Disclaimer: All the characters and general ideas that go along with them belong to Susan Kay and Gaston Leroux.

My story is pretty much completely based off of Susan Kay's Phantom, and I'm trying to be as true to the plot and timeline as possible.

Ah Paris…La ville d'amour…

I gazed adoringly around me, drinking in as much as possible. I would be spending the next two months in the 17th arrondissement; it was a dream come true. I've been here already three months and I must've visited this place hundreds of times. This place. La Place de L'Opera. I could never get enough of it; the buses coming and going, Parisians looking up furtively from their phones to make sure they don't hit someone, the old architecture, the feeling that millions have been here before you…I was drawn to all of it, but it was the Opera itself that called to me. Its impressive façade with striking columns, the opulent statues adorning its rooftop…I loved it all. I've taken the inside tour, and that's when my heart really beat faster.

Ever since I saw the Phantom of the Opera when I was a young girl, I haven't been able to get the story out of my head. Since then, I've read all the books and movies and yearned to enter its world completely. The compelling story made me revisit it over and over; when I heard about the exchange that 3 year university students can take to Paris I knew I had to go.

I stood in front of the opera, admiring. Inside, you can feel the history; the dark alcoves and side corridors invite the story of the Phantom. The lights are kept dim to preserve the art within, and the dimness makes you feel like anything can happen - that he could be hiding anywhere. Outside, just thinking about it made me want to buy another tour. I stopped myself. I don't like using my bank card over here, and I only had enough change for a quick bite to eat before my metro ride. Maybe another day. As I rooted around in my bag for my sunglasses (my blue eyes were sensitive to the glaring May sun) I heard a Frenchman cursing beside me. That in itself was not new – the French are very vocal about their problems and have no trouble expressing them with their colourful vocabulary. What caught my attention were the curse words he was using. Not even the French senior citizens I knew used old vocabulary like that. Curious, I turned my head to look at him surreptitiously and was confused. It was May, and he was wearing a heavy wool coat, or at least it resembled a coat, and his collar was high. He continued cursing and bending down, looking along the ground for something. I decided to help as he was clearly in distress.

"Monsieur, can I help you?" I asked tentatively in French. He didn't answer. I touched a hand to his shoulder. "Monsieur?" He suddenly straightened up and brought himself to his full height, which was impressive. I could see now that his coat was in fact a cloak and that his high collared shirt was actually one of those puffy poet shirts. Most striking though, was his face. I couldn't see it. He was wearing a mask that covered his face, leaving slits for eyes and an opening at the bottom for his mouth. He looked around in shock and confusion, taking in the 5pm rush hour around him. Finally, he noticed me. His amber eyes were wide as they looked into mine. I could practically feel my jaw drop. There I was, idly thinking about the Phantom of the Opera when an exact replica appears before me! I remained calm; we were in the theatre district, he was probably an actor.

He stood stock still, his hands in fists at his sides. "Mademoiselle…What…Where…am I?" He whipped around and stared up at the opera. "The opera…I don't understand…What's happened?"

"Monsieur, I'm not sure what you mean. We're in front of the opera, in Paris."

"I'm not blind, I see that. But what's all this?" He gestured around him. "I don't understand. I was in my house by the lake looking for Ayesha and then all of a sudden I was here…" His voice trailed off, at a loss.

I was starting to worry. His antics were beginning to draw unwanted attention towards us but I couldn't just leave him there. If he was an actor, he was a very talented one.

"And Ayesha is…?" I asked, as confirmation of his identity,

"My cat. She ran off. She doesn't like it when I experiment with chemicals and so when I was done I went to look for her… Where are the carriages? What are all these people wearing? And what is that smell?"

He was smelling the carbon dioxide emitted from the cars he had never seen before. I had to get him somewhere quieter.

"Erik, why don't we have go find a nice, quiet café, and we can figure this out, okay?"

His eyes burned holes through me and I immediately recognized my mistake. "What did you call me?" He advanced in my direction, his tall form menacing. I stood my ground, but inside all I could think was IDIOTTTTTT! Now trying explaining how you knew his name!

"Ummm…Erik?"

"Why did you call me that? That is my name and I have not told you it."

"Uh, well, you remind me of this friend I have, and I guess it just popped out, you know…" He continued to look suspiciously at me, but I plodded on.

"Look, I'm trying to help you. I know this tiny café just down the road. Come on. Quickly." Before a policeman sees you in your mask and stuff gets ugly, I thought. That's the last thing we need right now.

At the café, he ordered a coffee and I ordered a hot chocolate. Once settled in with our drinks he asked his questions.

"First of all, mademoiselle, you seem to be aware of my name, but I am unfamiliar with yours."

"Oh. Right. I'm Sophia. I'm Canadian."

"That explains the accent. I am pleased to meet you, Sophia."

"Accent? Crap, I thought I was getting rid of that…" I grumbled. You can never win. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he was still serious.

"Sophia, please tell what has happened. Everything is different - noisier, faster."

"God, Erik, I dunno how to tell you this…Uhh… Well, what date is it today?"

"May 16th, 1866, if I'm not wrong. It is easy for one to lose track of time."

"Okay, here, look at the newspaper." I handed over the newspaper I had spotted at the table next to us and bit my lip anxiously. He looked it over.

"Sophia, who is this, Sarkozy they speak about?" I rip the paper out of his hands exasperatedly.

"He's an idiot. But jeez Erik, you don't make it easy! Look at the date!" I pointed it out, May 16th, 2011, and waited for his reaction. First: confusion, then recognition, and finally, alarm.

"Erik," I spoke quietly "You're in 2011 right now. That's why everything is so out of place for you. You're 145 years in the future. " He kept staring at the newspaper. Finally he looked at me in bewilderment.

"This… is not possible. Or is not? Is technology so far advanced that…"

I laughed. "We have iPhones and machines that can talk for you, but we haven't quite figured out time travel." He didn't find my lame attempt at a joke amusing.

"So how am I here?"

"I don't know. But we should probably find out."

"We?"

"Well yeah, I mean, you can hardly run around the city alone right now, and I'm all you have. And you'll need a place to stay, and food to eat because you have no money…"

"Sophia, I have my own home, and as for money, I am quite wealthy. I need only return home." He stood up to leave and I jumped to my feet.

"Erik, wait… You can't go home."

"Why not?" Ummmm, because you live under the opera, and that space is currently being used by the current owners who would not take kindly to a squatter? But I can't let him know that I know all about him. I have to wait for that.

"Think about it. This is almost 150 years later. Don't you think some other family has moved in by now?"

He sighed. "You are right. This century of yours is not allowing me to think properly." I threw down some money on the table and opened the door.

"You and me both," I muttered.

Okay, I know that pretty much every story says this, but I'm gonna say it anyway! (sorry!) I love writing and I want to get better, so if you have a suggestion, or anything to say (constructive criticism is welcomed!) please write a review. Thanks a bunch! Happy reading!