Sentenced to Life

5

Emory had taught Silas the wonders of a multi blade razor, a tooth brush and Colgate. He now looked like a new, cleaner man, clad in old jeans and a black dress shirt that was far too tight. He adjusted his cuff links, disguising his dismay at the cheap material.

Emory was setting up the camera behind him.

"Did you visit your husband?" He inquired.

"Look I know you're from the 1800s and think that a woman can't exist without a man or some shit, but stop asking me that," she replied irritably, setting up her laptop.

Silas raised his brows at her confrontation and shrugged. "I see. My apologies. I did not mean to intrude."

Emory just waved her hand. "Whatever. You have a reason to be narrow minded at least." She sighed.

"Let's begin a more structured, detailed account of your life by year. Let's see... let's go over your childhood. Starting by age 5?"

Silas paced, his brow furrowing with displeasure. Emory leaned back in her seat, assuming he was simply deep in thought.

"My mother's name was Marie, my father Christopher for whom my middle name was given. He belonged to an affluent family, a counts house and my mother...I'm unsure of her family."

He sighed, tapping his fingers on table as he leaned over it.

"It's a murky soup of memories I'm afraid. In my fifth year I began education, and learning the ways of the world."

Emory wrote quickly her hands flying on the page.

"And when did your mother become Ill?"

Silas paused. "My 7th year. She died before my 8th. I became an orphan then."  He licked his lips, running his hands through his fluffy black hair.

"How goes the sale of the gold coin I've given you?" He switched topics, observing her reflection.

Emory glanced up at him. "I'm having it appraised. I'll let you know when I get an answer."

She stood suddenly clapping her hands. "What am I thinking you haven't eaten in...forever huh? Let me order something—"

Silas blinked, trying to ease his tensed muscles. Loud, sudden noises were not palatable to him. His fingernails sunk into his palm as he reined himself in. He went silent, but Emory bustled ordering nearly everything off the menu.

The two ate in silence for a moment. Silas could not seem to shift his body from high alert. He felt...naked here. In a strange time, alone with no one but this woman. This woman who did not even belong to him. She had no allegiance to him. He could be abandoned at any time.

"Does he love you?"

Emory set her chopstick down. "I've told you about asking me about him. It doesn't mat—"

"Permit me, please, the answer to this one query," he murmured, his blue eyes meeting her brown. "Does he love you?"

And Emory found it interesting. Peculiar that he asked if he loved her, not if she loved him. As if her love didn't matter. Or maybe, because he knew it didn't. It didn't matter how much love you poured into someone you simply could not make them love you back. And though she fixed her lips to lie, the truth spilled from them instead.

"No," she grumbled, stuffing lo mein into her mouth, a silent refusal to answer any more questions on the topic.

But that was all Silas wanted to know.  Rather, to him, it was clear Emory's husband didn't love her. Silas had been curious if she knew, and if she did, whether she'd admit it.

Emory sighed, and turned on the tv. Silas was more interested in her.

"I want you to begin showing me the world," he stated resolutely. "Outside of these walls."

Emory looked over at him and nodded. "Tomorrow. We can start by going to breakfast."

Silas smiled, and finally put the one thing he recognized into his mouth. A potato. He frowned, his stomach turning. It had been so long since he'd eaten. His body had become used to the now constant dull ache of abject hunger.

"Not hungry?" She promoted

He looked down at it. "I've been hungry for centuries. Can you imagine...how much agony it is, to hunger and hunger, thirst and thirst, to the point of death...and not die?" He scoffed, and closed his eyes.

He wanted to tell her. She was savior after all, his Angel, and if there was a god, if god had really not abandoned him, she would be His envoy so why? Why could he not tell her?

That her efforts remained in vain? That no matter what he said, or did, how he pretended not to watch her, how innocent he could play and even how the years ravaged him, that she could not bring him to the light?

He was comfortable in the darkness.

But he had a shred of humanity reminding. Just one.

"Do you intend to keep me?" He asked softly, his fingers rapping on the table, his eyes fixed on the steam wafting from the potato he'd taken one bite out of.

Emory made a small questioning noise.

He repeated his question. "Do you intend to keep me? For anything. As your servant, your friend, your muse, your tool to exploit?"

Emory paused. "Why?"

Silas picked up his fork and passed it between his fingers. "You've shown me kindness. More than anyone ever has. For that reason, I will warn you:  do not show me any kindness. Do not smile at me. Do not speak softly me. Cover yourself completely. If you do not intend to keep me, do not be kind to me at all."

Emory swallowed roughly, setting her chopsticks down. "Kindness is something every human deserves, I think, mostly."

He stared down and stabbed his potato, the fork breaching the plate, cracking it in half. He raised his brow, pulling the two halves together. His finger grazed the sharp edge, making a cut. His blood spilled. He lifted it to his eyes, his blood dripping onto the plate of food.

"If you say so," he murmured, noting the red liquid mixing in with the pure white of the meat of potato with a smile. He stuck his fork in it, closing his eyes as he tasted it.

It was much easier to swallow.

Silas had decided his warning was his kind deed and he was not obligated to perform anymore.