My Forever and Always (The Phantom of The Opera)

Chapter 5 - The truth

"Following a stranger through a mirror – that is a recipe for disaster."

Said someone. That someone was called Monsieur Common Sense.

I mentally slapped myself. Whatever is my plan of action, is this really the best I can come up with? I know everything that is to know about this plot and the person walking in front me. I think I can handle this.

Or not.

The underground passage never ducking ends – of course Christine and Erik belted out a whole orchestral piece by the time they reached the lair. As if the lack of light is not daunting enough, this passage leads to a good seven storey underground basement. The underground routes expanded as far and wide as the city above. The Andrew Lloyd Webber musicals had around 180 trap doors in their stage design just to make the Phantom's Lair vivid and true to the plot. Every time Erik swerved around a trap to cross to safety, I felt nauseous. If on any given occasion I had to escape the Lair, there is a high probability I may fall into a trap and die or lose my way and be stuck underground Paris for eternity. When we approached the infamous lake, we continued on to the most awkward gondola ride in the world. While I looked around, Erik rowed silently and occasionally glanced at me. I tried to mentally map this route to the best of my abilities. But all my panic and survival instincts flew out of the window the very moment I hit the entrance of the Phantom's Lair.

What is this sorcery? How can you turn a cavern-looking basement into such beautiful residence? I was half expecting an underground stinky dungeon from Harry Potter and The Chamber of Secrets, but this right here is a man's artistic genius on full display. I can take this layout and open up a 'theme-café' back in LA. I can already see people lining up and buying overpriced coffee for an Instagram photo at a location like this.

The cavern walls were carved at places to expose the layout of a grand lobby/study room. A grand organ sat at the centre of it and an elegant carpet covered most of the foyer. The 'walls' were draped in velvet fabrics mostly in deep burgundy and red with an extended library on the left. The work tables at different places were cluttered with sheet music, charcoal sketches, sculptures, stage designs and some books. My mind was already exploding from all the book titles that I was able to recognize – a man of taste. Candelabras placed everywhere filled the space with a soft glow, not as bright as I would prefer but ambient. I saw the walls at the right exposing a view of the swan bed and a few more lighted passages and carpets lead to other rooms. I wasn't done looking at this place when I caught Erik staring at me. Right, I need to talk, but where do I start from?

He stared at me almost blankly. Standing here like this gave me the opportunity to look at him properly. He was tall, I would guess 6'2, and wore an elegant black suit, a black evening coat, a flowy white shirt that had ruffles peeking above the collar, finished off with black leather gloves. He had his classic slick-back black hair and white porcelain mask. The bare side of his face revealed well-defined facial structure, tall nose bridge, chiselled jaw and icy-blue gaze. Attractive I would say – and young? He looked at most 22, not the brooding and mature Phantom in his late 30s like in the movie.

I spoke first. "I'm Clarissa Emerson and I come from the United States. Our first encounter was not under the most pleasant circumstances but by all means, I'm glad that I met you and I appreciate your help. I'm aware that I would say things that may sound absurd, but all I say is the truth and nothing else. Our encounter is not something that should be physically possible and I have no intention whatsoever to hurt you or anybody else. So, if you would allow it, I can explain."

Erik nodded silently. He waved a hand towards an empty chair. I walked towards it to settle down while Erik took a seat at the organ's bench. And then I started my story. I said the truth – the real one. With all of the freaky futuristic time-travel, movie, musical and novel details. I knew there was no point in fabricating anything on the spot. Any story I make up right now, I would have to cover it up with innumerable other lies in the future and all of them must align as well. I'd rather not take the risk of failing at covering up my shabby plot holes and end up dead. He is in his element and at this point I wouldn't risk any missteps.

After I finished talking, I looked up at him. Erik gazed at the rug under his shoes and pondered. I stood up and walked towards him. I whipped out my phone and played the video I took at the mirror for him to see. This is an evidence I don't think he can ever beat. His mouth dropped while he watched the video. He held my phone and turned it around to inspect it. A pop-up notification made him jolt. He was wildly shocked and amused yet his expressions were mostly muted. Erik stood up tall and cleared his throat.

"Ms. Clarissa, as you say you are from the future, are you aware of any ways to return?" I shook my head to say no.

"Then why did you not seek help from people who were about to enter the room?"

"This is a situation that I am not sure about myself. If I were to reveal myself like that, I may have to face consequences that would be irreversible. What I need right is a place to hide and understand my situation thoroughly. Outing myself publicly with my unfit attire and weak arguments would make me vulnerable and victim to more troubles." I simply stated.

"In your world you just stated, I am nothing but a character and that is how you know so much about me. Then-" I cut him off because I knew where this was going.

I abruptly spoke "but in the end it is nothing but a work of fiction. A lot of it would not match the reality either. Maybe I lucked out by knowing your name but I wouldn't be so sure about other incidences. For confirming so, maybe I can ask you about your past and try to recollect how much of it I know. But I don't think that would be appropriate right now."

A pang of guilt hit me as I was aware that his past must be a sore spot. Of course he wouldn't narrate it to me just to confirm whether the plots are true. I did what I had to because I can't let him know his future. The last thing I want is to wildly change the plot and get stuck here.

Erik's expression was unreadable. His face revealed no emotion as he spoke "You may stay here for the time being. You can take the room on the right."

"What?"

"Your inexplicable situation incoherently involves me in it. Your presence will be non-existent as long as you stay underneath the Opera House. Hence, it's best that you live here till you can accustom your ways here in Paris or even better – just find a way back." He finished. He soundlessly walked back and sat down at his organ. I was certainly shocked at his benevolence but his explanation made sense. For some reasons, he seemed different and more real. I walked away to look at his work desk. 

His desk was filled with various sketches. The strokes were precise, trained and in a word - beautiful. Just one of the many talents of an unknown phantom hidden away from the world. If anything, I felt sorry. I picked up a few music sheets and hummed a few tunes, all original compositions. One sketch caught my attention. It was of a girl who was about twelve. Looking at her long curls, big doe eyes and soft angelic features, I knew at once that this was our leading lady - the future Primadonna, Christine Daae. But if she is so young in Erik's sketch, that means I appeared years before the movie plot starts. That explains why Erik looked so young as well. I gasped when I looked up and saw Erik in front of me. How did I not see or hear him walk up here?

I set down the sketch in my hand, ready for yet another painfully awkward conversation. Then something caught my eye. It was a set of architectural blueprints stacked together. I quickly found myself asking, "Can I look at those?" When I saw him nod at me, I picked them up and sifted through the designs. While looking through the designs in front of him, I occasionally chimed in praises of the pastiche, the massing and ergonomics of his designs, how well the Poché was drawn, the curvilinear architecture ideas, spacing and layouts etc. I stole occasional glances and noticed him blushing at the praises. Man, people really need to put his work to good use. What kind of messed up society secludes and assaults a person for a facial disfigurement? 

I looked up when he said, "How do you know so much about architecture? I wouldn't think a lady would know about such a subject." The shock in his voice was imminent. I slowly looked up and said, "My brother Clayton is an Architecture major at college and I used to study with him when he crammed for exams. So, I know a few things from him and the architectural digest that he reads. Where I come from, gender bias has been minimised by leaps and bounds in all professions. To make you understand simply, my brother's design professor and Principal of the College are women. So are his peers, seniors or other established professionals." 

Erik couldn't mask the shock in his face anymore. For some reasons I felt I can catch that expression a lot more in the future.