A/N: I had such a blast writing this, I decided to pump it up even more with my very own "Phan" Trailers. You can watch them on Youtube-my user name is voyagersguidebook. I must give kudos to Gaston Leroux the original author of the fantastic novel and Andrew Lloyd Webber and his team, the brilliant creators of the most famous musical in the world. I do make reference to one or the other frequently. Both works have inspired me for this tale in many ways. And of course, the creators/writers and terrific actors of Voyagers!. Without them, there would be no fan-fiction to write!

The Voyage of the Paris Opera

A low whistle pierced the air, and two male figures were free-falling. The smaller of the two grabbed the other for protection. They fell into a thick patch of greenery and rolled over, trying to avoid the brambles and thorns.

“Bogg! I’m so glad you hit the omni! I was about to be trampled!”

Jeffrey Jones was still shaking from the previous event. He pulled a few leaves from his dark curls and dusted off his shirt. The two Voyagers had just exited the Wild West. Jeffrey had been trapped on a runaway wagon with a stampede of buffalo on his tail.

“I was glad I caught up to you, Jeff, that old gray mare wasn’t what she used to be, that’s for sure.” The handsome, older Voyager replied.

Phineas Bogg wiped the dirt off his tan, suede vest and shook the grass from his dark blonde hair. He had a few minor cuts and scrapes, but nothing he wasn’t used to in this line of business. He hugged his young partner reassuringly and laughed.

“Bogg, don’t knock her, she held up long enough to get you close and jump the wagon.”

“You’re right, kid. Long live Bessie! ” Phineas announced with a smile.

“C’mon, lets see what’s going down here in…” He opened his brass device, their means of cosmic transportation. “Paris, France. September, 15th 1896. Hmm, red light.” He latched it back to his belt.

They stepped out of the shrubbery and onto a long footpath. Further ahead, the area was bustling with activity. The aroma of the bakeries and restaurants made their mouths water. Jeffrey looked around with interest.

“This place is familiar, I can’t remember the name of it though.”

“Avenue des Champs-Élysées, one of Paris’ biggest hot spots.” Phineas said confidently.

“You would know that, Bogg.”

“Yeah well, you know…I’m a Voyager, a citizen of the world..a…”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ve heard this all before. Hey, I wonder what could be wrong?”

“Let’s start walking and find out. You know, I feel pretty under dressed.”

“You? At least you can claim to be a sailor or something. I’m wearing Nike sneakers and jeans!”

Phineas looked him over with a shrug. “Yeah, but your shirt is like a sailor...it's got red stripes and stuff.”

“Aww, Bogg!”

The stroll through the Avenue was pleasant. The weather was seasonably cool and the sun shone bright in the afternoon sky. Phineas dug into the pouch on his sash, and counted out five gold francs he had stashed inside. They dated from the reign of King John II. They were very measly rewards for helping the King rescue his son Louis from the Tower of London. However, their value increased in this time zone. It was more than enough for the Voyagers to attain proper clothing.

-O-

“I feel much better, don’t you?” Bogg adjusted his collar and packed their original clothing into a carryall.

“Hey, you get to wear the suit and tie, I’m stuck looking like Little Lord Fauntleroy! Did you forget that I’m twelve, not five?” Jeffrey complained bitterly. He scratched the dark britches and pulled at the silk ruffled collar. “And I am not wearing this stupid cap, Bogg! Boys should never wear ribbons!”

He tossed it to his friend and Phineas shoved it in the case, laughing at his cross expression.

“I’m sorry, Jeff! It was all I could think of to get you at the moment. I think you look pretty spiffy, like a little aristocrat.” Phineas patted his head mockingly.

“Oh jeez. Next time, I’ll pick out my own clothes, please.”

“Okay, wise guy. Now lets get something to eat...I'm sure we'll figure out what's wrong any moment now.”

As they passed a crowded bar, Phineas fixed his eyes on an attractive doe-eyed woman in a pink petticoat. She blushed furiously when she caught him staring and busied herself opening her parasol. Phineas stopped short to greet her. A sudden commotion from the bar entrance caught Jeffrey’s attention.

“Get out of here, Leroux! Go home and sleep it off! You wild lout!” The bartender wiped his hands on his apron and spun back inside on his heels.

“Bogg! Look out!” Jeffrey jumped to the left.

Phineas turned too late. A heavyset young man in round glasses and a beard hurled straight into him. They both stumbled to the ground.

“Ooof! Hey mister, be careful okay?”

The man was a little glassy-eyed and mumbled an apology in French, then repeated it in heavily accented English. Phineas helped him up and Jeffrey gathered his papers that spilled out of his briefcase. He noticed a signature, ‘Gaston Leroux.’ His eyes widened in surprise and he tugged at Phineas' sleeve.

“Bogg, I know who this is, he’s one of my favorite writers.”

“You mean besides Mark Twain and Doyle?”

“Yeah, this is Gaston Leroux, he wrote ‘The Phantom of the Opera'.”

The man, overhearing, grabbed Jeffrey’s shoulders and startled him. “You know of the Paris Opéra Ghost?”

"Hey now, mister! Take it easy with my kid." Phineas pulled Jeffrey out of his clutches, but Jeffrey went back up to him with awe.

“Yeah! Of course I've heard of him, you wrote…”

Phineas gave him a warning glance and nudge. The man continued excitedly.

“I would love to write about him, but the inspiration is gone. There is no longer a Paris Opéra. What a tragedy!” He grabbed his head sadly.

Jeffrey looked shocked, so Phineas pulled him to the side.

“Excuse us for just a moment... Gaston.” He brought Jeffrey to the edge of a small fountain.

“Okay, lay it on me, what’s wrong here?”

“Bogg, the Paris Opera house is famous, and it’s the setting for his story. Gaston Leroux investigated the Opera House from top to bottom and supposedly found the bones of The Phantom! My dad took us on a summer vacation to Europe when I was nine. We took the tour, but not the underground.” Jeffrey said, a little disappointed.

“Oh, really? This doesn’t mean he won’t write his story. Maybe the problem here is what happened to the Opera House itself.”

“Right, thanks for stopping me. I forgot we can’t mention his book. He didn’t write it until the early nineteen hundreds. He did write other things though, I think he was a journalist most of his life. But, Bogg, if he doesn't get to see the Opera House, his story may never get written.”

“Gotcha kid, c’mon we’ll get the rest of the story from him.”

They went back to the disheveled man with pleasant smiles on their faces.

“Mr. Leroux, um, we're tourists here...for the first time. What exactly happened to the Paris Opera House?”

“I was just on my way to that area to grab a bite of lunch. Why don’t you join me? I’ll tell you all about it.”

Before they could protest, Gaston hailed a hansom cab and they were soon on their way.

-O-

The trio took a picturesque ride through the countryside. They soon pulled up to a quaint, but bustling eatery, ‘La café De Lune.’ It was situated in an area known as 'Rue Scribe.' Gaston led them to a round white table a little ways from the other patrons. Phineas picked up his menu and hesitated.

“Whatever you do, don’t order the escargot.” Jeffrey advised his friend.

“Oh, a little bit of snail won’t kill you, a bit rubbery for my tastes though.” Bogg winked at Jeffrey's surprised face.

“What? You would be really shocked at the entrees I’ve had in my lifetime, kid. I’ll stick to the croissants.”

“Ahh, that’s all American’s can think of to eat when they come here! Let me make the order boys.” Gaston decided with a chuckle.

Gaston and the Voyagers were fulfilled with a delicious meal of Tartines de la Tomates and Mozarella and Brochettes de poulet au romarin, or as Jeffrey called them, chicken kabobs. As they ate, Phineas urged Gaston to talk about the Opera House. Gaston Leroux was a lively and flamboyant young man. He was enraptured with the majestic splendor of the ‘Palais Garnier.’ Phineas and Jeffrey became captivated too, as he described it in all its luxurious detail. Gaston's breezy mood eventually changed and his voice grew somber.

“It was exactly twenty years ago today, that the Paris Opéra burned down from a mysterious and tragic explosion.

“Explosion? How did that happen?” Jeffrey pushed his tomatoes around his plate and Phineas snatched them and popped them in his mouth.

“Nobody knows, but legend has it as the Phantom’s evil doing. Almost everyone inside died, including the beautiful and talented Opera singer, Christina Nilsson. She was so young, just thirty-three. She was performing the lead role in ‘La Traviata.’ That was the role that fully started her Opera career ten years prior. From the second day after the performers moved in, there were reports of strange ‘happenings’ throughout the theater. They became more frequent when Miss Nilsson stayed that fateful week. There was even talk that she didn’t die, but disappeared shortly after her performance. No evidence was produced from the wreckage and her remains were never found... Oh, will you pardon me? My editor just arrived, I need to give him some past due articles.”

Jeffrey shook his head sadly when he left. “This is all wrong, The Opera house was never destroyed, it was the entire setting in the book.”

Phineas rolled his eyes. The famous novel was going to be mentioned a lot, along with more phantom tales.

“Can you give me an idea of what this story is all about? You can’t expect me to believe that a ghost blew up the Opera House. It sounds more like foul play to me.”

“Your right, Bogg, the Phantom wasn’t a ghost, but he made himself out to be like one. He was a tortured and disfigured man who lived in the catacombs beneath the Opera House. He was a great architect and designed a home for himself. His name was Erik. Basically, Erik is in love with a very young ingénue, Christine Daae. He's a master musician and trains her to sing better than everyone. He pretends to be her ‘Angel of music.’ Later, he demands through tricks, blackmail, and murder that she become the star of the Opera House’s performances and he writes the music for the Operas himself.”

Phineas crossed his arms, intrigued. “That’s very interesting, the character Christine sounds like Christina Nilsson.”

“That’s because Gaston Leroux used her as inspiration for the book. Anyway, Christine has a suitor named Raoul and The Phantom gets extremely jealous. He threatens them and kidnaps her. She realizes he’s not the angel she thought he was. He’s a weirdo that lives in a death chamber and sleeps in a coffin. He traps Raoul in the catacombs with another character and Christine is forced to make her choice. If she turns the scorpion she must marry Erik and stay with him forever in his chambers. If she turns the grasshopper, he would destroy the Opera house, by blowing it up!”

Phineas took a swig of lemonade and leaned in closer, he wanted to hear the rest. Leroux's story was fascinating.

“Well, what happened?”

“Erik turns out to be a little decent after all. He shows pity on them after Christine kisses him and forces them to go away. At the end he gives this moving speech and three weeks afterward dies of a broken heart.”

“And his bones remained hidden in the catacombs? That’s what Leroux supposedly found, right?”

“According to his diaries anyway. He found the bones with a ring on them. In the story, Erik took that ring from Christine’s neck. It was an engagement ring given to her from Raoul.”

“What a sad ending! Leroux has some imagination but that still doesn’t explain why this happened in real life.”

“You heard Gaston, he’s convinced the Phantom existed. What if he did? What if he was in love with Christina Nilsson? What if the whole story was actually real?”

Jeffrey was excited at his newfound theory. Bogg shook his head and sighed. He was still cynical.

“Jeffrey, remember, Leroux is a journalist in the age of sensationalism. He probably wrote all that to promote his book of fiction.”

“Maybe, but even to his dying day he insisted the Phantom was real. They made movies about his book too. My favorite is the silent film version with Lon Chaney, he did his own makeup and he was so creepy in the role!…oh, here comes Gaston.”

Gaston approached the two with a wry smile. “Sorry to keep you waiting, my job was hanging by a thread! Are you ready to see the grounds of what is left of Paris Opéra?”

“Yes, lead the way.” Phineas said.

-O-

The Paris Opéra was close enough to go by foot. As they approached the area, the Voyagers gasped. The once grand building was a burned out shell with shattered windows and thriving weeds. The grounds around it were swampy. They had to wipe the muck from their shoes every few feet they walked.

“Gaston, why didn’t they just rebuild the Opera house? Instead of leaving it like this?”

Phineas picked up a faded poster, it was burned around the edges. On the front was a life-like painting of a beautiful woman with flowers and curls in her hair. her sloping and haunting blue eyes bore into him. He drew a breath, it was none other than Christina Nilsson. The poster read, ‘La Traviata’ underneath.

“Ah, there she is! Christina is said to have broken many hearts between her voice and her stunning looks.”

“You speak as if you know her.” Phineas murmured, continuing to gaze at her image.

“Oh no, I was just a child when this all happened. I’ve only researched her life in the last few years and found pictures. I was able to procure a very rare phonograph of her singing. She didn't have confidence in her own talents for the invention. I treasure it. I suppose through all my hard work I’ve become quite attached to keeping her memory alive.”

“I can certainly understand why.” Phineas reluctantly let the poster go and it drifted gently to the ground, then blew away with a gust of wind. “She was probably unforgettable, one of a kind.”

Jeffrey poked around the inner sections of the dilapidated theater, but there was nothing much of interest that wasn't destroyed. Phineas waved him to come back. He noticed there were many shards of glass and broken fixtures that could have presented a danger. Jeffrey trudged back reluctantly.

“I know why they didn’t rebuild, Bogg. It's because of the lake underneath in the catacombs, right Mr. Leroux?”

“Exactly, young boy. They spent a fortune the first time! It took them eight months alone to pump out enough water and lay the foundation. They had many setbacks afterward. The Franco-Prussian war began, and the fall of the Empire. Two months under that ridiculous Paris Commune really halted the construction. It opened officially for performances in 1874 and it was a lavish affair. The entire city celebrated.”

Gaston developed a faraway look in his eye as he remembered the day.

“We attended the inauguration. What a grand spectacle that was! The streets were packed; everyone from the poorest of the poor to the highest official was present. My family and I only got a peek of the inside lobby. The Paris Opéra was fit for a king! I believed it even rivaled the palaces.”

Standing among the gigantic ruins, it wasn’t hard to imagine the splendor it once possessed. Gaston continued to explain that the Government and architects decided not to put up any more money for the Opera House to be rebuilt.

“So now, it just lies here, wasting away in rubble.” Gaston finished mournfully.

The Voyagers took a last walk around and gave each other a fleeting look. It was time to begin the next part of their assignment. Phineas excused himself and turned the omni to five days prior to the tragedy, September 10th 1876. They were going to need all the time they could get. He took Jeffrey’s arm.

“I have a feeling this one is going to be tough, kid. Are you ready for it?”

“I sure am, Bogg.”

Jeffrey wanted to say goodbye to Gaston, but he was preoccupied taking notes. It was the perfect time to leave. Phineas pushed the omni and they took off into the cosmos.