The Secret Door: A Phantom of the Opera Novel

by J. Smith

  “Couldn't hurt,” Erik snapped.

  Once alone, Erik lifted the flap on the back of the envelope and unfolded Jenna's letter to him.

  My Dear Erik:

  I have no idea if you will ever read these words. It would take a miracle. But if there's one thing that my time with you has proven, it is that miracles do happen. You were a miracle for me, my dear.

  First of all, thank you. For everything. For taking a chance with Christine, for marrying her, for naming your daughter Genevieve. Thank you for loving me enough to send me home. You have no idea what that one act has meant for me. It was indeed a sacrifice well made—never question that!

  You see, by yet another crazy twist of fate, I came home to the most wonderful man already taking care of me. His name is Dr. Christopher Eriksson, and he is your great-great-great-grandson. And after months of missing you and wondering if you were even real, I realized that I had fallen in love with him—the real and everlasting kind of love only dreamed of in fairy tales. We are married, Erik, and we have just moved into your house by the Hudson. The family has kept it all these years. I am carrying Chris's child, my friend. I hope my baby will be as handsome as my husband—who looks so much like you, Erik. Chris is brilliant like you, as well, and he loves to play the guitar and sing me to sleep. He would make you so proud, Erik. He is my prince.

  By taking a chance on love, you gave me a chance at true happiness. By continuing to live your life, Erik, you truly were living for me. And I live a joyful and happy life every day with my Chris, because you first took that chance. And while at one time, I too yearned to share my life with you, I could never begrudge you your happiness, Erik. It led to such happiness for me, but even more importantly, I love you and wanted so desperately for you to be happy. I am so glad you are no longer alone in the darkness. You deserve the light, my Erik. And you have always deserved to be loved.

  One more thing, Erik. It took some time, but I finally realized it was ok to love Chris back when he presented me with the cameo pendant that you first gave me. It proved to me that everything you and I shared had been real—that I was not truly a mental patient. Erik, don't let it linger in a box forever. Give it to Gustave to give to his wife. It will find me if you do, and I promise I will never again leave your rose behind. I will wear it proudly for the rest of my days in honor of the two extraordinary men who have loved me. I cannot believe I have been so incredibly blessed.

  Goodbye, my Erik. Please know that I think of you often, and that you will forever own a piece of my heart.

  I love you.

  And I miss you too.

  ~~Jenna

  For long moments, Erik just stared at the note in his trembling hands. How was it possible? Could it be real? Could she really have somehow gotten a letter to him from across the ages? Could this all be an elaborate joke played by the Daroga? No, he had no indication that the Persian entertained a death wish, so he knew that could not be the case. Plus, how could the Persian know about the box? About the cameo? From the tone of her letter, it seemed she had read the letters that he had written, and still had hidden in his basement lair—the very letters he had penned when his mind screamed out for someone to listen the way she had always listened to him.

  She said that she was married to a descendant of his. She said his name was Christopher, and that he was a doctor. Erik's lips curled at the thought that a man in his line was now dedicated to saving lives, just as, for so long, Erik had been intent on ending them. How on earth, through all the years, and all the distance between them, could their fates still be so intertwined that she would have found an offshoot of his own family tree—a tree that began with the love he shared with Christine? A love Jenna herself had encouraged and made possible.

  He remembered the moment he first understood the depths of Christine's love. He had told her he was leaving France—she had begged to accompany him. While he desired it more than life itself, he first insisted she know who it was to whom she was promising her loyalty. He had shown her his face, fully expecting her to run, and yet, she drew him to her, and said to him the words he desperately longed to hear.

  “My Erik, my angel,” she addressed him tearfully, caressing his face with her hands, drawing him to her. “I love you—and only you. If you but say the word, I would follow you to the ends of the earth and back. You are my home. You are my heart. My Erik. I cannot be whole without you.”

  Erik caught her lips with his then, feeling as if his heart would burst from his body. When they at last parted, both tearful and gasping for air, he looked deeply into her cerulean eyes, and holding her hands in his, he knelt on the floor before her. “Say you'll share your life with me. Each day. Each night. Each morning—“

  “Oh Erik!” she interrupted him, with a sniff and a giggle. “Tell me you love me!”

  “You know I do,” he whispered breathlessly, knowing without a doubt that his words were true. “Christine, I love you.” He leaned forward and scattered soft, sweet kisses along her eyelids, her nose, her cheeks, repeating the endless refrain after each one. “I love you, I love you, I love you.”

  “Oh, Erik,” she exclaimed joyfully, finally joining his lips once more with hers, to seal her promise with a kiss. “I was born to be your wife.”

  When they parted, full of joy, full of hope, Erik gazed into the beautiful eyes of the woman who would become his bride. On a whim, he removed the onyx and gold ring he wore on his pinkie, and placed it firmly on Christine's left ring finger. “You are mine, as I am yours, Christine. And soon, it will be binding, before God and in the eyes of the law.”

  Tears of joy glistening in her eyes, Christine exclaimed, “I love you, My Erik, my angel.”

  “Your man, Christine,” Erik corrected her. “Your man for now and always.”

  “Both man and angel, my Erik.” Christine kissed him lightly on the lips. “For truly, I have found heaven in your arms.”

  Erik pulled her close to him then, and kissed her again, pulling away only when he felt that their kisses were about to push them over a precipice he did not want to cross before they were wed.

  “Let me take you back to your room,” he said, holding onto her shoulders and looking into her eyes with a smile. “We need to leave quickly—there is a ship to America leaving tomorrow night. You should pack what you need.”

  “You are everything I need, Erik,” she declared, reaching forward to give him another quick kiss.

  Erik kissed her back, relishing the joy he felt at her words. When they once again parted, he chuckled and murmured back, “You might also want some clothes,” wishing fervently that she did not pack too many. After all, once they were married, there would not really be much of a need.

  “Well, maybe just a few things…” Christine answered, her reddened cheeks revealing that her thoughts had followed a similar course. They left then, so Erik could return her to her room for the last night they would spend apart, for the next evening, they left the Opera House under cover of darkness.

  Erik said a bittersweet goodbye to his little Samineh, charging the Persian with her care.

  “You will care for my Little Lady, Daroga,” Erik commanded, as he held Samineh in his arms, stroking her lovingly on the head. “You will see to it that she is spoiled and given the life of luxury to which she is entitled.”

  Omid rolled his eyes and reached out for the cat. “I shall commission her a diamond collar, Erik—just like the Shah's felines used to wear.”

  “It would be a start, Daroga,” he quipped, giving Samineh a final squeeze, before handing her over to her new guardian.

  Omid accepted the kitten, bringing her to his face to look in her eyes and say, “Hello, my little Fifi!”

  “Don't you dare!” Erik hissed.

  Omid chuckled and tucked the kitten securely under his arm. He then surprised Erik by pulling his friend into a one armed hug. “I'm going to miss you.”

  Erik stiffened, feeling awkward and uncomfortable by the Daroga's display of
camaraderie. Still, he reached up one arm and gave Omid a graceless pat on the back. “I…shall miss you too, Daroga,” Erik said, clearing his throat and awkwardly stepping out of the embrace. “Thank you…for everything over the years. I think I have not always displayed the proper…appreciation for your friendship.”

  “Oh, who needs appreciation,” Omid asked cheerfully, trying to mask the sadness he felt at his friend's departure, “When you have given me alcohol?”

  “Given you alcohol?” Erik questioned with a scoff. “You downright stole it, Persian.”

  “You stole it first!” Omid reminded him with a chuckle that earned him a roll of Erik's eyes. Sobering a bit, he added, “Be good to her, Erik. And be good to yourself. Never doubt that Christine loves you.”

  “I cannot doubt it, Daroga,” Erik answered with a smile on his face. “She is giving up everything for me.”

  “Then give her everything back,” he advised, grasping Erik firmly on the arm.

  He looked Omid squarely in the eyes and nodded, “I plan to spend the rest of my life doing just that.”

  Erik smiled, remembering how he and Christine had furtively made their way to the Daroga's waiting carriage, and after a final, tearful goodbye to Madame Giry and little Meg at the docks, they boarded the ship that would carry them to their new life. Once out in the open waters, Erik sought out the Captain and explained that he and Christine wished to be wed. They spoke their vows beneath the stars, with the sound of the waves keeping pace with their beating hearts, and soon they were pronounced husband and wife. Christine elected to go back to their cabin as Erik paid the captain and took care of paperwork.

  Afterward, Erik had taken a few moments to simply stare out at the ocean before returning to his room—the room he would now share with his wife. He knew he shouldn't, but he could not keep his thoughts from turning to Jenna. He had once dreamed that the fiery haired beauty would be his wife—and that they would share all that was new and wonderful together. He had thought, once he'd lost her, that he would never again find a woman to love the way he loved her—or find one who could possibly be moved to love him. But now, he had Christine, the angelic songbird who had touched his heart that first night he saw her, so long ago, crying in the chapel. He had longed to reach out to her then, but he knew now, that if he had not first met Jenna—if she had not first loved him, and taught him how to love—he never would have had the courage to do so. He would still be a faceless, nameless angel to Christine, but now he was the man who would share, her life, her dreams, her…bed.

  He took another silent moment to thank Jenna in his heart, for making this perfect life possible for him. And then, inhaling a deep calming breath, he turned to join his beautiful bride in their room.

  Christine had changed out of her dress by the time Erik arrived. She was sitting on the bed, back turned to him, wrapped in a white dressing gown. The soft glow of candlelight danced on her chestnut curls, and Erik found his heart pounding at the sight. He silently shut the door behind him, turning the lock, before gliding over to stand in front of her. Wordlessly, he tipped her chin up, so that he could look in her eyes, as he gently brushed his knuckles along her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered, tucking a stray curl behind her ear. “My bride. My wife.”

  Christine's eyes closed, part from the pleasure of his touch, part in anticipation of what was to come. “My Erik,” she whispered. “My husband.” She opened her eyes and gazed into his, with love and wonder, and…not a small amount of trepidation.

  Erik picked up immediately on her nerves. “My love,” he whispered, taking his place beside her on the bed, grasping her hands in his. “What is wrong?”

  “I…” Christine lowered her lashes, as pink traveled across her cheeks. “I am so nervous…” She still did not look at him, as her inexperience in matters between husband and wife mortified her and made her certain she would be unable to please her husband.

  Erik gazed at her, so innocent, so afraid, and felt his heart swell even more in love for her. Again, he tipped her chin up, forcing her to look at him. He cupped her cheeks in his hands, leaning forward for a few quick, gentle kisses before he asked, “Do you trust me?”

  “With my life.” Christine answered, adoring the way his hands felt on her cheeks, his lips felt brushing against hers.

  “Then do not be afraid,” he murmured as his lips trailed now to her neck, and he relished the soft sigh he heard escape her mouth. Working his way back up to once again taste his wife's lips, he looked her directly in her eyes and implored, “Trust me,” as his fingers traced the edges of her robe until he found the sash. His eyes never left hers as he gently untied the knot that closed her robe, and, delicately separated the layers of fabric, pushing them off her shoulders, leaving only her shift, translucent in the candlelight, to shield her from his hungry eyes. “Christine,” he moaned his approval, leaning in once more to blaze hot, burning kisses on her throat, “you are exquisite.”

  “Oh Erik,” she leaned her head back, giving him better access to her sensitive flesh, “Your touch is divine.”

  Allowing himself to get a bit lost in the moment—this first, heady moment with the woman he would adore for the rest of his life—Erik pulled her closer, crushing her form against his, tangling his fingers in her rich mane of dark curls. Their kisses were deep and yearning, and when Erik used his tongue to part his wife's lips, Christine moaned when she felt him delve inside, tasting, drinking the sweet wine of her passion. Nearly delirious from his mouth's attentions, Christine felt her hands working their way beneath his waistcoat, kneading the muscles of his back through the thin fabric of his shirt.

  Erik pulled back from the kiss to once again look into Christine's eyes, now darkened to a midnight blue with her desire. “Trust me,” he begged again, in a deep, rumbly plea. Christine nodded, unable to make any other reply, and he began to push the straps of her shift down below her shoulders, until her two pert and perfect breasts were revealed to him. “Oh, sweet heaven,” he murmured as he leaned forward and worshipped each flawless mound with his mouth. When his lips encircled one nipple at the precise moment that his fingers squeezed the other one, Christine let out a pleasured cry, which was the most delightful music to Erik's ears. “My little songbird,” he moaned into her breast.

  “Oh, Erik,” she gasped, a ragged moan, arching her body against his, while maddening new sensations traveled through her body, awakening wants and needs she never knew she had. “I don't…,” she groaned again, as his hand moved down her side, “I don't…Ooooooo.” Her head fell back once more, as her eyes closed against the rising tide of heat coursing through her body.

  “Yes, my angel?” his voice caressed her with his calming, silvery tones, as his hand began to stroke her leg, pulling her skirt away as it did so. “You don't what?”

  “I don't,” she groaned a final time, “I don't know…what to do.”

  “There is much to learn, Christine,” he murmured, leaning in to place feather soft kisses along her cheek. “For both of us.” He pulled away to once more look her deep in the eyes. With his arms firmly around her, he asked a final time, “Do you still trust me?”

  “Yes,” she breathed, trembling from the urgency he was inciting within her.

  “Then we shall teach each other.” And then he claimed her mouth with his own, as he lowered their bodies to the bed.

  The next morning, when Christine had awoken, it was to the soft, dulcet tones of her husband singing her a love song, his fingers delicately stroking her hair. Her head was resting on his bare chest, and his arm was holding her firmly to him. She had never felt happier. She inhaled deeply, taking in the scent of her beloved before opening her eyes, and gazing up at him. “Erik,” she whispered, as a happy smile played on her lips.

  “Ahh, Christine,” he murmured, as he bent his head and kissed his wife fully on the lips, drinking in the joy and the pleasure of their joining once again. Last night had been the most ecstatic night he had spent in his life
. Again, and then again, he had found fulfillment in his wife's arms, and from the encouraging strains that had spilled from her lips, he was assured that he had given her pleasure as well. “I love you, Christine,” he whispered, when their kiss ended. “I love you so much. If I say it a hundred times every day for the rest of my life, I could never express the amount of love that I feel.”

  “Well Erik,” Christine giggled. “I'd be willing to let you try…” She tangled her hands in his sleep tousled black hair and drew his maskless face to her for a deep passionate kiss—one that spoke of the depths of her own satisfaction in their union and a strong desire for more. When they were breathless, Erik broke the kiss, and gazed down at the beauty who lay beside him once more. “Are you hungry, my sweet?” he asked, wanting to meet her every need.

  “Yes, Erik,” she pulled him to her again, and kissed his lips sweetly before adding, “For you, my husband.”

  With a guttural growl, Erik gathered her into his arms and devoured her mouth with his, fanning the flames of their passions for the first—but not the last—time that day. It seemed that with Christine, finally, he had discovered the true magic of being, simply, a man.

  Erik emerged from his reverie, and ran a loving hand over the letter one last time. “Thank you Jenna,” he whispered. “Thank you for giving me the courage to pursue my beautiful Christine…for the amazing life I now have…thank you.”

  Suddenly, he heard his wife's sweet tones as she snaked her arms down his chest from behind, leaning in for a kiss to his cheek before asking, “What are you doing in here all by yourself, when we have guests?”

  Erik smiled and let out a quiet chuckle. “I am just remembering, my darling.”

  Christine's eyebrows wrinkled, “Remembering what, dear?”

  “Well,” Erik began, with a sigh, pulling her around to the front of him, so that he could settle her firmly on his lap, “If you must know, dear wife, I was remembering our wedding night.”