First things first! This chapter and chapter 8 were posted together, so if you haven't read chapter 8 yet, go back and read it.

As promised, Erik.

(grins evilly)

Chapter 9

O'Malley's was a quaint little Irish pub located in the heart of downtown. The place was set up much like a restaurant, with booths lining the sides of three of the walls and small two-to-four-person tables scattered throughout the middle. A giant mahogany bar ran the length of the north wall and three pool tables were situated at the rear of the room. A large group of people were gathered around one table in particular, seemingly to cheer the players on. Occasionally, the relatively quiet atmosphere was broken by either a loud shout or groan, depending on the outcome of the shot being taken.

The pub was well-lit, its cream, wood-trimmed walls decorated with a variety of pictures and tins that instantly made the place feel homey and welcoming.

I spotted Maddie and Rochelle sitting side-by-side in a large booth directly opposite the bar. Rochelle waved me over.

"Hey, Chris," she said as I slid into the bench across from them.

"Hello, ladies," I greeted. Looking at Rochelle, I added, "Congrats on the successful exhibit."

"Thanks!"

A server appeared at our table, as if she'd been watching from the wings and waiting for just the right chance to swoop in.

"Whatcha gals drinking tonight?" she asked, pulling out her notebook.

"I'll have a white wine spritzer," Maddie said.

Rochelle held up her finger. "Vodka and cranberry juice, please."

The server turned to me expectantly.

"Umm…Bud Light."

"From the tap or in the bottle?"

"Bottle, please."

"Okay." She flipped her notebook closed and stuck her pen back in her ponytail. "I'll have those out in a jiffy."

Maddie and Rochelle just started at me, their mouths slightly agape.

I raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Budweiser?" Maddie asked incredulously. "Since when do you drink beer?"

"I'm hungry. It goes better with fries. Shit!" I slapped my hand down on the table in dismay. "Don't let me forget to order food when she comes back!"

Maddie just smiled and shook her head. "Whatever you say."

"New outfit?" I asked Rochelle, artfully changing the subject.

She tugged at the lapel of her OD green motorcycle jacket. The color contrasted nicely with her black shirt and black skinny jeans. For a finishing touch she had added a silver and gold chain necklace. "Yeah! I got it just for tonight."

"It's super cute," Maddie complimented.

"Definitely," I agreed.

"Talk about super cute," Rochelle said to Maddie, "I love your outfit. You always look so put together."

That was an understatement. Maddie always looked like she had just come off a photo shoot. Working at a clothing retailer certainly had its benefits. Today she had chosen a mauve button-down blouse with ruffles at the sleeves. The portion than ran along her collarbone and around to her back was made out of delicate sheer lace in the same color. Her white capris were starched and ironed so that a crisp crease ran down the middle, and I don't know where she always found shoes that matched whatever outfit she was wearing, but this time she had on white wedge sandals with silver, white, and pink gemstones. A pair of silver hoop earrings and a white wrist cuff topped everything off.

"Summer clearance," Maddie said proudly.

At that moment the server returned with our drinks and the next few seconds passed by in relative silence as she set them down in front of us.

"Can I get you ladies anything else?"

"Umm…yes." I picked up the menu. "I would like the buffalo wings and steak fries."

"Got it. Anyone else?"

"I'll do your cold turkey and avocado sandwich with the cream of potato soup," Rochelle ordered.

"The house salad with ranch on the side for me," Maddie said.

She disappeared, leaving the three of us alone once more.

"So, how did the exhibit go?" I asked.

"Ugh." Rochelle rolled her eyes. "Are you familiar with the term 'bridezilla?'"

I made a confused face. "Yes…."

"Well, this artist was the bridezilla of the art world, I swear. She hated the way we had her work displayed, and no sooner had we rearranged it more to her liking, 'inspiration' would strike her, and she'd make us do it all over again. I mean, I get that artists are creative and have a certain vision for their stuff, but after the third time I was ready to clobber her."

Maddie scowled. "You have more patience than I do. But I guess that's why I don't deal directly with people."

A loud cheer rose up from the group of people huddled around the pool tables, momentarily stealing my attention. I glanced over at them at the same time the guy holding the pool cue straightened up with a satisfied smirk on his face. He had dark, almost black hair that he kept buzzed short, and an equally dark goatee framed his mouth and chin. He stepped back, shifting his gaze as he did so, and our eyes briefly met. A warm sensation tingled in the pit of my stomach as he smiled at me before turning his attention back to the game at hand.

"Chris! Yoo-hoo! Did you hear me?"

"Sorry. What?" I looked back to Rochelle, who was staring back at me quizzically.

"I said, how is your ghost problem? What were you staring at?" She twisted around in her seat to see if she could see what had captured my attention.

I blushed. "Just a guy over there."

"Go over there and introduce yourself!" Maddie cut in immediately.

"What? No!" Just the thought of that made the palms of my hands slick with sweat. I secretly wiped them off on my jeans under the table.

"Why not?" she countered. "You're not going over there to ask him to marry you. Just smile, brush your hair back, and tell him your name."

"I don't know…."

"C'mon, Chris! You can do it," Rochelle encouraged.

"Honey, you have to move on. Ben did. So why shouldn't you?"

I was saved from having to answer by the arrival of our food. If they bugged me any more about it, I could just use the excuse that I didn't want my food to get cold.

The conversation took a more mundane turn as the three of us busied ourselves with eating.

The buffalo wings weren't the best I'd ever had but the steak fries were freaking amazing. They had just the right amount of salt and the spicy seasoning gave it a nice kick. Before I knew it, I had polished off all of them plus most of my beer.

"Look! He's going to the bar!" Maddie whispered furtively. She picked up my empty beer bottle and shoved it at me. "Here. Go get another one."

God, she was relentless.

"Hurry!"

I shot her a look of pure loathing and got up with an aggravated sigh. I might as well give it a try. Maybe then they'd leave me alone.

I wasted a few seconds smoothing the wrinkles out of my shirt. At least I had made an effort to get dressed up tonight. I was wearing a black fluttery blouse with peekaboo cutouts on the back and dark blue leggings tucked into black calf-high high-heeled boots. A long silver knotted necklace and dangly earrings that were about an inch longer than my hair broke up the monotony of black.

I sauntered up to the bar, trying to look both sexy and nonchalant at the same time, and skillfully slipped into the empty space next to him.

"Can I get another beer, please?" I asked the bartender, wiggling the bottle back and forth.

"Sure," the bartender replied. He grabbed a bottle of Bud Light out of a little fridge behind the bar, popped the cap off using the bottle opener attached to the counter, and handed it to me.

"Thanks." Holding it in my right hand, I angled myself toward the mystery guy. "Sounds like it's getting really intense over there."

He angled his head around to look at me. "Heh. I was so sure I had that win in the bag," he laughed. "And then I got cocky and scratched on the eight-ball. So now I owe everybody drinks."

"Damn. That's too bad."

He shrugged, fixing me with another one of those heart-fluttering smiles.

"I'm Chris," I said. Taking Maddie's flirting advice, I brushed my hair away from my forehead with my left hand.

"I'm…," his eyes fell to my fingers and his facial expression hardened. "Not interested."

"What?" My brain screeched to a grinding halt as I tried to wrap my head around what had just happened.

"I'm not in to cheaters," he sneered, flicking his gaze to the ring that adorned my finger. "So, don't even bother."

And with that, he pivoted around and went to join the rest of his buddies, leaving me standing there alone at the bar, mouth hanging open like an idiot.

He didn't even give me a chance to explain myself.

His rejection stung, probably more that it should have. But, seeing as I had been on the other end, where I was the one being cheated on, his comment flippant comment struck a nerve.

I swallowed, fighting back tears of frustration and humiliation. I was not going to cry. Not here.

"What happened?" Maddie exclaimed when I finally made it back to our table.

"He had a girlfriend," I lied, setting my untouched beer on the table. "I think I'm going to call it a night."

Rochelle pouted. "Awww. Already?"

"Yeah. It's been a crazy week and I'm exhausted."

"Okay…."

When I was done paying my tab, they both stood up and gave me a hug. Then I gathered my purse and car keys, waved goodbye, and headed out to my Jeep.

I lost it as soon as I climbed behind the wheel and shut the door. I'd never even considered what people might think seeing a gold band on my finger. Was I now doomed forever, unable to date anyone as long as it was stuck? Why did it seem like I was continually being punished?

The weight of the day came crashing down on my shoulders and by the time I pulled into the driveway, the tears were streaming freely down my cheeks. The sight of the dark house looming in front of me made me cry even harder. I'd tried everything I could think of to try to get to Paris and finally be rid of the ghost. I'd even tried to hock my family's heirloom china, for hell's sake! I had to do something. This was disrupting my life and I couldn't continue to live like this!

Tossing my bag carelessly on the couch, I stomped through the front room and into the kitchen and flipped on the overhead light. I knew I had a pair of wire cutters somewhere on the table. It didn't take me long to find them. Wiping the tears away from my eyes in order to clear my vision, I wedged the pliers underneath the wedding band and squeezed the handle.

What happened next was a blur. A black gloved hand came out of nowhere and reached for my wrist. I felt a burst of cold air as the ghost tried to clamp down on my hand, but his fingers just went right through me. He tried again, and this time managed to make contact with the pliers, knocking them out of my grasp. They flew across the room and clattered to the ground in front of the sink.

"What are you doing?!" he cried.

"I can't take it anymore!" I shouted. "Having to lie to everybody, people always questioning why I'm suddenly wearing a wedding ring. Then, on top of all that, I come home every night to stifling feelings of barely repressed anger, where I have to constantly deal with your shit, and I never know if I'm safe or if you're going to lose your temper at any given moment and attack me!" I choked back a sob. "Can't you see I'm desperate?!"

He seemed to shrink right before my very eyes. His shoulders slumped as he tore his burning gaze away from me and fixed it at a random point on the floor beside me. For a ghost, his mannerisms were surprisingly real and human. If it wasn't for the fact that I could see right through him, I would have honestly thought I was talking to a living person.

"I…forgive me," the ghost sighed, curling his long, delicate fingers into a fist that he then brought close to his chest. "My behavior has been…truly inexcusable."

My mouth fell open. The sound that emanated from him was almost as contradictory as the words he'd just said, given his menacing countenance. His voice was soft and light…almost lyrical, if that were possible. The pleasing cadence with which he spoke was captivating, and suddenly, despite the scariness of the situation, all I wanted was to hear him say something else.

Dimly I became aware that I was gaping at him like a dead fish. Licking my lips, I did the only thing that jumped to my mind: I accepted his unexpected apology by offering one of my own.

"I'm sorry I tried to cut off your ring. It's been a rough day—a rough week, and I wasn't thinking clearly. This isn't a normal thing for me, you know; I've never been able to see or talk to ghosts before. I'm still not sure why I suddenly can."

"Nor I," the Phantom said. "My interactions with the living thus far have been nothing more than a few shadows and disembodied sounds here and there."

I ran my fingers around the smooth band as I contemplated what he'd said. "It seems this ring is significant in more ways than one." I hesitated. "It means a lot to you, doesn't it?"

He nodded slowly.

I took a deep breath. I didn't know what mysterious forces were at work here, but deep down I knew that this was it. We had come to a crossroads, a turning point in our strange relationship. If I really did have the power to help him, if his only hope to pass on to the next plane of existence really did rest on my shoulders, then I couldn't, in good conscience, turn my back on him.

"I never meant to cause all this trouble," I said softly, for probably the hundredth time. "I really did have good intentions."

He watched me, silently following my movements as I walked to the fridge and pulled out a bottle of white zinfandel. It was weird having someone else in the kitchen with me. I mean, did I offer him something? What was the etiquette when it came to spirits? I was halfway to the drawer where I kept the corkscrew when I stopped. I didn't want any more alcohol. If we were finally going to talk—and every indication told me we were, since he hadn't disappeared yet—then I wanted my mind clear.

I set the unopened bottle on the portion of finished countertop and turned to grab the coffee carafe off the kitchen table instead. I had a feeling it was going to be a long night. As I waited for it to fill with water, I attempted to dispel the awkward lull between us with small talk.

"I think I may have come up with a solution, though," I said quietly, pouring the water from the carafe into the coffee maker's reservoir. "I'm pretty sure that my taking the ring from the cellars is what trapped you here with me. So, putting it back where I found it should release you and allow you to move on, right?" Easy in theory, harder to execute. I bit into my bottom lip and punched the 'on' button. "The only problem is, I'm broke as hell and I can't afford to fly back to Paris right now. I've spent all day, beating my head against the wall, trying to come up with a way to get that extra money, and I'm so…so…frustrated! I've literally gotten nowhere. In the meantime, here you are, pulled out of your eternal rest and stuck in some sort of weird limbo because of me, and I have a way to set things right and I can't and…and why are you pacing like that?"

While I rambled on like an idiot, he had begun to walk back and forth in the small space between the fridge and table. It was an unsettling sight to behold. Raw energy radiated from him with every turn. It was like watching a tiger pace the confines of its cage. A dangerous, intelligent, calculating predator waiting for just the right opportunity to pounce on the unsuspecting zookeeper. I'd never felt anything like it.

An involuntary shiver worked its way up my spine.

"What's wrong?

I had to do something to pull him out of his downward spiral before things got out of hand. I couldn't take another angry outburst. Last night was still too fresh in my mind.

"E-Erik?"

He stopped mid-step, his head rearing up at the sound of his name, a look of incredulity and something else I couldn't readily identify playing across his piercing yellow eyes. He was quiet for a few moments, and then, in another surprisingly alive, human gesture he slid a hand over his dark hair and let out a resigned sigh.

"Your removing the ring from the opera house may have brought me here with you, but my spirit was trapped long before you came along," he revealed.

"What?" My forehead creased into a frown of confusion. "So…you're telling me that you've been trapped inside the opera house since…?"

"Since I died."

My mind reeled. I couldn't wrap my head around what he was saying. Since he died. That was back in 1881.

"You've been confined to the opera house for a hundred and thirty-seven years?"

"Yes."

"Jesus," I whispered. He hadn't responded well to any of my other attempts to pry into his past, but I had to try. Otherwise, nothing would change, and we'd just keep repeating this cycle over and over again until I finally lost my mind. "Why?"

He grew quiet, his eyes momentarily flicking to the ring on my finger.

"Erik, why? What happened?"

"I'd rather not elaborate," Erik replied, crossing his arms over his chest defensively.

I folded my arms to match his stance. "That's not an answer!" Lifting one hand, I pointed my index finger at him. "You're dodging the question."

"A question I do not feel like answering at the moment."

It figured that I would get stuck with a reluctant ghost.

Danica's cryptic words echoed in my ears.

I believe you were meant to find that ring, Christine. Talk to him. Find a way to help him.

"Why are you being difficult? You were there in that room when I talked to the medium. Don't even try to deny it. You heard what she said. How in the hell am I supposed to find a way to help you move on if you don't talk to me?"

"As noble and selfless as your intentions are," he said derisively, taking one deliberate step toward me, and then another until he had closed the distance between us. Forced to retreat, I backed away until my hips hit the counter and I couldn't go any further. "I do not want or need your help. I suggest you let the matter drop."

"Oh-oh yeah?" I fired back. I hated that he had the ability talk to me like a perfect gentleman one moment and then do something that freaked me out to the point that my voice wavered the next moment. I decided right then and there that I was done. This was my house, my life, and I refused to let him intimidate me anymore. Gripping the edge of the countertop behind me for courage, I narrowed my eyes haughtily and spat, "If that's the case, then go back to the opera house."

BAM! I'm pretty sure that if Chris had been holding a mic, she would have dropped it at the end there. But can you seriously blame her? She's been on an emotional rollercoaster all day (all week!), thinking about selling her possessions, getting rejected by a cute guy at the bar. And Erik's mood swings are not helping! How do you think Erik's going to handle being challenged like that? I'd love to hear from you.

~J