All credit to known characters goes to Joss Whedon and the many talented creators of 'Buffy The Vampire Slayer'. References to 'One Night' by Margaret WILD (Not Margaret Clark, as previously suggested) also included. No infringement intended.

In this story I will delve into the mind of a homicidal maniac. Please bare with me as I try to remain true to Caleb's character, while keeping my own sanity intact. This was a particularly difficult chapter to write, hence the late posting. Piper Quinn sends her sincerest apologies.

Also, being Australian, I have used Australian spelling in my work, some of which may be somewhat different depending on the individual reader.

Piper Quinn.

WARNING: This chapter may contain material which will offend anyone with strong religious beliefs.

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Sliding Into Apathy. Chapter Three.

~*~*~**********~*~*~

As time goes by, people will begin to realise that this world is built with lies.

Some folks will try to tell you otherwise, but they just haven't discovered the truth. Or perhaps they have, but are too afraid to embrace the reality of it. Walk away from them, they are unknowingly forsaken.

For example, it has often been said that one should live in the moment, or the good times will just pass you by.

Lies.

Good times? Good times don't exist, there is only prelude to hate, rage and death. Although things may seem good at the time, they will only make the forthcoming darkness so much blacker in comparison.

Step into the sun, even for a moment, and you will be burnt. Stay in the shadows, however, and your eyes will adjust. Is the darkness still so terrible if it is not perceived as an actual darkness?

Important things which are discovered too late, are not any less important.

I know this now.

~*~*~**********~*~*~

There was a boarding house next to the church. It housed children who lived too far away to get to school everyday, or had parents who were not capable of lookin' after them.

The boarding house, or Rivington House as they called it, relied a great deal on the church with providin' money and support.

I used this to my utmost advantage and with my influence Elizabeth moved into the Rivington four days after her arrival. Some people looked and some whispered, but nobody did question.

Throughout this time, I felt the weed begin to die. Lose it's death grip on my heart.

Sometimes others apathy can work in one's favour.

~*~*~**********~*~*~

It was never my intention to become involved with Rivington House in any way.

What did I want? I wanted to know I had done somethin' that mattered. Simple as that.

I visited, only for a few hours at first. Observing lessons and such.

This somehow turned into me spending most of my day there. Making sure Elizabeth was alright and in the very same motion, reclaiming my soul.

Elizabeth was one of the only two girls at Rivington over the age of fourteen.

The other, I soon learned, was Bram. A small girl with dark eyes and darker hair.

The two soon became acquainted, so much so that their names seemed to merge.

BramandElizabeth - friends through circumstance rather than choice, but friends non the less. Through all their similarities, they could not have been more different.

Bram. Her name meant 'raven'. And through all her beauty, I found it easy to liken her to the unscrupulous bird.

In certain lights a raven's black feathers shine metallic purple, violet. Sometimes when I caught a glimpse of Bram's dark hair, I saw the same sheen. And I knew she could see it too.

Bram was just as quiet as Elizabeth. But Bram's was a calculating silence, so very unlike her unassuming, broken friend.

But in all her silence, shrewd as it was, it became easy for me to simply place Bram into the background.

"Why is it that you and she are gettin' along so well?" I had once asked Elizabeth.

She had looked up at me, in one of her rare moments of eye contact "She knows who I am." was all I was given. I did not ask again.

BramandElizabeth.

~*~*~**********~*~*~

Since I had arrived, I had noticed that the church was used soley as a place of worship.

Other churches were filled with people seeking condolence, familiarity, or even refuge.

I knew why. What would Father Michaels and Father Jameson give them? What steps would Father Marks take to assist?

I had been there myself and knew the answers all too well.

At night I didn't sleep. Couldn't sleep.

At night the church belonged to me.

I would walk through the darkness of the chapel, thinking everythin' and nothin' at the same time. I watched shadows and listened for the unmistakable sounds of the night.

At night the world was just as I wanted it to be.

~*~*~**********~*~*~

It was a Friday night, just after eleven.

I walked into the lightless church and found Elizabeth.

She was alone, standing silently beneath the wooden crucifix which hung on the wall to the left of me.

At the time I was surprised to find her there, out of bed, out of Rivington.

Although, when I think back now it was the only place she could have been. God was all she had left.

I walked towards her willowy frame and touched her shoulder lightly, expecting her to jump.

But she didn't.

Elizabeth didn't even flinch. She didn't turn around, just tipped her head slightly towards me. It was almost as though she knew I would be there.

It was almost as though she knew everythin'.

I wanted to ask her what she was doing there, why she wasn't back as Rivington House, asleep. But I did not such thing.

Instead I kept my hand on her shoulder and stood quietly behind her as she voicelessly prayed.

I remember how her body heat spread through my hand. And how I just couldn't seem to regulate my breathing.

Without being conscious of my action, I placed my other hand on her waist.

Again, I waited for a flinch that never came.

Perhaps if Elizabeth had flinched I wouldn't have tightened my grip on her.

Wouldn't have pulled her against me.

Wouldn't have spun her around so that I could meet her gaze.

But I did. And before I realised what I was doing I had Elizabeth against the wall, so close the warmth that flooded through me was almost feverish.

I remember just how she looked at me. Not with fear or hate, not even with love, but with the utmost relief.

I didn't undress her, it would have made the situation all too real. The surrealism was the only thing that kept either of us there at that moment.

But my hands found their way underneath her dress as she wound her narrow arms around me.

And as I was fucking Elizabeth underneath that giant wooden cross all I could feel was her hands on my back and all I could see was God's faceless face directly in front of me.

But I didn't care because wasn't I doing just what I was brought here to do?

Wasn't I giving someone who was lost comfort?

Think what you will, but at that moment I felt a clarity I can not describe.