Carrie's request was exactly what Luke had hoped for.
A girl with this much raw power was still a blank slate. A little guidance and she could beco a serious asset. Helping her deal with her family issues would also reduce the risk of another ltdown. Two birds, one stone.
"What kind of favor?"
Carrie kept her head down, fingers twisting the hem of her sleeve.
"My mom… she's really deep into religion. Too deep. It's… not normal."
Her voice grew quieter.
"She says I have a demon inside . That I'm the product of sin. Every ti I ss up, she locks in the prayer room and makes confess to God."
Luke's eyes narrowed. Her mother was the root of every toxic thing in Carrie's life. Years of pressure and emotional abuse had built up enough rage to make her unstable powers snap.
"So what do you want to do?"
Carrie looked up, hope flickering in her eyes.
"You pulled out that Bible earlier… and you were reciting prayers. Are you a priest?"
Luke paused for half a second, then played along.
"Close enough, for what I do."
Carrie's eyes lit up.
"Then… could you talk to my mom? As a priest? Maybe she'll listen to you."
Luke stayed quiet for a mont, thinking. It wasn't a bad idea. It would give him a perfect excuse to get close to both of them and see if the mother had any cult connections of her own.
"Sure."
Carrie blinked, surprised he agreed so easily. Then a small, genuine smile broke across her face—the first real one Luke had seen from her. It made her look like an actual teenage girl instead of a haunted ghost.
A couple hours later, a tow truck finally dragged the damaged school bus back into town.
Luke watched the quiet streets roll by. Typical small Southern town—narrow roads, low houses, not many people, but plenty of churches. A few locals gathered on the corner, staring at the wrecked bus with wide, nervous eyes.
Luke told the driver he was stepping out for a minute.
"I need to make a call at the police station."
The driver pointed across the street.
"Sheriff's office is right there. Go talk to the sheriff."
The station was a small red-brick building with two old patrol cars out front.
Luke walked inside. Only one chubby middle-aged deputy sat behind the desk, halfway through a sandwich.
To avoid suspicion, Luke showed his badge first.
"Afternoon, officer. Luke from Miami PD. Had a little trouble and could use your phone."
The deputy looked him over—torn clothes, dried blood, the works. He nodded toward the corner.
"Go ahead. Long distance is on you, though."
He hesitated, then added, "You need to file a report?"
Luke gave a short laugh. "Haha, you're funny, officer."
He stepped over to the phone and dialed the station near Crystal Lake. When they said Lionel and the others still hadn't returned, he asked them to call the mont they heard anything.
After hanging up, Luke rubbed his temples. God, he missed smartphones.
He paid for the call and stepped back outside.
Carrie was waiting right by the door.
"You finished?"
"Yeah."
"Then… do you have ti now?"
Luke nodded.
"Lead the way."
Carrie's house sat on the edge of town—a rundown two-story wooden ho. The yard was overgrown, the fence crooked. Clearly neglected.
As she pushed open the squeaky gate, she whispered, "My mom should be ho. She doesn't like strangers much."
They climbed the porch steps.
Carrie was reaching for her keys when the door opened from inside.
A thin, pale woman stood there. She looked a lot like Carrie, but her face was gaunt, eyes sunken, and she looked exhausted. She wore a plain black dress with a huge silver cross hanging around her neck.
Her voice was cold.
"Carrie. Why are you so late? School ended hours ago."
"Mom, I—"
The woman's eyes locked onto Luke. Her expression sharpened instantly.
"Who is this?"
Carrie flinched and rushed to explain.
"This is Father Luke. He… he saved and Chris."
At the word "Father," the woman's face softened slightly. But her eyes stayed sharp as she studied Luke from head to toe.
Luke stepped forward with a calm, friendly smile.
"Good afternoon, Mrs. White. I'm Father Luke. We had a little accident on the road and ran into Carrie. She ntioned you're a very devout believer, so I thought I'd stop by and introduce myself."
The woman was quiet for a few seconds.
"Co in."
She stepped aside.
The house was dark. Heavy curtains blocked the windows. Crosses and religious paintings covered every wall. The biggest one—a huge, bloody depiction of the crucifixion—dominated the living room. The air slled of mildew and burnt candles.
Luke stepped inside and imdiately frowned.
Sothing was very wrong here.
Normal religious families, no matter how devout, still felt like hos. Lionel's mother had practiced voodoo but still kept a warm, lived-in house. This place felt like a tomb.
And the mother's behavior—isolated, fanatical, controlling—didn't match soone who actually went to church.
Luke had one word for people like this.
Cultist.
Carrie whispered, "Mom, I'll get so water."
The woman ignored her and kept staring at Luke.
"Sit."
Luke took a seat on the couch.
She sat across from him, hands folded stiffly on her knees.
"You said you're a priest?"
"Yes."
"Which diocese?"
"Miami."
"Miami."
She repeated the word, suspicion flickering in her eyes.
"Then what brings you all the way to Louisiana?"
Luke had his story ready.
"I was handling so personal business out of state and happened to pass through Greenville."
She studied him for a long mont, then finally nodded.
"God's will."
The room fell into an awkward silence.
Carrie returned with two glasses of water. She handed one to Luke, then stood quietly behind her mother like a shadow.
Luke took a sip and got straight to the point.
"Carrie ntioned you're a very devout believer."
The woman's expression softened a little.
"Faith is the only thing keeping going. This world is full of darkness and temptation. Only the Lord can save us."
Luke smiled inwardly. He recognized that scent.
"Is that so?"
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