The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  “Which is why I did,” he returned, self-deprecating humor now clear in his crinkled eyes.

  Jenna's smile grew brighter as she noticed a smudge of mud on Erik's face. She reached forward with her finger to wipe it away, only to have Erik catch her hand with his as she touched his cheek. He did not brush her hand away, but simply held it, a look of surprise in his eyes. The intensity of his gaze made her look down, and she slowly extricated her hand from his grasp and lowered her arm to wrap it, and its partner, around herself in embarrassment. “I'm sorry,” she said quietly as she studied the ground. “You had some mud on your cheek.”

  Erik drew a shaky breath and responded, “I'm sure my appearance is disastrous beyond imagination after my impromptu swim.” He joined her a moment in her scrutiny of the dirt beneath their feet, before asking, “Shall we go? It's time we get back, since our friends have a busy day tomorrow.”

  Jenna looked up at Erik once again and saw only kindness in his eyes. She smiled at him as she nodded her agreement, and they retrieved their belongings and began to make their way back to the boat. As they walked, Jenna was filled with a sense of well-being. She and Erik had truly made a great team that night—even though she did not really know for what cause they were teaming up. She thought about the fun she had and how much she had enjoyed assisting Erik in this caper. She decided to ask her unvoiced question from earlier—the sense of camaraderie having grown between them during their toad-hunting adventure.

  “Erik, you said earlier that your home was underground,” she began easily. “What exactly is it under? And where do you go when you go above that has seamstresses, and mean women, and…old fashioned dresses?” she gestured to the green dress which she wore under her cloak.

  Erik stopped their progress to look at her, feeling his heart begin to beat rapidly in his chest. Would it be a mistake to tell her? He had never before revealed the location of his lair to another human being—except to the Persian, and he hardly counted. He knew that her understanding of her surroundings was paramount to her safety, but surely explaining the dangers of the tunnels would be enough. Was it required of him to reveal their exact location? If she had heard stories of the Opera Ghost… But no, he reminded himself, with a deep breath. That shouldn't be a problem. For in her mind's addled state, she believed she lived in New York! Certainly tales of his misdeeds had not traveled that far.

  “I reside beneath the Palais Garnier, my lady,” he told her with a resolute look upon his face. “In the fifth cellar, to be exact.”

  “Beneath the Palais Garnier?” Jenna echoed in response. This was the first clue Erik had given her to their exact location, and that name sounded somehow familiar. She knew that he was under the impression that they were in Paris, but surely there must be some equivalent to the Palais Garnier in New York. She felt her brow crease as she worked her brain trying to remember that name, when suddenly it was like a fog lifted and she blurted out, “The Paris Opera House!”

  Erik froze at the recognition in her voice. Perhaps she had heard of the ghost, and telling her their exact location had broken through the dementia in her brain. “That is what I just said, Mademoiselle,” he confirmed in breathless trepidation.

  Jenna surmised that if Erik thought they were living under the Paris Opera House, then that could mean he was truly making his residence under the Met. She marveled to think such an amazing underground world could be hidden beneath Lincoln Square. Was the lake by his house somehow connected to the pond in Central Park? It wasn't so far away, and certainly, that must be where they were now, for in the concrete jungle that was Manhattan, where else would there be such forested land?

  Erik must have noticed the intense look on her face, because she heard nerves in his voice as he inquired, “Mademoiselle, are you alright?”

  Jenna looked up at him and smiled. “I'm fine, Erik,” she said, with a warm tone. “Now let's get these frogs ready for their mission.”

  Erik smiled back at her, but there was a definite look of disquiet in his eyes. They turned to continue on their way when Jenna asked, “So what is their mission, Erik?”

  Erik began to haltingly explain his plan for the frogs. Jenna listened in amusement as they retread the winding path back to the lake, every now and then letting loose a giggle. She noticed that with each little chuckle, Erik's voice increased a bit in confidence and before long, they arrived at the makeshift dock where they had left the boat, both laughing at the prospect of playing a prank on Carlotta—who sounded just awful to Jenna.

  Erik placed the sack with the toads carefully in the corner of the boat and climbed in himself, reaching out a hand to steady Jenna's entrance. Just as she was about to take his hand in hers, Jenna heard a noise. She realized in that moment that the sound meant there were other people nearby.

  She looked at Erik, who was still gazing at her expectantly, his hand outstretched toward hers. She glanced behind her at the sound of civilization, calling her toward her home—her life. She felt herself take a few steps backward, while looking at Erik, seeing his face fall in confusion. She found she didn't want to leave him—not after the kindness he had shown her, not after the fun they had had together that night. But she knew this could be her only chance. She felt a moment's regret, as she looked in Erik's bewildered eyes, and mouthed I'm sorry. At the last moment, he must have realized what she was going to do, because he lunged forward to grab her arm, but he was too late. She dashed away, out of his reach, and off in the direction of the clamor, hearing him curse in the darkness behind her.

  The doctor looked through the patient library and realized that the selection was truly dismal. He thumbed through volume after volume of grocery store romance novels, with bodice ripper covers that featured artificially well muscled men with long, flowing blond hair—often wearing a kilt. At their feet, sprawled in some sort of prone position, were scantily clad, simpering heroines—blond, brunette, or ginger, it didn't matter. He had hoped to spend his upcoming break reading a bit to Jenna, but coma, or not, he could not bring himself to read her this trash. He knew the hospital relied on donations to build their patient library, but if this collection was any indication of the kind of donations they accepted, they were going to have to become more selective.

  Having no luck in the adult section, he made his way down the shelf to the pediatric selections. Here, there were similarly disappointing offerings. He sincerely doubted Jenna's interest in Spongebob Squarepants finding a Crabby Patty or in what would happen If You Gave a Mouse a Cookie. “How 'bout we put the cookie in a mousetrap and find out?” he muttered under his breath in exasperation. He wanted to read to Jenna to stimulate her brain, not to bore it into a deeper state of unconsciousness.

  Finally, for lack of anything else even remotely appropriate, he signed out a thick volume of old fairytales and made his way to Jenna's room. At least they were classics, he thought. And he could always embellish them if they seemed too simplistic.

  He knocked on the door when he reached Jenna's room—mostly out of habit, but he had to admit that a small part of him wished she would somehow answer him, even if it were to tell him to go away. He opened the door and found her laying in her bed, as always, her strawberry blond curls fanned out behind her, those vibrant aqua eyes shielded by lids lowered as if in sleep. How he wished she would awaken. His heart beat a little faster as he fantasized about seeing her waking first thing in the morning—her lids fluttering open, as sunlight poured in through the window, and her lips turned up into a grin. She would whisper his name sleepily, and he would reach for her, placing gentle kisses on her forehead before he closed his eyes and…

  Read! He told himself, pulling up a chair and sitting down alongside her hospital bed. He opened the book to a random page and looking down, read out loud, “The Frog Prince.” He rolled his eyes once again at the lack of selection in the library and began to read.

  “Once upon a time, there was a prince who was enchanted by an evil sorceress. She changed him into a frog
and forced him to live in the palace garden under a bush, near the pond. After many years, the sorceress died, but still the frog remained, living in the garden, under a bush, near the pond. One day, a mighty King moved into the palace, and his daughter, a beautiful angel of a girl, with golden curls and blue-as-the-sky eyes,” the doctor smiled at her description and looked again at Jenna, as she listened tranquilly to his tale, “went to play in the garden with her golden ball. When she lost the ball in the pond, she became very upset. Upon hearing her cries, the prince—who was still a frog—hopped out from under his bush and asked her what was wrong. She explained that she lost her ball, and he assured her he could find it for her, if she would only promise him one thing.

  “'Oh, anything at all!' declared the girl, certain there could be no promise the frog would demand that would be too difficult for her to keep.

  “The Frog hopped into the water and in no time had lifted out her little toy, and she took it, overjoyed at having her treasure back. When she thanked him and asked him what favor he would ask, he said simply that he would like to be her friend.

  “The girl thought it was strange to have a frog for a friend, but she had made a promise, and so she agreed. Every day, she returned to the garden and spent time with her new best friend. They would play with the ball, and talk under the tree, and sometimes, he would present her with a lily that had grown on the surface of the water, where he made his home. Before long, the little girl truly loved her froggy friend, and felt sad that she got to live in the castle, while he was forced to live alone in the pond.

  “That night, when it was time for her to return to her home, she lifted the frog, and took him with her to the palace. She introduced him to her maids and butlers as Lord Froggington of the Land of Toad. She set him beside her at the table, allowing him to nibble a bit of food from her plate. And at bedtime, she set him gently on the pillow next to hers, and tucked him in with a handkerchief so that he could sleep. Before darkening the lamp by her bedside, she leaned over and bestowed on the frog a goodnight kiss, and was amazed when there, in place of her frog, was a handsome prince, who leapt from the bed and knelt down before her, taking her hand.

  “'My lady, your kindness has banished my ugliness and your sweetness has revealed my true princely nature that has been hidden under the guise of a toad. I asked for your friendship, and you gave me your love. And now I ask for the treasure of your hand in marriage, because truly, my lady, you have already stolen my heart.'

  “The princess leaned forward and kissed the prince once more, to seal their bond. They were married the next morning, and the King handed them the keys to his kingdom as a wedding gift. They all lived happily ever after.”

  He sighed as he read the final words of the story. “Such drivel,” he muttered under his breath. “Fairy tales never come true.” He closed the book loudly and looked up at Jenna. She was smiling. It was a radiant smile—the kind she would bestow on him in his dreams—and he realized it took his breath away. Unaware of what he was doing, he began to lean in closer to her, mesmerized by her beauty.

  Suddenly, he saw her hands begin to blindly reach out for something. He watched her intently, amazed when her hand found his cheek. Without thinking, he reached up his own hand, to hold her palm against his face. He loved the feel of it, and he turned his face into it slightly, leaning a little into her unknowing caress. “Wake up, Jenna,” he entreated, breathlessly, his eyes closed at the delight of her touch. “Please wake up.” He opened his eyes and gazed at her intently for a few moments more, willing her with all his being to open her eyes.

  But she did not. Her lids remained closed, and eventually the smile faded from her face, and her hand grew limp and he placed it gently at her side.

  He would not give up on her, he thought, as he worked to return his breathing to normal. He told himself it was because she was his patient, and she was relying on him to get her well. He reminded himself that she had no family, no friends she could count on so the burden of her recovery fell on him. But he knew that he would keep trying for a different reason—however unprofessional that reason might be. Though medicine may not be able to pull her out of this coma, he was sure now, more than ever, that she was aware of what was going on around her. Kindness and caring could coax her back to them, and he planned to show her as much kindness and caring as he possibly could. For he knew after today, that he could not stop caring for her if he tried.

  9 REALIZATIONS

  Damn her! Erik fumed as he scrambled his way out of the boat. How could he have been such a fool? No sooner had he revealed his secrets to that cunning charlatan, that false deceiver, than she had run from him—to betray him, no doubt, to the managers. Perhaps this whole thing had been a farce—perhaps Moncharmin and Robert' had hired her to pose as a helpless little convalescent to cause him to let down his guard and expose his vulnerabilities. And it had worked! All she'd had to do was bat her eyes and flash a little smile, and he had divulged the hidden mysteries of his home. This is what came of trusting other people. This is what came of believing that there could be more for him than a life of solitude. No one wants to befriend a monster, Erik, he goaded himself. No princess ever really kisses the toad.

  He hurried off in the direction in which she ran, calling after her, yet knowing she would not turn back. Before long, the little clearing gave way to the city streets of Paris, which, even at this time of night, did not truly sleep. The carousers were always immersed in inebriated celebration, the seedy gentleman always engaged with ladies of the night. The soft thuds of his boots pounding the soil transformed into the loud cracks of them striking the sidewalk, as Erik rounded a corner and was met with a sight that stopped his heart. The girl was standing in the middle of the road, looking as stunned as the toads, while a fast moving carriage was bounding straight for her!

  “GENEVIEVE!” He bellowed as he launched forward from the sidewalk and into the street, shoving her out of the way just as the carriage barreled past. As they flew toward the opposite sidewalk, Erik wrapped his arms around her, cushioning her head from the impact of the fall. When they landed, with her beneath him, he pulled back slightly, holding her still by her shoulders and frantically scanning her shocked form for injuries. When he was satisfied that there were none, his look of concern turned to a glare. “Was near drowning not enough for you today, Mademoiselle?” he seethed at her through clenched teeth. “Were you so eager to be rid of me that you wished to add being crushed and mangled to your evening activities?” He roughly released her shoulders and thrust her away from him, as he pulled himself up to a sitting position.

  Jenna pushed up to support herself on her elbows, still breathless, both from the near accident and from Erik's obvious fury. “Erik, please,” she began in a brittle voice.

  “Please what?!” He growled at her, his eyes flashing with anger. “Please tell you more of my secrets so that I can give you additional ammunition to betray me?”

  “Erik, no,” she whimpered, shaking her head pathetically.

  “Please take you further into my confidence, so that your deceptions can fuel even greater destruction?” he spat, his voice thick with emotion as he rose to his feet and raked his fingers through his hair, pacing back and forth.

  “Erik, stop,” she pleaded, tears filling her eyes.

  “I should have stopped!” he turned on her, towering over her imposingly, “before I told you where I live. Before I revealed to you the secrets of my existence.”

  Jenna just shook her head from side to side, the tears spilling silently down her cheeks.

  “I can never even rest in my own home now, knowing that you know—knowing that you have the power to destroy me.”

  “Erik…” she wept, imploring him to listen.

  He leaned over her, and bringing his face so close to hers they were almost touching, he shouted, “You could have died tonight! Is that what you wanted?” When she flinched away from him in fear, he stood once more, pacing the ground. “I trusted you,�
�� he hissed, his own eyes shining with unshed tears of rage.

  Jenna looked down and her body was wracked with sobs. She curled into herself, resting her head on her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs as she sat there and violently wept.

  Erik looked at her in disgust, as she rocked slightly back and forth, her back heaving with sobs. Well, she has only herself to blame for her tears, he thought, as he stalked the ground, his ire not allowing him to be still. He had shown her every kindness, tending her wounds, giving her shelter, even allowing her to accompany him on his outing when he could have simply locked her away. He had treated her as a guest when she was nothing more than an intruder! And the first chance she got, she had betrayed him—putting herself in grave danger as she did so! He had every right to yell at her, the way he saw it. She had almost died, and once again, he had saved her, thinking nothing of his own safety in doing so! Why is she still crying in a heap on the ground? He wondered, his fingers tangled in his hair. She should be thanking me! I saved her life after she betrayed me! Why will she not stop crying?

  He stopped again to look at her, certain that his brain would explode if he had to endure her sobs much longer, and suddenly, it was as if the wind had been knocked out of him. He had done this to her, he realized. And for what? Some imagined slight on her part that may not even be true. He had decided that her intent was to betray him—yet he saw no evidence of it. He'd seen no proof, and still, he painted her a Jezebel. The only thing he knew for certain was that, when she had the chance, she had run from him. Given the fact that this was the most natural reaction in the world when confronted with a monster, in truth, she had committed no sin.

  He silently crouched down next to her, lifting his hand to comfort her in her sorrow. But as his hand hovered over her back, he found that he could not make contact. He had done enough this night to hurt her. He would not allow his touch to taint her as well.