Disclaimer: Based on the novel by Gaston Leroux. All Phantom related works, as well as lyrics quoted in the story, belong to their respective owners.
Chapter 4 - Future begins today
When Erik finally emerged back into the world above, the Opera House was dark and silent again. Passing through the mirror he silently snuck into the cramped little dressing room. All the things Carlotta had brought him were still there, squeezed into a narrow space between the wall and the wardrobe. She hadn't returned them. Hadn't she had time to do it or did she actually expect him to eventually collect them?
Hesitantly he took the duffel bag and emptied the contents on the sofa. There was a couple pair of pants, a few shirts that varied from casual to formal, a sweater, a hoodie and a leather jacket. He also found some undergarments and small accessories, a pair of black shoes, the kind everyone seemed to wear these days, and finally, a matching set of dress pants and blazer which he supposed was a modern version of a suit. Almost everything was rigorously black, save for just a few smaller pieces in either white, grey, bottle green or dark burgundy.
Erik had to admit, the girl had taste. All in all, she didn't dress that bad herself compared to some other people that went about the Opera these days, choosing neutral colors, discreet jewelry and essential makeup. She looked young and fresh, certainly more so than her ancestor. She was very beautiful, he thought, inadvertently recalling the sensation of her lips on his.
He shook his head vigorously, banishing the memory away. What was he doing thinking about her in such terms?! That was Carlotta, for God's sake! Perhaps that wasn't the very same Carlotta but it was likely her great great granddaughter which made it just as bad. Whatever strange spell she cast on him, he wouldn't give in to it!
Getting a hold of himself he looked inside the other bag which held a set of bottles and various other items, the purpose of which he could easily guess from the labels on the packaging. There appeared to be pretty much everything a man could possibly need to get himself decent.
He looked at his own ghastly reflection in the mirror and let out a defeated sigh. Perhaps Carlotta and Daroga were right after all. If he ever wanted to have a second chance at Christine he'd have to look his best. She was a modern girl now. He had to meet her standards.
Making up his mind he grabbed both bags and went out in search of the showers. Even before Daroga mentioned it, he had heard the word during his earlier exploration of the premises, spoken by some random ballerinas. They had sweat like pigs during the ballet training, they had said, so before going home they'd go take a shower downstairs. He hadn't followed them then but he remembered the general direction they went so it didn't take him long before he found what appeared to be a large washroom. Locking the door, he undressed and taking a few items from the paper bag with him, he got into one of the cabins and tentatively turned the knobs.
The water was warm, crystal clear and scentless. Closing his eyes, he let it stream over his body, savoring the sensation. There was something cathartic about it as if it could wash away years of grief, shame, and vulnerability.
Reflected upside down in the metallic shower knob his own face twisted into a sneer. "Erik mustn't fool himself," it laughed, "No matter how hard he scrubs himself he'll always be as repelling as ever."
"Erik mustn't listen," he spat angrily. "It is only right that he take care of himself in the way other people do in this time."
"What for? No woman would ever touch him with the end of a stick!"
"Erik had been granted a kiss! A real kiss! Not just a pitiful peck on the forehead, not even on the cheek, but flat on the mouth!"
"Right. Carlotta kissed him but she had never seen his face. If she only saw his face! Horror! Horror! Horror!"
"Stop it!" Erik yelled out loud, covering his ears with his hands. The stereo conscience was driving him crazy.
The voice vanished and he got out of the shower, shaved, brushed his teeth and fixed his hair. He chose a few things from the duffel bag and tried them on, amazed at how comfortable they were and how well they actually fit.
As he inspected himself in the mirror, his own reflection mocked him from the other side of the glass, "Erik may dress like a dandy but he will always remain a living corpse."
Carefully he put his mask back on. Now, that was better. He would never let Christine take it off, not this time around. If she never knew his face perhaps she could love him for what he was inside.
"Erik is a monster, on the inside just as on the outside," the man in the mirror reminded him. "No one could ever love him simply for himself."
"Shut up!" he growled and the reflection finally obeyed, going still and silent.
Going back home through Carlotta's dressing room, he noticed a couple books laying on her vanity. Curious, he made a step back and checked out the titles. One was "Phantom" by a certain Susan Kay and the other one was "The Phantom of the Opera" by Gaston Leroux.
He took the little black book and seized it in his hands with a strange sense of anxiety. This inconspicuous object was the reason for all his troubles, he realized, feeling a sudden urge to read it if only to find out just how much did it actually reveal about him.
Without much thought, he snatched the book and made his way towards the Grand Escalier. There was a secret place high above, where from a vantage point he'd see when the Opera opened to public again, forcing him to retreat back into the undergrounds which, truth be told, had lost a good part of their appeal now that he knew they were no longer only his own.
Making himself comfortable in the hidden niche, he opened the book and read, "The Opera Ghost really existed…". It didn't take long before he was completely immersed in the story and devouring chapter after chapter he didn't even notice when morning came. He had almost reached the last page when an outraged shout snapped him out of his focus.
"Hey, you punk! Get off there or the ghost will have your ne-" the woman cut mid-sentence when he leaned out of his place to face her. He recognized her. It was the same cleaning lady that chased him out of his box a couple days earlier.
"Oh pardon me Monsieur Erik," she apologized, noting her mistake, "I didn't recognize you in this new attire. Uh la la, don't you look dashing!"
At first, Erik thought she was plain mocking him, but there was something about her easy-going tone that made him wonder whether she could've been honestly complimenting him and he felt his cheeks burn under his mask in embarrassment.
"Just what have you done to your hair." The woman shook her head disapprovingly. "It's all uneven."
Instinctively he smoothed out his chopped off locks. They were a bit too long to his liking so he tried to trim them but apparently, for as skilled he was in all kind of fields, he had absolutely no talent for cutting hair.
"Don't you worry about it," the woman chirped, dragging him along the corridor with her. "Jerome will have it fixed in no time!"
Erik didn't even protest, once again stunned by how loose people acted around him. They all talked to him like a normal person and they even touched him of their own free will and without the slightest sign of repulsion. He would've thought it was because they didn't know what he was but in his hand he still held the tangible proof that they all did. It all felt so strange. It all felt so… good.
"What's your name?" he asked the woman while they walked down. It was the second time they met and he still knew absolutely nothing about her.
"I'm Valentina."
"You're not French, are you?" he inquired further. He had noticed earlier she spoke with a very faint accent. Russian perhaps?
"I come from a small town not far from Moscow," Valentina told him. "Have you ever been to Russia?"
He actually had and he told her so in her native language which got her absolutely delighted. Chatting, they made their way to the back and Valentina eventually showed him into a room filled up to the ceiling with stage costumes.
"Jerome?" she called. "Are you in there?"
An annoyed nasal voice replied her, "What is it now?" A moment later a young man with the blondest hair Erik had ever seen emerged from within stacks of brocade dresses and heavy cloaks.
"Oh mon Dieu!" he exclaimed when he saw Erik, covering his mouth with his hand.
"I know Jerome, I know," Valentina said sadly. "He tried to cut it himself, I think."
Erik then understood the horrified gasp was exclusively about his hair and relaxed his hands which had already balled up into fists.
"I was hoping that such a great artist as yourself," the Russian continued, "could do something about it."
Jerome let out a hopeless sigh. "Oh, I don't know," he mused, checking Erik out with a critical eye of an expert.
"Please Jerome, we can't let him go around looking like some hipster."
"You're absolutely right cherie. That's so 2013! What a shame for the Opera House to have a ghost that is so outrageously out of fashion!"
The blonde ran away just to be back a few minutes later armed with comb and scissors.
"Cherie," he began, sitting Erik down on a chair, "you have to take that mask off."
"No," Erik declined simply. He wasn't showing his face to anyone ever, certainly not to a gay hairdresser and a Russian cleaning woman he barely knew. So far they've been kind to him and he was beginning to like it. He didn't want him to faint and her to scream in terror.
Jerome gave Valentina a look. "How am I supposed to do his hair with that thing in the way?!" he sighed ostentatiously.
"Monsieur Erik, please take it off," the woman asked gently. "We won't laugh or anything."
"You can cover your face with your hands if you like," Jerome suggested. "We promise we won't try to look."
"Fine," Erik surrendered. There was just something about their tone that told him he could trust them. "Just turn around and close your eyes for a minute," he asked and when both Valentina and Jerome complied, he quickly removed his mask, and putting it aside, he buried his face in his hands. "You can look now, " he told them.
A few moments later he felt a comb run through his hair, parting it into sections. There followed a repeated sound of cutting scissors.
"Honestly Erik," Jerome blabbered while he worked, "all this shyness is useless. We all know you don't have a proper nose."
"The nose is no big deal, really," Valentina assured. "There's more important parts a man should have."
"Valentina!" the blonde exclaimed scandalized. "You Russians have absolutely no shame!"
Scissors were put down in exchange for a blow dryer and a few more agonizing moments later Jerome had announced the end of his work with a satisfied "Voilà!"
Asking them to turn away and close their eyes, Erik put his mask back on.
"You are one helluva handsome ghost," Valentina said, handing him a small mirror. "If one of our singers disappears, we'll all know where she went," she giggled and send him a flirty wink.
Perhaps for Valentina and Jerome this was handsome but Erik thought he just looked like an idiot with his long fringe blow-dried into a voluminous lock that made his face appear even longer and thinner than it already was. Ignoring Jerome's outraged cry, he took some gel and slicked his hair back in his usual way. Only then he figured it actually looked nice. At least it was even.
Thanking Valentina and Jerome for their help, he snuck out of the costume closet and headed towards Carlotta's dressing room intent on returning Leroux' book and perhaps borrowing the other one.
"Erik!" the girl exclaimed in surprise when he burst into the room.
Cursing himself for not even considering the possibility that she could be inside, he just mumbled, "I brought you back your book."
"That's okay," she said. "I suspected you may have it."
He desperately wanted to make some smart remark but all coherent thought seemed to abandon him under her inspecting gaze. He would've given anything to know what she was thinking but her expression stayed unreadable.
Finally, the girl broke the embarrassing silence. "You took the clothes," she stated simply, "and you cut your hair."
He just nodded yes.
Carlotta broke into a wide smile. "Come on," she cheered and grabbing him by the hand she pulled him out of the room.
Erik followed her across the backstage to the back exit and across the parking lot. There they stopped at the gates and squinting his eyes from the blaring afternoon sun he stared in astonishment at the city that spread in front of him.
The familiar Parisian streets were infested by some strange machines of all shapes and sizes, emitting clouds of smelling fumes and drowning everything in a deafening noise. To the right, a flashy green and grey barrier sectioned off a part of the street. Nearby stood a couple men in dirty overalls, smoking cigarettes and talking in a foreign language. To their left, a dandy in a striped set leaned against the gates, talking loudly to his funny little device. A couple women passed by, one of them with pink hair fixed in two buns. They shared a small kiss, before disappearing behind the corner. Farther away more people walked the streets. Nobody screamed. Nobody ran. No one even noticed that a creepy looking man in a mask had just emerged from the Opera House.
"Erik," Carlotta said proudly, "welcome to the 21st century!"
Next chapter: Erik learns to live in the 21st century all the wile trying to handle Carlotta who isn't exactly a sweet and proper lady
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