That massive stone building towered above the trees of the forest of that small village. Even though he did not visit the place for the last 20 years or so, but this place burned into his memory forever. He would have walked there even blindfolded. That place was horrible and no one would have walked there by their own free will, only if the one kept there was so dear to the heart that no matter what, they NEED to be visited. The heart yearns to see them, under any circumstances, even at this unworthy environment. But it wasn't the case at that moment. Some deep wounds were ought to be healed, or at least bandaged on his heart, and he finally wanted to make peace with his past, and that person – forever.

He just hoped he did not take this journey for nothing. Visiting mother after 20 years sounded ridiculous and he wasn't even sure if she was still alive. Maybe not. She would be close to 80, if he is correct. She gave birth to him at the age of 19, which means she will turn 80 the next year, if she survived long enough. So, he visits his mother after 20 years. He hasn1t seen her after that night, when he literally dragged her in there and she just accused him of many-many things. Unfaithfulness, blasphemy, neediness, selfishness, thievery and who knows what else? She screamed at him and tried to claw him several times. It was for her own good, but she really did not understand that. Erik did not even know why he helped her if she was such an ungrateful woman. He helped her.

But what for?

For the emotional and physical abuse? For not accepting him as a son because of her self-pity and depression? Because of her selfishness? For hatred, fear and disgust he had received? For emotional neglect?

What did you give to me, mother? What? Not love and support, for sure. Maybe possibility to play music. Yes, that was something to be thankful for, definitely. But nothing else. You can be thankful that I took care of you, so you did not have to dies alone and unable to take care of yourself. Should I have actually let you commit it? Huh? You could be at least a bit of thankful that I arrived back in the village just in time to save your miserable life, so you did not have to drown in your own vomit, you useless creature. That is what you always knew how to do – pity yourself and make others pity you. Why did you want to die that night? What was that circus for? Did you still dwell on those 7-8 years you had to spend with me? Even when you were 60, you still were crying over the things happened another 40 years ago. And made me scarred for life with your treatment.

What do you know of being a parent? Yes, you had an ugly child. Seriously deformed. But I am a parent now as well, with a child like you had. I learned to love my child. It took me some time, but in the end I did learn to love her with all my heart and would do anything for Mahtab. Unlike you.

Shame on you.

Because of you, I turned to be like you. A miserable depressed nervous wreck, wallowing in self-pity. But I want to end this. I want to let go of my past finally.

That is why I am here now.

As he was deep in his thoughts while reaching the ominous building, he already could hear some noises he did not want to, really. Maniacal laughter and some painful screams. No wonder there is a bar in each and every window. No matter what a beautiful park this place has, to walk them in, nothing can cover the raw and bitter truth and the identity of this building:

A mental asylum.

Creatures who were shunned out of society are locked away among these walls. Lunatics, hysterical women, suicide attempt survivors, aggressive freaks, etc. He did not hate to enter this building only for the sake of his mother, but the fact that he felt he would belong here as well by the opinions of many people. If he wasn't careful enough, he would be locked away here as well, chained to the wall or tied to a bed.

When he entered the building with a guard after he told what he was there for, he was shocked to see that some patients were being pushed and hit back by a stick while they were trying to escape.

- Back away, freaks! – He heard an annoyed male voice and some screams of pain. He swallowed and shuddered with fear.

- Are you all right, Monsieur? – The guard turned back.

- I am. – He nodded.

You all wouldn't be so kind to me if I wasn't wearing my human face. I would be a freak to you as well, and would kick me in an empty cellar room without a second thought.

- So, is she still alive? – Erik asked, seeing that he was being guided inside as he told the purpose of his visit. He was trying not to look around too much, even though there were some inhabitants around them, playing with the hay on the ground, growling and walking on hands and knees, or laughing at literally nothing.

- Yes, she is bed-ridden, so we keep her in the other wing.

- How is she doing? – He inquired.

- It depends on her mood. – The guard shrugged. – She is a bit of lively sometimes, She gets agitated too easily. If you see her lifting something up just jump out of the way…

- I know that well, thank you.

Yes, Erik knew it more than anyone else. If mother throws something it is a wiser move to jump or lean away. Once he was nearly hit by a thousand page long lexicon on the head. Every damned wing was closed by bars. Erik felt himself in prison while being guided through them, and the bars were instantly closed behind his back. It was actually a worse place than a prison.

Finally they arrived to a side hallway that did not have a bar at the start, and they turned to the right. This place was much quieter than the other parts, but this did not calm Erik too much. This was even more terrifying than the cries at the other parts of the building. Their footsteps were echoing too loudly and unsettlingly.

They arrived at a door, and the guard opened it.

- Here she is. Call for me if you need me.

- Thank you. – Erik stepped in with his heart pounding in his ears. His hands were trembling so rapidly he could hardly shut the door.

The room contained a single bed and a chair only, the walls were white and the floor was gray tile. The old woman who lay on the bed was so unknown that he, if he did not hear it from the guard that it is her, would not have recognized her. While he was driving there and approaching the building, he was so determined and sure of what he would say, and he did not have any trouble expressing his displeasure any other time, but looking at that weak old skinny woman with long gray hair, and sunken eyes, he suddenly did not know what to say. They started to resemble in a way. She was pale, and resembled a dead person, to be honest. He should say something, damn.

- Good afternoon. – He finally managed to pronounce a sentence.

Silence. The sunken eyes opened and were examining him with a strange look. She rose up a bit on her pillow and tried to figure out who on Earth did bother her afternoon slumber. She could not recognize this man. He was elegantly dressed and wore glasses, and she was quite sure she had never seen him in her life.

- Who are you?

The voice was somewhat familiar, yet not that powerful and demanding as he remembered in his childhood. She was tall, beautiful and powerful in his memories. Now she was only a broken old thing. Of course, she doesn't recognize him. He is wearing the human mask, thank Heaven. Well, he has to speak to her, but how to introduce himself? Yes, he was called "Erik" in all his life, but not only by mother. That name would not mean anything to her, she did not even know he got that name by accident. She sure knows what name he received while baptismal. Would he tell that?

- Bastien. – He answered. – Even though you never called me that.

It was true. Erik did not know if he had any name at all in his childhood, but when he emptied his mother's house after he took her here, he found his birth certificate, which contained the name "Bastien". Born on 29th February, 1832. Only by the birthdate he could be sure.

- Bastien. – The woman echoed, and it could be noticed she knew who that was. – He travelled abroad. – She added. – I don't know when he will come back.

- It is me. – Erik stepped closer.

- It can't be you. He is dead or something. – She lowered her head and with trembling hands, she crossed her fingers in front of her chest as she was praying.

- Mother. It is me. – Erik repeated. – I know you don't recognize my voice, but it is me. I would like to talk to you.

- You may talk to me, but I am so old now. No one wants to talk to me.

- I know. But… please tell me something. Is it true that I killed my father?

- Father…? He was here on Sunday to celebrate the Mass.

- No, I mean… what happened to your husband? – Erik could not decide if Geneviéve was deaf or disoriented.

- Oh, Henri was a kind man. I was so young when I married him. We even had a child.

- I know. – Erik sighed. – But how did he die? Did he get a heart attack when he saw the child?

- Oh… I can't remember. What kind of child?

- Yours.

- I treated him unkind and he left me. – She stated, not even paying attention any more.

- Kind of. – Erik nodded. – But let's make peace. – He sighed.

- Peace is in Heaven when God is with us. – She murmured softly.

- I forgive you. Do you forgive me?

- I do. – She nodded. – But please tell my son to visit me once if he is still alive.

- I will. – Erik nodded and turned around. – Adieu, Mother.

- Adieu… what was your name, again?

Erik sighed and shook his head. It wasn't important any more. He wanted to ask if he really caused his father's death, he wanted to tell Geneviéve that she had 3 grandchildren, he wanted to tell her about his life in a nutshell to finally close a chapter in his life, but it was clear that she wasn't capable of understanding the happenings around her, and she was clueless about even his identity. She still knew he had a son, but did not recognize him.

- Here is my address. – He gave a visiting card to the guard befor he left the building. – Please inform me if … something happens to Geneviéve.

With that, he left the place and headed back to Paris. Screams and cries and maniacal laughter were haunting his hearing long after he left the borders of the village.

When he arrived back home, he had bittersweet feelings about the happenings in the mental asylum. As Christine was asking him, he shortly informed her about the conversation they had with Geneviéve. Part of him calmed down: he at least tried, and he saw mother for one last time.

- I thought your mother was already…

- Dead? – He asked.

- Yes. I mean, you said we had furniture from your mother and I guessed she died before.

- Yes, I sold her home and kept the furniture I wanted to furnish my home with.

- And where is she? May I visit her as well? I'd like to meet her.

- She is in an institution for mentally ill people. I took her there after a suicide attempt of hers, where they diagnosed her with some problems and since that I hadn't seen her. I don't think it would have any use of you to visit her, Christine. She doesn't even recognize me. She is wrong in the head. I think I inherited it from her.

- Oh Erik, please don't say that. – Christine sighed. – But why did you not tell me about it?

- No one likes to admit that his poor unhappy mother is a lunatic. – He sighed. – She sure was wrong in the head from birth which was worsened by the trauma my birth have caused her, and the alcohol she consumed in her fits of depression.

- Oh Erik… I am sorry.

- Don't be. – He hugged her close to himself. – Don't be.

Three weeks later they received a letter in which Erik was informed that Geneviéve Perier had passed away caused by a short and unexpected illness on the 2nd October, 1892 at the age of 79. If only Erik goes later by a week, he did not find her alive. Erik, after reading the letter, sat down on the sofa, leaned his head on the table in the drawing room, and started crying. Christine knelt down beside him, and comfortingly rubbed his back.

- I am sorry for your loss. . She said softly.

- I had lost her… many years ago. – Erik cried. – But thank you.

- Do you wish us to attend her funeral?

- No. – He shook his head. – And neither will I.

Erik, even though he couldn't speak to her mother the way he wanted to, still felt a kind of relief and peace in his soul. He couldn't stay mad at that woman any longer- whatever she had committed against him long ago, she sure received her punishment for that- as no one deserves twenty years in an asylum, forgotten and despised by everyone. Whatever happened, he should forgive and forget and move on with his life with his family.