The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  Jenna felt something furry at her feet, and looked down to see Samineh curling around her ankles. “Hey, Sweetie,” she whispered, as she picked the little kitten up for a cuddle. Suddenly an image of her own dear Red entered her mind, and she could almost hear his purrs—the squeaky little rumbles he would sound when he was perfectly content. Would she ever get to see him again, she wondered, and she ached to touch him, as she set down Samineh on the settee—another cat she would have to leave behind.

  Jenna found herself walking down by the lake, gazing into the greenish waters that were forever shrouded in mystery. Drawn on by the rippling current, she continued to wander until the terrain once again became rough. Remembering her last jaunt to this part of the cavern, which had ended with her falling into the lake, Jenna thought she should head back. With the gala performance happening upstairs, chances were slim that Omid would come to save her from drowning.

  But just as she began to turn, she noticed a light glowing from deep in the cavern ahead of her. Strange, she thought. It had not been there before. She ventured a few more steps down the twisting path before she saw it—a wooden door, curved at the top, light spilling through the slats. Her heart stopped beating in her chest, and she stood there mouth agape, staring at it. She felt her knees begin to go weak as she realized that this was it—the secret door, that she had begun to believe did not exist. Erik had been right. Somehow, he had found a way to send her home. She didn't know how he did it, but she did not feel she should wait around for him to explain. There was nothing to hold her here any longer—Erik had made his feelings quite clear. She began to take a few more steps toward the door, and she saw it open, quite on its own, revealing a long, familiar tunnel before her.

  She thought briefly of Omid, and a melancholy smile crossed her lips. Oh, she would miss him and his silly ways. She wished that she had had a chance to say goodbye to him—maybe give him a hint as to where Erik had hidden the Cognac. “I will miss you, Daroga,” she whispered, as a few burning tears sprung to her eyes.

  When she had reached the entrance to the door, she took in a deep breath and placed her hand on her chest to steady her fluttering heart. It was then that she felt it—the cameo that Erik had given her, was still hanging from her neck. She reached behind and loosed the ties, taking one last, longing look at the exquisite rosebud that had never quite fully burst into bloom. The tears overtook her and she sobbed as she leaned down and laid the treasure on the rocky shore. “For Christine,” she said, as she once again left one of Erik's roses behind. And then, with a shattered heart, she stepped one foot through the door.

  38 HOME

  Christine. He heard the deception pounding in his head as he stormed through the tunnel toward Box 5. It will always be Christine. Those words were sickening to his ears—the pierce of a dagger every time they echoed. He closed his lids against the torment, but still he could see Jenna's eyes—so haunted by pain and disbelief. Her voice had sounded so brittle, so hollow. The betrayal had been an almost physical thing between them—one he wished he could shake and strangle and crush to pieces with his bare hands. But the damage had been done. One look at Jenna's face had told him that her heart was broken—and he cursed himself that he should have been the cause.

  Erik slammed a fist into the stone wall of the tunnel. Then, with a guttural growl, he slammed it three times more, finally hanging his head as he used his battered hands to brace himself against the wall. Why did he have to hurt her—Jenna, the one woman in the world who had seen his shame and still looked at him with love and not revulsion? He had wanted nothing more than to hold her and love her for the rest of his life, and amazingly, she had wanted the same. He had somehow found his miracle—but because he loved her, he had been forced to let her go.

  He knew he had had no choice. He knew it was for Jenna's well being. Still he feared that he had managed to break them both beyond repair—for now he found that he could not breathe with the pressure of guilt and loss and pain weighing so heavily on his chest. He had seen so much agony in his life. He had known the loss of his dignity, his pride, his hope. How was it that losing Jenna's love could hurt so much? “I'm still not ready, Jenna,” he groaned in the darkness. “I'm still not ready to lose you.”

  A spark ignited in his mind. He didn't have to lose her, he realized, slowly lifting his head. He had to let her go, but he didn't have to let her go alone. He could go to her, he thought, starting to move away from the wall. He could tell her that he lied, and beg for her forgiveness, groveling at her feet. And then he could explain to her how to open the door and he could go through with her! After all, he thought, as he turned and began to walk back the way he had come, she had come here, to this place out of her time. What was to prevent him from joining her in her world?

  Erik's footsteps increased in speed and soon he was running, sprinting away from the gala night. He could not cross the lake fast enough, to right the wrong he had committed and tell Jenna how sorry he was and how much he really did love her. “Jenna!” he shouted as he tied the boat to the dock. “Jenna, I'm sorry.” He charged into the sitting room, rushing into the kitchen when he could not find her. “Jenna!” He called as he knocked on her bedroom door. “Jenna, please listen to me.” When she did not answer, he pounded harder. “Jenna, talk to me, I beg of you. I lied, Jenna. It's not Christine I love—it's you.” The door creaked open at his insistent banging, and he realized that she was not inside. “Jenna?” he whispered in his confusion.

  In the silence of his home, the rush of water suddenly caught his attention, and icy fingers of dread began to inch across his stomach. He was compelled toward the lake. The murky water lapped and receded along the rocky shore and, grabbing a lantern, Erik found himself following a path he rarely took—a path that had once before led him to a surprise visitor that had become his salvation. Panic obligated him to follow the call of the water, and Erik found himself deep in the back cavern. He remembered mentioning he had found the way to get her back home. Had she decided to come down this way to look for the door once again? Had she found it?

  “Jenna,” he called, more quietly now, in the darkness of the cave. “Jenna, where are you?” he asked as he found no trace of her. He was still walking slowly when his foot hit on something, causing it to skitter along the ground. Kneeling down, and holding the light in the direction of the sound, Erik felt the breath leave his body at the sight before him. There, on the rocks of the lakeshore, was Jenna's cameo. Once again, she had left his rose behind.

  He gingerly lifted the cameo in his hand, turning it over to examine it from all angles. Suddenly he felt it. With Jenna, there had always been an energy about his home—as if her spirit somehow brought his world alive. But now as he gazed at the cameo she had loved resting sadly in his hand, a sense of emptiness surrounded him. And he knew, without a doubt, that Jenna had gone. It had worked. His wretched lie had caused her mind to open the door, and quite possibly, saved her life. Yet that did not stop him from feeling hollow inside.

  He closed his fingers around the cameo and clutched it to his heart. “Oh, my Jenna,” he sobbed quietly, tears flowing freely from his eyes. “How am I going to live without you?”

  She had taken a few small, tentative steps in the tunnel, when the door slammed shut behind her. Jenna turned back at the sound, and saw that there was no longer any light shining through the cracks in the slats, and the door handle, which had seemed to turn so easily for her before, was not even there. The door was no longer an entryway to anywhere, but instead, a barricade designed to keep intruders out—a dark sentinel to guard against the unwanted. The ache intensified in Jenna's chest, as she thought of Erik, now forever lost to her behind that unmovable, unyielding obstacle. Would she ever stop hurting without him?

  Head hanging low, she turned away from the door that had once lead her to the wonder of Erik's world, and set her eyes on the path ahead of her. The walls on each side of the tunnel seemed malleable, undulating a bit back and forth. When she plac
ed a hand on one, however, she felt nothing but cold, solid stone, trapping her inside. She felt her breath begin to come in rapid puffs, as the fear of being trapped in the tunnel began to play at her mind. She looked around frantically for some escape and finally saw a soft glow emanating from the far end of the passage in front of her, promising some source of light and possibly, some way out if she just traveled on.

  The frigid air in the tunnel made Jenna wrap her arms around her shoulders and wish that she had thought to put on a cloak before leaving Erik's home. But would it be comforting to be wrapped in the soft black cape she always wore when she and Erik haunted the opera together? Would it remind her too much of the warmth of his arms, the musky, masculine scent that was all his own? No, it was better to be cold, she decided, than to be reminded of the sweetness she would never again experience.

  But she found as she walked, that the air gradually grew warmer, and eventually, she was able to drop her arms to her side. The ground too was changing as she slowly drew across it. It had started out like sand that fell away at her feet, but as she trudged forward, the sand became more and more packed until she was walking on firm, solid ground. The darkness surrounding her began to fade into the gray of a new dawn, as she began to walk steadily nearer to the light, coming closer and closer to its source.

  Suddenly, she looked up and he was with her, stopping her progress, taking her hand in his. “I'm not ready for this,” he sobbed, his blue/brown gaze shimmering with tears. “I'm not ready to lose you.” His other hand came up gently to cup her cheek, his forehead resting on hers. “I love you,” he whispered, and he pressed his mouth forward to place his lips on hers.

  She should pull back, she knew. She should slap him and tell him to go to Christine and demand that he never touch her again. But she didn't. She couldn't. Because she loved him so much.

  She found herself dissolving into his embrace, returning the gentle pressure of his lips on hers, her own hot tears mingling with his. He was the warmth that had overtaken her, the light that had guided her, the steady ground beneath her feet. He was the breath of air now filling her lungs, her heart beating faster. In that moment, when she could not tell where he ended and she began, he was life itself to her. He was home.

  As their lips parted, she opened her eyes. She was a bit blinded by the light surrounding her, so stark, so white for the first time since her accident. The edges of her vision were blurry, and everything around her seemed to exist as if in a cloud. All except, that is, for those same, beloved blue/brown eyes at the very center of her gaze. They peered at her now from behind a mask of shock and disbelief, which was quickly dissolving to reveal an unguarded expression of complete and unmistakable joy. “Jenna?” the voice was hushed and low, colored with tears of astonishment and delight.

  “You're here,” she cried in relief, reaching out a hand to touch his cheek, never registering that he did not wear a mask.

  “Oh Jenna,” he sobbed, his body shaking. “You came back to me.” He wrapped his arms around her and crushed her to him, relishing the feeling of her arms holding him too. It was a moment he had dreamed about, a moment he had hoped for. He had begun to believe this moment would never come, but he was wrong. Oh, thank God, he was wrong!

  When at last he pulled back, he stroked her cheek lovingly, his mismatched eyes shining with tears. “I knew you'd wake up,” he muttered, “I knew you'd come back! Oh Jenna, I have so much to tell you.”

  Realization began to slowly dawn upon her, as a loud Mreeeeeeeeeow! broke into her thoughts. “Red!” She exclaimed, turning her head toward the yellow tabby who had sprung to life at the sound of his owner's voice, bumping his soft furry head into her hand. She gathered the cat closer to her, and rubbed her head against his, his strong, rumbly purr the most welcome sound in the world. “I never thought I'd see you again,” she murmured

  “I took care of him for you, Jenna.”

  She looked back in his direction, her vision beginning to clear now. His light brown hair was tousled, a few locks hanging over his forehead in a way that recalled clandestine frog hunts in a dark bog. His chiseled cheeks were both plain to her, and not a mark of deformity marred them in any way, yet the face was so familiar, so well known. His disarming smile took her breath away, as it had so many times before. And his eyes. One was a striking, icy blue, the other so rich a brown, she felt as if she could see forever in its depths. “Erik?” she asked, her voice coming out a thready whisper.

  If possible, his smile grew brighter in surprise. “You know me?” he asked, amazed that she had even noticed his presence before, since she'd always shone so much more brightly than him.

  “I…” she began to mutter in confusion, “I…”

  “It's okay,” he said sweetly, thrilled at just the flicker of recognition he saw behind her eyes. “My name is Christopher Eriksson—but you can call me Chris.” He took her hand in his again, and squeezed it tightly. “I'm a doctor here. We worked together a few times before your accident. I guess maybe you remember me from that. I definitely remember you.”

  Dr. Christopher Eriksson. Yes. Brief, fleeting memories of a new resident working alongside her at the bedside of a patient, mingled with vague flashes of blue and brown amid a sea of white. She did remember him. But how was it that he …

  When Jenna made no comment, only stared at him in disbelief, he continued, “Do you remember your car accident, Jenna?” She nodded quietly, so he went on. “You hurt your head—pretty badly.” She reached up to touch the spot on her forehead where Erik had stitched her wound, almost able to feel the gentle care his fingers had administered. The man nodded, saying, “You've been in a coma Jenna—since the accident. I've been taking care of you.” He reached up to smooth her hair away from her head.

  Jenna simply stared in disbelief at the face she loved so much that now belonged to a stranger. A head injury? A coma? Could that be true? Oh God, what did that mean?

  The door opened and in walked a small woman, slouched forward, looking troubled. “Doctor,” she said, barely lifting her eyes. “Transport is here.”

  “Well, tell them,” he declared breathlessly, “They are not needed! Jenna just woke up.”

  The woman's head shot up and stared in her direction.

  “Aunt Penny?” Jenna asked in confusion. “What…what are you doing here?”

  The woman let out a shriek of joy as she rushed to Jenna's other side, kneeling by the bed, and taking her other hand. “Oh, Jenna, honey. We've been so worried!” she said, tears filling her eyes. “We were afraid you were never going to wake up!”

  Never going to wake up! Coma! The words echoed and bounced around in Jenna's head. It was impossible! Insanity! She hadn't been in a coma! She was with Erik. How could she have been lying unconscious in a bed when she had never felt so alive in her life? How could she have been unresponsive, uncommunicative, and unaware when she had been so actively falling in love?

  …Others say that coma victims have very lucid dreams, where their brains create an alternate reality in which they can go on living, since they can no longer interact with the world around them. The words she spoke to Erik came back at her with a vengeance. No, she thought. Oh God, no!

  Suddenly the moments just before her accident replayed in her mind—the extreme exhaustion, the pounding in her head. The radio had been playing that seductively soothing song from the musical—the melody that lulls the frightened heroine to sleep. She remembered wishing that she herself could just give into a dream so that, for at least a little while, she could forget the mess her life had become.

  Had she gotten her wish? Had it all been a construct of her desperate mind? The lair? The Opera House? The underground lake? Had Samineh simply been a replacement for her beloved Red? And what about Omid? How had she ever dreamed up Omid?

  There had been so many times when she had first arrived at the lair, that it all had seemed surreal. The secret door that didn't exist, a different country a century ago, the ridiculous assertion t
hat she was speaking French! She had almost convinced herself that it was all a crazy dream—if not for Erik. For through it all, she had always known that Erik was real. Erik. Was. Real.

  But had she been wrong? Had her time with Erik just been a dream? Had her love for him just been imagined?

  The feeling of despair that clutched her heart must have been evident on her face, because Dr. Eriksson suddenly asked with concern, “Jenna, are you alright?”

  “I don't know…” she began to tear up, “…I don't even know what's real anymore.”

  The doctor squeezed her hand firmly, and stroking her cheek, assured her, “I know Jenna. It's a lot to take in. It must all be overwhelming for you. But it's alright,” he smiled at her, locking his eyes with hers. “It's all going to be alright. I'm here, and I'm real” he said, in a familiar, rich, golden voice. “I promise you, I will help you work all of this out. I won't give up on you.”

  She did not yet understand what had happened to her—she still wasn't sure if she had spent the time since her accident living a dream, or if, somehow, it had all been real. But one thing was clear—she had heard those words before, and gazed into these eyes that were so lovingly gazing back at her right now. She did not know this man before her—but she wanted to. Why did he so strongly resemble Erik? Why did he share the same voice, the same features, the very same eyes as the man who had captured her heart.

  She reached up her hand to gently touch his cheek, and told him, “I like your smile.” And she felt her heart leap a little when he placed his own hand over hers, and whispered back, with a familiar glimmer in his eyes, “I like yours too.”

  39 OPENING NIGHT

  Omid had come to collect his friend. The gala night was about to start, and Erik and Jenna had not yet arrived. It worried Omid, since Erik had been responsible for Christine's rise to prominence on the stage, having personally seen to it that his little angel had gotten her wings. It was entirely unlike him to miss her performance, so it seemed worth a trip to Erik's home, to make certain everything was all right.