Chapter One
1877 The fire raged, turning the once beautiful theater into a grotesque mockery of what it once was. Far below, deep in the catacombs a different fever burned as Erik watched Christine sail away with her chosen lover.
Ignorant fool he thought savagely as he whirled away. Spying his mirrors he gazed at his tortured face.
"NO MORE!" he cried. "No more shall you haunt this place with your accursed countenance!" With these words he smashed the first, then the second mirror. As he reared back to do the same to the third he thought he saw… something. He stepped closer, was that a shimmer of color? Slowly he reached up to touch the surface of the mirror. Instead of the satiny smoothness of glass what he touched seemed to be a viscous liquid. Before he knew what was happening he felt himself being pulled in.
2007 Dr. Emma Merrik wearily turned her key and entered her apartment.
"Hello, Fred." She called to her beautiful fichus tree, the perfect pet she laughingly told her friends, one that doesn't require a lot of care and almost never barks, unlike my last boyfriend.
She stretched out her tired muscles as she strode into the bathroom to pour a generous amount of lavender bath oil into a hot bath then into her bedroom to get out of her street clothes. She stopped to caress the antique French mirror that was a lucky find in an obscure antique store that she had haunted on the previous Saturday. She stopped suddenly and pondered her use of that word, haunted…why had she used that particular word? Strange. She looked closer at the mirror. Was that an organ reflected there? She didn't own an organ. And who was that peering back at her, oh god was there someone in her apartment?
Erik stumbled out of the mirror in a flurry of arms and legs landing heavily on a soft, warm pillow. For one brief moment he lay, dazed and confused, content to remain where he was. Emma lay in a daze, blinking back tears of panic as she assimilated the fact that she was currently lying beneath a very hard, very masculine body.
"Get the HELL off me!!" she began to scream and struggle wildly. At the sudden blast of noise in his ear Erik was galvanized into action.
"Mon dieu, woman! What is wrong with you?" He rolled heavily to the side to see a nicely rounded feminine shape dressed in men's trousers and a long sleeved shirt that showed a hint of that lovely female form he'd felt pressed against his body not a moment before. Her hair was a lovely coppery shade of brown that shown with small fiery hints of color in the candlelight. She had the most arresting gray-green eyes he had ever seen, although they were presently pinning him with a mixture of fear and intense anger.
Emma stared at the man lying on her bedroom floor. He was dressed in black britches, boots and a flowing white shirt, a costume reminiscent of a hero/villain in the bodice ripper novels that the nurses love to read and pass around. His hair was dark and slicked back; he had high aristocratic cheekbones, a finely sculpted mouth that made you dream of spending hours exploring the depths of, and deep emerald green eyes. His face, God, his face was a masterpiece! At least the side she could see. The right side was covered by a white mask, porcelain by the look of it. But the left side, it was as if a beautiful dark angel had come to earth to live among mortals. She shook herself, as if to wake from a trance. There was a strange man lying on the floor of her room!
"Just who the hell do you think you are, and how did you get in here!" instantly she went on the attack. Erik shifted slightly to a more comfortable position.
"Don't move," Emma threatened softly. "I am very capable of defending myself if necessary, now be so kind as to answer my questions please."
Erik found himself looking down the business end of a very sleek looking pistol held in the unshaken hands of a woman who was dangling at the end of a long, slippery slope of fear, and may, at any point fall off into complete panic. He raised his hands in a show of surrender and said huskily
"I mean no harm, mademoiselle. My name is Erik Rouchard. I am not quite certain how I arrived here. I was in the deep cellars below the Opera House in Paris with my possessions, my mirrors, and than viola I am here!"
"Paris? As in France? What do you mean cellars? What Opera house?" she was totally confused by now. Erik realized he was not making sense, but then, none of this did. How could he explain what he didn't know?
"Please mademoiselle, may I sit somewhere more comfortable? I give you my word of honor I will not harm you in any way. I will tell you my story if you wish to hear it."
Emma sat in stunned silence as Erik's words trailed off in broken whispers. The pain of rejection from his mother, the agony of physical and psychological abuse, the obsession with Christine, and his madness when the obsession was not returned, the abandonment and finality of her marriage with Raoul. All of this linked with some horrible disfigurement concealed by the mask.
"Will you remove your mask?" she asked.
"What? No! What is it with women?! Have I no Secrets left? Must I bare all only to be rejected again?" he raged.
"Whoa there, throttle back!!" she raised her voice so she could be heard. "I am a doctor Monsieur Rouchard and I want to see for purely professional reasons. My field is Reconstructive Surgery and while I deal mostly with children who are born with deformities, I also help adults who are burn victims. Whatever you've got going on under that mask, I've seen before, in spades."
Erik stared at her for a full five minutes. A woman doctor?
"Pardon, mademoiselle, how can this be? Women are not permitted to study in Universities."
" What are you talking about Monsieur? Did you hit your head when you fell on my floor? This is the 21st century, women have the right to vote, seek higher education and get bigger boobs all in the same day!" Emma was dumb founded at his apparent chauvinism.
" Bigger bo-.. wait, what century did you say?" Erik turned pale.
" 21st , as in the year 2007. Has been all year, since January 1st. Hey, you ok?" Emma reached out to grab Erik as he swayed.
"While I was in the cellars of the Opera House, the year was 1877." He said softly.
"What? I think I'd better check you for a head injury, you're not making sense right now." The possibilities were too frightening to contemplate, yet how to explain his abrupt appearance from the mirror, his mannerisms, his attire?
"Look, Monsieur Rouchard, you are clearly exhausted. I have a guest room that you can use. We can discuss this further in the morning. Come with me and I will show you where the bathroom is. While you get ready for bed, I'll put on fresh sheets."
Erik followed Emma down the hall and into the privy. She showed him marvelous things. The toilet actually flushed the unpleasantries away to some large tank where the water was then purified with chemical compounds. The bath had hot and cold running water! There was this wall fixture that spurted out water called a shower, it felt like standing under a warm waterfall. Erik enjoyed availing himself of this particular feature, although the only soap to be found was lavender scented. He had to admit, however, that this fragrance suited Emma, wild and free. When he finished showering he noticed that she had left clean towels and a short sleeve shirt type garment along with baggy, shapeless trousers. Wondering what these were and where she got them he set off to find her. Emma was in what must be the guest quarters, changing the sheets on the bed. He moved to help her.
"Surely you have servants who can do this?" he asked.
"You're joking, right?" she saw he wasn't. "Oh my god, you really are from the 19th century, aren't you?" she sat on the bed when her knees gave out. "Look, let me try to explain something to you. Number One: only the uber rich can afford household staff, and Number Two: I am unfortunately NOT one of the uber rich. Get the picture?"
Erik looked momentarily puzzled. Then his frown cleared. "Doctors do not make a good salary now days?"
"I manage to make ends meet" Emma tucked her tongue firmly in her cheek.
By this time the bed was made and the stale linens tucked into the laundry basket. Erik thanked Emma politely for the loan of the clothes and asked curiously what they were.
"I guess I take it for granted everyone knows about sweat pants and T-shirts. Trust me; soon they will be your favorite garments, well, apart from tennis shoes and Levis." With this enigmatic statement she bade him good night and closed her bedroom door. He distinctly heard a lock engage.
She is not one for trusting easily either he said to himself as he climbed beneath the sheets. For the first time in years sleep came effortlessly.