Dear Readers,

Once again, I apologize for the delay! I've been doing some research, and have gathered a few interesting facts about monks and Opus Dei. After spending a LOT of time fathering information on the organization, I decided that my plot would take a completely different twist, veering away from Opus Dei and more towards something a little bit darker... Well, you'll see. Anyways, here is the fifth installment of Pale White Specter, and I hope you enjoy!

.:Disclaimer:.

Once again. Me - owns nothing.

.:Story Key:.

(Normal) Word - Normal Writing

(Italic) Word - Thoughts/Dreams/Letters

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

(Italic) "Quotations" - Spoken Latin

.:Warning:.

A new character is introduced. There are several cliff hangers in this chapter, and also a lot of problems arise that you won't see the solution to for a while. This is a turning point for the story; the point where I stop playing around and the plot starts to get twisty.

.:Note:.

I have some good news, and some bad news. The good news: I FINALLY UPDATED! The bad news: It's a shorter chapter. The first 4 chapters were kept at an average of about 5,000 words. This is what has made updates take so long. So, because of this, I have decided to shorten the length of my chapters. In theory, this means you'll get more updates more frequently. This could bomb, though, and I may revert back to 5,000 words a chapter out of habit. But for now, I'm hoping this will solve my little procrastination problem. The idea of 3,000 words is a lot less daunting that 5,000, anyways.

Review Please!!

5

Threats

He should have stopped then and there. So what if he knew her name? It mattered not to their situation. She was still his captive, and he her captor. Nothing would change that fact, no matter how much he regretted it. But God, it seems, had different ideas.

Glancing to the girl - his gaze holding hers intensely - Silas opened his mouth to speak. Within seconds, it closed again, and he licked his lips nervously. Was this the right thing to do? Should she know his name? Was he getting too emotionally attached? Of course, he held no affectionate feelings for the girl, but pity plays a great role in swaying a person's decisions.

Damaris.

The name played over and over in his head, like a melody he couldn't quite stop singing. It was different - strange and elegant to a certain degree, and definitely weird. But he wasn't one to talk, now was he? What kind of a name was Silas? Hmm...Silas and Damaris. It sounded pleasant together.

Blinking, the albino watched as Damaris - finally, he could put a name to her face! - tipped her head to the side while gazing at him under thick lashes. He could see the lines of recent tears that had snaked their way down her face, and the red puffiness of her eyes made his heart ache. The overwhelming need to hold her - to protect her - struck him like a hurricane.

And as soon as it had come, an even stronger feeling of fear washed over him.

Shaking his head, Silas slit his eyes at the girl and turned his back to her. His mind screamed at him to ignore her, but in his heart he knew the damage was done.

When you pick up a stray off the street, and harbor it until the owner can be found, you have no qualms with parting with it's presence. It is just another animal, and you could care less if you never saw it again. But once you name the beast, and pay it enough attention to find out its habits - its likes and dislikes - then you're in a world of trouble. Because when something has a name, it suddenly has a personality; and when something has a personality, it has the ability to move your own emotions.

Likewise, when a captor picks up a captive, and harbors the person until it is time to let go, they have no trouble parting with the victim. It's just another job, and they could care less whether that person lives or dies. But once the criminal finds out the person has a name, they start to learn of their past, and begin to see little glimpses of their soul.

Whether he liked it or not, Damaris was no longer just his captive. She had become the fiery, frightened college girl who likes walking in the rain and talking about philosophy; and even though he knew next to nothing about her past or personality, just that little bit of information was enough to ignite a flame of emotion in his otherwise numb being.

Simply put, in some twisted level of subconscious emotional insanity, Silas was attatched to Damaris.

"What is your name?"

The girl broke through his thoughts, making the monk lick his lips nervously. He was back to square one, only this time the question had actually been voiced.

Right now, Silas could do one of two things. He could sit there and ignore the girl, or answer her question. If he chose the former, there would be no more risk of emotional attachment. If the latter...

...Well, that outcome was quite nameless at the moment.

Glancing in her direction, the albino found her gaze relentless, and realized he had little or no time to make his decision. A thousand scenarios flew through his head in a matter of moments. She could hear his name and continue with their dangerous yet pleasant banter; or she might ignore him altogether after her question was answered. Would she like his name? Did it even matter?

He could feel her eyes burning into his pale skin, and his own blue orbs flitted about wildly for an escape.

Finally, his choice was made.

"I must go to the restroom. Don't do anything brash." With quick, decisive movements, the monk lifted from his seat and took off for the public restrooms near the back of the plane.

Damaris blinked once, twice, and after a moment realized two things stuck out in her mind. The first, she still didn't know his name. The second, she was all alone.

But why wouldn't he tell her his name? She had told him hers! Was it a matter of male pride? Of knowing that he knew more about her, than she did him? Her cheeks were stained red from the hot shame of it all. Had she just been trying to socialize with her captor? The girl didn't know whether to be embarrassed or disgusted. Perhaps it was a mix of both? And what was this unnamable feeling she got when around him? Their roles had not changed; she still felt very much so the victim of cruel circumstance, yet under that sickening feeling of fear which settled deep in her stomach was a sense of security she couldn't quite understand. This man had beaten her, and yet his touch gave her pleasant shivers. He had taken her from everything she had ever loved, and yet his presence was enough to put her at ease. And somewhere deep inside of her, she felt something for him.

It wasn't love.

Heck, it wasn't even like!

Sure, she pitied him to a degree, but that emotion didn't even begin to grasp at what she felt.

Why was the world so twisted? Why was her mind so messed up she couldn't even decide whether or not she hated a man who had veritably imprisoned her? Why -

...Wait a minute.

Damaris glanced to her left and stared at the empty seat before her.

She was alone.

An exhilarating thrill danced along her spine, and in a matter of moments she had jumped out of her seat in excitement. Looking left to right to make sure the albino wasn't there, the girl had to choke back a cry of relief at seeing nothing but empty aisle space.

She was free!True, she was trapped in a metal machine miles above the earth's surface with no way to get back down, but for a few precious moments, the ominous albino's form wasn't suffocating her! Now was her chance. If she ever wanted to see her family again, she had to tell someone aboard this flight her situation...

"Hello, love," came a voice from the seat next to her, and before Damaris had time to look down, a cloth was shoved roughly against her nose. Gasping in surprise, she inadvertently inhaled whatever chemical was on the material, and felt herself sway. She was gently guided to her seat, and before unconsciousness overtook her, she saw a pair of slate gray eyes glinting at her in mirth.

Her lips were warm against his mouth, and Lance couldn't help but smirk at the way her body melted into his own. The movie had long since been forgotten - heck, he couldn't even remember the name! - as he and his date, the strikingly beautiful Verona Maine, began their make out session. She whimpered in protest as he pulled back, and several people around them began shushing in aggravation. Lance couldn't help but chuckle, and was answered by a dozen angry glares.

Verona, with her pouty red lips and large doe eyes, silently pleaded for him to continue.

He, not one to deny a fair maiden a night of passion, swooped down to capture her mouth once again, when his cell phone started to ring.

Several moments of fumbling around in his pockets and many angry glares later, he managed to silence the call before jumping from his seat and dragging his date with him to the snack bar. Flipping the annoyingly bad-timed device open - Damaris had once called it the 'Devil's Trumpet,' and rightfully so -, he found Mr. Cephus' number on his caller ID. Tipping his head to the side, the blond-haired beauty redialed the number.

"Hello?" came the voice from the other end.

"Hello, Mr. Cephus? This is Lance. Did you just call me?"

There was a pause on the other line, then a string of words so fast Lance could only hear a few random phrases such as, 'Damaris...hung up...journals...vacation...'"Woah, woah! Mr. Cephus, slow down! You're talking about as fast as a 15-year old on the phone, and I can't understand a word you're saying."

Verona was pouting heavily by now, her elegant hands twirling strand upon strand of luscious blond hair through her fingers. Lance mouthed a quick 'I'm sorry,' to the woman before ignoring her completely. Sure, they had dated a few times, but it was nothing serious. He would dump her at the drop of a hat if need be, and right at the moment Damaris' dad seemed ready to have a conniption fit - whatever that was supposed to be.

"It's Damaris," John breathed heavily, forcing himself to calm down. "I talked to her a little while ago, and something doesn't seem right."

Lance sighed and shook his head. "I talked to her yesterday and she seemed fine."

On his wits end, John snapped and yelled into the receiver, "Well, I talked to her this morning, and she was on the point of tears!" Running a shaky hand through his graying hair, the pastor lowered his voice and said in a whisper, "I'm sorry...it's just...I'm worried."

"I understand," Lance responded quickly, a little surprised the man would yell at him. His shook it off without a second thought, and tried to bring reason into the conversation. "Did she tell you anything important? I'm sure if something was bothering her, she would go straight to you."

There was another pause.

"She mentioned going to a friend's family reunion over the break, but I don't -"

"Wait," Lance interrupted, looking at the phone questioningly as if the man on the other end could see him. "We don't have another break. Finals were yesterday, and new classes are starting up again." Scratching his hairless chin, he tipped his head to the side. "Come to think of it, Damaris didn't show up for Finals. That's not like her..."

"Who's Damaris?" Verona's overly sweet voice broke through the man's thoughts as she sashayed towards him. With a suspicious frown on her face, she leaned onto Lance's shoulder and tipped her head to the side.

"Who're you talkin' to?"

The blond-haired man had to resist rolling his eyes at the woman hanging on him. Verona was a great kisser, and an easy lay, but she wasn't very bright.

"No one, Verona. Look, this is sort of an emergency, and I probably need to go..."

"But I need you here!" There was that pout again. The way her lower lip jutted out slightly; how her honey blond hair fell over her face innocently; and the teary look her wide eyes seemed to get.

Lance ran a shaky hand through his hair and sighed. "I think something's happened to my friend. She might be in trouble..."

"I need you!" She repeated again, a look of hurt crossing her features.

"Verona..." he moaned as she caught his hand in a vice-like hold.

Unrelenting, the woman grabbed his cell phone and flipped it shut before he could protest. Smiling wanly, she placed a tender hand on his chest and leaned forward. "Now...where were we?"

Clenching his fists, Lance snatched his phone back and turned away. "At the point where I was going to tell you to get lost." And without another word, he left.

"This better be an emergency," he growled under his breath, glaring at the phone in his hand as if it were the source of his problems. Glancing at the voluptuous beauty behind him, he cursed at his misfortune and reluctantly dialed the number again.

"Hey, sorry about that Mr. Cephus - " he began, but was cut off.

"Sorry, kid," came a gruff voice from the other line, sending shivers up Lance's spine. "But the old man is a little...tied up... at the moment. I'm pretty sure he wouldn't mind a little visit, though."

"W-what?" His baby-blue eyes widened in shock at what this strange man was saying.

"Bring the girl here, and the old man won't get hurt."

For a second, Lance thought the man meant Verona. But why would he want her, of all people?

"W-who?"

Growling, the voice shouted, "Damaris! Bring that damned wench to me, or you - and Cephus - won't live to see another day!"

The line went dead, and Lance dropped his phone.

There had, in fact, been a line to the bathroom. Silas stared at the floor as he shuffled forward step by step. The silence was awkward. What could a bunch of strangers needing to wiz say to each other, anyways? Of course, he didn't really need to relieve himself. This time away from his captive would give him a chance to think. Hopefully he could reconstruct those walls he had built around his heart; make them strong enough to keep out a persistent college girl.

Staring at the slate gray carpet adorning the area below his feet, the albino tried to clear his mind of everything that had happened to him the past few days. Closing his eyes, he imagined himself in a world of emptiness, nothing but white space to fill his vision. He had no past, he had no future, and the present seemed more of a matter of opinion than reality. Slowly, he began to take deep breaths.

Breathe in...

A bloody priest lay before him.

Breath out...

His mother sat cringing in the corner, afraid to touch him for fear of angering her husband.

Breath in...

A young woman with frighteningly intense eyes struggled against his form.

Breath...o..u..t...

Damaris was crying again, and he could almost taste her salty tears.

Silas had to stop from gasping in shock at the flood of memories bombarding him. Clenching a pale fist, the monk tore his eyes from the floor and glared angrily at the wall in front of him. How dare she invade his thoughts like this! Gritting his teeth to stop from growling in anger, the albino shifted his gaze to Damaris' seat, hoping to pour out his anger on the girl by staring at her threateningly.

What he saw, however, chilled him to the bone.

Damn, he thought, smiling as the woman's curves pressed up against his body. Too bad Silas is celibate...he's really missing out on this little beauty here. Reluctantly, the gray-eyed man lowered his victim into window seat, making himself nice and cozy in the space next to her. Tapping his pale fingers on the armrest, he leaned back in his seat and waited.

"What are you doing here?"

The wait wasn't long.

Smirking, he turned towards the source of the harsh growl and tipped his head to the side. "Where I come from, we exchange pleasant greetings before asking questions." Then, in a tone dripping of sarcasm, "It's nice to see you too, Silas."

Clenching his fists, the monk bent towards the other, his frame looming over the man. "I won't repeat myself, Malak." He spit out the name as if it were venom on his tongue.

Sighing, Malak leaned his hand against curled fingers and stared at Silas in exasperation. "What ever happened to pleasant banter, friend?" Seeing the glower on the other's face was enough to make him grin. "Alright, alright..."

Stretching up out of the seat, the gray-eyed man maneuvered around the albino to the empty row behind Damaris. Silas, in a protective manner, swooped down beside the girl, checking her vitals and taking a moment to look her over before turning to his enemy.

"She's really quite beautiful when she's sleeping, wouldn't you agree?" Malak reveled in Silas' nervousness, and shifted his piercing gaze from the girl to the albino.

If the monk could have blushed, he would have. Instead, he turned his face away to hide the nervous glint in his eyes. Without replying to the other's comment, he went straight to the point.

"What are you doing here?" His voice was hostile, him having forgotten civility during these past few moments of nervous tension.

Silas hated the look Malak had on his face while gazing at Damaris. It was like a mix between a leer and longing. Something in the other's eyes just rubbed him the wrong way. He could recognize the emotions now, as they swelled to unbelievable proportions in his chest. Fear, for Damaris' life, and safety. Protectiveness, and possessiveness.

...and jealously.

He itched to look at someone that way again. To have the freedom to lust, the freedom to love. But he was not his own man. He was a messenger of God. Silas did not have the capacity for tenderness anymore. He barely had the ability to pity. And this frightened him. Frightened him to unimaginable degrees. Because if he couldn't feel these emotions, it detached him from the human race. It tore down the line between man and beast, and made him a blurry monster as free as one nameless, yet bound by the laws of both societies. Silas feared he no longer had the ability to feel any kind of righteousness or pure emotion towards another of the opposite gender. He hated the sense of helplessness this thought brought. He despised himself even more for caring.

"Oh, the usual," Malak said flippantly, rolling his eyes as he seemed to quote a phrase out of a book. "High-profile assassinations, government overthrows, world chaos. Just here to promote the bloody massacre that is life."

"You're sick," Silas spat.

"I'm honest," he countered, lifting an eyebrow when the monk had nothing to say to that.

Damaris stirred in her seat, and both men twisted around to face her. It was a false alarm, though, as she merely mumbled something in her drug-induced slumber and settled back into her world of dreams.

A world in which, Silas admitted reluctantly, he would have given anything to be a part of right now. At the moment, sitting here with Malak's eerie gray gaze lashing out at both him and Damaris was not his idea of fun.

"You never answered my question," the monk pressed again, getting annoyed now.

"Oh, it's nothing, really. I just need your cooperation, and everything will be fine."

"What if I don't choose to 'cooperate'?" Silas growled, slitting his eyes dangerously.

Malak leveled his gaze with the albino, and smiled with unnatural glee.

"Then you and the girl die."