Without A Heartbeat

The window latch was easy to open. The silver-eyed man pressed his cold fingers against the frame and the window swung wide, allowing him access.

He poured into the dusty attic room like a fog and stared around, his senses alive with the smells and sights on display. Several girls were sleeping in cots, each with the stress and disappointments of their lives etched on their taught faces. A cocktail of scents poured towards him, the reek of sweat and dirt, conflicting against the tang of soap and vinegar, all caked under fingernails and nestled in pores. Among the nauseating stench of humanity, one scent stood out. It demanded his attention, drawing him closer to the source. What he could smell was a soul without corruption.

The scent of innocence.

He crept across the floorboards in the dark room, footsteps as light as a feather, until he was standing over the cot nearest the door. As he looked down, he felt something stir in the depths of his stone heart.

She looks so much like her.

The girl was sleeping peacefully on her side, her wildfire hair splayed out around her like an explosion, and one hand lying upturned on an open book beside her. A candle on her bedside table had recently burned out, the sulphur tang of its wick still hanging in the air. His eyes cut through the darkness as though it were not there, and he stared.

Beautiful.

As he watched her, another scent came to him. It was faint, not like on some of the others, but it was still there. He wished it wasn’t but at the same time he was glad it was. It made the decision so much easier.

This is the one. I will take her from this place. I will save her from him and I will save her from that which she does not yet know.

He gently slid the book from her grasp and glanced at the cover.

The Monk.

It was a book he himself had read, but it was not that which interested him. Who is this girl that she does this work, but is literate and can afford such luxuries as books? The mystery only served to make him further enamoured by the girl. He gently slid the book under her pillow, presuming that she had not meant to fall asleep reading it.

The silver-eyed man stayed crouched next to the young girl for a while, transfixed by her dark red hair, pale face and perfect lips. She mumbled something in her sleep and he stroked the back of his hand across her cheek. The girl shuddered, as if she had seen a phantom in her dreams and nestled into her blanket. The man sighed and stood up, slipping like a shadow back towards the window.

He let his eyes linger on the girl in the bed, the one with the smell of purity and death. His was a divine task that he had been doing for a long time, in many different places, but this was the first time he had ever felt something so strong inside, that had stirred his human emotions in such a profound way. It was the first time someone had made him remember.

It was not a gift that he would give up easily.

He took one final look at his new target, making a silent vow to himself. I will save you from this dreadful place before your scent becomes one of misery, just like all the others before you. I will save you, but not for Mother. I will save you for me, and you will be no one else’s but mine.

In a matter of seconds the silver-eyed man was gone, and all traces of his presence gone along with him.