Disclaimer: I do not own The Phantom of the Opera , which is property of Gaston Leroux, Andrew Lloyd Webber, and Susan Kay.
Author's Note: This is a Modern E/M phic. It is an experiment to which I am very dedicated. I have the first several chapters written, but am in the process of editing. The premise of the story is that the characters are immortalized because they have been transcribed into novels, movies, and musicals; the belief is so strong that they will survive. The physical forms they take are those of the 2004 film, but their personalities are blended from the Leroux, Kay, and Webber versions and are also shaped by their modern lives. Please do not tell me they are OOC, because I am trying hard to keep them to their roots, but also allowing them to grow into something new and different. Thank you and enjoy.
Their first meeting had been pure happenstance. Meg Giry had no intentions of meeting the Phantom of the Opera when she walked into the local bookshop. It was mid-morning and the shop was far from busy. Meg walked in, as she did every other Wednesday to scan the shelves and place orders for music and dance books. But this Wednesday was special—she was replacing her copy of the Leroux novel. It was a necessary act, of course, but as Meg perused the shelves, she could not find it. She marched to the counter to confront the shaggy-haired teen who worked the counters.
"Zach," she said, tapping the desk.
The teen ignored her but flipped a page of his soccer magazine. Meg rapped harder on the counter and cleared her throat, which merited no acknowledgement from Zach. Finally, seizing the magazine, Meg took it from him.
"Zach, I need your help!" she said, frustrated. It was a bi-weekly routine and Meg tired of it. Zach worked summer weekdays and he was always reading a sports magazine. Only when Meg took it from him, would he take notice of her or any other customers in the store. She'd heard all Zach's excuses about the bookstore never having customers, to which Meg would scathingly snap, "I wonder why!" But today, the teenage clerk raised his shaggy blonde head and sighed, saving her the agony of hearing his complaints. He removed a pair of earbuds from his ears and stood.
"Sorry, Miss. I ain't able to hear ya with my headphones in!" he said, standing up and getting out from behind the desk.
"That's alright. I need you to help me find Gaston Leroux's novel, The Phantom of the Opera. It's a classic, but I couldn't find it in your literature section."
Zach walked over to the literature section to find it, with Meg trailing behind him. They passed the science-fiction/fantasy section and the romance section, when the door at the front of the store opened, the tinkling of its small bells signaling the arrival of another customer.
"Be with ya in a sec!" Zach called over his shoulder. "Look 'round if you want to."
"I shall do precisely that, thank you," was the musical reply, which caused Meg to turn her head.
On the threshold stood a very tall man, whose elegant fedora was pulled down so low onto his face, one could not tell there was more than a chin and lips beneath it. A tall dark stranger… It felt like something out of a romance paperback, to Meg and at first that was why she felt herself drawn to the man. He walked further into the store, and Meg slowly realized he, too, was heading for the Literature Section. Zach coughed, causing Meg to tear her eyes from the mysterious man.
"Yer book, Miss," he said, extending a pristine paperback copy of Leroux's classic.
Meg smiled at him and thanked him.
"Er, if you don't mind," she said to him, "I'd like to browse some more…"
Zach shrugged and muttered something like, "whatever" before exiting the aisle. The other man shook his head and muttered to Meg, "Such attentive service, oui?"
The musical voice made Meg's heart pound with flustered excitement. "Oui, Zach is always that way. But what do you expect? He is a teenage boy…"
"In my day," the man said darkly, "teenage boys were men and upstanding members of society. They had chivalry, bravery, and nobility. But you would know all about that, mon cherie, would you not?"
The last sentence sounded nearly scathing, as though Meg had done the man some ill. She blinked a few times, and realized the two of them were conversing in French. It had been some time since Meg had last needed to speak the language of her homeland, here in New York it was unnecessary, but it had all come so naturally. This stranger seemed to know her, and she felt that he was vaguely familiar. He turned and stood beside her, reaching for a copy of Leroux's novel as well.
"I see you are an enthusiast of the classics," Meg said lightly. The man gave an odd cough, which sounded more like a snort.
"In a sense, I am an enthusiast. But to an extent, I am so much more…"
He turned away and Meg caught a glimpse of a withered cheek beneath the fedora. As he began to walk away from her, she heard herself instinctively breath, "Monsieur le Fantome?"
The man stopped and whirled around. Meg could not see his eyes but she could feel a burning stare bore into her. Blinking in shock, she turned to go pay for her book. She bought it quickly and hurried out of the shop. She began walking briskly toward her dance studio, but she felt a cold hand grip her wrist. She wriggled, but could not escape his grasp. He forced her to face him.
"I'll scream," she threatened. "I will..."
"They all do," the man said almost threateningly. "Even you, mon ange…At the sight of me, you screamed."
"I've never seen you before in my life," Meg sighed. "Please, sir… Let me go! I beg you, to."
The man did not loosen his grip, but squared his shoulders. Meg was frantically thinking of ways to escape, and the idea of kicking him in the shin passed her mind, when he peered into her face. She could see one side of his face—the desiccated flesh strengthening her belief that she had found the Phantom. She knew he was capable of killing and at this moment, thoughts of home, her studio, her estranged mother… everything she would never see again crossed her mind, when suddenly, their eyes locked and his softened. He loosened his grip, but did not let go.
"You are not her—are you?" he whispered. "You are not Christine…"
"No, Monsieur… I am Meg; Meg Giry," she gasped. The Phantom let go of her wrist and Meg stumbled.
"That would explain how you knew me, and why you bought a copy of the novel…" he muttered. "I take it a page has fallen from yours?"
Meg nodded. "How did you--?"
"Mademoiselle, forgive me," he said suddenly, aiding her in regaining her balance. "I thought that you were Christine… over one-hundred and fifty years have passed since I last saw her… Your blonde hair, your fascination with Leroux… I thought you were her. I apologize and I hope you will accept."
His frosty but familiar attitude had become cruel. The cruelty had become apology. Meg found herself stunned, but slightly impressed by the Phantom's change for the better.
"Monsieur le Fantome…" she began.
"Erik," the Phantom interrupted. "I am no phantom. I am Erik."
Meg nodded and continued, "Erik, then. I accept your apology. But I really must insist that…"
"I understand, I shall leave you to your walk, then," he said, somewhat sadly. "I'm sure Nadir will find some good use for me…"
The mournful tone of his voice made Meg feel a surge of guilt like one she had never known before. Perhaps it was because he had been so courteous, or perhaps it was the lust to speak with anyone from her era that made Meg call out to him.
"Erik! Wait."
Erik turned and gave a small bow. "Little Giry?"
"I must insist," she repeated, "that as payment for your offense, you should join me for coffee. Perhaps tomorrow morning?"
"Tomorrow morning would be lovely, Mademoiselle. Where at and when?"
Surprised, for Meg had not expected him to accept, she stammered back, "Cup of Joe's coffee shop. Eight o'clock."
"That sounds lovely," Erik said awkwardly. "Perhaps I will."
He turned to go and Meg watched him uneasily. She had just asked the Phantom—no, Erik—to coffee minutes after he had been violent against her. Questioning her sanity, Meg gripped her book tightly and resumed her walk back to her apartment. Erik's sudden appearance was something to precious for her to let slip away. Her curiousity refused to be satiated until she saw him again, to be sure this was not a dream.