"You do realize I am in the room, do you not?" Erik sniffs, settled comfortably into the wing-backed chair across from the matching one Pere Charles occupies in front of the fireplace, he takes a sip of Armagnac from his snifter.

"Do not be so sensitive," Nadir laughs from his place on the sofa next to Adele. "I merely told Pere Charles it was a surprise seeing you in your horseman get-up. A pleasant change from the black to you have taken to wearing. You chose much more colorful clothing when I knew you in Persia."

"I really had no choice then – I wore what was given me once my own garments were taken…by you I might add," he replies. "In any event, you are quite the man of fashion with your Astrakhan hat and green plaid suit."

Nadir puffs up. "You like it? I thought it a little bold, but life is meant to be lived."

Adele coughs and shakes her head at Erik.

Ignoring her, he snorts, "You are more likely to die wearing such garments, most thieves seeing you would never suspect the man wearing such frippery was a police officer and would likely try to rob you."

"Frippery indeed, do you have any idea how much I paid for this suit?" Dusting invisible dust from the sleeves before shooting his cuffs.

"Too much."

"Now. Now, gentlemen, no bickering," Pere Charles chimes in. "You both look quite fine." The two men puzzle the priest. Although the foreign gentleman was midway in age between Erik and himself, the two were sparring like brothers. There was a definite affection between them – much like the relationship he had with Edward, Erik's father.

"Maman would not be pleased with those drawings."

"I have no intention of her seeing them," Edward replied, pulling a few sheets from his portfolio. "These are for her."

"Landscapes?"

"She loves landscapes…and if you will notice, in this one there are three people…you, Emilie and me."

"Even so."

"You are going to make a terrible priest, you know."

"Why do you say that?"

"Much too judgmental…you are quite a prig, you know. I should hate to find you in the confessional with me," Edward laughed. "You would have me doing five rosaries for simply drawing a woman's body."

"She is naked!"

"Yes, God's creation. I call this Eve Before the Temptation."

"Blasphemy!"

"What is blasphemy?" asked the tall, thin woman, black hair pinned into a chignon at the nape of her neck, as she walked into Edward's studio, interrupting the argument.

"This drawing," Edward replied, pointing to the drawing on the drafting table. "Charles finds it risqué."

Julia Saint-Rien lifts up the sketch. "This is quite good; I am happy to see you are no longer wasting your talent on landscapes." Patting Charles on the cheek, she said, "Do not be such a prig Charles, the human body is a beautiful creation." With that she left the room, both brothers mildly aghast at her comments.

"You look quite fine yourself, Uncle," Erik says. "Your black garment is called a cassock…is that not correct? One would not be likely to challenge your goodness…as some question my choice of black."

"Touche," the priest laughs. "However, your father was always ready to challenge my "goodness" as you call it. As you saw today, I actually do wear what you might consider normal clothing on many occasions; cassocks are not suitable for riding."

"You could ride side-saddle," Erik chuckles.

"I could, indeed…yes, you are very much like your father."

"Well no one will ever mistake what he does for a living," Nadir says. "No offence, sir, but members of the clergy do seem to carry some immunity from robbers…or at least one would hope so."

"Much depends upon whether one is carrying the collection after Sunday Mass, but I suppose you are correct. It is a blessing and a curse, particularly with a parishioner who has drunk a bit too much of the brew and decides he wishes to make a confession."

"You three really are a sight – each of you does appear to be in a costume of some sort, if I dare say," Adele says. "One might think we are attending a performance at the Comédie-Française rather than sitting in a country rectory."

Hearing the repartee, Christine giggles as she stands in the doorway, holding a tray with a teapot and cups. "Seeing you from this perspective, I must agree you are an odd group, even you, Madame."

"I agree," Erik says. "Adele in her own version of my ever-present black…and you looking to be a hardworking, but beautiful milkmaid. I have no doubt this scene would be a treat for an artist to paint."

"What do you suppose the title of his painting might be?" Christine asks, taking the tray to the sofa, offering tea to Adele and Nadir.

"Your father loved to paint such situations," Pere Charles says, "he went to Paris for just that reason…to experience the oddities of humanity – he wrote a number of letters about his experiences. I must show them to you."

"Oddities of Humanity? I like it. An excellent title," Erik agrees. "We are certainly that."

"I suspect you think you are the oddest of all," Nadir says, raising an eyebrow, accepting the cup of tea Christine offers, taking the sugar bowl as well.

"Do you suppose you might wish to share the sugar with some of us who would also like a bit of sweetening in our tea," Adele asks. "Frankly, I find eating sugar as you do quite odd."

"Pere Charles is actually the most normal of all of us," Christine interjects, "except for the fact that he is a priest."

When the group erupts in laughter, she blushes. "I mean…well…we are all in the theater…I mean I perform in the theater…Erik…well Erik is a musician and lives underneath a theater…Madame used to dance…M. Khan…who is Persian and a detective is not in the theater, but he visits quite often…oh, dear…I am sorry…I should not have spoken."

Pere Charles throws back his head in a guffaw. Getting up from his chair to take the tea tray from her. "Sit down, young lady, you are quite right…I do believe Oddities of Humanity would be totally appropriate and Edward would have loved to have known and painted this group."

"Oh, no, I am fine, I should like to help and just listen," she says, ducking away from him, carrying the tray to the parsons table setting it down next to the crystal carafes. "Please pay me no mind."

For a moment, she is thrust back into the past when Mama and Pappa invited some neighbors over for a social evening – one of the them a cousin who was about to be married to a farmer from the next village.

"Will you be learning how to milk cows?" she asked the older girl, her blonde braids wrapped like a crown on her head.

"Why would you ask such a question?" the bride-to-be replied. "We do not have a dairy farm…you know that."

"I just heard Herr Jorgenson talking to Pappa about looking forward to breeding a new heifer. He was pointing at you."

"Christine!" Pappa exclaimed. "You are not supposed to eavesdrop when grown-ups are speaking in private."

"You called me a heifer? You said you were going to breed me?" the enraged young woman shouted at the red-faced farmer, the color of his cheeks threatening to match the hair on his head.

"No!" he exclaimed rushing to her side. "I am buying a heifer from my Uncle Olaf to expand the farm and…and for milk…to drink." Looking to Gustave for confirmation.

"Yes, absolutely, Olaf has a heifer for sale." His blue eyes wide as he looked to his wife for support.

"Olaf does not have any heifers now…it is not the season," Katrina Daae interjected, frowning at her husband. "Perhaps in the spring. Whatever are you talking about?" Taking a survey of the faces of the men, she then offered a simple, "Oh. You men."

Many years would pass before she understood what had transpired. Her cousin never did marry Herr Jorgensen and it would be months before the older girl spoke to her again. When questioning her Mama about the incident, Katrina would only say, "I will explain when you are older."

Sadly, Mama died before that day came and it was only traveling from place to place and listening in on the conversations of grown-ups, would she come to understand the insult. Even before that knowledge, she learned not to speak her thoughts for fear of a similar embarrassment. Tonight reaffirmed the decision and her only desire at the moment was to be anywhere but in this room.

"Nonsense," Erik says, rising from his chair, taking her by the arm. "You sit here. I shall get your tea, then sit at your feet, as you deserve."

Accepting his suggestion, she curls herself into the chair, accepting the cup of tea he offers her, determined to become invisible. They are all so much older than she. The age difference never seems to matter when she is alone with Erik. If anything, he often seems younger than she and never does she feel foolish or ignorant when with him. Despite his travels around the world with his knowledge of almost everything under the sun, he is still very much a child.

Even so, for all his complaining about having other people around, he seems very comfortable in this environment. For herself, she is again the child who is not quite at ease in the world of adults. Despite her earlier comfort, somehow the added presence of M. Khan and Madame finds the old awkwardness returning.

"We heard you singing, my dear," Pere Charles interrupts her reverie. "Both Estelle and I were taken by your voices filling the rooms of this house empty for so long of youth and beauty. We were in the chapel, so the music affected me most deeply. I heard your mother sing only once, Erik, and am not surprised at the beauty of your voice. We both felt quite blessed."

"We also heard you singing," Adele says, beaming at Christine. "I do not believe I have heard you sound better."

"Erik always had a way with music and his voice," Nadir adds to the discussion.

"You are no doubt speaking of my ventriloquism."

"That, but I do recall your singing on occasion to my son, particularly when he was struggling." Turning to Christine, Nadir says, "I only heard you sing once and was immediately charmed. Hearing the two of you singing together, warmed my heart. Completely taking away the fatigue of the day's long journey."

"Your son?" Christine asks, leaning forward, pressing an arm on Erik's shoulder. "You did not tell me about M. Khan's son."

"Reza," Erik whispers, a smile curving his lips. "There has not been a good time. There are also issues…"

"What sort of issues?"

"We are once again returned to the issue of killing," Erik says, getting to his feet. "Would anyone object if I served myself another finger of this delicious Armagnac?"

"Of course not. What is it, my son?" Pere Charles frowns, looking at Nadir for the answer rather than Erik.

"As I said…killing. I killed Reza." Not bothering to swirl the amber liquid to enjoy the fragrance of the brandy, he simply downs the liquor. Covering his mouth with his and he coughs, shaking his head slightly. "He was already dying, but I ended his life."

"M. Khan?" Christine's eyes also seek out Nadir. "What is he talking about?"

The daroga's green eyes fill with tears as he turns to Adele.

"Tell them," Adele says. "For both your sakes."

Erik always proved to be a great topic of conversation between them. In spite of their differences, she was finding herself more and more drawn to the man from Persia. A conversation about their mutual friend, if either of them could actually call him friend, always led to a greater camaraderie and feeling of closeness. An emptiness she could never quite define was being filled, delightfully so.

The story of how they knew one another was no secret to her. After her first meeting with Nadir, she asked Erik how they met.

"I was playing my violin one night in St. Petersburg…a balmy, summer night…as much as one might experience in Russia."

"A fair?"

"No, I would set up a bucket for donations and play at markets…the women and children liked the music and the tricks I would play with cards…the little ones especially liked when I pulled coins from behind their ears or when I threw my voice."

"And begged their fathers for coins to fill your bucket?"

"Precisely."

"Nadir saw you there."

"Yes…apparently, he had been looking for me…or so I understood from one of my regular patrons."

"Why?"

"In addition to my musical gifts, I also had a reputation from my time in India."

"The garrot?"

"Yes," he said. "I had no idea my fame, such as it was, could travel to the palace in Persia."

"He came to hire you?"

"So I thought…I was always looking for a new adventure…and the offer seemed interesting."

"But."

"But, I did not realize he was actually taking me prisoner," Erik said, his voice hard. "My fault. I was still quite young and not as smart as I believed myself to be."

When Nadir told her about Reza and his death, she understood better the conflict between them despite the obvious affection.

"I suppose you are correct – we never talked about that night," Nadir says, shaking off the sobs he feels rising in his chest. Even after so many years, he continues to grieve over the loss of his son. A glance at Erik is met with an unblinking look and then a slight shrug.

"He is in pain…so much pain…I cannot bear watching him. Please."

"It is not my place. I have given him powders for his pain. I doubt he feels anything now."

"He is writhing and sweating, calling for his mother," Nadir said, grabbing him by the lapels of his silk robe. "You cannot tell me he is not suffering."

"You are asking me to end his life."

"You have taken the lives of others, why should one more matter to you?"

"I see." Erik's tone bitter. "Under those circumstances, I suppose this should not bother me, hmmm?"

"I know you love him." Nadir replied. "I am not an idiot. I have killed as well, but I cannot end his torment. I just cannot do it myself." Falling on his knees to the floor, he sobbed, "Please."

"I did not want to even be in the room, but at the last moment, when Erik was feeding Reza the concoction he made up, I joined them. A part of me hoped there would be enough left over for me." Looking at Erik with tears in his eyes. "We held one another and in the last moment Reza's face relaxed…the pain was gone. He appeared to be smiling. I hold no anger or hatred toward you."

"A mercy killing?" Pere Charles says.

"Nevertheless, killing," Erik says.

"Not murder. No malice. The commandment can also be understood as thou shalt not murder."

"A technicality."

"Sins are matters of intention."

"Stop this!" Christine exclaims, getting to her feet. "Stop making yourself out to be a horrible human being. I will tolerate this no longer."

Erik puts down his glass, raising an eyebrow.

Flustered at her outburst, she nonetheless continues, "I do not know about Madame or Pere Charles, but you know of my experience with the death of another. M. Khan has told us he has killed in line with his role as sheriff. In any event, we all saw him shoot Raoul in my dressing room. Stop thinking you must be hated and damned for your sins by everyone and never know love." Eyes wide, she covers her mouth.

"This has certainly turned into an interesting discussion," Pere Charles says. "Despite the tragic events being discussed in this house today, I cannot help but be grateful to God for the purification happening here."

"What purification?" Erik says. "It seems we are a small group of people…at least three of us who have been responsible for the death of others."

"I. Said. Enough." Christine walks up to him, takes his face in her hands and kisses him. "I hate your sins, but I love you. You are not your bad deeds."

"Well said, Mlle. Daae," Nadir says. "It would seem your lady has called you out, old friend."

"Since we were talking about oddities, such feelings seem to be quite common in life – love and hate often present at the same time," Adele says. "Is that not so Pere?"

"The beauty of man and likely the reason the sacrament of Confession was instituted," the priest says. "This conversation has been quite enlightening."

"Learning who has been killed by those gathered here?" Nadir asks.

"Yes, actually, but not in the way you think."

"What then?" Erik says. "It seemed this conversation turned into a litany of death and, I suppose a cleansing of souls."

"Oh, yes, that, but a question has been gnawing at me and now I have the answer."

"Would you mind sharing – we are all waiting with bated breath for the revelation." Erik takes Christine's hand, leading her back to the chair and returns to his place on the floor at her feet.

"You really are your father's son." Adjusting himself in his own chair, he sits back and takes a sip of his brandy. "Quite simply, now I know why Comte Phillippe de Chagny contacted me. He believed you murdered his brother."