Disclaimer: I do not own the characters.

Author's Note: This is a rather short first chapter to a longer story that I'm writing. I might not update this particular story for awhile, but then again, I might. I do have the next few chapters written, but I want to write some more before posting again. But here is Chapter 1, and I hope you enjoy it!

Christian felt terrible. He wanted to open his eyes, but he couldn’t. All around him he heard different people, all speaking French. He couldn’t understand them, which was strange. After all, he knew French. He was in love with a French woman.

Someone put a hand to his forehead, and another murmured, “He seems to be waking up.”

Christian tried again, and opened his eyes.

The light was blinding. It was as if his eyes were only used to darkness. People dressed in white were running around, back and forth and back and forth, a few coming to stand over him and making observations. Christian made out the words, “He has woken up.”

He took a deep breath. It slowly registered that the people in white were doctors and nurses. Then it registered that he must be in a hospital. As this information sunk in, he began to feel a growing sense of panic. Not because he was in a hospital, but because he had to be somewhere else.

He tried to push himself up, but his muscles were too weak. Everything ached, making it hard to concentrate. He found it hard to breathe. The nurses and doctors were talking, but none were talking to him, and he wished someone would just tell him why he was there.

Somehow, in the next few minutes, he gained the strength to cry out, “What is going on?”

A nearby nurse turned his way, surprised, and she came over and pushed his hair away from his forehead. “You’re in the hospital,” she said.

The next question took less effort. “Why?”

The nurse frowned. “No one is quite sure. The police brought you in. They said they found you on the street, dying, and brought you in. We didn’t think you were going to make it. It seems that…” The nurse hesitated. “We didn’t know what exactly was wrong with you and it was very hard to keep you alive. But it seems that whatever the doctors did has worked.”

“No,” Christian whispered.

“Pardon?”

Christian shook his head. “I can’t,” he said, his voice low. “I can’t be here. How long have I been here?” Now he sounded more urgent. “What day is it? How soon can you release me?”

“Please, calm down,” the nurse said. She looked as though she felt rather sorry for him. “Today is the fifteenth of January, 1901.”

“What?” Christian couldn’t breathe and he felt as if he were drowning.

The nurse noticed this and called for a doctor. And then she asked what was wrong.

“Wrong?” Christian repeated, feeling very lightheaded. “I was supposed to run away with Satine…in 1899.”

The nurse frowned, but she was saved from pondering this answer any more when Christian passed out.