Sign of the Rose- Thank you for wishing me good luck! And I'm so pleased you like Victor. I needed a narrator for this and he just sort of appeared. I'm very happy that he grew so nicely without me really plotting where he was going.
FuchsiaII- The incident with the bottle of syrup was planned to make him look more human- I'm so glad it did! And we'll see about your prediction for Victor.
fabala4077- That penname sounds so familiar... Thanks for the review! I'm glad Silas came out right. My whole purpose of this fic was to show that he wasn't always a maniac- I wanted to show his slow downward slide towards it.
Lily ()- Many thanks for your review!
Erin- I'm glad you enjoyed the characterization and Victor. Here's your continuation!
AzureOcelot- Thank you for your review! That's some high praise you gave me! And we'll see what role Aringarosa plays later in this last section.
Scifi-warper- I'm surprised everyone likes Victor so much! Thank you nonetheless!
A brief note- I refer to Silas's eyes as red in this. I realize that there has been some debate about whether or not human albinos actually have red eyes and normally I'd like to think of them as blue, but putting them as red just fit the mood of the scene where they're mentioned too well. I'm sure you'll understand once you've read it.
Sublimation- Part Two
A year after Victor first met Silas, the world shifted on its axis. It was a slow change, a groan or a sigh that you registered only dimly. He began to take more notice of things- the sunlight in the chapel, the wind in his face, a certain way someone he knew would laugh or smile - that he had never noticed before. He began to shiver frequently, without knowing why.
"Someone's walking over your grave," Michael told him. "A lot."
He felt one of those shivers as he went up to Silas's room that day. He didn't hesitate before he rapped softly on the door.
"Entrez-vous." Silas was a patchwork quilt of languages; you never knew what would come out of his mouth. Victor assumed it was alright for him to enter and opened the door.
Silas stood with one leg up on the small chair in his room, his robe pulled back up to his hips, revealing a long stretch of white, muscled leg. Fastened onto his thigh was the cilice Victor gave him. He was adjusting the strap and dropped his leg with a faint flush of color when he noticed that Victor was in the room.
Victor shivered again without knowing why, although the cilice was hardly something to be afraid of. Many other numeraries he knew wore them; they just chafed the skin, causing mild discomfort. The Discipline that he had given Silas lay on the chair, its braided linen cords brushing the floor. Neither could break the skin, but they seemed extreme to him nonetheless. Corporal mortification had gone out of style after the flagellants of Plague Era Europe, and Victor believed that violence had nothing to do with God.
"I'm sorry that I missed the early Mass," Silas said. "I was deep in prayer."
"I wasn't there either." Victor admitted with a shrug. "I went to speak to the Bishop."
Silas's eyes brightened. To him, there was only one Bishop.
"Father Manuel is here?"
"He was only here for the night," Victor said regretfully. "And then he had to leave again. But he'll be back next week for Christmas." As if confirming that it really was so late in the year, the winter wind gnawed harder at the window, causing the glass to shiver. An eddying trail of snow was splayed on it.
"Anyway, he and I talked about you. He suggested the you and I go to the retreat together this weekend."
Silas balked visibly. Victor had brought the subject of the Christmas retreat up before, but never as directly as this. It would be just a weekend in a nearby lodge, but the thought of having to help with Bible study and other activities was understandably frightening to Silas.
Without knowing when, Victor had ceased to even think of him at as a ghost. He had begun to speak with some of the other numeraries, even Michael. He attended most of the communal meals. Victor judged that now was the right time to give him a push and see if he sank or swum.
"I figured it would be the perfect way to celebrate the fact that you've been a numerary for two months now."
"If this is my two month anniversary, I'm afraid to see what ten more months will bring." Silas replied with a fleeting smile.
Victor laughed, not caring that such an unbridled and ungodly emotion was forbidden in Opus Dei, and clapped the other numerary on the back.
"Are you ready to go to breakfast?"
"If you're going toforce me. I will do extra penance later."
They could've been two regular friends as they left the building if it hadn't been for Victor's third shiver of the day. He wondered who exactly was walking over his grave.
The days melted away as the snow piled up, and the time to leave for the retreat arrived. Silas began the day with silent prayer and couldn't find his tongue afterwards. He sat in a dumb stupor in the car, feeling Victor's nervous stare. He wanted to say something. He had never before found tension in silence; now here it was, the proverbial elephant in the living room. It was strange to face the need for idle chatter and human contact.
When Victor pulled up at the lodge Silas found his white hand clutching the other numerary's sleeve so hard the creamy bones showed through his skin. He recoiled, disgusted at himself. How could a ghost go white-knuckled?
"Look, it's going to be okay." Victor said calmly, meeting Silas's eyes and putting his hand on his shoulder. "I'll never be far away. You've been assigned to our youngest group, anyway. The kids will see you for who you are. They have a way of doing that." He gave Silas's shoulder a rub.
Silas eased away from him, although there was no sodomy in the touch. There was simply the human companionship he had been longing for the entire trip. It frightened him now. It reminded him of a time when he had put his gun to his head and felt a sudden panic at the thought of a bullet to the brain. Father Manuel found him then and tore the gun away. He shouted angrily, but there was fear in his eyes. Silas had collapsed against him and wept like a child. He hadn't touched a gun since.
Father Manuel. The name brought a pang of both joy and regret. The Bishop had hardly been to see Silas since he brought him to Opus Dei. He always apologized profusely when he did. Silas didn't ask why he was away so often- it wasn't his place -but Victor said it was some sort of official business. He went constantly between the Vatican and Opus Dei, but he was rarely in his rooms when he did come home. No one knew exactly what was going on.
"Oh, here. I have a name tag for you." Victor rummaged around the in the glove compartment and handed Silas a plastic card. He stared at the inane letters-Hello, my name is Silas-and the cross that was meant to pin it to him. Here was a stamp as certain as the star of David.
Come, stare at me. Pretend you're fascinated by the strangeness of my name, make small talk about its origins when really it's the color of my skin you're staring out.
Silas took a deep breath, banished the thoughts, and began a litany of inward Hail Mary's. They built like a tidal wave inside of him, culminating in the ecstasy of the opening services. When they were done and it was time to start the first activity, Silas still hadn't found his voice.
"Come on," Victor muttered, guiding him by the elbow towards a group of young children- none older than seven or so. "It's going to be okay." Silas could tell he was saying it to himself too.
Please, father, he prayed halfto Father Manuel and halfto God. Don't allow me to let my only friend down.
Victor introduced himself to the group of starry eyed children, who pretended to be more interested in the coloring book Bible stories he was showing them than the snow outside. He left an expectant pause afterwards and glanced at him.
"My name is Silas," He rasped. "I will be helping as well." It just tumbled out. Silas was surprised they understood it at all.
"Alright then," Victor beamed, first at his partner and then to the children. "Our room is just over this way. Let's go ahead and get started. Parents, you're welcome to come if you'd like."
A few followed their procession as they walked down the halls of the log structure, which were lined with depictions of scenes from the Bible, all done by Opus Dei members. Some were paintings, others were cross-stitches. One of these had a black background and then Christ on a simple brown cross. The most startling detail were the ruby drops of blood flowing from the cut on his side, stark against the ebony background.
Silas, who was at the rear, paused to look at the picture with an unbecoming sense of jealousy at the fact that the Lord's skin was no paler for his loss of blood. Of course Jesus Christ would be perfect in ways that he wasn't. He was the Son of God. Silas fell so deep into the comforting embrace of his self-loathing that he didn't realize the group had pulled ahead of him. He wasn't even aware of the young girl standing beside him until she came and tugged on the sleeve of his jacket.
"Will you come with me?" She asked. He couldn't help but stiffen a bit, even at the sound of so tiny a voice. "I'm lost too."
Child, I pray only that you aren't as lost as I am.
"Very well." He said with an awkward, lopsided smile that didn't quite reach his eyes.
"Thank you Brother-" She had to stand on tiptoe and crane her neck to see his tag. "Silas." Her gross mispronunciation helped to defrost his smile a little more.
"Silas." He said in soft correction.
"I like your name. Mine is Isabelle." She replied. "Can we go now? I want to color."
Silas nodded and they began to walk in the direction the rest of their group had taken. He could already hear the youthful chatter ahead of them; Isabelle walked close to him, her tiny hand clinging to the leg of his pants in an effort to keep up. They found the room and he steered her inside with a gentle push on her back, thinking that children must have some sort of instinct that allowed them to discern where they were supposed to go. He had always known where to dig for the best scraps when he was a child.
Isabelle took a few steps forward, then turned and looked back at him with a slight frown.
"Aren't you coming with me?"
It was then that Silas noticed that every other child had someone- a parent or a friend -who was coloring with them. Even Victor was working with a small boy, a smile on his face. No one was left alone but the two of them.
"Of course."
Just to make sure he didn't lose his way, Isabelle grasped his pants again and tugged him in the direction of the only empty seat. A fresh box of crayons and an unopened coloring book filled with Bible stories remained. They stood before the chair and Isabelle looked back at Silas again.
"Aren't you going to sit down?"
Silas realized that the chair was rather large for such a small person.
"But where will you sit?"
"On you, of course."
Silas's heart was tripping over itself in nervousness as he sat down. His hands trembled a bit as he lifted Isabelle up; her ribcage felt so delicate in his hands, her pulse feathery and wonderfully alive. She settled herself on him calm as you please, and opened the book. She began to page through the book, her lip drawn into her mouth in concentration.
"No, not this one. I want to find a better one." She'd say to each one. Silas was lulled by the monotony of it, but his palms were sweaty where they rested on his knees. The cilice prickled at his thigh, but he lost track of this annoying detail when Isabelle said something new.
"Silas, do you like this one?" Her impatience betrayed the fact that she had been asking for some time.
"Yes, I suppose it is good enough." He said without really looking at the scene or the Scripture beneath it.
"If you say so." She sighed dramatically.
"But you should choose oneyou like."
"I know," She giggled, turning around to face him. "I just wanted to trick you."
The fact that anyone could be so innocent as to think thatthis wastreachery made Silas laugh, and not bitterly. It gave him hope that somewhere in the world the rare bird of innocence did exist. It was a low laugh, barely out of his mouth, one that made his chest rumble and vibrate against her back. She giggled again, then begin to look judiciously through the crayons to find just the right one.
"No peeking." She told him.
Silas nodded and didn't close his eyes so much as allow them to wander over all the other children. Victor was right- they did possess a talent for seeing things plainly and simply, as they were. The eyes of adults were sharp, jaded bits of glass compared to these crystal binoculars. Silas wondered if he'd ever had such eyes and knew this wasn't so; he wished that he'd had them once. Childhood was the perfect time to learn of God; you came to Him openly and adoringly and believed with a deadly blindness in everything He said. You didn't come doubting to Him as Silas had.
He felt near to sleep as time went on. Victor left the small boy he had been working with and came to Silas's side.
"How's it coming?"
"I wouldn't know. I'm not allowed to see." Silas snorted.
"You will soon. Just be patient." Isabelle scolded him.
Victor chuckled. "I have to go to the bathroom. Everyone seems pretty calm here but try and keep an eye on them for me, okay?"
"Very well." Somewhere in Silas's being there was a tremor, too deep for him to feel, like a blow that struck so deep it went past every nerve.
It was only natural that after this tectonic shift that he would feel strangely weightless, like a strong breeze might carry him out the window. As if he were a ghost.
"Look, Silas," Isabelle said, tugging on his sleeve to bring him back to earth. "I put you in the picture."
And there he was, etched in black crayon beside the Nativity. She drew him neatly in black robes and then colored in his face with white crayon. . Red eyes stared back at them both. It was worse than the daily horror of looking in a mirror, which he saw through the jaded glass eyes of an adult. It was worse because it was him in the eyes of a child. Exactly as he was.
It was then that he saw the other children staring at him. It was then that he heard all their parents hissing at them to stop. It was then that he realized that they were all staring at him too.
"You should go to the beach sometime, Silas." Isabelle said, taking his hand and holding it palm up in her lap. "You would look nice with a tan."
Minutes later Silas was running outside. He plunged headlong into the snow. At some point he tore off his black robes and closing his eyes, so that the whole of him was white, just white, so that he could hide in the frigid wasteland.
Victor felt lighter than air as he left the bathroom. It had worked. Even if Silas wasn't exactly swimming, at least he was treading. At least he wasn't drowning. He had been right about the children; they always showed everything exactly for what it was.
He felt so light that a good breeze would carry him away, and that was probably why Michael's anger left him floored.
"Where have you been?"
"I had to go to the bathroom. Has something happened?"
"You left your class alone?"
"No. Brother Silas is with them... Isn't he?"
Minutes later a child's coloring book fell from his hands. He didn't even pause to wipe away Isabelle's confused tears. He ran to the black sedan he'd driven up in and leapt into the driver's seat, and drove until his own eyes were too filled with tears to go any farther.
A/N-- I might as well drag this out a bit longer, don't you think? I'm not really sure if the incident with Isabelle was quite strong enough, so let me know how you felt about that. The third chapter should be up pretty soon!