A/N: This one's a doozy. Please read and review!

Chapter 11

"I'm sorry."

At first, the words didn't register. Then, once I realized what she was saying, I felt my shoulders tighten as I mentally prepared myself for the string of possible sentences that usually came after that statement. I had heard the phrase "I'm sorry" plenty of times in my life, but it was typically followed by "please let me go" or "I didn't mean it" or some other meaningless plea that I wasn't interested in hearing.

I need to put this behind me. I'm sorry, Erik.

Never once had I been on the receiving end of a sincere, heartfelt apology.

Until now.

"I've been so wrapped up with how inconvenient this is for me," she went on, unaware of my innermost thoughts, "that I haven't really stopped to think about what you must be going through, and how hard all this must be for you."

Her sudden interest for my well-being was completely foreign to me, and if I were being honest, it felt a little invasive. I wasn't used to anyone showing sympathy—unless it was with the intention to mock—and so, I responded the only way I knew how. With suspicion and hostility.

"Do not concern yourself with me," I hissed. "I have no need for your pity."

Her mouth dropped opened as her eyes grew wide, her eyebrows nearly jumping to meet her hairline.

"It's not pity to want to apologize to you for putting you in an uncomfortable position."

I began to counter her argument, but she held up her hand, immediately cutting me off.

"And before you come up with some lame-ass excuse to tell me that you weren't really that uncomfortable, I would like to direct your attention to Exhibit A," she continued, flinging her hand toward the broken window.

The shards of glass on the floor sparkled like tiny diamonds in the late-afternoon sunlight.

"But that's okay. I get it. It's obvious you don't want to talk about it. I'm not going to force you to tell me about it. I don't have the patience, the energy, or, quite frankly, the money to keep trying. However, I will say this: I'm offering to help you explore your feelings and maybe identify the reason why you haven't moved on in over a hundred years. If you're not interested, hey, that's fine, too. Just know that it will take me about six months—well, maybe a little longer now," she said, deliberately eyeing the window again, "to save up the money to go back to Paris. Hopefully that will do the trick and you can go back to whatever miserable existence you had there before I came along. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to go figure out how in the hell I'm going to replace this window."

With that, she whirled around and exited the room, leaving me to stare after her in stupefied shock.

No one had ever dared to stand up to me before, and they certainly never had the nerve to point out that I wasn't making the best choices.

So why then, was I allowing it to happen now? And more importantly, why wasn't I upset about it?

XXX

The sound of filtered air humming through the HVAC system droned on above me, competing for rank against the tinny 70s classic rock that was blaring over the speakers at The Home Depot. Aisle 33 was currently empty, leaving me alone to glare at the price of replacement windows.

"Can I help you find something, ma'am?" a man in an orange apron said as he walked up to greet me.

"Yeah, I need to fix my window," I replied. "Something just shattered the glass. Is this all you have?"

I'm not really sure what I had been expecting, having never had to replace a pane of glass before, but I definitely hadn't counted on windows being this expensive. Maybe I'd get lucky and they would have something on clearance.

"So, it's just the glass you need to replace, not the whole unit?" he asked.

I nodded.

"Hmm. Unfortunately, we don't carry replacement panes."

"Can I special order it?"

"No. They're not something we stock. You'd have to contact a glass company for that."

"Oh." Damn it. "Do you know about how much they cost?"

"I don't. I'm sorry. Is there anything else I can help you with?"

"No. Thanks."

Son-of-a-bitch. I didn't need this. Especially at the end of the day on a Friday. Most of the window places were already closed, and who knew if any of them would be open on the weekends. What was I supposed to do with the big ass gaping hole in the side of my house in the meantime? I was taking a big risk even leaving my house and coming here to look, considering that it was wide-open and anyone could just hop right in if they wanted to.

The answer hit me just as the guy was about to turn the corner.

"Wait!" I called after him. "Wood! Can I use wood to put in place of the glass until I can get it fixed?

He shrugged. "I don't see why not. If you've got the tools, I'm sure you could cut a piece of plywood down to the size and wedge it in there."

"Awesome. Thank you."

After tracking down one of those metal carts that were made for holding building materials like 2x4s and sheetrock, I made my way to the lumber section at the far end of the store. Another helpful associate assisted me with pulling a sheet of plywood from the stack and sliding it onto the cart. I thanked him and headed for the pro checkout line. Thank God I had a store credit card. Otherwise I didn't know what I would have done.

It wasn't until I wheeled the cart out to my Jeep that I realized I had a bigger problem. How the hell was I supposed to get this home? I guess I could always have one of the lot attendants help me tie it to the luggage rack on the roof. But how would I get it down? And then how would I muscle it into the house and into the dinning where I could cut it?

I could always call Maddie and Rochelle. The three of us together would probably be able to get it to where it needed to go.

Or….

Biting my bottom lip, I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and unlocked it. I only hesitated for a millisecond before I scrolled through my contact list and found Ben's number.

He answered on the third ring.

"Hello?"

"Hi," I said. "Are you busy?"

"Just helping Carly with the dinner dishes. Why?"

The muscles in my jaw tensed with jealousy. What the hell? He'd never been willing to help me with the dishes when we were married.

Making a mighty effort to swallow my resentment, I said, "I need a favor and I don't know who else to call."

That was a lie.

But, I reasoned with myself, it would be much better to have him help me than try to explain things to my two friends, both of whom had never done anything home-improvement-related in their lives.

"Everything okay?"

"No." The waver in my voice was real as I told him that I needed help boarding up a broken window.

"Where are you now?" he asked.

"The Home Depot. I've already bought the plywood, but I'll need help getting off the roof of my Jeep, and into the house and hung up."

"Okay. Head home and I'll meet you there in thirty minutes."

My heart surged, but whether it was from relief that my window problem would be temporarily solved or that I was going to see Ben, I didn't know.

XXX

He was leaning against the hood of his car, waiting for me, when I pulled into the driveway. My blood pressure kicked into high gear when I noticed he was wearing the ratty old Mötley Crüe t-shirt he always wore whenever he was working around the house.

He was planning to stay! He was going to help me cut and nail up the board, rather than just get it off my car and into the house. That meant I had at least forty-five minutes of uninterrupted time with him!

I slid out of the Jeep, trying to look as sexy as I could with my hair pulled back and still in my work scrubs.

"Hi," I said casually. "Thanks for coming. I really appreciate it."

"No problem." Ben pushed off the hood and turned around to lean through his open driver's side window. "Hey, babe. Did you want to come in with us or stay out here?"

My dreams for the evening, which had been soaring high above the Earth in a rocket ship of hope, crashed to the ground in fiery explosion of despair as Carly climbed out of the car and brushed the wrinkles out of her light-weight, OD green military-style jacket. The sunlight glistened against her long, naturally curly red hair, creating a halo effect as she gracefully swept it over her shoulders and out of the way.

I smoothed down the fly-aways of my stumpy ponytail, suddenly very self-conscious about my own appearance.

Carly's green eyes, which positively sparkled in conjunction with her jacket and brushed gold earrings, flicked to Ben with barely disguised annoyance.

"Is this going to take long?" she whined.

Well, least I considered it whining. That tone of voice was probably really seductive to Ben and the rest of the men on this planet. Carly struck me as the type of woman who used that tactic all the time to get people to do what she wanted. It had obviously worked on my husband, since he'd willingly flushed five years of marriage down the toilet so he could be with her.

Ben shook his head. "Nah. We just need to cut this board and put it up. Shouldn't take us long at all."

The woman I hated more than anything else in the world lifted her shoulder coyly and sighed dramatically. Then she ducked back into the car, grabbed her brown Coach handbag from the front seat, and pulled out a pack of cigarettes. She took one out and gestured toward the car before putting it between her lips.

"I'll stay out here," she pouted.

I scowled as the smell of stale smoke drifted past my nose and made a show of waving it away.

"Okay."

When he leaned over to kiss her my I dug my fingernails so hard into my palms I was sure I was going to draw blood.

"You ready, Chris?" Ben asked, motioning to the plywood strapped to my roof.

"What? Oh. Yeah."

We spent the next several minutes in working to loosen the straps and pull the sheet of plywood to the ground and into the house.

It felt strange including Ben in one of my work projects. When we lived together, the majority of our house had been finished and up to date. Aside from painting a room here and there, I never really had a chance to do any real home improvement work. Back then I'd always fantasized about starting some sort of remodeling project together, thinking about how awesome it would have been to do something with him that I enjoyed doing with my dad growing up. This was as close as I had ever gotten to that, and the bittersweet emotions that rose up in my chest as I realized that was almost enough to make me cry.

"Where do you want it?" he asked, pulling me out of my thoughts.

I glanced around, looking for a suitable spot.

"Let's lean it up against the wall here," I told him, angling my head toward the staircase. "Then I can go grab the saw and sawhorses from the shed out back and set them up in the dining room."

He nodded and together we crouched down and eased the sheet of plywood to the ground.

"Okay." I dusted my hands off. "I'll be right back."

"You need help?"

"Sure. That'll make things go a lot faster. Thanks."

I led him through the kitchen and out the back door. There was a small wooden shed at the far end of the yard where I stored all my power tools and miscellaneous building supplies. The musty smells of ancient wood, dirt, and motor oil greeted us when I unhooked the combination padlock and opened the door.

"Damn, Chris," he exclaimed, blowing out a low whistle. "When'd you get the mancave?"

A large Craftsman toolbox with pullout drawers sat on the bench attached to the wall in front of us. One of the previous owners had installed rows of wooden shelves on the left wall, and I had quickly filled them with my assortment of power tools. Most of them I had inherited from my dad, but I'd picked up a few shortly after I moved into this house, knowing that I would need them for my remodel. The table saw, along with shovels and rakes, the lawnmower and gas can, and a few bags of grass seed and fertilizer lined the wall to the right.

"Most guys would kill to have all this equipment," he went on, running his fingers idly over the drill, reciprocating saw, and the multi-tool that I had picked up when the set went on sale earlier in the summer.

Not all guys, I thought sullenly, casting a dark glance in his direction.

Instead of acknowledging his comment, I busied myself with locating a box of wood screws, a tape measure, and the impact driver and battery.

"Here," I said, handing them to him. "Hold these."

Then I turned back around and shuffled the sawhorses out from their hiding place behind the table saw. Scooping them up under one arm, I grabbed the circular saw off the shelf and motioned for him to follow me back to the house.

The days were steadily growing shorter, and by the time I had everything we needed, dusk had settled over the backyard. The bright, cheery sunlight had faded, bathing our surroundings in soft, muted colors as the impending darkness closed in around us.

Needless to say, the house was completely dark when we got back inside. I paused when I stepped into the kitchen, listening keenly for any signs that Erik might be near. I doubted I would see him in full form with Ben in the house, but I felt his presence nonetheless, and wondered if Ben had noticed the subtle shift in atmosphere.

He followed me into the dining room, where I set the tools down on the floor and then turned on the overhead light. Ben's gaze was immediately drawn to the open window and all the glass that was still scattered all over the floor.

"I didn't want to waste any time cleaning," I explained. The excuse sounded weak even to me. "What I mean is, I didn't want to risk the store closing or not having what I needed in stock and having to go somewhere else. I figured I could always clean later, once there wasn't an easy way into my house…."

I knew I was rambling, but I couldn't help it. The whole situation put me on edge, anyway, but having my ex-husband there, silently judging my housekeeping skills wasn't making it any easier.

"How did you say it broke?" he asked.

"I don't know. It was like that when I came home from work. I think one of the neighbor kids may have broken it," I lied.

"You didn't stop to think that maybe someone broke in? Did you check the house? Is anything missing? God damn, it, Christine! Did you call the police?"

Crap. I should have thought that story through a little more before I opened my mouth. Now I looked like an incompetent idiot to him.

I immediately back-pedaled. "Oh, no. No. No one broke in. I saw a group of boys running away from my house with a baseball bat and ball when I came home from work. I'm sure it was just an accident."

"Do you know them? You should talk to their parents. Windows are expensive."

No shit.

"I plan to. Can we just fix the window now?" I snapped. His patronizing tone was starting to piss me off.

"Yeah."

"Thank you."

We stared at each other for a few moments, like children on the playground who had forgotten how to get along and no longer knew how to play nice. Things weren't always this tense between us, and I hated being reminded of how things had been in the last few months of our marriage.

"I'll go get the plywood."

"Do you need me to help?"

"No," he replied curtly. "I can manage it. You just get the sawhorses ready so I can set it down on top of them."

Great. Now he was butt hurt. This evening wasn't going how I planned at all.

Sighing loudly, I seized the sawhorses and walked to the middle of the room, where I pulled them open and set them down on the floor with more force than was necessary. I turned around to get the circular saw and froze. The last sheet of paper was still on the wall.

Shit, shit, shit!

I dashed over to it and ripped it off the wall, quickly crinkling the paper into a ball.

Did he see it? What if he had. Would he think I was crazy? Was there even enough context there to make sense of anything? How in the world was I going to explain this one?

You don't, I told myself. You throw it away and play it cool and act like nothing's up. Hurry, he's coming!

I stuffed the ball of paper into one of the open boxes and straightened up, running my hand over the top of my head in an attempt to seem calm and relaxed. Ben appeared moments later, holding the plywood parallel to his body as he tried to maneuver it into the room. When he got closer, I helped him angle it and push the wood onto the saw horses.

For the next little bit, we were both absorbed in our task, only breaking the silence to relay measurements back and forth. He stood back and watched me work as the circular saw whirred to life and I carefully cut the board down to size. When I was done, Ben picked up the smaller piece and walked it to the window. After wedging into place, he told me to hold it there while he went back for the impact driver and wood screws.

Starting at the top left, I held the board steady as he screwed in several screws to hold the wood tight against the window frame. He had just finished screwing in the last screw when he tapped the tip of his index finger against the ring on my left hand.

"Where'd this come from?"

My stomach slid into my shoes.

"Ummm…it was Grandma's. I found it in one of those boxes over there while I was unpacking," I said, pointing to the stack shoved in the corner of the room.

Ben squinted. "Everything you took from the house was stuff you already had while we were married, and I know for a fact that this wasn't in your jewelry collection when we lived together. I would have definitely remembered this."

"Of course you don't remember seeing it in my collection," I bit back snarkily. "I just said I found it in a box over there."

He took a step backwards, holding his hands out in front of him. "Jesus, Chris. You don't have to get so defensive."

I bristled, fire flashing before my eyes. "I do when you all of the sudden start interrogating me about something and then accuse me of lying to you."

"For fuck's sake," he sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "I didn't accuse you of lying. I just asked you a simple goddamn question. You're the one who freaked out and went off the deep end." His pupils darkened. "You're acting really weird about this. What are you hiding?"

"Nothing."

"Do you have a boyfriend? Is that it? Did he give you that ring?"

"No! Trust me, if I had a boyfriend, I would have called him for help instead of you!"

He flinched.

"Besides," I recklessly forged on, almost twelve months of pent up fury and repressed heartache spilling forth like a tidal wave crashing to the seashore, damaging everything in its path. "I don't know why you suddenly care so much! You certainly weren't concerned about the ring on my finger when you decided to fuck Carly behind my back!"

Ben's body went completely rigid. "I feel sorry for the poor bastard if you do have a boyfriend. Somebody needs to warn him about what he's getting himself into before he makes the same mistake I did."

"Get out!"

"Gladly."

He spun around and stormed out of the dining room.

"Yeah, that's right!" I screamed at his retreating form. "Leave! Just like you did before. That's the only thing you're good at doing!"

A few seconds later I heard the front door slam.

As soon as I was alone I crumpled to the floor and burst into angry tears.

Why did things between us always have to be so nasty? Why couldn't I turn the clock back and return to a time when we were both happy and still in love with each other?

"Who was that?"

My head reared up at Erik's unexpected demand and I let out a startled gasp. He had materialized near the entrance to the room, and his gaze was directed toward the front door. His voice, which was normally soft and seductive, had taken on a razor-sharp edge.

"My ex-husband." I pushed myself up off the ground and wiped my palms off on my pants.

"You were married?"

"Yeah, once upon a time. Until he had an affair and left me for another woman he worked with."

I had intended for that statement to come out as a harsh jab at Ben, but my voice cracked at the end, betraying the sorrow I had so desperately tried to keep locked behind a wall of animosity. Fresh tears blurred my vision, and despite my best efforts to hold them in, quickly brimmed over and silently slid down my cheeks.

Pulling at my lip with my teeth, I turned away so that he couldn't see me cry. It was embarrassing enough that he had to witness my fight with Ben and the breakdown that followed.

"You still care for him."

It was less a question then it was an observation.

"No," I sighed. "I don't know."

"I…." He hesitated. "I understand. "I, too, know what it feels like to care for someone who doesn't love you in return."

Ever so slowly, I twisted back around to face him.

"Christine?" I dared to whisper.

Erik nodded.

"I offered her that ring as a token of our happier moments together. I left instructions with an acquaintance of mine to notify her of my inevitable death, and as a final favor to me, I asked that she return and bury me with it. She refused. I can't say I really blame her. She left with the man she truly loved that night, and that was the last time I saw her."

So, the ending in the book had been wrong after all. And if Christine hadn't promised to come back and bury him with it like the novel proclaimed, then I doubted she would have kissed him either. Judging by the abject misery in his eyes, I was sure that was a pretty safe bet.

My stomach clenched as I stared at the tortured soul standing in my dining room. The kiss that Christine had bestowed upon him had been the defining moment of the story. It had signified acceptance and redemption, possibly even forgiveness. It had turned the villain of the story into someone that we, as the readers, had actually started to care about. But in the end, it had all been the author's clever way to wrap everything up neatly and give everyone somewhat of a happy ending.

I was quickly learning that happy endings were not guaranteed.

A myriad of thoughts fluttered through my head. I wanted to tell him that I was sorry, but his reaction to my last apology made me reconsider at the last moment. He didn't want pity. He wanted someone to understand what he had been through and how it felt to be scorned by the person he cared about most in the world. Someone who had been through the same sort of rejection and would accept those feelings for what they were rather than judging him for the decisions that brought him to that point.

"Erik…. Wow. I don't know what to…," I lapsed into silence. The fact that he had just willingly shared something so personal left me completely speechless. "What made you change your mind about telling me?"

"I've had some time to consider everything you said," he replied softly. "The truth is, I am unused to kindness. Most people do not even want to look at me, let alone carry on a conversation, unless they have some sort of ulterior motive. So, naturally, I am suspicious when anyone takes a sudden interest in my affairs. But you…you treat me as no one has before, as though this," he gestured toward his mask, "isn't an issue. You hardly even notice it. Why is that?"

"Well, I'll admit it was a little off-putting at first, but so is that fact that, you know, you're a ghost and I can see right through you."

Erik laughed. He actually laughed, and it was one of the most exquisite sounds I'd ever heard him make. The tone was rich and full and unreserved and in spite of everything that had happened, I couldn't help smiling in return.

"Fair enough," he said.

"Will you tell me more?" I quietly asked.

The mirth faded from his eyes and he once again grew serious as he contemplated my request.

"What would you like to know?"

I let out the breath I didn't even know I was holding. "How did your ring end up by the lake?"

When he turned and left the dining room, I thought he was signaling that he was done with the conversation, and that when I walked into the living room I would be alone once more. But I could still see his outline in front of me, barely visible against the blanket of darkness that shrouded the room.

He's more comfortable in the dark, I realized. That was fine with me. As long as he was willing to talk, I would accommodate him in whatever way I could.

"I remember very little of my final days," he revealed. "At some point they all began to blur together. Life held no meaning after Christine left. Not even music was enough, for every refrain that I played, every composition I wrote, reminded me of her. Of what I'd lost."

I covered my mouth with the hand.

"I had never been one who required much sustenance to begin with," he continued, "but as the days went on, I became increasingly apathetic about taking in any nourishment. Eventually I grew too weak to care. The last memory I have was of stumbling out to the lake. It was my intention to throw the ring into its murky depths and be done with it, but when the time came, I couldn't bring myself to part with it. Instead, I sank down to the bank and held on to it as tightly as I could until darkness closed in around me. I have no recollection of what happened after that. The next thing I knew, I was in the drawing room of my house in much the same state as I am now."

"You died of a broken heart." Tears were streaming freely down my cheeks. This time I made no attempt to wipe them away. "Right out there by the lake. Oh, shit! I did take the ring from your final resting place! Oh my god. I really am a grave robber." Doubling over, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. "Oh god. I think I'm gonna be sick."

"Christine!"

His voice came at me through the darkness like two strong hands seizing me by the shoulders. My skin instantly pebbled. I had always considered my name to be rather simple and boring; two syllables pronounced together in sharp sequence. Chris-tine. But the way it rolled off his tongue, spoken so reverently in his melodic French accent, softened the harsh edges and made it sound more beautiful than I ever thought possible.

"You did not remove the ring from my grave," Erik reassured me. "As I said before, an acquaintance of mine agreed to see to all those details. It is highly possible that he did not notice it had fallen to the ground when he came back and found me."

I gulped. Suddenly it felt like I had swallowed a sock. "Do you think that's why your trapped? That the ring needs to be reunited with you in order for you to rest?"

God, this was so morbid.

Please tell me I'm wrong. I don't want to dig up a body.

Now I really was going to be sick.

"Anything is possible, I suppose," he said. "But I think it's more likely that I am trapped here, as you say, as a form of punishment for all the wrong I have done in my life."

I grimaced. "What, like this is Hell for you?"

He nodded.

When I thought about it, it made sense. Being condemned to the cellars, unable to fully die and move on, constantly reminded of what had happened when he was alive and the choices he made. Except, there was one little problem with that theory.

"If you're in Hell, then where do I fit in to all this? I'm very much alive, and aside from some of the nasty thoughts that I had about Ben during our divorce, I haven't done anything worthy of Hell. Besides, if you were truly condemned, I don't think you'd be able to talk to me. And you being punished for your sins doesn't explain why this," I held up my left hand, "won't come off my finger."

His eyes grew cloudy without doubt as a puzzled frown settled over his lips and tightened his jaw. It was interesting how expressive he could be even though I couldn't see his whole face.

"I've existed for so long believing…. I have never considered any other…."

"Erik."

He slowly lifted his gaze to meet mine.

"Can you think of anything that might be holding you back?"

"No. I am at a loss. When I died, I was ready. I welcomed it."

Once again, his words were like a knife through my heart. A month ago, I was overcome and distraught about being saddled with a ghost. Two weeks ago, I was terrified that I was being haunted by the Phantom. Tonight…tonight I was moved to tears by the broken man standing before me.

"Let me help you," I whispered.

The outline of Erik's body emerged from the darkness as he came forward until we were standing inches apart. This close, our height differences were obvious. I tilted my head up so I could maintain eye contact as he stared down at me.

"You would do that for me."

Licking my lips, I responded, "Yes."

I automatically raised my hand to shake on my promise and then immediately scolded myself at the sheer ridiculousness of the gesture. He was a ghost. I needed to remember that. But before I had time to drop it and apologize for my thoughtless actions, he had lifted his own hand. I watched, spellbound, as he laid his transparent palm over mine.

We both gasped when our hands met. It felt like the time I had touched the Tesla Coil during a field trip to the planetarium when I was young. Electricity sizzled between us, making my fingers tingle. Our eyes locked, and as we stared at each other in the dark, I suddenly knew that everything had changed.