Phantom of the Opera 1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: All the characters and general ideas that go along with them belong to Susan Kay and Gaston Leroux.**

**My story is pretty much completely based off of Susan Kay's Phantom, and I'm trying to be as true to the plot and timeline as possible.**

_Ah Paris…La ville d'amour…_

I gazed adoringly around me, drinking in as much as possible. I would be spending the next two months in the 17th arrondissement; it was a dream come true. I've been here already three months and I must've visited this place hundreds of times. This place. _La Place de L'Opera_. I could never get enough of it; the buses coming and going, Parisians looking up furtively from their phones to make sure they don't hit someone, the old architecture, the feeling that millions have been here before you…I was drawn to all of it, but it was the Opera itself that called to me. Its impressive façade with striking columns, the opulent statues adorning its rooftop…I loved it all. I've taken the inside tour, and that's when my heart really beat faster.

Ever since I saw the Phantom of the Opera when I was a young girl, I haven't been able to get the story out of my head. Since then, I've read all the books and movies and yearned to enter its world completely. The compelling story made me revisit it over and over; when I heard about the exchange that 3 year university students can take to Paris I knew I had to go.

I stood in front of the opera, admiring. Inside, you can _feel_ the history; the dark alcoves and side corridors invite the story of the Phantom. The lights are kept dim to preserve the art within, and the dimness makes you feel like anything can happen - that he could be hiding anywhere. Outside, just thinking about it made me want to buy another tour. I stopped myself. I don't like using my bank card over here, and I only had enough change for a quick bite to eat before my metro ride. Maybe another day. As I rooted around in my bag for my sunglasses (my blue eyes were sensitive to the glaring May sun) I heard a Frenchman cursing beside me. That in itself was not new – the French are very vocal about their problems and have no trouble expressing them with their colourful vocabulary. What caught my attention were the curse words he was using. Not even the French senior citizens I knew used old vocabulary like that. Curious, I turned my head to look at him surreptitiously and was confused. It was May, and he was wearing a heavy wool coat, or at least it resembled a coat, and his collar was high. He continued cursing and bending down, looking along the ground for something. I decided to help as he was clearly in distress.

"_Monsieur_, can I help you?" I asked tentatively in French. He didn't answer. I touched a hand to his shoulder. "_Monsieur_?" He suddenly straightened up and brought himself to his full height, which was impressive. I could see now that his coat was in fact a cloak and that his high collared shirt was actually one of those puffy poet shirts. Most striking though, was his face. I couldn't see it. He was wearing a mask that covered his face, leaving slits for eyes and an opening at the bottom for his mouth. He looked around in shock and confusion, taking in the 5pm rush hour around him. Finally, he noticed me. His amber eyes were wide as they looked into mine. I could practically _feel_ my jaw drop. There I was, idly thinking about the Phantom of the Opera when an exact replica appears before me! I remained calm; we were in the theatre district, he was probably an actor.

He stood stock still, his hands in fists at his sides. "_Mademoiselle_…What…Where…am I?" He whipped around and stared up at the opera. "The opera…I don't understand…What's happened?"

"_Monsieur_, I'm not sure what you mean. We're in front of the opera, in Paris."

"I'm not blind, I see that. But what's all this?" He gestured around him. "I don't understand. I was in my house by the lake looking for Ayesha and then all of a sudden I was here…" His voice trailed off, at a loss.

I was starting to worry. His antics were beginning to draw unwanted attention towards us but I couldn't just leave him there. If he was an actor, he was a very talented one.

"And Ayesha is…?" I asked, as confirmation of his identity,

"My cat. She ran off. She doesn't like it when I experiment with chemicals and so when I was done I went to look for her… Where are the carriages? What are all these people wearing? And what is that smell?"

He was smelling the carbon dioxide emitted from the cars he had never seen before. I had to get him somewhere quieter.

"Erik, why don't we have go find a nice, quiet café, and we can figure this out, okay?"

His eyes burned holes through me and I immediately recognized my mistake. "What did you call me?" He advanced in my direction, his tall form menacing. I stood my ground, but inside all I could think was _IDIOTTTTTT! Now trying explaining how you knew his name!_

"Ummm…Erik?"

"Why did you call me that? That is my name and I have not told you it."

"Uh, well, you remind me of this friend I have, and I guess it just popped out, you know…" He continued to look suspiciously at me, but I plodded on.

"Look, I'm trying to help you. I know this tiny café just down the road. Come on. Quickly." _Before a policeman sees you in your mask and stuff gets ugly_, I thought. _That's the last thing we need right now_.

At the café, he ordered a coffee and I ordered a hot chocolate. Once settled in with our drinks he asked his questions.

"First of all_, mademoiselle_, you seem to be aware of my name, but I am unfamiliar with yours."

"Oh. Right. I'm Sophia. I'm Canadian."

"That explains the accent. I am pleased to meet you, Sophia."

"Accent? Crap, I thought I was getting rid of that…" I grumbled. You can never win. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, but he was still serious.

"Sophia, please tell what has happened. Everything is different - noisier, faster."

"God, Erik, I dunno how to tell you this…Uhh… Well, what date is it today?"

"May 16th, 1866, if I'm not wrong. It is easy for one to lose track of time."

"Okay, here, look at the newspaper." I handed over the newspaper I had spotted at the table next to us and bit my lip anxiously. He looked it over.

"Sophia, who is this, Sarkozy they speak about?" I rip the paper out of his hands exasperatedly.

"He's an idiot. But jeez Erik, you don't make it easy! Look at the date!" I pointed it out, May 16th, 2011, and waited for his reaction. First: confusion, then recognition, and finally, alarm.

"Erik," I spoke quietly "You're in 2011 right now. That's why everything is so out of place for you. You're 145 years in the future. " He kept staring at the newspaper. Finally he looked at me in bewilderment.

"This… is not possible. Or is not? Is technology so far advanced that…"

I laughed. "We have iPhones and machines that can talk for you, but we haven't quite figured out time travel." He didn't find my lame attempt at a joke amusing.

"So how am I here?"

"I don't know. But we should probably find out."

"We?"

"Well yeah, I mean, you can hardly run around the city alone right now, and I'm all you have. And you'll need a place to stay, and food to eat because you have no money…"

"Sophia, I have my own home, and as for money, I am quite wealthy. I need only return home." He stood up to leave and I jumped to my feet.

"Erik, wait… You can't go home."

"Why not?" _Ummmm, because you live under the opera, and that space is currently being used by the current owners who would not take kindly to a squatter? But I can't let him know that I know all about him. I have to wait for that._

"Think about it. This is almost 150 years later. Don't you think some other family has moved in by now?"

He sighed. "You are right. This century of yours is not allowing me to think properly." I threw down some money on the table and opened the door.

"You and me both," I muttered.

**Okay, I know that pretty much every story says this, but I'm gonna say it anyway! (sorry!) I love writing and I want to get better, so if you have a suggestion, or anything to say (constructive criticism is welcomed!) please write a review. Thanks a bunch! Happy reading!  
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	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer:** All the characters and general ideas that go along with them belong to Susan Kay and Gaston Leroux.

I only had a small apartment and Erik was reluctant to stay with me. I reminded him that I was the only person who understood what was going on. He caved. I offered to let him sleep in my bed, but being the gentleman he was, he insisted on taking the couch. As I turned off the light, he stood at the window, pensive. Who knows how long it would take him to find sleep in this strange new world? I left him alone with his thoughts.

When I woke up the next morning, I found him sprawled in a chair facing the window, a lasso by his large hands on the table. I don't think he ever touched the sofa.

"Erik?" I whispered tentatively. At the sound of my voice, his eyes flew open, and he looked at me with clarity. I took in a sharp breath - his hands had immediately clenched the lasso. Recognizing me, he released them.

"Good morning!" I said brightly. "Did you have a… restful sleep?" He grimaced and rose out of the chair.

"It was better than other sleeps I have had."

"Oh. Good. I guess. Well, I have some kind of stale croissants and fruit for breakfast; I hope you're okay with that. I have to go shopping." He nodded and looked around the apartment.

"Is there anything I may do to help with breakfast?"

"Nah, I have it all ready. Do you want some coffee?"

"Yes please." His eyes grew wide when he saw me use the electric coffee maker. I decided to let this invention go. There were more important things I had to explain. Like the fast cars. And the internet. I placed our breakfast on the table and we sat down to eat in silence. Eventually, I spoke.

"Erik, have you put any thought into what you want to do? Maybe find a way back, or…" I didn't know what else he could do.

"Yes, I should like to return to the opera."

"Okay, we can do that."

"Are you not busy?"

I laughed. "It seems that whatever forces that brought you here were kind. Today is Saturday, I have no school." He nodded.

"But Erik, if you want to go outside to the opera there is one stop we need to make first."

"Where must we go?"

"The shops. You can't keep walking around like that."

He furrowed his brow. "Why not?"

"Erik, people just don't dress like that anymore. You like to blend in and not draw attention to yourself, and what you're wearing will definitely turn heads." He took in what I was wearing (capris and a cardigan) and realized that I was right.

"Alright, it seems necessary."

I showed him where my bathroom was and how to use the shower. I think he spent more time trying to understand the mechanics of it than actually showering. Then I showered. When I stepped out of the shower he was appeared in front of me, a murderous look in his eyes. I unconsciously took a step back into the bathroom.

"Erik what's wrong?" I managed to get out. He held a book in his hand. I read the title, and I could feel the blood drain from my face. He stared at me, unblinking.

"What is this?" He asked me in a cold voice.

"It's a book." I squeaked.

"Don't toy with me girl. This _book_" he spat "has my mask and face all over it! What is the meaning of this?"

"It's…a book about you." He took a step forward. I guess I wasn't explaining fast enough. "It's like your biography. You're a fictional character that an old French guy created. Since the original book lots of people have made other books and movies and plays…" I trailed off. He still didn't understand. "Erik, I don't know how you're here. You don't actually exist."

"I don't believe you." His unwillingness to trust me set me off.

"You don't believe me? Then how do I know that to hear you sing is to hear angels? And that you were captured by gypsies, then ran away to Rome and then to Persia. How else do I know about your House Beyond the Lake, and that you wanted to burn down your childhood house? Explain how I know all that!" I burst into tears and I pushed my way past him, locking myself in my room. I stayed there for 10 minutes until I got changed for the day and wiped my red eyes to face him again. He was the one who had a major bombshell dropped on him, and yet I was the one crying in my room.

He was turning my Rubix cube over in his hands, staring at the book. He heard my footsteps and raised his head. I had no idea what he was thinking. So I just sat across from him and kept quiet.

"You have read this?" he asked, pained.

"Yes," I whispered.

"And?"

"And what? I won't tell you how it ends."

"I didn't…I don't want to know. I don't… know what to do or think." I took the Rubix cube from his hands and held his gaze.

"You don't have to know now. You don't have to figure it out. It'll take time to understand. In the meantime, I think that we should get you outfitted for this new world. Come on."

Shopping with Erik was a major ordeal. First of all, everything fascinated him as much as he fascinated the fellow customers. We were getting looks the whole time, and security guards made a habit of following us. It must have been the mask. And at least all the commotion kept his mind off him considering his very existence.

Erik couldn't stop trying to figure out how escalators work, or cash registers. He was interested in everything and I had a hard time getting him in dressing rooms.

"You are telling me that I am to dress with many other people not metres away! This is so primitive! What has happened to the world!"

"Oh Erik, stop being such a drama queen. Not everyone can afford someone to bring clothes straight to their door. Now hurry up and try this on. " I pushed him into the stall. He emerged a couple minutes later. I huffed.

"God, you're slower than I am!"

"My time's clothes are much more complicated to remove than your minimalist ones." He retorted acerbically. I sighed. "I feel so... underdressed."

I had had him try on simple black pants and a dark blue button down shirt. It seemed a bit formal, but I thought that he would have a heart attack if I had given him shorts and a t-shirt. Silly Victorian prudes.

"Erik, you look fantastic." And he did. He looked almost normal, except for the mask. "If only Christine could see you now." I giggled. He looked at me quizzically.

"Christine?"

"Oh Erik, you know, _Chris_…" Then it dawned on me. He didn't know who I was talking about. I did not see that one coming. "Holy crap."

"Sophia, what is it? Who were you talking about?"

"Ummm, well… No one, really. Hey, Erik, when did you leave?"

"My time? 1871."

"That doesn't help me. What major event just happened in your life?" He was reluctant to tell me. I rolled my eyes. "Erik, I've already read everything."

"I had recently acquired my cat, Ayesha." I bowed my head so that he couldn't read my face. The Erik in front of me has never met been hurt by Christine or even met her. In fact, he's just recently moved into the opera. I couldn't believe it. I couldn't… warn him, could I?

"Sophia, why is this important?"

"It's not really. Let's just pay for these clothes and move on." He could sense that I was hiding something from him, but decided not to press. Good thing, because I'm terrible at keeping secrets.

The shopping took all day, and back at my apartment I quickly hid all the versions of his story I could find, even the soundtracks and movies. I turned on my computer and showed him how to use it. I taught him how to use the internet as long as he wouldn't Google himself. I think it'll be okay because he still didn't understand the concept of a search engine. Sometimes, it was hard for me not to laugh. It was like having a baby around. A lethal baby.

As the evening wore on, I found him books to read: some of my scientific textbooks and French literature. We sat across from each other, each absorbed in our own book. I felt his eyes on me.

"Erik, to read the book you have to be looking at the page, not at me." He quickly looked down, and then closed his book.

"I should like to play music, Sophia." I sighed and put down my book.

"I don't have any instruments here. I have a flute that hasn't been touched in years at home, but nothing here."

"How may I acquire a piano?" I laughed. "With lots of money. Something neither of us has right now."

"Perhaps a violin would be less expensive? Or is your world backwards in this area as well?"

"A violin would be cheaper, but still out of our league. I'm sorry Erik." I felt like for all the food I gave him, I was starving him.

"Then tomorrow I shall perform for the streets of Paris and purchase my violin."


End file.

Phantom of the Opera, Romance