Author's note: Hey there. I just thought that first off, I should talk a little bit, about my writing, what I'm planning to do, blah blah, just to start this thing. When I read The Da Vinci code, I absolutely fell in love with the character of Silas, then I watched the movie and that just topped it all off. I adore Paul Bettany, he's great, so I thought, 'you know what? I'll write a fan fiction'. So here I am, new to this whole thing, hoping for some good reviews. Mhm, thank you. )
Disclaimer: Dan Brown owns everything in this fan fiction (except the plot and the OC). Believe me, if I owned it, it would have been called The Silas Code.
The first extract is from the end of Chapter 102.
This is only a prologue, so it is short.
Prologue
I am a ghost.
A breeze rustled past him, carrying the damp, earthy scent of new life. With every living cell in his broken body, Silas prayed. He prayed for forgiveness. He prayed for mercy. And, above all, he prayed for his mentor… Bishop Aringarosa… that the Lord would not take him before his time. He has so much work left to do.
The fog was swirling around him now, and Silas felt so light that he was sure the wisps would carry him away. Closing his eyes, he said a final prayer.
From somewhere in the mist, the voice of Manuel Aringarosa whispered to him.
Our Lord is a good and merciful God.
Silas's pain at last began to fade, and he knew the bishop was right.
Silas opened his eyes. High above him, a harsh white light flickered, every now and then casting the room into a state of half darkness.
Was this Heaven?
He almost laughed at his situation. If this was Heaven, then Aringarosa hadn't been too correct about how good God was, and how hard everyone must strive to reach His Paradise. If this was Heaven, then the Lord's domain, the Kingdom, was no more than a badly lit hospital room that smelt of blood, disinfectant and stagnant water.
This isn't Heaven.
Silas tried to sit up, but a stabbing pain in the side of his gut stopped him. He could feel dried blood caked on his stomach and in the soft hollow under his ribs. He could hear voices. And still, he could see that flashing light.
On.
Off.
On.
Off.
A hand grabbed at his left arm, a snake trailing from its fingers, a tubular snake filled with crimson liquid and with harsh metal fangs. Silas pulled away, the scream growing inside him unable to escape from his pale lips. Still the voices muttered, speaking an unknown language, one he understood, but one he couldn't tune into.
"He's lost a lot of blood," said one of the voices, concern lacing every syllable.
"Hmm. But now we've taken that thing off of his thigh he should be alright."
Should be. Should be. Should be.
"Yeah." The same concerned voice as before. "I don't know why he's protesting… He's practically unconscious."
'I can hear everything you say…' Silas thought. The voices stopped for a second, and all he could hear was the buzzing of the light, high, high above him.
"There," the voice made Silas start. "He's lost blood, but the bullet missed any crucial arteries or organs."
"He's a lucky, lucky man." Concerned Voice said.
"Yes."
Silas wanted to laugh again. Lucky? Was living lucky? Living another day in this ghost's skin, in this invisible body hardly seemed lucky to Silas.
Unlucky was more appropriate.