowering his head to drink in the scent of her hair, he found himself unable to look away from the tragedy before him. Again, of its own volition, the door slowly closed, yet still Erik stared, lost in a world of his own terrifying visions.
Then he felt Jenna's arms loose their hold around him and fall limply to her sides. He looked down to see that while her head still rested on his chest, it lay there listlessly, and suddenly, her body felt heavy in his arms. “Jenna,” he called, but she did not answer. “Jenna,” he said louder, but still, she made no reply. He lifted her chin up so she would face him, and he saw that her eyes were closed.
He lowered the two of them down to the ground, and cradled her in his arms, thinking she had passed out yet again. But this time was different, for her breathing was shallow, and her skin was growing cold. “Jenna,” he whispered over and over again, placing whisper soft kisses on her forehead, her eyelids, her cheeks. “Jenna, wake up. Wake up.” And then, finally, struggling, she opened her eyes and looked straight into his, her lips curving into a slight, tired smile as she rasped, “I chose you, Erik,” as the life left her body and her head lolled awkwardly to one side.
“No, Jenna,” he moaned as he shook her, tears spilling out of his eyes. “No!” his voice continued booming to a deafening roar as she made no reply, save for the cooling of her skin. “Jenna, come back!” He demanded with a harsh shout. “You swore you wouldn't leave me! Jenna, please, come back…”
Erik felt the hands on his shoulders, shaking him awake. With a start, he lifted his head from where it rested in the center of a large book that was laid out on his dining table. His fear stricken eyes attempted to focus on the force that had woken him from his nightmare, as he struggled to regulate his breathing. “Daroga,” he panted. “What are you doing here?”
“Hello, Omid,” the Persian began, sardonically. “Thank you for coming in and waking me from what was a horrible nightmare! I am so grateful to you and—”
“Jenna!” Erik exclaimed, cutting Omid off, as he sprang to his feet and instantly crossed the distance to Jenna's room. Quietly, he pushed her door open and stealthily glided to where she lay sleeping peacefully in her bed. He stood there silently for a moment simply watching her breathing. It seemed to him the most precious of sights, as the terror of his dream washed over him in renewed tremors of trepidation. When he felt calm enough to leave her, he exited her room, closing the door silently behind him. With a deep breath, he slowly walked back to the sitting room where the Persian awaited him with concerned eyes.
“Erik,” he asked, shedding all artifice of humor. “Are you quite alright?”
“I am fine, Daroga,” he nodded, sinking into his reading chair in exhaustion.
“What were you doing sleeping at the table, Erik?” Omid questioned his friend.
“Must I justify my every action to you?” he asked, with eyebrow raised. Sighing, he acquiesced and said, “I must have dozed off while reading.”
Omid glanced over at the book laid out on the table. The Treatment of Patients Afflicted with a Long Standing Stupor was the title at the top of the page Erik had been reading. “Are you considering a career change, Erik, or were you having trouble falling asleep?” he asked, a bit of sarcasm finding its way back into his tone. “If the latter is true, it looks like you found a solution.”
“I have to send her back, Daroga,” Erik stated, his eyes looking stricken, his expression haggard.
Omid looked at him in annoyance. “Erik, what is wrong with you? It is obvious how much you and Jenna love one another. Are you truly so terrified of the happiness that you could find with her, that you are renewing your efforts to send her over a century into the future?”
“Daroga, her head injury—” Erik began to explain, but stopped short when Omid flew into a diatribe.
“—was not your fault, Erik!” he interrupted in aggravation, finally snapping at what he perceived as his friend's eagerness to hold fast only to sorrow. Slapping his hands on the table, he demanded, “When are you going to let that damnable witch of a woman die? She was never fit to have a child, Erik! She was a depraved, embittered woman. Her child was healthy—her child was a genius—and yet she cut him down because of the misfortune of his appearance—a deformity over which he had no control, but to which she surely contributed. She had no concept of the blessing she could have held in her arms and nurtured into greatness—while others in this world desperately cling to their own precious, sick children that the world takes from them too young. Do not let that termagant, that… harpy … destroy your chance at happiness with her sick, deluded ravings. She is dead, Erik. When will you let her be buried?”
Erik looked at his friend with surprise, jaw slightly agape at the vehemence of his declaration. “Daroga,” he began quietly, the weight of the Persian's words still hanging heavily in his mind. “This has nothing to do with my mother. It is Jenna's health—”
“Have you taken her to a doctor, Erik? If her health is a concern, then let's find her a physician who can examine her and tell us—”
“Daroga,” Erik interjected, “I do not believe one of the doctors from our time will find anything wrong with her.”
“Oh for Allah's sake, Erik,” Omid blurted in exasperation. “What on earth could be so wrong with her that only doctors from a hundred years in the future can treat her?”
“She is in a coma, Daroga,” Erik stated plainly, keeping the emotion that was roiling in his heart from coming to the surface. “A stupor. A somnolence. She has been in one the whole time she has been here.”
Omid stared at him in confusion. “How can that be, Erik? She has been awake and aware—”
“Not here, Daroga,” Erik corrected him. “In her own time. I believe that she entered a coma at the time of her accident, and that somehow, because of her altered state of consciousness, she was able to travel to my domain and exist here, in this alternate universe, while her brain convalesced and healed in her own world.”
Omid shook his head, “Erik you're speaking insanity! How is it that something like that could even happen?”
“The secret door…” Omid murmured, as he recalled this illusory door through which Jenna claimed she had entered Erik's lair. Erik nodded his head, but made no further answer. Omid tried hard to make sense of what his friend was saying, but he was not having much luck. “So are you saying that she chose here? She chose you?”
Omid's words once again pierced through his heart. Taking a deep breath, he attempted to explain. “Not exactly, Daroga. You see, I am more certain now than ever that she is somehow existing in two places at once—she is both here and there. Here she interacts with us, living this strange new life in the best way that she knows how. But in her own world, Daroga, she exists only to heal—to strengthen her body, to mend her spirit, so that she can once again go back to living the life she always knew. She has not yet made her ultimate choice, Daroga, but soon, I believe, she will have to.”
“She will have to choose between going back to her life as a nurse, and living the rest of her life here with you?” Omid asked, to make certain he understood what Erik was saying.
“I believe so, yes,” Erik nodded, a look of fear once again darkening his eyes.
“Then what are you afraid of, Erik?” Omid asked with a chuckle. “She is in love with you. You must realize she is going to choose you.” He gave his friend a congratulatory pat on the back, already wondering if Erik would choose to continue his life beneath the opera house once he was a husband, or if he would instead choose to move with his wife out into the light—perhaps somewhere out in the country, to raise a family.
Erik shook his head back and forth. “I must do everything I can, Daroga, to make certain that she does not.”
Omid once again looked at his friend in confusion. “But, Erik…why?”
“Because, if she chooses me, Daroga,” Erik began, his voice tremulous with dismay, “she rejects her own life. Once she finally, irrevocably chooses to close the door on her own world, there will no longer be any reason for her to heal. Her body will fail, Daroga. Her breathing will slow and her heart will stop beating. We have seen that what happens to her in her world happens to her here. So if that happens, Daroga—if she rejects her former life, and chooses to remain in this pseudo existence,” Erik's breathing was heavy with the enormity of what he was about to say, “she will die.” He swallowed hard, before adding, “And she will be lost to both worlds.”
37 HIS HEART’S RESPONSE
“Let's go, Red,” he said as he reached for the cat who was curled up in a ball on his couch. As he gathered him in his arms, the feline let out a lazy Mreeeeoooow, in protest. “I know, big guy,” the doctor said, cuddling the cat close as he walked him over to the carrier. “I'm interrupting your nap. Bet you'll forget all about it by the time we get to the car, though. You'll sing to me all the way to the hospital, won't you? But we've got to get going,” he said, his voice becoming quieter. “We can't be late today, Red.” He lowered him into the crate to which the cat had become quite accustomed in the past few weeks. “We've got to say goodbye to Jenna,” he said, with a hollow voice, trying to fight back the emotions that were warring in his soul. “She's leaving for Maine today.” Mreeeow! was the cat's only comment. “I agree, Red. I don't want her to go either,” he said sadly, as he zipped up the carrier. “But it's not our call, Buddy. Even though we both love her.”
He lifted the carrier by the handle and looked around his home once more before turning toward the door. Empty. It suddenly struck him that his home was so empty. No family pictures on the wall. No clutter on the coffee table. In the kitchen, only one mug was stained with that morning's coffee, only one cereal bowl lay in the sink. There was nothing to show any real warmth here—any real love. It was proof that, aside from Red, he was so totally and utterly alone in the world. Without Jenna, that's how he knew he was going to stay.
“Come on, Buddy,” he said, as he opened the door with a sigh, “Let's go say goodbye to the woman we love.” He closed the door behind them, knowing that after this morning, he would return, along with Jenna's cat—just the two of them, alone with the emptiness.
Perhaps she should have given this a little more thought before deciding it was a good idea. Her arms were on fire, her clothes filthy, and she was sure that at any minute Erik was going to walk in and find her, ruining her surprise. But then again, considering how wrapped up he was in other things these days, probably not.
She sighed deeply, and continued to whisk the dark mixture, begging it with all her heart to thicken already. She had done this before, plenty of times, but always with the aid of an electric mixer. This hand-whisking thing was more difficult than she had expected, but if this is what life was like living in the 1800s, then so be it. For Erik, she could give up electricity. For Erik, she could give up everything. She would do anything, just to see his smile.
The treat was to be a gift to celebrate opening night. Tonight was the night that Christine was to make her debut, singing the lead role that had once been claimed by Carlotta. All thoughts were on the young diva. Omid informed them she was the talk of all of Paris. Would she shine? Would she falter? Would the spotlight prove too much for her? Would she thrive under the public's adoring gaze?
Of course, she would succeed! Of that, Jenna had no doubt. She was Erik's pupil—his finest creation—and she would prove his genius to the world with her voice. She had improved so much, in fact, that Erik no longer felt the evening lessons necessary, as he had not given her one in about a week. Even without her lessons, though, when Jenna had insisted the other day that Erik take her to see how rehearsals were coming along, she sounded exquisite. But Jenna's greatest concern was not Christine.
Erik had been a bundle of nerves for the past week. Since the night they'd almost made love, he'd been so distant. He was polite to her, he was kind, but he always seemed at least partially preoccupied—never fully with her. She knew that things had moved too fast that night, and that her seizure had truly frightened him, but ever since the evening they had passed playing chess, he had not touched her—not even to help her in and out of the boat, on their journey to Box 5. She had begun to wonder if the desire he had so beautifully expressed in her arms had, for some reason, faded.
But then she would catch him glancing at her over dinner, or from across the sitting room while they would have tea, and she would catch the passion—recognize the longing in his eyes. If they found themselves a bit too close to each other when passing in a room, she could hear him catch his breath, and see the struggle he waged inside himself not to touch her. She reminded herself about his past over and over, and renewed her resolve to stay strong—to not push him too far too fast. But it was so hard when he had that look in his eyes, and Jenna began to wonder if he held back because he was afraid that she would somehow reject him.
So tonight she meant to make her feelings plain. With the clandestine help of her ally Omid, she had procured all the ingredients needed to make Erik a lovely dinner before they left to enjoy the opening in Box 5. And though she knew The Palais Garnier would be focused on the fresh young ingénue, it would be Erik's night of triumph too. Hopefully, the chocolate mousse—which had finally begun to thicken—would be just the special treat to show him how proud she was of him. And after the show, when he was relaxed and content with his pupil's success, while the cast and guests cavorted above, with the masks on their faces concealing their identities, her own heart would be laid bare, her own secrets made known. She would tell him, finally, that she loved him. And she would loose him from the bonds of the promise he made to help her find a way home after the gala night had passed. It was no longer wanted, nor was it necessary. Jenna no longer needed to find a way home. She had found all she desired in Erik's arms.
“Thank you, Jenna,” Eri
k said politely, placing his napkin back on the table. “Dinner was lovely.” And, certainly, it had been. While he had spent the day absorbed in his research, she had spent the day in the kitchen. Her results had been delicious—coq au vin, and freshly baked bread. His results had not been so savory, and he only wished they had not weighed so heavily on his mind, so that he might have been able to relish more in the flavors of the culinary delight Jenna had prepared for him. Instead, he had been too busy trying to take in what he feared would most likely be one of their last evenings together. Though it would kill him, he knew it would soon be time to let her go.
He'd done all the research, analyzing his theory from every point, and he was certain he knew how to force a liminal threshold to open and allow her to return to her own time. The hard part was actually making himself do it. He had been trying for the last couple of days to make her want to leave. He had been withdrawn, distant—almost cold. But it was difficult to keep pushing her away when all he wanted to do was draw her closer. Surely, she must have read the desire that smoldered in his eyes when he would see her smile. She must have noticed the strained effort it took for him not to grasp her hand as they entered and exited the boat. When they sat and sipped their tea in the evenings, could she sense how badly he wanted to taste the sweetness of her lips? Did she guess at the fantasies that played out in his mind about what might have happened that night had the seizure not taken hold? If they had not been interrupted, would she have trembled and quaked for another reason entirely, as she lay entangled in his arms? Dear God, having this woman so near and not being able to touch her—to love her—was maddening, and surely, it would prove his undoing.