Fifty years ago, Monstressor murdered Fortunato one night in a catacomb. Unknown to either of them, Fortunato’s six year old boy watched as the entire crime unfolded. So young and weak, he dare not say anything, as who would believe the tales of such a young boy? As the boy grew, he lived a full life had had a daughter, named Clara, in the process. Now, he lay in a bleak hospital, dying, with Clara at his side. “Don’t worry father, the time has come. I had gathered my courage. I will do it for Grandpa,” said the beautiful lady while holding the hands of an old man lying in his hospital bed. Though the old man cannot move a muscle, he tried to press the hands of his daughter. This was his only way to show support for her. He made murmuring sounds,