Ding!
Father Anderson glanced back at Ward Martin’s tailor shop before opening the Raptor’s door and climbing behind the wheel.
He pulled out his phone, expecting confirmation of the payment for the jewelry and watches.
The notification showed a different transfer.
$2,000,000 received.
A faint smile appeared on Anderson’s face.
Jessie Burlingame and Carly had kept their promise, each transferring one million dollars as payment for saving their lives.
Those two women were even wealthier than he had imagined.
To them, giving away a million dollars seemed no more difficult than paying an expensive medical bill.
Before Anderson could finish processing that thought, his phone chimed again.
$1,730,000 received.
The second transfer came from Ward’s underground brokerage.
After deducting the twenty-percent commission, the valuables recovered from the cannibals’ cabin had earned Anderson another 1.73 million dollars.
Combined with the seventeen thousand dollars already in his account, his available balance had reached approximately $3.747 million.
Anderson leaned back in the driver’s seat.
“The world really does work in mysterious ways.”
Only a few days earlier, he had been carefully budgeting the cost of custom ammunition, research chemicals, and church repairs.
Now he possessed enough money to fund his experiments and maintain his armory for years.
He looked upward through the windshield.
“Thank You, Lord.”
Anderson shifted into gear and slowly pulled away from the curb.
Just before turning at the intersection, he noticed Ward standing outside the tailor shop, watching the black Raptor disappear into traffic.
The warning about the Tarasov organization remained in his mind.
The Russian mob was one of New York’s most dangerous criminal organizations.
Its members were involved in assassinations, extortion, smuggling, theft, drugs, human trafficking, and nearly every other profitable crime.
Most ordinary people would never willingly attract their attention.
Unfortunately for the Tarasovs, they had attracted John Wick’s attention first.
As Anderson drove through Manhattan, memories from his previous life gradually surfaced.
John Wick had been the central character in a series of violent action films—an almost unstoppable assassin who returned to the underworld after criminals stole his car and killed the dog left to him by his dead wife.
The entire criminal empire had begun collapsing because of one foolish act.
Anderson had once considered that premise exaggerated.
Now he personally knew John Wick.
Their relationship had started through Helen, John’s gentle and compassionate wife.
She had occasionally brought him to St.
Michael the Archangel Church, where the two of them sat quietly together during services.
After Helen died from a terminal illness, John began coming alone.
Anderson had spent many evenings listening to him speak about grief, emptiness, and the violent world he had abandoned for her.
Then Daisy appeared.
The beagle was Helen’s final gift to her husband—a companion meant to help John continue living after her death.
Killing Daisy hadn’t merely taken an animal from him; it had destroyed the last message Helen had left behind.
The Tarasovs had no idea what they had awakened.
Anderson pressed the accelerator as he left central Manhattan.
“John, I hope we meet again under better circumstances.”
Several hours later, he returned to St.
Michael the Archangel Church.
After changing back into his clerical clothes, Anderson entered the dim chapel with a Bible in his hands.
Candlelight illuminated the altar and the crucifix above it, giving the empty building its familiar atmosphere of quiet solemnity. This chapter was copied from g.com without permission.
He stood before the altar, made the sign of the cross, and closed his eyes.
Anderson treated his daily prayer almost like a report.
He honestly recounted everything he had done since the previous morning, leaving out very little.
“Lord, with Your help, I removed Bathsheba Sherman’s curse and saved the Perron family.
I also released four innocent spirits who had been trapped on the property.”
He paused before continuing.
“Afterward, I encountered Jessie Burlingame and Carly, eliminated the cannibals hunting them, and helped the authorities locate the murderers’ cabin.”
The next subject was less heroic.
“I also broke my vow of celibacy.”
Anderson’s expression remained solemn.
“I acknowledge that this was a sin.
However, considering the circumstances, I hope You will take Jessie’s emotional condition and my exhaustion into account.”
The candles flickered.
Anderson cleared his throat.
“I will sincerely attempt to exercise greater restraint in the future.”
He continued praying until the familiar mechanical voice sounded inside his mind.
[Daily Fixed Task]
[Prayer: Daily Prayer Completed]
[Reward Issued: 0.5 Points]
Anderson opened his eyes and looked toward the figure of Christ.
“Amen.”
Although prayer sometimes felt like reporting his behavior to an invisible supervisor, he had gradually grown accustomed to it.
Anderson opened his status panel and immediately assigned the half point to Vitality.
[Attribute Point Assigned]
[Vitality: 108.5 → 109]
[…]
The familiar warmth passed through his body before fading.
With his daily task completed, Anderson moved on to his next responsibility: preparing an official report for Church headquarters regarding the emergency exorcism at the Perron farmhouse.
Under normal Catholic procedure, a formal exorcism required authorization from the local bishop.
The rule existed because claims of possession had to be investigated carefully, with medical and psychological explanations considered before a solemn rite was approved.
An exorcist also needed sufficient theological training, emotional discipline, and spiritual strength.
An unqualified person could injure the victim, provoke the entity, or mistake mental illness for supernatural possession.
Emergencies were different.
When a family faced immediate danger, an experienced priest with the proper authority could intervene first and submit a report afterward.
That was how Anderson usually operated.
He placed a sheet of heavy paper on the desk beside the altar, picked up a fountain pen, and began writing.
Subject: Bathsheba Sherman
Location: Perron Farmhouse, Harrisville, Rhode Island
Classification: Malevolent Human Spirit / Territorial Curse
Historical Connection: Alleged relative of Mary Towne Eastey, executed during the Salem witch trials
Known Activities: Infestation, oppression, manipulation of trapped souls, attempted possession, and multiple deaths associated with the former Sherman property
[…]
He included her infant’s murder, her suicide at 3:07 in the morning, the curse she placed on the land, and the later deaths connected to the divided property.
He also documented the spiritual manifestations inside the farmhouse, Carolyn Perron’s condition, the protective measures used, and the method by which Bathsheba had been eliminated.
Naturally, Anderson described the shotgun blasts in restrained professional language.
The entity was confronted using consecrated materials and specialized anti-spiritual projectiles.
After direct engagement, the manifestation was successfully dispersed and its connection to the property severed.
That sounded far more appropriate than writing that he had blown Bathsheba apart with a Winchester Model 1897.
Once the report was complete, Anderson folded the pages and placed them inside a thick envelope.
He melted dark sealing wax over the flap and pressed his personal signet into it.
The Church considered these reports extremely important.
Its knowledge of demons, cursed objects, haunted locations, and dangerous supernatural entities had been assembled over centuries through similar records.
Every exorcist added another fragment to that enormous archive.
Anderson picked up the sealed envelope and walked toward the rear of the church.
Although modern delivery services were faster and more convenient, the Church used specially trained messenger pigeons for certain supernatural reports.
Electronic communication could be intercepted, manipulated, or disrupted by hostile entities, while the birds followed consecrated routes known only to Church facilities.
Anderson had once considered the system outdated.
After encountering demons capable of interfering with electricity, he had stopped questioning it.
A small wooden loft stood behind the church.
Anderson approached it and gave a sharp whistle.
A gray-and-white pigeon immediately flew from the opening and landed on his extended hand.
“Richie.”
The bird tilted its head and watched him with intelligent eyes.
Richie had served as Anderson’s messenger for many years.
Whether the pigeon was simply unusually well trained or possessed some minor supernatural intelligence remained uncertain.
Anderson gently stroked its head.
“I need you to take this report to headquarters.”
Richie fluttered his wings as though acknowledging the instruction.
“And don’t stop halfway to steal food from anyone.”
The pigeon made a quiet sound that Anderson chose to interpret as an innocent denial.
He rolled the envelope carefully and secured it inside the protective tube attached to Richie’s leg.
After checking the clasp, Anderson lifted the bird with both hands.
“Go on, Richie.
Come back safely.”
The pigeon spread its wings and took flight.
It circled above the church once before heading into the distance, climbing steadily until it became a small shape against the clouds.
Anderson watched until Richie disappeared.
Then he dusted off his hands and headed back toward the main building.
Before he reached the entrance, the outer gate creaked open.
An elderly man stepped onto the church grounds.
His hair was completely white, exhaustion covered his face, and his clothes looked as though he had been wearing them for several days.
When he saw Anderson, the old man forced a weak smile.
“Father, you’re back?”
Father Anderson stopped walking.
Something had happened.
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