A/N: This chapter took me a little longer to get done, mainly due to a lack of inspiration. But thanks to the Off-Broadway tour of Phantom of the Opera coming to my city two weeks ago, I have been brimming with ideas and inspiration ever since. I hope you enjoy. As always, please let me know what your thoughts are.

~Jamie

Chapter 6

I'd heard enough. That woman, that medium as she had so quaintly called herself, was an idiot. Even worse than that, she was a fraud. She was no better than the fortune tellers who traveled around with the Gypsy caravans, pretending to read peoples' palms and tell their futures for coin. It wasn't all that difficult to spout off vague information, or to read a person's body language and hone in on their reactions to key phrases in order make it seem like their fortune was specifically tailored to them.

In the span of a mere twenty minutes, this woman had that impressionable young woman believing that I was trapped in her house because there was something preventing me from crossing over. That was the first indication that the lady was nothing more than a scam artist, and a mediocre one at that. Although it was a little unnerving that she picked up on my presence (I was still tempted to dismiss it as nothing more than a lucky guess), but had she truly been able to "read" me she would have known that my existence on this plane was out of punishment for my wicked deeds in life, not a reluctance to leave it due to some sort of unfinished business. Instead, she had managed to persuade the girl—rather convincingly, I might add—that it was her duty to help me find peace and move on.

I wheeled about on my heel and let out a growl as I retraced my path between the sofa and the staircase. The notion was as ridiculous as it was troublesome! The last thing I wanted or needed was the misplaced good intentions of a stranger. I wanted my ring back and to be left alone in peace. It was as simple as that.

And yet….

And yet, I begrudgingly had to admit that there were aspects to what this medium said that I could not ignore.

For one, up until now I had been unable to leave the confines of the opera house. Oh, I had tried on many occasions, but it was as if an invisible barricade had been built around the building, preventing me from leaving the premises. I now knew that my ring was supposedly responsible for bringing me into this stranger's living room, but it didn't necessarily explain why I had appeared without warning inside the shop earlier today. The last thing I remembered was standing by the window inside the house, having just expressed an interest in finding out more about the woman whose residence was now my prison.

My pacing slowed as I mulled over what the medium had said, that I could follow her if I chose to. Did my urge to find out more about her cause my sudden shift in location? And if so, why? Could that also explain why, after an overwhelming desire to distance myself from the whole mess, I had returned to her house, seemingly in the blink of an eye? Perhaps there was more to this medium's abilities than I was willing to give her credit for.

The other thing that unsettled me was her refusal to accept payment for the session. Why, for instance, would she go to the all trouble of providing a false reading if her overall goal wasn't to swindle the poor girl out of her money?

Damn it! The nature of this whole situation both perplexed and intrigued me. I couldn't very well denounce the existence of supernatural phenomena; after all, here I was more than a century after my death. But I also wasn't ready to accept what had just transpired as fact, either.

The sound of a key being slid into the lock on the front door tore me away from my acidic thoughts and put an abrupt end to my restless pacing. I could contemplate the where and why later. Right now, I had bigger issues to contend with.

A sliver of light cut across the wooden floor as the door creaked open in front of me and Christine—my heart gave a painful lurch at the mere thought of assigning that name to someone else—stepped over the threshold.

For the first time since finding myself here, I allowed myself to stare unabashedly and really look at her. She was of average height, with a petite frame that made her appear weaker than I knew her to be after observing her work in her kitchen. Her blonde hair was shorter, just a little longer than chin length, and while I wasn't all that accustomed to women wearing such drastic styles, the slightly wavy way she kept it complemented her build nicely. Rather than make her appear boyish, the thin blond wisps softened her facial features and added another level to her femininity.

She had barely set foot in the living room when I heard her sharp intake of breath. Seconds later she staggered backward. I watched, transfixed, as the woman in front of me straightened and swung a cautious gaze around the room.

With a knowing glint in her hazel eyes that I was unable to comprehend, she whispered, "You know."

XXX

"You know," I said to the eerily empty room. "I can feel it."

And I could. As soon as I walked into the house it felt as if I had run headlong into a brick wall. The oppressive feeling was so intense, the air around me so charged, that I was sure one simple discharge of static electricity from me would be enough to ignite the whole room in flames. The overwhelming sensation of agitation and frustration made the little hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

The medium had said that I would be able to understand and communicate with the spirit. Is this what she meant, that I would actually be able to feel and interpret his emotions? Because if I were reading the aura that seemed to penetrate the entire room right, then it meant my ghost was furious. The very idea that the ghost who inhabited my house was angry struck a very real fear in my heart, and it took nearly everything I had to convince myself to stay when all my instincts were screaming at me to run out that door and never come back.

What would he do now? He had already proven himself capable of touching and moving certain objects around the house. And he definitely wasn't afraid of making his presence known. Could he hurt me? Would he? Was I in real danger here? Danica acted like he was aloof and misunderstood and that he wouldn't do me any harm, but I also hadn't felt anything like this during my session, either. Maybe…maybe she had been wrong about him.

Oh, god! What was I going to do?

Don't panic, I told myself.

I wiped my palms off on my scrubs and forced myself to swallow over the lump currently constricting my throat.

"You're upset because now you know that I stole your ring." The air seemed to crackle and pulsate in answer to my observation. I forged on. If I didn't keep going I'd lose my nerve and then we'd be back at square one. "And because in doing so I trapped you here with me."

Again, I felt the air vibrate around me, only this time it was more intense. The energy almost seemed to emanate directly in front of me. Okay, definitely angry about being here.

"You have every right to be mad at me. I had no idea what I was doing when I took your ring." Frowning, I recalled spying the sparkle of gold embedded in the lake sediment. "My first thought was that someone had lost it and they were going crazy with worry because they didn't know where it had come off. I intended to take it to the lost and found, but…it was so scary down there that by the time I got back upstairs I completely forgot I had put it in my purse."

Another bit of memory from that day suddenly flashed in my mind. A sigh, a cold breeze on my neck, me running upstairs as though something—or someone—was standing in the shadows right behind me.

"You were there," I realized. "It was your presence I felt after I picked up your ring. Why?" I whispered. "What makes the ring the key to all of this?"

My brain seized the challenge like a drowning man would seize a life preserver. If I occupied my thoughts with trying to solve this new puzzle, then maybe I could ignore the fact that the suffocating feeling had yet to dissipate.

Circling slowly around the couch, I began to tick off ideas on my fingers, working through them as I walked.

"Okay, we know that the ring is somehow tied to you. Judging by the design, I'm going to say that it's most likely a wedding ring. But is it yours, or did it belong to somehow else? And how does losing it play into things? Danica said there is something keeping you from moving on. Maybe…um, maybe you died without it and that's why you want it back."

My heart quickened at the thought, especially considering what he wrote on my mirror. "Hmm…wait. If it was that simple, why is it still stuck on my finger?" Raising my hand up, I turned my palm over and watched as the light from the windows glinted off the simple gold band.

"It's kinda dainty," I mused. Almost like it was meant for a woman's finger, I thought. It certainly complemented my hand nicely. "Maybe it belonged to your wife—"

At that exact moment, every single light bulb in the front room lit up, from the table lamps to the hall light over the stairwell, each one growing brighter and brighter until, with a loud pop, pop, pop, they exploded one by one, sending glass flying in all directions.

I screamed and dropped to the ground, covering my head to shield my face from the shards.

When it finally ended the house was silent once again, save for the sounds of my fractured breathing. Still crouching, I leaned forward, snatched my purse and car keys from the end table, and bolted out the front door and down the steps without a backward glance.

XXX

For a long time, I simply stared, mouth slightly agape, at the door through which Christine had just fled. Then, ever so slowly, I turned to look at the destruction my sudden outburst had left in its wake.

Small rings of broken glass surrounded the base of each table and floor lamp. The stairs were littered with shards that had fallen down from the overhead light like deadly raindrops.

I had lost control. I had allowed this woman's incessant rambling to get the better of my emotions. I could not, would not, let it happen again.

XXX

"Jesus, Chris! Slow down! That's your third glass of wine."

In answer to Maddie's protests I upended the glass and dumped the rest of its contents down my esophagus. The liquid burned the back of my throat, sending me into a fit of coughing that eventually ended with me in tears.

I set the wine glass on her coffee table and buried my face in my hands as I sobbed. Moments later I felt Maddie's hand on my back, rubbing soothing circles across my shoulder blades.

She had found me in her driveway when she came home from the gym, clutching the steering wheel with wild, panic-stricken eyes. Naturally, she did what any best friend would do: she quickly ushered me inside and handed me a glass (or three) of alcohol to calm down.

"Shh," she crooned. "Tell me what happened. Does it have something to do with Ben?" Her eyes narrowed. "Do I need to kick his ass?"

"No," I replied, shaking my head. "There was a-another disturbance. At the house."

"What kind of disturbance?"

I told her about the evil feeling I felt when I had walked in, and how all the light bulbs exploded when I tried to address the ghost. Of course, I left out the part about my psychic reading, as well as everything the medium had said about the spirit being bound to me by his ring. Maddie was already skeptical about the whole thing; I was actually surprised she agreed to the séance. Besides, if this is what talking to the ghost got me, I wasn't sure I wanted to carry on any more conversations with him.

"Are you sure you're not making more out of this than there really is?" she asked, confirming my thoughts. "I'm sure there's a logical explanation. Maybe all the lights blew out because of a power surge from the storms. You know, that's why they tell us to plug everything into those surge protectors."

I grimaced. "I don't know…"

"I'm not saying that what happened wasn't scary. But you've had a rough week, with some major upsets. All I'm saying is that maybe you're so focused on thinking you suddenly have a ghost that it's got you jumping at shadows."

It was on the tip of my tongue to tell her all about the ring and the message on my mirror last night, but something made me hesitate at the last second. Whether it was shame over having absconded with the ring in the first place or the fear that she would think I was going crazy, I wasn't sure, but I wasn't ready to find out just yet.

"Maybe you're right," I agreed with a sigh. "But if it's all the same to you, do you mind if I stayed the night? I don't want to be home alone right now, and I don't think I could drive anyway," I added, pointing to the nearly empty bottle of wine sitting next to my completely empty wine glass.

Maddie smiled. "Yes, that's fine. Want me to drive you over there so you can get some clothes for tonight and work tomorrow?"

"Please."

It was dark when Maddie and I walked up the steps to my front porch and I unlocked the door to let us in. That point was driven home even more by the fact that none of my lights in the front room worked now.

I was anxious to see if Maddie picked up on the sinister vibe, but to my complete and utter dismay, the house felt normal. The heavy, concentrated rage I had experienced early that day was nowhere to be found. Instead, the house felt just like it always did; open, welcoming, and just a bit on the lonely side. If not for the slivers of glass all over the floor I could have almost persuaded myself that I had imagined the whole thing.

I quickly charged up the stairs and into my bedroom, sighing with intense relief when I discovered that the lights in there were still intact and functioning normally. Grabbing a small backpack from my closet I stuffed a clean pair of scrubs, yoga pants, and a tee shirt into the bag. Then I went over to my dresser and gathered up a bra, underwear and socks. My final stop was the bathroom to collect the travel sized toothpaste, shampoo, conditioner, and body wash from a basket on the shelf next to the sink. My eyes lingered on the vanity mirror as I picked up my hairbrush and makeup bag, and a shudder worked itself up my spine.

Would I ever feel comfortable in my house again?

XXX

I spent a good deal of time at work the following day Googling information about ghosts and hauntings on my phone. Fridays were by far our slowest day, and the break in patients gave me ample time to waste researching ideas and suggestions on how to deal with aggressive spirits.

Be assertive, one article said. Tell the spirit that it's your house and you won't be pushed around.

Remember that ghosts were people once, another cautioned.They are still able to experience a range of emotions.

There was another article dedicated to the use of different tools that could facilitate communication between the living and the dead. Of course, the Ouija board was one of them, but it also said that people had found success by using mirrors, candles, tape recorders, and meditation. One website I visited encouraged the use of cameras to capture the ghost's essence. Apparently, the strong pockets of energy I had felt were not uncommon. It meant the ghost was present and might even be trying to communicate. The site stated that if I took pictures of my surroundings every time I felt the spirit's presence, I could potentially capture anything from round orbs to a smoky haze to a full-on apparition.

The old saying 'knowledge is power' popped into my head, and at that moment I truly understood what it meant. After spending the day reading, I felt more equipped to handle the situation and less likely to let the ghost intimidate me.

That night I went home with resolve in my heart. I had new things to try. I felt confident that eventually I would find the right conductor with which to communicate with the ghost. And somehow, I would find a way to help him and set us both free.

When I opened the door to the house this time, I made sure to keep all awkwardness and uncertainty out of my voice and body language. I couldn't let him see that I was terrified. I needed to keep my wits about me and act as normal as possible.

Setting my things down in their usual spot on the end table, I marched directly into the kitchen and retrieved the shop vacuum that I kept in there to clean up after I worked with the tile and lugged it back into the front room.

Once I was sure that all the glass was gone, I put the vacuum away and threw a TV dinner in the microwave. While I waited for it to become edible I went to the hall closet and rummaged around until I found a package of brand new lightbulbs. The hall light above the stairs would have to wait, since I was too short to reach it and didn't feel like performing an acrobatic stunt by balancing on an unstable ladder positioned haphazardly on the stairs. But I could at least replace the bulbs in the lamps.

The timer on the microwave beeped, signaling that my dinner was done. I placed the steaming hot tray on a plate and went to the front room, where I sat on the couch and formulated a plan while I dined over rubbery fettuccini alfredo.

One of the articles I'd read mentioned that mirrors were a good way to communicate. That seemed true enough, since it was the chosen medium my ghost had used to contact me. Maybe that was a good place to start.

I finished eating, dumped the tray in the trash, and slid the plate next to the others in the dishwasher. Then I went upstairs and into the bathroom. Since the ghost had told me what he wanted using the mirror, maybe the messages could work both ways.

I shut the bathroom door and opened the hot water faucets on both the sink and the bathtub, allowing them to run until the area was billowing with hot steam. It wasn't long until the mirror fogged over with condensation. Steeling myself for what could potentially follow, I wrote out a message of my own.

Who are you?

Several tense seconds eked by, and eventually the words faded as they were covered in new condensation. I tried again.

Name?

Again, the letters came and went, and still no response. By this time the air inside the tiny room was sweltering. The heat plastered my hair to my forehead and neck and sweat poured down my cheeks.

"Okay, enough!" I muttered to myself.

I shut off the faucets and yanked the door open. The cool draft that hit me as I walked back into the bedroom was absolutely heavenly. I pinched my shirt between my fingers and moved it up and down, hoping that the slight breeze would help me cool down faster.

"You're awfully quiet tonight."

That was an understatement. Not only was he still refusing to communicate with me, but, just as it had when Maddie brought home me to get clothes, the feeling from yesterday evening was completely nonexistent.

I gnawed on my lower lip.

Why would he be so angry yesterday and so calm tonight? What changed? I left, for one. Yeah, but that didn't make sense, since he could follow me. He wanted his ring back, not the house to himself.

The ring!

Every time I mentioned the ring, he became more and more irate. Then, when I asked if it belonged to his wife, everything around me exploded.

"I think I'm on to something here."

Grabbing the scented candle and a lighter from my bedside table, I hurried back out onto the landing and down the stairs. I walked to the center of the living room and turned in a slow circle, taking in everything that I saw.

"Okay, listen," I demanded with more authority in my voice than I really felt. "We can't keep doing this. You want your ring back and I can't give it back because it's stuck on my finger and won't come off until we find whatever it is that's preventing you from crossing over. It sucks. I'm just as thrilled about it as you are. So," I held up the candle, "if we ever want to figure that out, we are going to have to learn how to communicate with each other."

I sparked the lighter and lit the candle. Then I set it on the coffee table and sat down on the couch. As a last consideration, I pulled my phone out of my pocket and set it next to the candle.

"This is how it's going to work. I'm going to ask you simple yes-no questions, and if the answer is yes then you make the candle flame flicker. If it's no, don't do anything. Just let it sit. Got it?"

I waited, trying to relax as best I could so I would be receptive to any changes in temperature and atmosphere. So far, nothing seemed different. I was beginning to feel rather stupid about the whole thing when suddenly, the candle flame moved.

I froze. I didn't dare to move or to breathe. I had to be sure that I hadn't been the cause of the flame's movement. The tiny flame centered itself, burning steadily and motionless. Staring at it, I silently willed it to move. It could have been a draft, the wind squeezing in through the window casements, or from the central air turning on or off. Anything could have been responsible. As much I wanted that flame to move, I needed to be sure that I wasn't projecting my feelings on to it and seeing what I wanted to see.

But another minute passed and nothing happened. Licking my lips, I asked my next question.

"Was that you? Did you do that?"

Just as doubt was starting to creep back in again, the candle flame bobbed up and down.

I sat back with a gasp and covered my nose and mouth with my hands.

Oh my god. Was this really happening?

Only one way to find out.

"Does this mean that you're willing to work me to figure out why you're trapped here?"

Slowly, almost reluctantly, the tiny tendril of fire swirled around the wick.

Triumphantly, I pressed on.

"Did this ring have anything to do with how you died?"

The flame remained stock still.

"No. Did you lose it?"

Nothing.

"No. Okay, then. Did it belong to someone you loved?"

A strong gust of wind whooshed in front of me and the flame went out. Suddenly, the oppressive feeling returned. It throbbed darkly around me, as if warning me that I was treading into dangerous territory.

Maybe I should have listened and dropped the subject, but I'd always had an annoying habit of learning a lesson the hard way, and so I ventured on.

"I'll take that as a yes."

I relit the candle and set it down on the table and picked up my phone instead. Opening the camera app I took several pictures, moving from left to right in a one-hundred-eighty degree span around me.

"So, this ring has special meaning to you. And I'm wearing it. No wonder you're pissed off. Is this special person still alive?"

The candle flew off the table before I could even register what was happening. It rolled along the floor and came to a stop when it bumped into the chair next to the couch. Thankfully, the abrupt motion extinguished the flame, but it left a trail of candle wax that was quickly drying onto my rug.

For the second time in as many days, rage overrode my instinctive fear of the ghost.

"Stop that!" I shouted. "I get that I've touched a nerve, but can you please find a way to tell me that isn't going to destroy all my stuff? God dammit!"

I snapped a few more pictures and then stomped over to pick up the candle, muttering as I went.

"How the hell am I supposed to get all this wax out of my carpet?"

Of course, there was no answering reply or helpful suggestions coming from the ghost.

"You-you know what?" I spat. "I'm done for the night. Leave me alone and let me enjoy my weekend in peace!"

Candle in one hand, I snatched the lighter off the the table and pounded my way up the stairs. I was too mad to even think about cleaning up the mess tonight. I'd deal with it in the morning. All I wanted to do right now was take a steaming hot shower and calm down.

Fifteen minutes later I emerged from the bathroom feeling marginally better than I did before I went in. I was also relieved to see that the ghost had apparently taken my advice; my mirror was entirely absent of cryptic messages. I put on a comfy pair of sweats that I had cut off into shorts and a loose tank top, and then grabbed my phone and sat on my bed to see if I had any new text messages.

Aside from an ad from my favorite pizza chain telling me about a buy-one-get-one-free special, there were no new updates from either Maddie or Rochelle.

For lack of something better to do, I navigated to my camera and pulled up my photo reel. Might as well see if I got anything on camera during my brief but destructive conversation with the ghost.

The first few pictures looked normal. However, there was a dark smudge on the third one that looked suspiciously like a shadow. I flipped to the next one. Sure enough, the black smudge was darker. The next two didn't show anything abnormal, but the fifth one shook me to my very core.

In it, the shadow had materialized into the shape of a tall but extremely thin man. It looked like he was wearing a tux or some sort of black suit. I couldn't quite make out all the details, because he was either swathed in shadows, or he was wearing a black mask that covered the majority of his face.

I dropped my phone.

Black mask. Evening dress. Reedy appearance.

No. It couldn't be. That was just a story.

With shaking fingers, I picked up my phone and looked again, using my fingertips to expand the photo so I could scrutinize hazy details.

What I saw didn't make any sense.

Why was I, of all people, being haunted by the Phantom of the Opera?