The

piano in the corner front of the stage was pitch black, contrast with the light

coloured garment—white, silver, shades of light blue here and there—that

decorated the room. Except for the clean white tuts. There a young man sat,

fingering them. His long red hair was combed back—helped by a massive amount of

gel—held together with a silver bow at the back of his neck. Like all of

them—he wore clean white garments, borrowed from the church; pants, shoes, long

shirt underneath a white robe that reches his knees. The sleve all buttoned;

his neck, his wrists—properly covered.

Sweet

sound coming from the sole piano—he play with care. Fingers dacing, head

swaying, and lips moving; mumbled the song lyric. Beside him stand the church

choir; consist of boys and girls in the same white garment.

“Can

I go where you go?”

The

guests eyes locked at the front door, where the bride and the groom start walking

in.

The

pianist move his blue-green gaze from the pair, towards the tuts—watching his

own fingers instead. A faint smile creeping up his face—though his chest hide

hundreds bubble of happiness.

----

He

muster another smile—though this one seems more like a grimace. The pain in his

stomach starts to bother him again, but nobody—or at least the guests—need to

know that. So he told himself to behave—hold the pain a while longer. The feast

has reaches it’s peak—just a few wedding ritual and then he can go home and

nurse himself to perfect health—or at least as healthy as he can be.

The

newlywed; a handsome young man worked as a police officer, and a woman who own

a bakery shop across the chapel. Dressed in a traditional white wedding

garment—both of them moving on the dance floor like a pair of white flags. The

man hold the bride in the air as she jumps—her laugh sounds exactly like the

small little bells she puts on the front door of her shop; clear, and happy

sound; warn her whenever a customer coming into her shop.

A

perfect match; both of them. The guest seems to agree with him, all staring at

these two person who move across the dance floor like they are one.

“She’s

married, stop staring at her.” A girl in a white robe and veil chided him. Her

brown eyes laugh with mirth, while her hands holding a tray of glasses; filled

to the brim with dark blue substances that smells like berry, or blueberry

precisely—they reminds him the purpose of his presence in this wedding

ceremony.

“I

didn’t stare at her,” He argue, eyes moving from the dance floor towards the

girl. “At least not like that.”

The

girl rolls her eyes, and smile. “I was just kidding,” She later clarify.

“I

know that, Mary.” He gesture awkwardly at the tray shes holding, and raise an

eyebrow. “ You need help with that?”

Mary

decline his help. “But, can you take up another tray of muffin from the

kitchen? The guest seemed to favour them—only God knows why.”

Yeah,

God knows why he favour them too.

“Sure!”

He grins.

Marie

excused herself, walking to the crowded part of the room and start offering

drinks. He turn around and start to move—slowly; carefull with the pain still

lingering in his stomach—to the opposite direction, towards the kitchen. Where several

trays full of muffins is waiting to be picked up.

-----

Jeffrey

parks his car on the outside of the church ground—for the purpose of easy acces

whenever he suddenly need to leave the wedding party in case of emergency. The

man sighed—he’s just arrived—late, and already planned to leave. What a

horrible friend he is.

Pulling

out his seatbelt, the man take a look on his rearview mirror to check his

appearance. Not bad, he thoughts—aside from looking a bit tired. He promise to

get some rest after the wedding—if everything goes smoothly—and a holiday after

the case is solved. Checking his phone for a massage from Amanda—the blood test

result should’ve come out any moment now—but he found none. A pair of thick

eyebrows creeping upwards—maybe she’s busy. He stepped out of the car, lock the

door, and put the keys in his ****** pocket.

Sounds

of tinkling piano and melodic whisper—or singing perhaps—guide him past the

open gate and rows of cars, towards a grand building. His steps is fast paced

on the cracked old pavements upon hearing the song is about to end.

There’s

two people standing outside—guarding the door. Jeffrey pull out a light blue

card from his coat, hidden in an inside pocket, and give it to the man who

stood in his right side of the door. The big man check the invitation, and nods

in approval.

“Come

in, man. You’re late,” He stated the obvious.

The

detective just nods, face impassive. “Yeah, im sure the groom would love to

remind me about this in years to come.”

Two

sympathic smiles welcome him inside.

-----

“Would

you like some dish, Maam?”

An

elderly woman—all her graying hair tied in a low bun, theres a wrinkle in the

corner of his kind eyes, she chose a humble look by wearing a simple light

purple dress. She turns towards the voice and find herself enchanted by a shock

of red hair—flaming like a fire.

“Oh

my, what a beautiful hair!” she touch her chest, as if she’s going to faint.

Her blue eyes wide staring at the young man—who brought her muffins. What a

sweet lad!

“Thank

you. Yours beautiful too.”

This

red haired man—or perhaps boy?—charmed and compliment her as if she still a

fine young lady. The old woman laughed in mirth—her late husband would have

rolling in his grave at this.

“The

dish, Maam? It’s chocolate muffin, perhaps you want some?”

“Two,

please.” She held up two wrinkled fingers. The man—slowly—bending his spine and

put down his tray, allowing the old woman to pick the muffin on her own without

having to stand from her chair.

“Tell

me young man, your the pianist right? Whats your name?” The woman bite into the

fluffy brown muffin, and let out a delighted sound at the taste.

“Correct,

Maam. The name is William Rose.”

The

woman opened her mouth, she’s about to talk when the sound of a ringing bell

and loud screams fills the room.

-----

“Are

you ready to ring the bells, Mr. And Mrs. Warren?”

Both

man and woman nods their head, their hand is holding a long chain attached to a

giant bell located on the attic. This is a small tradition from the town, for

the newlyweds to ring the bell by pulling the chain—it takes a lot of effort

for the bell is huge and not easily moved. Both start pulling the chain to the

right side, until a deafening ring is heard—the crowd went clapping—the

newlywed let the chain go—it moves side to side, each followed close by a

ringing sound. They have completed their task.

But

then something fell down from the attic into the stage, almost crushing the laughing

bride—the groom luckily pulled her into his arms—protected her. The crowd went

silent, the groom stood still as a stone. The bride trying to loosen his hold

to see what is falling from the attic. She raised her eyebrow at the gaping

audience, and went to look behind her—to where her husband is staring with his

jaw hanging open.

Theres

a body laid there—a figure of a man with dirty and smelling clothes, bend at

awkward angle from the fall. He laid there unmoving in her wedding aisle, his

eyes staring gloomy at her—unblingking, unfocused. He’s already dead.

The

bride screamed.

-----

The

red head was about to see what was the screaming about when a round of people

running towards the door—mostly woman and a few kids with tears streaked down

their face. He still heard the faint sound of the bell ringing among the

terrified scream.

“Oh,

Dear. What’s happening?” The old woman sounds faint.

He

tried to reassure her, “ I don’t know, mam. Perhaps something—“ A group of

running people crashed hard into him. His tray fell down, and the young man is

pushed towards a set of rectangle shaped table.

The

old woman said something gibberish, he cant understand her, can’t even hear

anything past the sound of bell ringing. The sudden pain where the edge of the

table hit his wound is unbearable—till the world is slipping from his mind.

-----

The

guest is running everywhere, some towards the stage, some towards the exit door

trying to run from a terrifiying scene they just witnessed. “Shit!” Jeffrey

swore when someone knocked their elbow to his ribs, or stepped on his brand new

polished shoe—it’s not about his shoe, more about the deadly heels of the lady

who steppen on him and crushing his toes.

What

was that, anyway? Or perhaps, who? Why something like this happen on a wedding

party? Poor Warren—he’ll send his condolances later, when he finish playing

detective.

“Could

be years away,” He sighed.

Stepped

around the crowd—most of them holding their coats or scarf to their face,

covering their nose from the nasty smell. Jeffrey don’t bother with the

gesture, instead focusing on breathing through his mouth.

“I

can’t get a real holiday can I?” Warren facepalmed, his bride is nowhere to be

seen—running away with the girls apparently.

When

he saw Jeffrey, he let out a smile—it’s a bit strained and slightly manic; he’s

probably in shock.

“Hey,

buddy. You’re coming!” He calls, there’s a sound of amazement in his voice.

“Pretty sure if this—” He gestured at the body. ”—isn’t happenning, you

wouldn’t be here.”

That

was a low blow—Jefrey heard someone snicker behind him.

Warren

must get a grip on himself faster than he thought, because he suddenly summon

his authoritive voice and commands, “Move everybody! Let DI Izbell do his job!”

“And

call the hospital!” A panicked voice from the other side of the room.

Jeffrey

and a few people turned around to see who is that. They seen a girl with white

clothes; one of the choir member, kneeling over his friend who lay motionless

on the floor; also wearing white clothes. There’s also a sobbing grandma over

there. “Oh, my God. Hes bleeding!” The old woman exclaims—almost histerical.

It’s

true. There’s a big red stain on the white garment, right on the upper hips of

the unconscious man. Jeffrey decide to pull out his car keys, and giving it to

Warren. “My car is outside the gate,” He informs Warren—who nods in

understanding and went to take the injured man to the hospital.

Let

DI Jeffrey Izbell take care of the mysterious corpse. Yes, thank you very much.

-----

Jeffrey

wrote everything he knows—absolutely everything—about the condition of the

corpse, the situation; technically he’s a witness so he don’t need to ask for

information from other people. But different perspection from other source

might help; so why not?

“No,

no. I don’t suspect anything at all. Im just enjoying myself,  standing in the front row; watching Sophia

and her husband pulling the bell’s chain, then a body suddenly fell from up

there!”

The

young lady is pointing at the attic, her hand is shaking, and her eyes a bit

unfocused. She wont get near the hole in the ceilling—connected to the top

floor, where the bells hang. As if she expect another body will fall from there

at any moment. Jeffrey can’t blame her—or her frantic pacing. So he followed

her wherever she goes, from the corner of the stage to the other side, and back

to the corner—but never once she step towards the middle back of the stage,

where the body land.

The

corpse is already brought to the hospital, leaving a simple chalk drawing on

the floor that indicates the position when the corpse landed. The dead body is

gone, but the horror still lingering. Even Jeffrey himself smell a faint scent

of decaying meat—it could be his imagination running wild. But how the young

woman beside him wrinkled her nose and move her fan furiously indicated

something else.

Whatever

it is, it’s still here—the odour he mean, not the ghost. Ha ha.

“The

body fell when the chain is pulled... is it exactly happening when the bell

rings or after?”

The

woman paused, clearly thinking. Trying to summon the memories needed. Jeffrey

wait patiently, hand holding a pen, he’s writing everyhing he’s got on the only

paper available, which is the wedding invitation—sorry, Warner.

“It’s

after,” The woman decides. “The bells ringing a few times before the body

fell.”

“Yes.

That’s all I need. Thank you so much for the cooperation, Miss....?”

“It’s

Swann. Miss Elizabeth Swann,” She answered, thought looking a bit confused

about the detail Jeffrey asked her.

Behind

her, a police officer held up a roll of police line. Warning him that he need

to move the witness out of crime scene so he can secure the building—well, not

exactly a crime scene at this point; not when the murder isn’t happening in

this building, but who knows?

Jeffrey

leads Miss Swann off the stage and towards the front door.

-----

Theres

a humming sound, blowing wind, and horns; when he answer his phone. Warren must

be on his way back from the hospital. But, why is he calling while driving?

“Hi,

Warren. How’s the man?”

He

heard Warren snorted from the other line. “More like a boy,” The man

murmured. “He’s fine, all stitched up.”

Jeffrey

sat on the upper step in front of the building, watching the police officers

doing their job. He pulled out a pack of ciggarates and a lighter from his

coat’s ****** pocket.  “And his grandma?”

“Not

his grandma, just some concerned citizen,”Warren

clarrified. “He’s an orphan, living alone. The girl is a friend from the

church.”

Jeffrey

brown eyes move from a bunch of working officer towards his phone. Now, that’s

pretty interesting. But he should be more concerned about the corpse; it’s

iconic appearance means more work for him. “How’s the visum?”

He

place the phone back; next to his right ear, just in time to hear his friend’s

dissmissive answer. “Just started when i left.” And the line went dead.

-----

Jeffrey

decided to take a look at the building while he’s waiting for Warren to arrive.

He ducked under the police line—wrapped around the giant pillar surrounding the

outside border of the building. The black haired man went inside, he took a

lingering look at the front door; a double wooden door, with deformative nature

craved into it; there are circles that looks like snakes bordering the door;

they are tangled, tail curling around the head—it almost look like a ring with

diamond head. There must be a deep philosophy, perhaps an important lesson one

can get by staring at it.

The

Detective moved on, because apparently he’s not in the mood for a spiritual

healing. His footsteps echoing, a welcoming sound in this earily silent

environment.

Like

the general procedure, they emptied the room, but let the funiture intact in

it’s place. The giant blue bow still lining the walls along with the bone white

long curtains on the closed window. They haven’t put down the decoration—they

can’t. Even the table; the broken glasses on the floor or standing still on

their tray—empty, half filled, and full; cold and flat brown muffins—accidently

thrown, kicked, and stepped on by the guests who all running from the horror

they witnessed in this happy day.

Walking

towards the stage—it’s a bit to grand to call it an aisle—He can’t help but

think; what a waste. Yes, such a big waste—the decoration, the muffins, the

live of a corpse who fall from the attic and ruin the party. By how the corpse

was found; it is almost impossible to assume that the man was dead because a

natural cause. The logic of everyone who witness, or heard this story—because

of course there’s going to be a story; first page in the newspaper—is to become

suspicious, curious, then questioning it’s nature. Even Jeffrey himself is

drawn to this case; despite his latest case is not yet to be solved.

That

brings forward another question; is it connected? Is the murders linked towards

one another? Then whats made them relatable? Pattern, search for pattern. The

first one was found in the victim run down apartement; the second one founded them, creating such a chaos. Pattern; the condition of their corpse is

almost similar—body almost decaying, by the odour alone one can assume they’ve

been dead days ago.

But

that could be a coincidance.

“Keep

assuming Izbell, it’ll drive you crazy,” He chided himself.

He

took a step up the stage, standing right in the middle front, and turn around;

surveying the grand room. The main door is right in front of him, thought

looking faraway. There are long blue carpet covering the floor, creating a

small—about 2,5 meters wide—path streching from the front door to the stage.

There are tables and chairs on each—left and right—side of the room, separated

from the path by a long bow held up by a couple of short stainless sticks

attached to the floor. There are also a back door in the right corner behind

him—Jeffrey will check it out later.

He

stepped backwards, his head raised to the ceiling; there are blue skies and

white clouds painted there. He kept moving, until the painting on the ceiling

suddenly cut off by a giant round hole—He stop right there; right in the center

of the hole. The long chain attached to the bell is hanging beside him.  it is about 2 meters wide—he can’t really see

the bell that hang up there from his viewing spot; everything is pitch black.

So, he look down instead, at the chalk drawing stightly on his left side, and

where the end of the chain is pooling beside his right foot.

Out

of curiousity, he took a hold of the slightly rusty chain and pulled—hard until

the bell is ringing loud. Then he runs, sprinted throught the blue carpet to

the front door, then turns right until he found the stairs that lead him up to

the attic. His chest heaving, as he climb—the bell is still ringing. Hurry,

hurry!

Theres

a small door on the top of the stair, his body slamed against that door, hands

immediately reching for the knob. The door wont budge. It’s locked.

“What

the **** are you doing?”

Eyes

widening, Jeffrey turns around. Only to find Warren standing in the middle of

the staircase. His figure is a bit covered by shadow and sharp light from

behind him—where the sun started to sink. But clearly it’s Warren; he know the

hard shape of the figure, and the white wedding gloves on his hand—gripping the

rails.

They

both in similar state; slightly out of breath, with Jeffrey a bit on the worse

side, since he’s built to investigate; not running around the town after a pick

pocketers.

Warren

looks annoyed. “What the **** are you doing?” He repeats.

The

detective opened his mouth to reply, “I was just...”

“Just what?” Now, he sound mad.

The

other man seemed a little bit out of words. Yeah, Jeffrey. What are you doing

exactly? He questioned himself.

“I

was just checking around.” It’s the closest to the truth, for Jeffrey himself

don’t understand why he is suddenly inclined to ring the giant bell like a

curious little kid. Maybe because this kind of thing—the bell pulling—didn’t

happen in the other town where he came from. But then he went running like a

mad man chased by the devil himself. Jeffrey must seen him then, and went to

follow him; thinking something important is happening.

The

sound of Warren laughing startle him—the harsh expression from before slipping

out from his features. He said, “Really? Checking around? The investigation

isn’t officially started till tomorrow.”

Oh,

well. Why nobody feel the need to slip him this little bit of information before

he started questioning a thraumatized lady? Poor Miss Swann. His expression

shifted into an uncomfortable grimace at the thought.

“It’s

late.” Warren voice sounds tired. Of course he’s tired; he got to be a groom,

and an officer, both in one day.

Jeffrey

let his tight grip loosening on the door knob. Eyes slightly shifted towards

the door plain white wooden door; gaze promised that he will come back as soon

as possible. He move towards his friend, “Alright. I’ll drive you home.”

-----

A

car pulled up in front of an apartement in St. Louis Street—it was the biggest

apartement in the city. The parking lot is visible from across the street;

guarded by a security at the front gate. Inside; a series of cars lined up

looking fancy. Across the apartement, a car window is rolling down, revealing

Jeffref who raised his hand, trying to get the security attention—the big bulky

man immediately run from his guarding post to open the front gate.

Jeffrey’s

eyes looking at the side mirror, checking for another vechiles behind him

before he drive the car across the street, past the gate into the parking lot.

He could hear the sound of gate closed immediately behind him.

It’s

nightfall already—the lamp post in the parking lot is on, and his surrounding

is dark. The trace from the sunset—the usual trace of orange, and pinkish

colour—in the west side of the horizon is completely gone. The man reached for

his phone—placed on the dashboard.

There

is still no message from Amanda, and it is almost 7 pm. Jeffrey felt heavy—she

promised to have the result ‘today’. But today doesn’t end until the clock hit

12—so there’s still a chance that Amanda will give the result as she promised. The

black haired figure sighed deeply, he put the phone back on the dasboard.

Trying

to relax, he lean his head into the back of the car seat. Facing the street lit

with head lamps from the cars running around on the road. Upon seeing what time

is it, suddenly the exhaustion he didn’t felt earlier come rushing in. The ache

in his legs, the hardness on his shoulder, and a small migraine. Nothing

unbearable; it’s mostly a pain caused by stress rather that actual physical

pain—he just wish to spend the night free from this kind of uncomfortable

feeling.

He

just staying there motionless. Eyes slowly went heavy with sleep, he didn’t mind

sleeping in his car. He think there is a spare blanket somewhere in the

backseat. But then his stomach grumbled at him. That jolted him

awake—completely, utterly, awake.

Food;

he thoughts. Surely one cant solve a crime without food. He heard somewhere

that hunger could mess with someone logical sense; whether it is true or not,

nobody knows. But for a safe stance; he probably should order for some food

delivery.

The

man reach for his phone; now only if he could remember the phone mumber of this

delicious restouran near the police station with their excellent delivery

service.

-----

Jeffrey

was standing in font of his apartement, trying to unlock the door for two

minutes straight to no avail. That’s because he doesn’t pay attention and used

his car key to open the door instead of—where is the damned apartement key

anyway?

Jeffrey

put down his working bag on the floor supported by the wall, while he checked

out his pockets one by one. Front pants pockets, back pockets, front coat

pockets, the pocket on his shirt—where is is it? The said key was found under

the crumpled wedding invitation inside his inner ****** pocket of his coat.

Where he also found out that the pen he put there is spilling its ink on his white

shirt and brown coat—creating an ugly stain of black. He cursed.

Opening

his door, he immediately went in and slammed the door closed. Only to re-open

it,  taking the bag he left outside

before went back inside the safety of his apartement.

-----

The

phone is ringing—it’s ringing with a massage notification. Jeffrey was staring

at his shirtless reflection in the mirror; slightly blurry with the moisture

from his recent warm shower. In his hand he held a shaving knive; the stubble

in his chin needs some more cutting.

But

his phone is ringing; he heard it albeit the sound was muffled by the bathroom

wall. Jeffrey left the knive in the sink, turn around to reach for the towel

hanging on the bathroom door, hang it on his left shoulder and exit the room.

Walking

past the kitchen to the middle room, he immediately throw himself on the long

burgundy sofa. His left hand reaching for the towel, petting his hair to dry,

while the other one reached for his phone. The screen is lit up with a picture

of an envelope, and ‘Amanda’ written underneath.

His

blood buzz with relief for a moment—Amada manage to find the time to do the

blood test. He waste no time to open the massage.

It

wasn’t his blood; It simply said, as if amanda send it

during a rushed break. He tried to scrolled down the messege, hoping there are

more explanation. But there isn’t. It wasnt his blood—thats it.

Jefrey

wants to burst out laughing at this, this funny feeling inside of him. It wasnt

the blood from the victim. Then whose blood is it? The bleeding blade was found

right beside the victim, inside his flat—that locked from the inside; even the

keys still dangling inside the keyholes.

His

phone falling from his grip onto the sofa, The black haired man raised his

chin, a pair of brown eyes staring at the yellow lamp installed to the ceiling.

His expression unreadable, eyebrows raised together, lips pressed tight. the

light painted his pale face in an eary colour that maybe or may not be

representing his stormy mood.

There

was a sudden knocking sound; someone is on his front door. Must be the

delivery, he thought. Immediately stand up and move to the front door, he

snatched his wallet from a coffee table in the living room—that turn suddenly

into a half office and half library section. Upon reaching the front door. He

check the peeping hole, and unlock the door when he saw a figure wearing the

familiar uniform from the restaurant.

The

wooden door swing open, before the figure outside could land another knock on

the surface. “Are you happen to ask delievery under the name Mr. Jeffrey

Izbell?”

“Yes.

Thats me,” He confirmed.

The

box is immediately given to him—it was quite heavy. Jeffrey went to put it on

the coffee table inside, then went back to pay the bill.

“Fourty

five dollars, Mr. Izbell.”

Upon

receveing the said amount, The delievery crew give the notebook to Jeffrey,

along with a pen. “Sign here, please,” he added. Jefrey is given the first copy

of the note he just signed, before the crew went on his way.

-----

He

woke up without remembering falling asleep. He remember laying down on his sofa

after an evening meal, and started thingking about his case; just imagining a

few possibilities. He must fall asleep right then, because when the man opened

his eyes he felt a bit out of place by the sight of a wrong ceilling, the

narrow surface he sleeped on, and the blanket—or the lack of its presence. It

must be how it feels when someone is abducted while unconscious, and woke up in

unfammiliar place. Its nerve rattling; truly. Perhaps its the delicated mind of

our own; longing for something familiar, finding comfort in a place known.

That

thought triggered a surge of desperate feeling in him. Woke him up and command

his tall figure to stand and get ready for work. Bathing, dressing, leftover

from last night as breakfast, and then he’s driving his car out of apartement

complex towards the still empty streets.

-----

“You

should’ve come immediately; to the hospital or to the church; to me. Those

wounds needed stitches, stitches!” The woman is pacing back and front

inside a tiny white hospital room, her veil and white robe—she haven’t changed

from yesterday by the way—flapping around behind her angry form.

“Marie—“

“Don’t

call me Marie!” She half shouted. Eyes narrowed dangerously towards the figure

laying down on the hospital bed, covered in hospital blanket, and wearing the

sodding blue fabric given by the nurse.

“Why

would I went to the church? So they can springkle holy water at my dirtied

being?”

Marie

stopped pacing, standing in the middle of the small space beetwen the door and

the hospital bed. The corner of her eyes lit up, the small shoulder shake. The

girl let out a disbelieving laught at the words coming from the sick figure; it

is—the laugh—sound bitter.

“Im

wounded—not possesed,” The figure on the bed finished his word.

“Nobody

would springkle holy water at you,” Marie sighed, trying to calm herself down.

She is the oldest between them, more level headed, and wise with experience.

One rebellious young man shouldn’t change that. “Im just saying that we could

help; I would help,” She explained, her voice soft.

“He

wouldn’t want me to come,” The young man argued; his tone even, and expression

unreadable. He refuse to face Marie; his blue-green eyes stubbornly staring at

the ceiling. “You see how he is at the wedding; he won’t even look at me.”

The

woman noticed how his voice cracked at the end of the sentence. Like a dry

branch, snapped with too much force. The cracking echoed in her mind—it sounds

ugly and cruel. As her blue as sky eyes moistening with salty rain; brought

back memories.

-----

The

red head immediately closed the thick book in front of him, upon feeling her

touch on the shoulder; he didn’t shout or scream in terror like a frightened

kid. Perhaps because he’s not a kid anymore. He’s sitting alone in a secluded

library section, the room is a bit dark; yet he didn’t try to light the lamp.

He prefers the company of the lonely candle in front of him. The fire is blue

in the bottom, and orange at the top, the white candle is melted, dripping in a

big puddle on the table. Seems like the male teenager has spent a long time

reading.

Marie

tittle her head, moving closer towards the teenager who sat like a stone; shoulder’s

rigid, and unmoving. Ske asked; “What are you reading?”

Her

question met an unnerving silence, it’s presence in the library is huge like a

black hole that swallow everything. It’s almost like the red head boy didn’t

hear her. Receiving no answer from him, the woman went curious. Marie tried to

take a look at the book.

Strong

gush of wind slipped from a pair of parted lips, almost like a breath, or a

shallow sigh. Red as the hair, the fire on the candle that suddenly went

out.  Engulfing both figure in the

darkness. Marie didn’t see anything, beside a strange writing on the thick

green cover of the book. It was stealth, how the soft flowing air mets the fire

on the top of the candle, asking the orange light to yield—to shield something.

She didn’t suspect anything.

“I

should turn the lamp on.” The red head excused himself.

She

didn’t suspect anything, not at all. But then the weeks went by and the call come.

“Marie.

Will you fetch William for me?” The curch’s figure head got a faraway smile. He

doesn’t even look at her from behind his thick glasses.

Marie

said yes. She went running outside to fetch William. Heart thundering and mind

racing with question. She run down the hall, then outside on the garden behind

the cruch towards the boys dormnitory.

Her

chest heaving as Marie tried to fill her lungs with air, her silver cross

necklace slipped out. She asked the few boys hanging outside the dormnitory.

“Have you seen Will?”

None

of them seen him, they said he’s not in his room. One guy with buzzcut hair

advised, “Try to check the library.”

She

later find him—find William—there. Sitting in the same set of chair and table,

reading the same green book Marie been dying to know what’s inside it.

Correction; he read it, aloud. The window in front of him is opened wide, the

curtain pushed aside and tied. Theres no candle, because theres no darkness;

Will doesnt try to hide like before. In the candle place, is the sun; it’s

afternoon light shine trough the window, hugging the male figure in warmth.

Words;

gibberish, one tumbling after another. The sound confused Marie like how non

english speaker would confused her. Yet William kept going on; he read those

curly and complicated writing like he’s sure about it; the pronounciation, the

words itself, and the most important—the meaning; the believe it’s represent.

“Ax,”

She called; shes the only one who called him Ax; others calls him Will or William.

He knows she’s calling, yet he kept reading; chanting like he is in the middle

of a complicated spell.

“Ax,”

Marie repeats, louder. Ignoring the feeling in her ribs, a warning telling her

that she’s interrupting something sacred.  “Axl!”

The

reading stoped, she heard Axl whispered something—another gibberish words. Then

he close the green book, bring it in line with his face; and give it a chaste

kiss. Marie didn’t think that the gesture was sweet—but really, it is sweet.

“What

is it, Marie?” William carefully place the book back on the wooden surface. His

handsome face is calm—but not blank like usual. Marie thinks—it is almost like

the teenager is in peace.

“What

are you reading?” She asked instead.

“A

book.”

She

pressed, “What book?”

“A

holy book.”

A

surge of relief filled her, calming her rattling pulse just a little. “You

reading the holy bibble in another language or something?” She half asked, half

reassuring herself. Theres no need to worry. Theres nothing to worry about.

“No,

I don’t.”

The

words like a flying spear; it’s golden tip glingting from the sunlight before

singking into her breast—right between the ribs. Cold feeling spread from her

bleeding heart—yet she kept standing; giving a smile and lead her little

brother towards the curch. Each step she take; is a prayer that everything is

just a missunderstanding.

The

face of a man standing on the aisle was stern, his hands folded behind his

back—just like a soldier. The cold feeling in her chest doubled—Marie found

herself faltering, stopping in front of  the door the giant curch door like a fool. William steps ahead, facing

the man.

“Marie,”

The man said, “you may stay here, or you may go.”

I’ll

go. I’ll go, I’ll go!—but she was paralyzed, feets unable to

move forwards or backwards. The man accept her stillnes as an answer and began

to speak. She don’t want to hear it, she didn’t want to witness this. She

plead; ‘No. Please, no!’

“William,”

The head church stated, voice steady and loud.

“Yes.

Mr. Benjamin.”

Marie

let out a faint gasp. Ax—did he just? He’s not refering the church head as

Father or Head Priest. He just called him by his sure name—that never happen

before, she thought.

“I

was aware of your... rather peculiar activity.” Mr. Benjamin continue, after a

beat of silence that Will didn’t even try to fill; either by arguing or

denying.  “You understand that this kind

of activity will raised questions, did you?”

“I

did, Mr. Benjamin.”

The

man sighed, long and heavy. “What do you suggest I should do?” The grey haired

man start pacing, on the aisle. His footsteps echoed in the big room. “To

ensure this problem dissapear?” He added.

“You

can answer your first question with your second one, Mr benjamin.” His voice

sounds oddly cheerful for her—Marie must’ve gone deaf, or gone crazy.

William

shifted, just a little bit under the gaze of the elder man. “I’ll packed my

things right away, Mr. Benjamin.”

Mr.

Benjamin raised his hand; a gesture that stopped the young man from turning his

back and left the church. “Theres no need to,” He said, voice soft as the white

cotton fabric that they all wore on sunday morning.

Hearing

the last words; Marie felt a sparks of hope, just a little. It’s dime between

the overwhelming darkess—but it’s there. Mr. Benjamin will let William stay in

the church despite this... this new development right? He raised William—and

herself too, like them both is his own childern. He won’t kick William out just

because he no longer believe in Jesus, right?

“I’ve

sent someone to packed your things, William.”

Marie

struggled to kept herself standing amid the strong wild emotions rushed inside

her blood vassels, hands touching the cold door behind her, scrammbled to find

anchor. Her blue eyes wide in disbelief. Did he just? Did he just thrown her

brother out of their home?

There’s

only silence from the male teenager standing in front of the aisle. The light

slipped from the ventilation on the right side of the room shine warm on him;

comforting in an afternoon glow. His red hair—his peculiar red hair; whom

nobody inside the church ground had, his slightly short figure clad in white

robe, his shoulders heavy; this is the last time she see him inside a church.

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