A/N: Not much to say today, other than to thank you for reading! Also, as we get further into the story, things are getting mildly complex- that said, I highly appreciate any feedback or critiques you might have! I'm on AO3 as well now, if you happen to prefer their story/website format.

Chapter 4

As Claire stepped from the boat and onto the ledge that would lead her into the Phantom's domain, she stared slack-jawed in disbelief. She was standing next to a supposedly fictional character, about to step into the home he had constructed deep beneath the Palais Garnier. Part of her was dumbstruck- the other was shocked she hadn't made the connection earlier, what with all his talk of being a "respectable ghost."

On the other hand, she hadn't eaten a proper meal in well over a day, and her time as a Phantom of the Opera fangirl were long behind her and almost forgotten. True- it was her love of the musical and novel that had led her to visit the Palais Garnier on her first trip to Paris, but it was now her love of classical architecture and art that brought her back. And unlike some phans, she had never really entertained the idea that the character of the Phantom had been based upon a real person.

And yet, here he stood- his hands nimbly maneuvering some unseen mechanism to open the flat stone wall in front of them. As the door revealed itself and slid aside, the Phantom spoke, breaking through Claire's whirling thoughts. "Yes," he responded, "there are those who call me that. I am surprised, however, that you know of this- to those outside the opera company, I am not well known- and to most of those inside, I am little more than a tall tale. How does a young woman from America know of my presence here?"

A nervous laugh burst from her throat, awkward and almost unrecognizable to her own ears. "Yeah, that's a good question!" she nearly screamed before clapping her hands over her mouth to control any further outbursts. The phantom merely stared at her, his expression hidden behind the silken mask.

"No matter," he sighed, leading her into the chilly confines of his home. The air was damp, causing Claire to shiver; but as the phantom began to light the lamps dotted about the drawing room, she could see that once warmed up it might actually be quite cozy. "We shall speak of this further, once you have dined and recovered. For now, you may rest in this bedroom." He opened one of a few doors which led out from the drawing room, revealing a generously sized chamber beyond. Claire nervously stepped forward, unsure of what she might find. She recalled the lavish swan bed from the 2004 movie musical, and vaguely remembered something about a "Louise-Phillip" room- or something like that- from the book. Then there was the Phantom's room itself, which was supposedly set with a coffin as the bed. But as she stepped into the bedroom, she found that it was more or less a normal bedroom- if perhaps a bit ornately decorated by modern standards.

Beside a few chairs and a chaise lounge placed strategically around the room, the chamber was dominated by a large mahogany bed in the center that vaguely reminded Claire of a boat. It and some of the other furniture were decorated with cloth that quite honestly looked as though it had been stripped down from the walls of her grandmother's house. Everything in the room seemed to be carved from mahogany or some other rich dark wood, and every surface was covered with scattered knickknacks of varying types. At the Phantom's gesture, Claire moved to the bed and sat down. It was wonderfully soft, and as she laid back against the pillows she could feel her aches and pains from sleeping on the cold stone floor start to dissipate.

When she looked up again, the Phantom had left, leaving the door ever so slightly ajar- it was a good thing, too, as Claire noticed that from this side the door was designed so as to blend perfectly with the wall when closed. From the gentle sounds in the room beyond, she surmised he was gathering some sustenance for her. Using the time to try and gather her thoughts, she went over what she could remember from watching the musical and reading the book in high school. She knew that he lived alone in this dungeon below the Palais Garnier- or the Opera Populaire, depending on which version you were referencing. She knew he fell in love with young Christine Daae at some point, but wasn't sure if that had happened yet- or for that matter, if Christine actually existed. Gaston Leroux's novel was, after all, supposed to be a work of fiction. It was now clear that the Phantom truly existed- as Leroux himself had claimed at the beginning of his novel- but that didn't mean that the rest of the story hadn't been created from whole cloth.

Claire ran through more of the details- she recalled the Phantom's real name was Erik, at least in the book. The Phantom of the musical had no name which was given at any point during the play, of course, but that wouldn't help. And of course, he was supposed to be monstrously deformed, though the various versions couldn't agree on exactly how. And then there was the fact that he was a murderer, a stalker, and an extortionist…

This wasn't exactly the time to be worrying about this, however. Claire was starving, and moreover she was exhausted. Having slept on the hard stone floor two nights in a row had left her aching all over, and the plush bed she now sat on was delightfully relaxing. Taking a deep breath to calm her racing heart, she allowed herself to lean back and close her eyes. Before long, she was snoring gently, gently cocooned in the thick comforter and down pillows.

Erik retired to his room alone. Pouring himself a large goblet of a rich Bordeaux, he collapsed in a black velvet armchair and cast his mask across the room, not looking to see where it fell. It was a risk, leaving himself exposed with a stranger in his home, but he had a migraine and the damn thing wasn't helping. Rubbing his temples, he sniffed delicately at the wine and tipped it back, downing half the glass in seconds.

Setting it back down, he leaned back in his chair as the wine hit his empty stomach, filling him with an almost immediate warmth. He desperately needed the relaxation- even if it was only temporary. He was deeply regretting his rash decision to take in the mysterious young woman who had appeared in his opera house already. At least she seemed at ease- or at least asleep- even if he wasn't.

He had brought her a small tray of dinner shortly after offering her the room, but even the tempting smell of rosemary and thyme wafting from the tender roast chicken had failed to rouse her. It was a shame, really, as he had a myriad of questions and was horribly anxious to get the conversation over and done with. The sooner he could go back to holing himself up alone with his music, the better. The girl could even remain for all he cared- so long as he didn't have to spend time with her. But first, he had to know some things.

From the moment the girl had appeared in the Palais Garnier, he had known something was strange about her. Her manner of dress, her hair, even the way she carried herself were so different than the young women who lived and worked in the opera house. There was something other about her that he simply couldn't place, and he needed to understand this anomaly.

As his thoughts whirled, Erik's fingers played over the edge of the strange, clamshell-like device he had pulled from the girl's bag upon spiriting it down to his underground lair. Gently teasing it open once more, he marveled at the strange and sudden appearance of an illuminated picture- a different one now from what he had first seen! A day before, opening the device had shown him a serene view of a lake high in the mountains- now, a nighttime image of a vibrant and impossibly complex city appeared on the screen attached to the strange flat typewriter. He stared at it in awe for several seconds, taking in the lights, the bright dots that looked like strange, self-powered vehicles, and the impossibly tall buildings- particularly the one that looked as though someone had plopped a giant pie dish atop three precarious stilts. It looked as though straight from someone's wildest dreams- or, more likely, from some far-flung future.

Erik sighed and closed the clamshell once more.

He was no stranger to the idea of time travel- it had, of course, been discussed as a theoretical possibility in some of the more fantastical books he had read- but this here was living proof that it could be done. The devices she carried were manufactured out of a strange material- almost like rubber, but solid like steel, and smoother than the most polished wood. When he had first opened the strange, clamshell device and it lit up, he had almost dropped it in shock- but soon had turned to thoughts of disassembly so as to understand how it worked. It was upon opening the casing and seeing the inordinately minute components within that he realized they could not possibly have come from this time.

He had tried to come up with alternate theories as to the origin of this strange young woman, but all thoughts led to the same place- at some point in the distant future, humanity had discovered a way to travel not only around the world, but around time as well. Therefore, the girl was telling the truth- she was on vacation, and had fallen victim to one of the usual pitfalls of unwary travelers. Paris had always been infamous for pickpockets and con artists, after all.

This, however, wasn't interesting in and of itself to Erik. The real trick would be to understand how she might return to her time- and if he might be able to convince her to allow him to join her. No doubt there were strict laws governing the use of time travel, but given the right persuasion… Well, anyone could be convinced to bend the rules once motivated to do so.

Besides, he reasoned as he poured himself another deep cup of wine, it wasn't as though he wanted to move permanently to another time- he simply wanted to take a brief vacation as well. He would learn about whatever amazing technological advances humanity had made, see the future utopia for himself- avail himself of some advanced medicine- and return to his own century with a new lease on life. It was a very nice little plan, all told, and once back he could finally introduce himself to Christine as a man- for surely, if the architects of the future could craft a building which looked as though it might topple at the first brisk wind, the doctors of the time could craft him a face like any man might have.

Yes, he would finally reveal himself to Mlle. Daae as a man- and she would forget all about the young Vicomte. She would love him, just as he loved her. It was a perfect plan.

Erik downed the rest of his wine in one swallow and threw the cup from his hand, letting it fall in the same manner he had done with his mask.

If his plan was so perfect, why then this foul mood? In truth, Erik felt ready to murder the first person who came across his path, but even he couldn't say why. If he could indeed make it to the future, and if he could find a doctor to assist him, and if he came back to his time-

Ah. "If."

Everything about this plan hinged on one huge unknown- whether the girl was indeed from the future, or if it instead was one elaborate hoax. Logically, this option didn't make sense- why would someone decide to trick him, the infamous opera ghost? Indeed, how would they decide to play a trick on him, when no one could decide whether he actually existed or not? There was no reason this might be a trick, and yet the notion of time travel was just as illogical.

And there was the reason for the gnawing anxiety in the pit of Erik's stomach. None of these questions could be answered until the girl was awake, and the only thing he could do now was wait. With a sigh, Erik settled deeper into the chair and let the warmth from the rich wine wash over him, sending him into a restless slumber.