FicWad

I refused to see the Opera Ghost for more than two weeks after that. It might have done me some good, too, because Mr. Fitzwilliam had been kind enough to award me two of Sarah Brown's sung lines in the song, "Follow the Fold." Jessica Klein was red with fury as he made this announcement, but Mr. Fitzwilliam had explained away his actions by insisting, "This is a high school musical and everyone deserves a chance to be a part of it." No one had questioned the obvious flaw in this statement: I was the only one favored with two solo lines. Though it was nothing compared to a real part, I was delighted by the special attention and wished there was some way I could thank Mr. Fitz for having been so kind. Instead, I played my usual part as the modest soprano, and merely inclined my head downwards and smiled prettily every time Mr. Fitzwilliam waved his baton to cue me into the song.

Miss Lazerth ignored me as usual, though she seemed to make no argument when she found me singing my two extra lines at the full rehearsal. Perhaps she was too preoccupied with the upcoming teaser, which was to be performed during the school day for all the teachers and all the students not involved in the musical. Only four scenes were presented, all of which were large and involved much of the cast. It was no surprise that Miss Lazerth was nervous; if the teaser was unsatisfactory, no one would be incensed to come and spend seven dollars on the show.

The night before the teaser was to come to pass, Miss Lazerth found herself satisfied with every scene except for one: The initial "Follow the Fold" scene. I could not see what there was to be displeased with: It was a boring, uncomplicated scene where the missionaries basically stood in a row and listened to Sarah Brown preach. Still, she drilled it over and over, dismissing the rest of the cast for the night and tormenting us until nearly eight at night. At last, she called us "hopelessly dull" and sent us on our way. I miserably made my tired way down to the dressing room to collect my books and leave.

I stayed long after the other girls left, unwilling to rush outside to my father's car, though I knew he would be angry at my dawdling. As I stood there, staring at my face in the mirror, I reflected on the past two weeks. They had been boring and listless, just like much of my life had been before the Opera Ghost. As my eyes flickered downwards to my black sneakers and then back up to my broad hips, I suddenly felt very common. Don't be stupid, I scolded myself internally. You had a little excitement with the unknown, and now you're back to real life. There's nothing boring about real life.

Still, I couldn't help but find myself hoping for the same electric buzzing noise; I couldn't help but wish I might have some sort of nocturnal visitor with a silky, cold voice and the same cold hands. Still, nothing came. I was going to turn away from the mirror, but something made me pause.

There he stood, masked and cloaked in the light. No mysterious candle, no flicker of the lights overhead-- Just him, with his sloppy red lips and jet black hair slicked neatly against his pale forehead. I did not know what to say. The last time I had left him, I had hated him with all my heart. Now, I only felt sorrow and remorse for the cold way in which I'd left him. I wanted him to take me in his bony arms and whisper into my ear that he still believed in my talent, that he still believed I could be more than just his "ingenue." I wanted him to believe that I really did feel things.

"Have you not missed your teacher?" he asked quietly.

I could hardly breathe. It was as if a cold hand had grasped me by the throat, making me unable to speak or even exhale. I wanted to badly to tell him how much I missed him, how much I needed him. I did not even know how much I needed him until he stood there before me, his customary black cape swaying like smoke around his ankles.

"Haven't you missed your pupil?" I retorted. I secretly hated myself for saying it, but I was afraid that if I tried anything but a hard attitude, I would break in two and throw myself helpless at his feet.

"I was hard on you, I realize." He did not look at me when he said this. "I forgot how upset young girls can become at even the slightest of criticism."

This did not sound like an apology to me. It sounded like the same cold sarcasm with which he had treated me with for most of our acquaintance. I did not want his sarcasm. I wanted him to tutor me with firm but gentle words-- I wanted him to admire me--Heck, why deny it? I wanted him to love me!

"I can feel," I said weakly, my voice cracking. "I feel more than you know. I feel-- And you wouldn't know-- You've never even-- You don't know!" I burst out suddenly. "You don't know how much I feel!" I turned from him, my eyes unexpectantly hot with tears. "Maybe I don't sing with love because I have never even been in love... And I certainly don't live in a perpetual state of happiness... I don't even feel sadness... I feel lost." I was feeling especially dramatic that day, so I added in a quiet voice, "I feel... death."

"You are too young to be saying things like that!" he replied, sounding stunned. "You are not even seventeen yet. How can someone so young have forgotten how to love, how to hope, how to live?"

"As if you're one to talk!" I snapped. I still could not face him. I did not want him to see my tears. I had never wanted anyone to see my tears.

"I have felt despair, this is true!" he said. "I have felt the same sadness you have-- I have felt, as you say, death! Sometimes, I feel it right behind every corner, I feel it knocking at my door, I feel it clutching my heart in its slimy fist! But I have not forgotten how to love... We are too human to ever forget how to love... Come to me, Elizabeth."

I stepped through the mirror as if it were the most natural thing in the world. His hands were on my shoulders, and then my face was on his chest, and then his lips were on my forehead... My tears wet his crisp white shirt and he took pains to wipe my eyes against his collar, even though my black mascara stained the pristine whiteness of the fabric. Oh, how I wanted him at that very moment! I could overlook the fact that I had never beheld his face, or that his body was no more than pallid leathery skin stretched across a skeleton. I could still imagine our bodies moving together as one... I could imagine his icy cold hands finally turning to fire against my chest, tangled in my hair, or intertwined with my own soft pink hands... I would never tell him, or even take the initiative and kiss him, because I was still too virginal and afraid of things that seemed to me so adult and so dirty. I still remembered that sex had lowered my own mother to a common "slut" in my father's terms, not to mention torn our once-loving family apart. No, I could not love him as a woman yet, because I was still a girl!

"Come with me, my ingenue." His voice and manner changed suddenly, but I could still see the black marks from my eyes on his collar. "You have never seen my humble abode, and I wish that we visit it tonight, so that I may show you some of my music. Perhaps we can train there as well, though your eyes look glassy and your skin is hot and feverish. I am afraid all this excitement is making you ill."

"I feel fine," I told him, though honestly, my head was a little cloudy and my face felt very hot.

He took me by the hand and by some passageway connecting to the girl's dressing room, led me to the back entrance of the stage, where a long cement ramp led to the stage while another corridor led to the dressing rooms. I had been back here many times, lining up for choir or band concerts, but it was very dark right now and for some reason, everything seemed strange and foreign. At the base of the ramp, there was a tall gate leading into an impenetrable darkness. It had a large padlock on it and I honestly had never even observed what was behind the gate, because the backstage area was so often littered with ladders, old props, a horrifically out-of-tune piano, and even an old refridgerator from the 1950's that another random item such as a gate would have not really even caught my attention. But there we paused, and Erik produced a key from within his black cloak which he entered into the padlock. The gate only opened slightly, and Erik slipped through easily, but when it was my turn to come through, I found that there was simply too much of me and not enough space.

"I'm too fat," I mumbled embarassedly.

"Don't be ridiculous. I am too skinny." He pressed against the side of the gate gently and it creaked open a few more inches. I barely squeezed past, but somehow, I managed.

Once inside, he led me down a small set of stairs to a wide dirt path. I began to become afraid, since it was so dark and I could hardly see where I was walking. He took me by the hand and paused at the side of one wall to reach upwards with the other hand. I didn't know what he was doing at first, until a faint light came on, giving just enough light for my eyes to work properly. We walked for a short while, and then reached another small ledge which led to a much longer set of stairs. At this point, Erik reached his hand forward and pressed something on the doorway leading to the stairs, and at last, a decent amount of light entered my squinting eyes. Not letting go of my hand, he led me down the endlessly long stairwell, occasionally leading me around what looked like trap doors on random steps.

At the bottom of the staircase was a vast pit of blackness which I could not distinguish as floor or space. However, as Erik led me onto a small pier with a boat tied to one of the posts, I realized that we were coming upon an underground lake. He helped me step into the boat and then, taking a long staff laying inside the boat, he began to gently guide the boat towards its destination. I was horrified and amazed at the events transpiring; part of me was stunned by my willingness to creep underground with a virtual stranger, but another part of me was too fascinated to ever turn back. For a while I did not speak, instead using my eyes to try to distinguish my surroundings. It was rather useless, as there was not enough light to see much of anything.

"How is there a lake here?" I asked curiously.

"When this was exclusively an auditorium, the original plan was to make a hydraulic floor, but the organization ran out of money," he told me.

"I don't even know what a hydraulic floor is," I replied.

"It's a fancy feature of some auditoriums that allow for the stage to be more complex... It can even make the stage change height levels."

"That's insane," I murmured.

I looked up at him and I saw that his big lips were curved into a smile. It made my heart leap with something like happiness. Perhaps it is love, I thought dreamily.

We finally reached our dark destination, at which point he instructed me to remove my shoes and roll up my jeans. I didn't understand why until I stepped out of the boat into what seemed like the coldest water I had ever felt in my life. I cried out at the sudden shock of the cold and at the fact that my feet were sinking into a mud that felt as if it were crawling with life. Erik pulled on my hand, but I was frozen in place-- It was too cold and I hated the feeling of the mud around my ankles.

"Please, please, let me go back in the boat," I cried, trembling all over. "There are things on my feet."

"Nothing in this lake will hurt you," he assured me, pulling on my hand again.

"I can't!" Tears filled my eyes and I swayed uneasily.

For a moment, I thought I would faint. Erik must have noticed this and he did not hesitate to sweep me up into his arms, my feet dripping all over his tailored pants legs. He carried me to the shore and set me back down. I fell to my knees; my head was swimming and again I felt as if I would faint. At length I decided to busy myself with putting my socks and sneakers back on, but the task proved difficult, as my hands were shaking very badly.

"Are you so afraid?" Erik asked me.

"I'm confused," I said simply. It was true. My thoughts were racing too much for me to say much else.

"Come," he commanded. Again he took me by the hand, and I obeyed his movements.

He led me up a small dirt hill that abruptly turned into a room furnished with a foreign-looking rug, a large grand piano, several antique pieces of furniture, and a large library of books. After having been in the dark for a half hour or so, the light inside the room was dazzling. Still sensing my shakiness, he led me to one of the couches and had me sit down. On the mahogany table in front of me, there was a vase of large white flowers, tied together with silk black ribbons. I began to notice that flowers adorned much of the room. Even on the piano laid a large bouquet of white roses, again tied together with a black ribbon. I sighed quietly, suddenly feeling exhausted. Erik stood at the piano, not looking at me. I wished he would speak, but I was too tired to entreat him to do so.

He finally turned around to look at me with his yellow, cat-like eyes. "Will you sing now?"

"I am so tired," I replied. "I'm not sure I can--"

"You can; you simply do not want to," he sneered.

"Whatever." I turned my face into one of the couch cushions.

"Fine. If you wish to be obstinate, then I will sing for you." He cleared his throat and sat at the piano, gracefully sweeping his large spider-like hands across the ivory keys.

It was a song I did not know, but it wouldn't have mattered if I'd known the song or not. From underneath his snow-white mask came a voice lovelier than any I had ever known-- Soft, rich, and relaxed. It was so unlike Sean's overdramatic, overdone tenor-- Erik sounded almost feminine in his singing, but at the same time, his lower register swirled with a velvety richness that made me feel as if I had swallowed something particularly heavy. My eyelids felt weighted suddenly, and my eyes closed, as if the only sense still in working order was my ears... My dear, sweet ears that were allowing me such passion, such agony...

The song was short. After he had finished singing, I opened my eyes to watch his long white fingers outline the final chord. He appeared to me then as more than a man: divinity embodied, or, at the very least, an angel sent to wipe away the petty cares that weighed me down. He had been the only source of true happiness I had known in months. My thoughts racing, I decided without much consideration that I loved him.

"Erik... You sing beautifully," I said, cautiously rising from the couch.

"Thank you," he replied quietly, not taking his eyes off the keys of the piano.

I stood next to him, watching his hands, his eyes, the crown of his head. Why did he not speak? Why did he wear the mask? God, how I wanted to rip it off! I wished so much to see his face. I was sure that the mask was simply some stupid ploy to make me nervous, or at the very least, an eccentric quality similar to men in New Jersey who insist on wearing cowboy hats.

Again my eyes flickered to the flowers on the piano. They were strangely common for an opera ghost-- I had seen my father give the same kind of cheap flowers to my mother on Valentine's Day, though I could not recall from which florist they were. I wondered why he had so many flowers-- Perhaps it was to bring some semblance of life to this dreary dwelling. Still, the flowers confused me. They didn't seem the type of exotic or ethereal plant of a closeted genius, but just the same everyday flowers that cheap men bought on their way home from work.

"Do you like my flowers?" he asked suddenly.

"Oh... Yes," I replied, startled. "I love flowers."

"What is your favorite?" he asked. He was gazing at me suddenly.

"Roses." I turned my face away, his eyes boring into the side of my skull.

"Wait here."

I watched in wonder as he gracefully moved around me through a narrow doorway. When he re-entered, he had a single red rose in his hand. I smiled, amazed and bewildered at the same time. It was the only flower of color in the whole room, and he was bestowing it upon me.

"Is it for me?" I asked, almost flirtatiously.

"But of course," he responded, offering the rose to me. "I have a whole bouquet in the kitchen; I can spare at least one rose. Be careful-- It still has thorns."

I took it gently from his fingers. He was standing very close to me now, and instead of becoming excited as I thought I would, I was suddenly filled with a great fear. I had never noticed it before, but he did not smell like I would have expected a man in dress clothes might smell. In my nostrils swirled a smell that was unpleasant to my memory-- One that I could only identify as the putrid stink given off by the unfortunately deceased animals that were meant for dissection in Biology class. I tried to identify its source, but as Erik moved closer to me, I could only think that... Was it he? It didn't make sense. He was too well-groomed and immaculate to possibly allow himself to smell so... deathlike, was the first word that came to my mind, and I shuddered at the thought.

"Elizabeth," he said simply, his right hand floating in midair. I noticed that it was shaking very badly.

"Yes?" For some reason, I was whispering.

The undirected right hand suddenly found its way onto my neck, making me tremble with something like fear, joy, and cold, for his hands were like ice. He reached his hand onto my long blonde ponytail and pulled at its tie, causing the golden waves to fall free around my shoulders. I gasped, suddenly feeling exposed and beautiful all at once. Erik stood there quietly for a moment, tentatively touching individual tendrils of my bushy mane. My heart was pounding so hard that I was afraid it might burst through my chest.

Just when I thought the tension was too much to bear, he leaned over me and clumsily kissed me on the lips. His lips were cold, just like his hands, and it took all I had not to involuntarily pull away from their chill. He was not very good; his large lips practically engulfed my own, and his tongue shyly entered my mouth, only to retreat again. I did not really like it, but at the same time, I was too fascinated by the events transpiring to allow my mind to wander anywhere from his lips. I pulled away slightly, but as I met his pained eyes, I realized that he thought I was rejecting him. I quickly leaned forward and kissed him very hard on the mouth, harder than I intended, and again our lips and tongues met.

At last he pulled away, his breathing shuddery and uneven. I felt strangely embarassed, as if I'd kissed my best friend's older brother. Without warning, he fell to his knees, and grabbing my hands in his own, began to speak fervently.

"Dearest, sweetest, Elizabeth," he moaned, pressing his face to my hands. "I cannot bear it any longer. Dear Elizabeth, how I love you! How I have loved you these long weeks together! How I have longed to take you into my arms, caress your sweet pink face, and kiss your golden head... Elizabeth, Elizabeth, how I will die with love of that name!"

"Er," I replied weakly. I didn't know what to say. To be honest, he was sort of creeping me out a little. Though I was sure that I "loved" him five minutes ago, I was not so sure after having had a brief whiff of the up-close-and-personal Erik. I knew I should just say "I love you, too," and get it over with, but somehow it seemed wrong to be dishonest after he'd just made such a heartfelt declaration.

"Don't speak now," he cried, rising to his feet. "Don't speak, for I can see that I frighten you-- I'm frightening myself! And you should be frightened, because I love you more than is reasonable!" He held fast onto my hands. "Come, you haven't seen the rest of my house. See, this is where I keep my piano scores-- See how many of them I have? I would burn them all for love of you, dearest, sweetest, darlingest Elizabeth. And some of my own work-- Don Juan Triumphant, it is called." He chuckled to himself. "I will not let you hear it now, because it is too great and too terrible! Let us play some Mozart instead! Would you like to sing some Mozart?"

"I'll do whatever you want," I said tiredly.

"Sing a little song, my bird," he laughed, his golden eyes darting wildly. "What do you know? How about Noi Donne Poverine? Can you sing it?"

"I've heard it," I said, watching him carefully. "I'm not sure how well I know it."

"Well then! Come, sit next to me on the piano and read over my shoulder! How I adore your voice in my head, pounding against my brain like some sort of madness! I call it madness, but I love it, truly!"

I obeyed his wishes, sitting next to him at the piano and singing as well as I could. Noi Donne Poverine was no cakewalk, but I would do my best.

"Noi donne poverine, tapine sfortunate..."

His golden eyes kept watching me, but I tried to ignore them. They glowed like a cat's eyes, and for some reason, they made me very uncomfortable.

"O siamo brutte o belle..."

I fancied for a moment that I saw tears fill his eyes, but in the next moment, they seemed gone...

"Il maledetto amore, deh viehni tormentar..."

Finally the song finished. Erik sighed deeply, and I felt as if my heart were once again softening towards him. This man LOVED me. He loved me! No man had ever told me he loved me before, besides my father, back when he acted like he really did love me. Larry certainly didn't love me, and Sean-- He loved what was between my legs, maybe, but not me. Here was a man telling me he loved me, and I wasn't accepting him warmly? What a fool I was!

"Erik," I said cautiously.

"Yes, love?" he responded sweetly.

"May I see your face now?"

Without warning, his manner changed. He leapt up from the piano, his eyes both dark and spitting flame at once. His feet began to pace the floor in a maddening rhythm, his dress shoes slamming like thunder into the floor.

"I was-- I was only asking--" I faltered.

"You will not see this face!" he turned and screamed at me. "Do you wish to be a prisoner of your own fear? Do you wish to hate me as I have hated myself, after I have given you nothing but love? Foolish, stupid girl!"

"I'm... I'm sorry," I whispered, my heart drumming against my ribcage. I was no stranger to irrationally angry men-- My father was one of them-- but I was shocked by the short amount of time it took Erik to go from suave lover to abusive husband. I didn't think he would hit me, but I didn't really know. After all, what did I know about him, besides the fact that he smelt like preserved animal guts and enjoyed living in a house under the ground? Well, at least it's lakefront property, I thought, my sense of humor calming my whirling head.

He turned away again, clasping his hands behind his back. I wanted to go to him and touch him, reassure him that it was all right... I wanted to pull his cold hands apart and hold them in my own. I was afraid to go near him after his episode, but it occurred to me that many times, while watching a romance movie, I'd cringed at the heroine's inability to overcome her fear in approaching a lover. I decided not to be afraid. I went to him and put my hand on his back and my head on his shoulder.

"I didn't mean to frighten you," he whispered. I realized he was crying. Small trails of tears were making their way from underneath his mask, as if his face held a glacier that was melting. I found myself surprisingly unnerved by his tears. Usually when someone cries, I try to stop them as soon as possible, as if they are a fire to be extinguished. However, his tears seemed natural and comfortable, almost.

"I'm not afraid," I replied.

He turned to me and tilted his forehead towards mine, the mask brushing against my face. I let him wrap his skinny arms around my waist and tried not to breathe in, for if I did, the same putrid smell met my nose. He was at least a head taller than I was, but he was so small up close-- The dressy clothes and the high-collared shirts and the cape made him at least have a semblance of a body, but I could feel each small bone sticking out angularly as he held me.

"You should go," he finally said quietly. "Come, I will take you back."

"I don't know what I will tell my father," I murmured. "It's been almost two hours."

"He will not be here to pick you up tonight," Erik said calmly, grasping my soft pink hand in his cold skeletal one and leading me back towards the direction of the lake.

"What?" I looked up at him, startled.

"Don't worry your pretty head," Erik said soothingly, carefully helping me into the boat. "Here, don't forget your rose."

"Thank you." I ran my fingers over its velvety petals, wondering at their softness.

"I don't even know if you love me, Elizabeth," said the opera ghost as he began to push the boat back across the lake. "I don't wish for you to tell me you do if you don't-- I despise liars. But you should know that you always have a friend in Erik," he added warmly.

"Oh-- I-- Thanks," I stammered, unsure whether I should just profess love so that the situation would be less awkward.

"You will always have a friend in Erik," he repeated, "If you promise me one or two things."

My heart sank. There was always a catch, wasn't there?"

"What is it?" I asked politely.

"First, that you will come visit your poor Erik again," he said somberly. "Second, that you wear this ring on your finger, to show your friendship in me." He dug into a pocket and presented me with a gold band, which, while plain, obviously must have cost more than my babysitting salary could have bought.

For a moment, it was if I couldn't breathe. How could I be so cruel? He was probably lonely, his being a genius and all, as well as his having an unusual penchant for underground palaces. My emotions swelled inside me like a storm-struck river, and I unthinkly took the ring out of his cold hand and slipped it onto my left hand's ring finger.

"Of course I'll visit you," I said, admiring the effect the ring had on my previously naked hand. "Why wouldn't I? We will still see plenty of each other, won't we?"

He smiled shyly from underneath the mask, his golden eyes glowing. "I would hope so."

"Is that all? Those aren't very hard promises to keep." I smiled back, staring up at him admiringly.

"That is all, except for one thing." He cleared his throat. "I don't want you to see Sean Winters ever again."

There was a shocked silence for a moment, until I finally spoke up. "But... why... why not? I can't not see him; we go to school together."

"He is dangerous," replied Erik, in an angrier voice than I had expected. "He wants something from you that I cannot allow him to have."

"What does he want?" I exclaimed, surprised and almost pleased by this revelation of Sean's wanting something of mine. I didn't realize that I had anything so valuable to give.

Erik sighed unhappily, his eyes fixed forward. "You are almost heartbreakingly innocent sometimes, Elizabeth."

"I'm not innocent," I grumbled. "I've kissed two-- Wait, no, three, now!-- boys, and I'm only 16."

"Be friendly to him, but distant," suggested Erik in an authoritative tone. "Don't see him alone. You must never see him outside of school. If you do, you will lose my friendship forever." He paused. "You have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Yeah, but I don't really--"

"Keep him near you for now," Erik interrupted abruptly. "He protects you from Sean when I cannot. Until I can love you as a living man, I must allow him to love you for me."

"Larry doesn't 'love me', anyway," I laughed.

Erik shrugged nonchalantly. "Well, whatever he does, he does it well enough."

At length we came to the other side of the shore. Erik led me back up the long corridor of stairs, through the gate, and through the passageway that led back into the girl's dressing room. There, he paused only long enough to lean forward and kiss me once on the forehead.

"Until we meet again, my ingenue," he said, his eyes sparkling. "The days pass like centuries whenever I don't see you."

"'Bye, Erik." I leaned upwards, sort of hoping he'd kiss me again, but he didn't. He only smiled mysteriously and disappeared back through the mirror, into that black abyss that he called home.

I opened the door of the dressing room, only to hear a disgusting THUNK as I did so. To my right on the floor and clutching his head was none other than Sean Winters.

"Oh, God! I'm sorry! I didn't know you were there!" I exclaimed, dropping to my knees to examine his injury. "What are you doing here?"

"I've been waiting for you. What the hell have you been doing in there all this time?" he snapped, waving away my concerned hands.

"Um... Nothing. My dad's going to be late tonight, so I just... studied."

"You lie worse than you act," snarled Sean, still rubbing his head. His eyes were on the rose in my hand. "You were in there with a guy. I heard him. Who is he?"

"What are you talking about?" I cried, scrambling to my feet and stepping backwards. "I wasn't in there with anyone!"

He grabbed my arm, surprisingly roughly for someone who was usually so smooth with the ladies. "Don't lie to me, damnit! I heard both of you talking. Who is he?" He suddenly burst into cruel laughter. "Who says things like 'my ingenue?' Who does this 'Erik' think he is, anyway? Is he out of a Victorian novel? Maybe that's why you like him."

"How dare you!" I spat, whipping my arm out of his grasp. "You don't know anything! Don't touch me! Don't you dare touch me!"

"Who is he?" Sean insisted, reaching for me again. "Who is he?"

"Forget the name of the man's voice!" I yelled, putting my arms in front of me as a protective barrier. "You don't understand! You can't ever understand!"

"Calm down, Lizzy, calm down. Easy now," Sean said sweetly, as if I were an overexcited horse.

I was in luck that night. Actually, no, I wasn't in luck-- I just happened to be friends with an opera ghost who apparently knew the way the lighting in school worked better than any janitor in the county. The lights flickered ominously, giving me enough time to take advantage of Sean's confusion to make my escape.

"What the--?" Sean exclaimed.

I bolted for the door, the lights flickering all around me as I did so. I didn't stop running until I reached the upper parking lot, where a yellow taxi cab was waiting. I didn't even know that suburbia had taxis. I'd always thought them something limited to cities like New York. There was no surprising me anymore, though, with all I'd seen tonight. There was a man in a beret standing outside of the cab.

"Elizabeth Mayers?" he asked in a New York accent. So, the cab had been sent over from New York City after all. Whoever had paid for this probably had money, since a trip from New York into suburban New Jersey was always unreasonably expensive.

"That's me," I replied breathlessly.

"I'm here to take ya home," he said. "Hop in, kiddo."

"Thank you." I stepped into the cab, willing my brain to stop asking questions.

The next morning, my father came into my room and apologized for not picking me up the night before.

"I hope you weren't worried," he said, his brow furrowed with concern. "I was feeling a little nauseous at seven, so I lied down for a nap and was out like a light. I swear, I've never slept like that before. I just conked out. I didn't even hear you come in. Did you get home okay?"

"Yeah," I said casually. "Amy gave me a ride home."

"Oh, Amy. She's a nice girl."

He left me alone to contemplate the events of the previous evening. It all seemed like too much to take in. I was ensnared in a web too complicated to untangle. The only thing I could do is just hope everything worked itself out. In the meantime, I would wear Erik's ring, avoid Sean Winters, and count the hours until I could see the opera ghost again.