Hello, my dear readers.

It is good to be back, I hope you have missed me. This is a rather different story for me, as it involves time travel. If that is not your cup of tea, than don't read...it's your choice. I have had wonderful tidbits fed to me by my superb friend and beta, Mlle.Fox as well as some ideas I have picked on - here and there - from those who diligently read and review my stories.

Once again, I am truly humbled that you take the time to read what I write, it really does mean a great deal to me.

This is an Erik/original woman story; it starts out in 1872 Paris, but ends up in 2007 Colorado. I have never attempted anything like this before, so we will discover - together - if I am capable of doing it justice.

The story is movie based, but the later part of the movie never occurred for the sake of my storyline.

So, without further delay, I bring you,

TIME BETWEEN US

By GerrysJackie

An original, modern day story,

featuring some of the characters from Gaston Leroux's

"Phantom of the Opera"

Erik Tremeur Marchand (Gerry Butler) – 15 when found by Madam Giry, 18 when Christine first meant him, 27 when Christine breaks his heart, 30 when he meets Randi.

Bernadette Giry – 23 when she found Erik

Miranda (Randi) Christine Willows – 26 when she meets Erik (resembles a young Reba McEntire)

Erik is eight years older than Christine, four years older than Randi.

Part I

Erik's Story

CHAPTER 1

May, 1872

He paced the floor with fretful energy; growing more uncertain of himself with every step he took. Tonight was it – he would seal his fate; for nine years he had watched her grow out of the tall, lanky, awkwardness of an adolescent, in to the elegant, slender, confident woman with whom he had fallen hopelessly in love; tonight, he would leave himself vulnerable to her – bearing his soul.

She had come to him as a shy ten-year-old girl – orphaned and alone – with only Madam Giry and her energetic daughter, Meg, to confide in. He had been a socially inept, emotionally stunted, and an academically and artistically gifted eighteen-year-old boy on the brink of manhood.

Bernadette Giry had been desperate to find some way of drawing Christine out of her environmentally induced shell. Nothing had worked so far – the child was practically catatonic most of the time; and had been, ever since the death of her father months earlier.

One day, not long after she had arrived at the opera house, Christine stumbled upon a young man in a remote part of the opera house – far away from everyone. He was not aware of her presence and sat at a rickety, old piano just staring aimlessly at the motionless keys. After a moment, his fingers began to move over them with such soft assurance, and his voice spread through the corridors of the opera house, filling them with the most exquisite sound; Christine was immediately mesmerized.

She remained hidden, listening to every song he played and every word he sang; before long, her burdened soul and weeping heart began to mend – just from the power of his music. She had not experienced such peace since her father's calming voice had lured her to sleep at night. The young girl was enraptured and began slowly easing her way toward him.

A heavy foot and raucous laughter interrupted the heavenly sound; Christine heard a stage hand approaching – that bothersome Bouquet again. She turned to inform the young man that he had nothing to fear – but he had disappeared without a trace. Before long, Christine began to think she had imagined him…but her spirit assured her that she had not.

Madam Giry was not only her instructor in dance, but was also the only mother figure she had known. It was only natural that Christine confide in her; asking any questions she had about the mysterious figure she was certain she had seen.

Surprisingly, Madam Giry knew the young man well.

"His name is Erik Marchand, he is eighteen, and I have known him for about three years now."

Looking far too mature for a girl of ten, Christine sat quietly – contemplating her next question. She was overtly curious, but at the same time she did not want to appear too eager to know more about him.

"Does he work here – for the opera house?"

Madam Giry smiled sincerely, finding it odd that Erik had allowed himself to be seen. He seldom ventured past the second level of the below ground floors; preferring to remain hidden from the world. She had chastised him on many occasions, telling him that would be impossible for him to find friends or love if he did not meet people; Christine had come along and proved her wrong.

"Yes, in a way – he composes much of the music that is used in many of the operas, and he helps design sets and costumes – and he is compensated generously for his talents and opinions."

Erik was not widely recognized among the crew and performers, but they all respected his genius despite his absence. They knew he was the best authority on music, design, and performance – but no one understood why – he was supposedly very young, had no formal training, and was a complete mystery to everyone. No one would know him if they passed him in the halls…except for the mask.

Bernadette continued, "Erik is a rather unique individual, Christine. Until he was fifteen, he lived with a band of traveling gypsies. He was a slave to them – a piece of property - and they abused him in many ways."

Christine's eyes took on a shocked look, and she felt tears welling up, "But why…he was just a child?"

There was so much to tell, but Christine was far too young to understand the heinous reasons behind Erik's abuse. "Because he is different, child…that is all I can say."

Bernadette hated the way the words sounded coming from her. Yes, he was different; not many people had a horrible, branding-type scar that obliterated the shape of their right cheek. A scar that she knew had not been natural…someone had intentionally marred his perfect features when he was just an infant. The scar was old, puckered, and in the shape of a "D".

The story she had heard in whispered tones was that the gypsies had found him in rather strange, unexplainable circumstances…they only thing they could do was brand him a tool of the devil and try to burn the demon from his soul. There was never a mention of his mother or father…and Bernadette could only imagine what Erik's origins truly were.

The story had disturbed Christine for weeks. Her sleep had been wrought full of horrible images and agonizing screams for help. Bernadette spent endless nights rocking her to sleep and humming soft melodies into her ears.

Through the normal course of time, Erik and Christine became good friends; although Erik was eight years older than her, he was as innocent as she was in many ways. Once Bernadette had opened his mind to the wonders of learning, there had been no stopping him. He taught himself math, languages, history, science, economics – anything and everything – he was a genius in all areas. He was a natural musician with a voice that could make the angels cry. Bernadette encouraged that side of him and soon, there were few in the world of music that could rival him. However, he knew nothing of people and relationships – all he knew was abuse and hatred, starvation and filth – it was Christine, a ten-year-old girl, who showed him unparalleled kindness, unconditional love, and the warmth of smile.

For Erik, that friendship was salvation; he began to thrive within the sunshine that Christine provided. She willingly spent time with him, not caring about the ugliness of his face or the filth that resided within his soul. With the safety and sanctity of her friendship, Erik stopped wearing the dreadful mask and allowed those who were closest to him to know what he looked like.

It was when she turned sixteen that Erik realized she was a creature of rare beauty. He had adored women and longed for the touch of a one for years now, but he knew there would never be one that could see him for anything other than the monster he had been branded…until Christine. She genuinely cared about him and spent time with him, perhaps if he wooed her as a woman should be wooed, she would allow him to marry her.

And so it began. He spent the next two years doing all that he knew to do to win her heart. He wrote her arias and sonnets; he showed her the many pictures he had painted of her; he made her trinkets with the labor of his hands and basked in the shimmering beauty of her smile as she admired his handiwork. He taught her to sing with the angels and gave her the gift of his genius.

Things had been going so well, until he came and ruined it all, with his handsome, whole face, his posh title, and heavy pockets. Christine had been awestruck, and Erik felt the first pangs of jealousy. What did he have to offer her? A ruined face, no title – he was lucky he knew his name - and no money; that's what – and what woman would settle for such things.

Viscount Raoul DeChangy – no name aroused such loathing or jealousy in Erik as that name; the perfect son of the perfect parents, with a perfect brother and a perfect sister; all living in a perfect world. It was enough to make him sick.

He finished tying his cravat and took a long, assessing look at himself in the mirror…he hated mirrors…but for now, he would allow his monstrous reflection to look back at him so that he could assure himself that he looked the best he could for her.

Tonight was the night – tonight he would profess his undying love and devotion to her; prove to her that he was a man and not a monster. A soft knock on the door stopped his pacing and he opened it wide. Standing on the other side, looking very much like the angel he thought her, stood Christine.

Erik slowly caressed her porcelain skin with his eyes, adoring the perfection that she chose freely to share with him. She stepped forward, into his strong embrace, and placed a tender kiss upon his flawed cheek.

Her eyes lit up when she saw the intimate table setting he had arranged for them, and the chilling bottle of champagne. The meal was hot and generous, and Christine was more than ready to eat.

"Erik, you know me so well…I never eat well during the last week of rehearsals." She kissed him again, leaving Erik completely breathless from the attention. "Thank you." She said as she sat down at the table and began eating.

Erik sat across from her, enjoying the fact that she was enjoying the food he had prepared. She had suddenly become this magnificent creature – transforming into a woman of incredible beauty and poise before his astonished eyes. His mind had barely had a chance to realize she was no longer a child, before his body started making demands that were embarrassing to him.

He suddenly felt foolish, thinking she would accept his proposal…why would such a woman want a less-than-perfect man as her husband?

Shaking the intruding and derogatory thoughts from his mind, Erik focused on his goal. They had known each other for nine years and he wanted more – he only prayed she wanted the same.

They shared a stimulating conversation as they enjoyed the meal, and Erik had never felt more at ease with her. This was how it was supposed to be, he was certain of that. They would share a rich life together – rich in love, rich in music, rich in laughter – and children – he wanted children more than he was willing to admit.

"Christine…" Erik's voice was sultry and low, drawing her eyes to his. "There is something I wish to ask you."

He slipped to his knee beside her chair and pulled the small silk box from his lapel pocket. He pulled the top open, revealing the handcrafted, diamond ring within. Christine's hand went to her mouth and her eyes were as big as saucers.

"Christine…" Erik closed his eyes to continue, fearing he would lose his nerve if he looked at her, "…I love you. In the years that we have known each other, you have become the air that I breathe and the beat of my heart. I cannot imagine living without you."

He took a deep breath and opened his eyes, allowing them to slowly drift upward to meet hers. She was as white as a sheet and there was something unusual in her eyes; if Erik did not know better, he would swear that she was hiding something from him. However, he chose to ignore the sinking feeling in his soul.

"Christine, will you do me the honor of marrying me?"

She continued to stare at him for a moment, rose to her feet and shook her head. Her furrowed brow indicated her confusion, and she stepped back from him – avoiding his touch.

"I could never marry you, Erik…" She finally said, "…I do not feel that way about you."

Had he just imagined the disgust in her voice and the terror in her eyes…his demons told him he had not. Humiliated and broken, he heard nothing more; he simply stood up, tucked the ring back into this pocket…and left.

۞۞۞۞

He went to the roof of the opera house, standing as still and lifeless as the gargoyle statues that stood guard over him. The snow fell; covering him in a pure sheet of white, but doing nothing to cleanse the wickedness that he was certain flooded his soul – of course she could not love him, he was unlovable.

Tears no longer flowed from the eyes that had once been filled with hope and love; he felt the anger and betrayal welling up within him – leaving nothing but bitterness behind. He had no idea how long he stood there…the footprints he had left in the snow faded to nothing and he did not even realize that he shivered profusely from the cold.

The utter dismay in her eyes was all that stayed with him as he wandered the opera house in search of something – anything – that would forever end the agonizing ache in his chest. Carving his heart out with a spoon sounded effective enough; however, he knew that death was too good for him.

Had she always felt that way about him? He began reliving every moment he could recall that he had spent with her…and he realized the look in her eyes had never held the one thing he longed for the most – romantic and eternal love.

He wanted to disappear; simply fade away with the last remnants of his hope and never be seen or heard again. At that moment, his heart could have ceased to beat and he would have been happier than he had ever been.

But something drove him…and he wished he knew what it was so that he could stamp it out once and for all. Instead, he wandered the opera house in search of a haven; a sanctuary where he could think about what the future held for him, and why Christine would not be a part of that future.

Bernadette searched for hours, and finally found him – nestled perilously on the back of one of the gargoyles adorning the roof. He had been missing for hours and she was certain he was not in a functional frame of mind.

"Erik, come down from there and talk to me."

He did not react to her voice, nor seem to hear anything she said. She shivered in the cold, but cast a heated glare his way. When he refused to move, she threw her arms in the air and chided him again.

"Do not make me come up there after you…my skirts will only hinder me and I shall plummet to my death on the sidewalk below."

She could tell by the dashed look he gave her that he had been contemplating that very act; and it terrified her. Just as she was about to climb up to meet him, Erik stood and gracefully made his way down to her. She reached for his gloved hand to help him down, and was surprised to see him recoil from her touch.

"What happened...you have not pulled from my touch in a very long time?"

The tug at his heart made him want to rip it out of his chest…what was it worth to anyone? He shoved his hands through his tousled, shoulder length, black hair – the white contrasting snow billowed from it like ashes from a fire. He landed safely on the surface of the roof and stood tall and foreboding before her; but the hollow ache in his eyes told the real story.

"She could not even look me in the eyes and tell me no…" his tone was filled with amused sarcasm as he tried desperately to make sense of it all, "…there was disbelief and disgust in her eyes, Bernadette – like I was some sort of depraved monster bent on molesting her."

Bernadette suspected the reason why, but could not speculate to Erik…he would not handle it well; he would probably never handle it well.

"Why?" He asked; looking to Bernadette for answers he was not sure he wanted.

Everything within her told her to keep silent, but her friendship and love for Erik prevented her from keeping him wondering in the darkness of uncertainty any longer.

"He came back, Erik…remember the Count and Countess DeChangy, their two sons, Philip and Raoul, and their daughter, Juliette?"

Erik did remember them; they had been a few years older than Christine when he had meant them. Philip was the oldest at twenty-five, then Raoul at twenty-two, and the sister came in last at eighteen.

Christine, Meg, and Juliette had been best friends; hardly a day had gone by that they did not spend every waking minute together. Erik had learned more about giggly females and their opinions about everything from those three and their late-night talks, than from any other source available to him.

A sinking, dreadful feeling filled Erik's heart and he looked at Bernadette, not wanting to hear what she had to say, but knowing that he could not move on if he did not.

"Raoul is back…and he has claimed her."

He did not pose it as a question; the echo in his heart gave him the answer before he could form the question in his mind. Christine had been enamored with Raoul from the beginning. His straight, sandy blond hair was the epitome of fashion; his laughing hazel eyes were bright and full of promise, and he was a nobleman. Erik had been so relieved when the family had moved away, although Christine had been hard to console for several weeks. She eventually seemed to have forgotten about him and Erik had quickly moved in to gain her affections.

Not wanting to witness the young, handsome couple in a clandestine moment, Erik left Bernadette with a heavy heart and headed for the roof again, assuring her he would not destroy himself; he only needed solitude and silence. It seemed like hours later that he heard the door opening behind him and he hid behind the gargoyle, not wanting to speak to anyone just yet.

He need not have worried; the young couple emerging through the door was not there to talk to anyone – they were there to find solitude in each others arms.

TBC