Celibate Good Times

Chapter deux † E Nomine

Silas awoke in a world filled with white, as his vision cleared up he realized that he was merely within a hospital. He was lying on a bed surrounded by medical equipment, dressed in the thin patient uniform garb. The wounds in his chest were bandaged and healing, but the pain remained just as sharp as when they were created. Silas bolted upright, eyes wide open, as he remembered what had transpired when he was dying.

"Silas vivere per l'eternita…"

He had traveled down to the depths of Hell and God sent for him to return to life. God saw that sending Silas to Hell would be unfair, even though everything he had done was wrong. He had committed sins, but the Lord was willing to forgive him because Silas retained his undying faith. Now he had a new mission to fulfill, a quest to be the real messenger – to cleanse the earth of true filth. No more wasting time as Opus Dei's slave, killing falsely accused heretics. Now he would go after the people who were the real enemies of his Lord: Priests that molest children, murderers that kill in the alleged name of God, and the abominations that the Devil created to try to destroy the faith of others.

"Sir!" a voice snapped him out of his thoughts, and he felt someone try to restrain him from getting up. "You must lie down, else you won't properly recover." Silas glanced at the nurse who was struggling to push him back down.

"Non!" Silas protested, pushing her aside with more force than he meant. "Je dois remplir ma destinée!" The nurse stumbled backward and tripped over a stool, falling to the floor. He got up from the bed and cast a glance at the nurse over his shoulder. "Excusez-moi," he mumbled a hollow apology and exited the room altogether. Careful not to alert the authorities that stood down the hall, Captain Bezu Fache included, Silas slipped through the hospital corridors and out of the facility.

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Bishop Manuel Aringarosa sat in his wheelchair in the room appointed to him within the hospital. Depression reigned over his mind, as he mulled over the recent events and the fate that awaited him. Lightning flash and thunder sounded just outside his window; rain turned into hail as it fell relentlessly. Bishop Aringarosa picked up the paper cup of water from the table at his side and sipped the flavourless liquid half-heartedly.

There was going to be a trial, and whether he liked it or not Opus Dei was going to be exposed. Their secret inner workings were going to be up on display for all to see. This thought the Bishop could not bear. The thought of his fellow Christians turning their back on him in disgrace, his brethren and the Pope… Already the Vatican held suspicions about Opus Dei methods, but now they would condemn the entire lot because of his actions.

Silas…

Bishop Aringarosa felt a lump in his throat and his stomach knot up. He loved his poor Silas like a son, and wished to God that he could take back every wrongdoing he had done to the boy. It was too late for that now though, the poor boy was dead and it was his fault.

"Bishop," a distinct voice behind me spoke out of the darkness behind him. Aringarosa didn't need to turn around; he knew exactly who it was. The Bishop shielded his face with his hands and wailed helplessly.

"Cease and desist spirits!" he shouted miserably, believing that he was now going mad or being tortured by demons sent to taunt him. "Dissemble no more!"

"It is me, Bishop," Silas whispered to his former mentor. He spun the wheelchair around to face him so that Aringarosa could see for himself. Wide eyed and distraught, the Bishop saw the very subject of his nightmares and wishes. There wasn't sadness or even happiness in his angel's eyes like he had imagined in his dreams. Silas looked disappointed as he stared straight back into Aringarosa's eyes.

"But – how!" Bishop Manuel cried out in his surprise, pleased to see that Silas was alive. "Captain Fache told me that you were dead."

"I was dead," Silas explained to him, with a calming voice. "But the Lord brought me back to allow me to begin my true mission."

Aringarosa shook his head, "Opus Dei is finished; we have been exposed. The mission is over, we have failed."

"Non," Silas whispered, pulled out a gun, loaded it, and placed it in the Bishop's lap. "You have failed."

The Bishop looked down at the gun, then back at Silas in shock. "Please, Silas, I cannot do this."

A smirk spread across Silas's face. "Sacrifice yourself for the Church; kill yourself in the name of our Lord."

"Why are you doing this to me, Silas!" Aringarosa shrieked. "What have I done to offend you!"

The smirk dissolved into an angry frown as Silas gripped the armrests of the wheelchair forcefully. "Because you are supposed to be a man of God, yet you have sinned. You lead others into committing crimes, for brainwashing me into believing your lies." He let go of the armrests and stood up, drawing himself to full height. The Bishop was forced to crane his neck up to meet the eyes of the figure towering over him. "Now, I'm giving you a choice. Either commit suicide and redeem yourself in my mind, or force me to kill you and never forgive you."

"Silas, you're being ridiculously absurd," Bishop Aringarosa now looked at him with fear blatantly written all over his face. "This is madness, what you ask of me."

"Make no illusions, Bishop, you will die tonight."

"What has gotten into you?"

"Sunday is your deadline." Silas ignored his former mentor's question. The clock tower in the distance chimed the tolls of midnight. It was now Sunday, a day that Silas always spent in prayer. On schedule, he knelt down before the Bishop with his hands clasped together. "Our Father, which art in Heaven, Hollowed be thy name, Thy kingdom come, Thy will be done, On Earth as it is in Heaven, Give us this day our daily bread, And forgive us our trespasses, As we forgive those who trespass against us, And lead us not into temptation, But deliver us from evil, Then yours is the kingdom, And the power and Glory, For Eternity..."

"No," Aringarosa firmly declared, fixing him with a vicious glare. To his dismay, Silas picked up the gun and pressed it against the Bishop's forehead. "Silas, please—"

"In nomine patris et filii spiritu sancti," Silas whispered, before repeating himself again in English. "In the name of the Father, the son, and the Holy Spirit." He pulled the trigger back and fired; his eyes averted as the bullet made a clean hole straight through the Bishop's head. Blood mixed with brain matter oozed out of the hole and dripped down his face. "Amen."