Chapter Fifteen

Alison was walking on air for the rest of the week. She had dreamed about being with Erik for so long and now that it had actually happened, she felt like she was perpetually high on life. People stared at her quite a lot during that week. They found her excessive cheerfulness strange and kind of disconcerting. But she didn't care. He loved her and that was all that mattered.

For his part, he felt much the same way. Before, he had spent much of his day drawing, watching, and thinking about Christine. Now all of a sudden Christine seemed much less important. Erik knew that there would be a part of him that would always love her, but that part was eclipsed by his love for Alison. Now he spent his time watching her from the walls, noticing her with new eyes. He noticed the grace she carried about her, her kindness, her bright, beautiful smile. He wanted desperately to talk to her, find out what she thought of the whole thing, and, more importantly, to find out how she knew his name. Unfortunately, they didn't get to see each other until the next Sunday. The time stretched endlessly for both of them.

But when Sunday came, they both felt inexplicably nervous. Both spent longer than usual in front of the mirror, making sure they looked their best. For Erik, this was difficult, since he never looked into a mirror if he could help it. But he wanted to impress Alison as much as he could, so he tried. At exactly seven o'clock, he heard her footsteps coming down the tunnels. He slicked his hair back one last time, then looked around frantically for something to do so that it didn't look like he had been waiting for her. He grabbed a piece of paper off his desk and started drawing something random just as she walked in.

Alison was trying very hard to hide her nerves behind a gentle smile. She didn't want to fall back into the trap of just being friends, and she was afraid that if she didn't establish the change now, that was what would happen. "Hey, Er– Angel," she called to him. Then she walked over and kissed him lightly on the lips. That one touch dispelled all his fears that she would change her mind. He smiled back at her.

"Hello, Angelique."

They stood, smiling at each other for a moment, and then he engaged her in conversation as she pulled up a chair from the table and sat across from him. They talked in their normal manner for a while, but this time it had an undertone of something else. Sometimes his leg would "accidentally" brush hers. When she teased him, she would nudge him with her shoulder, inviting close contact. Finally, they ran out of things to say.

Erik decided that this would be the perfect time to bring up the one thing that had been gnawing at his mind for a week. "Angelique," he said cautiously.

"Yes?" She frowned in confusion. "Is there something wrong?"

"I wanted to ask you: how is it that you know my name?"

She froze, eyes alarmed. I knew that he would ask at some point, and I've already made my decision. It shouldn't be too hard to tell him that I've been lying to him for two years. She sighed and looked at her hands.

"You, of all people, have the right to know, and I've already decided to tell you." Then she lifted her head and her eyes stared straight into his. "But there are two conditions."

"Why? Surely this is only a matter of–"

"No," she cut him off. "It's not. Once I tell you, you will understand why. This is much bigger than just your name. It's a secret that could do a lot of damage if it fell into the wrong hands. There is only one person in the entire world, so far as I know, who knows about this, and that is because that person is involved. So that's my first condition. You must tell no one. That one shouldn't be too hard. No offense, but who would you tell?" A small smile played around her lips for a moment.

He nodded silently. She had a point.

Then the smile slipped off her face. "The second one is a little more… personal. What I'm about to tell you is the biggest secret I keep. It's only fair that you give me something in return." She sensed his nervousness. "Don't worry, I'm not going to ask you anything you can't give. That would just be unreasonable."

He relaxed, but only momentarily. "What do you want of me?"

She hesitated, then said quietly, "I want you to take off your mask."

Betrayal and anger coursed through him. I would have thought that she of all people would never… But before he could say anything to that effect, she raised her hands.

"Don't get angry at me before you hear what I have to say, okay?"

He nodded slowly, eyes narrowed in distrust.

"I'm not asking you to do it now if you don't feel comfortable. I don't want you to feel that you have to hide from me. I want you to be able to trust me. You don't have to do it now. I'm asking you to take off the mask when you feel comfortable doing it, not before. If you never feel comfortable enough, that's okay too. If you choose to show me, I won't scream, I won't run away, I won't think you're a freak. I love you, Erik. More than I've ever loved anyone else in my life. You could be a three-headed demon for all I know, and I wouldn't care."

He looked into her eyes, trying to find the lie. There has to be a lie somewhere, he thought. She doesn't actually mean this… does she?

But her eyes met his with such unflinching honesty that he began to accept that she actually meant what she said. He took a deep breath.

"I accept your conditions. For the second condition…I will do it now before I have time to change my mind."

A surge of happiness went through her. He trusts me! He really trusts me!

With one swift motion, he ripped off the mask, exposing his face to her. Then he closed his eyes, not wanting to see the expression on her face. Even after all her promises, he still didn't entirely believe her.

If he had cared to look, he would have seen horror as he expected, but only at first. It morphed into pity then to the deepest compassion she had ever felt for anyone. Love swept through her for this man who had known nothing but pain.

Erik waited to hear her scream. He waited for the sound of her footsteps running away, and for the loneliness to take him again, more complete this time because he had truly hoped. He heard none of those things, however. Instead, he felt.

Her hand softly touched the marred flesh of the right half of his face. Words couldn't describe the sight of it, and she wasn't sure that she wanted to try. All that mattered was to show him that his preconceived notions were wrong.

His eyes shot wide open at her touch, even though it had been gentle. He stared at her, not believing what he saw in her eyes. She recognized this, and knew that she had to make him believe. Touch alone wasn't enough.

She leaned over and slowly, carefully kissed his face. His eyes fluttered close at the feel of her lips, more heavenly than anything he had ever experienced in his life. She continued kissing his face, getting surer by the second. She memorized the strange texture with her lips, so unlike a normal face, and yet so much more beautiful.

She eventually pulled back and looked him straight in the eyes. This was the moment to do something she had wanted to do for a while now.

"Pitiful creature of darkness," she sang softly, "what kind of life have you known? God give me courage to show you, you are not alone!" Before he could ask her what she had said, she fit her lips to his in a beautiful, perfect kiss.

When they broke apart, he looked her for a moment, then swept her into his arms and held her. Sobs broke through the control he had tried to exert over himself and he began crying into her hair. "Thank you," he whispered helplessly, over and over again. She held him tightly, trying to reassure him of her love.

They stayed like that for a while, until his tears dried. Then he pulled back and gave her a little smile. "Well, then. That went… differently than I expected."

She smiled back at him. "I told you, you could be a three-headed demon and I wouldn't care. I love you."

"As I love you, mon coeur."

"You know, I've always wanted someone to call me that," she giggled.

"I shall be sure to do that more often, then." The brightness of his eyes showed her his happiness. Then they became serious. "I have upheld my end of our bargain, now it is time for you to uphold yours. Why is it that you know my name?"

Her face became sober. "Just please promise me that you won't judge me or condemn me for not telling you before now."

"Of course not!" He seemed offended that she would even ask. "I would never judge you like that, even if you told me that you had killed someone."

"It's nothing that serious… and yet it is, for a different reason. All right. Let me figure out how to put this."

She thought for a moment, then began. "Everything I have told you about my past is true. I have told you no lies. I am truly from America. But there is an assumption underlying everything I've told you that is wrong.

"You see, the America I have described is different. If you took a trip there now, you would find none of the things I have told you about. My house wouldn't exist, my family wouldn't be there, and the school I told you I went to wouldn't be standing. Or maybe it would, it would just look different from what I have described. Can you guess why?"

He shook his head, puzzled.

She took a deep breath, and then said, "Erik, what year was it when I came?"

He seemed taken aback by the question. "It was 1873, of course."

"There was no 'of course' about it for me, Erik. When I asked what the year was and received that answer, I was completely surprised. If I went home and asked what year it was before I came here, do you know what they would say?"

"1873?" he asked, with a sickening feeling he knew what she was about to tell him. But no, that is not possible. Things like that do not happen in real life… do they?

"No. If I had asked them, they would have said 2012."

She watched his face carefully for any sign of his emotions.

"I'm not lying to you. What reason would I have to tell such ridiculous lies? I'm telling the real, honest truth."

Silence.

"Please say something, goddamn it!"

Silence. Then, finally:

"I believe you, Angelique."

"What?"

"I believe you," he repeated. "As you say, why would you lie about something that important? It explains quite a lot about you that I have found confusing."

Her face relaxed, then filled with tension again as he kept speaking.

"It answers many of my questions about you… except the one I asked. How does the fact that you are from the future explain how you know my name?"

This was the part she had been dreading. How do I explain to him about… all this? I guess I should just say it straight out.

"In 1910, a man named Gaston Leroux–"

Erik cut her off. "You have heard of Monsieur Leroux? He was a thorn in my side for quite a long time. There were a few times that I even thought he knew the truth about me, but of course–"

"You wanted to hear this, so let me talk!" Alison said sharply.

He bowed his head contritely. "I am sorry."

"That's interesting, that you knew Gaston Leroux. I mean, it makes sense, but still… Anyway, in 1910, he published a book called The Phantom of the Opera."

"WHAT?"

Alison ignored Erik's outraged cry and continued. "The book wasn't terribly famous in its time. It was even out of print a couple times. But in 1925, a silent film came out–"

"What is a silent film?" asked Erik.

Alison considered this. "It's essentially a moving picture. The only reason it's silent is because back then, they didn't know how to give the picture sound, so they just played music and had text for what they should have been saying. But that particular movie is actually pretty good. The point is, someone made a silent film based on the book. It's a pretty good adaptation, except for the tiny fact that THE ENDING IS STUPID AND HORRIBLE… anyway, that movie was pretty popular. So people kept making movies. There are quite a lot actually, but none of them are as popular as… well, we'll get to that later. The movies were of varying degrees of quality. Some were definitely better than others, and yes, I've seen them all," she added, seeing Erik's questioning look.

"Why did you see them all?"

"Why? I was curious. Also, I wanted to see them to say that I'd seen them."

"Is that all?" Erik sensed that there was something she wasn't telling him about her motives.

"Okay, fine. There were other reasons that you don't necessarily need to know and anyway, they aren't exactly relevant."

Erik made a mental note to get the reasons out of her later. Right now he was too interested to hear what she had to say to take time on the trivialities.

"How many of these – movies, did you say? – are there?"

Alison thought about it and counted on her fingers, muttering under her breath. "Well, there's the Lon Chaney one, the Claude Rains one, Herbert Lom, Max Schell, Robert Englund, Charles Dance, the cartoon version, Dario Argento," Alison suppressed a shiver at the name of the worst Phantom movie of all time, "and Gerard Butler, although technically that's a movie of the musical… so let's make that nine."

Erik stared in horror. "Nine different movies about me? How did that happen? This is terrible! It is an invasion of my privacy and–"

"Please relax, Erik. I'm telling you the honest truth. Besides, nobody really watches those movies besides phangirls. I'm not saying that phangirls are nobody," she added. "I'm just saying that the only way to find those movies is if you're really looking and people don't usually do that who aren't phangirls."

"What are these 'phangirls'?" asked Erik curiously.

Alison pretended to ignore his question. "But the movie versions aren't what led me to the story. Do you know what a musical is?"

Erik frowned. "I am not familiar with the term, no."

Then Alison remembered. "Oh, right, they don't technically exist yet. A musical is basically like an opera, but the music is different stylistically and there's usually dialogue."

Erik nodded.

"Well, in 1986, a composer named Andrew Lloyd Webber wrote a musical based on the book. It's also called The Phantom of the Opera. This musical is hugely successful. It's the longest running musical on Broadway and it just celebrated its 25th anniversary last year. It has really pretty music and it's just a great musical in general. The musical is what led me to the story of the Phantom of the Opera. Reading the book –yes, I have read it, don't look at me like that– told me that your name is Erik. So that's how I know your name. Any questions?"

Erik stared at her, eyes wide open and jaw all but hitting the floor. "Are you teasing me again or am I supposed to believe this?"

"You're supposed to believe this, because it's perfectly true," she said in acid tones.

"I trust in the veracity of your statements usually, but this seems so outlandish as to be absurd. Is there a way that you can possibly prove the truth of what you say?"

She thought about it for a moment. "There are a couple quotes I know from some of the movies, but not very well. I do know most of the songs from the musical, but…"

Erik perked up at the mention of songs. "But what?"

"Nothing, nothing." Alison turned away.

"Angelique," Erik's voice called, softly persuasive. "I have bared myself to you in all ways excepting the true physical." He was very glad she couldn't see him blush. "You need not be afraid to tell me something."

"It's just that I'm not the best singer in the world and–"

Erik tried very hard to keep from laughing. "You are a good singer, Angelique. You just lack certain techniques. If it makes you feel better, I will not approach this as a teacher. I will approach it as a musician hearing a new piece of music and I will also look at it as… never mind."

Now it was Alison's turn to keep from laughing. "You need not be afraid to tell me something," she parroted back at him.

Erik huffed in pretended annoyance. "If you wish, I would look at it as… as a lover listening to his lover sing. Not a lover in the physical way, of course," he hastened to add, in case that wasn't what Alison wanted. "I look at you as the woman I love. I would not judge harshly in any way. I simply… this sounds completely inane and I cannot properly articulate my thoughts, so I am going to stop talking now."

Alison did laugh out loud at this point. "It's okay, Erik. I get what you mean and I appreciate it. Let's see. I'm trying to think of a good song that would be easy for me to sing by myself. Wait a moment! Do you remember that song you sang to me the night that Patrick came, when we almost kissed?"

"Do you think I could ever forget it, mon amour? That night was when I first started falling in love with you," he confessed.

She grinned. "Well, anyway, that song is actually in the musical. In English, of course, but it's the same song."

"Truly?"

"Yes."

Erik considered this for a moment. "That is very strange. I wonder how someone managed to find it. But can you try to think of another one? My music is not new music to me."

Alison thought harder. "The most likely thing for me to sing is a song that Christine sings, but there are no songs that she sings on her own except… Hold on. There is one. How did I not manage to think of Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again? Yeah, I guess I'll do that one."

Erik sat back, an interested look on his face.

"All right, here goes." She took a deep breath and started to sing.

"You were once my one companion

You were all that mattered

You were once a friend and father

Then my world was shattered

Wishing you were somehow here again

Wishing you were somehow near

Sometimes it seemed if I just dreamed

Somehow you would be here

Wishing I could hear your voice again

Knowing that I never would

Dreaming of you won't help me to do

All that you dreamed I could

Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental

Seem for you the wrong companions

You were warm and gentle

Too many years fighting back tears

Why can't the past just die?

Wishing you were somehow here again

Knowing we must say goodbye

Try to forgive, teach me to live

Give me the strength to try

No more memories, no more silent tears

No more gazing across the wasted years

Help me say goodbye

Help me say goodbye"
After she finished the song there was a long moment. At the sound of her voice, Erik was lost in memories. He didn't understand English, but somehow he knew what she was singing about. He remembered that day in the graveyard very well. In his mind's eye, Christine sank to the ground in front of the gravestone. In front of him, Alison was doing her best not to cry. The song had awakened all her homesickness for the place that she used to call home. She missed her family, her friends, and her life there. I have a new life here, she reminded herself. A life that has the potential for things that are so much better. I have what I've always wanted: true love. Then why does it make me so sad?

It's normal to miss your family, a small, comforting voice inside of her said. Just because you like your life here doesn't mean that you don't miss the old one. It's okay. Acknowledge the feeling, know that it exists, and devote your time and energy to this life.

The vision of Christine dissipated from Erik as he noticed Alison's pain. He didn't fully understand it, but he knew he needed to be there for her. He pulled her into his arms and held her close, trying to comfort her and ease her sadness. She relaxed into him, grateful for his love.

"I love you," she said softly, just to repeat it.

"I love you too, Angelique."

The way he said her name reminded her of the one thing she still had yet to tell him. She pulled back and looked at him. "There's one more thing about me that I think you should know. My real name isn't Angelique. That's my French name. At home, people call me Alison."

"Alison." He tried it, rolling the word across his tongue. It sounded strange to her.

"You can choose which one you want to call me. I'm good either way," she assured him.

"Then do you mind if I call you Angelique?" he asked sheepishly.

She grinned. "That was exactly what I hope you'd say."

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