by J. Smith
Jenna did not breathe as she entered the room that was now open before her. Dank and musty, with spider webs here and there, it was clear this room had been forgotten for years. It was not a labyrinthine tunnel, like at the opera house. It was meager room—barely larger than a closet—but it was obviously Erik's. There was a small writing desk, with what looked like a dried up ink pot and several fountain pens arranged neatly near the back. A small tinplate portrait sat on its surface in an oval frame. Jenna picked it up to examine it. It was Christine, years older than when Jenna had last seen her, with her hair pulled back in the old fashioned chignon that married women of the day would wear. She was seated in a high backed chair, a young boy with pitch-black hair standing by her side, an even younger girl with bouncy ringlets seated on her lap. Erik's family, Jenna thought. Now hers, too. She looked more closely at the girl who was her namesake. She smiled for the camera and Jenna was sure she saw that familiar upturn of lips that she loved so well. “Oh Erik,” she whispered into the secret room. “I miss you.” And though she loved Chris with all her heart, and she would not trade being his wife for anything in this world, she knew it was true. A part of her would always miss Erik. He would forever hold a very special piece of her heart.
To the right of the desk, along the back wall of the room, there was a large bookshelf. On one of the shelves was a violin, and Jenna smiled. Though she had not heard Erik play violin in her time with him, she was not the slightest bit surprised that he could. Oh how the walls of this old house must have rung with music, when the genius composer and his soprano wife had lived here. She wondered if Erik had taught his children how to play. Thinking of her own husband's musical inclinations, she was certain musical ability had run in the family.
On the shelves below the instrument were sheaves and sheaves of paper, tied together with string. Jenna picked up one of the bundles to find swirls of hand written notes gracing lined pages. Though she herself was not able to read the notations, she knew that these were the masterful workings of a musical genius. Erik's compositions! She examined the rest of the stacks, finding page after page of symphonies and concertos, all hand-written in Erik's signature scrawl. Amid the excitement of being surrounded by Erik's music, her heart ached just a little bit. She remembered the time when she'd asked him to prove his musical genius to her. In this room was more evidence than she ever really needed. She'd never doubted his brilliance. “Oh, Erik,” she whispered again, recalling the times she would try to lure him away from his piano to spend time with her. “I wish I could hear you play just one last time.”
Jenna looked down, and took a deep breath against the bittersweet memories that threatened to overwhelm her. That was when she saw it. A small box sitting on the bottom shelf. There was something about the solitary box, set slightly apart from the sundry stacks of Erik's musical masterpieces that called to her. She knelt on the floor to examine it more closely, brushing years’ worth of dust off its surface.
The box was hinged and made of wood, and would likely have a bright shiny finish with a bit of polishing. On the top, the letter J was carved in swirly script that Jenna could have sworn was Erik's own. A gold clasp held the box shut, but it wasn't locked, so Jenna gently lifted the clasp and gingerly opened the lid. What she found inside made her catch her breath.
More papers, neatly stacked and tied together with a ribbon of black velvet—but these were not sheet music. They looked to be letters written on the very same folded over parchment on which Jenna had seen Erik write his notes to the managers. And her name was scrawled across the front fold of the letter on top.
Jenna removed the precious packet of papers and tenderly stroked the ribbon, before untying it carefully with trembling hands. She felt tears spring to her eyes as she unfolded the first letter and read the words inside.
Oh My Jenna,
How I long for you to be here so that I could hear your voice, look into your eyes and see your smile as I tell you the things I have to say. Of course, if you were still here, none of it would have happened—but that would not matter, because I would still have you with me, and I would have all that I need.
But you're gone, and all I have are my memories of you, and the cameo that you left beside the lake. Once again, Jenna, you left my rose behind. But this rose was meant only for you. I shall not be giving it away, dear heart. I shall keep it here, always, with the letters I write to you—my dear sweet rose that will never fade.
I find that I already miss talking to you, telling you my secrets, sharing with you my dreams. I lived my life alone, Jenna, with scarcely anyone to talk to, and yet my short time with you makes me crave someone to whom I can unburden my soul. Or perhaps it is just that I crave you.
I'm sorry Jenna. I am so sorry that I had to lie to you to make you leave me. Jenna, I love you—as I know you love me. I only regret that I never got to say it. But that I could never do, because once said, I would have wanted to spend the rest of my life repeating it again and again—an endless refrain of love that I would sing only for you. I hope you know, my Jenna. I hope somehow, someway you will understand that I let you go because I did love you—and while I wanted so much for you to live in my arms, I wanted one thing more. Simply for you to live. If I was right, and it was true, that you were somehow in a coma back in your time, I would never be able to live with myself if something happened to you because you chose to stay with me. If you died…I am certain I would have died too.
As it was, I did not want to go on living knowing I would never see you again. I saw nothing more in my future but to waste away for want of the love I had lost—the only love I had ever known in my life. But the Persian—he told me that I had no choice now but to live for you, as I forced you to live for me. So…I went to Christine, Jenna. Just as you had encouraged me to do. And I did not go as the Phantom, or as an Angel. I went to her as myself—the way you always wanted me to. I introduced myself as a man, Jenna. And she didn't run from me! No, instead she took my hand and asked me to the masquerade ball, and she even chose to accompany me over an offer from the Vicomte. I was shocked. But you told me it would be that way, my Jenna. And it was only because of you and your love that I could find the strength to try.
It was a wonderful party—watching Christine enjoy every moment of her well-earned success. She and I danced quite a few dances, and at the end of the night, I bowed to her and thanked her for a lovely evening. She bashfully asked if she would see me the next day. I assured her I would be at the next night's performance—that I would see her afterward.
And now I sit here, and I dream of what would have happened if you had been awaiting me when I returned—or what might have occurred if you had accompanied me to the ball instead. I remember the night we danced, Jenna. I think of it all the time. The way your body felt pressed up so tightly against mine, as we glided across the floor. Well, I glided—you stumbled a bit, but it didn't matter. Your body in my arms was still the closest thing I had ever held to perfection. And when I could no longer stand even the smallest separation and I brushed my lips against yours, I was sure I had been granted admittance into heaven. Kissing you—touching you—was the closest thing to paradise that I had ever known, and when I think of how we would have completed that evening, if your health had not suffered…Jenna, I ache. I yearn for the warmth I would have found within you. I thirst for the sweet wine of your mouth and hunger for the taste of your skin. What secrets would we have spoken that night, Jenna? What questions would we have answered? You have awakened a desire in me, Jenna, that had long lay dormant. Even just thinking of you, I feel my body responding, my soul reaching out to you. Do you reach for me too?
I will never know.
But one thing I do know is that I love you. And I miss you, my Jenna.
~~Erik
Jenna held the letter out before her with shaking hands, tears streaming down her face. He had loved her. Erik had loved her. He had written this very letter, missing her the way she missed him. She was taken back
to the emptiness she felt inside those first days after she had returned from Erik's world. Even though she had had Chris to help her through, the pain in her heart when she would think of Erik was almost unbearable. Now, to know he'd known the same pain broke her heart anew. He had claimed to love Christine only to save her from an almost certain death. She should have known that his genius had led him to figure out that she was in a coma. Hadn't they even had a conversation about what might have happened if she'd been found in her car?
But yet, through the pain, he tried. By some miracle, Omid had convinced him to try to live for her. And he had done it. She shuddered to think what would have happened to him—to her—if he had not gone to Christine that night.
Pressing this first letter to her heart, Jenna reached inside the box for the next one.
My Dearest Jenna,
It has been a week since you've been gone, and not a day—not an hour—has gone by without my thoughts drifting to you. Are you all right, my Jenna? Are you safe? Was this maddening sacrifice well made? I miss you terribly, and every day is a struggle, but I continue to try because of you—as the Persian points out, I forced you to live, so now I have no right to discard my own miserable existence—although at times I want to when the realization hits me that I will never see you again.
My lessons with Christine help to ease the pain though, at least for a short time each day. Would you hate me if you knew, Jenna? Would you despise me for temporarily alleviating this incessant misery with Christine's sweet company? You were right again about her, my Jenna. She's known me to be a man for a week now. She has seen the mask, and has not asked any questions. She does not demand perfection—or the mythical being I thought I had to become simply to be in her presence. She does not hate me for lying to her. She seems to accept me, Jenna, which is strange, because I had once thought that you would be the only one to ever do that. Of course, she has not seen what lies beneath the mask—and yet, the memory of the way you drew me to you even then gives me hope that perhaps she will not immediately flee should the day ever come that she sees my face.
But know this, my dearest. Everything I do each day, I do for you. Just knowing that you are out there—somewhere—living your life as I endeavor to live mine gives me the strength I need to carry on. I hope you too have found a way to lessen the sting of our separation—just as I hope with all my heart that you know I love you.
~~Erik
Once again, the tears poured from Jenna's eyes. “I know, Erik,” she said out loud. “I know you loved me.” She closed her eyes and said a brief prayer of thanks to God for Christine. Even with the slight smart she felt at knowing Christine would eventually take her place in Erik's heart, it brought Jenna such relief to know that Erik was not alone. He'd had Christine, as she had Chris. She would never begrudge him that.
Jenna read through a few more of the letters that highlighted the progression of his relationship with Christine. How he continued to teach her—even bringing her down to his subterranean world so they could have fewer distractions while focusing on the music. Jenna smiled when he wrote I was trepidatious to show her my home, but she thought it beautiful. “Of course, she did Erik,” she said out loud when she read that part. “It was beautiful.” Every letter ended with I miss you, Jenna, and I love you even when it was clear to her that his heart was beginning to heal.
Eventually, she found the letter she was waiting for.
My Dear Jenna,
So much has happened since I last wrote, and how I wish you were here to steady my trembling heart and hand as I write this. Buquet, Jenna. He has returned! And I did not notice! I curse my own distraction, for not detecting him sooner. I curse myself for not killing him the night he almost hurt you. He did not deserve to draw another breath after laying one miserable finger on you. But now he has gone a step further. He has killed, Jenna. He has marred my opera house with murder! And in so doing, he has implicated me!
He dropped the grand chandelier, Jenna, right in the middle of a performance when my Christine had been performing on stage. Once again, he threatened someone so vitally important to me! Christine was fortunate and blessedly saved from harm, but a woman sitting in the front row of the auditorium was not so. As I stood with Christine in my sitting room later that night, calming her fears, I believed it to be an accident, but when the Gendarme finished their investigation, it was confirmed that the counterweight had been tampered with. That was when that sniveling rat Buquet dared to show his face once more—telling all about the Phantom, telling them that I was simply a man. He has even told them about the cellars, Jenna. He did not know enough to lead them directly to my home, but with the Gendarme in pursuit, how much longer can I be safe?
I told Christine goodbye tonight. I told her that I was leaving France, that I had to find a new home now that this one was compromised. But then an astonishing thing happened, Jenna. She said she wanted to go with me. I, of course, forbade it, saying that she had to stay. France was her home and she had her career to think about. She could not leave it all behind because of me. Yet, she told me she did not care, Jenna! She said that I was her home, and she wished to go anywhere I went! My God, Jenna. She chose me, just as you once chose me. I had never dreamed to know that feeling even once in my life, and now I have known it twice.
Still I told her she could not make such a life altering choice as that, as long as she did not know what I was behind the mask. And she asked me to show her. Jenna, it was as if I was hearing your voice once again in my heart. I was so sure she would run, that she would scream and call me a monster. I was even afraid she might reveal me to the Gendarme. She had the knowledge, Jenna. She could have done it.
But the memory of your reaction steeled my heart, and closing my eyes against my fears, I removed the mask. Do you know what she did? She cried, Jenna. Not in fear, but in sympathy. And she drew me to her and told me if I but said the word, she would follow me anywhere.
And so I did. I asked her if she would share the rest of her days with me as my…wife. I once dreamed of asking that question of you, and I beg you to forgive me this betrayal. But I know, my Jenna, that you would not want me to be alone, just as I pray every day that you are not alone. Christine has helped me to heal—she accepts me as you did, and…she loves me. I know with her love I can be happy.
I will strive to be a good husband to Christine. I think the time I spent with you will help me. And I know that I will still think of you every day and be grateful that you taught me how to love, Jenna. I will live because of you.
~~Erik
“And I live because of you,” she exclaimed tearfully, and she knew it was true. If it had not been for Erik, she never would have emerged from that coma. She would have died, and never known the joys life had in store for her. But even before the coma, she had not really been living. She had given her heart recklessly time after time to men who did not treat her well—who did not love her for who she was. Erik had shown her that she was worthy of a prince—and then he had given her one.
If he had not married Christine—if he had let the agony of their lost love take over and resumed his reclusive ways—then she would not have Chris, and when she returned, the anguish would have overcome her. But by choosing to try—by choosing to live with Christine as his wife—once again, Erik had saved her. She brought the letter to her lips and kissed it, whispering, “Thank you, my Erik. Because of you, I have found my prince.”
Jenna took a deep breath and tried to compose herself, although she was convinced it was a lost cause. There were only a few more letters in the box, and she wanted to get through them all. The next one was dated a year later.
Dear Jenna,
A year has passed since last I wrote, yet still I think of you almost every day. We are in America now, Jenna. We've settled in New York. Once I saw the river—your Hudson River—I knew I had found my new home.
It calls to me, Jenna. After so many years of living on the lake, I find its presence comforting. At night, af
ter Christine has gone to sleep, I often come out and watch the waters as they rush to the shore, and I remember that it was these very waters that brought you to me and changed my life for the better.
Oh and how my life has changed, Jenna! Christine and I, we were married on the ship to America. I thought it best not to wait, so that her reputation would not be in any way tarnished. We found this home and moved in shortly after arriving. I was never so happy for the money that the managers had paid me. It made our transition to America so much smoother. We have a new home, and a new name, and in a few months’ time, we will have a new baby. Yes, Christine is expecting a child, Jenna. I am going to be a father.
I find it strange. I never thought I would find a woman to love me—to…touch me. And yet now I have a child on the way. I worry, Jenna. What if my child looks like me? What if my curse continues? But Christine assures me she would find any child of mine beautiful, and she would love him with her whole heart, never making him hide his face, or feel in any way ashamed. I believe her, Jenna. She is a good woman. She will be a good mother to our baby, whatever he or she may look like.
I…love her Jenna. I truly do. My God, when I first said those words to you, and saw the look on your face, I never thought it would ever really be true. But…I do. She is kind, and compassionate. She never makes me feel like less of a man because of my face. And she has helped me laugh again. I find that in her I have found completion. I hope you have found that in your life as well, my Jenna. I wish it, and pray for it every day, that you are blessed with the love and joy I have found in Christine. You deserve no less, my Jenna. You deserve no less.
I wish you could be here to see my child, Jenna. And I wonder do you have children of your own? I know any child of yours would be beautiful.