"Faith is often the boast of the man who is too lazy to investigate."
--F.M. Knowles

Chapter 1

Every night Silas was awakened by tormenting dreams, reminders of a life that could have been but one he was swiftly robbed of. Each time they came they made him sit up bolt-right, head reflectively bowed as the tragic memories drowned his troubled mind in a deluge that he was helpless to prevent. It always made the sparse, minimalist but warm room he lived in at Opus Dei headquarters seem colder, more barren than it already was; a reflection of the emptiness that haunted him.

He'd been a young man of eighteen when he met her. Aimlessly wandering the French coast for more than a week, he travelled deeper inland, hoping to get a change of scenery for a few days. He needed to seek shelter somewhere for a short while so he could rest. The burning ache of his muscles nearly caused him to collapse with exhaustion, giving him no choice but to stop where he was for the night. Gratefull that it was July and there was no need to toil with keeping warm, he stretched out on the chilly, lush grass beneath an enormous olive tree, shut his eyes and welcomed the ensuing blackness.

"Excuse me."

The gentle voice calling to him sounded like lyrics from the throat of an angel. A woman! Her reaction to his reposed chalk-white form seemed to not have fazed her in the manner to which he was accustomed. For this, he was bewildered. When I open my eyes she will be frightened away! he thought. I am a ghost! I am transparent! She will not see me!

A ghost with the eyes of a devil, the citizens of Toulon had too recently dubbed him and the self-conscious worry of what did not frighten her away transferred over to what he was positive would: those eyes. He ignored her, wishing her away. Alas, she addressed him again and, hard as he tried preventing it, his eyes fluttered open. What he saw made him think he'd passed on in the night and woke up in Heaven. She was an exquisite dark haired beauty, around his own young age, who smiled unfalteringly at him even after his hell-fire red eyes were unveilled. Her smile felt better than the sweet sun from above.

"My name is Olivia," she informed, her voice blooming with an English accent. "You've fallen asleep in my garden. I wish I'd known. You were welcome to sleep some other place than underneath my olive tree."

She waited for him to speak but he was too astonished by her disregard of his appearance to do so.

"What's your name?" she inquired tenderly.

He gave her the first name that came to him, one he invented because he could not remember the one he received at birth and Olivia repeated it. The name rolled off the young woman's tongue like manna in the desert.

"Would you like to join me for breakfast?" she asked. "I'll wager that you're starving."

She stood from her crouching position then extended a friendly hand to help him up. With a wariness instiled within him from a hard life on the streets, he accepted her gesture and rose from the ground. What was the matter with her? Was she blind and could not see him?

If she was blind to his looks, he shared her handicap for it was strange that he'd been unaware of the presence of a house behind him when he laid down for the night. It was a yellow, two-story with a wrap-around porch. How could he have missed it? It was straight from a dream he secretly kept, where he had one of his own, to accompany the normal life his differences removed him from.

Inside, the house was simple and immaculate, an ideal paradise for his angel to reside. However, he did not have the opportunity to scrutinise his surroundings in detail since she whisked him through the rooms and into a spacious kitchen. Here she seated him at the place of honour: the head of a sturdy table inside a little breakfast nook where she served hot porridge, fresh strawberries and tea with milk and sugar. She joined him at the table with her own cup of tea but she did not eat. Famished, he devoured the food and all but choked from eating too quickly.

"Slow down," Olivia advised. "It isn't going any where and there's plenty more where that came from."

She was true to her words because after he finished seconds followed which he ate more civilly. She remained quiet, not disturbing him while he ate, but drank her tea and read a newspaper that was already on the table.

When his meal was finished the silence grew awkward. He didn't know what to say or do. As he struggled with the dilemma he observed her dignified stature and imagined she was an English noblewoman on holiday in France. His drifting thoughts snapped back to the problem on hand. Finally, what he deemed to be the appropriate words came out.

"Thank you," he broke the silence, rousing her from her concentrated reading. "For the meal. I would pay but I have nothing to give in return."

She only looked at him with dewy eyes.

He rose from the chair, the wrought iron screeching over the parquet floor.

"I will leave you now," he insisted timorously then turned his back to follow through.

The sound of the name he'd given her being expelled from her lips stopped him short.

"I'm alone here and there's plenty to do," she continued. "I'll have to harvest my crop soon. I'll need help. I might not be able to pay well and I can do so only after the crop's been weighed in at market but I can offer shelter and food."

"Are you giving me a job?"

"I suppose I am. Do you accept?"

He turned back around to face her, a light smile spread across his lips.

"I will do my very best."

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Olivia decided she liked his smile. It brimmed with a fearfull hope that she knew was too often crushed, which was something she read in his startling eyes. Those eyes that were like beacons of fiery passion; she decided she liked them as well. They were deceptive in their heathen colour but definitive in their expressions.

"Do you normally take work like this?" she asked.

"Not often," he replied. "I do not receive many offers for reasons made quite clear."

Her eyebrows raised in attestation. "When you do, I'll bet they force you to sleep in their barns like an animal. Do they do that? Make you sleep in their barns?"

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"My barn is full so you can't sleep there. However, there's a spare room at the end of the hall," she stated. "I'm certain you'll be comfortable there. Come. I'll show you."

The bedroom was plain with a fair sized bed, a matching armoire, a corner basin and a little bench near the open window. The walls were bare apart from a large solitary wooden crucifix hanging across from the bed. It wasn't much but it would suit his needs and she witnessed the gratitude enter his eyes when he saw it.

"It's Sunday," she said. "The Sabbath. There is no work on the Sabbath so feel free to make yourself at home. Take a nap. Get acquainted with the grounds. I will look for you when supper's ready."

She left the room but kept the door ajar slightly, affording her the opportunity to study her unexpected and most exotic guest. She watched as he stood still, soaking in his good fortune before he strolled with an uncanny grace to stand before the window. He did nothing but remain there, gazing intently out at the garden in silent reverence.

It did not take much deliberation to distinguish the private hells this man must have endured in his relatively short life and her heart went out to him. He was beautifull in a way that she'd never seen before and she took pride in habitually finding beauty not only where others did not look but also where others chose not to look. It was unlike her to receive strangers into her home and this behemoth of a man could easily have his way with her. Yet she sensed he was not evil as mythology would have her believe. Whether or not he was, she could not find it in her heart to leave him outside beneath the tree.

There is great beauty in this man, she considered as she took care to shut the door quietly, leaving him to his privacy.

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The only other time he saw her during the remainder of the day was when she searched him out to announce meals. He allowed himself a half hour nap to refreshen his body; when he awakened he decided to tour the grounds. There was no need for him to idle the blessed day away with sleep.

The georgic grounds were relatively small but there was still plenty of room for a barn and a reasonably-sized vineyard. It would be more than enough to occupy his hands and for this he was pleased. Keeping busy, particularly with manual labour, was a satisfying enjoyment for him. Idle hands were the devil's work, his mother used to warn.

First, he visited the barn where he found a few goats, a pig, some chickens and two powerfully built horses, one a massive Clydesdale. Initially the animals were skittish and shied away from him. Knowing it was because of their unfamiliarity with him rather than his odd appearance, he held out a hand to prove he meant no harm. After gentle coaxing they came to realise this and allowed him to stroke their muzzles as he muttered softly to them. He remained with the horses for quite some time, their gentle dispositions soothing him. He wished he had a few apples to reward their indifference to his looks but, alas, he did not.

As dusk painted the welkin in darker hues, he progressed into the vineyard. Song birds, riled by his disturbance, soared from tree to tree as they announced his presence with lovely music. This lightened his heart and he removed his battered shoes before continuing his walk. The soft grass felt like he was stepping on an airy cushion and he laughed in spite of himself before breaking into a short run towards the opposite end of the row of grapevines.

Halting, he breathed deep, his heart racing and lungs burning from the activity, eyes wildly absorbing everything there was to see. He fell to his knees with outstretched arms, raised his face to the heavens and rejoiced that he was there.

Later, after consuming his first home cooked supper in more than a decade, he and Olivia adjourned to the lounge where she offered him reading material. On one side of the room he noticed shelves reaching from floor to ceiling, crammed with hard cover volumes. At her insistence he selected a particular ornate tome because he liked the burgundy colour of the spine. It wasn't untill he sat in the room's second chair when he realised the book he'd chosen was Arabian Nights.

Olivia noted the title emblazoned across the leather-bound cover and grinned, probably due to the book's erotic history. He returned the smile and nodded his own approval for the black leather volume in her lap. Plain golden letters spelled the words: The Holy Bible. Thus, they read for an hour and a half, a comfortable silence replacing the prior awkward one settling between them.

"We should retire," Olivia at last suggested. "We need to be up at 4:30 to begin work."

He closed the borrowed copy of Arabian Nights and tried to return it on its shelf when Olivia placed a hand over his to prevent him. The small gesture punctured his heart, filling him with anticipated scorn.

"Take it with you to your room," she urged. "Books are wonderfull companions on sleepless nights."

He agreed and watched as she exited the room; he held his breath untill she disappeared entirely from sight. It was only then when he himself was able to move and enter his own assigned room where he shut and locked the door behind him. He got the impression that Olivia would never bring him harm, that this was a place where he could leave his quarters open but he'd lived on the streets far too long to defy his smarts. Security was always an issue with him because he had never truly felt safe, not even in his own home as a child. This resulted in a need for the safety of being behind a locked door, even in a peacefull home. This could be his first and only chance at obtaining true protection.

His eyes rested upon the crucifix hanging across the room. Sighing, he mimicked his earlier gesture in the vineyard, but this time kneelling before the religious icon. Never a devout person, he found faith in such an object frivolous and pointless. This God never protected him or his mother from the violent wrath of his ignorant father nor did He spare the boy from a lifetime of ridicule. Shunned by everyone he came into contact with and stymied by the vicissitudes of his albinism, the young man had always known his life would never improve by much.

But tonight he knelt before this oriflamme of a God he held responsible for his spectral body and hellish life, bowed his head and uttered a quick prayer. It was his first prayer that was not a plea for relief or help. It was a real prayer. Opening his eyes, he looked upon the finely carved face of the suffering Christ and tears welled within them.

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Olivia grew restless that night. Her mind would not stray from the mysterious albino just a few rooms away. When their hands touched in the lounge an unmistakeable energy surged between them. By the way his muscles stiffened upon contact she knew he felt it too. She made the gesture to feel the promised strength of his grip and instead discovered so much more.

It would be a lie for her to say she didn't like what she felt. His beautifull white skin was roughened, the flesh calloused. It was sinfull of her to do so but she could not resist thinking of how those hands would feel caressing her body. It had been a long time since she was touched by a man and this one intrigued her beyond her own comprehension.

Stop thinking unchaste thoughts of him! she reprimanded herself. You've just met him! He is a gift from God, not a toy from Satan!

At last, she curled up on her side and closed her eyes. When she fell asleep it was to thoughts of being cradled in the brawny arms of the albino. It was akin to being wrapped in an angel's wings.

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In the morning when Olivia cooked a big breakfast of eggs, sausage, fried tomatoes and toast, she felt confident that her guest would be pleased with her. But when she knocked on his door she received no answer. Thinking him to be sleeping too soundly, she cracked the door open and peeked inside. To her amazement his bed was made up and he was nowhere in the room.

Puzzled by this unexpected occurrence, she softly closed the door. Was it possible that he reconsidered her job offer and abandoned her in the night? Did being around her make him too insecure of his appearance so that he was compelled to leave? Her heart sank with disappointment at the notion.

The sound of another nearby door creaking open startled her.

"Bonjour, mademoiselle," a demure voice purred from behind.

She whirled around to find the albino standing behind her: wet, dripping and with only a towel slung low around his waist. A quick inventory of the stark white flesh revealled how lithe and muscular the man truly was. His shoulders were broad, his arms and chest toned, stomach flat, all with admirable definition. Other features were noticed as well: the platinum chest hair that left a trail of temptation leading beyond the towel, the pale pink erect nipples, the deep well of a navel.

"I hope my state of undress does not offend you," he said, wiping water from his eyes. "You were not yet awake so I took the liberty to bathe and wash my clothes. They are in the dryer now, otherwise I would already be dressed. It is all I have to wear."

Olivia smiled in relief and approval.

"It's fine. You aren't offending me. I came to knock you up for breakfast and when I saw your empty room I believed you'd left."

The albino shook his head.

"No, no! I will stay as I promised."

"I appreciate that."

There was another awkward stillness but this time it was filled with the tension of unspoken attraction. She yearned to touch him and did not fully regret that her intentions were impure.

"I better go back inside," he said, his breathy French accent going straight through her. "I am making everything wet."

Olivia felt heat rise to her face at the implications.

"Yes," she agreed, "well, I shall bring your clothing to you once they finish drying. Then come down for something to eat. All right?"

He nodded, stepped back in the bathroom and shut the door between them.

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Ghost! Abomination! Freak!

Each haunting word bubbled to the surface of this mind, mordant insults shouted at him by his father and punctuated with sharp kicks to his seven-year-old body. His mouth bled when a tooth cut his bottom lip after his father landed the closed-fisted blow that debilitated him. Once on the floor, he instinctively curled into a ball to protect his face as the taste of copper poured onto his tongue, his father's boot repetitively colliding with him. He heard his mother shouting, begging for the beating to stop, that he was only a little boy. It did but she then found herself on the receiving end.

Ghost! Abomination! Freak!

The words prompted him to work harder, purifying his cursed body with the sweat of his labours. Nor did he stop when Olivia called him in for their mid-day meal or when he realised the sun was burning his exceptionally sensitive skin.

Ghost! Abomination! Freak!

The harder he worked the more removed from the abuse he became. It wasn't untill the sun dimmed on the horizon and the song of birds was replaced with the soliloquy of crickets that he trudged back to the house from the vineyard for a quick shower before supper.

The water hurt as it pulsed over his badly burnt body but he long ago learned the hard way to refute physical pain. Doing so made him stronger. Olivia didn't agree and was frantic upon seeing his angry red flesh. She questioned whether or not he would be spared any terrible repercussions from the burns. He responded that he did not know. During their meal he did his best to hide his wincing and gasping as the sunburns tightened his skin in dehydration. He felt like a snake about to molt but it wasn't the first time he felt uncomfortable in his own skin.

When they cleared the dishes together, Olivia instructed him to go into the lounge, strip and lie on the rug before the fireplace. In the habit of obeying without question, he did as told, although he was confused as to why. An afghan draped over the settee kept him modest when he placed it over his pelvic area then closed his eyes. Overwhelmed by relief from the day's stress, he fell asleep for an unspecified length of time, a blissfully peacefull rest devoid of any bad memories.

Sudden cold over his feverish skin startled him to wake up with a jolted grimace. In a matter of seconds whatever Olivia was covering his back with worked miracles on the discomfort.

"Apple vinegar and baking soda," she informed, slathering more of the paste over his body. "Takes the sting out of sunburn, although your case is far more severe. What are we going to do about this problem?"

"I need the work, mademoiselle. If I could not work I would return to the streets, stealing for food and struggling to survive."

"Relax, I'm not asking you to leave. But you must apply a strong sun block to your body or layer your clothing. Let this dry. Then I'll clean it off and do your front side."

He was gratefull for her help but he could not relax. Even as he laid beneath her soothing hand his father's abusive words were reflected in his own thoughtfull ones:

She wants nothing to do with you! You are an abomination and she only pities you! Why would she want such a perversion of nature? She is too good for you!

Tucking his face into the crook of his elbow, he allowed a secret tear to fall. There was only so much a person could withstand. If she saw and questioned it he would tell her it was from the smart of sun burn rather than self-hatred. A surge of dizziness washed over him and he groaned.

Mockery of creation! the voice howled in his head.

Her hand dipped to his lower back while his body stiffened at the intimate contact. He willed her to move away from that specific location in spite of the fact that other parts of his body wanted her to stay.

"Settle down," she murmured in a deeper toned voice, which did not help reinforce his willpower. "You're so taut. There's no need to be with me."

"It is from my labours," he fibbed, taking full advantage of the perfect excuse.

"And so it is. From your hard work today."

She sounded unconvinced, he decided with disdain.

His controlled decorum was even more difficult to keep when Olivia turned him flat on his back to duplicate the process over his front side. As suspected, it was far worse and he prayed that she didn't notice. Olivia was gracious enough to spare him the humiliation if she did. For that small mercy he was indebted.

The beautifull woman spent the remainder of the evening nurturing him in his time of need. He wondered what he'd finally done right to receive such a good windfall.

Later still, he knelt in thanksgiving before the crucifix in his room but more as a tribute to his dead mother than to God. He thought that it would develop into a positive habit if he did so every night.

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That poor man! Olivia's conscious scolded her while she applied the paste to the albino's burnt body. Look what happened to him on my account!

It wasn't as if she forced him, she reasoned. She urged him to join her for a break and keep out of the sun when it became too hot to bear. Furthermore, when he refused to eat, she selfishly consumed her meal out on the porch so she could watch him work. It crossed the line between morality and exploitation, she was aware, yet she could not resist staring.

He was absolutely breathtaking and her eyes refused to stray from the straining muscles of his arms and back. His pale body gleamed with perspiration and she related it to the dust on a moth's shimmering wings. How would he react if she complimented or touched him? He wasn't used to kindness and that disturbed her. It was tragic that the ill-treatment of such a unique person was acceptable and tolerated. His differences were what made him beautifull in her opinion.

That night at supper she became fearfull when she saw the results of the sun's punishment on his flesh. While they ate she caught him attempting to conceal his pain several times, placing more guilt on her.

I'll never allow him to work like that again! she vowed. He isn't a slave! This is his first day! What must he think of me?

Wanting to make amends, she remembered a home remedy for sunburn that her grandmother used to make then told the tormented albino to go into the lounge and remove his clothes. She mixed the concoction in a huge bowl as quickly as possible in a quantity large enough to cover his body.

Upon entering the room she found him stretched out on his stomach and dozing. Captivated, she watched for a brief time before setting to work. At first she was afraid to touch the poor man because he was in obvious agony. When she placed a hand on his back, she felt the trapped heat radiating from him and upon contact, he flinched. She apologised and began application. Initially, his body quivered when the coollness clashed with the heat. Once on, the paste seemed to help him and that gave her solace as well.

But as it always seemed to do, her mind drifted from his welfare to other things less honourable. When observing his stamina in the vineyard today, she pondered how well it could be used to service a lover. Worse, after he turned over, she realised that she wasn't alone in her thoughts. It took a surmountable volume of will-power to not whisk away the afghan and truly care for him.

He kept his eyes shut, probably to avoid the temptation he evidently felt so she focused on his handsome face to dispell the naughty thoughts about what was happening below. At rest, he looked angelic and she fought against placing a soft kiss on his pale pink lips. She noticed, too, how his body shuddered each time her hand touched him. It only clarified for her that he was unused to a humane touch.

What horrors have you suffered? she inquired.

The possibilities made her quake.

To be continued...

Author's Note: You might know me from my Remus Lupin novel Once a Wolf. I decided to try my hand at another character I feel equally passionate about: Silas from The Da Vinci Code. When I read the book a while ago, I fell as deeply in love with him as I did with Lupin from the Harry Potter series. I have a predilection for unique, tragic characters, as you see. Not to mention, Silas and The Da Vinci Code gave me the opportunity to dwell further into two of my greatest passions: religion and symbology (although I do tackle these topics quite frequently in my original work). Release of the movie helped inspire this fan fiction. Those of you reading OaW, have no fear. I did not quit writing it (I've just posted a new chapter). As a matter of fact, I've been taking turns writing Once a Wolf, Haunting a Ghost and an original story all of my own, so my creativity has been in overdrive and keeping me extremely busy. That is fine since it has been a few months since life allowed me time to write. But now I'm back in full force and I have to make up for lost time. At any rate, thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed. More will follow, of course.