The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  Erik took a deep breath to try to calm his spirit, as he made to push away from the table.

  “Wait!” Jenna commanded him before he could stand. “There's one more thing.” She stood and began to scurry off to the kitchen.

  “Jenna, I couldn't possibly eat one more bite…” he protested, his stomach full and his appetite dampened by his sour spirits.

  “Oh, please, Erik,” she begged. “Just…” she held out her hands in front of her, “don't move! I'll be right back!” She turned and dashed into the kitchen.

  Erik rolled his eyes and sighed, “Fine!” and sat back down at the table. He knew, however, that despite his outward bluster, he was going to miss her and her ways of caring for him so much. God, was there any other way to ensure her safety? Did he truly have to send her back?

  True to her word, Jenna reemerged from the kitchen within minutes—carrying a tea service with two extra teacups that appeared to be full of …something…topped with what looked like freshly whipped cream.

  “What's this?” he asked, with narrowed eyes.

  “Homemade chocolate mousse,” she beamed proudly.

  Erik's eyes widened with surprise. “Chocolate Mousse, Jenna?” He asked with delight. “You made it yourself?”

  “Yes, I did,” she nodded. “It's a favorite recipe of mine.” She set down the tray and handed one of the cups to him along with a spoon. “But let me tell you, it's a lot easier to whip up in the twenty first century. If you need a project for your spare time, Monsieur Genius,” she continued, pouring them each a cup of tea, “You should consider inventing the electric mixer. Lifesaving device.”

  Erik chuckled a little at her sage guidance, and loved the way she could coax good humor out of him so easily. “I shall take it under advisement, Mademoiselle Chef!” he responded, wondering if it had ever been so natural to tease before she came into his life? Would he ever laugh again after he made her leave?

  Jenna moved her own seat to be closer to Erik's and looked at him with excitement. “Well…taste it,” she urged, gesturing with her hand for him to take a bite.

  Erik glanced at her a moment more before dipping his spoon into the dessert and bringing it to his mouth. The smooth richness of creamy chocolate exploded on his tongue, and he was certain he had never tasted anything quite so sweet. “Oh my,” he said, mouth partway full. “Jenna, this is delicious! You've come a long way in my kitchen from the night you didn't even know how to make tea!”

  Jenna laughed at that somewhat embarrassing memory as she enjoyed her own bite of mousse. “Well, thank you, Erik. I've quite gotten used to things in the 19th century since then. I think I've gotten rather proficient.”

  “You truly have!” he agreed, enjoying another mouthful of the delectable dessert.

  “There's more in the ice chest. Maybe Omid would like to try some the next time he—”

  “I am not sharing my mousse with the Persian!” Erik declared, a look of horror on his face. “He already drinks all my alcohol!”

  Jenna laughed at Erik's reluctance to part with any of his special treat. “You don't have to share with anyone, Erik. Well,” she added with a giggle, reaching for another spoonful, “except me.”

  “I have no problem sharing with you, Jenna.” He looked up from his dessert and smiled at her.

  Jenna's smile grew even brighter at Erik's obvious enjoyment of her efforts. “This is all for you, Erik. To celebrate.”

  “To celebrate what?” he asked in confusion.

  “Well, opening night, of course!” she told him. “Christine may be singing tonight, but you're the reason why.”

  Jenna was sure she saw Erik's exposed cheek redden a bit self-consciously. “Christine already possessed a beautiful voice, Jenna. I only made her realize its potential.”

  “But if it were not for you,” she insisted, “she would still be working as a seamstress. Your talent will shine through in her voice tonight, Erik. And all of Paris will owe you a debt that it is not Carlotta on stage, strangling the music instead of singing it.”

  Erik cocked his head to look at her, enjoyment in his eyes, “You sound just like me, Jenna.”

  “No,” she quipped back. “If I truly sounded like you, I would have referred to her as a cow, or a bovine, or some other type of farm animal.”

  Erik actually snorted in amusement at her comment, knowing it to be true. When he was joined a second later by her own bell like giggles, he could only look at her and smile. “Oh Jenna,” he sighed without thinking, “I have never before found it so easy to simply be myself.”

  “Well, I'm glad you do now, Erik,” Jenna answered him sweetly, “Because I think your self is pretty wonderful.”

  Erik's eyes locked with Jenna's and he simply gazed at this incredibly beautiful woman before him, taking in the way the candlelight danced in her hair, and glimmered in her eyes. How in heaven had he been fortunate enough to earn her love? How on earth was he ever going to let her go?

  “Erik,” Jenna whispered, leaning forward slightly and reaching a finger toward the corner of his mouth. “You've got a little whipped cream…” her voice trailed off as she wiped the offending confection from his from his face.

  Time stopped as they each inched forward, as if compelled by the force of their shared gaze. “Do I?” Erik murmured as his eyes began to close.

  “Mmmm-hmmmm,” she purred as her lids fluttered shut too.

  Their lips met as if of their own accord, teasing, tasting, becoming reacquainted after too long a separation. Jenna felt Erik's hand move to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair, clasping her to him tenderly, reverently. She snaked one arm around his neck, the other wrapping around his waist pulling him closer, never wanting to let him go. She drank in his essence, as their lips mingled, letting it fill her soul. When the kiss ended, she felt him nuzzle his face against her cheek, before finally resting his forehead against hers, eyes still closed. Their breaths were coming in quick gasps, and she could feel the heat of his desire rising up and blending with hers. “Erik,” she moaned, a breathy sigh.

  Suddenly, she felt him stiffen in her arms. She opened her eyes only to find him gently disengaging himself from their embrace. He rose from his chair and began to pace the floor. “As you know, Jenna,” he began, and his voice sounded thready, strained. “I have not been meeting with Christine in the evenings for our customary voice lessons. That has allowed me the time,” he continued, “to resume my investigation into how to send you back earlier than we'd anticipated.”

  “Erik, it's not—” Jenna began, rising from her seat.

  “I think that I have found the way, Jenna,” Erik continued on.

  “Erik stop—”

  “—but it's going to require that you make a choice—”

  “Erik!” Jenna said, loud enough to break through his rantings. She stood in the path of his pacing, putting her hands gently on his arms to stop him. Jenna looked directly into his eyes, which, though guarded, displayed such sorrow—such pain. It was time to end this ridiculous charade. It was time to tell him she had already made her choice. “I don't want to go home. I want to stay with you, Erik,” she said, her gaze never faltering. “I love you.”

  Three words. Three simple syllables that had never before been uttered for him. He had guessed at her feelings. He had sensed them in her smiles, her actions, her embrace. But to hear them! To hear the words he longed for—words he knew no one would ever say—he was struck breathless by the sound. “Jenna,” he whispered, his own voice tremulous and low. “I love…” He saw her move forward, wrapping her arms around him. Of their own accord, his arms folded around her back, and he held her tightly against him. Oh, she felt so right there—as if she were born to fill his embrace.

  It would be so easy at this moment, to tell her of his love, to ask her to be his, to take her for his own. She had taught him what it was to truly live for the first time. She had shown him, indeed, that he was not a monster. He was no angel either. He was a man
—no more, no less. And as a man, he was free to take her as his woman—his wife.

  They would live a glorious life…together—laughing, loving, arguing, then making up. She would inspire within him new heights of passion. They could discover new joys together that were impossible for them each to know alone. She even made him long to live in the light, once more, for he could imagine nothing more beautiful than waking up to the morning sunbeams dancing brightly in her hair, except, perhaps for the serenity of her smile as she fell asleep at night, tucked into his arms. They could have that, Jenna and him. There had to be some way they could have that.

  Jenna moved even closer and leaned her head against his chest, murmuring, as she did, “Oh, Erik, I could die in your arms.”

  Erik heard her breathless sigh, and his heart made the only response it knew how to make. I would rather you live in them, Jenna. I would rather you live.

  Erik pulled back, and lifted her chin so that she would face him. “…Christine, Jenna,” he finished his sentence, into her widening gaze. “I love Christine.”

  Jenna felt the world fall out from under her as a wave of nausea washed over her. She took a few small steps back. Cheeks red in embarrassment, she asked, “What?” smiling a little in disbelief.

  Erik swallowed the lump that had formed in his throat. “It has always been Christine, Jenna. Her voice,” he paused, his own voice cracking and faltering as he saw the look of betrayal enter her eyes. “Her music. She is the only one, Jenna, who would ever be able to make my song take flight.”

  Jenna closed her eyes against the confusion, and shook her head. She felt her hands shaking, “But you said,” she began, her voice thin and trembling. “You said…” nothing she realized. They had laughed, and they had danced, and they had almost made love—yet he'd made no declarations, given her no promises. She'd read so much into his actions—so much, she realized, that hadn't been there. It had never been about her. She'd been right all along. His heart had always belonged to Christine. She had just been…available. She swallowed hard, her throat suddenly dry and sore. It was the same thing yet again. She hadn't learned a thing! She made herself available. She made herself too easy. She fell in love too fast.

  “I'm sorry, Jenna,” he told her, hating himself for what he was doing to her, dying inside from bearing witness to her pain. “But it will always be Christine.”

  Jenna felt herself sink to her knees, not able to look at him. Her world was crumbling around her, and she felt like she could not breathe. Erik was supposed to have been the one. She had been so sure he was her prince.

  Erik's heart ached in sorrow as he watched Jenna so hurt, so broken—knowing he was the cause. He crouched down next to her, reaching out a hand to comfort her, but he was reminded of another night—one that now seemed so long ago—when his boorish behavior had caused her to cry. Just like then, he let his hand hover over her back, not able to make contact. Once again, he knew he had already done enough to hurt her.

  “I must go, Mademoiselle,” he said softly, rising to his full height. “I do not wish to be late for Christine.” And slowly, quietly, Erik walked away.

  There was a great deal of hustle and bustle in Jenna's hospital room. Ironically, he thought, it was more crowded than it had ever been since she had been there. Nurses were milling about, gathering her belongings, disconnecting I.V.s. Penny was there, sitting on a chair in the corner, staying out of their way. Dr. James was giving her a final examination, to make sure that nothing had changed with her condition. It was strange, he thought to himself. All of this commotion when they were finally giving up. Maybe if she had had this level of attention from everybody around her earlier, she would have been coaxed out of the coma—if for no other reason than to insist everybody leave her alone so she could rest.

  He walked in the room, joining in the fray. He went over to Penny, who rose from her seat to give him a warm, welcoming hug. “I'm so glad you're here.”

  “Did you think I could let her go without saying goodbye?” he asked, his voice cracking on the final word. He was barely holding his emotions in check, and this morning was not going to be easy on him.

  “You brought Red…” she began, smiling down at the carrier.

  “He loves her too,” was his only answer.

  Dr. James approached him after he finished his exam. Putting a hand on his shoulder, he asked, “How are you holding up?”

  He gave a mirthless chuckle, “How do you think?” The agony was clear in his voice. “I really don't agree with this, Doctor.”

  The elder doctor gave a deep sigh. “I know. But I hope one day you'll understand. No matter what we do, we cannot make her wake up.” His only response was to close his eyes and shake his head in silence. “You tried everything, son,” James added, reassuringly.

  “It wasn't enough,” he muttered, not looking up to meet his superior's eyes.

  With a final squeeze to the shoulder, James let him be. He assured Penny that there was no difference in Jenna's condition, and that he was certain she would be fine for the long journey to her new facility. After Penny thanked him, he gave his young charge one last glance before quietly leaving the room. The nurses had finished their ministrations and exited as well, leaving Penny as the only other person in the room.

  “The transporters are going to be here soon,” Penny told him, taking his hand in hers and giving it a squeeze. “I'll give you two some time alone with her.”

  He nodded his thanks silently, as Penny walked out into the hall, closing the door behind her.

  Finally alone with her, he felt his heart pounding in his chest. He walked over to the side of her bed, and with trembling hands, he unzipped Red's carrier, and let Jenna's feline companion free. The cat immediately made his way to her face, rubbing her cheek with his, purring so hard at her presence that he was emitting little squeaks. When a few moments passed without a touch from Jenna, Red let out a long Mreeeeeeow, that at once sounded mournful and pleading, and it was just about all the young doctor could take. “Come here, boy,” he said, tears gathering in his eyes, cradling the cat in his arms. “I'm going to miss her too.” He gave the cat a long, firm squeeze before letting him loose again to snuggle up against his beloved owner's side.

  He turned to Jenna, taking her hand in his. He gazed lovingly at her face, studying her delicate bone structure, memorizing the luminescence of her skin, the fiery blaze of her hair. There were so many beautiful things about Jenna that he longed to commit to memory, because he knew after today, memories were all he'd have. Memories and dreams. Dreams of her walking with him hand in hand in Central Park, or gazing at him across a candlelit table. Dreams of her laughing at one of his corny jokes, or resting her head on his shoulder as they watched TV. Dreams of her falling asleep in his arms after a long night of making love and waking the next morning with a devilish glint in her eyes that told him she was ready for another round. These were all dreams he knew would never come true, dreams at which he'd never had a chance. But he would need them now to sustain him through the devastating blow of losing her.

  “Jenna,” he whispered, his voice hushed and low. “I'm so sorry. I tried so hard—but I failed. I promised you I'd never give up—and I will never give up hoping you awaken—praying that you will one day open your eyes. But…” He swallowed hard before continuing. “They're taking you away, Jenna.”

  “I promise I'll come visit. First chance I get, I'll pack up Red and drive up to Maine to see you. Your boys will not forget you.” He leaned forward and touched his forehead to hers, eyes closed tight against his tears. “I will never forget you, Jenna. Not even for a day. Not even for a heartbeat.”

  “I'm not ready for this,” his voice shook with the effort of holding in the sobs that threatened to overtake him. “I'm not ready to lose you.” His free hand came up to gently cup her cheek. “I love you,” he whispered, and he placed a soft, gentle kiss on her lips as the tears rolled down his face.

  Jenna still stared straight ahead of h
er, feeling empty, seeing nothing. She had no idea how long ago Erik had gone—was it an hour already? A heartbeat? All she knew was that he had gone. He had left her, once again, alone in his home. He had left her for Christine.

  She had known. She had always known that he had loved Christine. Looking back, she was the one who had been trying to convince him of that. So why had she let herself believe—even for one moment—that he could possibly love her?

  She was nothing, when compared to Christine. She was not talented—she was not beautiful. She would not be the one singing tonight on the Paris Opera stage, bringing him joy, and pride and elation. She couldn't give him any of those things.

  But she had loved him. For the first time, she thought, she had truly been in love with another human being. She had wanted him imperfections and all. She had strived to show him he was beautiful in her eyes. She had held him close to her heart, and given him acceptance, and trust, and friendship. She adored the man that he was. But it was not enough. Erik did not want to be with her as a man. He wanted someone who believed in angels—especially an angel who would place her high on a pedestal and worship the very air that she breathed. He wanted Christine. And she had always known that.

  But she had loved him anyway.

  And it hurt.

  Jenna somehow found the strength in her legs to stand. They were a bit wobbly, but they somehow still worked. The pounding in her head was absolutely excruciating, and it reminded her of that night—that seemed a lifetime ago—when she left work early, only to find her life forever changed. She had run that night, away from the horror of another broken relationship, and her flight had landed her here. Where could she run this time, she wondered. How could she escape the pain?

  One thing she knew for sure, she could not stay here. If Erik wanted Christine then he should have her, but she could not stay here and watch. Her heart was not strong enough for that abuse. She had to find somewhere else to stay, until Erik could explain to her what he'd found out about getting her home. Maybe Omid would take her in.