Chapter 11
The Dark Priest
No matter how many times he tried, Aiden could not sleep soundly. Every time he closed his eyes, some demented thing haunted him. And it was all symbolic. Even the finest detail of the highlights in their eyes was of some merit. Just as he knew the time and date on his broken wristwatch without glancing upon its surface, he knew this was true. And as these images would flee from him, he would draw them to preserve their meaning; he would draw them to understand what it was all trying to tell him. And then, when all was said and done, he would attempt to sleep once more.
Even now he lay on his bed, eyes half-lidded, trying to slip into that sweet reprieve. As a calm swept over him, he closed his eyes, and he began to fall into sleep's arms. But just as he made contact with the quiet bliss, a half-rotted man dressed in a tattered magician's robe shoved him away, pointing furiously at a sign in his skeletal hand, lidless eyes, both bloodshot and jaundiced, glaring at him almost with terror. As both began to fall through the darkness, Aiden, his hair dancing in the wind, read the sign: Futile Philosophers Meet at Square.
He stared at the magician. "What is this supposed to mean?"
The magician raised a hand, and they both came to a gentle halt on a yellow toned ground, a gray sky looming overhead. As Aiden glanced around at the feature-less terrain, the magician turned and walked away.
"Where are-" As he realized the magician wasn't around, he scanned the horizon to see the creature disappearing on the lip of the horizon. "Hey! Wait!" But he was already gone.
Aiden remained motionless for a moment. Usually, this was where he would be cast back into reality. When he continued to remain in the dream-state, he followed in the figure's footsteps. Damn his mind for being so cryptic. Eventually, a field of short dry grasses passed underfoot. The distinct crunches of his feet smashing the blades echoed throughout the ethereal terrain. Raising his wrist, Aiden surveyed the time on his watch. Now, the hands swung normally about its face, happily displaying a time of 10:38:06...07...08...
Aiden smiled. He missed the functionality of a thing so simple as a wristwatch.
A shadow passed over him, and he froze. He jerked his head up, surprised at what he saw. Somehow, he had strayed into the middle of a city. Eyes narrowing slightly in consideration, he picked up a slow walk and surveyed the architecture. Most of it was medieval in design; the same endless structures lined both sides of the dirt road on which he walked. Whenever he came to crossroads, all directions had the same appearance, albeit, the buildings differed in outer décor and purpose. Lamps dominated the centers of each of the crossroad areas, huge and fashioned of cast iron, flames dancing within their frosted glass shields. He continued North, at least, he assumed that was the direction he was going—and was surprised when he was suddenly met with a large square.
The sudden impact of the sight slammed all of the breath out of him. For across the immense space, a huge cathedral climbed toward the sky. As the shock passed over, he allowed himself to absorb the rest of the square: simple arrangements of flowers, an intricate fountain spewing three water jets, and numerous store fronts and merchants cart. And it was here he found the first sorts of beings.
Gliding about the expanse, black shapes with white masks depicting all sorts of emotions completed their usual business. Aiden's brow furrowed in confusion as he observed. Each moment that passed sent a small shiver up his spine, ending in a twitch in his neck. He glanced from left to right, and he did just in time to leap out of the path of a sad-masked being that solemnly contemplated him while it passed. He stared after the being.
A second twinge in his neck signaled that someone was watching him. He furiously scanned the square, eyes finally resting on the fountain. There, standing like the plague in a field of daisies, was the magician with his sign, staring straight at him. He motioned with a decomposed hand to come. From all directions, strange creatures like upright-walking aardvarks wearing gas masks and monkeys with insane fang-filled smiles came and gathered about the magician. As each completed its journey, it cast its gaze toward Aiden. The magician motioned again, but Aiden did not move. This entire place creeped him out. He wanted to be free of it.
For once in his life, he wanted to wake up.
Feeling the weight of the staring eyes, and no other place to go, Aiden approached. As he did so, the entire group turned and raised an appendage to the cathedral. Only the magician watched his approach. Aiden craned his neck past the Philosophers at the religious building. "Is that where I am to go?" he asked the magician.
In reply, the magician turned and pointed his own hand. Taking in a deep breath, Aiden crossed the square toward the immense building. As he went, it became painfully obvious that everyone else in the square had stopped moving to watch him go. He shifted his eyes from side to side, but he refused to look again at the horrific gathering behind him. He reached the worn steps, and he glanced up in consideration of the cathedral's impressive façade. A light breeze blew through, and he entered the building.
Impressed by the huge pillars and lofty ceiling, Aiden closed the door carefully, its singular sound amplified into that of a series of doors. He crossed the rich marble tiles, his footsteps raining throughout the entire complex. The rich mahogany pews caught his eye, and he couldn't help but run a hand over one of the glistening surfaces. As he did so, he found himself thinking it strange that such a figment as this could feel so real.
The striking of a match caught his attention sharply. His gaze jotted to the altar, at which stood a towering figure draped in black. Aiden cocked his head, and he slowly approached. The figure lit two of a trio of candles. From what Aiden noticed, the third had been lit perhaps once as compared to the others.
As the booming voice reverberated around the space, he stilled his right foot from touching the floor. "Why have you come here?! We don't want you here!"
Aiden continued walking forward, confused. "I was led to believe that a cathedral was a hall of worship, and that any who believed would be permitted entrance."
"But you do not believe," the other replied.
Aiden's neck twinged at this. He halted ten feet from the figure. "And what do you know of my beliefs."
"You have no idea…" As the black folds of the cloak swung about, the face of a man became visible. He was tall with light hair--almost silver in places--and he possessed eyes that were both light in color and cold in temperament. His hard face glared down upon the boy who seemed to shrink before his very presence. "You have no idea what I know about you, what you have destroyed for me." As he spoke, he descended a short series of stairs down to where Aiden stood. A strong hand, bony and pale reached down and clamped around Aiden's throat, and he was lifted bodily from the ground, legs swinging madly. "You worthless wretch!" he shouted as he shook the boy struggling in his hand.
Aiden's neck burned with a horrible pain where the man's grip held him. He tried to wrap his mind around the man, but he couldn't. Any sort of control his mind held over objects in the real world obviously didn't exist here. Instead, he rasped, "I do not fear you."
The fury in the man's frame abated to fear for a moment. Then, he spoke calmly, "The peacock is both waited for and feared, I've heard the story. But there's one thing you keep forgetting, wretch, a peacock can't swim out to the island when it's dead!"
Though he couldn't ever place having met the man before, combative words came easily to him. "And you keep forgetting this, Dark Priest: while both apprehension and acceptance may greet its arrival, when Silence dies, there will be hell to pay."
As all life seeped away from him, Aiden's eyes slowly rolled hopelessly to the back of his head, and a cleansing light washed over him.
With a gasp, Aiden's eyes flew open, taking in his white hospital room. His right hand flew to his neck. Although it hadn't been real, the feeling of the man's hand around his throat still existed. A flash of the priest's face slammed him, and his neck blazed again. He gasped, unwilling to emit any other sound because of the pain. He climbed down from his bed and scrambled for his sketchbook. He knew, of that entire dream, that he had to draw the man's face.
He grabbed the pen, the sketchbook already at a new page for him. He sketched a rough outline, and the image hit him again. As it did, his neck spasmed, and began to burn with pain. Tears threatened to cloud his vision, but he scribbled furiously on. As the pain escalated, he knew he had to make a choice as to which features should be noted. Despite the burn, the answer came easily: the eyes and the hair.
He dropped the pen, and he charged for the nurse call button, finally giving in to the urge to resist screaming. His mind raced. He had to figure out who to show the drawing to. He knew it was vital…so it had to be someone who could decipher it, someone who was clever enough to decode the images of his mind. He knew the three doctors couldn't do it (they had to resort to asking him what the drawings in his sketchbook meant, which he refused to answer). No, not them, but who? He already knew the answer. He was already aware of the identity of the person who had to understand the messages his mind was sending out.
Two nurses rushed in to assist him. Just as they prepared to sedate him, Aiden said, "Show that to Dr. House." His free hand pointed to the sketchbook, from which a dark priest--fashioned from still-drying ink--watched on with slight satisfaction.
The time on Aiden's watch was once again stationary at 2:23:04 pm on 10/17. The time on the wall clock was 2:23:04 pm of October 16th.
Exactly one day remained.
