Hello, dear readers! It amazes me that a year has already passed since I started this little adventure. Time sure does fly. To celebrate this story's upcoming first anniversary, I bring you not one but two chapters!

For all that I struggled with last chapter, this chapter (and then next) practically wrote itself. I had a lot of fun with it. I hope you enjoy it as well.

One last thing. I've noticed (with this story and my other Phantom fics) that it is extremely hard to break in, get noticed, and establish a large reader base within this phandom. So I'd like to ask you all a favor. If you're enjoying this story, please spread the word. Let other people know about. And please, if you can, leave me a review.

Thank you.

~J

Chapter 8

Her soft, plaintive sobs drifted to me from the other room. She was upset, and rightly so. I had behaved like a wild animal, lashing out in anger at what I didn't understand. React first, think later. That was usually how I went about everything.

Nonetheless, it wasn't like me to feel guilty over my actions. Usually I could justify what I did as being necessary. This time, however, I could not get the look of abject terror in her eyes out of my mind. Eyes that had locked with mine. I don't know how or why, but in that moment, she saw me—truly saw me. And if that weren't strange enough, she'd heard me as well.

How long had it been since I'd made eye contact with anyone? Certainly not since I'd died. And before that….

"Christine, for God's sake, let us leave this place!"

"I want you to promise me," I said softly, pointedly ignoring the boy's passionate pleas. I placed my ring in the palm of her hand and gently pushed her fingers closed around it. "Promise me you'll come back when you receive word of my death and bury my body. With this. Do you promise, Christine?"

She slowly lifted her gaze, her beautiful cornflower blue eyes boring into mine. "Yes, Erik. I promise."

I squeezed her hand and nodded, too overcome with emotion to say anything more.

This time when the Vicomte tugged at her sleeve, she went with him willingly. Clutching my ring to her breast, she cast a glance my way one last time, and then left without another word.

I closed my eyes and shook my head, chasing the image of her from my head.

There had to be a reason why, after all these years, I was able to interact with someone on that level. And right now, there was only one way to find out.

XXX

I woke up in a pissy mood. Not even the golden rays of sunlight streaming through my bedroom window, glittering with the promise of a warm, gorgeous Saturday could pull me out of my funk.

For the longest time I just laid there, staring up at the ceiling.

How could I come up with enough cash to get my ass to Paris right now rather than later? What were my options?

I could get a part-time job. Maybe the home improvement store I frequented all the time was hiring. It couldn't hurt to swing by and put in an application. I frowned. But working there might burn me out on my kitchen project, and I really needed to be home to focus on that anyway. I couldn't live off frozen TV dinners and cereal forever.

What else, then? A loan, maybe?

Hey…. That wasn't a bad idea. I was in desperate need of something to rebuild my credit, since it had gone to hell in a hand basket after my divorce. Making monthly house payments wasn't doing anything, since I technically didn't own the house yet, and my car had been paid off for years. Yeah…a loan. I liked the sound of that.

The credit union I banked with was open until two o'clock on Saturdays. If I quit feeling sorry for myself and hurried over there, there was a chance that I could have that money in my pocket and a trip scheduled within a few days.

An hour and a half later I pulled into the parking lot of the Second Street Credit Union. I gathered all the paperwork I thought I might need from the passenger seat and headed inside.

"I can help you over here," a pretty brunette greeted as I walked through the door. Her name tag read 'Cynthia.'

"I want to apply for a loan."

"Oh, sure," Cynthia said. "One moment."

She typed something on what I assumed was some sort of internal messaging system. Another few minutes passed as we waited for an answer. Eventually, the computer dinged, and she looked back up at me.

"Right this way." Cynthia led me past the post and rope barrier used to line up the customers and ushered me into one of the offices off to the side. "Have a seat and Jennifer will be right with you."

"Thank you."

She nodded and left. I pulled out on of the chairs in front of a rather intimidating-looking wooden desk and sat down, placing my paperwork on my lap. There was something about applying for a loan that always made me nervous. It had been that way when Ben and I had applied for our mortgage as well. Maybe it was because the loan officer would always ask personal questions, or maybe it was fear of rejection. Whatever the reason, though, this time was no different.

I was picking invisible lint off my shirt when Jennifer breezed in. She had to have been in her late-forties, and had a harsh, take-no-shit look about her. Her skin was tan and slightly leathery, as if she had spent most of her younger years in tanning salons. She had dark, almost black shoulder-length hair that fell around her face in layers, but it did nothing to soften her facial features. Her gray-green eyes dropped to my shoes and slowly lifted until she made eye contact with me. I shifted in my seat, suddenly uncomfortable under her scrutinizing gaze.

"Mrs. Davies?"

"That's 'Ms.,'" I corrected. "I'm divorced. Davies is my maiden name."

"Ms. Davies, then. I heard that you want to apply for a loan with us."

"Yes, please. Just a small one," I added, just in case it made any difference. "Around three thousand dollars."

I figured that three grand would cover the cost of the plane ticket there and back, plus a hotel room if I ended up needing one, as well as cover the hit I'd take on my paycheck for missing work since I'd already exhausted my vacation time during my last trip to Europe.

Jennifer nodded noncommittally. "It sounds like a signature loan might be the best option for you. Here." She grabbed a paper application from one of the stackable shelves on her desk and handed it to me. "Fill this out. When you're done, I'll submit it to underwriting for approval."

I was barely able to repress a shudder at the word 'underwriting.' Images of Carly's long red hair and well-toned physique flashed before my eyes. Thank God she was an insurance underwriter and not a personal loan underwriter, or I probably would have been screwed.

"Sounds good," I managed to get out. I reached for a pen from the cup on Jennifer's desk and forced myself to focus on the information it was asking for.

When I was finished, I handed it back to her and placed the cap back on the pen.

"All right," she said. "I'll get this submitted and let you know. Give me…five to ten minutes?"

I nodded. "Okay."

"Excellent. I'll be right back."

She walked out of the office and disappeared down a hallway. I sat back in the chair. Through the window behind Jennifer's desk I noticed that a slight breeze had picked up. When I walked out to my Jeep this morning I'd noticed there was a chill in the air that hadn't been there before. The days were steadily growing shorter as we inched closer to autumn, and even though it had warmed up after the recent storms, today hinted that cooler temperatures were on their way.

I'd always been fond of fall. The colors of the changing leaves. The crisp, fresh air. The smell of baked goods and pumpkin spice. However, this year I wasn't as excited about it as I usually was. Next month marked a year since Ben had revealed he'd been cheating on me with Carly and filed for divorce.

Now, instead of enjoying sweater weather, cute autumn decorations, and hot, pumpkin spice lattes, all I could think about was how I had waited up all night for Ben to get home, worried sick that something might have happened to him. When he finally did slink through the door—sometime around four in the morning—and found me waiting for him at the kitchen table, he didn't even bother to deny it.

The memory was just as raw today as the morning it happened.

"Where have you been?"

Ben shifted his jacket from one arm to the other and raked his fingers through his messy brown hair. "Out."

"'Out?'" I echoed sarcastically. "What the hell does that mean?"

"It means I'm seeing someone and have been for a while."

"Christine?"

I jumped, the sound of the loan officer's voice catapulting me out of my thoughts. "Yes?"

Jennifer came around the desk and sat down in her chair with a frown.

"Well," she began, "It looks like we are unable to approve your application at this time."

My shoulders slumped. "Does…does it give a reason why?"

She opened the manila fine folder that contained my application and trailed her finger down the page until she found the notes section. "It says that there hasn't been enough time between now and when some of your delinquent accounts were charged off."

Great. Another wonderful byproduct of my divorce. In the process of settling accounts and paying all the attorney's fees, I'd had to let some of my credit cards go unpaid. Unfortunately, rather than work with me to get the past due payments caught up, they'd closed my accounts instead.

"Oh."

"I would suggest that you try again in another six months or so."

Six months. It seemed like everything was going to take six months. If I had to wait that long, then I might as well just save the money from each check, pay for the ticket free and clear, and not have to worry about a stupid loan.

"All right. I'll consider that," I lied. Standing up, I reached across Jennifer's desk and held my hand out. "Thank you for your time."

She took my hand in a weak grip and shook it. "Come back and see us soon."

I fumed the entire way home. Not only was I back at square one, but I had wasted a whole Saturday morning in the process. I could have been doing something productive, like mowing the lawn or working in my kitchen instead of meeting with a loan officer who had treated me like an inconvenience from the very beginning rather than a valued credit union member.

God. I didn't want to wait six months. If only there was some other way to come up with that money. Maybe I could sell something. I'm sure if I looked around the house I could find something of value that I didn't need.

Spurred on by the possibility, I hit the gas and hurried home.

XXX

The first thing I did when I got there was head straight upstairs to raid my jewelry box. There was at least one piece of jewelry in there that I knew could bring in some cash. I shifted the contents from side to side until I found what I was looking for. The white gold ring glittered up at me from its resting place at the bottom. I plucked it up and as I did so, the sunlight bounced off the diamond's facets, projecting a myriad of rainbows on the wall next to the dresser.

Ben must have spent at least five-thousand dollars on this ring. The center diamond in the engagement ring alone was around three karats. Two smaller diamonds flanked it on either side, and the wedding band sparkled with tiny diamonds that went all the way around. Overly extravagant rings had been all the rage at the time he proposed, and Ben had spared no expense in making sure my wedding ring had followed that trend.

I wasn't sure what other ex-wives did with their rings following their divorces, but I hadn't been able to part with mine. There were too many good memories associated with this ring and my marriage and getting rid of it had felt like I was just throwing all that history away. And so, against the better judgment of my friends, I'd held on to it.

I closed my fist around my ring and brought it to my chest, tears pricking at the corners of my eyes as I thought about how much Ben's actions had changed everything. Deep down I knew I shouldn't have been pining over Ben. He didn't deserve it. He'd made his choice and I had to accept that he wasn't coming back. But that didn't change the fact that I still was.

A thought suddenly occurred to me. What if the Phantom was doing the same thing? It was entirely possible that the unassuming gold band I now wore was all he had left of Christine. He was bound to have some memories associated with it, and like mine, they were probably both good and bad.

In that moment, in spite of everything he'd put me through, my heart softened, and I felt sorry for him. Just a little bit. Not enough to wait the next six months out, though.

I shoved my wedding ring in the pocket of my jeans and went downstairs to rummage through the boxes in my office. Maybe there was something else in one of them that could net me some more money.

I was lifting boxes back and forth when I came across a particular heavy one. Curious, I pulled back the flaps and peered inside. It was completely filled with stuff wrapped in ancient yellowed newspapers. I picked up the object resting at the top and slowly unwrapped it.

My mother's heirloom china. I'd forgotten I had this.

She had been so proud of the delicate white and blue china. It seemed like every Thanksgiving dinner she'd pull the ornate plates and cups out of the cabinet and tell me about how it had been passed from mother to daughter for five generations. A quick mental estimate of the ages of all the women on my mom's side of the family placed the china somewhere around the 1860s.

Mom would probably roll over in her grave if she knew what I was contemplating, but desperate times called for desperate measures. Besides, I'd rather be haunted by members of my own family who were pissed at me for selling off an heirloom than the Opera Ghost.

With that newfound resolve I hefted the box out to my Jeep and drove to the nearest pawn shop.

It was quiet and relatively empty when I walked into Harry's Pawn. One or two customers meandered through the aisles of used power tools and television equipment that looked like it had been there since the early nineties. A line of hanging acoustic and electric guitars and bases circled the perimeter of the shop, while all sorts of recreational equipment—everything from skis to kayaks to tennis rackets and baseball bats—were propped up against the walls underneath them. The gray carpet was stained and so worn out in some places that you could see the cement floor underneath, and everything inside the shop was coated with a layer of dust and grime so thick that I suspected it had been there for years.

I muscled the box of china up to the front and set it on the counter. To either side of me sat glass display cases filled with jewelry, cameras, car stereos, cell phones and computer tablets, and dozens of different types of handguns.

"What can I do for you?" asked a haggard-looking older gentleman. Harry, I presumed. He looked about as well-taken care of as the shop. He was sporting a classic comb over, and what little was left of his hair was gray and greasy. When he spoke, I noticed the gaping holes in his mouth where some of his teeth used to be, and the white hair in the two-day old salt and pepper stubble on his chin glittered when it caught the light. But he had kind blue eyes and a warm smile that instantly put me at ease.

I pulled the ring from my pocket. "I wanted to see what you would give me for this," I said. Tapping the box, I added, "And this."

"Woo-ee!" he exclaimed. "That's quite a sparkler. Lemme see that."

I handed it to him. He took out one of those magnifying glasses that went over one eye—the kind I'd seen jewelers use on occasion when they inspected my ring—and angled the ring over back and forth as he examined it.

"Very nice," Harry drawled, handing it back to me. "Definitely an upgrade to the one you're wearing," he said, jutting his chin out at my left hand. "How come you selling it? It ain't stolen, is it?"

"No, it's not stolen!"

The nerve of this guy!

"Good. 'Cause we got a policy here. I don't take in no stolen items, ya hear?"

"It's not stolen," I repeated heatedly. "It was from my previous marriage." I held up my hand. "My new husband was uncomfortable with me keeping it around the house, so I thought I would see how much I could sell it for."

"Oh. Well, then, that makes sense. We men don't like to be reminded of our competition. Especially since it looks like your new guy is a cheapskate compared to the old one. Plus, having an old ring around like that probably makes him think about the man who had free access to you before we came along, if ya catch my meanin'," he cackled.

Jesus H. Christ. Maybe coming here was a mistake.

"How much?"

"Erm… uh, yeah. I can give you about nine hundred dollars."

"Nine hundred dollars?" I shot back. "That's it? That's a five-thousand-dollar ring!"

"And I got about ninety more of 'em jus' like it sittin' right there." He pointed to the case of engagement rings and wedding bands to my left.

I sighed and rubbed the bridge of my nose. "What about the china?"

"China?" Pointing to the box, he said, "Is that what's in here?"

He pried open the flaps and pulled out the same plate I had examined earlier.

"It dates back to the Civil War era," I offered, hoping that knowing its age might increase the price he was willing to give me.

Harry shook his head and stuck the plate back in the box. "You want money outta this you gotta take it to an antique shop. I can't sell this shit in here. Aside from sentimental value, it ain't worth dick."

"Seriously?" I said, irritation slowly creeping into my tone.

"'Fraid so."

I closed the box, weaving the flaps together so that it acted as a makeshift lid and the contents wouldn't fall out.

I think Harry could tell I wasn't happy, because he suggested, "You could always try the classifieds."

"Thanks," I grumbled.

Picking up the box, I turned to leave.

"Wait! What about the ring?"

I hesitated. Nine hundred dollars was more than I had when I first walked in here. And it got me a hell of a lot closer to the eighteen hundred I needed. With it, I was probably looking around three months of saving rather than six. But I just couldn't do it. I couldn't let it go for so little. Not only was he blatantly ripping me off, it still meant more to me than a plane ticket to Paris.

"No thanks. I'll think I'll keep it."

My phone went off as I was setting the box of china back in the office where I'd found it. Dusting off my hands, I pulled it out of my back pocket and glanced at the face. It was Rochelle.

R: Just finished a very successful exhibit and I feel like celebrating. Drinks tonight?

Maddie's text came in almost immediately.

M: Sure.

I chewed on my bottom lip for a moment. I could use a night out away from this house.

C: I'm down. But I've been hitting the alcohol pretty heavily lately. Think we could go somewhere that also has good food instead of just drinks?

R: Oh definitely. I'm STARVING!

M: We could go to O'Malley's. As far as pub food, I've heard they're the best.

C: Works for me.

R: Great. Meet there at 7pm?

We all agreed, and I slid my phone back into my pocket.

Now all I had to do was keep myself occupied until then.

Do not despair, gentle readers. Erik makes an appearance in the next chapter.