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A tall shadow walked down the corridor, with it's walls lined with frames of gold and silver, candles flickering amidst the darkness. The floor reflected the firelight, and the haunting air of the room overtook the dark figure. He took careful, gentle, almost silent steps as he walked across the sacred floors. In this hall were all those who had given money, donated, dedicated their lives to the service of the Lord, and everyone respected those whose eyes stared down at them from the frames. They were gold, untouchable. They were truly holy.
Jack Merridew knew very well that his face would never be on that wall.
He had finally arrived at the frame that his heart was drawing him towards, pulling him closer and closer with burning hands. He swayed on his feet, his mind once again filling with static as his lip trembled. He could not look the portrait in the eyes, and as he attempted to stand straighter he crumpled to his knees, on the ground before the holy boy in the portrait. A bubble caught in his throat, raising higher and higher, and although he tried to begin to speak he found that the words could not escape his tongue.
The candles flickered, and he watched them move, his eyes burning from the heat that rose in both his cheeks and the flames.
He blew the candles out.
Tears burst up, clouding his vision and becoming a simply hazy fog. As he attempted once more to meet the eyes of the picture, he felt the wall that he had built inside of himself tumble downwards, crashing to the floor and leaving nothing to be seen but raw emotion.
He could not bring himself to look into Simon's eyes. They were poison, and they reminded him of what once was. What would never be again. They reminded him of the times when Simon was there with them. When Simon first arrived at choir practice, and he stared directly at Jack, filled with neither fear nor aggression. His eyes were simply warmth, something Jack did not feel often, and they soothed him.
They reminded him of when Simon would hang out with him, and he would laugh so hard that his eyes would scrunch shut, and tears would spring from them, tears of joy. They were good tears, unlike the toxic, hot stream of tears that poured down Jack's cheeks and bled into his mouth, salty and sweet.
Jack bit his tongue in an attempt to stop them. He was surrounded by those who had served the church, who had given. Simon had given so much, too much, he had bled upon the beach and his blood had tainted the sand, turned it an angry, hopeless scarlet.
Jack shivered. It wasn't cold.
He didn't deserve to be here, in front of those who were so pure in intention, who were so pure to the heart and who had never become so toxic like he had. Those whose hands were not stained, those whose heart did not skip a beat when they saw blood, or violence. Those who were good. He had convinced himself, when they had first gotten back from the island, that he had done no wrong. That he was just stressed, put in a situation he had no control over, that he had not sinned-
Yet he knew the truth, and it shouted at him, screaming louder and louder until he couldn't take it and his head hurt. He had done so much wrong, and the ugly truth slapped him in the face at every step, at every turn. He was cruel, and merciless, and he didn't deserve to be in the presence of another who was so caring, and beautiful, whose heart soared with the birds and was made of pure gold.
Jack's breath seemed to disappear, and he was gulping for air, his lungs screeching and clawing for some sort of relief, but as Jack struggled, it still did not arrive. He clutched at his throat, pulling, and the air did not come. He screamed, and there was no sound.
The tears were coming faster now, harder, dripping onto the ground before him with an awful plopping sound, and he wiped them away from his face as fast as he could. He told himself that he was better than this, but he really wasn't. He was better than nothing. He had done so much. So much.
A scream has finally managed to emerge, but it was barely a whisper. It was hoarse, tortured, and it made him shake. His voice did not carry, it did not echo and chase away the darkness like he wished it would. None of his fears vanished, they danced around in his brain and continued their yelling.
The boy with the cloak of darkness solemnly raised his head, and as he did so, he finally met the eyes of the other, and he screamed. Raw, unfiltered, loud, and filled with such pain that it would make angels weep. He bent over, not daring to look back up, and he couldn't feel the tears anymore, he couldn't feel anything. He cried, and he cried, and the sounds of the island came back to him like how a wave returned to shore.
The snapping of bones under his spear, the cry of a pig as it finally died, as the blood spilled over his hands and as he slit it's throat in a swift, natural movement. That cry soon morphed into something else, something that he had buried deep within himself. It was Simon's voice, loud, pleading, and just hoping that some sort of God would come down and save him, but God had abandoned that island so long ago.
Simon was saying Jack's name, and it barely sounded like Simon, it was filled with panic and dread. It was almost feral, tortured, and he was saying Jack's name and something about a man on a hill, but Jack's brain was clouded with fear and doubt. So he just struck downwards with that spear, and the blood splashed up, and it felt good so he did it again and again and again.
His own voice echoed the screeches of Simon, and then Simon's voice morphed into something else that was somehow so much worse. It sent chills racing up his spine, it made his whole body ache.
The scent of blood filled the air, and it was honey-sweet and lured him closer. It dripped down the back of his throat, slow, thick, and he could not scream any more because the blood filled his mouth and overtook his senses. It was so sweet, so disgusting, so addicting, and he felt his heart beat faster and faster. He could taste it's evil, but still craved more.
This was the part of himself that he had tried to bury, and yet it still somehow scrambled to the surface, hissing and spitting. It was awful, and it fought every day to be released once more, but Jack drowned it out. He had seen what that part of himself could do, it was painted in the picture above him, and he would never do that again, even if it killed him.
The feeling of the blood was like a blanket now, but it was not comforting, it was sticky and wet and made him cringe. It was under his fingernails and seeping into his skin, it was there forever, and it would not leave. The violence was apart of him now.
The candles flickered, and they were alight once more.
Jack felt another scream rise in his throat, and his mind raced back to the body of Simon, being pulled into the water by that awful tide, pink foam bubbling and making Jack's heart yearn for some sense of safety. Piggy's body was on the rocks, and his skull was smashed to pieces, and that bloody mess of innards was spilling onto the stone, and he too was claimed by the ocean, which would be much kinder than the land had been.
The flames rose a little bit higher.
Jack was now completely fallen to the floor, his head was bowed and his tears did not have far to fall, and he simply could not look back up at Simon. The haunting notes of his screams continued. The voice that had once made Jack proud, that had inspired him to do better, was now reminding him of the awful things that he had done, of the curse that he had brought upon the choir, because the presence of death wasn't going to leave any time soon, and that was Jack's fault.
The flames were going wild now, without any wind present, and they danced and sprung and leaped.
And the screams soon changed, they morphed into something new. It was now a song, a hopeful melody of love and war, of both night and day. It was powerful, and gentle, it was everything God had wanted when he created this earth. It was a true expression of emotion, raw feeling, and Simon's song floated around, making Jack's head spin.
Simon's voice was so close now, so loud, it was a beautiful scream that tore apart the whispers of the night and chased away the shadows. It was the cry of dawn and sunlight, of the flames that created smoke and rose higher and higher. The shadows cowered before it, and the angels joined in it's song, and Jack was sobbing so hard he feared he could never stop.
He felt something touch his shoulder, warmth immediately springing through his body at it's touch. His whole body was shaking and cowering, for this was not a being of this world. This was godly, ethereal, it was holy and yet it made Jack fear for his life.
It was so pure that Jack felt as though he would ruin it, and that the hand would pull away, and that it too would be stained scarlet by his sins. The blood that followed him should not be able to damage such purity.
The hand tapped on his shoulder, but Jack still could not bring himself to look upwards, in fear that he would see a demented creature, something that he had tainted. It was so filled with joy that it reminded Jack of the sadness and guilt that plagued his soul. He shuddered.
Simon's song was quieter now, it was a hushed whisper, like a lullaby. It lured Jack into a sense of security, a feeling that everything would be alright. Simon was kind to Jack, he had always been, why was he so scared?
Jack felt compelled to look upwards, and his eyes rose slowly, uncertainly, and they soon settled into a gaze. Simon stared back at him, and his face was filled with nothing but hope and sympathy. Simon was smiling, ever so slightly, and he was happy. He was so happy.
Jack felt the tears fall onto his hands, and looked down to see that his fingers were dripping wet with them. He wanted to reach out to Simon, to apologize, to feel more of that warmth that radiated from the other boy, yet how could he with hands coated so heavily in sin? How could he ruin one who was so perfect?
Simon simply watched him, patient.
Jack cowered from him, shaking his head. He couldn't be here, Jack had killed him. He had watched the blood pour from his veins and enter the unforgiving soil, he had watched the ocean drink it up and claim it as it's own. He had seen the body, so torn and tattered that it was barely recognizable as human anymore.
"Jack, look at me."
The sound of Simon's voice, so familiar yet such a stranger to his ears, chased away the shadows in an instant and replaced it with heavenly light. It was stern, yet it carried the stars, it was filled with a sense of purity.
Jack shook his head once more, harsher now. His mind swarmed with thoughts like wasps to honey, yet all that followed was a hoarse whisper of a scream, a plea. Simon waited.
"I'm so sorry." Jack finally croaked out, a rasp, a hope for help and for Simon to somehow forgive him for all that he had done. That was impossible however, even the Lord could not forgive one who had done what he had.
"I forgive you." Simon replied smoothly.
"No. You can't." Jack growled. "No! I killed you! I killed you Simon, I murdered you." Jack's voice rose higher and higher, screaming to the moon and the stars and the heavens once more.
"Yes, you did." Simon said slowly, taking his time on every word. "But you're home now. You're safe. And I forgive you."
"I'm not safe. It's still there, Simon." Jack whispered, soft and trembling. He was quivering, and he blinked away more tears that continued to fall.
Simon tilted his head. "What's still there, hmm?"
"The beast."
"I thought I was the beast? And I'm dead, right? So you're safe." Simon gestured to his translucent, glittering form, to the ghostly figure that he had become.
"You aren't- You weren't the beast. It was us. It was me." Jack whimpered, and Simon leaned closer, and the warmth crept toward Jack once more.
"It was you. Was. Past tense." Simon explained, and he looked into Jack's eyes, not dropping his gaze. He knew that Jack was a monster, he knew he was tainted and that he had become something that was barely even considered a person, and yet he still looked at him like he was filled with starlight, and as though he was still good.
"I'm trying my best, Simon. I swear, I am." Jack struggled to say, his breath once more escaping his grasp.
"You are. I'm proud of you, Jack. I'm always watching you. I'm always here." Simon smiled once more, and it was genuine. It wasn't a smile of pity, or of fear, that he often got. It was a smile of respect, one that nurtured and healed and saved.
"I'm sorry." Jack repeated.
"I forgive you. And I'll protect you from the beast even though it's gone. I promise." Simon said, and laughed a little bit. "I've gotta go now, Jack."
Jack looked into his eyes one last time. He tried to burn them into his brain, to save them to his memory, to make sure that he could never ever forget them. He clutched onto Simon's voice, and he never wanted to let go, but he felt something push him off.
"I'll still be here. And when it's your time, I'll be waiting for you." Simon's hand then left Jack's shoulder, and the warmth and light were gone, and all that was left was the flickering of candles.
Jack felt the cold cover him once more, and the darkness. He felt the fear rise again, but as it started to slowly creep toward him, a sudden burst of light shone from down the corridor. Jack turned his head to look, and saw two more figures of darkness, but they didn't scare him.
"Hey." Maurice said, his voice low, yet not pitying. It was like Simon's, it was caring.
"We thought you might be here. We were worried." Roger said, and he smiled, just a tiny bit, and it reminded Jack of how Simon smiled. There was no fear, it was a genuine happiness.
Jack felt his own smile rise to his tear-stained face, and his voice was barely audible when he spoke. "Thanks." His own voice was patient, with Roger, with Maurice, with himself.
"Are you okay?" Maurice asked slowly, as if he was dancing around what he really wanted to ask.
"I think I will be, eventually." Jack replied.
And as he was helped to his feet by the two other boys, Jack turned his gaze back up to Simon's portrait, without fear. Simon stared back, his eyes filled with pride, with joy, and with hope. The candles flickered and danced.
And Jack realized that maybe, just maybe, the beast would be gone soon.