My birthday was today, so that's why this chapter is so late. Sorry! Aljinon, is sinfully gorgeous, isn't he?

Chapter Ten – Silas's is Accused, Tried, and Almost Guilty as Charged

Rachel hung up without another word. A lady-killer? What's the difference between a lady-killer and a serial killer? "A serial killer targets certain people. Most target people who have angered them, or prostitutes. And since prostitutes come in all genders, it's not really directed at women. Just anyone who does the down and dirty for money. A lady-killer, however, is directed at women, of any status. He may have had a bad past and history with women, and now any woman he sees is a threat that must be removed. If the guy you're dating is the actual one responsible for all these deaths, then you need to turn him in." Marcy had explained this to Rachel, but Rachel didn't want to hear it. "First off, we aren't dating. He's just a friend. And no, I won't turn him in, even if it is true. There's something about him that makes him seem like he wouldn't be a convict."

Marcy sighed. "Has he done time?"

"Well, yes. What's your point? He should be targeting gay guys."

"Ha, well, possibly. Anyways, guys don't really kill prostitutes; they rape them and let them go."

"Very true. He is not a lady-killer, as much as you want him to be. He loves his mom."

"Remember Norman Bates from 'Psycho'? He loved his mom too, and look what happened to him! Not to mention killing women..."

"Oh, stop talking from your labia, before I punch you there."

"You'd like that wouldn't you? Even so, I've gotta go. It was nice talking to you again."

"You to Marce, bye."

"Bye Rach."

Rachel grabbed a beer from her refrigerator and leapt on the couch. She was exhausted, and confused. If he really is a Norman Bates, then am I in trouble? Rachel shook her head and took a long drink from the bottle, emptying it in a few gulps. Leaving it on the floor, she rolled over and took a nap.

Silas pulled off his clothes as fast as possible, and savored the free, flowing comfort he had grown so used to as he put his cloak back on. He would wear those clothes in public, or around Rachel, but the cloak, in the building. He lay down and reminisced over what just happened. He nearly made a mockery of himself by saying that disgusting pick-up line he had heard other people use and it work. Staring out his window, he could see the sky beginning to turn gray. For an instant, he caught the whiff of rain and blood, and for a moment, he froze, paralyzed in shock. Had his past come back to haunt him? It was an accident; he never meant to hurt anybody...

As Silas was walking down the streets of New York, lost, he had been caught up with some wrong people. He asked for simple directions, but couldn't seem to follow them. When he heard gunshots in the distance, and what sounded like someone cocking their gun, he pulled out his and shot at who was directly behind him. He watched in horror as a young woman fell to the ground, her bag of groceries spilling onto the ground with her blood. Then the rain began to fall. A little child was screaming and crying, and shaking her mother, yelling, "Mommy! Mommy! Please don't leave me!" and Silas watched in horror as the child just kept crying over her dead mother's body. When she looked up, she glared at him with such fiercest of the most fierce eyes Silas had ever seen and spat, "You killed my mother! I hope you rot in hell you selfish bitch!" And while Silas was shocked the child would say such rude things, he also felt a sense of understanding. Having his own mother lost in the ghettoes of France, he knew the child had lost something Silas could never replace – a family. As the rain fell over Silas, masking his tears, he knelt down and still prayed over the body. He began walking again, but with more caution, and leaving the gun unloaded in a sewer.

Silas remembered this now and gripped his hair in vain. This is what had caused his hair to become uneven; he had been ripping it out. Now in sudden realization of this, he smoothed his hair down, and clutched at his leg. Feeling his cilice was not on, he found it in his bottom drawer and put it on. He gasped at the welcome feel of the pain, and let it poke and prod his skin. He lay down for a while and breathed deeply. He felt so exhausted at this memory, and swore never to kill again. Never. As his eyes grew heavy, he could smell the blood and rain, and feel a sense of loneliness, regret, and sorrow.

When he woke up the next day, he felt a sudden chill and goose bumps raised his skin. Shivering, he pulled his cloak tighter around him and snuggled up against himself. As he was about to go to sleep again, a voice whispered in his ear, "Silas, it's time to wake up!" Silas jumped up and looked down at Rachel who was standing up now. She had her hair in a ponytail, and a black blouse with a red cross on it. There were rose vines growing over the cross, and a phrase, "The only thing worse than death is dying unloved." Silas stared at the odd shirt, then said, "Why are you here again?" Rachel looked at him oddly and said, "Again? Honey, it's the next day. What happened to you?" Silas rubbed his eyes and shook his head. He needed at least another eternity to sleep. He opened his drawer and pulled out a shirt at random, a green one. He pulled off his cloak, then suddenly remembered Rachel was in the room and snatched it up against him. "Could you, leave please?" he asked, his cheeks turning a light pink. Rachel laughed and said, "No, I don't want to stand out there with all those people heckling me about being in the men's part of this building." She turned around and crossed her arms. Silas still didn't feel comfortable, but dressed as quick as possible. The sky was still rainy, and thunder shook the floor. "Okay, you can look now." Rachel turned around, a dark expression on her face. "Silas, I don't like to mess around. I want to get straight to the truth." She walked over to him and grabbed a chair from the far side of the room. Silas had never noticed the two chairs over in the corner, but now, as she handed him one, and straddled her own, she didn't seem to be fooling around. Silas sat in his and fiddled with his fingers.

"Silas, so you know what I'm about to ask you?"

Silas shook his head, as he felt perspiration pop up on his forehead like pimples on a teenager.

"Silas, someone informed me that you may be a lady-killer. Is that true?"

Silas stood now and tried to keep his voice under control. He yelled in French, "No! I would never do such a thing!"

Rachel cocked her head. "Quoi? I don't speak a lot of French."

Silas sighed and sat back down. "I would never kill a woman." He said in a whisper.

Rachel tipped the chair forward a little and said, "Silas, I know you aren't being honest with me. Why do you do it? How can you live with yourself? Is that why you practice corporal mortification? To make up for the countless women you have killed!" She was leaning on the two front legs, and they just barely stayed upright. Silas stood and used English this time. "I did not murder them!"

"How do you know who "them" is anyways?"

"Because I read the newspaper!"

"I got info from a source saying you were the cause of a murder of a prostitute a while back. Is that true?"

Silas looked down at her and turned his head to the window. "It was an accident. I thought she was going to shoot me."

Rachel stood and walked to him. "But you didn't kill the others?"

Silas shook his head and sniffed. "No, I did not kill the others."

Rachel looked into the eyes of this gigantic man and hugged him. "Oh Silas, I'm so sorry." Silas tried to hold back his tears, but they leaked out and streaked his face. "I promise to never kill a woman again. I promise." Rachel rubbed his back and said, "I know you do."