Kyrie

When Cyril awoke, he immediately became aware that his mind had been hosting a concert in his sleep, and it was continuing since his waking; a choral piece, undoubtedly one he had sung as a tenor back in his secondary school days, but tuned to angelic perfection in its performance now.  The memory of it left him lying contemplatively on his Ministry-issued bed as he gazed up at the ceiling, only vaguely aware of the pitter-pattering of rain at his window.  It was around eight in the evening, he guessed, and he felt more relaxed than he had in weeks—perhaps all the hodgepodge of stressors and insecurities had caused him to shut down and cease to feel any of it.  But he still felt, and he felt oddly raw and alone as the sopranos soared like a lovely distant bird above his thoughts.  
  He had closed his eyes again when a familiar knock came at his door, and he grunted his assent without getting up off his bed.  He was still clothed from the day, and had nothing to hide- he had drifted off while reading the newspaper, an article about himself and the others being brought to trial while being kept in surprisingly decent chambers at the Ministry.  It was a step up from the last time he’d been here, certainly, and he really had no complaints about how he was treated, especially because he knew it wouldn’t last.  
  A man stepped into the room, a burly but well-dressed young thing who was probably an intern of some sort, and there was something terse about the way he nonetheless politely invited Cyril to come with him.  Cyril obliged, naturally, seeing as to refuse would have been his downfall automatically, and he was in such a fluidly mellow state that, even if he was groggy, he would not have been able to rationalize his refusal.  Why bother?  Perhaps this was finally the end of the waiting- perhaps he was finally going to be led to an endpoint in this lonely process, as he knew he would from the start?  Perhaps the angels were singing his relief, and his release from the torment of knowing everyone knew, or were slowly discovering, and it was only a matter of time before it happened.


Though the Mass went on, the light in the room was blinding to his dimly-adjusted eyes- it was, in fact, possible that he was even having a light shone in his face, so difficult was it for him to make out anything except for whiteness as his ears burned with the question that, for some reason, nobody had bothered to ask him throughout the entire questioning process.  They might have been afraid of the truth, or even more likely, had assumed they wouldn’t tell the truth, but he did now, strapped to a chair in front of the most important officials of his government like an insect on a pin.  
  It may have been his strange, musical mood, but he found himself as if in a dream as the officials deliberated between themselves how to react to his answer, and he saw a filmy, ghostly shape rise behind the light to raise its fisted hand at a crucial point in the piece, condemning his mortal body to powerlessness; the chorus hit a collective fortissimo.  Yes, yes, he thought- his answer had been yes, and yes, this would be so; yes, this trial of many would end exactly as he’d predicted.  He sat like one comatose as they dispersed, and as the climax of the song fell-- even as four sturdy hands undid the straps at his wrists and allowed him to clasp his fingers on his lap.  Pursing his lips, he turned his head to see Cecile approaching, speaking hurriedly, words that flew past him and fell under the choir.  He shook his head and turned away, cutting her off and plunging his tired eyes into the blessed darkness behind the light.  It was over.  Very soon, he would be out in the rain, on his way to more darkness and discomfort; but now, as he sat surrounded by Cecile and other unfriendly parties, he could feel only relief and could hear only the soft, soothing chords approaching the end.
  It wasn’t until he was seized roughly by both arms and jerked out of the chair that his music left him, instantly and without a ghost of a melody left to grasp.  He looked over his shoulder at Cecile as he was dragged through the door, and watched her disappear from view.