Chapter 13

Nearly a century and a half of repressed emotion came rushing to the surface, viciously severing the ironclad hold I had on my self-control. It had been so easy to give in to hate when anger and the pain of rejection were the only emotions spurring me on.

But this?

Just the thought of my sweet, innocent Christine imprisoned in the same sort of hell in which I now existed was enough to cleave what remained of my soul in two.

All that time I had wasted being angry and feeling sorry for myself….

I couldn't prevent the cry that escaped me. Laden with despair and tinged with rage, it reverberated around the small dining room, tearing my heart asunder all over again as it was echoed back to me.

Fate had never been on my side, but this was too much. Neither one of us deserved to be the victims of such a cruel game. I did not even want to consider that Christine and I may have missed each other by a mere smattering of days.

The dark wooden paneling on the wall in front of me grew hazy as the room began to spin. Suddenly lightheaded, I lurched to the side, stumbling as I tried to keep my balance, before the world around me closed in and everything went black. The last thing I remembered before surrendering to the darkness was a peculiar stabbing sensation around my ribcage.

XXX

Even if I lived to be a hundred, I doubted I would ever encounter an experience that was as frightening as what I witnessed that night. Erik's tormented cry filled the air around us as he doubled over in agony. Then, as I stared helplessly, his entire body…flickered. One moment he was transparent enough that I could see the computer desk behind him, and the next his form was completely solid. It happened several times in rapid succession, and each time it did he grew more and more disoriented. When it finally stopped, he wobbled back and forth for a few seconds, as though he were fighting off a dizzy spell, before he fell forward and toppled into one of the sawhorses, his chest clipping one of its sharp corners. The sawhorse folded up and clattered to the ground with a loud thwack, taking Erik along with it.

Startled, I rushed forward to help him only to be freeze about halfway there. Suddenly transparent once again, his form vanished just as he struck the ground.

"Erik!" I shouted. Running over to the spot where he had been, I dropped to my knees and pawed the hardwood floor with frantic fingers as though it held some clue of where he went. "Erik!"

What the hell just happened!

He hadn't meant to disappear. Of that, I was certain.

Where did he go? Was he okay? Had we finally solved the mystery of his captivity and now that he knew he was able to successfully pass on to the other side? Was he suddenly transferred to where Christine waited for him?

I didn't know the answers to any those questions. But one thought doggedly shoved its way to the surface, relentless in its demand to be heard, and as I knelt on the floor where he had stood only moments earlier, I wondered if I would ever see him again.

XXX

Days passed, and then weeks, taking the rest of August and the last vestiges of summer along with it. September marked its entrance with unseasonably cold temperatures, and the drastic change in the weather sapped the dwindling life from the leaves in record time.

Day after day I kept home that Erik would reappear and explain to me what happened, and day after day I was disappointed. I was quickly beginning to doubt that he was ever coming back.

If I wasn't so distraught over the whole thing, I would have laughed at my absurdity. Months ago, I would have been relieved to have finally been rid of my ghost problem. But now I was acutely aware of his absence. The house seemed different, more subdued, and I found myself missing his presence with an alarming intensity.

But the more that time went by, the more I became convinced that I was on my own to finish what we started. I had a purpose now, and I was determined to find out what happened to Christine Daaé whether Erik was here or not. I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that he was stuck out there in the void between dimensions, and that thought alone kept me going.

Unfortunately, trying to find any information on the real Christine Daaé was turning out to be damned near impossible. There was lots of information to be had on internet about the fictional Christine—the one in the book and in the musical—but that wasn't going to do me any good. I needed actual facts. Real names, dates, places…. Not even any of the DNA ancestry websites had any information on the once famous opera singer. I had even—in a moment of extremely poor judgement—consulted the Ouija board again to see if I could make contact with both Erik and Christine, but the planchette had been stubbornly still and all it did was make me feel like an idiot by the end of it.

Closing the lid to my laptop after yet another internet search, I leaned back on the couch cushions with a sigh and ran my hands through my hair.

"I wish you were here," I murmured. I'd taken to talking to him, even though I knew he probably couldn't hear me. It made the house feel less empty somehow, and I didn't feel so alone. "At least then you could give me some insight as to her history, tell me if I'm even looking in the right places."

XXX

Maddie and Rochelle came over one night a few days later. I'd been bragging about my progress on the kitchen countertops and had managed to bribe them with the promise of mediocre wine and good conversation if they stopped by so I could show them. They both readily agreed.

"This is incredible!" Rochelle gasped as she ran her hands over the beige tiles. "It's going to look so good when you're done with it!"

"I'm almost there," I beamed. "I've just got to finish the backsplash and then figure out how to grout it."

Maddie nodded approvingly. "I like it. But I have to admit, when you said you were going to 'tile' your kitchen countertops, I pictured you doing it with those little porcelain tiles they use in bathrooms."

"God no," I snorted, conjuring up images of the small three-by-three tiles people used in their shower stalls. "That would have been just as bad as the outdated Formica. Plus, can you imagine having to place all those tiles down individually. And make sure they're straight?" I shook my head. "No thank you."

They both laughed.

While Rochelle grabbed the bottle of wine off the kitchen table, I picked my way over to the cupboard and retrieved three wine glasses. Flicking my head toward the front room, I motioned for the girls to follow me.

"How long did it take you to clean up all the glass?" Maddie asked off-handedly as we all sat down. "I bet getting it out of the rug here was a bitch."

"Glass?" Rochelle tilted her head. "What glass?"

"From the window—"

"A power surge blew out all of Chris' light bulbs," Maddie replied at the same time. "Wait. What window?" she demanded.

I'd forgotten that I hadn't told either of them about the window. After what happened with Ben and then Erik disappearing, I really hadn't been in the mood to bring it up.

"I think one of the neighbor kids hit a ball into the window," I said, pointing in the direction of the dining room. "It's all boarded up now."

Rochelle frowned. "Sorry, guys, I'm a little slow. I get why there would be glass all over the floor from the window, but…what happened with the light bulbs? Why would they all blow up at once?"

"It was the night of that really bad thunderstorm," Maddie cut in before I had a chance to say anything. "There was a big power surge and it caused all her lights to turn on and then explode. She showed up at my house a complete wreck, thinking that it was the ghost who did it."

"Now that I think about it, you have mentioned your ghost in a while." Rochelle cocked her head thoughtfully. "Whatever happened with that?"

"Nothing," I said softly. "The ghost is gone."

"Well, good riddance, then," she said cheerily. "One less thing you need to worry about, anyway. Although I have to admit, the séance was kinda fun. Even though it didn't work."

I looked down at my untouched glass of wine, listening quietly as my tale of ghosts and spirits were forgotten in favor of lighter topics. Maddie's store had just gotten their new fall line in, and the two of them were happily chatting about the trends for the upcoming season.

"You okay, Chris?" Rochelle asked after the conversation had shifted from sweaters to boots to handbags and I had yet to make a comment or otherwise join in.

"Yeah, I'm just a little tired," I lied. "Now that I've sat down, my work in the kitchen earlier today has finally caught up to me."

"You do look a little worn out," Maddie agreed. Nodding to Rochelle, she said, "We'll let you get some rest."

The three of us stood up, and after we hugged and said our goodbyes, I walked them out, lingering in the doorway until both their cars were out of sight. Then, wrapping my arms around myself, I walked back into the living room. The house seemed emptier than ever now that they were gone.

Damn it! What the hell was wrong with me? Why did I care that Erik was gone? I should be happy, for fuck's sake! No more ghost! No more worrying! No more trying to figure out how to get him to go away!

I stifled a watery sigh that had come dangerously close to sounding like something else.

Erik wasn't coming back.

I had to accept that.

XXX

A weak cold front moved in just in time for the weekend, bringing a mild rainstorm along with it. I had all the doors and windows open in the kitchen so I could hear the sounds of the raindrops as they fell on the concrete outside while I worked. Every so often, a loud crack of thunder rumbled through the house. There was a pumpkin spice scented candle burning on the stove and a full carafe of coffee waiting for me in the pot on the kitchen table. Fall was here, and I was determined to enjoy it.

Using the jagged edge of the tile trowel, I carefully scored the mortar and set the final piece of tile in place against the backsplash. Dusting my hands off on my jeans, I stepped back to admire my handiwork and smiled in satisfaction. This project had taken me a lot longer than I had anticipated, but I was incredibly pleased with how it turned out. The large beige tiles really warmed up the kitchen, especially with the strip of small alternating burgundy, beige, and sage green accent tiles that ran through the middle of the backsplash. Although the color complemented the honey oak cabinets well enough, I imagined that a darker stain would really pull all the colors together. Maybe that could be my next project. Well that, and updating the flooring. The rest of the house had hardwood floors, but whoever had the place before me had ripped them out in the kitchen in favor of tile. It didn't look bad, but tile floors along with tile countertops was just too much tile, in my opinion. Unfortunately, I knew nothing about installing flooring, so that was most likely a job I would have to hire out for. And who knew when I'd have the money to do that.

The musical tinkling of the wind chimes outside my kitchen window suddenly turned into an ugly clatter as the wind picked up from the north, causing them to violently slam against each other. The rain, which had started as a gentle drizzle, suddenly gave way to a fierce downpour, the drops smacking against the ground so fast and so hard that the patio and path out to the tool shed were quickly submerged in water.

"Shit!"

Water was already starting to creep over the threshold and into the kitchen by the time I ran over to the back door and slammed it shut. Pulling the hand towel off the handle of the stove, I dropped it on the floor and pushed it around with my foot to mop up the growing puddle.

As I bent over to pick it up and toss it into the sink, I caught a shadow out of the corner of my eye. But my brain, still focused on stemming the flow of water, didn't register its significance until I turned around and came face-to-face with the ghostly silhouette standing behind me.

"Jesus Christ!" I shrieked, throwing my arms up in front of me in a knee-jerk reaction to ward off any perceived threat. The hand towel went flying into the air and landed on the countertop behind me with a wet splat.

Erik was standing quietly between the fridge and the kitchen table. Cloaked in his familiar dark cape, he looked as imposing as ever with his shoulders straight, hands clenched tightly at his sides, and chin jutted out at a slightly upward angle. The sudden appearance of a strange masked man may have been enough to send most homeowners running out the door screaming, but his rigid countenance only filled me with joy.

"Erik!" I exclaimed. "You came back!"

Then, without any further warning, I proceeded to rapid-fire questions at him, barely even giving him time to respond to one before peppering him with another. "Are you okay? Why did you disappear like that? Where did you go? Did you try to find Christine?" With each question I asked, his expression grew more and more somber.

Without answering me, he strode over to the countertop, ghosting his fingers along the newly finished backsplash in quiet astonishment. "How long have I been gone?"

His softly spoken inquiry stopped me dead in my tracks.

"You mean, you don't know?" I blinked at him in surprise. "You've been gone over a month."

XXX

I whipped my head around and stared at her in utter, stupefied shock.

"A month?"

"Yes," she replied slowly. Her eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "I'm guessing you didn't mean to stay away so long?"

I looked back down at the countertop in disgust. "I did not intend to go away at all."

It had been quite an adjustment getting used to existing as a spirit and no longer as a corporeal being, one that I still struggled with from time to time. Inwardly, I still felt every bit a living, breathing man, and while it was true that I couldn't smell or touch anything tangible, my mind remained fully and painfully aware. However, I was not always in control of my…manifestations, for lack of a better term. It wasn't unusual for me to vanish only to reappear again and find that a significant amount of time passed in the meantime. I had no recollection of anything that occurred during the time I was gone, and when I finally did appear, it always felt like waking up from a deep, dreamless sleep.

Such was the case with this latest episode. It had not been my choice to disappear that night, and the discovery that a month had slipped through my fingers without my knowing it left me feeling unsettled and out of sorts.

There was movement behind me and when I glanced back, I noticed that Christine had moved closer to me.

"What happened to you?" she quietly asked. "One moment you looked like you do now and the next your body was solid, almost like you were real person again. And then, when you knocked over the sawhorse and disappeared immediately afterward…I…it was scary to watch. Are you all right?"

Images of that night came swirling back, tickling the edge of my consciousness like a long, forgotten dream.

I brought my hand up to my chest, tenderly rubbing the spot where I remembered making contact with something moments before I blacked out.

Christine was watching me with hawk-like intensity, her eyes riveted upon the hand on my chest.

"You said I fell onto the sawhorse?"

"Yes."

"I felt that," I revealed, focusing on the floor between us. "Do you know how long it's been since I felt anything?"

She shook her head.

"Ages. The memories are there, but they have faded over time." I paused long enough to bring my gaze back to hers. "I can't explain what's happening to me."

I regretted my comment as soon as the words were out of my mouth. Why was I telling her this? I never divulged how I was feeling. To anyone. Not even to those closest to me.

My answer was written plainly across her face. She understood. And for some inexplicable reason I had yet to discover, she seemed to accept what I had to say without judgment. That acceptance was a feeling I was wholly unused to, and one that I was also dangerously beginning to crave more and more.

Her expression grew serious as her teeth gently worked her bottom lip. I could see the gears steadily turning behind her those hazel eyes of hers and when they lit up seconds later, I knew she had made some sort of connection.

"Erik, have you noticed that any time you're able to interact with the physical world, it usually happens right after you've become uncomfortable or upset about something?"

Now it was my turn to slowly shake my head.

"Think about it. The candle, the light bulbs, the window, the fact that you disappeared even though you hadn't meant to…Every single time it starts out with me forcing you to think about your past or talk about Christine."

A window shattered in my memory.

Did you mean to do that?

No.

"The real question is, what does it mean?" she prattled on. "I mean, other than the fact that you've obviously repressed some serious feelings."

I managed to look affronted.

"What? Tell me I'm wrong."

Her words held the hint of a challenge, but her tone was teasing. I smirked and when I spread my hands out in front of me in a gesture of defeat I was rewarded with a quip of delighted laughter.

"But really," she said, growing thoughtful and serious once more. Although the playfulness in her eyes was gone, the warmth was still there. "I think you're afraid to open up and think about her and allow yourself to feel those things because you're hurt, and you feel guilty about what happened. It's easier to shut yourself off then to risk subjecting yourself to those emotions again."

I listened quietly as she skillfully unearthed everything I had managed to keep hidden and brought it to the surface, dusting off her buried treasure to expose it to the gleaming light of day.

"The thing is, Erik, if you're having a physical reaction to some of these feelings…what do you think would happen if you gave yourself permission to…well, feel them? To accept them for what they are?"

"Accept them," I stated flatly. "You mean, forgive myself."

"Yeah. The first part of any healing begins with forgiveness. And maybe, just maybe, it's part of what's holding you back." She shrugged. "Hell, for all we know, Christine could be on the other side of the void, waiting for you to come to terms with what happened and forgive her for leaving you and forgive yourself for everything you did up until that point. It certainly supports my theory that she's just as trapped as you are."

"I…."

I faltered as rush of heat coursed through me. It felt as though I were standing close enough to a fire to be licked by an errant flame.

"Holy shit! I can't see through you anymore," she cried. Her hand shot out and tried to grab my forearm. "I still can't touch you, but I can't see through you, either! See? Something's happening. Whatever you're feeling right now, embrace it."

I'd spent the last century avoiding thoughts of that night, of the soul-crushing defeat and chest-constricting sorrow I had experienced when Christine walked out that door forever. I didn't want to be forced to consider how my actions were ultimately responsible for driving her away in the first place.

"It's okay." A soft, encouraging voice penetrated through the waves of despair and loneliness that were at that very moment threatening to overwhelm me. Like a drowning man, I latched ahold of the lifeline she tossed me and let her slowly pull me back to the safety of the shore. "Erik. It's okay."

"I don't know how," I whispered tremulously. Giving her a sidelong glance, I said, "I don't think I know how to forgive myself. I don't think I'm worthy of forgiveness."

The corners of her lips rose into a small smile. "That's part of the process. Putting worthiness aside and accepting that whatever happened, happened, and getting to the point where you're okay with it. It's not as simple as just saying 'all right then, I forgive myself.' You're going to have to leave your comfort zone and talk about it. But it's worth it though, isn't it?" she asked pointedly. "For you and Christine?"

For Christine.

I nodded slowly.

The small smile spread into a larger one that lit up her whole face. "Good."

Turning around, she began gathering her tools and placing them in the sink. I was grateful for a moment of privacy it allowed me to collect myself.

She had just started scrubbing when she suddenly stopped, her back stiffening.

"Well, damn." She twisted back around to me; one eyebrow cocked as she skewered me with a wry look. "I guess I am playing therapist to a dead guy."

And in spite of myself, in spite of everything, I laughed.