Yvette de Chagny walked into her beloved husband's study where he was a bit of occupied by examining the notes in a sheet music of a song he used to love in his younger years. He had a violin placed in front of him, and he was gently caressing it with his fake hand, deep in his thoughts. Papa Daaé tried to teach him that song on the violin when he was yet a boy. He wasn't too much talented in music though, so he was never too successful with any kind of piece. Yet he was determined once he was going to learn that song.

Christine was away from Paris in the last two years. Raoul missed her very much, and even though he was happy and content with his family, as Yvette was the most loving wife ever, Sophie was an angel as a daughter and small Philippe gave him more and more happiness, having a son of his own finally, and they shared father and son programs a lot, Raoul still thought a lot of his childhood friend and first love. Christine was always an important person in his life, and her long absence from the city had made his heart grow fond of her, and wished to greet her again when she returns from London finally. They wrote letters to each other from time to time, yet they both were occupied mostly, but if they had some time to spare, they wrote about the happenings regarding their families and asked each other if they were doing well, and they always closed the letter with the small word "Love". They considered it as friendly love, of course, but the spirit of the childhood love still was buried in their hearts and souls.

Raoul wanted to learn the song on the violin to greet Christine back in Paris with it once she returns. He remembered some of Papa Daaé's instructions from his childhood and he closed his eyes to remember back the violin lessons at Perros. A deep sigh left his lips when he heard a soft knock.

He lifted his head up to see Yvette with him, and the woman smiled at him.

- I am sorry to bother you, dear, but that gentleman who was here a few months back, had returned to see you. Should I send him away or are you fine with talking to him?

Raoul remembered the visit briefly, and he slightly nodded and told Yvette he will see the man. He walked to the main salon and the visitor was led in there a few minutes later. He received the visitor kindly, as usual, but he did not know what else he could do to the gentleman other than the service he had already done. Patiently he sat down in front of the newcomer who excitedly, but a bit of nervously took out a notepad and a pen from one of his pockets, then prepared to write with his short and thick fingers.

- Monsieur, I am sorry I have to bother you yet again. – The man started talking. – But I would ask for your help one more time, and I do hope I don't have to return to ask you more questions.

- I am not bothered by your questions, Monsieur, honestly. I help you the most I can, but I have to inform you maybe I am the person who knows the least of the subject you research. – Raoul answered with an honest smile.

- I do know that you know little of that man, but I can't find anyone else who could answer me questions regarding the story and the man. I have more problems, to begin with.

- List them, I try my best to answer.

- At first, I questioned the Opera's managers and workers many times, I do believe I go on their nerves by this time, but I have to know… so, they say Christine Daaé was performing in the Opera after that evening when she was kidnapped. They say she just disappeared for a few months, but returned after, and was like usual. She married a man and gave birth to children but I am not sure where she is right now. They say she retired from the Opera House and now she is disappeared yet again.

- She is in London with her family. – Raoul answered shortly. – One of her sons is a talented composer and performer and he made a career in England. – He added after a few moments of silence.

- The last time we talked, you told me the story of Erik.

- Yes, the few things I did know of him.

- That's why I am here now. You see, I am trying to locate that man, but I found no trace, and neither could I find Christine's husband. In the Opera they said they hardly ever saw Christine in the company of her husband but they knew she had one. The man was very much separated from society and they kept saying he was home taking care of the house and children. Why would he do that?

- I guess he wished Christine to rather focus on her career. – Raoul shrugged.

- The few people who saw the man told me that he was a tall and thin man with longer brown hair and he wore glasses. It is not much. I was able to, at least get his name. Monsieur Spöke. But even that name has no other trace than an entry in the wedding section of the church registry of the Madeleine, and a worker at a building company. I found a man named E. A. Spöke, who worked as a structural engineer, and retired in 1887, but nothing else. Do you know where that man is from, or where could I find more information of him? Christine's past and present is full of mystery, I daresay. And what has happened to the Phantom?

- The Phantom does not exist. – Raoul answered firmly. – It was just a tale that many of them, including me believed. It was just a series of well-played tricks by a miserable man.

- Yet they were successful enough to keep a whole Opera House in terror. – The other man pointed out, while adjusting his glasses.

- I would say it is better to leave the past just fly away. What would be the use of the whole story revealed, Monsieur?

- People like stores like these. Full of mystery, passion, horror… I am planning to find out the real happenings back then. I believe I am maniac with this issue by now.

- Just be careful Monsieur, as this is how madmen are born. – Raoul sighed, while having a sip of wine.

- I am aware of that fact. – He smiled. – But I still wish to search more. Can you at least tell me where the monster is from?

- Monsieur, you have to promise that if you find a trace you won't harm him.

- So he isn't dead. – The man nodded contentedly. – Just as how I imagined.

Yes, it was a silly mistake to give it away like this. He unintentionally tried to protect the "monster" and Christine, but mostly Christine, from the fact that the past gets too much bothered. Thankfully Erik came up with an identity and it was hard to find out he was the Phantom. But what if this man finds out right now?

- Promise, please. – He only replied that, not wanting to give away any more information accidentally.

- I promise that if I find a trace and it ends up to be threatening… I am not going to publish anything… at least not until the man is alive.

- That sounds much better. – Raoul nodded in relief. – Well, maybe what if I say nothing, but you may pretend things and I only say if that fact might be true or false. – He sighed. – I don't like to directly be a traitor.

- I don't wish to bother you then, if you don't wish to speak. But can you at least tell me where can I find that man so I can ask him some questions?

- I am not sure if he or she will like the fact to talk about the happenings so long time ago. But here is their current address in London… if you wish to travel miles for a story. – Raoul handed a small paper to the other man.

- A journalist, Monsieur, travels through the whole world for an interesting story. – The man stood up and bowed his head with a smile. – Thank you for your cooperation, and I promise I will not disturb you again about this issue.

Raoul shook hands monotonously with the man while giving each other the usual parting formulas, and he sighed deeply. Here this man is again, not calming down. He hoped, as he sent him away the last time without any helpful information that his interest and the investigation will stop at a point but this journalist is so very determined. He just hoped the man won't cause Christine any discomfort or danger and maybe he won't find out much.

Shaking his head he went back to the study to look at the violin, praying for Christine in his mind.

While this scene took place in Paris, in London Christine was rocking the poor crying orphan in her arms, soothingly. Erik just stepped into the room to check on the boy, who was now fully conscious. Erik was happy for the positive change in boy's health, so he leaned closer with interest.

- Oh, I see you woke up.

The boy heard a nice voice. He turned his head in the direction and noticed a lanky tall and thin man at the side of his bed. The man was too much an earthly figure to belong to the majestic land of Heaven, so he started considering the possibility of actually being alive. He usually was afraid of people, especially men, but the one stepped next to him sounded rather kind. He could not word why but the sound of his speaking voice calmed him for some reason. It sounded so sweetly soothing and unusually beautifully ringing in the air that he felt he had nothing to be afraid of. He nodded to the man's sentence, trying his best to smile which was hard because of the pain he was in.

- How are you, boy? – Erik went on, sitting down next to Christine, examining the poor boy's injuries.

He now felt that his disability will humiliate him yet again, just as usual. This man was so nicely asking him something and he will be called rude in a few seconds because he won't tell him. He wished again if he could, praying God in his mind, but knew deep in his heart that it will never happen. He closed his eyes, slowly waiting for the cusswords he was sure going to receive.

- What is wrong my dear? – Mother asked. – Are you feeling ill?

He nodded slightly and looked around with an expression begging for forgiveness. He hoped both Mother and the man will understand. Thankfully Erik did. Without a word he got a piece of paper and a pencil and put them on the boy's lap.

- Can you write then? – He asked with a natural tone. Christine suddenly understood as well, and was surprised about Erik's lack of compassion. Why did he not sound touched at all by the fact that a poor child has no voice?

The boy nodded and with shaky hands tried to write:

"I'm O.K. Thank you."

- Fine. – Erik nodded. – And how should I call you?

The boy looked around nervously. He was called by many many names. The man could chose to call him "bastard" just as his last owner did. Or did he not ask it for a nickname? He really did not understand the question. Erik realized the boy's expression and with a deep sigh, he found a personality trait and situation which reminded him of young himself.

Suddenly he saw a blurry image of a woman at the market. The sun shone on her brown locks playfully and she was walking towards apples when his skeletal hand slipped in her clothing to search for her purse. And the delicate feminine hand caught his thin wrist and… with more things on her not too nicely sounding, but still kind voice, she asked: "What's your name?" And he did not have one to give. He literally knew no name he had…

Maybe this boy has no name either? Maybe if he tried to ask somehow else, he will understand.

- What's your name?

He let out a relieved sigh and wrote:

"Gregory."

- Nice name. – Erik complimented, still with his most natural voice possible to disguise his real feelings. – And how old are you?

"Seven."

- Are you an orphan?

Only a nod came as a response. Christine looked at him with her eyes full of tears, but thankfully did not start to cry out loud or make comments full of pity.

- Were you born like this? – Erik went on.

- Erik, maybe he does not wish to tell yet… - Christine gasped softly.

The boy pointed at his throat questioningly to know if Erik was referring to his inability to speak. As Erik nodded, the pencil danced around on the paper obediently.

"No. Drinking. Throat sore and burnt."

Erik instantly knew it was most likely some kind of acid that the boy either accidentally or willingly swallowed, and it damaged his vocal chords in a way which now makes him unable to speak. Luckily he can at least write at some level. He asked the boy where did it hurt and he listed his side and head to be the most painful.

- All right, Gregory. Now I tell you where you are and what will happen to you. At first, you have to rest a lot as you are injured and need to get back to health. My wife and I are going to help you with that, and I have children who will also make you feel better. This sweet woman by your side is my wife, her name is Christine. If you need something she is more than happy to help. I will check on you more times a day and take care of your wounds and injuries. You are going to receive meals and medications more times a day and if you feel well enough to be up, we will talk about the rest. Does it sound good enough to you?

Erik did not want to sound too compassionate or show pity. He choose to converse with the boy as he was a business partner as he did not really wish to consider him as a family member yet. He was surprised of himself that he would totally not have helped the boy twenty years before. Or… would he not…? Really?

From his deepest musings a touch made him get to his senses. Gregory was poking his fingers to draw his attention. With a questioning look he stared at the child, who pointed at the last line on the paper which said:

"What's your name, Sir?"

- Erik. – He replied shortly.

The boy gave him a small smile and wrote:

"Thank you, Erik."

He shrugged and nodded quickly, informed the injured child that he should rest, then he turned away to leave the room to see what was happening to his children. It was already time to wake them and see if they were all right as well, help Belle get dressed, prepare breakfast for them, see Florian's calendar, give daily schoolwork for the boys and check their homework, feed Monsieur Lechat, answer Belle's endless questions about various subjects, especially horses, and maybe have a few spare minutes to sit down and drink coffee without any of the children wanting something of him. Possibly that was the time when he had to deal with the Daroga instead of the kids, but thankfully he learned to cope with the Persian well enough during those past decades. He was surprised to calculate that they met over 40 years ago. It was long enough time for a marriage.

He did not wish to think too much of Gregory yet, but get himself buried in daily routine, to clean his mind about the subject.

Time will solve things and life must go on.