Author's Note: Hello, again. I want to inform everybody that I checked out the stats on chapter one, and I'm happy that twenty-one people took time out of their schedule to read it—although, I would like to see some reviews on it. This chapter is about the same length as chapter one, and it centers on an event that took place about the time Adrian returned to Romania between Wadim (pronounced "Va-deem") and Richter Belmont. As always, please read and give critical reviews.

Here in a church,
a small boy is kneeling.
He prays to a God.
He does not know.
He cannot feel.
All of his sins of childhood,
he will remember.
He will not cry.
Tears he will not cry.
Man of sorrows,
I won't see your face.
Man of sorrows,
you left without a trace.
This small boy wonders,
what was it all about?
Is your journey over?
Has it just begun?—

"Man of Sorrows"—Bruce Dickinson

Lost Story

Chapter II

While Adrian returned to Wallachia, his brother-in-law climbed the steps of a prison. Richter Belmont was dressed in a manner that would be found among many Orthodox priests. Richter wore a gray cassock, a Byzantine crucifix around his neck, and in his hands were a Latin crucifix and a Bible. A guard allowed Richter to enter a particular cell.

Inside the cell was a moderately tall man in his middle twenties, sitting at a table. The man was unshaven, with blonde hair and blue eyes. When he noticed Richter, he placed a pen back in its holder, and some writings under a book.

"Hello, Master Carol," Richter said, with a smile.

The young man returned the smile. "Hello, Father." Wadim gestured to a chair. "Please, have a seat."

Richter maintained his smile. "I'm amazed. I didn't think he would be this friendly…I noticed that you were writing something, when I came in."

Wadim nodded. "Yes, that's correct."

"What were you writing?"

"My beliefs."

"May I see?"

Wadim shook his head. "I haven't finished it yet, but I'm sure you'll read it tomorrow. Still, I have a piece of work that I've already finished. I'll give you a copy of it, before you go…I know, of course, why you're here."

"You do?"

Wadim nodded. "I'm to be sent to the gallows tomorrow, and I've been excommunicated by the Church."

"Well, God is always ready to welcome anyone back, if they call on Him."

"And what if I don't want to be welcomed back?"

"Huh?"

Wadim gestured. "What if I don't want to be welcomed back?"

"Then you'll go to Hell."

Wadim chuckled. "How do you know that we're not in Hell already?"

"Huh?"

Wadim continued to chuckle. "You've never met anyone like me before, have you, Father?"

Richter paused, before he nodded. "Yes, I have."

"Who?"

"Vlad the Impaler."

Wadim laughed, and slapped the table.

Richter shot him a look. "You find humor in that?"

Wadim did not answer Richter's question. Instead, he asked, "Was Vlad the Impaler trained in theology?"

"Huh?"

"It's a simple question. Was Vlad the Impaler trained in theology?"

"I-I really don't know. I'm sure that he had some…"

"Well, I am, Father. Do you remember a man named Father Miceadu?"

"Yes, he was my brother and sister-in-law's pastor."

Wadim nodded. "Well, he was also my teacher. I learned theology from his knee. Now let me ask you a question, Father. Is God fair?"

Richter squinted. "Huh?"

"It's a simple question, Father. Is God fair?"

"Well, yes, I believe that God is fair…"

"Why so?"

"…He's always been good in my life."

Wadim turned away and nodded. "Do children die, Father?" Wadim asked, before he turned back.

"Huh?"

"Do children die?"

"W-well, yes…"

"Is that fair?"

"Well, it's God's will…"

"And that's fair?"

"Well, I don't think it's fair, but it's simply God's…"

"Ah ha!" interjected Wadim, while he slapped the table.

Richter shot him a look. "What are you 'ah ha'ing about?"

Wadim chuckled. "You're not very bright, are you?"

Richter glared.

"You just contradicted yourself."

Richter gasped.

And Wadim continued to chuckle. "You just said, you don't think it's fair."

Richter regained his composure. "I know what I said, but you're taking my words out of context."

"Then what did you mean?" Wadim asked smugly.

"I meant that it's never fair, when an innocent person dies. But you can't blame God for every bad thing that happens."

"Then who can you blame?"

"No one."

"Why not?"

"Because that's jut the way the world is."

"And who governs the world?"

"…Well, ultimately God governs the world…"

"So God did allow this to happen?"

Richter sighed. "Yes, God allowed it to happen, but He had His reasons."

"And what were His reasons?"

"…I don't know what His reasons are. No one knows what His reasons are. All we can do is trust in God's mercy."

Wadim scoffed. "It doesn't seem that God was very merciful to the child's parents."

"God has His reasons for why He does what He does."

"And those reasons are what now?"

Richter stood, turned around, shook and clenched his fists.

Wadim grinned.

Richter calmly turned back, and Wadim removed his grin. "I don't know. Perhaps the child was born with an illness. Perhaps the child would be unable to survive this world…"

"Do these questions make you mad, Father?"

Richter gestured. "No, no."

Wadim chuckled. "I think they do. I watched your body shake."

Richter sighed. "Look, I came here to offer God's forgiveness to you."

"Forgiveness for what?"

"Your sins!"

Wadim laughed. "My sins? My sins against what?"

"Your sins against God and His Church!"

Wadim continued to laugh. "My sins against God and His Church? And what sins are those?"

Richter was flabbergasted. "Everything that you've said so far!"

Wadim placed his chin between his thumb and first finger, and turned his eyes away—like he was the statue of 'The Thinker.' "Those are sins?" Wadim turned back. "I was just using my brain." Wadim gestured. "You know what? I have an idea. Why don't I just save the executioner the trouble, take a gun, and execute myself?"

Richter threw his arms in the air. "Forget it! I give up!"

Wadim chuckled, and gestured for Richter to wait. Wadim presented Richter with some papers. "Here are some of my writings. Maybe you'll understand me better, after you read them."

Richter took the papers, and walked away from Wadim. He knocked on the door, and a guard opened it. But before he left, Richter turned back to Wadim. "I'm going to pray for you, before the Blessed Sacrament. I pray that God will touch your heart."

"Good. Maybe you should ask God to answer my questions, since obviously you can't."

Richter sighed, shook his head, and crossed himself before he left the cell.