Chapter 5

Erik was jolted from his restless sleep by the gentle but unexpected sound of piano music. Forgetting momentarily the events of the evening prior, he started up from his seat, scrambled for his mask where it had landed in a corner of the room, and burst from his bedroom into the drawing room, prepared to fight off intruders. Instead he found Claire sitting at the piano, slowly but accurately picking out the notes to Für Elise.

"You- you play!" he gasped, both in surprise and sudden exhaustion from his initial burst of panic and outrage. His hands slowly unclenched and his shoulders dropped as the adrenaline drained from his system and Claire turned to face him with a shy smile.

"I do," she responded. "Though not very well I'm afraid- I'm very out of practice. And are you okay? You seem, uh…" She trailed off here, staring at her host's still panicked deameanor.

Erik drew himself up in a regal manner, willing his heart to stop racing. "I'm quite alright, thank you. And you have nothing to apologize for, more music is always welcome in within these walls. But come!" So saying, he turned and swept toward the little kitchen, gesturing for Claire to follow. "You must be very hungry, and we have manners of importance to discuss."

Claire looked at him quizzically but followed. Within a few minutes, she found herself presented with warm, buttery toast, freshly cooked eggs and a large goblet of fragrant fruit juice. Her stomach rumbled in anticipation and she dug in.

"I never got to thank you for the meal you left last night," she said between bites of toast as the phantom sat down across the table from her, noticeably declining any food for himself. "I'm afraid I was pretty damn exhausted, but thank you- the chicken was much more delicious than Mr. Boucher's breakfast the other day."

"I could not very well leave you to starve," responded the phantom. His words were clipped, and Claire suspected he was holding something back, or searching for the right words to say something else.

In an effort to ease the tension, Claire spoke again. "I never got your name, either," she said in what she hoped was an imploring tone. If it was, the man across the table gave nothing away.

"Neither do I have yours."

Claire fought the urge to roll her eyes. So this was how they were going to play the game. Very well. "My name is Claire. Claire Tuinstra. And you are…" she prompted in return.

The Phantom looked away silently. Claire continued staring at him, refusing to break eye contact until he gave her the dignity of being able to call him by a proper name. Finally, he sighed. "If you must call me anything, you may call me Erik. Though I promise you, I will know if you tell anyone else this… privileged information."

Claire nodded. So the original novel was correct- at least in naming the opera ghost. How much more of it could be true she did not know, and it didn't seem the right time to ask. It hardly mattered, though, as Erik spoke up again, stopping her train of thought short.

"So, Mlle. Tuinstra… am I correct in assuming that you are not from this time?"

Claire dropped her fork in shock. She stared at the masked figure in front of her, but again he gave nothing away. Finally, after a very pregnant pause, Claire started laughing awkwardly.

"Wow.. Damn, I really thought I was gonna have to float that whole thing a lot slower- but cool. Yes. You are correct. I am definitely not from now." She paused to take another bite of toast, then continued. "I gotta ask though- what gave it away?"

Erik glanced away again, almost as though in shame. "It was your clamshell device," he responded rather cryptically, leaving Claire to narrow her eyes at him.

"Clamshell…?" she asked. "I don't know what you mean, like a compact mirror or something?"

"A- what now?" he responded in confusion. "No, the photograph viewing device. One moment- I will fetch it."

Claire stared in abject confusion as the man glided silently out of the room and back again, this time carrying a very familiar object- the bag she had tried to stow out of sight on her first night at the Opera.

"You took my bag!" she accused, perhaps more harshly than she had intended. "And after all this talk of not making the Opera Ghost seem like a petty thief- you were the petty thief all along!"

At her accusation, Erik slumped into his chair and sort of curled into himself ever so slightly- though Claire was sure even Erik hadn't noticed his own subconscious admission of shame. As he sat, though, he pulled Claire's laptop from her bag and set it on the table between them.

"The clamshell device," he prompted.

"Right!" Claire responded. "My laptop- I guess it does have a clamshell design, I just thought you meant something a lot smaller." She opened it up, but this time it stayed dark. "Oh, come on!" she groaned. "Look, it's completely out of battery now. I don't suppose you have working electric outlets?"

Erik tilted his head in confusion. "Outlets? I have electricity, of course- it is a much greater convenience than to use oil lamps- but I'm afraid I don't know what an 'outlet' is."

"Uh- it's a spot on the wall you can plug things into- hang on." Claire reached for her bag and dug around inside until she found the charger for her laptop and held it up for demonstration. "See, you plug this end into the laptop, and this end connects up with the wall so that it can be charged. I could show you how this thing works, but without a place to plug it in it's basically just dead."

Erik gingerly took the charger from her and examined the plug end carefully before setting it down. "Some inventors have been toying with the idea of connecting portable devices to electrical power- a man in Britain has created what he calls a 'lamp holder plug,' if I recall. I've never had need for such a thing as of yet- but I believe I could easily fashion a way to connect it to the wiring in my home if you would like to… charge it?"

Claire stifled a giggle at his awkward usage of her own modern dialect. "Sure, if it's not too much trouble," she responded. "I never did understand electrical work myself, but I'm not adverse to someone else giving it a go. Anyway- was that all you wanted to talk about?"

"Mm- no." Erik shook his head and looked back up from the cord. "I wanted to ask you about your plans and intentions here. I assume you are on some kind of- well, time vacation? I of course don't know how all of this works, but I wouldn't imagine you were planning to stay here permanently with only a few strange devices from your own time."

Claire stared at him for a moment before it clicked. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "You think I'm vacationing- I mean, I am vacationing, but you think I'm vacationing here!"

"Yes." He spoke as if to a small and particularly stupid child. "That is what you told me you were doing in Paris."

Claire smiled awkwardly. "Right. I did say that, didn't I?"

Erik continued as though she hadn't said anything. "Either way, I assume you have plans to return to your own time- as one usually does on a vacation. Quite simply, when you leave, I would like to join you."

Claire paused. "You- you want to go to the future with me?"

"Yes. I assume there are laws and regulations against this, but you'll find I am quite insistent upon this. There are many things about the future of this world that I imagine would make my life a great deal more pleasant."

Claire shook her head in disbelief. "No, it's not that- I'm happy to take you back to my own time with me- but did you consider that if I could get back easily, I wouldn't have decided to take refuge in the Palais Garnier instead?"

Erik paused awkwardly. "I did not."

Claire sighed. "Look, here's the thing- I'm not from that far in the future, just about a hundred and forty years or so. I get that that might seem like a lot, but we're really not that more technologically advanced, at least not in the way speculative fiction would have you believe."

"But- this device!" Erik swept his hand over the laptop on the table. "There was a picture on it of the most incredible city, with self-driven wagons and impossible buildings!"

"Seattle?" Claire asked, prompting a shrug from her breakfast companion. "Nighttime picture, weird observation deck type building?" Erik nodded. "Yep, that's the Space Needle- they'll build it in the 60's I think. It's really not that fancy- just heckin' expensive to go to the top. Hell, it's not nearly as tall as the Eiffel Tower right here in Paris- though I guess they won't start building that one for another couple of years."

She sighed again. "My point is- by my time we don't have time travel any more than you guys have airplanes. Sure, we've looked into it, and I think we've even made some light particles travel very short lengths in time, but it's not a reality for humans yet. The truth is, I don't know how I got here- it just sorta… happened."

Erik slumped again, ever so slightly. "Then… you are not planning to return home?"

Claire shrugged, and she was surprised to feel the sting of tears at the corners of her eyes for the first time in days. "I don't know," she replied. "I'd much rather go home if I could, but I have no idea how to. If I figure it out, I'll gladly take you with me."

Erik sat back in his chair and sank deep into thought, his fingers steepled in front of him. "Tell me," he finally said, "what exactly happened before you ended up here? Surely moving through time would be a large, noticeable event?"

"I was in the catacombs," Claire responded slowly. "I don't know how, but something happened down in the catacombs that brought me here."

"Right," Erik replied, his voice thick with sarcasm. "You just decided to go for a walk in the catacombs beneath Paris, and they magically transported you back 140 years into the past."

"Look here now," Claire growled, "first of all, in my time, the catacombs are a big tourist attraction, all right? And second of all, well, yes!" She launched into the story of descending into the darkness, getting split from the group and lost in the tunnels, and emerging into this unfamiliar and unfriendly world. To his credit, Erik didn't interrupt- though Claire could not tell if he believed her, either.

"Well," he said when at last Claire's tale caught up to the present, "have you thought of retracing your steps in the catacombs to get back?"

She hadn't.

"It is a possibility we may try at some point," Erik continued. "Though accessing the catacombs now is not so easy as purchasing an exorbitantly priced day pass- you must make an appointment with the right people, and even then you may only be allowed in under strict supervision, and only if the caves are currently open. Such an endeavor will need careful planning before we attempt it."

Claire narrowed her eyes, struck by a sudden suspicion. "You know," she said carefully, "you're very focused on this whole time travel thing. One would think you only allowed me to stay here on the notion that I might be able to jump you forward to the future."

Erik shrugged and waved one hand lazily in the air. "What I said about my morals still stands, but I won't deny that your… origins intrigued me. If this displeases you, you may always, how did you say it- "rough it" on the streets of Paris."

Claire sighed. "Fine, you've got me there- just let me know when we can go sneaking down to the catacombs, since I'm certain you don't mean to arrange an official tour. Once we're in, I'll do my best to retrace my steps."

Erik stood in one fluid movement. "It's settled then. I will make the arrangements, as well as see if I cannot bring your 'laptop' back to life. Until then…" He trailed off.

"Until then...?"

Erik glanced around. "You may read any of my books of course- I have a few in English. And of course, the piano in the drawing room is at your disposal. And…" he trailed off again, shifting uncomfortably for a moment. Then, with an almost imperceptible shake of his head he glided away, taking Claire's laptop and charger with him- and leaving behind the distinct impression that he had something more which he could not physically bring himself to say.