Journey to the Past

Karla gazed up at the ceiling of the opera house with its massive chandelier, around at the rich red curtains delighting in the grandeur of the auditorium. Never had she ever performed in any venue as opulent as this!

Following the blow up over his past, Tristan and Karla reached a new understanding. They had been officially dating for two months and thus far into their relationship, they had been to dinner, lunch, movies, art galleries and dancing. Before the opera, Tristan had taken her to a nearby restaurant along with numerous other couples who were obviously also going to the opera.

The music held Karla entranced as she watched the performance, unable to take her eyes from the stage. She sniffed back the tears that threatened to fall as she watched the drama unfold before her.

Tristan had been watching Karla throughout the first three acts, unable to comprehend the Italian, and much preferring to watch the woman who sat at his side. He had never known another to have such a love of music and performing, and could be moved so deeply by something as simple as the play before him.

He squeezed her hand as a silent reassurance that it was only fiction. Karla turned and fixed Tristan with a teary smile before returning the pressure and placing their joined hands in her lap.

The curtains fell at the end of the act and rising together, Karla and Tristan made their way to the marble column that divided the boxes. Tristan pressed the lever that released the secret door.

An unseen force was pulling them inexorably down the dark, winding tunnel. The tunnel was covered in an eerie darkness, and yet they were able to find their way down without injury. The force continued to beckon them, drawing them deeper into the opera house, until they were standing in a drawing room with elegant furniture, now covered with dust.

Karla glanced at Tristan uncertainly, before she realised just what had happened. She returned to the door they had just walked through to find it was locked. Panicking, she began to press against the doors, hoping to find a way out. Exhausted and embarrassed from her outburst, she sat down on the dusty settee and looked at Tristan.

"What do we do?" she asked with a yawn.

"You, go to bed. There is a bedroom just through that room." He indicated the closed door with an incline of his head. Tristan had taken the opportunity to explore his surroundings during Karla's excessive display of emotion. "That is the only bedroom."

"Oh." Karla glanced at the settee. Tristan was far too tall to fit on such a small and uncomfortable looking piece of furniture. "I'm sure we can sleep in the same bed."

Karla toed her shoes off and slipped under the covers and turned her back on Tristan. She could hear him removing his shoes, coat and tie and felt the bed dip beneath his weight. She forced herself to close her eyes and drift off to sleep.


Karla awoke the next morning to find Tristan gone from the bed, and pacing the room. She looked at him for a few moments before she realised that it was indeed reality and not part of the dream she had just been having. He was no longer dressed in his black trousers and blue shirt, but narrow grey trousers with double-breasted frock coat and bowtie.

The only logical reason her mind could come up with was that something had happened to the clothing he wore the night before and this was all he could find. Even as she thought it, her mind rejected the idea.

"Tristan?" she asked uncertainly.

He looked up, his surprise at seeing her awake not showing. "Don't ask. My clothes are gone, and so are yours."

"What?" she cried, as she flung the sheets off and jumped out of bed to rummage around the room quickly. "Where are they?"

Tristan shrugged. "I don't know. They were gone when I woke. Everything seems to be in its place, so we can rule out theft. I think, Karla that we are in the time of Dickens."

Karla scoffed at him. "We're back in time?"

"Can you think of any other reason?"

"Hallucinogens? An over-active imagination?"

Tristan sighed softly as he walked out of the room, ordering her to dress.

Karla glared at the door for a minute before she crossed to the wardrobe and picked out a chemise and a skirt and jacket in red. She was relieved that she was able to button the clothes herself; she would not ask Tristan for help. She pulled on silk stocking and slippers before going in search of Tristan.

Less than ten minutes later, Karla and Tristan had quickly learnt that going out grocery shopping in nineteenth century Paris was a foolish idea for two people who knew very little about the society. They had made it as far as Rue Scribe, when a woman screamed and collapsed into the arms of her gentleman companion. There were numerous people opening staring at them, their faces as pale.

"Look at the monster, Papa!" a young boy cried. He threw a stone across the street at Tristan.

Karla looked on in horror as people continued to insult him. Tristan did nothing. His face was as hard and unyielding as ever, yet he did not yell at them.

"Hussy!" a pretty lady walking behind them whispered loudly to her friend. "Walking outside with no hat and no corset!"

"We should be thankful she is wearing gloves! She must be from the England!" her friend responded, her nose wrinkled with disgust.

"Tristan," Karla pulled him to a stop and waited for the women to pass. They did so, but not without pulling out their smelling salts when they saw Tristan's face. "We have to go back to the Opera House; it's not safe for us here until we learn how to fit in."

Karla had expected him to protest, but he quickly retraced their steps, sighing when he heard the lock of the gate click shut. It would be a while until they ventured out onto the streets of Paris without a mask, hat and corset.


"Christine, where have you been?" Meg demanded as she rushed up the brunette during a rest in the rehearsal. "You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago!"

"I am sorry, I forgot," Karla responded lamely. She did not know who the pretty little ballerina was.

"I do hope you have warmed your voice. We are almost to begin rehearsing your aria."

"My aria?" Karla gasped, horrified at the thought of having to perform.

"Meg Giry!" Madame Giry snapped at her daughter. "Come and lead your line!"

Karla watched the other woman rush off to lead her line. Things seemed to be going from bad to worse. It was one thing to be transported back in time by some form of magic, but it was another thing to have to perform for the first time in six years. She knew very little of the customs and what was expected of her in this period.

Meg Giry, though, had confirmed her theory which she had described to Tristan the night before as she passed the time playing the piano. She was now certain they were living the life out of The Phantom of the Opera. She had always thought the book to be nothing but fiction, but now she knew better.

"Miss Daaé!" the conductor shouted at her for the third time to capture her attention. A few of the ballet rats laughed at her inattentiveness. "If you please, open your music to page five, and we will begin."

Karla glanced around wildly in an attempt to locate a score. "I- I do not have my music with me, sir."

The man clenched his jaw angrily. "We have wasted enough time because of your tardiness. You will do well enough without it."

She knew a moment of panic. When she heard the introduction however, she calmed. This was a song she sang with her father many times. She would never need the music for this song!

Karla drew a deep breath as she waited for her cue, knowing that, as Christine she had no choice but to sing. She opened her mouth. She could feel her throat constricting, preventing the note that she was to sing. All she could think about was her father and how she had failed him.

She looked around at the curious musicians and dancers. They were intrigued as to why the great Daaé missed her cue. Unable to stand their curiosity a moment longer, Karla spun around and dramatically ran from the stage. The last thing she heard was a round of laughter as she tripped on the hem on her skirt as she ducked behind the wings.


While Karla was at the rehearsal, Tristan took the opportunity to explore the house that was his home until whatever entity brought them here decided it was time to return them to the twenty-first century.

He entered the second bedroom and stood in the doorway, disgusted. A large coffin and organ took up most of the space in the room. The red curtains covered in Dies Irae were haunting. What did capture his attention was the black wood chest at the end of the coffin.

Tristan pulled the stool over, and began to sort his way through the contents of the chest. In it were hundreds of sketches and pasteboard paintings of Karla – Christine – and painting supplies. A series of small journals bound in maroon leather seemed out of place.

They were Erik's journals. Tristan laughed to himself, Karla's creative mind was starting to have an effect on him. There was no Phantom of the Opera.

Despite that, he took the books to the drawing room and opened it at the beginning. The first page was dated 1879 and continued up until the date on Saturday in 1881. The entries fascinated Tristan to no end. In it were details of Christine and the Phantom's first meeting, their singing lessons and the times they spent together.

The more Tristan read, the more he was reluctantly convinced he was now the Phantom of the Opera, living in the unwritten book.


Karla slammed her hands down onto the keys of the piano, causing a dissonant chord. She sighed angrily as she closed the lid and began to pace. She sat down only to jump up a minute later, collect her cloak, gloves and hat and head for the streets of Paris. As she wandered the streets, gas lights cast an eerie glow, providing light to objects directly under it.

Tristan was reading the silly journals and had been doing so for the past three days, and was probably unaware that she had left. The only time he looked up from the books was to arrange dinner and when Karla insisted very forcefully that he write a letter to Madame Giry, telling her that Christine Daaé could not sing.

"As far as everyone else is concerned, you are the Opera Ghost!" Karla had snapped at him. "I cannot sing; I haven't done so in years. You have to leave a letter in the box saying that I am not to sing in the opera."

Tristan had grudgingly written the letter and left it on the shelf in Box Five. He returned from his journey up to the Opera House and immediately began to lecture Karla.

"You need to sing again, Karla. I know you are an exceptionally brilliant singer, and from what I can gather, you used to enjoy it. It is foolish for you to refuse to sing because of your father's death." He held up a placating hand when Karla opened her mouth to give him a set down he would not forget.

"You have been a stuck artist for the last few months, but you are finding the courage to expose yourself again and paint something new and different." Karla nodded. "It isn't easy what you are doing; I'm proud of the effort you have been putting into your painting the last month."

"I need to take up singing again and find myself?" Karla asked as her teeth bit into her lip. Tristan's championing of her was a surprise, so was his insight.

Could she take his advice and do as he suggested? Every time she opened her mouth to sing, she saw her father and recalled her promise she made as a naïve girl and broke. She could do it. But when would she find the courage to do so?

She had made it only several blocks along the Avenue de L'Opéra when she heard her name being called. She looked up to see Raoul stepping out of his carriage.

Karla rolled her eyes at the young man's unwavering attentions.

"What are you doing walking these streets by yourself, Christine? It is fortunate I happened along when I did, who knows what kind of event may have befallen you!"

"I was just taking some air," Karla responded as pleasantly as possible. "I should be returning back to the Opera House."

"I will escort you."

Raoul would not hear of Christine walking in the dark. So, he handed her up into his carriage and settled opposite her. They spoke for a few minutes and Karla could see how the young Christine could find the peer so attractive. He had a wonderfully gentle voice and a brilliant smile that you were forced to return.

Karla made her way back down to the lake, in a worse mood than she was when she set off.


Karla was once again playing aimlessly on the piano when Tristan stepped out of the horrid room. His eyes glowed with excitement. He was wearing his cloak and was tugging on a pair of black gloves when he instructed her to collect her own hat, gloves and cloak as they were going for a walk. When Karla returned a moment later, wearing a deep green cloak, matching hat and tan gloves, she noticed that he was wearing the white mask he hated so much. Although Tristan looked the same as he would in two hundred years, no one else saw the handsome man. It seemed he had learnt his lesson never to go out in public unless he was fully dressed.

She slipped her arm through his as they walked along the cobblestone streets to hail a carriage to take them to the Bois de Boulogne. When they arrived, Tristan informed the driver that if he wished to earn himself an extra thirty francs, he had best return in exactly one hour. This man's eyes widened at the large sum and be began to mumble incoherently.

Tristan pulled Karla's arm through his as he led her along the lake that shone in the setting sun. They spent the next hour wandering contentedly wandering through the trees and gardens watching children playing in the amusement park and married couples sitting down to an early dinner.

"Does the Boulogne look like this at home?" Karla asked Tristan as she gazed at the theatre in amazement. "It is so beautiful it would be a pity if they changed it."

Tristan smiled at her reaction. He found Karla's ignorance of the city she had spent most of her life puzzling. His mind spun at the possibilities of unique dates if they returned to their time.


Karla allowed the note addressed to Raoul to flutter down onto the pavement at the Opera House, hoping he would receive it. She had been living in nineteenth century Paris for close to two months and she had come to the realisation that Christine and Raoul were obviously lovers and very much wanted to be together.

But why would she and Tristan have been sent back in time if everything ended as it was supposed to? After considering the two men who clearly loved Christine, Karla decided that things obviously hadn't ended the way they were supposed to.

As a nineteenth century chorus girl, Christine would take whatever financial comfort was offered, especially if it was offered in the form of a young aristocrat. Obviously, Christine had made the wrong choice and was now being given another opportunity to take love.

It had been years since she had read Leroux's book in school. All she remembered was the Phantom locking Christine's lover in the mirrored room, then he changed his mind and let Christine go. Was that not how the book was supposed to end?

When Karla considered the too presumptive way Raoul behaved towards her, she decided that she could never be content with living for the rest of her life with such a man. Tristan obviously was not the same as the Phantom, yet she could easily imagine either herself or Christine living with him.

It was never Karla's intention to mislead Raoul into thinking that she or Christine was in love with him and wanted to run away with him. Karla had spent weeks confused by her emotions and the ones Christine obviously felt towards the man.

Karla swore she would never do anything to hurt Tristan the way his parents had hurt him, yet by organising this meeting, she was dangerously close to breaking that promise. She dared not imagine how the Phantom would react if he found out Christine was arranging an assignation with his rival.

When Karla saw Raoul at the Bois that night, and heard him call out, she realised then that he was still in love with Christine, despite the cool reception she had been treating him to. Raoul would not let her go; he would do anything he could to have her as his wife.

Tristan being terribly jealous had closed the window with a snap and ordered the driver to go faster. Given his childhood, it made sense. Karla felt for certain they would overturn as they quickly rounded a corner! Not knowing how Tristan would react when they returned to the house on the lake, that Karla immediately ran to the safety of her bedroom.

Karla found Raoul wearing a white domino, waiting for her at the appointed time and she led him away from the crowds. As we were leaving, she caught a glimpse of Red Death. Christine knew that it was Tristan and, recalling the scene from the book, began to fear for his life. She began to drag him away faster.

"Raoul, we can't go back there!" she cried as he tried to follow Red Death. "If you love me, you will not go. Stay out of this, Raoul! The less you know, the safer you will be. I have come to warn you to forget about me. My heart is no longer yours; you must let me go. I do not love you."

He grabbed her hand and clutched it to his heart. Karla could see the tears glistening in his eyes, and she could feel her heart break at her cruel kindness. She was doing this to save him. She was here to change the way history played out, and she was going to do her best to make sure that events unfolded correctly this time!

Raoul began to place kisses over her palm and would have continued had she not pulled her hand away.

"Good bye," Karla cried as she turned her back on him and made her way to her dressing room where Tristan was waiting for her.


When Karla joined Tristan in the drawing room of Erik's house on the lake before the performance one night, he was overcome by a wave of possessiveness he had never before felt. He planned, in full Phantom style, to watch the performance from the best seats in the house.

She had changed into a dress that the Phantom had recently bought Christine. Tristan could feel himself drowning in her beauty. The dark blue striped cuirasse bodice accentuated her little waist while the straight skirt made her appear thinner than she was.

He stood as she entered the room, and now he was making his across the room and pulling her into his arms and crushing her tiny body against his. Tristan ran his hand down her cheek and gently grasped her chin to look into her eyes. Her eyes were shining with what Tristan wanted to believe was desire.

Certain she would not slap him, or accuse him of taking advantage of her, Tristan removed the mask and cupped her face in his hands before kissing her lips. When he felt her surrender, he took the opportunity to deepen the kiss, increasing the caress with a fiery urgency.

With her in his arms, her body pressed against his own from breast to thigh, Tristan knew that he would never be able to let her leave. He would never be content with a single kiss. Whatever had happened in the past, and whatever would happen in the future, he had to have Karla by his side.

With a little sigh, Karla was wrapping her arms about Tristan's neck and responding with a passion equal to his own. One of her hands remained at Tristan's neck while the other moved to stroke his face. Surprised, he jerked his head back to stare at her flushed face.

"Oh, I had been hoping for so long that you would do that," she sighed as her body relaxed further against his.

For some reason, as if sensing the restrictive rules placed on unmarried couples, Tristan had not kissed her since they arrived in the late nineteenth century. When their lips finally did touch for the first time in months, Karla's lips immediately softened under his.

Instead of kissing her lips, as he knew she wanted him to, Tristan began to trail kisses along her jaw.

"Tristan," she sighed as he began to kiss her neck and along her collarbone.

Tristan's lips found hers again. Dragging him into the Louis-Philippe room, Karla kissed the right side of his face which had recently been covered by the mask.

Tristan began to remove her clothing, swearing when he had trouble untying her corset. Pushing his hands out of the way, Karla untied the bow and allowed him to loosen the ties and throw the offending item across the room.

Clutching his shoulders, Karla collapsed against his chest, drawing a deep breath before pushing his coat off his shoulders. When they were both naked, Tristan scooped her up in his arms and carried her to the bed.

Hours later Karla lay sleeping in Tristan's arms, their legs and fingers entwined, the opera forgotten.