CHAPTER 4

The familiar smell of vomit and urine hit him the moment he stepped through the door. Horo coughed in disgust, and he watched Ren's nose wrinkle delicately as he followed. Horo looked towards the elevator doors that would take him with considerable ease to his apartment floor. He remembered the late hour, and thought better of it.

"We'll take the stairs," Horo explained to Ren. "I don't trust the elevator at night."

Horo took a right, and passed through another beaten door. The deep red paint splashed upon it was chipping away mercilessly. Horo put his foot on the first step, beginning the gruelling six floor trek to his level. The carpet beneath his feet was without a doubt the main perpetrator of the terrible stench that plagued the air. The once-sophisticated shade of burgundy was now more the colour of dried blood, riddled with stains and pools that were unmistakeably of human origin. Each step brought a cloud of foul-smelling dust flying up beneath his feet, making a sharp taste hit the back of his throat. As he reached the top of the first staircase, he looked back to check on Ren. Despite his injuries, he didn't seem fazed by the climb. He walked along slowly, his feet as heavy as feathers on the exhausted old staircase. His eyes darted about him as they had done all night, absorbing his surroundings.

Satisfied, Horo continued on, taking care not to touch the yellow-stained wallpaper on his way around the corner. He paused only at the top of each staircase to briefly check on Ren's progress. It passed vaguely through his mind that Faust must have given Ren quite a number of painkillers to prevent him from feeling the pain of those extensive injuries. He half-wondered if Ren would have an objection to that too, if he knew. At the top of the third flight, his knees started to quiver with exhaustion. By the time the sixth floor came into view, he felt just about ready to collapse. He'd been out since eight o'clock this morning – first, to work, then out for 'just one' drink as usual, and then... all this. He desperately wanted the day to end. Exiting on to floor six, he became intensely aware of how dry his mouth felt. Holding the door open for Ren to pass through, he turned and smiled wearily to Ren. "This is it."

Digging deep into his jacket pocket, he pulled out the keys to apartment 6A. The door creaked open, squeaking horribly on its old hinges. Horo stepped back to allow Ren inside, and he obliged nervously. Horo's heart grew heavy as he stepped inside, straight into the living room. There was not much there to speak of; a few pieces of mismatched furniture and a swift coat of industrial beige paint. The carpet was similar to that of the communal hallway, only considerably cleaner. A rather aged TV set sat in the corner of the room, large and ungraceful. It balanced on top of a small bedside table Horo had salvaged from someone's waste, the corners of the machine overlapping every side of it. The large sofa was a stale blue hue, and was probably the newest-looking object in Horo's possession. This sat awkwardly beside a red gingham-covered armchair, an item Horo despised, but was bound to keeping purely for utility. In the rather meagre-looking window hung some dreary blue curtains that barely served their purpose and let chinks of light in from all sides. Aside from a plain-looking coffee table arranged neatly between the seats, there was little else inhabiting the room at all.

"Pirika?" Horo called out, the sound vaguely echoing from the bareness of the walls. No reply followed.

"...Pirika?" Ren looked up at Horo questioningly.

"My sister," Horo answered simply, setting his keys down on the coffee table and walking over to a door that led directly off the living room – Pirika's bedroom. He peeped inside half-heartedly. There was little point, he knew very well that she wasn't there.

"...Where is she?"

"Who knows?" Horo shrugged, heading now to his small kitchen. Moving more by instinct than conscious thought, he flicked on the light switch, grabbed two glasses from the cupboard and filled them with water. He turned, to find Ren staring at him from the doorway and he pushed the drink into his small hands. Gazing unseeingly at the cityscape through his kitchen window, Horo downed his in one.

"Do you want to take a shower or anything?"

Ren shook his head again, the glass ignored.

Horo he leant gently against the worktop. "Well, I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready to call it a day. Let me show you where you can sleep."

Ren shook his head once more, this time, with increased vigour.

"Hm? Is something up?"

"I need to do something... before I sleep."

"What is it?"

"There's a ritual I must perform," Ren said, matter-of-factly. His voice had suddenly taken on a more formal tone, as though Horo was someone he must show reverence to.

"A ritual?" Horo frowned with confusion. "What do you mean?"

"If it's no trouble to you, I just need a few simple tools for the task."

"I can try my best, I suppose..." Horo said. Against his better judgement, he knew the only way to find out what this 'ritual' was to let Ren go through with it. "What is it you need?"

"Just a candle... and something to light it with."

The 'tools' sounded harmless enough. And perhaps the best way to settle Ren into his new surroundings was to let him do what he knew as routine. "Wait there, I'll be right back." Walking carefully past Ren, Horo headed again for Pirika's bedroom door.

The transparency of Pirika's thin curtains meant he didn't need a light to see inside. Pirika's messy bed lay untouched, as it had done for three consecutive nights. Horo noticed a pile of clothes on top of the blankets – new, and expensive, if he wasn't mistaken. She must have at least dropped in while he was at work. He tried to ignore his growing concerns for his younger sister's well-being, and turned instead to the task at hand.

The haphazard shelf attached to the wall beside her bed held many trinkets and treasures. Most of it silly little things from their childhood. Horo noticed the wooden bead bracelet he had carved for her as a child. His fingers lingered over it lovingly, before he reached out and took hold of the large white candle near the right edge of the shelf. Next to it, a box of matches conveniently lay. He picked these up too, and fighting the urge to take one more glance at Pirika's empty bed, he returned to join Ren. He found him staring up at an old wooden cross Pirika had hung on the living room wall, back when they first moved into this place. His glass of water was discarded, untouched, on the coffee table.

"This okay?" He asked, holding up the candle.

Ren nodded. Without a word, he fell to his knees beneath the cross, looking at Horo expectantly. His hands pulled tightly at the gown he wore to ensure that it covered him as he kneeled. It barely did. Horo looked awkwardly back to the candle in his hand. "Shall I, um, give you some privacy for this?"

Ren's face frowned delicately as he said, "I'm used to having an audience."

"Um... I suppose you want this then?" Horo said, indicating again to the candle. He placed it down on the floor in front of him. "Is this alright?"

Ren nodded, his gaze intent.

"Should I light it for you?" Horo asked carefully, musing to himself that Ren's tiny fingers didn't even look capable of striking a match.

"Yes..."

Horo slid open the box of matches and took one from the half-empty packet. Closing it once more, he placed the head of the match against the rough strip on the side of the box. He stopped for a second, taking another curious look at that focused stare on Ren's face, those golden eyes burning with concentration. With a flick of the wrist, he struck the match.

The head burst into flame, flickering reds and yellows. Silently, Horo set the match to the candle's wick. It caught quickly – soon, it too was decorated with a tiny dancing flame, beautifully dangerous. With still no response from Ren, Horo shuffled back across the floor to give him some room. Shaking the match in his hands to put it out, he settled back to watch, heart beginning to race. An air of reverence seemed to fall about the room that made even Horo feel nervous. Ren's demeanour had completely changed. He was engrossed, eyes not shifting even slightly away from the candle, as though he were keeping it alight through sheer force of will. Then, without warning, an incredible sound pierced the air.

Horo almost jumped out of his skin, the sound sudden in the tense silence. It was forceful, it demanded to be heard, but at the same time, it was wonderful. It took a moment for Horo to realise, in his haze of the day, that the sound was one he had heard once before: Ren was singing.

"Lord, teach us how to pray aright, with reverence and with fear; though dust and ashes in Thy sight, we may, we must, draw near..."

Just as before, the song was unmistakeably a hymn. Yet Ren's voice was so pleasing to the ears, no church choir could ever hope to best it. Horo watched Ren's pale lips moving with the words, producing a sound they barely seemed capable of. His whole body seemed somehow strengthened by the song, his frail limbs seemingly fortified beyond belief. Horo watched on, captivated, as Ren clasped his hands together in his lap and turned his face skyward. The singing got louder, more confident, as Ren lost himself in the melody.

"God of all grace, we bring to thee, a broken, contrite heart; give what Thine eye delights to see, truth in the inward part..."

The words seemed to make Ren glow with passion, pools of tears welling in those deep eyes. Horo was taken aback by the sheer devotion in Ren's voice – something he couldn't imagine coming from any human, much less one so timid and weak. Despite everything, Ren's voice did not falter. It stayed as pitch-perfect and as beautiful as before. Horo watched the flame from the candle dance as though in time, throwing shimmering reflections on to the walls of the room, fighting against the artificial light.

Slowly and deliberately, Ren's hands began to move. Horo watched them intently, feeling his intrigue grow by the second. Ren unknotted his hands from their place in his lap, and held out now his right index finger. He sang on.

"Faith in the only sacrifice that can for sin atone..."

Ren closed his eyes, his face still turned upwards, as he moved this single finger towards the candle. He held it but a centimetre from the flame, as Horo gazed on in amazement. Then slowly, subtly, Ren's finger lowered, down towards the heart of the fire.

"To cast our hopes, to fix our eyes, on Ch-Christ, on Christ alone..."

The falter in Ren's voice was all too obvious to Horo as he realised what Ren was doing. He kept his finger still for another five seconds. Another five. The smell of charring flesh caught Horo's attention, as he watched Ren's face wrinkle up in agony.

"Ren..." Horo murmured, eyes wide with astonishment.

Ren was oblivious, as focused as he was. A few seconds later, and he moved another finger to the candle's flame. The fire licked around it as he lowered it into the heat's centre.

"Patience to watch, and wait, and weep, though m-mercy long-"

"Wait, stop that!" Horo cried out, springing towards Ren before he even realised that he had done so. Subconsciously, he had caught hold of Ren's arm to pull it away from the flame. Ren stared at him now blankly.

It took a second for his face to regain personality and his startled cry to burst out. "I told you not to touch me!" He snatched away his arm, terrified, and shuffled away from Horo.

"What the hell was that? You really could have hurt yourself!" Horo exclaimed, completely shaken. He took a look at the offending candle and doused it immediately. "Let me see your hand," Horo instructed.

Ren shook his head rapidly, clutching his arm close to his chest. The disposition that had come over him had now gone completely. He was back to himself, child-like and hesitant. Horo tried to ignore the change.

"I won't touch you. Just let me see." Horo said, a little gentler this time.

Ren considered for a moment. Then, hesitantly, he held out his right hand.

Horo's eyes settled straight on the two fingers that he had just seen Ren deliberately burn. They were hard to miss – entirely bright red from the tips to the first joint. On closer inspection, Horo noticed something else, beneath the initial redness. Small white blotches that he soon identified as blisters plagued the skin around Ren's fingers, in a pattern alarmingly similar to his current burns.

"Do you... do this a lot?" Horo asked, face screwed up partially in horror, partially in disgust.

Ren stared down at the wounds, dumb-founded. He withdrew his hands, cradling it to his chest. "I didn't do that."

"Ren, I just saw you do it. You don't need to lie to me."

Ren looked affronted. He took a private glance back down at his fingers, shielding them from Horo's view. "I don't know how it happened."

Horo sighed to himself, feeling the sickness rise back into his stomach again. "I'm not gonna try and understand right now. I think what we need to do is clean up those wounds. Come on." Horo got to his feet, waiting for Ren to follow. He did so without objection. Horo led him into the kitchen, where he turned on the tap. "Here, hold your fingers under there for a while."

"Why?"

"Because it will cool your skin down and stop the burn worsening," Horo explained. "Please, just do it."

Ren placed his fingers under the stream of cold water. He stared out of the window solemnly, seemingly indifferent to the pain and discomfort he was no doubt experiencing. Horo didn't dare to wonder why. He leant back against the worktop, still watching his troubled face. Horo supposed he was concerned about the interruption of his ritual. But it wasn't as though he could stand back and let him harm himself yet again. Judging by what Faust had said, he was already sufficiently ill. Horo reassured himself; he must be cruel to be kind. He tried to change the subject. "I can let you borrow a change of clothes, if you need them."

"I can't. Am I done now?" Ren asked, impatiently.

"You can't? I don't think you'll be able to walk around in that forever," Horo said, eyeing the hospital gown that Eliza had dressed him in.

"I can't," Ren said, more sternly this time. "Can I stop doing this now?"

Horo sighed again, turning the tap off and holding out a cloth for Ren to dry his hands on.

Ren took it and used it carefully. He handed it back to Horo without a word.

"Any better?" Horo asked, nodding towards Ren's hands.

"A little," Ren said, dismissively. He turned away slightly, an obvious sign that he wasn't willing to talk.

Horo withstood the silence only for a few seconds before he spoke up. "Come on, you can take my bed tonight." Leading Ren out of the kitchen, he stepped into his own bedroom. He switched on the light and Ren followed him inside.

The room – much like the rest of the apartment – was minimalist in decoration, and small in size and proportion. Inside, only three pieces of furniture existed: the bed, a rather rickety-looking wardrobe, and a very old-fashioned chest of drawers. They contained all of Horo's worldly possessions – which admittedly, were few. Horo turned to Ren and smiled apologetically. "I'll take the sofa tonight. You can sleep here."

"Where?" Ren asked, looking around the room blankly.

"There, of course," Horo said, pointing out the bed in the corner of the room.

"Oh..." Ren looked at it as though confused by its existence.

"Will you be alright?"

Ren nodded.

"Well... good night," Horo said, knowing to not even bother waiting for a response. He stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him. He remained outside for just a second to listen. He didn't hear Ren move at all. He sighed, shaking his head. He felt awkward, completely puzzled by how to act around Ren and how to respond to him. Everything Horo said was met with a vacant look, or a cryptic nod. He truly felt as though he was treading on eggshells around this stranger, not knowing what was next going to invoke a seemingly illogical reaction.

He had a feeling Ren wouldn't be going to bed left to his own devices like that, but he was again starting to reach that point of not caring. The moment he was alone, his exhaustion crept up on him. His body grew heavy, and his limbs felt flaccid. His mind – having overworked that night through both confusion and alcohol – merely sounded now like white noise.

Absent-mindedly picking up the candle that still sat squarely in the middle of the floor, he placed it on the coffee table and fell back heavily on to the sofa. He lay his head against a cushion, and within a few moments, he was sound asleep.