Sorry about the delay with this chapter, but it was really hard to write. Please let me know what you think!

While Europe worried about the arms race, uneasy alliances and the threat of war, Phantasma thrived in the summer of 1913. My father and I overcame our differences for long enough to work on various projects together. The theatre was expanded, giving it a much larger stage for the circus performances and we launched a bigger, scarier version of the Haunted House. We also opened new attractions such as the Medieval Maze, where visitors encountered dragons, goblins and wizards, all created by the amazing Mister Y and his son. We may have had our differences but we both loved Phantasma.

School continued as normal and I worked hard on my music to ensure my place at Julliard. I wondered if I could pursue a career in music as well as working in Phantasma – sometimes I felt torn between the two. My old boyhood dream of writing an opera based on the Snow Queen resurfaced around this time and I worked on ideas for it whenever I got a chance.

Sometimes I still thought of France and Raoul. He wrote to me occasionally but sometimes the letters were so short they were hardly worth the price of the stamp. By this time Louis was no longer writing to me; he'd left school at fourteen and was busy helping his father on the estate now, but Raoul told me he was fine. He also told me how much the two servants, Berthe and Adele, missed me, at least in the early days, and how the estate was coming along. Not very well it would seem. Many of the tenants had left by now and the farm was failing. It seemed like a different world to be honest, and I was very busy with this one.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Papa had started to step out of the shadows a little more. He'd started a few new customs around this time following a little persuasion from me. On the first day of the season, he always gave a very inspiring speech to his workers, particularly the new staff, which looked forward to the busy but happy months ahead. And on the last day, he gave another speech, thanking everyone for their hard work. Apart from these times, it was unusual to see him on the park, and he never appeared when there were visitors around. But that just helped to bolster his mysterious image.

I used to love seeing young children arrive through the gate for the first time, looking around in fascination and soaking up all the sights, sounds and smells. They often asked their parents if they would see Mister Y today, and were always disappointed to learn that they probably wouldn't.

But the adults, especially the cynical ones, were the best entertainment for me.

"You know something?" they would scoff as they looked around, "I bet there's no such person as Mister Y. It's just some stupid publicity stunt for this place. There's probably some committee running this whole show, laughing at us. Although, it's a good crowd puller, I'll give them that."

And off they would go, to spend money on the attractions of a place they secretly enjoyed, devised by a man they thought was a fabrication.

If only they knew!

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

The end of the season came around very quickly that year and for the first time a ball was being held for all the Phantasma employees to mark the occasion. Miss Fleck kindly agreed to accompany me as my "date" and we even danced together a few times, much to the amusement of Dr Gangle and Mr Squelch. I felt so proud to be there with her. Papa attended, as the owner, but stayed in the background for most of the evening. I tried to encourage him to ask some of the ladies to dance but he refused.

"I don't mind if you want to start seeing someone else, you know. It's been six years since Mother died, after all. "

"Your mother was the only woman for me, Gustave," he replied sadly, and I knew he was telling the truth. It seemed so sad though. I'd had a couple of girlfriends by now, although nothing very serious, and my father was still pining for the woman he'd lost. My most recent girlfriend was now going out with someone else, the novelty of my tragic background having worn off for her after just a few weeks. It was hard, but there was always the possibility of other romances. But not for Papa.

And then there was Miss Fleck, who had been treated so badly in the past but could still show love and compassion to others, and to me. Sometimes, but only sometimes, it felt like I was in love with her and these were the times she was most awkward around me. But on this night we were friends again, just like when I was younger. That night marked the end of that summer, the last summer before the world went mad... And I can still remember the band playing the ragtime tune "Maple Leaf Rag" and all the couples dancing together as my father watched from the shadows. A moment frozen in time.

"We will always be friends, you know," Miss Fleck told me gently as I held her close and danced around the room with her.

"I know," I whispered.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

A year passed. The summer season was upon us again, after a long and difficult year of school work and more arguments with my father. And despite all that was happening in the rest of the world, Phantasma seemed a world away from it all. I loved strolling around the park alone or with the Trio, but now I liked to dress for the occasion in a black cloak and hat. As Papa still adamantly refused to allow me to wear a mask, even as a costume, Dr Gangle procured a monocle for me, similar to his own, and I wore it with pride, revelling in my strange appearance.

One day I found a small girl crying beside the Medieval Maze, her parents unable to persuade her to come with them. On asking her the matter, she told me that her older brother had told her there was a monster inside the Maze that ate little children under seven years old.

"And I'm six!" she cried.

I knelt in front of her and took her hands.

"There's no monster in there, sweetheart. Do you know how I know this? Have you heard of Mister Y, the owner?"

She nodded, sniffing.

"Well, he's my father! And we designed that Maze together, so I know everything that's inside!"

She gasped and stared at me, her mouth open.

"Mister Y is your papa?"

"Indeed he is. My name is Gustave, what's yours?"

"Emily," she replied, more cheerful now.

"Well, Emily, I know it looks a bit scary, but how about I show you around it and you can see how everything works?"

She looked at her parents pleadingly.

"I'll look after her and bring her back to you," I promised them and they gave their permission.

So I showed her everything, on her own little tour and explained how all the goblins and the other creations were really not that scary after all, and how my father and I worked on them. She was much happier by the time we left to rejoin her parents and brother. The boy in question was standing there with his arms crossed, looking sulky.

"I want a tour too," he whined.

"Sorry buddy, you have to be under seven years old!"

He wasn't happy about that but Emily and I chuckled together.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

On the 29th July 1914 I strolled into Mario's ice cream parlour on my day off, glad to be away from the park for a while. I was seventeen now and often spent time alone like this.

Mario was behind the counter arguing loudly in Italian with someone I recognised as a cousin of his. He was well known for his forthright opinions. Not long after I sat down, his American born daughter, Carla, approached my table to take my order. She was only a year older than me and very pretty.

"Sounds like your father's off on his hobby horse again," I joked, nodding towards the counter.

But she shook her head sadly.

"Haven't you heard? Some Archduke or other was shot in Sarajevo and now Austria's declared war on Serbia. That's what they're arguing about, whether Italy will get involved or not. There are all these treaties, you see... I've no idea what it's all about, really, but we have lots of relatives in Italy.."

I stared at her.

"What about France? Have you heard anything?"

She shook her head again. "Sorry. But papa thinks it's going to get much bigger."

I walked out of that place in a daze, without even ordering anything and headed straight to the nearest newsstand to buy a newspaper. Papa never read them so I was often behind with the news, but for the next few days I bought a paper every morning on my way to the café or the Haunted House or wherever I was working that day, trying to understand what was happening in Europe. And sure enough, about a week later, Germany invaded France.

My heart almost stopped when I approached the Phantasma newsstand and saw that headline.

My stepfather…

Was he all right? I wondered. He hadn't written in so long and now this.. He would be about thirty eight by now; surely he wouldn't have to go back into the Navy? And what was going to happen to my homeland?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

I sat on the balcony trying to enjoy the peaceful night after another busy day, but my mind was frayed. I'd been so busy with my life here, trying to become American and now all this was happening in my old country. After a while, Papa came out to join me.

"Papa, I'm worried about Raoul."

He looked at me but I could not guess what he was thinking, even without the mask.

"There's a war going on in Europe, you know."

"Yes, I know," he sighed, "And yes, I can understand you're concerned about him. But I'm sure he has friends and relatives he can stay with, if the area is invaded."

"You're right, but it's still hard, especially when France is so far away. Aren't you worried about your country?"

"I told you before, son, I have no country. Politics and the petty squabbles of the world have never concerned me."

"This is going to be a lot more than a petty squabble. Lots of countries are getting involved now."

He didn't say anything but I knew he was thinking quietly. Perhaps he would finally start to take an interest in the wider world. Phantasma and music seemed to be his entire life.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

Although America was neutral in those early years of the war, it still affected us in Phantasma. Many employees were citizens of European countries and wanted to go and fight for their respective countries. Some second generation Americans spoke of this too. It was a huge topic of conversation as fall passed and people began to realise that the war would not be over by Christmas after all.

With all this talk of Europe I felt something I hadn't felt up to now – the urge to return to France to visit Raoul. The news of constant battles and the desecration of my native land worried me, but the war made it difficult to travel. It was awkward having such a large German community in Coney Island where everyone knew I was French and there were a few disagreements at school too among some of the boys. There was talk of joining foreign regiments although only a few of us were eighteen.

I even considered joining the French army but knew that Papa would never allow it. And besides, what if I was killed? He'd already lost my mother. I knew I could not put him through such grief.

Other priorities took over, like school and studying. My place in Julliard was confirmed that spring after a difficult audition process and I graduated top of my class in the summer of 1915. There was no prouder parent there than my father who made one of his rare outings into a public place in broad daylight. He even allowed me to introduce him to some of my teachers, such as Mr Grenier who had helped me so much. And I let him embrace me, even in front of several boys from my class.

"Your mother would be so proud of you today, Gustave," he told me softly as our hug ended. Seeing my sad expression, he put his hands on my shoulders. "But I have more than enough pride for the two of us," he assured me gently, and I hugged him again. Here he was, my father, the man who had looked after me, played with me and entertained me through those sad, dark days of grief. He had supported me, paid for a private education and taught me all he knew. He had changed. His past actions still troubled me but his selfless love for me almost made up for it.

With a pang of remorse and a little more wisdom, I left my school years behind me.

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

That summer I knew I would have to start supporting myself to some extent. A music education did not come cheap, even for the owner of a popular amusement park with an impressive portfolio of stocks and shares. Besides, I wanted a little independence. So I found a part-time job in a Manhattan store that sold sheet music and musical instruments, as well as working a few shifts in Mario's. And sometimes I still helped my father, although my time was inevitably more limited now.

The terrible news from Europe continued to worry me and it was not helped by the fact that Raoul wrote to me to tell me that Louis had joined the army, like many boys from the village and the surrounding area. The letter took several weeks to arrive. He himself was fine, but civilian travel between the two continents was nearly impossible, especially since the sinking of the Lusitania.

It irritated me that Papa did not take my concerns for Raoul seriously. He refused to allow me to travel to France, which was understandable, but he did not want to talk about him. It was as if my stepfather was in the past now and should be forgotten about. But he wasn't arrogant about it, in fact he seemed very flustered and embarrassed when I talked about the possibility of seeing Raoul again when the war was over.

"Look, I know he loved Mother at the same time as you, and you weren't fond of him, but honestly, it was years ago! Mother's dead, why does it bother you when I talk about him?"

It was evening and I had been working all day. I was tired and irritable, and perhaps that was why I spoke the way I did. But Papa seemed to be too distracted to notice.

"There's something you don't know, Gustave. Something that happened in the Opera House or rather, below it..."

"You mean something else?"

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. My heart lurched when I saw him do that as it meant there was a revelation coming, something I should know but didn't want to hear.

"Perhaps it's best that you know. It's been troubling me for so long now, ever since you came to live with me really, but you were too young then…I've told you about my past before, about your mother's time at the Opera House. You know how angry and hateful I was back then. I hated that vicomte, with every fibre of my being. I hated that he could court her properly, taking her out to dinner, all that kind of thing. So I planned to win her away from him."

I closed my eyes, trembling at his words. I didn't want to hear this, I didn't need to hear this, but he kept going. He told me everything then. How he had worked on his dark, terrible opera, Don Juan Triumphant, for months, hiding himself away. How he had planned for Christine to take the leading role and how he had stolen her away the night it was performed, and how she had confronted him about his actions at last while he made her put on the wedding dress from the mannequin.

"I wanted her to choose, once and for all. And either way, I wanted the vicomte gone from our lives. He came after her, just as I had hoped. And I told her to choose – stay with me forever or her suitor would…"

He stopped and looked at me with tears in his eyes. "You remember the thief in Central Park? You remember the rope?"

Something was niggling at me, at the back of my mind. I did indeed remember the thief in Central Park, and the rope... But there was something else, something from long ago, a dream perhaps…

"I told her to choose. She was so angry with me, so full of hatred and contempt. I can never forget those words, never…Her suitor pleaded with me to let her go, even with the rope around his neck… She looked to him, to the man she was going to marry, and to me.. And then it happened..."

A shiver ran down my spine.

"She came over to me, filled with a strength I never knew she had. She..she he spoke to me with compassion and gentleness. And.. and she kissed me! A real kiss, on the lips! I, a monster, living in darkness, was kissed by a pure angel, and she did not die! Then.. oh Gustave, she embraced me, she actually held me in her arms and... and kissed me again! My own mother would not kiss me, and she did! My Christine did…"

He was crying now and I put my arm around his shoulders, my fear dissipating.

"Papa it's all right, you don't have to tell me any more, truly you don't.."

"After all I did to her.. She showed me more love than I had ever known in those few moments... "

He dried his eyes and sat up straight, trembling at the memory. I leaned against his shoulder, trying to comfort him.

"It was at that moment that I knew I could not end the vicomte's life. I cut the rope. I...let him go. I let them both go. But before she left, my angel came to me and returned the ring I had given her. Then she kissed my hand and looked at me.. and I knew. We both knew, but she had to go with him. I thought he would give her a better life, you see.."

I did not know what to say.

"Oh, Gustave, I've always known that you would have to hear this one day," he sighed.

"You let them go. You spared his life.." I pondered aloud. But something was still bothering me.

"But you are my father?" I asked tentatively. For a brief, terrifying moment I wondered if he had forced her…

"Yes, indeed I am. You see, your mother came and found me."

He explained about the mob coming to kill him, and how he was rescued by Madame Giry and Meg, of all people and how they had smuggled him out of the Opera House into a brougham and made their way to an inn outside Paris on the road towards Calais. Mother had found him. She'd made enquiries from the cab drivers outside the Opera House, apparently offering a handsome tip, and she had gone to him.

On the night before her wedding.

"No, that can't be true. Mother would never have done that,"

"She did, Gustave. I know it's hard to believe. But she did seek me out, and we.. spent the night together. You're living proof of that,"

I could not believe this. I knew already that she must have slept with Papa of course, that was not a surprise or a shock, but not like this, not the night before she dedicated herself to Raoul, before God… Mother may not have been happy with Raoul but she was a good, devout woman who never missed church and went to confession regularly. She'd taught me my prayers and sometimes read aloud from the bible. How could she have slept with another man the night before her wedding? She had kept that secret for over ten years, kept it to herself, allowing it to eat her up inside...

"But you left her the next morning," I protested weakly. The atmosphere was tense beyond endurance. Both of us needed a strong cup of tea after all this and my father rested from his lengthy confession while I pondered everything. Eventually he continued.

"I was ashamed of what I was, a disfigured monster. We'd slept together in the darkness and I was too ashamed to let her see me in the morning. If only I'd known! That fool was supposed to look after her, give her a good life.. It infuriates me to think of how he treated her. But I loved her, all those years I loved her. Even when Phantasma became successful I still dreamt of having my angel back with me."

"That was why you invited her to sing, wasn't it? You wanted to steal her from her husband."

"I'm not proud of what I did. But I just couldn't live without her any more. So I invited her to sing in my theatre, sending her my song that I wrote just for her. I didn't know your stepfather had gambled away all your money in Monte Carlo, although I learnt about it soon afterwards. But it seems you got my letter at just the right time. And you all came to Mister Y's empire and.. well, you know most of what happened after that. I was watching through a two way mirror when the three of you arrived in your hotel room, and I saw the vicomte storm out and your mother comfort you. I knew then he wasn't good enough for my Christine. I wanted more than ever to win her back, come what may…"

It was all too much for me. I did not want to hear any more. I locked myself in my bedroom and did not come out for several days. Papa told everyone that I was sick and didn't want any visitors, and got Joe to telephone the store where I worked. I lay on my bed, thinking, wondering, going over that confrontation in the lair over and over. And finally I worked out what had been bothering me. That dream Raoul once had, when I stood outside his bedroom door wanting my mother. He'd been dreaming of being strangled. He'd been dreaming of what my father did to him.

It was a long time before I could gather all my thoughts together. Papa had tried to kill Raoul and it had continued to haunt my stepfather years later. And he had raised the child of his would-be murderer. That was why he had been so distant towards me, treating me like a stranger, looking at me in fear when I played the piano.

It was because I reminded him of the man who had taken over his fiancé's life, who terrorised them both and tried to kill him, and he had lived with that reminder every day of his life for ten years. And that same person had been watching us through a mirror in the hotel room, just like he used to watch Mother at the Opera House, as he plotted… What kind of man was I living with?

And Mother... She had seemed like an angel to me, a living angel… I must have known, deep down, that I was conceived around her wedding day but I had never faced reality until now. All the stories she had told me about her life… I did not know what to think or how to feel. There were no easy answers for either of us. I returned to work but the two of us began to avoid each other and I often spent time at a concert or even in a nickelodeon, just to get away from him.

One night I did something I didn't usually do and went to a seedy bar on the promenade in Coney Island. When the barman realised who I was he told me that my stepfather had drunk here too, the night before my mother died. I remembered him coming to find me at the theatre the next morning, dishevelled, hungover and frightened. Something had happened to him the night before, something to do with my father, I knew that… More questions, more secrets…As he knew my age, the bartender would not serve me but I soon found a bar that would. And that night, I'm ashamed to say, I got completely drunk for the first time.

When I finally staggered home, I realised I'd forgotten my key and had to ring the doorbell. Papa was so furious with me that night, telling me I was just like the vicomte. I don't remember much else.

We didn't stay at odds forever. Neither of us behaved well over the whole business, but we finally (and reluctantly) began talking to each other again, determined not to speak of the past any more. Later that fall, I began my studies at Julliard, taking the train to the college's new home on Morningside Heights each day and returning to my father in the evening. We still shared a love of music and it brought us together, just when we both thought that our rift could not be bridged. Gradually I remembered what I loved about him, and thought sadly of his tears at receiving such a simple thing as a kiss. It was Mother who'd showed him the first scrap of affection he'd ever had. Even as she lay dying, she had put my hand into his, begging him to look after me. She'd managed to forgive him for all he did to her, and so must I, for her sake. And he had made continuous sacrifices for me – not just moving out of his apartment but learning about raising a child through hard experience and going out in public with me when all his instincts made him want to hide in the shadows.

It is no wonder our relationship was, and remained, decidedly complex. Who is he? I used to wonder. More importantly, what was he? An angel or a demon? My loving father or my oppressor? Even now, despite all the time I've had to ponder this, I have never really figured that out.

The next chapter will move things on a little bit...