Disclaimer: I own nothing of the Phantom of the Opera

Words of a Mad Man

Twenty four hours later, Dr. Steward Jansen was brought back to the base. I had searched his lab area with Revieli, but had come up short. Nothing but sharp broken glass and shredded papers remained from what appeared to have been a state of the art lab. The white tiled floor was covered in an inch of clear, aromatic liquid. I did not know whether the destruction was done by those incompetent fools on the base or Jansen himself.

I hoped that by speak to the apprehended "criminal" I would finally get some answers.

Boy was I wrong.

Jansen was…well the man had lost it. He sat on the floor, rocking back and forth as he mumbled under his breath. He kept his eyes shut, refusing to look at anyone, or even acknowledge their presence.

I sat in a chair, watching this man on the floor, this broken man who was on the verge of collapsing. As I have said before, emotions are for the weak, but looking at this poor soul, I could not help but feel for him.

"Dr. Jansen," I began, "Do you know where you are?" I asked softly, not wanting to scare him.

He stopped shaking and began to laugh, a cold laugh that rung in the still room. He opened his eyes, those red, swollen eyes, and looked up at me. He looked like a savage animal, ready to pounce and kill its prey.

"I am where the fires rage and the wicked are punished for their sins. I am in the place build for the forsaken, for the damned, for the ones who were not granted entrance into the land of the divine."

He continued to laugh at me, his yellowed teeth coming into view. His right hand rose, pressing on his forehead, hitting the pale flesh over and over.

"We are all doomed," he said as he rocked faster, his palm slamming against his forehead harder. "I made this. I made death. I am death."

"What did you make?"

"I made life," he said, his eyes looking up at me. He quickly rose from his spot on the floor, walking to me. He looked like one of those zombies from the movies. At his advancement, I rose from my seat as well, readying myself for an attack. "I made life. Life that kills," he said, his eyes pleading with mine to believe him, to understand him. "Small life. Really small. It's always been there. Always there. But now it lives. It lives to kill. Life makes death."

His dirt covered hand grabbed mine, it hung on to it. His intentions were not to harm me, I knew that much. He continued to look into my eyes, wanting me to understand what he was saying. I am sure that in his head the words that were coming out of his mouth made sense, but to me…well I had no idea what he was on about.

"It was single stranded. All by itself it could do nothing."

"What was single stranded?"

He never answered my question. Instead he began to study my face, scanning it as he assimilated every fine detail.

"Rockton," he said, his eyes affixed on mine.

The name made my face pale, the blood rushing out of my brain. I could feel my breathing becoming more ragged, my insides twisting and trembling. I could not speak. All I could do was stare at this man, this stranger who had just mentioned my father's name, my supposedly dead, father's name.

"Eyes," he said with a smile. "Look just like him."

"You knew my father?"

Jansen nodded, his smile broadening.

"Good man. Tried to help but no use."

"Alright, that's enough," said the Colonel who had just entered the room. "Come with me Agent Dawson."

"No," I said, my eyes never leaving Jansen's

"That was an order, Dawson!"

"Shut the fuck up!" My roaring voice was followed by a pointed gun. The Desert Eagle stood erect, its silver barrel gleaming in the florescent light. "One more word out of you and I swear I will send you to your grave."

My voice trembled as I spoke. My whole body was shaking in both fear and an ounce of hope. This always happened when my father was mentioned. Trying to keep calm, I turned back to Jansen.

"How did you know my father?"

Jansen's eyes traveled back and forth between me and the Colonel. Finally, staring down at the concrete floor, he began to speak.

"Death awaits," he whispered. Looking back up at me, I could see tears in his eyes. "Your father, my father. Gave life to help me. Gave life to save me."

"He's dead," I said, the hand holding the gun beginning to drop.

Jansen merely nodded. I lowered my gun, feeling it slip from my fingers. The truth was had to swallow.

----------------------------

The door slammed shut. Two guards stood behind the graying door, making sure that I did not cause more havoc on the base. Fact was that even if I had wanted to escape, I did not have the mental energy required to do so.

Pulling out my notepad, I wrote down everything Jansen had said, word for word. What did not make sense to me might to someone else. Sitting down, I began to read over my own notes, trying desperately to get my father out of my head. I could not afford to get lost in my memories, to lose my concentration because of the past.

Minutes later, a knock on the window brought me back to reality. Revieli was standing outside my window, his head turning from side to side, scanning the area for guards.

I went to the window and before opening it, my index finger rose to my lips, telling him silently not to make a noise. Tearing off a sheet from the notepad I wrote a question, one which had sprung in my head as I recalled Jansen's words, a question to which Revieli answered with a nod and smile.

He had known my father.

Taking out a black pen from his breast pocket, he wrote down "He promised he would save us." Closing my eyes, the image of my father in his green army suit flashed before me. That sounded exactly like him, always ready to help, to set things right at any cost.

Revieli took out a piece of yellowing paper, folded neatly into a rectangle, its edges worn out. He passed me the paper then mouthed "goodbye". Unfolding the page with a frown, my eyes shot open at the neat handwriting that adored it.

It was my father's.