The stillness was disrupted by a myriad of voices susurrating all around. At the phantom's behest, immaterial soot and ethereal flames evoked an ensemble of memories and sensations not belonging to Nathaniel.

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I didn't know my father. My aunt and uncle raised me after Mum died from consumption. Uncle was a back alley goon, and Aunt Iella was a bar waitress. I was 17, and Fatima was 18 when she got pregnant. Of course, I got my backside horribly beaten before getting kicked out. We didn't think much those days. A mattress on the floor was enough as long as we filled our bellies and had a roof over our heads.

Like many other boys my age, I chose not to continue schooling. I figured I'd make enough money as a deckhand at Bo's. Food from the hauls and the salary should have been enough to keep us floating. That's what I thought.

Then, Jasper was born. My little Jaro. For the first time in my life, I looked forward to something more than beer money. This tiny, crying potato would someday be his own man. I probably need to teach him how to use protection early because he's a looker like his dad.

Jaro sure had spunk. One time, when he was 6, I got home to see my Fatima crying. Apparently, my son got her mad, and she chased after him by the pier carrying a fly swatter. He was agile. The boy chased them seagulls away with much fury. There was no way Fatima would've caught him. He didn't come home until very late because he knew I would beat him as punishment. His hunger got the best of him, and he had no choice but to get his beating.

Jaro was 10 when Aelia and Felicia were born. Being the big brother meant he had to protect his twin sisters from whatever and whoever. Jaro began picking up whatever book he could read so that he could tell stories to both of them. Jaro would watch over them and join in their mischief. Looking back now, having twin sisters might have prevented Jaro from being the heartbreaker he was supposed to be. Jaro would purposely earn my ire whenever his little sisters did something wrong. In front of the twins, no bug, no monster, or bigger kid was scary for him.

Fatima took up a job as a dishwasher to help support the family. Things weren't doing so great over at Bo's. The new textile factory spewed out its waste on the seaside, eventually killing our fishing grounds. The local municipal didn't do squat as the money from commerce was just too good. 

We had to travel further away to get a decent haul. The weather was harsh, and long travels with the crew were made for drinking. Liquor became the magic potion that cured all ails. It certainly helped me sleep after one of Bo's boys got thrown overboard during a tussle with some nasty waves. We never could find his body.

Over time, the bottles piled up while my coins grew fewer. Fatima threw a fit at me. After all I've done for the family, I thought she was darn ungrateful. If she were the one at sea, she might understand why kissing the bottle was better than kissing her. We'd shout at each other, and Fatima would hurl a plate or two. I realise now that I didn't know any better. Like discipline, I thought problems were solved either by cane or fist.

One night, I came home proper drunk. My wife was howling like a crazed banshee again. All was fine; it was the usual yapping. We've gone through this many times. I thought it was the usual until she called me 'useless like my whore-loving father'. I saw red. The next thing I knew, the twins were wailing. Fatima was on the floor, sobbing. I had struck her, and her tooth cut my knuckles until it bled. I remember sweltering, my forehead simmering with anger, followed by a thud. Jaro had thrown a wooden bowl at me. Shit hit me smack on the head. Fish soup with rice and all.

Jasper, my tiny potato, looked at me with a grown man's fury. Jaro charged at me. He was 14 now, and his blows started to hurt. Being drunk made it worse. I was blinded by rage; I must've been unhinged. The neighbours rushed to separate us, I hit some more people, and I was dragged to a prison cell. I remember vomiting while they dragged me away.

When I came to my senses the following day, they told me that I had beaten my little boy until his eye swelled up and broke some of his ribs that he coughed blood. I vomited again. That was the lowest point in my life. I realise now that Fatima had been sacrificing for the family. Her arms were always riddled with burns from the soap they used at work. She always cared for me. I must have worried her a lot. What good was coming back home from the sea when all I had to show her was me losing myself to the bottle.

 I wasn't the only one with burdens to carry. There were times when I was a burden.

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Nathaniel had been seizing on the floor as foreign memories forcefully bore into his brain. The sheer magnitude of going through another's memories at lightspeed was worse than any drugged delirium he had encountered before. Nathaniel noticed a scar on the back of his palm when he used it to steady himself up the floor. Trapped in a trance-like state and with muffled hearing, the one who snapped him out of his incoherence was Carmela's voice.

The phantom called out to the man named Nathaniel using the voice that would surely reach him.

"You must not forget your nature and your purpose, Nathaniel." The silver fox shivered at the sound of his daughter lecturing him. He could not help but cringe despite knowing it was an ethereal being mimicking his beloved.

"What happened?" Nathaniel immediately covered his mouth. His voice had changed timbre. Awe quickly turned to malaise. The shifting of essences took its toll on the man's body. 

"My head feels awful."

"You have acquired the memories of Jasper's father, Philippe Impestan."

He looked over to the phantom with his mouth agape. "His memories up until Jasper's last encounter with him-that is."

It stupefied Nathaniel. It was outrageous. Way beyond his human comprehension. It certainly didn't help that the phantom alternated between using Carmela's melodious and Fatima's raspy voice.

"Your soul must not assimilate with the form of Phillipe Impestan. Remember your nature and your purpose." The visage reiterated.

"Wear his form like a hooded cloak."

"Awareness is the key."

To the man's perception, it was like wearing a weighted mantle made of fluid emotions and life-like yet foreign sensations prickling at his skin. Sentiments and feelings were all rushing to him.

"Papa? Papa, is that you?" Nathaniel's eyes slowly shifted towards the direction of that pitiful voice.

The man behind the cloak was a blubbering mess. His face was filthy with tears and snot as he whimpered uncontrollably. With Philippe's form drawing him near Jasper's body, Nathaniel found himself at a loss for words. It was a surreal experience akin to a seance of sorts.

His heart was devastated. It ached like a caged bird longing for flight. An innate freedom stripped away.

No parent should ever outlive their child.

"Papa, I'm sorry for hurting you. I am really sorry, but you were hurting Mama."

No greater shame and disgrace than a parent's failure to protect a child.

"I miss you, and I hate myself for hurting you. I was so angry. You can't make Aelia or Felicia cry! You can't make Mama cry more than she has. We all cried. We were worried about you. We love you."

Nathaniel's hands were trembling; the voice of Jasper's thoughts was poignant yet brimming with love for Phillippe.

Bringing life into this world is honourable as it is humbling.

"This must be my punishment for destroying our family. I'm so sorry, Papa. I was weak, and I could not stop you. You hurt Mama, and I hurt you. We were not so different at that time."

Forgiveness is a necessary nature for a purposefully-lived life.

"I love you, Papa. I swear I will be a better man than you. But I love you for teaching me that. I forgive you for showing me that."

Nathaniel felt Philippe's many reasons to hate himself, yet it only took one reason to overwrite them all-Jasper's love for him.

"I always tell Aelia and Felicia that Papa doesn't hate them. Papa doesn't hate Mama. That it was my fault."

A father's love is the ground on which a child's feet can stand steady.

"I...forgive you," Nathaniel said in his own voice.

All the while, Nathaniel was wrestling with Philippe's form. It pecked and prickled him. It suddenly fell at peace when he spoke those words.

He forgave Philippe as a father because he felt it all. He felt the despair, the fathomless remorse, the anguish of loneliness, the loss of pride that the man named Philippe endured. It was a hell of his own making.

At the same time, his words of forgiveness reached Jasper. The boy's final wish to apologise to his father was heard.

The malevolence cleared. Followed by tranquillity and nothingness. Jasper had passed on into the warmth of the blue flame.

"You did see him through, Nathaniel."

Nathaniel had succumbed to his emotions and crashed on the floor, bawling. He failed to notice Fatima's visage had tears beading down her face.

"Now you see and understand that both the passing soul and the form I must take are two hearts trying to find one another." The visage reverted back to Carmela's form.

The man was curled into a ball, coughing.

"Your nature is too cruel for a purpose that is so kind."