Okay before a mob forms to come after me let me set a couple things straight. I based this off of the movie more so than the book. I love both the movie and the book. I know there is a huge problem with Silas's name because he got it after he went to jail then broke out and joined the church, but I love the name so I decided to use it in my story despite him being a teen here. Don't like that don't read the story :) For everyone else please enjoy :)
"Don't wonder off now Clair," her father had said. She sat looking at the water. It was such a dump at the docks. Why was it that the filth of the city gravitated towards the water? Clair sighed wishing her father would hurry up and finish bargaining with the dockworkers. She couldn't understand why he would do such a task himself on the grey morning when normally he sent one of his underlings to do so.
She stood and walked for a little while trying to get away from the sound of the men arguing. Groups of homeless youth stared at her with big hungry eyes from the dark cubbies along the dock. Her breath fell in little foggy puffs, as she kept moving not wanting to cause trouble.
Eventually she came to a stop in front of an old abandoned factory. It's windows had been busted out by storms long since past and the doors swung aimlessly back and forth, banging shut before creaking open again. Something inside that place called to her and she went forward slowly.
Inside it was dim and she looked around at the ruin wondering what had once taken place. "What are you doing here?" a voice asked. She spun startled and looked at a boy. She froze petrified by him. Another homeless young man probably her age, but he was white as a ghost instead of flesh colored. His clothes were dirty in contrast to his white hair. Clair started to stumble backwards but couldn't move when her eyes met with his. They were a the palest gray she had ever seen. "I said what are you doing here?" he snapped again.
She shook her head trying to get words out of her mouth, but they snagged in her throat. She had seen albinos before, but never up close and none of them had had this boy's eyes. All of their eyes had been an ugly red making them look like demons. This boy however looked beautiful despite his gaunt face and slim frame.
"I'm sorry, I did – I didn't mean to intrude. I was just walking and I – I ended up in here," she stuttered trying not to stare.
"You shouldn't be here. It's dangerous. Go back to where ever you came from," he said less aggressively. She relaxed a little.
"Is this where you live?" she asked without thinking. He had started to turn and go, but her question made him look back.
"Why does it matter?" he asked. She shook her head.
"I just… it seems so loud," she shrugged looking for an answer of her own. He cocked his head to the side studying her more curiously.
"Loud?" he asked. She swallowed hard feeling uneasy under his gaze.
"Yeah, the wind, and the doors… and all the noise outside. How do you ever sleep?" she asked not meaning to seem rude, but all the sounds of this place mixed together to cause a steady rush of noise. He looked away at her.
"Music," he said holding out his hands gesturing to the world around them. His voice was low and dry, but it seemed to sing to her as he uttered the single word. He moved forward until he was very close to her. Despite feeling uncomfortable she didn't move as he circled her. "It sings to me. If you listen long enough you'll find the beat," he said.
"Clair!" her father's voice rang out from outside the factory. The boy jumped looking like a frightened animal.
"That's my father," she said. He looked at her with his grey eyes.
"You should go back to whatever world you came from," he said slowly.
"My name is Clair," she said without reason. He looked at her puzzled.
"Clair!" her father shouted again. The boy said nothing more before he walked away into the shadows of the factory. "Clair!" her father was angry she could tell by the sound of his shouts. She ran to the doorway and looked back hoping to catch one last glimpse of the ghost boy, but he had disappeared. Clair ran outside to her father.
It had been a week and when her father woke early to go down to the docks Clair rose and went with him. Over one shoulder she carried a back pack and when her father began bargaining with the dockworkers she immediately slipped away and ran for the factory where she had seen the ghost boy.
All week his eyes had haunted her and she wanted to see him again. Slowly she pushed open the door to the factory and peeked in. Seeing no one she entered. "Hello?" she called looking around.
"You came back," he sighed emerging from shadows. She spun around again startled. "Why?" he asked.
"I thought you might want these," she said motioning to the backpack. He seemed suspicious but took a step closer.
"Clair?" he asked sounding like he wasn't used to using his own voice.
"Yeah," she nodded. He took another step closed. She opened the backpack and took out the clean set of clothes she had taken from her brother's old room. He'd gone to collage the year before and left most of his things behind.
"I don't need your charity," the boy said looking at her with mistrust. She stopped and put the clothes back in.
"It's not charity, I mean, obviously you can fend for yourself. I just thought you might take these in trade for teaching me to hear the music here," she said thinking fast for an excuse because in truth it was charity. She felt bad for the boy. Maybe it was just his naturally pale color deceiving her, but he looked cold.
"That's not something I can teach," he said. She bit her lip.
"Then I'll trade this to you for your name," she said. He looked surprised. For a moment he hesitated then, as he was about to speak again her father's voice bellowed down the dock.
"Clair!" he shouted. The boy looked out.
"Your father is getting better at bartering," he observed. She looked at him. "Go home Clair, don't come back here again. You don't belong in this place," he said sensing that the girl was somehow intrigued by life at the docks. He walked away again. Clair sighed and left the bag where it set as she returned to her father.
Another week past and her father once again went to the dock to do the weekly trading for his restaurant. Clair went with him, but this time took nothing for the ghost boy. She didn't go to the factory, but instead walked along the waters edge watching the scummy foam wash against the wood docks. She had a few loose coins in her pocket and tossed them to the children of the docks causing a stir.
The boy appeared suddenly without warning. He was wearing her brother's clothes making him look much cleaner. "Clair," he said once again sounding like his voice was almost out of his control.
"Hello," she smiled happy to see he had used what she had given him.
"I know what I can trade to you," he said as his voice cracked a little. She looked at him confused as he handed her a piece of paper. It was crumpled and folded, but when she unfolded it she gasped a little. Her own face was staring back up at her. She stood in the middle of the factory occupying a beam of light that came from a broken window. The grey of the pencil showed amazing depth.
Clair looked back up at the boy. "You did this?" she asked. He wouldn't look at her and became fixated on a point somewhere in the water.
"Yes," he replied.
"This is amazing," she said looking back at the picture.
"But worthless all the same. A drawing won't keep you fed," he sighed.
"Are you crazy? Artists can sell their work. Many people make a living that way," she said. He smiled slightly for the first time. Even his lips were pale as they pulled back blending into his teeth. He shook his head.
"If only you knew this world," he sighed.
"So teach me," she said. He looked at her.
"Look at me," he said sounding as if she should know something about him because of his skin.
"I am and I don't see anything wrong with you," she said. He shook his head again as if frustrated.
"I live on the docks," he said sounding like she should know what he was getting at. "You don't. You have a family and you can obviously afford to buy fish while I steal them to live," he said looking at her.
"That doesn't really mean anything," she shrugged shaking her head. He wrinkled his brow as if it were a new idea. "Why are you so afraid of me?" she asked genuinely suspecting he was afraid.
"I'm not afraid of you, I'm confused by you. You can come and go wherever you like yet you keep coming back here. Why?" he asked. She chuckled earning another confused look from the boy.
"Because you confuse me," she said. He bowed his head. "Here," she said holding out some money. He looked at it shaking his head.
"No, no I can't," he said sounding almost scared.
"Take it," she said pushing it into one of his hands. "Buy some more paper and pencils. You're gifted no matter your circumstance, and that shouldn't go unnoticed," she said holding his hand as if to keep the money in his palm. He looked at her with his mouth open as if to talk but no words would come. She let go of him. "I won't come back if you don't want me to," she added.
The boy didn't answer and looked away back to the water. She turned to leave knowing her father would be done soon. "I'd like to see you again," he said. She stopped and turned back to him.
"I'll be back in a week then," she smiled.
Clair ran down the dock carrying a thermos of soup she had heated just before they left the house. She had to hide it in her coat during the drive because her father had told her a hundred times not to meddle with the homeless. The burn on her side and his warnings did nothing to deter her.
The ghost boy was sitting on a box in the factory when she arrived. "Hi," she said.
"Here," he said holding out a stack of paper. She took them and handed him the thermos.
"Go ahead," she said as he looked at it as if asking her what to do. She leafed through the pictures as he opened the thermos and sipped from it. The soup felt like an explosion on his tongue. It had been ages since he had eaten something so warm. He drank the soup fast feeling the warmth gather in his stomach. "These are amazing," she said. He looked up.
"Keep them. I can't use them," he said.
"I bet I could sell them," she said. He laughed half-heartedly. "I'm serious," she said. The door slammed and she jumped.
"There's your beat," he said handing the thermos back to her. He smiled more genuinely and stood. He came closer to her and she noted that he had to look down at her slightly. His grey eyes studied her. "If you can sell that and bring me proof. I'll tell you my name," he said. She gave him a crooked smile.
"Deal," she said as she started to go placing the pictured under her coat carefully so as not to bend them. He caught her arm.
"But if you can't. You'll promise to stay away from the docks," he said. She looked at him wondering why he insisted on her staying away. "Something so beautiful shouldn't be here," he said as if reading her thoughts. She smiled and touched him lightly on the cheek with her hand.
"I'll see you in a week," she said. He had frozen at her touch and could only watch as she left.
The week passed slowly for Clair. She sold the boy's pictures and took photos of them hanging on the walls as well as keeping the receipts. The days drug on each seeming longer than the last until finally it was time again to go to the docks. "Why do you keep coming to the docks with me Clair?" her father asked in the car. Her stomach lurched.
"I like watching the water," she lied. He chuckled thinking her a silly girl and didn't ask her anymore. She slipped away unnoticed like always.
When the ghost boy appeared from an alleyway she almost shouted, but stifled the yelp with her hand. He folded his arms across his chest. "I take it you sold them since you came back," he sighed.
"Yeah," she said offering her proof. He nodded looking at it without interest.
"My name is Silas," he said.
"Silas," she repeated. He handed the photos and receipts back. "Well, Silas, here is your hard earned money," she said offering him his earnings. He looked at it and shook his head.
"You paid for the paper and you sold them. That's yours," he said.
"Then we'll split it," she suggested and handed him half. "I sold them at half price, but the man was a friend of mine who runs a hotel and he said he would take fifty more just like them," she said. Silas looked at her startled.
"Really?" he couldn't help but ask. She nodded. He shook his head becoming afraid. "No Clair… this… this is too much. You don't know me," he said in a voice just above a whisper. "You just don't-" she stopped him.
"Silas, I'm not afraid of you," she said. He looked away from her and she could tell in that moment that he was carrying pain and grief. "I want to be your friend. I don't care about where you live or how you look," she said reaching out and taking one of his pale hands. He seemed startled by the contact and drew away. "Please, you don't have to be afraid of me" she added. He let out a long breath and his hand closed around hers.
"I want to draw you again, but this time I want you to model for me, so I can get your face right," he said slowly.
"My father won't let me come here alone," she said.
"I'll meet you somewhere," he suggested.
"There's a park near my house she suggested. You can take a bus," she replied. He looked her directly in the eye for the first time since she had arrived.
"If I draw and you sell, and we split the profit down the middle, I'll come," he said. She nodded and he dropped her hand. Quickly she wrote down directions before her father started to below for her.
"I'll meet you near the benches just after the bell tolls three tomorrow," she said as she walked away. He watched until she disappeared then returned to his hideaway in the factory.
All night Silas lay awake thinking of her. She seemed like magic. All of a sudden he felt like more than a filthy thief. The darkness of his past seemed to be dimmed by the brightness of her presence.
Thank you for reading. Please review :)
I own nothing.