Page 29 of Whispers of Helena
“Better than usual,” I admit reluctantly. “The fever makes him manageable.”
He chuckles. “I bet. You should get some rest while you can. Kiran’s out with us and doing fine.”
“Thank you, Eli.”
But as he walks away, the knot in my chest only tightens. Whatever storm Silas is dragging us into feels closer than ever. The more I learn, the more I realize he’s even more far gone than I had expected.
As I turn back to the door, something catches my eye. I look toward the porch swing and the bright silver of a new chain shines in the afternoon sun.
Since Kiran was busy elsewhere,I sought rest. But sleep escapes me, the faint glow from the window cutting through the stillness of my room. Suspicions about Silas's night rides weigh heavily on my mind as I lay staring at the ceiling. My left hand drifts, almost instinctively, to the scar etched across my back. As my fingertips trace the uneven landscape of healed skin, a sharp ache blooms beneath the touch, both physical and far deeper.
I close my eyes, and the memories return, vivid and unrelenting. The night I cannot forget. The roar of the flames, the desperate cries, the choking smoke that stole my breath and blurred my vision. And then, the flames, merciless, consuming, dragging me into surrender as they devoured my flesh.
That night unraveled who I was and wove me into someone else. The images haunt me still, a cruel slideshow that plays unbidden in the quiet moments. The tears have dried, and thecrushing sorrow has given way to something else over the years. I’ve filled the hollow with faith. I have God’s word, His mercy, and the fragile hope of a second chance.
A second chance that my family never knowingly received.
The quiet creak of a door pulls me from the depths of memory, the ghosts of my past scattering. The sound comes from Silas’s room. He must be up.
I glance at the mirror in the bathroom as I pass, catching the thin reflection of someone who hasn’t slept. The shadows beneath my eyes have deepened, a silent testament to keeping watch last night. Of the tears I shed as I heard Silas call out the name of his wife. I press my fingers against the cool porcelain of the sink, take a steadying breath, and move toward his room.
The door is ajar, a thin shaft of golden light spilling onto the floor. I knock gently, my knuckles barely grazing the surface, before stepping inside.
Silas sits on the edge of his bed, his shoulders hunched and his hands resting limply on his knees. He’s changed into a simple white T-shirt and sleep pants. His hair is disheveled, sticking up at odd angles, and his gaze drifts toward me as though it takes effort to pull himself from some faraway place.
“How are you feeling?” I ask softly.
He looks at me for a long moment before answering, his voice rough but steady. “I don’t feel like I’m on fire anymore.”
The words hit me like a stone to the chest, too raw, too close to the images that had danced behind my eyelids only minutes ago. Flames, smoke, screams. I force a steady nod, schooling my expression into something that resembles calm.
“Good,” I manage, my voice even. “I’ll get you some soup. You need to eat.”
I turn to leave, eager to escape the intensity of the moment, but his voice stops me.
“Helena?”
It’s barely a whisper, and yet it holds me in place.
I pause, glancing back over my shoulder. “Yes, Silas?”
He lifts his head, meeting my gaze with those clear blue eyes.There’s a vulnerability in them I rarely see, like a crack in stone letting the light slip through.
“Thank you.”
The words are simple, unadorned, but they strike with a force I don’t expect. Gratitude hangs in the air between us, and for a moment, I see the man beneath the guarded walls.
“You’re welcome,” I reply, the edges of a smile softening my face.
For a fleeting moment, the world feels lighter. It’s fragile, this flicker of hope, but it’s enough to steady me as I leave the room and make my way toward the kitchen.
Slipping
Silas
After the fever broke,I couldn’t bear to lie in that bed another moment. What had started as a bitter sense of finality that night had morphed into yet another pause. This one heavier, different from any I’d endured in the four years since Caroline was taken from me. I’d heard their guns before, but never felt the sharp bite of their bullets. Now, every ache reminded me I wasn’t finished yet, though I wasn’t sure I wanted to be.
As the first pale rays of dawn filtered through my curtains, I splashed cold water on my face in the bathroom sink. The wound on my side was too fresh for a proper shower, so I dipped my head low, letting the water run through my hair. When I straightened, pain lanced through me. I gritted my teeth and carried on, drying off with the patience of a man who knew there was no point cursing what couldn’t be changed.
