Life must go on. But can it, after such happenings which took place on that night? Can people forget about a sin, however the sinner meant well by it?

- Did you punish him yet? – Erik heard a voice behind his back, when he wanted to sit down tiredly in his chair with a glass of wine to relax in an evening, some days after Gregory's identity was discovered and the boy was still in bed, healing. At first, he did not even know who the "him" was the voice was referring to, but after a few seconds, he only gave a deep sigh, informing the inquisitive the family member about he did not. – Several days passed. – The voice went on. – When will you finally teach him about what he did was unacceptable? It is slowly forgotten as I see.

- What on Earth should I do to him? – Erik retorted wearily. It was a long day, in which he had to take care of the family and help Christine and Mahtab to nurse Gregory. He really wasn't in the mood for talking, especially not about Mahtab's murderous behavior.

- You are the father. – The Daroga pointed at him. – You should punish him.

- Right. And what? Shall I lay him across my knees and spank a 17 year old? Or do I need to stand him to face the wall in the corner until he promises not to do something like this again?

- At least make him realize it was not the right thing to do. – He crossed his arms on his chest.

- I talked to him before.

- I heard it. Erik, I know you mean well, but you did not do anything else than encouraging him and telling him it was not a big deal. It was murder, for the beard of the Prophet!

- If someone hits a fly, or kills a flea, you should whine and howl as well for that, with this logic. That pest wasn't any better than a filthy rat everyone wants to see dead.

- Erik, it is not your or Mahtab's job to measure a human's value and it is not your job to eliminate the human if you don't find it worthy for life. If things worked this way, you know what would have happened to some other people as well…

- Which nearly did happen, in the end, and I know well that that certain person worth nothing more than a disgusting rat in the eyes of not only human kind, but himself as well, thank you. And now, are you happier you keep nagging that person in his seventies, for something he committed fifty years ago?

- The latest issues of that person weren't that long ago. – The Daroga leaned closer. - And don't try to avoid getting to the point by making others pity you, describing yourself as a helpless old person. Do you remember the Phantom of the Opera? Do you want Mahtab to be the new one?

- Daroga… must you always dwell on my past, I dwell on it enough, thank you. I am an old man with returning seizures and joint pain. Sometimes I have to help my left hand to act by lifting it up by the aid of my right to drink a glass of wine, or to adjust my glasses. I don't like to say it, but I am seriously afraid of the future that I won't be able to survive long enough to raise Belle. And here you come and nag me about the fucking Phantom of the Opera.

The Daroga waved in the air in frustration, and wished to continue his speech when suddenly they heard some footsteps and someone gasped in shock behind their back. They both turned around to see Mahtab standing in the doorway, looking their way with growing suspicion. He took a few steps towards Erik and leaned close to him, directly making eye contact. Erik said nothing. The child had already heard too much, and he just hoped he did not hear and know more than thee Daroga's foggy hints.

- The Phantom of the Opera? – Mahtab repeated loudly, tasting the words. Maybe he had heard those words before. – Are you the Phantom of the Opera…?

- He was just using it as a metaphor. – Erik spoke finally, but his words could not convince Mahtab.

He slowly sat down to the chair, facing Erik, and looked at him curiously. It noticeable he was wondering about something. He scratched his head again and again, and finally he started speaking.

- I remember an episode. Mystic. It happened long time ago, but sometimes I can see it happening in my dreams… and I wonder if I just dreamed it as a child, or it really happened. I was very small yet. You wanted to leave Mama and me and Flo. Flo was yet a baby. You wanted to leave and I cried. You took me with you… - He paused for a few seconds, researching his memory, then went on. – The Opera house's cellar was very dark and you said darkness was our friend. It helps us. Us, creatures… to hide. Were you referring to my fate? As yours?

Erik refused to reply as Mahtab was starting to revive memories which were unpleasant for him to recall. He hoped if he does not give responses, Mahtab was going to guess it was just a dream, as he thankfully wasn't a hundred percent sure.

- Mahtab… what are you talking about? – The Daroga leaned closer to the child worriedly.

Mahtab forgot about intonation and voice techniques, so he again slipped into her soprano natural voice range, and sounded like the helpless girl she sometimes felt like.

- There is water under the Opera and I nearly died in it.

- You have a voice like this? – Erik smiled, closing his eyes dreamily. – You sound like your mother… you remind me of her.

- Did you hear me? I said I nearly died when I slipped into an underground lake under the Opera. Is it true?

- You can't possibly remember… - Erik stated, rather to himself than to Mahtab.

- I will never forget that. – Mahtab replied. – It was scary. That black and foul tasting water.

- You dreamed it. – Erik shook his head.

- No. I was afraid of water for a time in my childhood until you taught me to swim. Because of that memory.

- You… slipped in the tub once when you were small. – Erik lied quickly. – That is why you were afraid of water. The rest is just a dream.

- How could I dream about the cellars of the Opera when I did not even know about it? – He pointed out.

- You have a lively imagination. Do you remember the time when you kept talking to an invisible friend of yours?

- I had to because you killed Cadence.

- God, do you still remember that pile of gears?

- Cadence was my first friend, I will never forget her.

- People keep telling that you may do whatever you want to a child until the age of 4, because they will never remember back to the time when they grow up. And here you are, listing all your childhood traumas. – Erik shook his head in dismay.

Erik fell silent, and so did Mahtab for a time. Erik was wondering how on Earth his son can have such a memory, when he suddenly realized he had the same kind of ability to recall very early pictures and happenings as well. Maybe Mahtab was alike him in this aspect too, to his own unlucky turn of events.

Several of the early and way later memories hit him, while he was trying to chase them away, but they hit him like a wave. Mother was crying, throwing a mask at him, he was squeezing a dead dog, he was rocking a beautiful Persian angel in his arms, there was a fire, a huge fire in the workshop- It wasn't me… No, it wasn't me… his hands around Annabelle's neck… Christine with bloody forehead, Mahtab in the lake…

- And there was a bell… ringing… and you said you had to go to feed the… I don't know… some sea creature. Siren…? Yes… You told me to watch over invisible dragon eggs. Tonton… is Papa the Phantom of the Opera and did he… kill people? Were you going to murder someone when you did not want me to go with you?

A bell ringing…? Erik stared at Mahtab with glassy eyes, then, instead of a reply, he softly started reciting a poem:

Gay go up, and gay go down,

To ring the bells of London town.

Bull's eyes and targets,

Say the bells of St. Marg'ret's.

- Erik…! – The Daroga tried to communicate, but Erik seemingly did not hear him.

Brickbats and tiles,

Say the bells of St. Giles'.

Halfpence and farthings,

Say the bells of St. Martin's.

- Papa, what has happened…? – Mahtab knelt down to make eye contact, but Erik stared to the rug under his feet.

Oranges and lemons,

Say the bells of St. Clement's.

Pancakes and fritters,

Say the bells of St. Peter's.

Two sticks and an apple,

Say the bells at Whitechapel.

- Erik, stop it, I know you can hear me. – The Daroga shook Erik by the shoulder, but the old man did not react, like he always did when he was only pretending to be a lunatic to avoid confrontations and questionings. The annoying rhyme was going on.

Old Father Baldpate,

Say the slow bells at Aldgate.

You owe me ten shillings,

Say the bells at St. Helen's.

Pokers and tongs,

Say the bells at St. John's.

Kettles and pans,

Say the bells at St. Ann's.

When will you pay me?

Say the bells of Old Bailey.

When I grow rich,

Say the bells of Shoreditch.

Pray when will that be?

Say the bells of Stepney.

I am sure I don't know,

Says the great bell of Bow.

Erik suddenly stood up surprisingly quickly and forcefully compared to his usual state of health and physical pain. He lifted both of his hands up to his temples, with bowed fingers, looking around in the room questioningly. Mahtab worriedly put his hands on Erik's shoulders to sit him back down, petting his hair. Erik seemingly did not protest, but lifted his head up to look at the Daroga, and sent a glance full of hatred towards him, while he went on with the last lines of the rhyme, now singing:

Here comes a candle to light you to bed,

And here comes a chopper to chop off your head

He then suddenly pointed at the Daroga while he sang the last four words of the song, indicating that he was going to chop the Persian's head off in any seconds. Mahtab pushed him down gently but firmly, trying to avoid he will really make up to his promise.

The Persian was trying to find a way to make Erik come to his common sense again, and was terribly alarmed it won't easily happen, if at all. He walked to the bathroom to get some water while warning Mahtab to stay by Erik's side and not to let him get up. The poor teen felt terrible because of his father's mental state, but after the song ended Erik actually did nothing frightening. He only sat in silence, seemingly not paying attention to Mahtab or the Daroga who arrived back with a huge glass of water.

- Erik, are you all right? – He inquired cautiously, gently handing the glass to the ex-Phantom, but all of a sudden it flew back at him, making him all wet and shattered glass appeared in front of his feet in a blink of an eye.

- Papa, please… - Mahtab gasped in horror, while trying to calm Erik, at least somewhat, as Erik's thin skeletal hands had already clutched against the Persian's wrist. – Papa… sit down, right? Sit... Papa… it is me, Mahtab. – The teen was desperately trying to drag Erik back into reality, while both he and the Daroga were desperately fighting to be freed from his deadly grip.

Erik said nothing, but his eyes gave away that he wasn't thinking. He did not know where he was, he only knew he was in some kind of danger as hands were trying to restrain him, and he hated it more than anything. His brain shut down, fleeing from bad memories, protecting himself from them, and he was now only fighting for survival.

The door opened and some noise could be heard. Some noise which was firstly not recognized by any of the people there, as it was so soft. Those small feet weren't making too much noise as they crossed the room, and only when the Daroga cried out in horror, did Mahtab turn his head to face the newcomer as well. The small child was looking at them with a bit of confusion and puzzle, and she played with the hem of her dress, trying to figure out what on Earth was going on. She had never seen Papa playing this strange game, and why is everyone so scared?

- Allah, Belle, go away from here! Go back to bed! – Tonton Mohammed seemed to be so horrified. Why should she go away from her Papa, when he loves her?

- Papa…! What are you playing with Tonton and Mahtab? Can I play too?

- Belle! – Mahtab turned around to gently push the child away from danger, as she was walking closer and closer.

- Why can't I play? – She tilted her head to the side. – I can't sleep. Please Papa, let me play or sing me a song!

- I shall sing for you. – Mahtab picked the young girl up from the ground, sending a worried glance towards the struggling Mohammed, but as the man nodded in hurry, Mahtab did what he had to do more urgently: carrying his little sister away from a hazardous situation.

Thankfully Belle did not force on the subject more, but let herself to be put to bed and she fall back asleep by the time Mahtab sang her a lullaby. After the teen made sure Belle was sound asleep, he hurried back to the living room where he saw a scene which made his heart break for poor Papa.

The Daroga was tidying his clothing and massaged his wrist and shoulders, while Erik was laying on the floor motionless, facing the floor. Christine was also there, holding a pan in her right, sighing in frustration. Her face was pale, but her eyes were shining with anger.

- Don't lay him in a bed with me. – She pointed at Erik with a hint of disgust. – Put him down somewhere and… just we should hope he stops acting up. I am fed up with these crazy murderers…! I am fed up.

She hurried out of the room with the pan, but Mahtab heard nothing of the words which followed Christine's leaving. He had heard enough. He slowly knelt down by Erik's side, turned him to face the ceiling, and started stroking his bald head by his thumb. He did not pay attention to the Daroga who warned him several times not to go too close to Erik. He was sobbing and softly whispering.

- We are alike, Papa… too much alike… and I love you.

Yes. These crazy murderers… in plural… were the ones who could not fit in a normal family ever. Mahtab was sure Papa would be heartbroken if he knew he nearly hurt Belle and he was violent towards Tonton. And Mahtab had killed that man. No matter what Papa said, Mama did not forgive him about it. He was now labelled as a crazy murderer… which he most likely really was, as normal people really don't kill. He was taught by a whole lifetime not to kill, and Papa also said he was supposed to use the Punjab string only in life threatening situations… and yet his first choice was to kill the man.

A crazy murderer's son is another crazy murderer… just the perfect couple.

- Mahtab… your mother is tired and confused she did not mean it. – Mohammed placed a hand on the crying child's shoulder, but Mahtab only shook his head and hugged his passed out father.

If the world hates them, they should at least love each other, as they did before. Mahtab knew Papa was the one person he loved the most in his life, and he will love him, even if he was crazy. Even if he murdered people. Even if he was the Phantom of the Opera… it does not matter. He is only Papa to him.

Some moments later the door reopened and Christine walked in with a wet cloth, and penitently walked by the side of Erik and Mahtab. She instantly felt sorry for the awful words which left her lips, and she was crying hard by the time she noticed how she made her own child suffer with guilt. Without a word, she knelt down to Mahtab and hugged him, kissed his skull like forehead and face more and more times.

- Forgive me… forgive me Mahtab… you are my darling… I love you… I did not mean…

- It is a luck Papa did not hear it. – Mahtab sniffed. – Mama… don't you hate me…?

- I was angered by Papa's sudden behavior and… I said things I did not mean, Mahtab… please forgive me.

- And do you not hate Papa? – He went on, desperately questioning his mother.

- I love him more than anything. – Christine swallowed back some tears and wiped Erik's forehead by the cloth.

- Christine…? - Erik opened his eyes and looked at both Mahtab and his wife. He realized he was on the floor, so he asked. – Why am I laying here? Why are you crying…? Both of you…?

Christine knew well that it wasn't the best idea to tell the happenings to a seventy year old mentally unstable and physically ill person, as it would make him feel extra guilty, and might even easily kill him. She only hoped an episode like this won't happen again. She just closed her eyes for a few seconds, then smiled through her tears, leaning towards Erik and kissed his cheeks.

- You had a seizure again and we are just relieved you came to your senses.

- Oh… only that? – Erik sighed in relief.

Christine, while Mahtab and she were helping Erik up and guiding him to the master bedroom to put him to bed, was silently crying, being heartbroken about the fact that Erik got so much used to epileptic seizures that he replies by a shrug and an "only that?" question… Oh God, she can't possibly stay angry with him. Not now. And the truth is she really loves him. No matter what. And she would like to bite her tongue off for the evil sentences she said earlier. She also thanked God that Erik did not hear that. It is a huge enough problem that Mahtab did…

Oh dear sweet Mahtab.

Mahtab, after they put Papa to bed and finally he was alone, swore in his mind many times that he will never again force the subject of the lake under the Opera House in Paris, and he will most definitely never ever say the words "the Phantom of the Opera" out loud in front of his father. Maybe that was going to help and prevent happenings like this.

Yet he did not have to be in doubt for a long time about the Phantom story.

Mama, after everyone else was asleep, knocked on his door and told him they needed to talk. She smiled at him, and offered she was going to tell him a bedtime story, just like when he was a small child. Mahtab curiously nodded and lay down on his bed, just like at the old times. Christine sat down on the bedside, and smiling, she started.

- Do you remember the time when I told you the story of Little Lotte?

- And the Angel of Music? – Mahtab asked.

- Yes. – She nodded with a knowing smile. – And I told you I had met that angel.

- Yes, but I never knew what you meant by it. The musical talent you have?

- Partly. – She admitted. – But the truth is I physically met my Angel of Music. And I finally married him.

- Papa? Papa is the Angel of Music?

- Papa had more names in the past. – Christine started the explanation. – The one only Tonton and I used back then, was Erik. Another name of his, when we had music lessons, was the Angel of Music.

- And now do you tell me how you two met finally? – Mahtab got excited. – I asked Papa as well, but he only replied in one sentence, that he tutored you in singing.

- He does not like to talk about his past. Which is understandable. Now, I tell you the truth as I consider you old enough to know it. But you should promise you won't tell it to your younger siblings and won't mention it to Papa either. He is an old man, and too much excitement does not do him good. And these subjects make him upset.

- I promise. – Mahtab nodded.

And then, with a final nod, Christine started telling the old story of the man, who had so many names he could not even count. And one of these names was The Phantom of the Opera.