Dear Readers,

Thank you for your patience during this time! I've found that I have more time than I had previously believed, and am able to access the computer more often than I had thought. For a few days I've been working on the plot of this story, and have debated on how to develop it. Below is the beginnings of the actual plot! I haven't had time to proof-read this chapter much - I usually end up reading through a chapter about four times, making little corrections here and there, before I even consider posting it - but quite frankly, I don't really care. It's late (1:30AM), and I'm tired. So, I apologize in advance for any errors you might find. Maybe, when I have time, I will re-edit this chapter. Right now, I'm just trying to get it to you as soon as possible.

Sincerely,

Kodu

.:Disclaimer:.

In another universe, in a land where water is purple and the skies change from orange to green, I am ruler over all living, breathing, inanimiite, dead, or otherwise existant or non-existantobject, person, or idea. In reality, I own nothing save for my own twisted creations.

.:Story Key:.

(Normal) Word - Normal Writing

(Italic) Word - Thoughts/Flashbacks/Letters

(Normal Quotations) "Word" - Spoken English (Unless otherwise stated)

(Italic Quotations) "Word" - Spoken Latin

.:Warning:.

This chapter jumps from scene to scene a few times, going from one character to the next. Also, I am introducing a new character, and hope I am not rushing his emotions and past. I don't want it to seem like I am pushing his thoughts, opinions, and life onto you too quickly. There is not a whole lot of Damaris/Silas development here.

.:Note:.

This chapter is, by far, the shortest one so far. I'm so very sorry for that! Take note of the plot developments, and the subtle hints hidden in small things such as character names (Actually, especially character names.) if you want to try and guess what these "Journals" are before I reveal it. I think I have way too much fun hiding double meanings in things...

Oh, and IceAngel08 brought up the point of how to pronounce Damaris' name. Technically, it should be "DAM-uh-riss", stressing the first syllable. However, I say it as "duh-MARE-iss", stressing the second syllable. Also, her last name is "Cephus" which is, technically, pronounced "SEE-fuss". But, once again, I have changed it around a little and instead I say "KEH-fuss", changing the softer "C" sound to a harsher "K" sound. I hope that helps!

I won't update until I get at least 10 reveiws!

3

Journal

.:Your deepest feelings, your darkest emotions, are revealed not in your actions, nor in your words, but in the farthest recesses of your mind:.

It was early, but the old man didn't care. Stroking the worn leather of the large tome, John Cephas smiled his tired smile while sinking back into the arms of a recliner. Opening the giant book carefully, he quickly read a few passages before closing his eyes in blissful euphoria as the words wrapped around his imagination. Of course, this book wasn't the original - that one was written in a mixture of Greek and Aramaic, and was much too old to touch - but the history was still the same; the emotion was still the same. No, the first journal was locked safely away, hidden from prying eyes. This copy was just fine for day-to-day use, though even it's fairly new pages were beginning to yellow with age.

John sighed contentedly as he began to think on his daughter, Damaris. He remembered fondly the times she would crawl up on his lap as a little girl and beg him to read a story from 'That Really Big Book Thing,' as she would call it.

He had been ecstatic that she was so interested in her family's history at such a young age.

Suddenly the loud brrrrrriiiiing of the phone jolted him from his musings. Setting the book aside gently, John picked up the phone with a friendly, "Hello?"

"Mr. Cephas?" asked a gruff, angry sounding voice on the other line. Not recognizing the caller, the man furrowed his brow in confusion.

"This is he. May I ask who's calling?"

A long pause on the other line was a definite 'no' to his question.

"That is not important at the moment. Right now, we would like to talk to you about your books."

"Books?" he said innocently, in an ignorant voice, though he glanced over at the giant journal laying on the coffee table a few feet from where he was standing. John Cephas was much better at hiding his emotions than his daughter.

Growling, the voice answered. "Journals. Your ancient volumes. We know you aren't ignorant, Mr. Cephas."

"We?" John said, his voice laced with false confusion.

Agitated beyond belief, the man on the other line - for it must have been a man, as no woman could make such animalistic noises - responded curtly, "That is not important right now. What is important is that we would like to purchase those antiques from you."

"They are not for sale," the man replied angrily, losing his false tone of calm unawareness.

"They are important biblical artifacts," argued the voice. "You cannot expect to keep them hidden from the world forever!"

Gripping the phone until his knuckles turned white, John nearly shouted into the receiver. "They are my family's personal property, and you cannot expect me to reveal our hearts and souls to the public eye!" Then he hung up.

Panting heavily, the man ran a shaky hand through his hair. Bright green eyes darted around the room before finally resting on the book. Biblical artifact or no, this book - along with the many others archived in his vault - was a window into his entire family's history. His emotions, his fathers emotions, his grandfather's emotions and generations more were written down in page upon page of faithfully recorded journals.

The book he had with him now was a copy of the first journal. It was what started them all; the most precious, valuable, emotional book he had ever read. This journal is what brought him to Christianity as a young teenager. It is what opened his eyes to the unconditional agape love Jesus had for him. It is what compelled him to become a pastor.

If they wanted it so badly, they would have to pry it from his cold, dead hands.

Still shaky and frustrated, John looked at the phone in his hands and smiled faintly. Dialing a number, he held the device up to his ear.

Damaris would want to hear about this...

> > > > > > >

Silas nodded, hanging up his cell phone and slipping it back into his robes. Running a shaky hand through his hair, he stared over at the girl and sighed. What he had to do would be difficult - she would never cooperate -, and it would be trying on his nerves, but it had to be done. Opus Dei had yet to reveal their plans to him, though he figured this girl was in it for the long run. Settling himself against the wall, the albino watched as the sun began to rise.

It had stopped raining hours ago, and the quiet of the early morning was more unnerving than any noisy racket. Damaris' eyes shot open of their own accord, and in her groggy state of mind she instantly forgot what had made them do such. The dead silence of the room chilled her to the bone, even though she was buried deep in the musty covers atop the creaky mattress. And then she remembered.

She had fallen asleep on the floor.

A pair of bright blue eyes were staring straight at her from across the room, and as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, Damaris could make out the form of her captor leaning against a paper-thin wall, arms crossed and head slightly bowed as he looked at her from under his lashes. He wore the same black robes from yesterday, though they had been cleaned and removed of any blood stains.

Pushing off the wall, Silas stalked towards the girl, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth upon seeing her wild morning hair. As he approached the bed, she untangled herself from the covers and jumped off the mattress, panting laboriously as adrenaline coursed through her veins.

"Good," he said, stopping a few yards away from the girl, the bed standing between him and her. "You're awake."

Damaris not only looked like a frightened deer ready to flee at the sound of a pin drop, but she felt it, too. Taking deep breaths, she tried in vain to calm her frayed nerves.

"Y-you..." she whispered, furrowing her brows in confusion as her kidnapper just stood there, crossing his arms and staring at her intently. "Did you put me...in...in the..." She gulped, the mere thought of the albino taking her to bed causing a blush to creep up her features.

He merely raised an eyebrow, not making this any easier for her.

"...in bed..." she finished, the blush staining her cheeks bright crimson.

Smirking, a mischievous glint flashed in Silas' eyes as he nodded. "I did."

His expression did nothing to calm Damaris' nerves. "Y-you didn't...didn't...did you...?"

Slitting his eyes, Silas took a step forward, his intimidating figure towering over the girl even from a distance.

"I may be a criminal albino," he spat, quoting her from earlier and incredulous at what she was insinuating. "But I am not one to take advantage of women." Then adding, as if an afterthought, "I am celibate."

That last part hit her hard. Damaris could have laughed, if the situation had not been so serious. Celibate? Her kidnapper, her captor, the man who beat both her and himself, was celibate!

How twisted the world had become.

The image of him kneeling, blood pouring down his back and legs, flashed before her eyes and made her shiver. Instantly, the strange device on his leg came to mind, and she stared at his right thigh questioningly.

"Is...is...that thing. Is that what it's for?" Her voice was timid, and her cheeks turned red at remembering the man naked.

Silas glanced disinterestedly towards where the woman's eyes wandered, and raised a brow as he lifted his shining blue orbs back towards her golden ones.

"You mean the cilice?"

The albino's voice was calm as usual, but held a note of warmth to it. Damaris noticed he must be in a good mood this morning. That, or for some morbid reason, he liked pain.

"Cilice..." she answered carefully, trying the word out on her tongue. Forming an instant dislike to it, the girl squinted her eyes and scrunched up her nose.

"Yes," Silas answered, watching her reaction carefully. "It quells a man's desires."

Damaris' face turned a deep shade of red, and she quickly looked away, focusing her attention on anything but the man in front of her.

Stepping around the bed, Silas came up beside the girl and stared at her for a while. The bruises on her face had become more noticeable, though her eyes were no longer red and puffy. Streaks of black hair covered most of her face as she bowed her head - whether in fear or shame, he did not know -, and her bright golden eyes seemed fascinated with his sandals. Her emotions flew across her face with clarity; how her brows creased when she seemed confused, how the corners of her eyes seemed to twitch with the strain of not looking up, how her lips were pulled back in a thin line as if she were concentrating on something.

Damaris felt her captor's piercing blue eyes burning into her, but she refused to look up. She realized her choices were very limited nowadays, and this was one of the few things she had control over. Besides, if he couldn't look into her eyes, he couldn't see what she was thinking, right?

The girl could have smacked herself for such idiocy. Everyone - including herself - knew she was easy to read; like an open book. No matter how hard she tried, it would be impossible to hide from this pale man. He probably knew what she was thinking right now!

Reaching into his robe, Silas deftly pulled out a cell phone and thrust it into the girl's line of view.

Blinking, Damaris snatched her phone from the man's grasp and glared up at him.

"How did you get my cell phone?" she whispered harshly, backing away from him and leaning up against the wall. Not even waiting for an answer, Damaris flipped open the device and began to dial the police. Before she could even press the second number, a pale hand wrapped around her wrist and squeezed so hard she was forced to drop the phone.

Catching it in mid air, Silas pushed the girl back against the wall and leaned in towards her, his body blocking any form of escape. His forehead nearly touching hers, the albino slit his eyes and whispered harshly, "Do not do anything brash."

Releasing her wrist, the monk backed a few steps away from her, and offered her the phone again. "Now," he breathed, his voice the very definition of commanding. "Call your work. Tell them you are taking a vacation and you do not know how long you will be gone." Seeing the incredulous look on her face, he roughly pushed the device into her hand and forced her fingers around it. "Do it now," he growled.

Damaris was shaking, but it did not distract from the way his fingers felt against hers. She entertained thoughts of how strong and secure they felt twined with her own, while at the same time reprimanded herself inwardly for thinking such things about her kidnapper. His voice was harsh, but as the girl looked into his eyes, she saw a pleading note hidden there.

Nodding numbly, Damaris dialed the numbed and held the phone up to her ear.

"Grinwald Insurance. This is Lydia speaking. How may I help you?"

"Lydia? Hi, this is Damaris." Looking up at the albino, the girl watched as his mouth set in a grim line and he crossed his arms.

"Damaris! Hey, girl! Why weren't you at work this morning?"

Deciding it would be best to hurry, she continued in a more rushed pace. "Um, look, I was just calling to tell you that I'm taking an extended vacation. I don't know how long I'll be gone."

"Oh," Lydia said, her voice full of shock. "Is everything okay, Damaris? You sound sort of panicky..."

It was only then that Damaris noticed how her breaths came out in gasps and tears slipped past her eyes. Her subconscious mind had, apparently, reminded her that this phone call just brought her one step closer to an unknown future of confusion, deceit, and abuse. It was heartbreaking and mind-shattering at the same time, and she hadn't really had time for all the emotions to overwhelm her yet. So they leaked out discreetly, sneaking up on the unsuspicious girl and pouncing when it was too late.

"No, e-everything's fine," Damaris gasped. "L-look...I h-have to go." And she hung up.

As soon as the line went dead, the flood gates opened and sobs escaped her throat.

"W-why?" she whispered again, asking a question she knew he would not answer.

Or maybe he could not?

As cold as ever, Silas turned away from the girl and stalked over to the other side of the room. He debated in his mind on how to act in this situation, and decided to go the harsh way. He couldn't allow himself to feel any sort of emotional attachment towards this girl, and already he had a deep sense of pity for her. This was not good. Feeling was not good, so he set his mind on becoming like stone; hard and unrelenting.

"It would be best to pull yourself together," the monk said in his usual monotonous voice. His back was towards to her, and as he turned to face his captive, he saw the tears glistening in her eyes. "You have more calls to make."

Sniffling, Damaris nodded shakily and stared down at the phone in her hand. Suddenly, the screen began flashing and the tune from Mario started to play. The cheery melody was very ironic, considering her situation, and somehow brought a dry smile to her face.

That is, until she read the caller ID.

"Dad..."

> > > > > > >

It was dark. So dark, the slimy black tendrils of nothingness seemed to reach out and suffocate the little man standing in their icy presence. A pair of grimy hands gripped the briefcase fiercely; slim, bony fingers twitching every few seconds out of nervousness.

"Step forward," a disembodied voice echoed from the darkness.

The man walked, head bowed, towards a tiny platform lit by a single light from overhead. From his position on the circular metal, the world around him seemed to grow even dimmer. A thousand men could have surrounded him without his knowing, as the white beam beat mercilessly against his head. Vaguely, he heard the sound of footsteps approaching from behind, but he dare not move for fear of the consequences.

Suddenly a hand shot forth from the void before him, and the man nearly stumbled backwards in surprise. Swallowing his fear, he managed to hold his ground while gazing intently at the black-garbed man before him.

"Briefcase," came the voice again.

With trembling fingers, he handed it to the shadow man and gasped when the hand - and the body attached - disappeared completely.

Silence stretched on for what seemed like an eternity. Beads of sweat formed at his temples and trailed their way towards his neck; falling into his eyes, around his nose, and inside his mouth in the process.

"What is this?" The voice was neither angry nor harsh, but held a calm tone to it. This frightened the man to unimaginable degrees. When the tiger roars, you see, it shows it's anger clearly and you can determine it's emotions - and, therefore, it's actions. It is when the tiger keeps silent and watches you with contemplating eyes that you should worry. For in these moments, the beast is sizing you up, either studying you from a distance, or waiting to pounce. It is the silence before the roar. The calm before the storm. It is in these moments that you should fear for your life.

And the man feared. With every ounce of his trembling being, he feared.

"I-I thought it w-would be h-helpful..."

"Helpful?" the voice cut in. "Keys, photographs... What are locks when you have weapons? What are pictures when you have blueprints?"

Then, the most frightening word the man could ever hear was heard.

"Useless."

The clang and scuffle of footsteps alerted him to the presence of several others nearby, though he could still not see anything. He felt something cold and hard press into his back, and heard a faint click.

"You are useless."

The bang of the gun echoed endlessly throughout the cavernous area, and the man fell; his body, like the darkness, growing quite cold.

> > > > > > >

The phone rang once...twice...three times, and still no answer. Scratching his white-speckled beard - more out of habit than nervousness - with thumb and forefinger, John Cephus breathed a silent 'hmmm.' He walked around the room with blind grace, coming to a stop with his hand resting against the mantelpiece about the fireplace. One lazy finger drifted towards a picture of his only daughter at her high school prom, and a slight smile crept onto his features.

Damaris sat on an intricate chair, the plush white cushion sewn with patterns to match the carvings on the wood. Her shimmering black dress matched her hair which, that day, had been taken up in a simple updo held with an imitation diamond clasp which left her bangs free to frame her face. A pair of fake-but-real-looking diamond earrings dangled delicately downward, stopping a few inches from her shoulders, and a beautiful silver necklace with a genuine diamond piece was clasped around her creamy-smooth neck

The dress hugged her curves gently, falling around her body in waves of shimmering ebony, and gave her a modest amount of cleavage. She had scrutinized herself carefully under her golden gaze in the mirror, and had determined that her appearance was 'as good as it was going to get.' John knew his daughter was beautiful, though not in a 'drop-dead' and 'stand-there-gaping' kind of way. It was the kind of beauty you had to come to appreciate, the kind that grew on you with time. Like the first fading colors of sunset, one did not see it's true beauty until one gazed into the sky for a few moments. That night, she had had the face of an angel, her radiance sprouting from her soul within. Damaris just didn't know it yet.

With a bright smile, she tilted her head slightly to the side and gazed up at the camera under her dark lashes. Beautiful golden eyes glinted mischievously, and the corners of John's mouth twitched upward in a knowing smile.

The picture had been cut off from just below the knees, and looked almost awkward because it did not reveal the bottom of her dress. In truth, Damaris had done this on purpose when having her picture taken.

Being her usual stubborn self - John blamed her mom's side of the family for that one -, his daughter had downright refused to wear the shoes that matched her dress. They were three inch heels, fit like a glove, and were absolutely gorgeous. But also being her usual self-conscious self - once again, he blamed her mom's side of the family -, she had realized that five feet, ten inches plus three inches equaled six feet, one inch. And that six feet, one inch - or, in this case, 'A' - also equaled 'B' - or, as she would call it, 'Bad'.

Most guys in her school were six feet tall, and those taller all had really short girlfriends. In Damaris' mind, height was a major factor in who you dated, which was precisely why she had only dated one person in high school, and that person had broken up with her because he had felt awkward about how tall she was. It was like Animal Planet. Tall male zebra dated short female zebra - or something like that. Tall female zebra remained celibate all their lives. They didn't get eaten because they were so tall, but they were still pretty much outcasts. It was just the natural order of things.

If the tall female zebra wore three-inch heels, they would tower over the other beasts of the African Plains and frighten them all away. So to a tall zebra, or to Damaris, heels were bad. That night, she had gone to prom in her sneakers.

Chuckling to himself, John listened to the phone ring for the seventh time, about to hang up, when his daughter's voice stopped him.

> > > > > > >

"H-hello..." Damaris' breathed shakily, her gaze focused intently on the albino before her. His own blue eyes glared at her, warning her that every breath she took was a privilege, and that every word she spoke determined whether she kept or lost that privilege.

"Damaris, my little yellow-eyed cat! I thought you would never answer. How are you, darling?"

Her father's charming, easy-going voice brought her to tears, and the girl had to swallow the sobs rising in her throat.

"I'm doing fine, dad." It was a bald-faced lie, and she couldn't even rejoice in the fact that her voice had remained steady. In the back of her mind, she saw the image of her father lying in a pool of his own blood, a bullet to the heart the source of his fatal wound.

Nodding in approval, Silas stepped closer to the girl, motioning with his hands that she should hurry. Biting her bottom lip to keep it from trembling, Damaris hurriedly spoke into the phone.

"Um, dad, while I'm talking to you, I need to tell you that I'll be gone for a few weeks. The, uh, school is giving us a break and I -" Here she faltered. It hurt too much to lie so boldly to her father, but it was necessary. For her life, for his life - especially for his life! - it was horridly necessary. "And I told my friend, Jen, that I'd go with her to...to a family reunion. Well, more like a retreat. You haven't met her yet, but she's really nice. Goes to church, has good grades, doesn't drink or smoke."

There was, in fact, a girl named Jen. She was in one of her classes. Damaris had just never spoken to her before. Now, whether she went to church, smoked, drank, or was a relatively good girl was unknown. It wasn't really lying, though, if you didn't know what you said was the truth or not, was it?

Silas waved his hand impatiently at the girl, and Damaris glared at him in unchecked hatred.

"Look, dad, I have to go-"

"Hey, hey, hey! Hold on their, girl!" John finally had the chance to cut his daughter off. She had been babbling on and on - something very unlike herself - for a while now, and he finally had the chance to get his say on the conversation. "Darling, that's all good and well, but I called to tell you something."

Damaris could have smacked her head in frustration. Right now, she just wanted to get off that phone. Already, it was a miracle she hadn't burst into tears just by hearing her father's voice. Now he wanted to make conversation with her? All the while, some pale mad-man has been staring at with that creepy 'you're-my-next-victim' look, and it was starting to get on her nerves.

"Dad, I really-"

But he cut her off once again.

"Remember those books, darling? The journals?"

That shut her up. Glancing at her kidnapper discreetly, she nodded numbly before realizing she was on a phone, and mumbled a quick, 'Yeah.'

"Well, some man called asking to buy them. You wouldn't believe the audacity he had, too! And I didn't even know anyone knew about our books..."

"You didn't sell them, did you!" Her voice was breathless, and a sudden unnamable fear had seized her heart at the prospect of losing those books forever.

Silas growled slightly at the change of topic. He snatched the cell phone from his captive's hands, hearing an incredulous 'No' before flipping it shut.

"That is enough." His eyes bore into the girl's golden ones, and for once the intensity inside them unnerved him. It was like he had sparked a fire that the depths of his blue orbs could not quell.

As if to explain himself - though he did not know why he felt he needed to -, the albino motioned towards the door with a nod of the head. "We must go. Our flight leaves soon."

Fear flooded every part of Damaris' being at the mere mention of flying. This was it. Her life had ended with the mere thought of being taken away from all she held familiar. She was being kidnapped, stolen, ripped away from everything she ever held dear, and there was absolutely nothing she could do about it.

Vaguely, she recalled the tune from Mario playing once again, and thought in the very recesses of her mind that her dad must have been calling back. The black-robed man, however, merely flipped the phone open and turned it off.

As the screen went black - a mist of void covering the once-glowing light - she realized that the very same darkness was covering her soul.