"Have you completely lost your mind?" The daroga shouts before Erik has the door completely open. His white bow tie has come undone, and his cotton shirt is coming untucked from his trousers. The black tailcoat is European, a bit tight on the once muscular body that is becoming softer with age. The only remnant of his Perisan heritage evident in his clothing being his most prized, silk-embroidered dervish hat sitting askew his black wavy hair.

"Greetings to you, as well, Nadir. I see that the sandbag did not miss you entirely. You are losing your touch in avoiding my traps." He straightens the daroga's hat. "Wearing your finest tonight – no astrakhan?" Erik comments drily. "Please do come in."

The Persian pushes the door to give himself enough room to pass in front of Erik, who closes the door behind them. "You realize that if you stopped shadowing me, you wouldn't have to fear my traps."

"Indeed, I would not, but where would I find any excitement in my pedestrian life? Tonight, being one example of such entertainment." Nadir grunts. "Besides, the sandbag did miss."

"Yes," Erik responds.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes, I believe I have completely lost my mind."

Nadir pauses a moment to take in the confession that he just heard. "Is that so?"

"Come." Erik leads him back to the new apartment. Nadir is familiar with the dark passageway. From this entry on the La Rue Scribe, one follows the tunnel past the third alcove, then continues to the right instead of left. Two more alcoves, press the levered door at the upper right-hand corner. "I did not disable the traps from this entry. Was that you earlier, setting off the alarm?"

"Of course – who else after what happened tonight above ground. There was pure chaos in the auditorium. Attempting to reach you through the tunnels was out of the question, so I came here. Thankfully, I know enough about your tricks to withhold entry until the trap has been sprung."

They enter the small kitchen. Erik kept the design simple – a cast iron stove takes up most of one wall. Unlike many homes, all the necessities are located in this one room. The stone sink, set into a long wooden cabinet with a zinc countertop that serves as the larder, stands against the wall adjacent to the range. Other assorted wooden cupboards hold dishes and cutlery. Erik's obsessive behavior reaches everything in his life; his kitchen would be no different – immaculate, and everything in its place.

Nadir helps himself a glass of water from a crystal pitcher that sits on the wooden table in the center of the room. He drinks deeply.

Erik offers him a linen napkin to wipe a brow shining with perspiration.

Nadir takes the cloth and blots his forehead. "Thank you."

Erik allows a small smile as he observes his friend. Even in situations of extreme danger, Nadir has always been conversational and warm – deferential, even though he generally held positions of authority. Erik both hates and admires these traits – for the same reason: he himself does not possess them.

"There I was enjoying your beautiful opera. All the passion for all those years finally being presented to the world. It was glorious – your Christine was amazing. I was so proud of you – so happy for you." His look turns hard. "Then I heard your voice. Yours, not that of the usual tenor - Piangi. Beauty that the Italian could never hope to achieve. It was spellbinding. But, of course, you wrote this for yourself."

He shakes off his diversion. "The girl knew it, too. Anyone could see it on her face, had they been paying attention. It was the strangest thing. She seemed so torn. She wanted it to be you, but she was afraid. Her demeanor had changed from the earlier aria. The singing was glorious – perhaps the most amazing anyone had ever heard in that hall. The…the passion between you was palpable. I was almost embarrassed watching." He gives Erik a sheepish smile. "What can I say, I am a man." He shrugs.

"Then she pulled off the shroud and there you were for all to see. Most in the audience were not disturbed, it was an unfamiliar opera and they believed Don Juan was simply wearing another disguise. It was when she removed the mask that all hell broke loose. "

Erik leans against the larder. He shrugs "I had to sing with her," he says softly. "As you say, I wrote the song for us, but was terrified to do it here – when we were alone. Strong as my desire may be, I would never abuse her. It was hardly safe singing on stage, as you yourself pointed out."

"Why did she unmask you?"

"Love. Christine always acts from love. The man she believed that she loved, the young Vicomte, told…asked her to."

"But she is here with you?" Nadir shakes his head in confusion.

Erik nods.

"Where?"

"Here. I'm here in the parlor." Christine responds. She rises from the settee. The two men are barely into the room when she rushes past Nadir into Erik's arms. "I was so worried. Please do not leave me alone like that again. "

"It is all right." He presses his cheek against her head, taking her by the shoulders, he turns her around to face the dark-skinned Persian. "My dear, may I introduce my dear friend, Nadir Khan, former daroga… Sheriff of Mazendaran province, Persia."

"Monsieur."