For Wrex. My writing partner. My office sure is empty without you next to me. I miss you buddy...

Chapter 20

Rain mixed with wet, heavy snow peppered my windshield, smearing the brake lights of Jake's black BMW in front of me. One minute they appeared distorted and blurry and then a couple of seconds later the windshield wipers would swipe away the soggy snowflakes and everything would become clear again.

What little light had managed to filter through the thick gray clouds was quickly fading as the sun sank below the horizon, coloring the sky in dusky shades of blue and black. The autumn season was dwindling rapidly and winter would soon be here, bringing with it cold, sunless days and prematurely dark evenings. I hated it when it got dark before I even got off work.

The light turned green, and Jake accelerated through the intersection, making sure not to go so fast that I couldn't keep up with him. He'd suggested we go to a small Italian restaurant about fifteen minutes away from work. It was my suggestion that we take separate vehicles and meet there. I wasn't quite ready for the commitment that came along with riding over there together. This way, it felt like it more like I was meeting a friend for a quick bite to eat after work, rather than an actual date. I wasn't sure Jake was making the same distinction, but it made me feel better all the same.

A few minutes later we pulled into the parking lot of Luke's Italian Restaurant. The macadam was crumbling in places and the weathered brick building had seen its best days decades ago, but the service was good and the food was better than any of the more popular chain restaurants in the area. It used to be one of my family's favorite places to go back when I was a kid. I couldn't remember the last time I'd set foot inside, but it had to have been at least a couple of years ago.

I heard a car door slam and looked up to see Jake clutching his coat closed as he hurried toward me. I opened my door and got out as he approached.

"Ready?" he asked, rubbing his hands together to keep them warm.

"Yes." I grabbed my purse, locked my Jeep, and followed him toward the entrance.

The inside was exactly how I remembered it. Very little had changed over the years. In a time when everyone was pushing for a more modern, minimalistic style, the old tables and aging black vinyl-covered chairs, '70s faux wood paneled walls, and kitschy fake plants were a familiar and welcome sight for sore eyes. All the tables were covered in the traditional red and white checkered tablecloths, complete with a single candle shoved into old, empty chianti bottles.

"Two?" the host asked, holding up two thick menus.

"Yes," Jake replied. "And if possible, could you please seat us somewhere quiet and out of the way?"

"Of course, sir. Follow me." He led us through the main dining room toward the back of the restaurant, where a row of private tables lined the wall, each situated in its own little wooden alcove. "Will this work?"

"Yes, perfectly."

"Very good, sir." He placed the menus on the table and turned to face us. "Your server should be with you shortly."

"Thank you."

The host nodded and ambled away, leaving me very much alone with my boss. Jake ducked into the alcove and pulled out a chair for me. I slipped off my purse and coat and hung them on the peg located inside the alcove and then sat down.

"I love this place," Jake commented as he slid into the seat across from me and opened his menu.

"Me too."

"What's your favorite dish here?"

"Ohh…." I closed my eyes. "There are so many to choose from! But I think I'd have to say…the lasagna."

Jake laughed, his blue eyes twinkling. "Mine too."

A shadow fell over us and we glanced up to see a portly older gentleman in a white shirt and black apron. His once jet-black hair was graying at the temples and the gray was starting to overtake the black in his mustache and goatee.

"Good evening," he greeted as he set a basket of breadsticks between us and then clasped his hands together congenially. "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes to look over the menu?"

Jake's eyes cut to mine. "I think we'll both have the lasagna," he said. "And a bottle of chianti."

"Excellent choice, sir. Anything else?"

"That'll do it. Thank you."

The waiter bowed in acknowledgement, collected our menus, and left.

Underneath the table, I ran my hands anxiously along the outside of my thighs. Everything had been going okay right up until he'd ordered the wine. Sure, chianti would pair exquisitely with the pasta, but between that and the secluded location of the table it was hard not to feel like he was treating this little outing of ours like more of a date than I was. I was starting to think that my desire to learn more about Erik gotten me in over my head.

I plucked a breadstick out of the basket and tore a piece off the end. "So…," I drawled conversationally, "tell me your thoughts about Erik. Do you think Gaston Leroux intended to portray him as a ruthless villain or misunderstood victim?"

"A bit of both, actually. I like to think of Erik as more of an antihero. Sure, he's dangerous and manipulative but he also has redeeming qualities that I believe keep him squarely out of the purely evil category."

I decided right then and there that I was going to take a good cop-bad cop approach to this conversation, and I was going to play the bad cop.

"Hm…I don't know. The only redeeming quality I think he had was finally letting Christine go with Raoul at the end—and that was after trying to kill him and the Persian. Is one act of selflessness amongst a litany of other, more heinous offenses really enough to redeem someone?"

Inwardly, I grimaced at the harsh stance I was taking against Erik, although outwardly I showed no sign of remorse. I could only pray that this wasn't one of those rare occasions when Erik had chosen to follow me out of the house, because it would break my heart if I knew he'd overheard me bashing him in this fashion. But Jake didn't know that I actually knew the Opera Ghost on a deeper, more personal level. To him, Erik was just a fictional character in a century-old novel. And for me to hear Jake's honest and unbiased take on the subject, I needed to approach the conversation as someone who didn't quite understand what all the fuss was about.

The truth of the matter was that I really didn't understand. Why was I so drawn to a man—a ghost, I corrected for what seemed like the thousandth time—with such a shady past? How could I let myself even entertain the notion of kindling feelings for someone who had willingly admitted he'd killed people?

"I think it is," Jake replied, his soft-spoken words pulling me out of my thoughts. "In the end he chose to put Christine's wants, needs, and happiness above his own. For Erik, that decision was huge. He wasn't by nature a selfless and giving man. Because of his deformity, he had learned from an extremely early age that he couldn't rely on anybody else. In order to survive, he had to put himself first and he became a very self-centered, manipulative man as a result."

At that moment the waiter returned with the bottle of chianti. Without missing a beat, he scooped up our empty wine glasses and proceeded to fill them both all the way up.

"Your dinner should be out shortly," he said, setting our glasses down in front of us. A few second later, he left.

"Yeah, but there's a big difference between being self-reliant and becoming a murderous psychopath," I quipped as I grabbed my glass and gulped down a fair amount. The wine was unexpectedly strong and caught me off guard, causing me to cough as it hit the back of my throat.

"Erik wasn't a psychopath," Jake said.

"What?" I choked, still trying to clear my throat. "C'mon! How is he not a psychopath? He murdered people! Without remorse!"

"No. Well, yes, he killed people. But how many of those people were killed in cold blood versus self-defense? Think about it. How many times in the narrative of the book was he simply reacting to an attack to stay alive?"

I killed to survive.

"We know Erik was constantly a target," he went on. "His face, the mask, and later his menacing countenance all put people on edge. People were terrified of him. And you and I both know that people are wicked creatures. We lash out at anything we fear or don't fully comprehend."

I leaned back. Everything he was saying pretty much matched up to what Erik had revealed to me last night. Except, there was one little problem….

"What about Persia?" I callously countered. "He willingly took on the role of an assassin for the Shah. That wasn't killing in self-defense. And from what I read, it seemed like he enjoyed it."

I could understand and even sympathize with all the rest, but his time in Persia was the hardest part for me to swallow. Erik had been ruthlessly efficient, and the death count he'd racked up during that short amount of time was staggering.

"Hm, Persia…," Jake hummed. He took a sip of chianti. "I touched on that in my paper. I think Erik viewed his role of an assassin as more of a job than something he did merely for pleasure."

That book would have you believe that I did not possess one ounce of decency or humanity. That I killed without a thought merely because…because I found pleasure in it.

"Persia marked a dangerous time in Erik's life, not only for him personally, but politically as well. It would have been in Erik's best interest to ingratiate himself with the Shah-in-Shah, and becoming a deadly political assassin not only kept him alive and in the Shah's favor, but it also gave him the power and control that he had desperately been searching for his entire life. With that power comes respect and deference, and finally having all those things at his fingertips after so long was more addicting than any drug out there."

"You're saying it was more of a 'kill or be killed' situation?"

"Sort of, yes. I believe he allowed himself to became a tool that the Shah could utilize as he saw fit. And with Erik's general lack of compassion for humanity it made it easier for him to compartmentalize and get the job done."

"Hmm."

"Let me ask you this. Where—" Jake paused midsentence when the waiter reappeared with our plates of lasagna and a basket of delicious smelling garlic bread.

"Cheese?" he asked me, holding up a block of parmesan cheese and a grater.

"Yes, please," I said.

The waiter proceeded to sprinkle cheese over my lasagna and then turned to Jake.

"No, thank you," Jake told him, waving his hand over his plate.

"Will you be needing anything else, then?"

"I'm good. Christine?"

"No, thanks."

"Very good. Enjoy your meal."

"Thank you," we both replied in unison, then laughed at our identical responses.

"Anyway," Jake continued, cutting into his lasagna as he spoke. "Where in the book did it ever mention Erik attacking or killing someone without being provoked in some way?"

I mulled that thought over until I finished chewing and then pointed my empty fork at him and commented, "What about the torture chamber? He was willing to kill Raoul and the Persian—in cold blood—out of jealousy and a possessive need to keep Christine Daaé all to himself."

Jake shook his head. "Uh-uh. The torture chamber was an accident. Remember? Raoul and the Persian stumbled upon it during their search for an entrance into Erik's lair, and it was wired to immediately start up as soon as someone entered."

I shook my head. "Then why didn't he shut it off as soon as he knew they were in there? And what about the scorpion and the grasshopper? He was willing to blow up the enitre opera house and everyone in it if Christine didn't agree to marry him."

"I know it sounds like I'm defending him," he chuckled.

No, please defend him, I thought. Prove to me that I'm not developing feelings for a homicidal maniac.

"But I just don't see Erik killing innocent people. Was he unhinged? Yes. Did he allow the threat of losing Christine to push him over the edge? Yes, there's no denying that. But in the end, he came to his senses. That's what really mattered. Christine's willingness to sacrifice her own happiness in order to save everyone's life humbled him. Her decision showed him what true love was really like, and I think it saved him."

I sat up a little straighter. This was the part I desperately wanted to know. The part I'd been too afraid to ask Erik about. This was where the book deviated from the truth the most.

"The book leads us to believe that Christine had this sudden realization that she loved him," I said slowly, "but I'm not so sure she did. I think she agreed out of fear and desperation. She didn't want the man she truly loved to die."

"Exactly!" Jake excitedly exclaimed. "When I said her decision showed him what true love was really like, I wasn't talking about Christine's love for the Phantom. I was talking about her love for Raoul. A love so powerful that she was willing to condemn herself to marrying a monster if it meant Raoul would go free."

I winced at his use of the word 'monster.'

He made me a monster.

"Erik was a smart man. Surely he realized what she was doing."

"That's the best part; he did," he explained, his blue eyes twinkling passionately. "You see, I don't think Erik suffered from a true mental illness like anti-personality disorder or bipolar disorder. I think he had extreme PTSD that stemmed all the way back to his childhood. His mother abhorred him. She couldn't stand the sight of him—so much so that she made him a mask to wear so she didn't have to look at him. As a result, he wasn't nurtured at that crucial age where children need security and learn love and empathy. Instead, like I said earlier, he learned that he couldn't depend on anyone but himself. Simply put, he didn't know how to love because no one ever taught him how. Add to that the physical and mental abuse, the constant threat of attack, people's over-dramatic reactions to his face, and literally being displayed as a freak in a Gypsy carnival, and you have a perfect storm for mental issues later on down the road.

"So, when Erik saw what Christine was willing to give up, he finally, finally understood the true meaning of love. Love isn't just about physical affection and sex. It's about being selfless and wanting the best for the person you're in love with. Wanting them to be happy, even if it's not with you. In that moment, Erik realized that the bond he had with Christine would never compare to what she had with the Vicomte, and he loved her enough to let her go after what she really wanted and needed to be happy."

Leaning back, I smiled and let out a sigh. I was beyond relieved to find out that Jake's opinion of Erik was similar to mine. I knew it was silly but knowing that someone else didn't think the Opera Ghost was a bad guy lifted a weight that I didn't even know had been hanging on my shoulders.

"Oh dear…."

"What?" I asked, alarmed at the sudden change of pitch in Jake's voice. "What's wrong?"

"Well, here we are at the end of our dinner, and I feel like I have monopolized the entire conversation."

I relaxed.

"That's okay. I wanted to talk about Erik, remember?"

He smiled warmly. The kind of smile that made you weak in the knees. "Of course."

"So…you don't think I'm crazy for empathizing with the Phantom?"

"Hardly. In fact, it's a sign of good writing when the author has you rooting for the story's antagonist by the end of it."

"Hmm," I chuckled. "I guess so. Thanks for explaining it the way you did."

"Any time."

An awkward silence descended upon us now that we had left the safety of the previous conversation behind us.

Tracing my thumbnail around the rim of my wine glass anxious, I cleared my throat and asked, "How's your eye?"

"It's still a bit tender but trust me; it looks worse than it feels."

"I'm so sorry."

"Don't be. It was a small price to pay to spend some time with you."

My cheeks flushed crimson. I could blame it on the wine, but I'd be lying.

"I hope I'm not being too forward," he said softly. "If I am, please tell me and I'll back off."

I gazed across the table at him. His blue eyes were sincere and full of adoration. Would it really be so bad to have someone that cares about me? Who thinks I'm fun and wants to be around me?

C'mon! my inner little voice all but screamed. Stop being such a chickenshit and go for it! You know you like him!

"No, you're okay," I replied.

The smile he flashed me reached from ear to ear. "Okay."

Wiping his mouth with his napkin, he neatly folded it and set it next to his empty plate. As if he had been waiting in the wings for the sign that we were finished with our meal, our waiter swooped in and began to gather our plates and utensils.

"May I interest either of you in desert?" he asked. "We have a lovely tiramisu on the menu that, in my opinion, is absolutely to die for."

Jake swung his eyes to me. I shook my head. I couldn't eat another bite.

"No, thank you," he replied.

"Very good, sir," the waiter said with a slight tilt of his head. "I will return momentarily with your check."

We sat in companionable silence while we waited for our server to come back.

True to his word, our server reappeared seconds later and slid a small, black plastic tray with our check toward Jake. "Thank you for coming in. I hope you both have a wonderful night. Try to stay warm out there."

We both thanked him and assured him we'd try our best. Jake pulled out his wallet and placed enough cash to cover our meal plus a sizeable tip on the tray and then stood up to help me into my coat.

Outside, it had stopped trying to snow, but the low cloud cover remained, making the air brittle and frigid. The wet pavement glistened underneath the halogen street lights, the reflection casting an orange glow over the parking lot and neighboring businesses.

"Careful," Jake murmured as he walked me to my Jeep. I felt his hand graze the small of my back. "It's slick out here."

I nodded in acknowledgment and dug my keys out of my purse.

This was the part that always made me nervous. Would he try to kiss me? Did I want him to? Would I be upset and disappointed if he didn't?

There wasn't an easy answer to that question. I liked him, there was no doubt about it. But the little voice I'd heard in the back of my head earlier was already starting to backpedal, reminding me that I shouldn't be getting involved with my boss. At least I tried to convince myself that that was my only hesitation, and that it had absolutely nothing to do with the nearly two-hundred-year-old ghost haunting my house right now….

That notion was as ludicrous as it was impossible. Not only was Erik a ghost; he was also completely head-over-heels in love someone else. It was positively absurd to even entertain the idea of ever having any sort of relationship with him, beyond the friendship that we had now. Utterly ridiculous. Impossible, really.

Jake, on the other hand, was very much alive and standing right in front of me, patiently waiting for me to make up my mind.

We had come to a stop alongside my car and he waited while I unlocked the door and tossed my purse onto the passenger seat. Shyly, I turned back to face him.

"Thank you for dinner tonight," I said.

He smiled another one of those smiles and my heart did a flip-flop.

"You're welcome. Did our conversation help ease your mind? You looked pretty conflicted at the office earlier."

I wasn't sure if he was referring to our conversation about Erik, or the one that immediately followed it. Either way, my answer was the same.

"Yes, it did. Very much."

"Good."

We stared at each other, the space between us filled with awkwardness and expectation. He leaned in, his eyes silently asking permission to proceed. I glanced at his mouth and then tilted my chin up ever-so-slightly.

His fingers brushed along my cheek and circled around my ear as he bent down and captured my lips with his. His kiss was warm and gentle and over with way too quickly. But it had been enough to set my blood on fire.

How long had it been since I'd been kissed like that?

Too long.

"Goodnight, Christine," he whispered. "Please be careful driving home."

"I will." I leaned against the side of the seat for support. My head was still spinning.

Jake smiled again and backed away. "I'll see you tomorrow."

The cold air instantly settled between us, eager to remind us that we were both standing outside in what was probably the coldest night of the season so far. The distance was just what I needed to snap myself back to reality.

He waited while I climbed into my Jeep and started the engine, then he waved and hurried over to his own car. I was still shaking when I turned out of the parking lot, but whether it was from the weather or his kiss, I didn't know.