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Disclaimer: These people/characters don't belong to me. The main charcters (John, Ted) are real people, actors on the tour cast of The Phantom of the Opera. Erik, Christine, and Raoul belong to Gaston Leroux. Lyrics from The Phantom of the Opera were written by either Andrew Lloyd Webber, or Charles Hart, I don't remember which wrote them.WARNING: REAL PEOPLE SLASH. THIS STORY CONTAINS M/M SEXUALITY REVOLVING AROUND TWO LIVING BREATHING PEOPLE. IF THIS MIGHT UPSET YOU LEAVE NOW BY CLICKING HERE. YOU'VE BEEN WARNED.
The applause and cheers grew louder and
more enthusiastic as he entered the stage. He took his place in the front
and bowed deeply. He then clasped the hands of his fellow actors. Rebecca
to his left, and John to his right. Another bow, then the curtains closed.
Wiping the sweat from his forehead with
the back of his hand, Ted turned and headed in the direction of his dressing
room. Stopping occasionally to receive congratulations on his performance,
he made his way to his private sanctuary.
Once inside he peeled the latex mask from
his face. Grabbing a wash cloth, he scrubbed his face to remove the remaining
make-up. He sat at the small desk and looked into the mirror, making sure
his face was clean.
After changing into street clothes, he
headed out to greet whatever fans might want an autograph. As usual, there
weren't many.
"Mr. Keegan! Can I get your autograph?"
one asked.
"Can I get a picture with you?" another
asked.
"I just loved your performance"..."I'm
a huge Phantom fan"... and so on.
Ten or fifteen minutes later, he was on
his way to the local hotel the company was staying at. Most of the cast
and crew were probably out having a drink or finding a place to eat. Ted
went straight up to his room, changed into a pair of boxers, lay down,
and went to sleep.
Darkness. Unending darkness. A single
light emerges. The light from a candle. Suddenly everything is lit. A large
room appears. An organ surrounded by candles on one side, a large throne
on the other.
A figure emerges from the shadows. A
woman with flowing brown hair. She wears a white dress.
“Goodbye.” she whispers, backing again
into the darkness. “Goodbye Erik.”
"Hey, Ted, wake up." John said, shaking
his friend's shoulder.
"Huh, what?" came the sleepy reply, barely
audible through the pillow. "Cudia?"
"Yeah. Wake up man, it's half past ten.
We were gonna go to lunch before heading to the theater remember?"
"Oh, right." Ted responded. Pulling himself
out of bed he started sifting through his suitcase, hunting for a pair
of blue-jeans.
"Alright." John said, turning towards the
door. Before leaving he turned back towards Ted. "Hey, this is gonna be
a weird question, but..."
"Go ahead." Ted said, his voice slightly
muffled by the grey t-shirt he was pulling over his head.
"Well, do you believe in reincarnation?"
"You're right."
"What?"
"That is a weird question. But yes, I suppose
I do. Why?"
Coming back into the room, John sat down on the edge of the
bed.
"Well you see, lately I've been having
these strange dreams. But sometimes they happen when I'm awake. Like a
memory or something. But, but I don't think anything like what I see ever
happened to me before, but it's definitely something like a memory I'm
seeing."
"What are these visions about?"
"I don't really know. They're kinda fuzzy.
But there is always the same people. Myself, a very beautiful lady, and
another man."
"Can you describe these people?"
"All I really know is that the woman is
young, and pretty, the man is tall and his name was...it's right there,
I just can't...something with an 'E', Erin, Er...Erik! That's it. His name
is Erik."
"Erik? Can you think of his last name?"
"No, all I remember is Erik. It also seems
as though he’s more significant or something."
"That is odd isn't it. Let me know if you
remember anything else. Maybe we can figure something out." Ted held out
a hand to help John up off the bed. "But for now, let's go eat."
"Little Lotte le her mind wander..."
"You remember that too?"
"Little Lotte thought, am I fonder of dolls?
Or of..."
A pretty lady sat across from him.
"goblins or shoes?"
"Or of riddles or frocks?"
"All those picnics in the attic...Or of
chocolates..."
The same lady laughing, dancing around
an older man playing the violin.
"Ted!" John called to his friend.
"What is it John?" Ted asked, looking at
John though the skull-like mask of the elaborate Red Death costume.
"We have to talk."
"Now? The intermission is almost over."
"Yes now. It happened again."
"Another dream? When?"
"During the Little Lotte scene."
"Well, what was it? Same as before?"
"Not really. More detailed than before.
It was like the lyrics there. The picnic in the attic, a girl dancing around,
and an elderly man playing a violin."
"Are you sure John? Sounds to me like you
were just getting a little bit to much into the scene."
"I'm sure. It was an actual memory. Something
just like in the show happened to me before. Like I am, that is, I was…"
"What are you thinking John? That you,
humble actor John Cudia, are a reincarnation of the real Raoul de Chagny?
That such a man really existed?"
"I know it sounds crazy..."
"5 minutes!"
"..but yes, that's what I think."
"Let's talk after the show Ok?"
"Ok."
"Places everyone!"
Ted and John sat at a small table in a local
restaurant. Their coffee had long since cooled as John explained to his
friend everything he had seen in his mind, constantly emphasizing that
it was real, not just his imagination.
“Ok,” Ted said after a moment, “as weird
as it is, I believe you.”
“You do?” John said.
“Yes I do. I want to show you something.”
“Ok.”
“One thing though. You can’t say a thing
about this to anyone, no matter what. If anyone found out about this there
could be a whole lot of trouble for me.”
“Ok… it‘s nothing illegal right?”
“No, not illegal, just unusual. Can you
keep it secret?”
“Yeah. Of course.”
Ted reached into an inner pocket of his
jacket and removed a small metal case. He held it out for John to take.
John opened it up, and it contained an
old fashioned photograph. The picture appeared to be one of those antique
photos, all faded and sepia colored. In it there was a lady sitting in
a chair with two men standing behind her. After a minute of studying it,
John blinked in surprise.
“This lady is the one from my dreams. I’m
sure of it. And the men in this picture. That one looks like me. And the
other, he looks like you. Damn. Who are they?”
“The lady’s name is Christine Daae.” ignoring
John’s astonished look, Ted continued. “The man on her left if Raoul Philippe,
Vicomte de Chagny. The other man is… Erik Mulheim.”
“Erik. That’s the name of the man in my
dream. Who was he? Is he represented in the show too?”
“Well, yes he is, although his name is
never given. He was the Phantom.”
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope. I’m being completely serious.”
“So what? Why do you look like him? Are
you… are you descended from him?”
“No. I am him.”
“What?!?”
“Shh. You don’t need to shout. Come on.
Let’s go back to the hotel.”
John nodded in agreement. He pulled his
wallet out and threw a couple of bills on the table, and stood up. They
left the restaurant and headed toward the hotel. Once there, they went
up to Ted’s room and locked the door.
“Ok. You have to believe me. I’m not making
this up.” Ted told John. “My real name is Erik Mulheim. I was born in the
1860’s in Rouen, France. I am immortal.”
“This is too weird.” John said, sitting
down on the edge of the bed.
“I know it is. But it’s true. Look. I can
prove it.”
“How?”
Ted stood up and walked to where his suitcase
lay. From within it he withdrew a small dagger.
“This is only a small demonstration, but
I’ve found it is usually an adequate one.” With that said, Ted drew the
dagger across his right palm, cutting deeply.
“Oh my God.” John said as he saw the blood
flow from the cut.
“Just watch.” Ted replied.
Suddenly, little flashes of electricity
sparked across his palm, closing the wound. Using the heel of his left
hand, Ted wiped the blood away, revealing the skin to be unharmed.
“Amazing.” John whispered. “Truly amazing.”
“Yes it is.” Ted responded. “Hang on a
minute.” he added, heading toward the bathroom. After washing the blood
from his hands and blade, he returned to the main room. After replacing
the blade in it‘s holder, he turned to John. “So, what are you thinking?”
“Lots of things.”
“I can imagine. Anything I can help clarify?”
“Perhaps. How did you become immortal?”
“Well, I don’t exactly know how it all
begins. I know we aren’t born immortal. We have our ‘first death’, and
after that we’re immortal. Usually the first death is in the prime of life,
20’s or 30’s. After that the body doesn’t age, wounds heal like you saw,
if we’re killed, we simply revive a few minutes later.”
“Ok, another question. You said that you
were the… the Phantom?”
“That’s right.”
“What about… I mean…”
“Are you trying to ask me what about my
disfiguration?”
“Yeah.”
Ted shrugged. “Like I said, all wounds
heal, even after the fact. My face healed within a day after I became immortal.
To say the least I was quite astounded when I woke up and saw my reflection.”
“I can imagine. Useful thing there.”
“Definitely. That picture I showed you
before was taken in Paris in 1898, 5 years after I became immortal.”
“What happened to them?”
“Well, Christine was immortal like me,
she’s still around somewhere as far as I know. Raoul died several years
later.”
“How did he die?” John asked.
“Because of me.” came the reply after a
moment.
“What do you mean?” John asked softly,
noticing his friend’s discomfort.
“Raoul and I both loved sailing, so when
I heard of a great ship crossing the Atlantic…”
“The Titanic.”
“Yes, the Titanic. I convinced Raoul to
go with me.” Ted sat on the bed next to John and buried his face in his
hands. “It was my fault.”
John sat next to his friend and put his
arm around Ted’s shoulders. “I’m sure he wouldn’t blame you. You and him
where close, weren’t you? That’s why I’m more drawn to him in my dreams,
isn’t it?”
Ted took a deep breath, but didn’t look
up. “Yes. He and I were…close.” John barely heard the faint whisper that
followed. “Extremely close.”
But heard it he did, and understood it’s
meaning as well. John gently coaxed Ted’s head up, and softly pressed their
lips together. For a brief moment nothing happened, but then Ted pulled
abruptly away.
“You don’t have to do that John.” Ted said
quietly, turning his head away.
“I want to.” John replied. “For a long
while, I’ve wanted to. Let me give you this comfort, as I did in a past
life.”
Ted chuckled softly.
“What’s funny.”
“Quite a twisted end to the story, huh?
The two men who spent months fighting over the beautiful young singer end
up together.”
“Yes. Quite a twist indeed.” John replied
quietly.
Ted looked back to find John’s eyes upon
him. “Why are you…?”
“Because.” John said, answering the unspoken
question as he leaned in to brush his lips over Ted’s.
A shuddering sigh escaped Ted’s lips as
John leaned in to seal their mouths together. John’s tongue ran softly
over Ted’s lower lip, then gently pushed into the warm cavern of his mouth.
One hand came up to cup Ted’s cheek.
After a moment, Ted pulled back slightly
and leaned his forehead against John’s. Their breath mingled, warm between
their lips. “Yes.” Ted whispered silently.
That was all the confirmation John needed.
His hands glided down Ted’s chest to grasp the hem of his t-shirt. He guided
the material up and over Ted’s head. His hands then ran down the bared
skin, and came to rest on the waistband of Ted’s blue jeans.
John looked up at Ted. Ted’s eyes were
closed, and his lips slightly parted, shoulders rising and falling with
each staggering breath. “Ted? Are you ok with this?” he queried slightly.
“Yes. It’s ok. Just remembering.”
“We can stop if you want.” Ted’s eyes opened
and John saw within their depths all the emotions that had been unexpressed
for years. Sadness, guilt, and an underlying passion for the one he loved.
“I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to be sorry about.” John
answered. “Why don’t we just lay down. You can tell me about him.” Ted
nodded his agreement. After pulling off his own t-shirt, John settled them
both against the headboard of the bed. Ted leaned back against John’s chest,
and John laid an arm across Ted’s stomach. “So, tell me how the two of
you got together.”
“Well, I can’t really remember all the
details in the order they happened, it was so long ago, and I’ve not really
thought about it often. I can read you my journal that I wrote everything
in. That would be better than me telling you.
“Alright.” John said. Ted got up and retrieved
an old book from his suitcase. He settled back against John and propped
the book in his lap. The cover was made of brown leather, that was worn
and faded. There was a fancy letter ‘E’ stamped into the leather. It was
quite thick, probably close to 1,000 pages.
“I had this journal specially made for
me. It cost quite a bit at the time.” Ted explained as he opened it. The
pages were slightly faded with time, but were still very readable. At least
John could have read it, if it weren’t written in French, a language which
he didn’t understand. Ted searched through the pages until he found the
entry he was searching for. Easily translating the French to English, he
began to read...
October 23rd, 1893
Oh what a horrific day. I received the
news today that my love, Christine Daae, has died. I was in my drawing
room, sitting at my organ, when I heard a call from across the lake of
my underground lair. Upon walking out the door I noticed Raoul there, hysterical.
I brought him across the lake and into my home. It was there he told me
the story.
He and Christine had been riding back
to Paris from his home in Normandy. On the road, their horses had a fright
and took off running, dragging the carriage behind them. The carriage broke
loose and smashed into a tree. He said he remembered no more until he awoke
in a hospital in Paris.
The doctors told him a passerby saw
the happenings and quickly came to aid. Raoul was badly injured, but the
beautiful Christine was dead. The man buried here by the tree and rushed
the wounded Raoul to the city. Poor Raoul he wished their fates were switched.
October 24th, 1893
Raoul and I traveled today to the spot
were our beloved Christine died. But a horrid surprise was there for us.
The grave that had been dug for her was dug up, as though a wild animal
had spied it, and dragged away it’s occupant.
How Raoul did cry. I admit, a tear or
two slipped down my own cheek. But as he sat there in the dirt, his head
buried in his raised knees, I knew not what to do to comfort him. A hand
on his shoulder, I stood behind him. My cloak stirred in the soft wind,
and I caught it up in my hand. I kneeled beside him and with the corner
of the soft cloth I wiped the wetness from his cheeks.
Instead of returning to Paris, I guided
the horses to his home in Normandy. The solitude will be good.
“What happened to her?” John asked softly,
after Ted finished the entry.
“She’s immortal. She awoke shortly after
she was buried and dug herself out. We found out later she went back to
Normandy to look for Raoul, and when she couldn’t find him there, she made
her way back to Paris. By then, Raoul and I were already back in Normandy.
We just barely missed each other both ways. Raoul and I didn’t see her
again until about four years later. Do you want me to continue?”
“Only if it’s alright with you.”
“Of course.”
November 12th, 1893
What sort of new curse is this? While
strolling along the grounds of Raoul’s estate as is our custom, a man I
figure to be a mugger other sort of vagabond attacked Raoul and I. That’s
all I know really. I felt the bullet from his pistol enter my chest, then,
nothing. Yet I awoke a few hours later. Raoul confirmed that I had indeed
died earlier. Is this Hell? To live forever knowing that Christine is dead?
Hmmm. I also have a strange feeling
in my face. While standing before a mirror, for the first time in who knows
how long, I removed my mask. What a surprise I had. It seemed as if my
face were slowly healing itself. Amazing. I must keep tabs on this process.
Perhaps one day, I do dare hope to dream, I shall be totally healed and
will not have to hide my face...
“That was my first death.”
“I can’t imagine what it must have been
like.”
“You don’t want to either. One more, then
let’s get some sleep. We have two performances tomorrow.”
November 13th, 1893
Amazing. Over the course of a single
night, my face is totally healed. When I gazed into the small bedside mirror,
I could not believe my eyes. I looked completely normal, no disfiguration.
The only hint of scarring was a few areas of my scalp where hair had not
fully grown in. Wait until I’m able to speak to Raoul and show him...
Ted laid the journal down in his lap and
closed his eyes. He let his head fall back to rest on John’s shoulder and
sighed. John pressed his lips to Ted’s temple.
“Let’s go to sleep.” John said. After a
moment of rearranging themselves, they lay contentedly in each other’s
arms. A love long lost and a love newly found.
End of Part I. Part II Coming Soon.
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