A/N: Greetings!

It has been a long time since I've written and posted a Phantom of the Opera story. In a sense, it feels like coming home.

This little plot bunny crawled into my head one day and refused to leave. The more I fleshed out the idea, the more I fell in love with it. The premise of this story is not something I have written about before, but hey, isn't taking chances and playing with characters and ideas what fanfiction is all about?

This fic is set in modern day, and should probably be considered OC. I've rated it T for some course language and minor adult themes. It will be mostly Leroux-based, but I'll also be incorporating some elements from Kay and ALW as well. The themes will range from romance, supernatural, horror, drama, and humor.

Finally, I don't own Phantom of the Opera or any of its characters.

So give it a read and let me know what you liked or didn't like. I celebrate every follow/favorite, read every review, and respond to them every chance I get.

~J

Summary: When Christine Davies discovers a plain gold ring in the cellars during a tour of the Paris Opera House, she pockets it with the intent of turning it in. But when she accidentally takes it home with her, she soon realizes that she's in for more than she bargained for. Bound to her by his ring, Erik suddenly finds his spirit trapped in a new place and time, inexplicably tied to the person wearing it. Now he will do everything within his power to ensure that he is returned to his final resting place, even if that means becoming the Opera Ghost once more.

Chapter 1

Paris.

It was the final destination of a trip I had never planned on taking. When Ben and I talked about traveling, we had always talked about going someplace warm and tropical. Someplace where we could lounge on the beach all day long, sipping Mai Tais out of tiki glasses with little umbrellas in them.

Of course, we never made it to such an island paradise. We were both workaholics, prone to spending long hours at our respective offices. It didn't help that what little free time I did have after work had been devoted to taking classes at the local community college in the feeble hopes that I could one day find a more fulfilling career. Don't get me wrong. I liked my job, but I didn't want to be a receptionist for the rest of my life.

Looking back now, I guess it wasn't all that hard to understand Ben's motivation when he banged the leggy redheaded underwriter in the copy room at his insurance office last year.

"Carly gets me," Ben explained, attempting to justify his indiscretion as he loaded the last of his things into the trunk of his car. "She understands that I have needs. That I want attention, too."

I had nearly bit off the end of my tongue trying to keep from snapping back that I couldn't keep up with this selfish desire to always be the center of attention when I, in turn, was not afforded the same courtesy from him. But whatever. Let him go off to sow greener pastures with Carly. I didn't need him, anyway.

And just like that, five years of marriage went up in smoke.

What followed was a bitter and ugly divorce, during which both of us left our dignity at the door and proceeded to hurl insults at one another as we unleashed months of pent up resentment and frustration. I still cringed every time I thought about how petty and hateful we were to each other.

Fast-forward eleven months and here I was; a 28-year-old, divorced, college dropout still trying to put the pieces of my life back together.

"I can't believe that it's our last day in Paris!"

I blinked, Maddie's words pulling me back to reality.

"I know!" Rochelle whined. "Three days isn't nearly enough time to see the city!"

Glancing across the table I smiled at my two best friends. They had been my lifeline through the entire ordeal. It had been Maddie's idea to book a European tour, and both of them had convinced me to use a portion of the money I'd received from my divorce to go with them. I had been reluctant to go at first, but now I was glad I did. It had been the happiest two weeks I'd had in a very long time.

A waiter stopped at the edge of the table, pausing long enough to reach over and refill my coffee cup, and as he did so, the sun glinted off the belly of the ornate silver coffee pot and sent scintillating rays of light dancing all around us. I inhaled, breathing in a mixture of freshly brewed coffee and the warm summer breeze. Did it get any better than eating breakfast at an outside café in Paris? God, this was heaven.

Maddie took a sip of her orange juice and then set the goblet on the table and leaned forward with a grin, "What should we do today?"

Rochelle shot forward with such force that the dishes on the table rattled. "Let's go to the Paris Opera House!"

"Opera?" I made a face. "You want to see an opera?"

"No," she laughed, waving off the idea with the flip of her hand. "The opera house. And anyway, the Paris Opera house doesn't have opera anymore, not since it moved to the Bastille. But the building! The building is almost one-hundred and fifty years old, done in Neo-Baroque style, and is absolutely gorgeous! They give tours and I've always wanted to see it in person and who knows when I'll get another chance. Please, please, please say we can go!"

"Your art-history major is showing," I chuckled and looked at Maddie. Maddie was kind of the unofficial leader of our group. Probably because she made all the decisions, since Rochelle and I were more laid back and preferred to go with the flow.

Maddie tossed her long blonde hair over her shoulder and shrugged. "I'm okay with it. Chris?"

"Fine with me."

The words were barely out of my mouth when Rochelle squealed and lunged forward, wrapping her arms around my shoulders.

"Thank you, thank you, thank you!" she exclaimed.

A few of the café's patrons stopped their conversations and twisted around to plaster us with quizzical looks. I smiled nervously and pried her arms away from my neck. "You're making a scene," I whispered, squeezing her arm affectionately.

Rochelle blushed and hurried back to her seat. "Sorry," she said mechanically. Her excitement was contagious and as I watched her try to reign it in and ultimately fail, my heart sped up in anticipation of the day's events.

XXX

My first impression of the Paris Opera House was of its sheer opulence. Golden statues decorated each side of the lead-lined roof, while Apollo hoisted his golden lyre towards the heavens in the center. Depictions of Greek mythology were carved into the façade and bronze busts of Beethoven, Mozart, Bach, Meyerbeer, and other famous composers paid homage to the musical geniuses of the past.

However, nothing could have prepared me for the inside. As we stepped into the Grand Foyer the breath shuddered from my lungs, my awed gasp bouncing off the golden walls and the high ceilings to echo all around me. My first thought was that I had walked into a palace, because what met my gaze certainly looked like it belonged to royalty. Giant chandeliers hung from the painted ceilings, casting a warm, rich glow throughout the foyer, and an immense staircase separated the first and second levels. Stealing a sidelong glimpse at Rochelle, I smiled that she was just as overcome as I was.

Trailing behind ever so slightly, I followed Maddie and Rochelle to the box office and listened with half an ear as Maddie inquired about the tour.

"Which tour do you want?" the lady behind the counter inquired.

"There's more than one?" Rochelle asked.

"Yes. There are two. The first one is the basic tour. You'll be taken to the salon du glacier, the auditorium and backstage areas, the conservatoire, and the foyer de la danse. For an additional fee, you can select the second tour, which focuses on the more…," she paused, "haunted aspects of the theatre."

My head reared up, my curiosity piqued. "Haunted?"

The woman leaned forward. There was a gleam in her eyes, like she had a big secret that she couldn't wait to tell us. "I'm sure you have all heard the story of the Opera Ghost. He used to haunt this theatre, consumed by his love for an opera singer. His story is legendary and served as the inspiration for Gaston Leroux's book The Phantom of the Opera."

I shook my head. I'd heard of the musical, but had never taken the time to see it. Broadway really wasn't my thing. However, I had no idea that the play had been based on a book, or that the author of that book had found his inspiration in this very theatre. Interesting….

"The second tour," she went on, "includes all the areas of the first tour, and will also take you to Box Five, the dressing rooms, and concludes with a trip through the five cellars to the underground lake."

There was a lake? Inside the building? Now I was thoroughly intrigued.

The three of us ponied up the cash for the extended tour and followed the signs that told us where to line up.

"Bonjour!" a pretty brunette in a red uniform greeted as we approached the waiting group of about fifteen people. "My name is Eloise, and I will be your tour guide today. If you will all gather 'round, we can begin."

Eloise waited until she had the group's attention and then started walking in the direction of the foyer.

"The Palais Garnier officially opened its doors to the public on January 5, 1875, but the construction of the building took nearly fourteen years to complete. War, the fall of the Second Empire, budget constraints, and an unfortunate discovery of water in the fifth cellar all served to hamper its progress.

"During the last part of the Victorian Era, the Opera was the place to see and be seen. And this," she gestured to the enormous staircase, her heavily accented voice echoing effortlessly around the rotunda, "the grand escalier, was where the finest in society would gather to mingle. Masked balls, charity events, social gatherings…."

I wasn't listening. Eloise continued to talk in the background, her voice fading to a faint hum, as I lost myself in the artistry of the foyer. Light from the windows and the many chandeliers glittered around us, bouncing off numerous mirrors, marble walls, and the gilded gold ceilings.

She ushered us down a corridor and into the auditorium. A rush of warm red and gold tones washed over us as we walked in. My heart fluttered out of my chest, taking my breath along with it. Rows upon rows of lush red seats spread out before us, declining ever-so-slightly until they reached the massive stage. The curtains, which stretched almost to the ceiling, were closed, framed in by magnificent golden sculptures that instantly reminded me of angels and demons. On the sides, four different levels of box seats stretched along the perimeter. The crowning achievement, however, was the impressive chandelier that hung from the center of the theatre.

"This horseshoe auditorium is the largest auditorium in all of Europe, and can seat just shy two-thousand people," Eloise said. I glanced over at her, making eye contact briefly before craning my head back up again to stare at the chandelier. "Ah, I see you've noticed the chandelier. Designed by Charles Garnier himself, the seven-ton chandelier cost around thirty-thousand francs to create—an outrageous sum of money back in the day, I might add. But that is not all the chandelier is known for. You have all heard the story of the Opera Ghost, oui?"

The group tittered excitedly.

"Well, the official story was that one of the giant counterweights that holds the chandelier in balance broke off and fell through the ceiling, landing on a concierge and killing her instantly. But those in the theatre at the time suspected that story was merely a cover-up, and that it was really the jealous ghost exacting out his revenge."

I raised my hand. "I'm unfamiliar with this story," I said, feeling foolish and slightly out of place for my ignorance. "Would you be willing to elaborate?"

She stared at me like I had just crawled out from under a rock. Quickly schooling her look of disbelief into a more neutral expression, she smiled and cleared her throat.

"The Opera Ghost's story is a tragic tale of a disfigured musical genius. Rejected by the world for his gruesome face, which he kept hidden behind a mask, he built a home deep within the cellars. He would 'haunt' the building, tormenting the opera house staff, ballet dancers, and singers with threats until he got what he wanted."

"What did he want?" I asked.

"Power. Control, mostly. He involved himself with everything from the casting for the productions to the management of the theatre, and did so by blackmailing the managers. He used their fear to extort money from them every month, and demanded that Box Five," she pointed to an elaborate box next to the stage on the middle row, "be reserved exclusively for his use and no one else's."

Maddie crinkled her nose. "Okay, so it's obvious this guy wasn't a ghost. Why did they put up with him? Why not just call the cops or something?"

"Because if they did not comply with his demands, terrible things would happen. Like the chandelier falling. People would disappear, never to be seen or heard from again. The entire theatre lived in fear of angering him."

Jesus, I thought.

We started walking again, this time in the direction of Box Five. Eloise waited patiently as we filed up the stairs and everyone tried to crowd into the small area.

"It was here in this very box that the Opera Ghost first set eyes upon a young opera singer named Christine Daaé, and he immediately fell in love with her. He tutored her by pretending to be her Angel of Music, but when that was not enough, he kidnapped her and took her to his home located five cellars beneath the opera house."

I kept waiting for her to get to the "tragic" part of the story, but the more she went on, the more I was beginning to dislike its main character.

"Thankfully, her suitor, the dashing Vicomte Raoul de Chagny, rescued her from the Opera Ghost's clutches, and they were able to get away and live happily ever after."

She led us back down the stairs, where we circled around to the stage. It was even bigger up close than it looked from the auditorium. Various set pieces dangled from ropes from the ceiling, with a tiny metal catwalk weaving in between the panels.

"What about the Opera Ghost?" a young girl in the group asked.

"Yeah," Maddie chimed in. "If he was as much of a control freak as you say he was, why would he just let them get away?"

"No one knows what became of the Opera Ghost. Some say he died of a broken heart. Some say he left and never returned. Others claim to have caught glimpses of a black shadow in a mask prowling around the premises even to this day. There have been numerous sightings where I'm about to take you: in the cellars."

Rochelle nudged me with her elbow. "You'd better be careful, Chris-tine," she teased, emphasizing the syllables of my full first name. "Or you might just gain the unwanted attention of the Opera Ghost."

"Very funny," I muttered.

There was a noticeable difference in temperature when Eloise opened a door in the hallway leading away from the stage. She lit a portable lantern and revealed a small set of stairs leading into the first cellar. The air was chilly and had a musty smell to it, no doubt from poor ventilation and the years and years of collected dirt and dust. But there was something else, too, a heaviness that hadn't been present at any of the other locations we'd been to. It felt like we were intruding…almost as if we were being watched. A cold sliver of dread ran down the length of my spine, and I shivered involuntarily.

This is ridiculous, I inwardly chided myself. Allowing yourself to get freaked out by a ghost story. A story, Christine. Grow up.

I didn't believe in ghosts, and I wasn't about to start now.

Small, round fixtures were mounted on the walls of the cement corridors, lighting the way as we descended deeper and deeper beneath the surface, but they did little to chase away the gloom and the darkness that threatened to swallow us at any given moment. With each step I took, the greater the sense of foreboding became.

I don't know what I had been expecting to see when I first learned about the underground lake, but I'm sure it would have paled in comparison to what now lay before me. Inky black water stretched as far as my eyes could see, gentle waves lapping up against the stone columns that held up beautiful sweeping archways. It was hard to tell if the design served a purpose, or if it was for purely aesthetical reasons, but either way it looked like we had just set foot inside an ancient crypt. A thick fog hovered just above the water, lending even more to the otherworldly feeling.

Part of me was thrilled that we had decided to come here and take the tour. I would have never guessed that such amazing sights waited beyond the front doors of the opera house. I felt truly special for having witnessed them. The other part of me, however—the part that was currently trying to fight off the overwhelming urge to panic—couldn't wait to get back to the surface.

"…and somewhere beyond this lake," Eloise was saying, completely unaware of the mental meltdown I was having, "is the Opera Ghost's lair. No one has been able to find it. To this day, it remains one of the opera house's greatest mysteries. And that concludes our tour. If you will all follow me, I will lead you back to the main foyer."

She swung her lantern in an arc as she turned to leave, and as she did so the yellow light glinted off something shiny on the ground. I glanced around, but no one else appeared to have noticed it. I hesitated momentarily and then took my cellphone out of my pocket, using the flashlight feature to illuminate the area in question. Again, something sparkled in the darkness.

Phone in hand, I crept closer to the edge of the water and knelt down on the ground to investigate. When the light wavered over the area a third time I saw it. A gold ring, half buried in sediment. Using my index finger to dig a channel around it, I pulled it free from the dirt. I wiped it off on my jeans and then held my prize up to the light on my phone. It was a small, plain gold band. A wedding band, I realized, and my stomach did a flip-flop. Someone on a previous tour must have lost it. It wasn't hard to imagine it slipping off their finger—not with how cold it was down here. They had probably been beside themselves when they discovered it was gone.

I stood up to show Maddie and Rochelle. "Hey guys, look what I—" The words died on my tongue. I was completely alone. The tour group had already left the shore and was now making its way back up the corridor.

In that moment, I could have sworn I heard someone sigh. The sound made my hair stand on end. I let out a yelp and instinctively shoved the ring into my purse. I could turn it into the lost and found later. Right now, all I cared about what getting the hell out of there.

XXX

The rest of the day and evening passed uneventfully enough. Truthfully, though, I was glad. It had been a busy, albeit fun, couple of weeks, and I was tired. That, and my experience in the cellars of the opera house had left me feeling oddly out of sorts.

I parted ways with Maddie and Rochelle when we reached our hotel, promising to meet them for an early breakfast before we left for the airport. Once inside, I put my purse on the sideboard, kicked off my shoes, and went into the bathroom to start a bath. While I waited for the tub to fill I walked around the room and gathered all the clothing and other items I had strewn about. If I got a head start on packing now, it would leave me with less to do in the morning.

I paused when I picked up my e-reader. It was going to be a long flight home. I really needed to find something to occupy my time. Turning on the power, I opened the bookstore app and did a search for The Phantom of the Opera. It popped up at the top of the list. I hit the purchase button and set the e-reader on the nightstand to download while I went in to take a bath.

A/N: Okay, so before you slaughter me, let me just say that this story is not anti-Erik. I loved the idea of introducing a character who didn't have any prior background knowledge of anything related to The Phantom of the Opera. So she is forming her opinions of Erik based on the opinions of others, and sometimes those people may be just a little bit biased. She'll have to do some research, and you'll have to keep reading to find out if her opinions change.