The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  “Yes,” Jenna answered, giving Erik a slight smile. “Red is my cat, back home.”

  “Red,” Erik began in a condescending tone, “is a hue, not a name. I shall be taking on the task of naming this little one,” he said, once again looking at the kitten who was still purring contentedly in his arms. “So as to ensure that she has a proper designation, not a color.”

  Jenna opened her mouth to defend her choice of name for her beloved cat, but Omid merely snickered.

  “Samineh,” Erik called the kitten in a hushed tone. “You shall be named Samineh.”

  “Erik,” Omid chimed in, “You have merely called her Delicate One in Persian.”

  “It is fitting, isn't it, Daroga,” Erik insisted, looking over at Omid. “She is small, and dainty, and oh, so elegant. She is a very delicate lady who deserves a name as graceful as she is.” He finished his commentary with a slight smile.

  “I think it's a beautiful name, Erik.” Jenna said, feeling her heart swell at his sweetness with the kitten happily asleep in his arms. “Much better than Fifi.”

  Erik wrinkled his eyes at her. “Fifi? Really, Jenna! How revolting!”

  “Pardon me! That was my suggestion,” Omid corrected him, pretending to look miffed.

  “Oh, well that doesn't surprise me!” Erik commented rolling his eyes to heaven. “You've never been one for grace, Daroga.”

  Omid chuckled again, ignoring Erik's insult. Instead, he asked, “So how was your lesson, Angel?”

  “Unless you mean for me to become your angel of doom,” Erik began, glaring at the Persian, “You will not call me that again, Daroga.”

  “Oh all right, Mighty Phantom,” Omid corrected his choice of appellation, throwing his hands up in the air in a defensive gesture. “How was your lesson with Christine?”

  Erik shook his head in disdain at the Persian, but answered anyway, his tone once again becoming wistful. “Christine,” his eyes stared straight in front of him at some unknown vision, his fingers still absently stroking Samineh's fur, “was exquisite. Even simply running scales and vocalizing, Daroga, she possesses the most beautiful voice I have ever heard—already far superior to Carlotta. It is simply her meekness and the management's incompetence that prevents Christine from taking her rightful place in the spotlight.”

  Jenna listened to Erik extol Christine's virtues and felt a pit begin to form in her stomach. The way Erik talked about Christine—it was obvious he felt more for her than simply the admiration of a good singing voice. She remembered the night before, when she had heard Erik singing, and how his voice had made her feel. It was clear he was feeling somewhat similarly for Christine. He was becoming infatuated with her, and for some reason, that knowledge made Jenna feel a little queasy.

  But that was ridiculous! Jenna shook her head a little as if to rid herself from the thought. Jenna did not belong here, and Erik had promised that he would help her find a way home. It's not as if either of them wanted her to stay here permanently. So what if he was becoming interested in the seamstress that he was teaching how to sing? It's not as if he could possibly be interested in her!

  There you go again, Jenna, she scolded herself silently, falling for the wrong guy. And this one's not even from your century. Plus, he has some pretty terrible mood swings and is very quick to rush to judgment. And of course, there was the mask. What was he hiding behind the mask? Regardless of what Omid had said, all she could see were two very beautiful, but very guarded eyes. And she sighed as she remembered the half smiles that she had seen light up his visible features. How she wished she could see the rest of his smile. And that voice…

  STOP it Jenna! she mentally screamed at herself. These kinds of thoughts could not possibly end well. Especially since he's got a thing for the seamstress that he has to talk to from behind a wall! Behind a wall! Who could possibly fall in love with him from behind a wall? Of course, her traitorous mind pointed out to her, you're starting to fall for him from behind a mask.

  “UUUGGGH!” Jenna growled out loud, grabbing her head with both hands, trying to get her double-crossing brain to stop.

  Omid and Erik ceased their conversation at once. “Jenna, are you alright?” Erik asked her, releasing the kitten and immediately hastening to her side, his voice tense with concern.

  She mentally cursed herself for groaning out loud and looked straight in Erik's worried blue and brown eyes, assuring him, “I'm ok, Erik. I was just thinking…”

  “Did it hurt?” Omid interjected, earning him a dark look from Erik. Omid looked back at him innocently, causing Jenna to chuckle a bit at his well-placed joke.

  “…that dinner was getting cold,” she finished her thought with a smile. “Come on, Gentlemen. It's time to eat.” She said, removing herself to the kitchen, Samineh scampering behind her, tail held high in the air.

  “I hope you bought yourself some good liquor at the market today, Daroga,” Erik said, making his way to the kitchen to help Jenna carry out the meal.

  “Of course not, Erik. That's what I have you for, my friend!” the Persian responded, taking his place at Erik's small dining table. “After all, I don't exactly stick around here for your charm!”

  Red was once again curled up at the foot of Jenna's bed. The iPhone was playing the Phantom soundtrack, and Jenna's doctor was about to try his next experiment. “Sense of smell,” he muttered out loud to himself, as he set his scent samples out on her bedside tray, which he had rolled across the room, so that she could deal with one smell at a time.

  “OK, Jenna,” he said, approaching her bed with the first in his arsenal of aromas. “I am thinking about switching aftershaves,” he said, reaching the small bottle of green liquid under her nose, and wafting the scent toward her. “What do you think of this one?” Jenna made no indication that she smelled anything, so he held up the bottle with the blue liquid and asked her, “Do you prefer this one? Please don't make me let Red decide,” he noticed the cat's ear twitch at the mention of his name. “I'm not sure his judgment in this case would be very sound. After all,” he grimaced “he seems perfectly content with the smell of his litter box.” When she still made no response, he did not allow himself to get discouraged. He knew that the sense of smell was a difficult one to stimulate for coma patients, so he was just going to continue and hope he could get her to react to something. He reminded himself of that exhilarating moment when she had grasped his hand while listening to the music. That had proven to him that she was still in there, and he would just keep trying different things to get her to respond.

  “OK, you're unimpressed. I will figure out the aftershave question myself.” He walked back over to the table and picked up a small bowl of crushed garlic. “Time for the vampire test,” he joked as he returned to Jenna's side. “If you recoil from this smell, you might just be one of the undead.” He made his voice low and tremulous as he said his last word, going for a spooky effect. Red opened one eyeball at the comment and grumbled as if in disdain. “Hush you,” he said to the outspoken feline. “No comments from the peanut gallery.” He placed the bowl under her nose and waited for a reaction. Nothing. “Well, Jenna, apparently you pass that test.” Red yawned, as if to say, “I told you so.” He sighed, and went back to the table for the spicy mustard. He dipped his finger in it and extended his hand to her face, his fingers gently brushing her lips as he did so. He shivered a bit at the contact, and admitted to Jenna, “OK, I don't have a cute line for this one, Jenna. But if you can smell it, can you let me know in some way? Crinkle your nose, turn your head away…slap me! Just…something.” He watched her closely for any hint of a reaction. He thought he did see a slight scrunch of her nose, and maybe a slight attempt to pull away. “Hmmm.” he thought. “We may have gotten somewhere there.”

  He looked around the room, and his eyes settled on a bouquet of red roses and white carnations that was on her windowsill. He walked over and reached for the card, thinking it strange that she should have received flowers, wishing it had been him who'
d sent them. Get well soon, Love Aunt Penny, he read the card aloud. “Ahhhh,” he said. “Your aunt sends her best wishes.” He reached into the arrangement and picked out one of the roses, carrying it over to Jenna. “Well, let's see if her flowers can help.” He held the rose out to her and he was certain he noticed a small smile on her lips. “Oh,” he said quietly. “You like the scent of roses.” He kept the fragrant flower by her nose a moment longer, imagining her dressed in a beautiful evening gown, arms outstretched toward him as he gave her an entire bouquet of red roses, tied together by a silky ribbon. “Roses do have a beautiful smell,” he said to her, his voice taking on a husky quality as he imagined her moving into his arms, stretching up on her tiptoes to thank him with a kiss, and he began to trail the flower down to trace her lips. “But they feel beautiful against the skin too, don't you think?” In his mind the bouquet was placed on a table as he wrapped her tightly in his embrace. He continued to glide the petals of the rose slowly across her cheeks, her eyelids, her forehead, his own lips slightly open, watching intently for her reaction. “I had meant to only work on your sense of smell today, Jenna,” he whispered, as he saw her slightly shudder in response to the delicate touch of the rose. In his fantasy, she was shuddering at the gentle probing of his tongue and he once again brought the rose downward toward her slightly parted lips. “But you seem so much more sensitive to touch.” When his flower reached her chin, Jenna's head fell slightly back, and he felt himself trembling as he continued the rose's trail down her neck, imagining branding a path of hot kisses down the elegant length of her throat. “Jenna…” he rasped as her saw her take in a sharp breath at the teasing of the rose.

  “Interesting therapy session you're holding there, Doctor.”

  He dropped the rose on Jenna's bed and whirled around to see Dr. Charleson leaning up against the now open door to the room. He must have been too distracted by his fantasy to notice Charleson knock—if he had bothered to knock. “Good evening, Doctor,” he said, stretching his mouth into a tight smile which he was sure was fooling no one. “What brings you to my patient's room?”

  “Oh,” Charleson began, as he slowly approached her bed. “When you missed the staff meeting this afternoon,” Dammit, he thought to himself. He had completely forgotten about that stupid meeting. “I was…concerned. I asked Dr. James if you were alright.” Charleson arrived at Jenna's bedside and reached out to take the chart at the foot of her bed, raising an eyebrow when Red hissed at him and jumped to the floor. “He said he was sure you were just swamped with your patient load, and the extra research project you had taken on.” Charleson flipped open the chart, perusing it as he continued, “I told him I hadn't heard about that, and he explained that you were going to perform Coma Arousal Therapy on Miss Wilson.”

  “Yes,” he agreed, tracking Charleson's every move. “That is what the technique is called.”

  “Uh huh.” Charleson nodded, continuing to peruse Jenna's chart, looking completely unconvinced. “Well, please, enlighten me.” He closed the chart and casually leaned against Jenna's footboard, looking at the young doctor expectantly.

  He really wanted to wipe the smug look off of Charleson's face, of course, but being the senior resident, Charleson had every right to question him about his technique. ”It's simply a matter of intense sensory stimulation, in the hopes that enough of it will actually incite the brain back to consciousness.”

  “Ah, I see. And have you had success at stimulating her, Doctor?” Charleson asked, sarcasm dripping off his every word. “Has she been aroused?”

  “Dr. Charleson,” he said, taking a deep breath, desperately trying to maintain a professional demeanor, Charleson's double meaning not lost on him. “Would you care to step outside the patient's room with me, so we can discuss this further?”

  “Oh, I'm quite comfortable right here, Doctor,” Charleson answered. “Please answer my question.”

  “Miss Wilson might hear us discussing her case, Doctor,” he tried again to get Charleson out of the room before he lost his cool.

  “But that would be good, right?” Charleson countered. “Hearing about her condition would be rather stimulating for her, don't you think? Of course, you are the expert on arousal.”

  In a clipped tone, he answered. “Miss Wilson has shown some limited response to sensory stimuli.”

  “Such as…” Charleson raised an expectant eyebrow.

  He huffed as he said, “She has squeezed my hand when directed, has wrinkled her nose at aversive smells, and has shivered at gentle touch.”

  “Oh yes,” Charleson commented. “I think I walked in on her shivering. You too.”

  He had had enough of Charleson's implications. Pushing his lab coat open and setting his hands on his hips, he demanded, “OK, just what are you getting at Charleson?”

  “That you are playing a dangerous game, Doctor,” Charleson responded, keeping his cool gaze locked on the young resident at all times.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Your interest in her has gone beyond the professional, Doctor, and you know it.”

  “Dr. Charleson,” he began through gritted teeth. “I must demand that you step out of the room if you intend to make such unfounded accusations. I do not need your baseless allegations to agitate my patient.”

  “No,” Charleson retorted, standing up to his full height. “Fondling her with a red rose will agitate her enough. Or was that what you referred to as stimulation?”

  “Please leave, Doctor,” he demanded, towering over Charleson at his own full height, jaw set, eyes blazing.

  “I'm going,” Charleson said, beginning to make his way toward the door. “But I'm watching you,” he said, turning back to face him, before leaving. “And I have no problem reporting you to Dr. James if I feel you've crossed a line.” He walked out of the room, saying “Good evening, Doctor.”

  He sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, his head buried in his hands. After a moment, he felt Red jump back up to rub against his forehead as if to ask what was wrong. He reached out absently to stroke Red's fur, but looked toward Jenna, who seemed to be slumbering comfortably in her bed. “Oh, Jenna,” he said, “I really really hope you wake up soon. We may be running out of time.”

  Erik sat down at his piano again, after the Daroga had gone. Jenna had graciously offered to clean the dinner dishes so that he could have some more time to play. Little Samineh had taken up residence on his settee. He coaxed song after song from the piano, but none of them sounded exactly right to his ears. His mind was once again divided. He would think about Christine, so pure and lovely in her innocence and her talent, yet without warning, his mind would be on Jenna, and her unexplainable situation that had brought her to his domain. He would glance over at the kitten, so soft and peaceful as she slept on the settee, enjoying her new home, and without realizing it, his mind would wander to the promise he had made to Jenna, remembering that if he was successful, she would be leaving. He felt the ache from earlier in the day begin to creep back up into his head, and he was grateful, when he saw Jenna emerge from the kitchen carrying a tea tray. Remembering the previous night, however, he groaned in dread, and he felt the pulsing in his head intensify.

  “Jenna…you made tea?” he asked, the uncertainty in his voice completely apparent. “Again?”

  Jenna smiled and said, “Yes, Erik. I made it the right way, this time,” she assured him, as she set down the tray and poured him a cup of the steaming brew and handed it to him. “I watched you last night, and I'm a quick study.”

  Erik wordlessly looked into the cup in his hands and then back up at her. “Drink it,” she commanded him with a smile. “I promise, you won't spit it out.”

  I promise to do my best, he thought, fortifying himself for what could very possibly be another exceptionally unpleasant experience, but that doesn't mean I won't want to. He dared to take the smallest sip of the piping hot liquid in his teacup. Rich and soothing, it was delicious. “Well, Mademoiselle,” Erik allowed
himself a brief smile, and Jenna thrilled at the look of approval in his eyes. “You certainly are a quick study—as you say. This is very good.”

  “Thank you, Erik,” she smiled and took a sip from her own cup, agreeing that her tea making skills had improved greatly overnight. Erik shifted over a bit on the piano bench, making room for her to take a seat next to him, since his settee was currently otherwise occupied. They sat in silence a few moments, sipping their tea, having discussed the events of the day earlier, over dinner. It was not an awkward moment, though. Erik seemed simply content, and that contentment did much to calm her own heart. When Erik was finished with his tea, Jenna took his cup and set it back on the tray. She looked at him and said, quietly, “Thank you, Erik, for letting Samineh stay here.”

  Erik glanced over at the little feline curled up on his settee and responded, “I have long appreciated animals, Jenna. They are not judgmental and unkind, as many humans tend to be.”

  “I think animals do judge, Erik,” Jenna countered him. “But they judge based on character, and they can sense a good soul immediately. Look how quickly Samineh warmed up to you.”

  Erik glanced back at Jenna and gave her a little crooked smirk. “Obviously, her sense of judgment must be a bit off.”

  Jenna rolled her eyes at him. “Take my cat Red, for instance…who, by the way,” she said as an aside, remembering his earlier jab at the moniker, “was named, for his tendency to look simply dashing in his red collar, thank you very much.” Erik nodded and held his hands open in a sign of appeasement. “When I first introduced him to my boyfriend Jake, Red hissed and scrambled away from me. I should have known right then,” she chuckled, “that Jake was not a good idea. Listen to the animals my mom always used to say. They know.” Jenna looked off into the distance, a sad smile on her face, as she finished her thought.