Disclaimer: I own nothing related to Phantom of the Opera or Ghost Whisperer; I'm just borrowing them for further entertainment purposes (stuffs Erik into a closet to hide him from lawyers).

AN: Okay, I'm switching points-of-views all over the place in this story, just to make it interesting. It is going to include: Celeste's first-person POV, the POV's of Melinda and Jim, and the views of others as well. Personally, I feel that it'll take everyone further into the story and make it more unique. Also, please review! If no one reviews, it makes me think that people hate this story, and if no one likes it, this story will be removed. Thank you.

Chapter 4: Life Before Death:

I truly liked the Seer-woman before me. She was bright, cheerful, and quite friendly, much like the girls I had known before in my life and the little ones who now slept in the dormitories. I also like the sound of her name: Melinda. It was quite pretty, and it suited her. Her husband was quite handsome, and he had a kind air about him; I could tell that he enjoyed helping others, so I guessed him to be a doctor or something of the sort. Jim, he was called, and though he seemed uncomfortable around me, I could tell by the truthfulness of his smile that he was a good man.

'They need to hear by story,' I thought, trying not to sigh.

I did not want to delve into old memories, but if it managed to lift one of the many weights I felt on my shoulders, then so be it. As Jim and Melinda leaned forwards, I began my tale.

I was born in the year 1850, here in Paris, and was a true child of the Opera Populaire. I never knew my mother or father's names, though I do remember knowing them for a brief time in my life; they left this world when I was quite young, though that part will come later on in my tale.

My mother had been a ballerina here since she was a child, and since she was a petite thing, she fit in very well with the dancers, her talents second only to the prima ballerina. For years she danced on the stage, and since she loved it so, she dedicated her entire early life to it, spurning the attentions and propositions of the stagehands and her admirers. However, no one's day in the spotlight lasts forever, and eventually, Mother's talents began to wane.

After she had lost the grace of her younger years, she found it terribly hard to tear herself away from one of the few places she called 'home.' My mother had grown up in the world of dance, and it was the only life she had ever known. Though she was far from what would be considered "old," it was clear that she had passed her prime as a ballerina. Terrified of what kind of life lay beyond the doors of the Opera House, she took her predicament to the managers of the Populaire and pleaded for them to keep her as an employee in any position they could offer her, as long as she could still dance in private.

After considering how many faithful years (not to mention profits) she had given to the Opera House, the managers decided to let her remain and become part of the staff. At first, Mother was a cleaning maid, but once the managers realized that her dance experience could be put to good use, she became a dance instructor to those who required private lessons. Eventually, this development would lead her to become close friends with a woman by the name of Antoinette Giry, who later became ballet mistress of this very establishment.

It was during one of those private dance sessions that she met my father, who was a stagehand. Mother was onstage, instructing a ballerina who needed help recovering after spraining an ankle, when a stagehand slid down one of the ropes and landed beside them, startling the two women. The ballerina fell onto her rear and had angry stalked offstage, leaving my mother to lecture the stagehand on how close he had come to hurting not only himself, but the two dancers. My father had merely smiled during the whole lecture and endured it, if only to have her full attention.

After the lecture was over, Father had merely shrugged it off before asking Mother out to dinner, which, in her surprise at the offer, she accepted. My mother soon grew attracted to him, and before the year was done, they had gotten married and moved into a suite of rooms at the Populaire, all with the blessings of the managers. Father continued his work in the flies above the stage and Mother continued her work with the dancers. Nine months later, I was born into their lives.

When I was five-years-old, Madame Antoinette Giry was hired to become the head ballet mistress. At once, Mother was upset at the thought that she might be getting replaced, but the managers assured her that she would remain as a private tutor for those who required more attention and guidance than the ballet mistress could give them. When Madame Giry arrived to take her post, Mother immediately recognized her from their endeavors in the corps de ballet many years earlier, before Madame Giry had left to marry and start a family. Now that she was a widow with a newborn baby girl, Madame needed to make a living, and so she had returned to the only place that could use her talents: the Opera Populaire. My life became interesting from that day forward.

Since there were now two ballet instructors in the Populaire, each with a tiny child to look after, one or the other had to be a caretaker while the other worked. Fortunately, both women ran different hours, and so they traded off looking after me and little Meg Giry, Madame's baby girl. Since we spent so much time together, Meg and I soon became like sisters, playing together, napping together, and exploring the Opera House together. I still have great affection for the little blonde darling, who, even as a baby, always seemed to be so happy and cheerful. I would later need that cheer in my life…

When I turned seven years of age, my father fell from the rafters above the stage, the security rope around his waist snapping while he fell. The courts ruled it an accident caused by faulty ropes, as it should have saved my father's life, and that the managers were ordered to pay my mother a good sum of money for it. However, my mother did not live long after that, and died two months later of a broken heart, leaving me very much alone.

Since I had been born and raised in the Opera House, and since the managers didn't think it was right that I be torn away from the place I called home, they left me in the care of my mother's only friend: Madame Giry. She cared for me as a daughter, feeding and clothing me with her own earnings instead of touching the funds that had been set aside for me from my father's accident. My parents had worked hard and had saved every franc that they could, tucking it away in the bank should they need it, and it was to be mine when I came of age.

Since I was too young to do any sort of work, but too old to stay with Meg, I was allowed to have my own set of rooms to sleep in, and was free to play by myself anywhere I chose, as long as I was not in the way of the adults or interrupted the opera rehearsals. I mostly stayed in the hallways near Madame Giry's apartments, just so that I could always keep an eye on Meg, who was still young enough to require someone to take care of her. One day, though, my curiosity led me away from what was considered 'safe,' and I found myself lost in a dark hallway I had never seen before.

No one heard my calls for help, as they were all busy preparing for the upcoming opening night, so I merely wandered around, crying as I walked. I soon grew tired and fell asleep, curled up in a corner. The next thing I knew, someone was carrying me, the feel of their arms very different from those of Madame Giry. The arms felt thick and strong, like a man's, and I felt very frightened at who might be holding me. Opening my eyes, I glanced up; however, instead of a full face, I found myself looking into a white mask and a blazing green eye flecked with gold.

All my life I had heard tales being whispered about an Opera Ghost, a creature, spirit, or man who roamed the halls and possessed the talent to disappear before your eyes. He asked the managers for money in order to prevent accidents from happening, and even gave them orders as to how the Opera House should be run. Everything he asked for was done without question, and should someone challenge him, terrible things occurred. With all of these stories running through my head, I was prepared to scream and fight for my life.

But when he looked down at me, I could see a sort of sadness that I had never before seen in any other adult. I immediately felt guilty at what I had been prepared to do, and instead smiled up at him, thanking him as he carried me back towards my room. The Phantom looked at me in surprise, but said nothing. A few moments later, he gently set me down on my feet, gave my bottom a soft pat, and told me to go play in my room for the rest of the day. Before he left, though, I ran up to him and tugged on his pant leg, asking him to bend down. He did so, and I pressed a kiss to his exposed cheek before turning to obey his orders.

"You kissed the Phantom of the Opera on the cheek?" Melinda gasped, wide-eyed.

I couldn't hold back a laugh. "Well, I was only seven-years-old at the time," I replied, smiling at her.

"Wow," Jim said in awe. "So…did you really know him?"

My eyes closed as I became lost in a torrent of memories. "Yes…I knew him…"

From that day forward, whenever something mysteriously appeared on my bed or in my room, I knew it was the Phantom who had given it to me. Toys, books, ribbons, a new robe for Christmas or a box of candy, it was always from him, and always with a note that was signed O.G. at the end. Since I was a child, this all seemed magical and wonderful, and I found myself looking around my room several times a day to see if he had left me anything new. However, once Madame Giry discovered that things were appearing in my room, she resorted to taking it all away from me, hiding them in a locked chest in her room, where I was forbidden to go.

"You are not to steal things!" she declared, revealing what she'd thought I had been doing. "Or if you have not stolen them, you are not to accept things from others you do not know!"

I had been shocked by her first accusation, but dared not tell her about my secret benefactor. Instead, I kept quiet, hanging my head and tucking myself away in my room. That night, the Phantom approached me, asking if I was alright. I told him that Madame Giry had taken all of my new things away, but that I had not betrayed his secret to her. He looked impressed and, oddly enough, touched by the fact, and asked if I would like to join him for tea and sweets in his home, instead of another gift. As an openly trusting child who had never been mistreated in my life, I had accepted, letting the Ghost sweep me up into his arms and carrying me down into his underground lair.

The sound of ringing bells could be heard in the distance, jarring me out of my tale as I listened to the number of chimes. It was three o'clock in the morning, and my girls needed me.

"I must go," I said, glancing towards my guests as I stood from my chair. "It is late, you should return to your hotel and rest."

"Wait, you're just going to leave us hanging?" Jim blurted out, his eyes wide in disbelief.

A small smirk tugged at my lips. "It is not wise to use the word 'hanging' within this theater," I replied in a low voice. "It is associated with the Phantom, and many still believe that to overuse that word would bring his spirit back to the Opera House."

Jim and Melinda stood from their seats as well, though it was she who spoke. "Do you think that he's still here?" she asked, almost eager to meet other spirits. "The Phantom, I mean."

I shook my head. "If he is still here, I have never seen him," I said; I did not mention that I had no desire to see him once more. "I either know all the spirits that still dwell here or know of them, and none of them are of Erik."

Jim shifted uncomfortably from one foot to another. "I'm afraid to ask, but what other spirits…you know…are here?"

I couldn't hold back a small chuckle. "Yes, I know what you mean," I said, smiling. "And I am afraid that the other spirits are not as strong as I am. In some instances, it is possible for spirits to see one another and to communicate as the living do. However, most do not have that ability."

"But you do, because you are so strong," Melinda said, staring hard at me.

"That would be correct," I said. "Because so many people believe in me, I am strong, and that allows me to see, though not always to speak, to the other spirits here." I turned towards Jim. "There are many who are still here, though most are from the horrid disaster that occurred so long ago."

"The fire," Melinda breathed, her hands going to her mouth. "All those poor people who lost their lives…"

"Oui," I softly replied, sadness swelling up inside me. "Most people escaped the fire, but some did not…a few orchestra members, some dancers and chorus members, a few stagehands…and the few audience members who were seated in the first few rows, watching the opera."

"Are all of them still here?" pressed Melinda. "Do they need help?"

I shook my head. "I do not know how many will accept your help. The audience members will not speak to me, but the spirits of those that lived and died here in the Opera House do," I replied. "They all knew me in one way or another, so we get along fairly well. Sometimes we even meet on the stage and chat about the old days, before all of this technology came to pass." I smiled. "We former workers of the Populaire are content, and in some ways, we feel as though nothing has changed."

"And the others?" Jim asked, looking concerned. "What about them?"

I shrugged. "Mostly, the spirits of the audience members just wander around the seating area where they died. Some of them are still in shock about how they died or what they saw that night, and most of them look as though they have horrible burns all over them from the fire." I couldn't hold back a shudder. "The staff members who died during that time do not look that way, and it is disturbing for me to look at the audience areas."

"Well, I can certainly understand that," Jim said. "As much as I hate to say it, looking at a burn victim can be hard on anyone, even me."

Deciding to take advantage of the opportunity, I leapt to have one of my questions answered. "If I may be so bold, Jim…may I ask what, exactly, it is you do?" I politely inquired. "I sense that you do something great and good for the people, but I do not know what."

He smiled at me. "I'm a paramedic, an ambulance driver," he said. "I arrive on the scenes of accidents or natural disasters and either treat victims or take them to a nearby hospital."

Awe spread through me. "Such a noble profession…" I said, glancing over at his wife. "You are quite fortunate to have one such as him." A playful smile tugged at my lips. "And one that is so handsome and so understanding of your gift!"

Melinda returned the smile. "Yes, I am quite fortunate," she said, glancing up at her husband, taking his hand in hers.

Envy replaced the awe I had felt, and the bitter coldness of it carved deep into my heart. "Well, I must go," I stated, fighting back my emotions. If I didn't control myself, something bad would happen.

"But I thought this was your room?" Melinda asked, confused. "It certainly looks roomy and you seem comfortable in it…"

"This was my room," I said, glancing around. "My room was just about where this one is, and it was there that I lived while I was alive. When the Opera House was rebuilt, this bit of space became a storage room, approximately where my bedroom used to be. I took possession of it after I died because it was in an area familiar to me." A contented smile spread across my face. "As soon as I had enough living friends, they came and turned this place into an exact copy of my former room so that I had someplace familiar to go to whenever I wished for peace and quiet."

Suddenly, I felt as though I were on fire. I clutched at my chest, nearly falling to my knees at the shock.

"Celeste, what is it?" Jim asked, rushing towards me.

"I must go, my girls need me!" Without waiting for a reply, I sent myself towards the dormitories.

Jim watched in surprise as Celeste vanished before their eyes. "Do you think we should follow her?" he asked, glancing down at his wife.

"I doubt that'll be a good idea," she said, glancing around the room. "Besides, how do we know we can get out of here?"

A few moments of trying to open the door yielded nothing. Just as Jim decided to break the door down, the door suddenly opened. There stood a girl of about sixteen with black curls and blue eyes, and wearing a gray dress, smiling at them. "Hello," she said in heavily accented English, very different from Celeste's smooth, pleasant, lightly-accented English. "Our Lady sent me to fetch you from here while she helps the girls deal with a…situation. Come, I will lead you to the front doors."

"Your Lady?" Melinda asked.

The teenager smiled. "Celeste," she replied. "I am Elise, a senior member of the corps de ballet."

"Oh, so you know all about Celeste being…" Jim trailed off.

"A ghost, you mean?" Elise asked, amused as she led them down the hallway towards the elevators. "Oh, oui, of course I do! Every member of the ballet knows of her! She is our friend, our protector; and many of us cannot imagine what life would be like here without her!"

At that moment, the elevator arrived and the three of them stepped in, watching the doors close. Elise stood on the left, Melinda in the middle, and Jim on the right. Elise pushed the button for the ground floor and the car began to move.

"Both you and Celeste say that she protects you," Melinda said, turning to gaze at the other girl.

"Yes," Elise said with a wide smile, her blue eyes sparkling happily. "She keeps away all of the horrible men who try to harm us. Now the men here know better than to lay a hand on the ballerinas!"

Both Jim exchanged looks with his wife. "And how would they know that?" he asked.

A spark of serious, cold determination turned Elise's eyes to pure blue ice. "Because any man who dares enter the ballet dormitories gets to meet her face-to-face," she said, narrowing her gaze. "Sometimes, if they have already harmed us, she uses her powers to attack them, usually strangling them. Or, if the men are in the process of harming us, she will show them the face she was given during the fire to terrify them." She shuddered. "It is a horrid sight, and very few have seen it."

"Was Celeste in the performance during the fire?" Melinda asked, glancing at Elise. "She seems a bit moderately dressed for something as daring as the Don Juan opera that was going on that night."

Elise shifted uneasily where she stood, and when the elevator stopped, she practically leapt out of the contraption, Jim and Melinda trailing behind. Once they were at the front doors, Elise stopped and pushed them outside.

"I could not answer you inside," she whispered. "Celeste's spirit friends are everywhere, and report things to her if it concerns her or the dancers." Elise gazed sadly at the marble floor before continuing. "Celeste was not in Don Juan, though she is dressed in a costume of sorts." She took a deep breath. "The night of the fire, you see…Celeste…took her own life…because of a man."

"Oh, no," Jim said with a slight groan, his arms going around his wife, who looked ready to cry.

"Yes," Elise replied, looking incredibly sad. "She loved a man very deeply, but he did not return her feelings, so she dressed herself up in that lovely white lace dress, placed a fresh flower wreath on her head, and killed herself."

Melinda felt a tear fall down her cheek. "Do you think that's why she's still here?" she asked.

Elise shook her head. "No, I think she fully expected to go on to someplace better, a place where she could be happy and find what she so desperately sought…"

"But she didn't cross over…" Melinda whispered. "And now she's still here…"

"Do you know the rest of the story?" Jim asked, gazing hard at the teenager.

She shifted uncomfortably. "Oui, but I cannot tell you here…I will meet you tomorrow the café behind the Populaire at noon; we will need to go elsewhere after that…there are too many ears there."

The other two agreed to the plan and said goodbye to Elise before heading back to their hotel for the night.

AN: Well, what do you think? Please be kind and review! I need to know if people like this story or not. Thanks!