DS arrived home to find a message waiting for him on his computer. He clicked a few buttons in order to decipher the encryption. The message was short and simple: FIND AND KILL THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE POLICE MURDERS. How had they found out so quickly? And how was he going to accomplish the impossible? They left him with no choice. He had to find a way to get Christian to disappear, but how?
Thinking it over, he decided that he had to convince Christian to leave the area. He knew that he could be killed just showing his face to the eternal, but he had to do his job. Now, he just had to find him. I need some sleep first, he thought. After laying down in his bed, the task at hand overwhelmed him until he finally fell asleep.
Christian was watching the news. Of course, the top story was the fire at the police station. Everything had been destroyed, it was reported. That brought a smile to the eternal’s face. The next story kind of surprised him. Two patients, who Christian was responsible for putting there, had escaped from the Rosewood Hills Mental Hospital. Interesting, he thought. Those two had somehow hooked up. I think I’ll pay them a visit, see what they’re up to. Grabbing his keys, he left for Whiting’s apartment.
Father Michaels walked into the bank that started it all. With most of the renovation taking place upstairs, they had already opened the lobby. The teller recognized him with a smile. He smiled back as he handed her a note. Her eyes went wide in shock. Reaching for the silent alarm, she stopped when a gun barrel pressed against her forehead. She slowly brought her hand away from the button. Nobody else seemed to notice as he handed her an empty bag. The woman emptied her drawer into the bag and handed it back to him. Looking inside, he wasn’t impressed with the amount. “More,” he demanded of her.
She walked over to the next window and began putting more money on the counter. He picked up the bundles and put them into the bag. When he got to the last one, he looked it over closely. Father Michaels, who was not normally wise in these matters, somehow knew there was something wrong with this one. Grabbing the bag, he walked towards the exit. After he arrived at the door, he tossed the money bundle outside. It erupted in a cloud of dye.
Shaking his head, he whipped the gun at the teller and shot her in the chest. Now people were paying attention to him, but he didn’t notice as he turned and walked out of the door. To his surprise, no one followed him. He made his way slowly back to Whiting’s apartment, trying not to draw any attention to himself. Feeling guilty about shooting the woman, he tried to rationalize it. She tried to get in the way of his holy quest, so he had to do it. Besides, she was probably a sinner anyways. After all, who wasn’t?
Unbeknownst to the priest, someone else was in the room when he came back to the apartment. Christian was a patient man, however, and didn’t announce his presence. The dead body of the reporter was still a mystery to him, but he didn’t care enough to try to figure it out. Whiting was a loudmouthed man who deserved a bullet, the eternal thought. Father Michaels began counting the money. What did a priest need with that much money, he asked himself. This was becoming interesting.
After counting all the money, Father Michaels had just enough to pay for his supplies. Not sleeping the night before was starting to wear on him, so the priest decided to take a nap. Seeing this made the eternal a little upset, but he wanted to find out what was happening, so he stayed in hiding until something happened. It was quite some time before anything other than a sleeping priest caught his attention. Around Midnight, a knock on the door awoke the slumbering man.
Father Michaels opened the door, letting someone in. The eternal couldn’t see who came in from where he was hiding, but he could hear them. From the sound of the voice, he could tell it was a man. “I went ahead and made most of your stuff today,” he heard the man say. “You got the money?”
“In the bag,” Father Michaels replied. “Count it if you want to.”
“This money hot?”
“I’d spend it quickly if I were you.”
A moment of silence followed. Christian thought he recognized the other man’s voice, but he couldn’t place it. He heard a heavy thud followed by some metallic clinking. “This is some good stuff,” Father Michaels commented.
“Of course it is. I made it myself.”
“Can I try it?”
The eternal heard what sounded like a gun cocking, then a bang as something hit the wall. “Works good.”
“Easy to reload, too. It automatically goes back to firing position. All you have to do is put a new bolt in.”
A crossbow? Who used one of those anymore? And who had one specially made? What the hell was this priest up to? Christian was confused. He peeked his head out to get a better look at the two men. What he saw shocked him. Quickly, he moved back into his hiding spot. “We’re not alone,” the supplier stated.
“What do you mean,” the priest asked.
“Shoot over there.”
Bullets and crossbow bolts, shaped like crosses, hit or nearly missed Christian in a steady stream. After a minute, they stopped. Footsteps came closer to him. The eternal jumped on the approaching priest. He delivered a series of well placed strikes, knocking the priest out. Christian arose, looking the man in the eyes. “You were killed,” he said in disbelief. “I saw you die.”
“I made a little deal with Death, just as the priest has. As long as I’m useful to him, I can’t die.”
“You made a deal with him? Are you crazy?”
“I made the deal to get what I wanted.”
“A chance to get to see you, Father.”
“What do you want from me?”