Chapter Three

But his flesh will be in pain over it, and his soul will mourn over it.

Job 14:22

By the time Silas had eaten two boiled eggs and about four pieces of toast, his eyes were beginning to close of their own accord due to the pain killers.

"I've got a spare room but I need to put fresh sheets on the bed for you and get you some clothes first. There is no point getting blood all over your bed," Sennett said, as Silas lay down again on the couch, "Do you know your size?"

Silas frowned and thought for a moment. "56," he finally said groggily and then his eyes closed as the drugs took effect.

It had obviously been awhile since Silas had worn ordinary clothes, Sennett thought with amusement as she picked up her purse to go shopping.

She glanced at the clock. It was 9am, so she would have to phone in to the office and say she wouldn't be in today.

Suddenly Sennett remembered that she hadn't taken Silas' shoe size. She tip-toed over to the couch and checked the underneath of his sandal. It was a 45. It was then she noticed the blood on his foot and ankle. She made a mental note to clean off the blood when she got home, assuming it was from one of the bullet wounds. Quickly she threw the blanket over him again and went out; leaving the spare key on a table by the door in case he needed it.

It didn't take Sennett long to pick out some jeans, shirts and pullovers. She chose pullovers with hoods. She had a feeling Silas liked to cover his pale hair to avoid stares and without his cowl, may be self-conscious. She also picked up other necessities like underwear, socks, pajamas, shaving paraphernalia, deodorant, shampoo, a hairbrush and a toothbrush. She wasn't sure what shoes to buy but running shoes seemed the most sensible with jeans.

Sennett also did some grocery shopping so there would be enough food for two for the rest of the week. She assumed that he wouldn't be going anywhere with those bullet wounds.

She stopped for coffee before going back to the flat and as she drank it, she went over in her mind the monk's extraordinary story.

She was frankly surprised he had been so open but then again, there was a certain naivety about him. She wondered if he had been honest so that she could make her own choices about whether or not to keep him there. After all, she now knew she was harbouring a wanted man. She could never accuse him of lying by omission about it.

Or perhaps he had just been taught not to lie when asked a direct question. She knew that he would have to go to confession if he lied.

Sennett had been brought up Catholic, having spent 12 years in convent schools. If the circumstances of her family life had been different, perhaps she would have joined an Order just like Silas had. The idea of a cloistered life appealed to her in some ways; fewer choices meant fewer complications. On the other hand, she very much enjoyed her freedom to live as she chose, so perhaps it was just as well that God had not called her to that life.

If she had been however, would she have come so under the thrall of one of her superiors that she would have killed at their direction? Would she have become so isolated from the world and so single-minded that breaking one of the Ten Commandments would have seemed acceptable in certain circumstances?

She couldn't answer that question. She didn't know. She had never walked in those shoes.

One thing she did know for sure, she never would have become mixed up in Opus Dei. It was a secretive organization and she didn't understand the need for secrecy in the Church. Other than the fact it was mysterious, she didn't know much about it at all but that alone would have been enough to keep her away from it.

Having seen what had happened to Silas under the directives of the head of Opus Dei himself, Sennett believed her vague antipathy to the organisation had been justified.

It didn't occur to Sennett to doubt Silas' story. He didn't strike Sennett as someone who would be a very good liar. In some ways, his emotions were as transparent as his skin. Although he had killed so many, Sennett tended to view Silas as more of a victim of manipulative men in a corrupt environment than a blood-thirsty maniac.

Sennett got back to the flat in the early afternoon to find Silas still knocked out by the drugs. She quietly unpacked the groceries and put the clothes and toiletries she had bought into the spare room. Then she quickly made up the spare bed and opened the window to air the room. Her own room was on the other side of the flat, so she felt sure he would feel he had enough privacy.

Once everything was ready, she took a basin of warm water over to where Silas was sleeping and gently slipped off his sandals. The one was in pretty bad shape and would have to be thrown out. No amount of cleaning would get rid of the blood entirely.

She quickly washed the blood off his foot and ankle but then noticed the blood actually continued up his shin. Carefully she pushed back the hem of his robe to the knee and washed the blood off but it was obvious it was coming from a wound higher up his leg. Could he possibly have been shot in the leg and the doctor missed it, she wondered anxiously?

Cautiously she raised the hem inch by inch until halfway up his pale thigh, she saw a glint of metal. What she saw nearly made her throw up.

Buried in the pale flesh was a circlet of metal rings that was held on with a leather buckle. Each ring had small spikes that were digging deep into his skin. The spikes were so vicious, that he had bleed considerably from each small wound.

Sennett stood up and nearly stumbled as she sat down in a nearby chair. She buried her face in her hands until the nausea passed over.

She was surprised at herself, how deeply shocked she felt. It was like stepping back in time to a more brutal era - a Dark Age. She felt like she had suddenly fallen down a worm hole or entered an alternate universe where sick practices were still rife.

It was so foreign to her and such a shock to realize that people in her own Church still used these disciplines that it felt like the world was standing on its head.

It took a full fifteen minutes for Sennett to calm down enough to go back to Silas' bloody leg. Picking up the wash cloth, she finished cleaning off the blood around the strange metal device. Carefully she unbuckled it and the ends fell apart immediately, having been buckled so tightly. Gently she eased the spikes away from his skin, millimetre by painful millimetre. The drugs the doctor had given Silas were obviously powerful ones as he didn't even stir.

Finally it was off completely. Taking the hideous thing with her, she fetched some disinfectant to clean the wounds. The antibiotics he was on for the bullet wounds would stop infection.

Once the leg was cleaned off and disinfected totally, Sennett took the nasty metal thing outside to the bin. Silas would never use it again, at least not in her house. The garbage collectors would take it that night.

As she had disinfected the wounds, she had noticed identical and half-healed marks on Silas' other leg. He obviously used the horrible thing often and swapped it from leg to leg. The old wounds were clean, however and would heal quickly if given a chance to.

She made herself a cup of tea to calm down and sipped it watching Silas' sleeping face. Even asleep, he looked troubled. He was frowning and the skin on his face was pulled tight with tension. His mouth was turned down and deep lines ran from his nose to the corners of his mouth, etched by pain.

Self-torture was something that Sennett could not understand. She could see no purpose for it, no benefit that could come from it. Masochism of any kind was sick and when mixed up with religious practice was even more so, in her opinion. Hurting oneself would not add to Christ's completed work of salvation - the idea was ludicrous. So why do it? If it was about self-discipline, there was something about it that reeked of spiritual pride to Sennett.

Did Silas' precious Bishop and 'Teacher' tell Silas to hurt himself like this as well as to murder others? What kind of spiritual guidance had they been giving him? They seemed to want to doom Silas to hell on Earth as well as after death. What had Silas done to either of them that made them so careless of Silas' welfare and so vicious in their demands of him?

Sennett was angry. Injustice made her angry. Lies made her angry. Seeing someone who was searching for God be so abused and used by those who were charged to help him and others like him made Sennett livid.

Where did Silas' profound vulnerability to corrupt men like these lie? What was it about his past that made him the puppet of others? Why was Silas so needy as to give so much loyalty and trust blindly into these men's hands? What was it in Silas that made him able to obey without question even to the point of murder? What made him obey even orders to hurt himself – something that cut across every human instinct for self-preservation?

There was no doubt that Silas was a mystery.

When Silas woke, the sun was going down. It felt strange to have lost nearly a whole day; in fact, nearly two whole days. He didn't move at first. He felt very comfortable. In fact, he felt so good that he began to wonder what was wrong. Had he died, he wondered? If so, why was he still in that woman's flat? What was her name - it was a strange one… Sennett.

No, he was sure he was still alive but why did he feel so good? He felt groggy still, so he couldn't think too fast. He lay there drifting in and out of a half sleep, enjoying the unusual feeling of peace and comfort.

Eventually, the answer came to him like a bolt out of the blue. He felt so good because he was not in any pain. He could not remember the last time he had been without some kind of physical discomfort. He was usually hurting from the wounds of the cilice and the discipline. On top of that, he was often hungry from fasting and cold from not wearing enough warm clothes. To be warm, well fed and pain free was a new and strange sensation to him. Even before he joined the Order, he was often cold and hungry and in pain from being on the streets or in jail.

He felt vaguely that this was somehow wrong but the drugs kept him groggy enough not to fight the comfort of it. He was starting to get hungry though when he heard Sennett's footsteps coming into the lounge room.

"Are you hungry? Would you like some dinner?" she asked, coming over to stand beside him and smiling down at him.

He managed to nod. He didn't want to move too much in case it ruined the lovely feeling of being completely comfortable.

"Are you allowed to eat meat?" she asked considerately.

"Not on Fridays," he said, frowning at the effort of thinking.

"Today is still Monday, so I think we will have a nice Irish stew to build up your blood stocks again," she said, walking towards the kitchen.

Silas' stomach growled at the thought but he still didn't want to move. He drifted in and out of half sleep as he listened to Sennett cooking. She had left juice on the table for him, obviously in case he woke up. He would have liked a glass but he still didn't want to move. There would be time for juice later.

When the food was ready, she helped him get up and walk the few paces over to the small table. He sat down gingerly, waiting for the pain to come back but it didn't. He said grace and they ate in companionable silence. Silas appreciated Sennett's ability to keep silence without tension. He wasn't in much of a fit state to make conversation even if he had been any good at it which he wasn't anyway.

He found he was very hungry and was able to eat a large portion of the stew and mashed potato.

"Diggory or Sophie will be here in about an hour to change your dressings," Sennett said, "If you want to shower and put on some of your new clothes, you're probably better off doing so before the new dressings go on."

Silas looked alarmed and Sennett guessed the reason immediately.

"There is a lock on the bathroom door, Silas. I won't barge in on you by accident," she reassured him with a laugh.

He relaxed slightly after absorbing this piece of information. He had no desire for anyone to see the scars on his back even my accident.

"Your room is just through that doorway there and the bathroom is opposite. I have my own ensuite off my bedroom, so you can spread yourself out in the bathroom as much as you like," Sennett said kindly.

Silas still looked anxious. "Where is your bedroom?" he asked in a low voice.

"Through that doorway," she said, pointing to the opposite side of the flat.

Silas relaxed. He would have as much privacy as he wanted.

Silas examined Sennett closely. Once upon a time, in a whole other part of his life, Sennett would have been the kind of woman that Silas would have been very attracted to. She would have been just his type – dark and small and fine-featured and pretty – his physical opposite. He had never had much luck with girlfriends, so it was just as well he found his calling to a life of celibacy within the Church fairly early in life. It had been so long since he had allowed himself to see women in that light that he had almost forgotten how. Now he could look at an attractive woman like Sennett quite dispassionately and see who she really was without all the distractions of physical attraction.

"You're very kind," he said seriously.

Sennett examined his face quickly and realized he was saying it as a real observation, not as an off-hand way of saying thank you or as a form of light social flattery.

"Thank you," she said, just as gravely.

"I will shower now so I am ready for your friends when they come," he said after a moment.

Sennett simply nodded and began clearing the table.

When Silas went through to the room Sennett had prepared for him, he realized how much she had done to make him comfortable and see to his needs. He had all the clothes he would need for the time being, exactly the toiletries he needed and a freshly made up bed.

He supposed the pajamas would be the easiest for the doctor in terms of getting to the wounds. Sennett had provided a dressing gown and slippers too. Was there anything she hadn't thought of?

It wasn't until he was in the bathroom with the door firmly locked that he took off his bloodied robe and suddenly understood why he had felt so comfortable. His cilice was gone.

Silas didn't know what to do. He had not been without his cilice for so long that it felt like a part of him. Did he get dressed again and go out to confront Sennett about taking it or did he just ignore the issue completely so he never had to try and explain it to her? Confronting Sennett would probably not get his cilice back but then he had to try and cope without it. Penance was a part of his life. How could he atone for his sins without it? Surely, she had put his soul in jeopardy. On the other hand, if he did confront her he would have to try and explain why he needed it. Very few people within Opus Dei used it and certainly not to the extent that he did. Outside Opus Dei, he knew the practice was not understood or accepted.

In the end, the anxiety of being without it won. He pulled on his new dressing gown.

Sennett thought he looked rather mad when he came out of the bathroom wearing just his robe with his white hair sticking up all over his head. His pale eyes were blazing with a furious passion that Sennett may have found frightening in a different situation.

"Where is my cilice? Where have you put it?" he asked wildly, anxiety making his voice sound harsh.

"Your what?" Sennett asked.

"My cilice! It was around my leg and now it's gone," he said frantically.

"That horrible self-torture device?" Sennett asked bluntly.

Silas suddenly went very still and the blue fire died out of his eyes. "Self-torture?" he repeated dazedly, his pale brows drawing together.

"Yes, self-torture! It's a horrible, nasty, sick thing. I don't know who told you that you had to hurt yourself like that but its sick! I threw it in the garbage and it's been taken away," Sennett said angrily.

"You think it's self-torture and sick?" Silas asked faintly, his head spinning a bit. He had been using it for so long that he no longer questioned it. Her reaction was a huge shock. He knew that it was generally rejected by others but he had never heard anyone call it 'self-torture' or 'sick'.

"It's not self-torture," he said weakly, "Its penance and atonement for my sins. It allows me to participate in my Lord's suffering."

"Its spiritual pride, nothing more," Sennett said flatly, "Jesus died as atonement for your sins. Are you saying His sacrifice isn't enough to atone for your sins? Are your sins so special that not even the death of the Son of God can atone for them? It's like walking up to the dying Christ and spitting in His face and saying, 'Your sacrifice isn't perfect enough – I must atone for my own sins!' Jesus died so that you don't have to suffer in that way to have a relationship with God - so you can be free. Are you going to throw His gift back in His face?" she said furiously.

To Silas, she sounded like some Old Testament prophet. Her dark eyes were burning and her small frame exuded an authority that something deep down in Silas' spirit immediately recognized.

Silas still felt dizzy. Was what she said true? Had he been insulting his Saviour all this time by using the cilice and discipline? Had he been saying to Christ that His sacrifice on the cross wasn't perfect enough to atone for him – for his sins to be forgiven?

Silas suddenly felt sick. He stumbled backwards and almost fell into a chair. His hands were shaking so badly that he had to clench them.

"I never… I never thought to denigrate Christ's sacrifice or say it wasn't perfect," he whispered, more to himself than Sennett. "I wanted to do what was right. I thought it was right. I wanted to pay for my sins."

"They're already paid for," Sennett said, suddenly calm again when she saw his genuine shock, "They were paid for over 2,000 years ago. All you need to do is repent. But that means you can't kill again, Silas – no matter who tells you to."

Silas shook his head violently. "No! No, I will never kill again. I don't care who tells me to. I will never kill again," he said fervently. Sennett believed him.

"Go and finish your shower Silas," Sennett said gently, "Everything is going to be okay."