Chapter 3

The night came back in patches. The dream was lazy, filled with swells mixed with sound. I stretched and yawned. I snuggled into my down comforter. I could sleep in. Then I smelled the sulfur of eggs mixed with the scent of fresh bread toasting and my stomach rumbled in anticipation.

I heard steps. I heard his steps. "I should… not be ..here," he said, stumbling over the words, sounding so unsettled, a whispered entreat.

I opened my eyes to see the familiar half mask before me and a perfectly attired Phantom and I gave a start. Was he an unbalanced cast member? I followed the current Phantom and his understudies on Instagram. They had seemed like nice stable, sane men. Crawford was prone to jokes but this seemed a bit extreme. I sat up pulling the comforter up, as if like a kid the blanket would keep me safe from ghosts.

"Please join me for breakfast," and he gave a slight bow as he gestured to the table.

I was so confused. "I need to use the restroom first," I said. I needed some normalcy.

A pink hue climbed the side of his face I could see. "By all means, of course."

I crossed the room, my eyes never leaving him. Once in the bathroom I closed the door and turned the lock. I shuddered and let out the breath I didn't know I was holding. What was going on? Where had he come from? Was he a mad man that broke in? Was he an actor my friends paid? But he had been rough last night. Who was this man dressed as the Phantom?

I splashed water on my face and looked into the mirror. I hadn't gotten to properly wash up last night and I had racoon eyes from my eye make-up. I rifled through my toiletry bag until I found my face wash and squeezed a bit out onto my palm and built a nice lather up on my face. The lavender smell was soothing and calming. I removed my contacts, washing, rinsing, and storing them in case.

Maybe I should just shower. I turned the shower water on. I began to remove my clothes but stopped, eyeing the door and its lock. It would be safe, I think. He hadn't taken advantage of me last night. I removed my clothes and tried to recall his exact words. I stepped into the shower. Something about not finding him. And then this morning, his first words to me were, 'I should not be here.' The water was refreshing as it streamed down my hair. I lathered my hair, chasing the grime of last night away. Then I conditioned my hair letting it sit while I lathered the loofa to clean my body. I agreed that he should not be here but why was he here? And he cooked me breakfast. It was all rather perplexing. I rinsed and towel dried my body. Then I leaned over bending at the waist to wrap my hair in a turban. There was a soft rap at the door. I paused in a twist of the towel.

"I have gathered fresh clothes for you at the door. I will give you privacy."

I crossed to the door, pressing my ear to the wood. Did I dare trust him? It could be a trap. I would be more vulnerable. I turned the lock and waited. There was no sound. I turned the knob, pulling the door ajar. I saw him across the room. His back to mine. I glanced down to see a pile of clothes. I reached out and scooped them into my arms. I pushed the door shut and looked at his selection from my travel wardrobe. He had selected the long dress, heavy dress, I had brought for my day wandering the Metropolitan Museum and high tea. Neatly tucked into the folds was a pair of panties and a bra. I colored at the thought of him touching those garments. I dressed. It did feel better to be fully clean. I combed my hair. Thinking if I prolonged my time, an answer would come through. My thoughts were a jumble. How did I get this man out of my life? Time, I needed time.

I opened the door and peered into the room. He was standing adjacent to the window, looking down at the ground, but he himself was in shadow. He glanced my way as soon as I opened the door. He stepped into the center of the room and the light spilled on to him. His cheekbones prominent, his skin so pale as it stretched over the bones layer below. I sucked in my breath. He was not a pretty fellow.

"Shall we?" he said as he gestured with his arm to the cooled breakfast. My eyes followed his grayed, pale hand. His blue veins were visible, so near the surface, his wrist was so very thin. He pulled the chair out for me and I sat. He was such a conundrum. His clothes were elegant. So neatly tailored to his form, neat as a pin. His angular jaw, his thin body, neatly enveloped in the suit. His long limbs pressed into the room giving him a gainly air. His attire framing him, all together an attempt at vanity.

He sat opposite me. I began to eat but after a while noticed he did not. He sipped his tea but no food passed his lips. The elephant in the room, why he was here, hung between us. He did not speak and I waited, instead focusing on my meal.

"He believes you to be what I need," he said, breaking the silence.

Who was he? I was not a commodity to be traded. I remained quiet, sensing that quiet was what he needed.

"He is dying. Cancer, all this modern medicine cannot save him. What was he thinking?

I reached across the table to his ghostly hands. I felt him shudder at my touch. He quickly withdrew his hands from mine. His friend was dying but why was he dressed like the Phantom?

"This was not the plan. Jon was the plan."

"Who?" I asked.

"Jon Robyns, I was supposed to go to him, not you."

Me? "What do you mean?"

"You wear my ring," and he gestured to the ring on my hand.

I looked at the ring glistening. My right hand reached across to the ring finger to pull it off. It would not budge. I twisted harder. "I can't get it off."

"May I?" he asked.

I gave him my left hand. He tried but was unsuccessful as well.

"It has always come off. At every performance it could come off when he proposes. She puts it on and then he takes it back." He tugged harder.

I gave a cry. "Please stop." I withdrew my hand from his.

"You do not want me, we must keep trying," And he reached for my hand.

I curled my hand under its partner, effectively hiding it. He was stronger than he looked and I would end up with a dislocated finger. "No. What do you mean? Why would I have you? You came here on your own. I didn't bring you here."

He stood up and began pacing, "But you did. I had to come because of my ring. I am tethered to it."

This was such nonsense. "Who are you?"

"I am Erik, OG, Phantom, etc. I am he."

This cannot be real. "Someone put you up to this. One of my friends. They paid you. You are one of those method actors that I read about."

"No, I am not. I am Erik. You will come to accept me as all the others did."

"The Phantom is not real. He is a fictional character. You are not he. You are a man that looks like him but you are not he."

"Crawford had a hard time accepting it at first too, most do."

"Ben?" I asked.

"No, the one that won the Tony Award. Michael, was like you, refusing to believe at first. When he realized I wasn't going away he worked it to his advantage. We talked a lot and he worked to incorporate much of my past into his role."

I stared at him, unsure of what I was hearing. It was utter nonsense.

He sat down across from me folding his arms across his chest. "Go ahead and try leaving me behind. It wont work."

xxx

So the Phantom is ending on Broadway. I feel a sense of sadness in so many ways. I came up with this what if. I have several chapters I thought I would rewrite but the end is nigh so I will just release them. May the Phantom live on.