I own nothing, and I have no opinion to Coldplay and Beyonce, I like their one song. Sorry for my grammar.


Chartrand prayed on his knees in the empty hall of the Basilica Sancti Petri at another sleepless night. Actually, he can barely feel the tranquil even during the day since months ago, when the bomb threat and kidnappings of Popes came to an end at which's just the beginning of his nightmare. He can't confide to anyone, especially not to the Fathers. It's not an approved confession, his position and upbringing won't permit him to consult with psychiatrists or counselors about such stuffs, either; his colleagues must be unable to know needless to say. Nobody. The damaged parts of the Cathedral were repaired while he scarcely care about kneeling on the gravel or mud, there's no way mended his heart whatever. He had assumed that it'd dissipate as long as within weeks, but no, the situation didn't improve, nor did it deteriorate but just swinging in good times and bad times irregularly, which's more agonizing. In the wake of times frustrations of relapsing at every time almost rehabilitation, he was about to give up the hope, as he has done years ago; he didn't expect even rejoice that McKenna didn't recognize or remember about him serving in the air force, of course it's better, or he would have had more difficulties enduring every moment they met, knowing each other while he had to suffer racking hardships to adjust once again like that time whereas honestly speaking he's glad to be designated to here at first; he supposed that he'd honed himself tough enough to bear no matter what he would face; then he wondered why this feeling still so strong after years. He shifted all attention and energy to focus on the loyalty and pleasant to protect McKenna. They didn't run across frequently while that's enough for him and most importantly, he got through the qualm that he'd been worried about, or he thought he did it. He's never strong but just coward to run away and lie to himself, which has been improved when he watched the fire burn up.

Now he had no idea how to fight off it. This time he didn't think he could overcome let alone fully recover, he dare not think the possibility of retrieving peace any more.

No, he tossed head fiercely, not this song again. The profaned, flamboyant pop music deemed themselves to be imaginative, innovative. These lyrics has been echoing in his mind since September as intermittently as other symptoms that he has had no ability to manage, seeing that the disturbance welled up way to a bizarre, higher level. Even praying he's a blank mind. Why? Why me? Is that a kind of penalty? He pleaded. Because I desire what's forbidden, violating the laws?

Hummm~you think it's wrong? Interesting, why do you people reckon that or others could be applied to the dichotomy of so simple black and white? It's universal, on every side, and no one's side.

I feel so lonely. Nobody could understand. Why is it so distressed? I would rather fall to Hell eternally than this; I can't believe how could it be more painful.

Death is sometimes kinder definitely, while don't expect fair, it's meaningless as early as aeons ago.It pitied

I am not complaining, I don't regret or require return from him…that's better he didn't know.

So what's your problem? You can't make it without clarifying matters. If you want the answer, yes, it's, but for what reason? Can you look clearly?

I shouldn't –

You shouldn't do what? The voice he tried to disregard sharpened and cut off. Who care what's it? God? Demon? His own inner? It doesn't matter to him anymore. Are you still running? We both know you're timid and silly. But do you know how? Why?

I fail to see the truth; I'm blinded, trusting the wrong –

You're still blaming others. It sighed with disappointment. Everyone will fail too, their friend, lover, family like sisters, hard to tell. So once again, What, Is, Your, Problem?

I'm fooled

What? By what? Or you are too fool to espy what the hell is the real reason, too damn scared to even think of it? Its roars hit through Chartrand like gusts; he winced, inspecting around the darkness despite knowing it's just in his mind, isn't it?

Taking a breath. I'm not sure. He admitted.

No, you're not. It softened sharply. Let's start over. What are you sure in the current?

Chartrand hesitated, biting his lips. How and what could he say? Silence ticking away while he sensed the pressure of dark increasing with cold sweats and tremble crawling across him, showing on the fists.

You are still such a chicken, right? It laughed evilly. You know what it's, just lacking of the courage to give it a shot.

I did not figure out! He flustered in exasperation. What I know was

You're Goddamn naive, obviously. Don't try to spoof me, small means and tricks can't sustain too long, hiding under the graves was just stalling for time. It's only a matter of time you have to truly face it. It teased.

I had faced my share of God know what. He replied mixed with bitterness, despair and helplessness.

Oh, of course It know, so do us. We all know you'rewimpy, choosing to pretend innocence to make excuse for your failure. That's why you're the one witnessing His death

NO! Chartrand tightened eyelids and teeth, fighting off the tears and the emerging images: McKenna killed his own life, fire coating his body writhing and shrieking piercingly. He fell on knees, curling with palms covered on face but tears unsuppressed finally.

"Please! Stop It! I beg…" his sorrowful, cracked cry broke the silence of imploring nothing though he felt it's insane. He doesn't care anyway.

I can't. Its voice sounded smaller, much more human with sympathy. As I told you, you have not come forward yet. It depends on you.

Minutes or hours passed, on one actually counted, Chartrand got on his knees, gasping for airs aloud, wiping the wet tearful face.

It's seemed cry baby has wept enough. It back to taunt. Chartrand stood up, giving it no time of day. Now he still hiding, running, could never be a man, thus youhave no power to protect

"Don't! " Chartrand shouted through the pitch dark indignantly. "That wasn't …it's just…" Sniffling, he wanted to say it wasn't anyone's fault but himself, yet he exactly realized it.

"It's…it's His fault." He confessed. "I gave up all of my life, making every effort to stick up for him, but what're my rewards? Disappointment! Betrayal! A day struck with fright. Additional workload and nearly suffocated in the library! Tripped harder than those who shocked by the explosion! The hurt feelings who know how can heal! The hellish Shit pictures wake me with a start every night! The irreparable confidence in human!" Paused, Chartrand surprised how angry to McKenna he's.

Don't ask what others owe you. It is hard work – a quest that never ends demands everything from you – especially the truth. What's yours?

Chartrand inhaled, bowing his head "I'm mad." He spat it out. "I…I risked my life to secure him, but he himself was the one I always try to prevent from him. He periled himself ungratefully, involving my friends and other unrelated people; I was almost killed by him, too. I hate myself for crashing on him. McKenna…he never noticed me. He didn't identify me as if I'm nobody as others."

That's all? Let your anger rule you?

"I keep convincing myself it's best for us he didn't perceive...under fear's command." Chartrand brushed eyes red from crying across the sleeves of elbow. "There's no way he could understand. He's too disciplined, righteous, so honorary, dedicated even that meant sacrificing himself…that's why I lost my heart to him." he could lose nothing now. "I'm afraid…what if...he find out. So I made myself scarce…I can't endure the strange looks from him, call me freak…" he choked. "but he didn't. Why?" he yelled desperately more lament than ire. "How could he ignore me at all times after I did so much for him?" he buried face into palms, sobbing. "I wish I did never meet him." he cried brokenly. "He makes my life so much meaningless and distressed over the years…even now…" Chartrand drowned himself in tears, considering the chance that he may be able to go deep into the dark this time.

That's what you desire? It questioned coldly. Do you know what you want, much less what I want?

He panted drily. "I…" he tried to get up the nerve with body as trembling as voice. "I don't want the agony. But I'd get through, I must conquer it."

What have you risked?

He took a deep breath, cooling it off. "I love him. I don't care whether anyone or him could understand, I'm algetic, angry, frightened, but I'll never regret however rigorous or unhappy it's."

Oh, I wouldn't say Love always makes you happy. Its voice sounded smaller, much more human. Sometimes it makes you incredibly sad. At least you've faced it now. That's the only way to conquer me.

Chartrand looked up something visualized in front of him: a lean, muscular young man with snowy white wings, straight black hair, a simple white frock and jeans, poison-like blood-red pupils watching him with satisfaction as if identifying the exact spot for its next savage silver or golden arrow to make a clean kill. The face was handsome, but also harsh – as difficult to look at as a spotlight.

Forgetting terror, the first reaction came to Chartrand's blank mind minutes later was censoring the list of names of angels/demons from Bibles in turn. He didn't care what about himself or what's gonna happen: Satan, Michael, Lucifer, Gabriel, Belial, Sariel, Asmodeus, Raguel, Samael…

It smiled disquietingly as if knowing what he presumed. "I'm not whom you acknowledge in your churches. You're liable to hear me while little did you ever hit on, like your unrequited lover. " He added as the wicked sneer disappeared into darkness. "Take my word for all it's hard to believe. You should be proud of yourself. It is a costly thing, looking on the true face of Love. Even a glancing hit at true love is more than most heroes manage."

Chartrand froze inside and outside for a while before standing up, swaying head slowly to sort things out, heading for whatever waiting for him in the dream, then something struck him: the memory of his Western Art History curriculum…Spring…by Sandro Botticelli…the Greek deities on it…why would he came up with this? Made sense or not, forgot it.

When stepping on square, the rhythms rang in his head again. Sighing, Chartrand shook head lightly, never mind, at least this time, he want to indulge in it for a moment~~~~~

oh, angels sent, from up, above

you know you make, my world, light up

when I was down, when I, was hurt

you came to lift~me up~

life is a drink, and love, 's a drug

oh now I think I must be mil~es up

when I was a, river, dried up

you came to rain a flood...