Tomorrow marks the 10 year anniversary of when I posted my very first story on this site. I still remember how terrified I was after hitting the submit button. But what a wonderful journey it's been since! And I can think of no better way to commemorate the occasion than by posting an update.

Thanks for believing in me.

~Jamie

Chapter 12

I barely even had time to consider the significance of what had happened before Erik wrenched his hand away and stumbled backward, putting as much distance between us as possible. The shadows of the night clung to him eagerly, wrapping their greedy fingers around his shoulders like a desperate lover, coaxing him back into their dark and gloomy embrace until only his white shirtfront and the panic in his glowing yellow eyes were visible.

"Wait!" I cried. Lunging forward instinctively, I stretched my hand out toward him to stop his hasty departure. "You can't go! Not now!"

It amazed me just how skittish he really was. I was beginning to realize that he was okay so long as he controlled the situation, but as soon as something unexpected came up that took that control away, he was ready to bolt back into the ether from whence he came without a backward glance.

He paused, lingering at the edge of the room. As he did so, the light from the dining room filtered softly through the open doorway and cast an unearthly glow around his retreating form.

Offhandedly I thought, is it my imagination, or does his body look less transparent than it did before we touched?

Erik slowly rotated around to face me and the sight of his cloaked form standing there against the backdrop of soft golden light stole my breath away. There was an aura of mystery and underlying authority that surrounded him—a dangerous combination, I quickly decided—and I found that I could not tear my eyes away. Suddenly, I understood the uneasiness and inexplicable anticipation that Christine must have felt every time he chose to emerge from the shadows and reveal himself to her.

"Please tell me you felt that," I whispered.

Please tell me I'm not going crazy, was what I really meant.

He nodded faintly.

"And you said nothing like this has ever happened to you before?" It wasn't that so much that I doubted he was telling me the truth; it was more that I needed to hear it from him that all this was a recent development.

Erik lifted his hands slowly and stared at his upturned palms. Longing briefly darkened his eyes before he shook his head and said, "Never. And it seems the longer I am here with you, the more my ability to interact with the physical world is intensifying."

"Why us?" I quietly asked, wrapping my hands around my upper arms. "I'm nobody to you. I'm just some random person who got talked in to taking a tour. I've thought about all of this until my head hurts and I still can't come up with any sort of explanation that makes sense.

Some of the tension dissipated from Erik's shoulders. Folding his arms across his chest, he said, "I, too, am at a loss as to what the correlation might be."

I squeaked out a brittle laugh. "Anything I come up with sounds completely insane."

"Ghosts belong in stories and legends, not reality," he agreed. "However, it is rather difficult to deny that supernatural forces exist when I am proof that they do. I may have dallied with the occult briefly in the past, but I am afraid that what is happening now is outside my realm of expertise."

My brain latched onto the last word in his sentence.

"Oh my god!" I exclaimed, smacking my hand against my forehead. "Danica! She would know! Ugh, why didn't I think of this sooner? You know what, it doesn't matter. Tomorrow I'll go see her and she will explain everything."

Everything would work out. I was sure of it.

XXX

I was restless tonight—more so than usual. While Christine slept upstairs, I prowled around the first floor, wandering from room to room as I mulled over the events of the previous evening. But even now, hours later, I could not explain what had compelled me to reach for her hand, and I certainly could not explain what I felt when we touched. It might have been easy to ignore it and pretend that I hadn't noticed the peculiar, tingling sensation when our palms met, except for the fact that I hadn't felt this alive in over one-hundred-and-thirty-seven years.

XXX

The events of the past twenty-four hours must have weighed more heavily on me than I originally thought, because I ended up sleeping well past noon. But, for the first time since I got home from vacation, I woke up feeling refreshed. In fact, I was so excited to go back to Danica and inform her of everything I'd managed to learn about my ghost that it didn't even bother me that I'd slept half my day away. Once she heard about my progress with Erik, I was certain she would be able to shed some light on our strange predicament and be more than willing to tell us what to do next.

Outside, the afternoon sun was streaming through the trees, dappling the bright green grass with patterns of interconnecting, leaf-shaped shadows. Each day seemed to be just a bit cooler than the last, and several neighbors were out taking advantage of the break from sweltering heat. The older lady across the street was hard at work weeding her flower bed, while her son (I assumed he was her son, since he looked too old to be one of her grandkids) was mowing her lawn. A few houses to left of hers, a construction crew was busy ripping old shingles off the roof and chucking them into the dumpster parked in the driveway. The echoes of pounding hammers and nail guns, ratcheting sprinklers, and growling two-stroke motors all combined to create the wonderfully pleasant sounds of summer.

I stood on the front porch for a few seconds, breathing in the earthy smells of late-summer flowers and cut grass. My own lawn was in desperate need of mowing. The recent rainstorms had revived some of the places where the grass was dying, thanks in large part to the higher than average temperatures at the beginning of August and me being out of town and not able to monitor how well the automatic sprinklers were doing. I was going to have a hell of a time with the lawn mower. Some of the grass was almost six inches tall in some areas!

Swearing to myself that I would definitely tackle it sometime this weekend, I bounded down the stairs and hurried over to my Jeep. The grass could wait. Right now, I had something more important to do.

Finding Danica's shop turned out to be more difficult than I had anticipated. Since I had stumbled upon it quite by accident, I couldn't remember exactly how I had gotten there in the first place. It was only after twenty minutes of aimless driving and having to return to my work to retrace my steps from there that I spotted the fast food burger joint that sat on the corner of the parking lot next to the small strip mall.

The row of buildings looked different bathed in sunlight. It had been overcast the last time I was here, and the rain had made the exterior look dull and dingy. Now, with the sun glinting off the blonde brick, the façade was bright and cheerful. I honestly couldn't remember seeing the pots spilling over with bright petunias that lined the sidewalks, or the bistro next door with its alfresco seating and colorful patio umbrellas during my last visit. No wonder why I had such trouble locating the building this time around.

In a move that would have had Ben gripping the "oh shit!" handle and mashing his foot down on an imaginary brake pedal on the passenger side of the car, I cut across traffic, swerved into the parking lot, and pulled into an empty parking space around back. Throwing my car keys and my into my purse, I hit the lock button, slammed the door, and hurried around to the front of the building.

My good mood all but evaporated as soon as I got to the door of the shop and saw that the space within was completely dark. A quick glance at the hours posted on the sidelight window told me that the shop was usually open from 10:00 AM to 4:30 PM on Saturdays. I frowned, pulling my phone out of my purse to glance at the time on the lock screen. It was only 3:45 PM. She should still be open for another forty-five minutes….

"You lookin' for the lady next door?"

I spun around, clutching my phone to my chest in surprise. A woman about my age stared back at me, a tub of dirty dishes balanced on one of her hips. She shifted her weight to get a better grip and tilted her head at me quizzically.

"Yeah."

She set the tub down on one of the bistro tables and began emptying water from the used glasses into it before placing them carefully inside.

"She ain't there."

I resisted the urge to rub the center of my forehead. I didn't have the patience today to have someone regurgitate the obvious facts. I needed answers and I needed them now.

Even so, I made sure my voice was calm and even when I asked, "Do you know where she went?"

"Something about having to fly out of state to go help her daughter. I don't know. You'd have to ask my boss if you want more details."

"Okay, thanks."

The woman nodded and resumed her job of clearing away the rest of the dishes.

With no other leads, I figured I might as well go inside and see if anyone else knew anything.

I was immediately hit with the lingering smells of bacon and dark coffee from that morning's breakfast when I walked inside. Despite being smack in between the lunch and dinner rush, the restaurant was fairly busy. Silverware clinking against porcelain plates and the soft chatter of the patrons' conservations filled the air. My stomach growled, reminding me that I skipped breakfast and my usual morning cup of coffee.

A heavyset older lady with a hairstyle that was so teased it looked like she had just stepped out from filming an eighties hair band music video was manning the cash register. She finished handing the customer in front of me his change and then turned her eyes on me expectantly.

"Um…hi," I said, twisting the gold ring around my finger nervously. "I'm looking for information about the woman who owns the shop next door."

"The psychic?" she rasped. Based on the roughness of her gravelly voice, I guessed that she probably had a two-pack-a-day smoking habit that went as far back as her hairstyle.

I nodded.

"Her daughter's husband was killed in a nasty car accident, so she flew back east to tend kids and help make the funeral arrangements. She asked me to keep an eye on the shop until she comes back next month. Heard the kids were little, too. Like two and four or something like that. Such a shame," she tsked.

"That's terrible," I said. Suddenly my own problems seemed puny and insignificant compared to what I knew Danica's daughter was going through. After all, I had once been on the receiving end of that dreadful phone call.

I thanked her for her time and the information and left.

The afternoon had only grown prettier while I was inside, but I was no longer in the mood to enjoy any of it. A big black thundercloud of misery had settled over me, chasing away my happy thoughts along with any hope for answers on what was happening between Erik and me.

It seemed like no matter what I did, every time I came up with a new solution, I immediately ran into some sort of roadblock that made executing said idea virtually impossible.

I sighed. I wasn't ready to go home yet. I didn't want to go back to my dark and dreary house and tell the sullen ghost that resided there that I had failed, and that we were back to square one. Again.

Stalling, I pulled out one of the ornate wrought iron patio chairs and flopped into it. There had to be some sort of information to be had on the subject. Surely someone somewhere had experienced the same things I was. I just wasn't looking hard enough.

I took my phone out of my purse and opened up my mobile browser, typing in "touching ghosts" into the search engine. The first page turned up a bunch of websites that listed the different types of ghosts—mainly poltergeists—but none of them went into any real detail about people who had made actual physical contact with one. And none of them mentioned being able to hold long conversations with a ghost like he was a normal, living person.

"Christine?"

I slammed my phone face-down on the table and looked up to where Dr. Stevenson's soft blue eyes gazed down at me warmly.

"I thought that was you."

"Oh, hi, Dr. Stevenson."

Even when we weren't working, he was impeccably dressed. While I usually favored the jeans and tight t-shirt look on guys, I had to admit that he looked good in his light beige dress slacks and soft yellow polo shirt. The combination made his hair and his eyes pop.

"Christine, please. It's Jake. Especially since we're not in the office."

"Okay." I laughed nervously. "What are you doing here?"

Smooth, Chris. Real smooth. It's a public place; he's allowed to walk down the street.

"I'm meeting a friend for a quick bite before our 5:30 tee time." He nodded toward the bistro. "Is this place any good?"

"I don't know. I just discovered this place myself."

He grunted with what sounded like approval and said, "Why don't you let me buy you a cup of coffee, then?"

"Oh, no, that's okay," I replied, waving my hand in a dismissive gesture. "I was just getting ready to leave, anyway."

"C'mon. You look like you could use some cheering up."

"What about your friend?" I countered.

"He just phoned to say that he was running late. I have a few minutes."

In my head, I could hear Maddie's voice chastising me. For God's sake, Chris, it's a goddamn cup of coffee. Give the poor hunky doctor a chance….

Coffee did sound really good, especially since I hadn't had any today.

"All right," I relented. "You talked me into it."

"Excellent," Dr. Stevenson beamed, sliding into the chair in front of me. He raised his hand to get the server's attention.

The same young girl who had been bussing tables earlier appeared. "What can I get for you?"

"Two coffees, please," he said. Flicking his gaze to me, he asked, "Cream and sugar?"

"Yes, please."

"With cream and sugar. Thank you, Tara," he said, reading her name off the tag pinned to her shirt.

The waitress disappeared, leaving us completely alone on the patio. I squirmed in my seat, trying to pretend that this wasn't awkward as hell.

"So," Jake began conversationally. "What has suddenly darkened that normally sunny disposition of yours?"

Crap, I moaned inwardly, immediately regretting my decision to sit down with him. Underneath the table I dug my fingernails into my palms. This was the last time I let my desire for coffee overrule my common sense. I needed to come up with a good excuse to leave before I dug myself into an even deeper hole.

"I'm beginning to worry about you," he went on. "This funk you're in isn't like you at all. You know you can talk to me, right?"

I nodded and bit back a sigh. I was going to have to give him something, or he would just continue to badger me every time we had a free moment alone at work. Thankfully, the arrival of our coffee gave me a few more seconds to formulate an answer.

We both fell silent as Tara set a metal coffee decanter and two porcelain coffee mugs in front of us, followed by bowls of sugar packets and an assortment of International Delight single-serving coffee creamers.

"Anything else?" she asked.

Jake looked to me. I shook my head.

"No, I think we're good. Thank you," he replied.

Seizing the coffee pot, I poured a generous amount into my mug and busied myself with adding just the right amounts of cream and sugar. It was only after taking several sips that I felt confident enough to answer him.

"I asked Ben to come by last night to help me board up a broken window." I figured that telling him a watered-down version of the argument between me and my ex-husband was a safe enough bet. After all, it had actually happened, so I wouldn't have to worry about accidentally mixing up my story later and being caught in a lie. Plus, Dr. Stevenson knew about my contentious divorce with Ben, thereby giving me a plausible excuse for the recent change in my attitude. "It…didn't end well."

"How did you expect it to end?" Jake asked quietly.

"Not in an argument," was my dry response.

What I had really wanted was Ben to come in, pull me into his arms, tell me how sorry he was for everything and that he realized he couldn't live without me, and then beg me to take him back. It was a foolish pipe dream and deep down I knew it. But things hadn't always been so hateful between us, and I couldn't help but look back longingly on the all the good times we'd shared over the years.

"I just want to stay like this forever," I said, releasing a dreamy sigh as I snuggled deeper against Ben's side.

He wrapped his arm around my shoulder and pulled me closer, pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Mmhmm, I know what you mean."

Above us, white puffy clouds dotted a brilliant light blue sky. It was an absolutely perfect day for an impromptu picnic.

"I can't believe daddy let you escape for the afternoon."

Ben laughed and sat up, reaching into the wicker picnic basket for the open bottle of champagne that rested against its side. "I was honestly surprised he did. That man is an absolute slave driver when it comes to deadlines, especially with us trying to land that new account." He refilled my glass and handed it back to me. "But it's not every day that my beautiful wife gets accepted to college. I think that's worth celebrating. And your dad was more than happy to oblige."

"Geez, you act like I got into an Ivy-League school or something," I muttered with a self-deprecating laugh. "It's only community college. Just about everyone who 'applies' gets in."

"Still, you made the decision to better yourself by furthering your education. That's nothing to sneeze at. I'm proud of you, Chris."

"You are?"

"Of course." Ben's chocolate brown eyes twinkled in the sunlight as he clinked his glass against the rim of mine. "Just think of it; in a few short years you'll be able to quit that stupid receptionist job because you'll be a famous interior designer, and I'll be well on my way to assuming command of your dad's insurance agency once he retires. We'll have it made."

I couldn't stop the smile that spread across my face even if I'd wanted to. Ben's enthusiasm was contagious. "You sound like you've got it all figured out."

"Yep. It'll be perfect."

And then there was no more room for talk as he took the glass from my hand, pushed me back down to the blanket, and kissed me until my toes curled.

I didn't know it then, but that was the beginning of the end.

My parents died in a car accident a few months later. Dad fell asleep behind the wheel on the long drive home from a networking banquet and their car drifted across the center lane and into the path of an oncoming semi-truck. The truck driver tried to swerve and miss him, but his trailer jack-knifed in the process. The trailer struck my parents' sedan as it swung around, trapping their car underneath as the entire rig tipped over and skidded off the side of the freeway and into a ditch. Both he and my mom, as well as the two passengers in the truck were killed. The insurance company my father owned had to be liquidated in order to pay for the mounting legal bills that resulted from the negligent death lawsuits that followed, leaving Ben out of a job. He found a position with another agency soon enough, but it wasn't the same. He missed my dad, and even though he wouldn't tell me, I knew he was upset over losing out on the chance of someday owning my dad's firm. To combat all the pain and depression of having our lives completely turned upside-down, I threw myself head first into work and school.

I should have been more aware of what was happening, but at the time I was so mired in my own pain and misery that I failed to notice how much Ben was suffering as well. He'd been like a son to my father, and his sudden death had hit us both equally hard.

It's easy to see things clearly when you're looking back at them through a memory. As they say, hindsight is always twenty-twenty. There were so many things that I would change if I had the chance to go back and right all my wrongs. I wouldn't have buried myself in work. I wouldn't have pulled away from Ben when he needed me the most. I would have given him the attention he'd so desperately sought in the arms of another. The thought of all that could have been if we'd stayed together weighed heavily on my mind every minute of every day and was a constant nagging reminder of how utterly alone I was now.

"Christine?"

Dr. Stevenson's gentle prodding pulled me back to the present.

"I know you don't want to hear this, but you need to let him go. You're living in the past and pining away for something that will never be again. It's preventing you from embracing all the good things you do have and moving on with your life."

I shot straight up in my chair. "What did you just say?"

"Leave the past in the past," he said firmly. "Depression is a silent killer, Christine. Don't let yourself become its victim."

"Oh my god."

I suddenly knew why Erik was trapped.

"That's it. That's it!" I proclaimed excitedly. "Thank you, Dr. Stevens—I mean Jake. I-I've gotta go." I jumped out of my chair and grabbed my purse. "Uhhh…thanks for the coffee."

Jake looked thoroughly confused, but smiled at me, nonetheless. "Sure. Anytime Christine. I'm glad I could…help."

"Oh, you did," I quickly assured him. "Trust me, you definitely did."

And with that I spun around and ran all the way back to my car.

"Erik!" I called out as soon as I charged through the front door.

Without breaking stride, I ran around the living room and the kitchen, closing all the plantation blinds one by one. Gradually, each room began to dim as I systematically shut out the bright sunlight, until once again the house was swathed in gloomy darkness.

"Erik, are you there?"

"Yes, I am here."

I whipped around at the sound of his disembodied voice, searching the shadows for a glimpse of his ghostly form. Finally, I spied him standing in the middle of the dining room, his arms folded loosely over his chest.

"I figured it out!" I exclaimed. "I know why you're still here. It's Christine!"

XXX

I immediately tensed.

It was clear from the look on her face that she was incredibly proud of her discovery, but for me, that statement induced such a feeling of dread that, had I been able to draw breath, I would have found it swiftly expelled from my lungs.

What could Christine have possibly had to do with my being trapped between life and death? I'd let her go. I hadn't pursued her and the boy as they fled the cellars. I hadn't forced her to stay with me, even though I knew I could have. Granting Christine her freedom was the first genuinely good, unselfish thing I'd ever done. My heart may have been shattered in the process, but my conscience was clear.

So, if guilt wasn't the reason, then what was?

A sinister thought wriggled its way into my mind.

Was it possible that Christine, still reeling from all the horrific things she'd endured because of my scheming and manipulation, had caused this as some sort of final retribution? Had she somehow cursed me, dooming me to this restless existence?

That notion cut me right down to the quick.

Hunching my shoulders against the sudden onslaught of pain, I closed my eyes and turned away.

"Erik?"

A small, pale hand entered my field of vision and reached for my forearm. I was almost certain that she meant to lay her palm over my wrist, but the contact never came. Before I even had a chance to pull away, her fingers had already passed right through me.

The young woman before me appeared both confused and disappointed, but those emotions were fleeting as she looked at me with questions in her eyes.

"I thought you'd be happy to hear that I'd made progress," she said quietly, her brows furrowing as she attempted to meet and hold my gaze. "What's wrong?"

"Stop. Please." I waved her off. "Don't say anything more. I don't want to know. I don't think I could handle knowing that she was responsible for this."

"Responsible?" she repeated, blinking several times in disbelief. "Is that what you think happened? That she condemned you out of some sort of need for revenge?"

XXX

Erik flicked his hand towards his mask in a frustrated gesture of despair.

"It's the most logical conclusion, is it not?" There was an ever-so-slight waver in his voice that betrayed the cool indifference he was presenting. "I daresay that I deserve it after everything I've done. But…oh, Christine." Clutching at the shirt over his chest, he sighed, "Is this what it's come to? Did I really mean so little to you?"

"No!" I choked, fighting back the biting sting of fresh tears. I should have known that he would immediately jump to the worst-case scenario. It suddenly occurred to me that, in my excitement to share my revelation with him, my dramatic exclamation had come across incredibly accusatory. A twinge of guilt knifed through me at the realization that I had caused him such unwarranted suffering. "No, that's not what I meant at all!"

The eyes that stared at me from behind the mask were cold and guarded.

"What I mean is that I think you're trapped here because of a lack of closure stemming from the last time you saw Christine," I hastily explained.

In the blink of an eye, Erik's demeanor changed, his mood shifting from one extreme to the other. He spun on me, his cloak fanning out around him. "I gave her the choice and she chose to leave with the boy," he hissed. "How much more 'closure' do I need?"

He was throwing up his defenses, trying to deflect my attempts to delve deeper into what happened between them with anger. What he didn't know was that I was very familiar with that tactic, having been there many times myself, and knowing that made it easier to look past his harsh words and see the wounded man behind them.

"I have no doubt that you knew exactly where you stood that night," I said softly. "I'm not questioning that. But I also know from experience that those feelings don't just go away. They don't make sense. They don't listen to reason. And they're very persuasive in getting you to throw all logic out the window in favor of blind hope. I'm a prime example. I still love Ben. Even after everything he's done to me. I still keep hoping that one day he'll come back, that he'll change his mind, and that maybe…."

Oh my god.

"Erik!" I gasped. "What if she changed her mind? What if she did come back, only it was too late?" My heart thumped wildly against my chest. "What if she died with the same sort of regrets you did? What if she's out there somewhere, trapped just like you, because she didn't get the closure she needed. Because she never got the chance to tell you that she made the wrong choice."

"No…." Shaking his head disbelievingly, he murmured. "It isn't possible. Christine…."

The longing in his voice was as unmistakable as it was heartrending. His quiet anguish screamed out to me, reaching the part of me that knew exactly how he felt. And in that moment, I stopped seeing him as the infamous Opera Ghost with the volatile temper. He was just a man. A man still desperately in love. We had more in common than I thought, he and I, and I knew then and there that I would do whatever it took to explore every aspect of this new theory.

The world around me narrowed to a pinpoint as I was unexpectedly besieged with memories of past conversations.

Danica's grave comment. You were meant to find that ring, Christine.

My own cry of frustration. Why us? I'm nobody to you.

The look of undisguised hope in Erik's eyes. You would do that for me?

And then suddenly I knew.

"I know why I was the one who found your ring," I whispered to myself. I locked eyes with Erik. "I know what my purpose is in all this. I'm supposed to help you find her."