Eldritch Exorcist 91. Writing on the wall

I could hurry to the hospital later. I didn’t see any flesh changes on the girl, so I should have so ti. I got in my car and drove to the preacher’s place as I could hear the sirens behind .

I would have to explain myself to the local police, but right now I needed to see the cri scene. I arrived at the house around the sa ti as the police cruiser.

The policeman got out and shouted, “Stay in your car!” as he made his way towards the door.

“Of course, officer!” I said, and then ignored the command the mont he turned his back to .

The door opened and, in it, stood the preacher’s wife. She looked horrible. Her aura radiated sadness and pain like a beacon of distress. Her face was contorted into an expression of grief. There was so blood on her hands, but she didn't have any visible wounds.

It was soone else’s blood.

“Is everything okay?” asked the officer as I stood a bit to the side behind him.

The woman tried to speak, but no words ca. Finally, after struggling to find the right words, she simply pointed inside.

“He–he’s dead,” was all she managed before bursting into tears.

The officer went past her and into the building.

And once he disappeared in the doorway, I followed. The woman barely acknowledged my existence. She was clearly in shock.

I made my way inside and imdiately could sll the iron scent of blood wafting in the air.

I looked around, searching for the cri scene, but that turned out to be unnecessary. After I entered, I heard footsteps, and the policeman bolted out of one of the rooms. He clearly saw , but to my surprise, he ignored my presence and ran outside the house.

What followed were the sounds of him emptying the contents of his stomach. Whatever it was he saw in that room was too much for a small-town cop.

I slowly made my way to the room from which the man ran out and understood his reaction the mont I laid eyes on the scene.

There was a surprisingly small amount of blood. Well… around the corpse at least.

I approached the body of the preacher. It was lying on its stomach with a relatively small pool of blood around it. The reason was apparent from the bruising. Whoever did it used so sort of blunt instrunt. Judging by the position of the limbs, multiple bones were fractured, as so of them were bent at unnatural angles.

I approached the head and got down to floor level to look at the face. It was contorted into an expression of fear and pain, but the muscles didn’t seem to be milliters away from dislocating the jaw, and most of all, the eyes weren’t white.

So not a spell.

I then examined the body’s neck closely. This was the cause of death. The upper spine was shattered. The part right underneath the skull had collapsed to the point that the upper spine’s bone was pressing against the front of the throat from the inside, creating a bump next to the Adam’s apple.

Whatever that was must have hit with a staggering amount of force. I looked at the wound from up close. It didn’t resemble the outco of a spell, more like a simple but strong hit with a blunt-edged object, judging by how the skin broke at the point of impact.

If I had to judge by the expression of suffering, this was the last bone to be broken.

There was another wound on the body. A deep cut on the back with blood sared near it, as if soone repeatedly dipped sothing into the wound, leaving small drops and splatters around it.

As to what it was for, it was obvious.

I finally raised my head to the main star of the show. There was writing in blood on the wall. The letters were clearly drawn by hand.

“‘My children, endure patiently the wrath that has co upon you from God. Your enemy has overtaken you, but you will soon see their destruction and will tread upon their necks.’

See, Father, I read your fucking book.”

Said the writing on the wall. I furrowed my eyebrows. It was a Bible quote with a ssage from the preacher’s son. Or daughter, technically, but she was much younger and less of a suspect right now.

The passage fit the murder very well and was on point for the preacher’s habit of quoting the Bible, but sothing was off about it. Sothing didn’t seem right.

Before I had the ti to ponder any more, I heard fast footsteps in the corridor. I assud the policeman got his shit together and was coming to take in.

I looked at the destroyed window in the room and, without hesitation, jumped through it. I would be dealing with the police later. Now that I had a good look at the cri scene, I wanted to see if I could catch up to or track the killer.

The pale policeman marched into the room, looking quite pissed.

“Stop!” he scread as he saw outside the window and went for his taser, but I simply bolted out of there.

The man was quite persistent, considering he tried to get through the broken window as well. But in a tragic turn of events, so unseen energy knocked his leg out from under him, which resulted in a fall, face-first, back into the room.

I quickly looked around and found tracks in the dirt quite easily, thanks to the blood that dripped off the author of the words. I wasn’t a ranger by any ans, but following imprints in the grass and drops of red didn’t require much effort.

I followed the tracks through the small forest and onto a street. They were heading into the woods. I followed the blood until I once again entered a wooded area.

Good.

I could now see the sizable indents in the forest floor.

But after making it around four ters into the forest, the tracks just stopped.

I looked around with furrowed brows, looking for the next track. So far, they were pretty visible, and accompanied by the blood, but here they cut as if by a knife.

Was it an ambush?

I flared my aura and felt the staff unravel into my hand.

I listened.

And… nothing but silence.

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There was no movent around.

I started to walk in concentric circles around the last track, but no dice.

I stood there for so ti, trying to sense, look, or listen to anything that could direct towards the right spot. But there was nothing. I thought that maybe the killer backtracked to cover their tracks, so I went back, but once again didn’t find anything.

I was starting to get worried about the hospital. I had no idea how fast the mutation would go. I could be arriving at a scene of a massacre and have the Vatican to deal with.

“Fuck’s sake,” I half-whispered to myself, looking into the darkness of the forest one last ti, before turning back.

I then swore at myself again for leaving my car near the preacher’s house, where the police were most likely looking for .

But I got an idea. There’s no situation that can’t be turned around, especially with so feline help.

I took out my phone and gave Q’Shar a call.

“Hello.”

“I need you to have a lawyer call the local police chief. I entered a cri scene and ran from an officer. The police did a cover-up with the local mortician about murders, so you can threaten them with this. I need you to do it fast.” I recyted all the information at him.

“How fast?”

“Like, this second. There is a mutation in process that needs to be dealt with.”

“Fuck. Did you hurt or kill anyone?”

“No.” I then paused. “Well… the officer slipped in a rather unfortunate way…”

“Saaam.”

“But he is all right, concussion at worst, and no one knows it was .”

“I’ll have it done. Deal with the mutation.”

“On it.”

I then ran back to the cri scene.

After crossing the small forest behind the church, I could see the house. There were two more police cars, but no ambulance yet. To my surprise, I could also see the ghost hunters standing there.

rcy, Liz, and Victor were recording sothing. But it was Rey and Cecil who were the most interesting, as they were off to the side, out of earshot, clearly arguing.

But before I could listen in, an officer spotted and started screaming, pointing at . I rolled my eyes and took out a dagger from behind my back, and then cut myself across the wrist. I stayed in the forest away from the lights so that the color of my blood wouldn’t be easily visible.

Quickly snapping my iris open, I read the badge numbers of two n before they approached.

“Hands in the air where I can see them,” shouted one of them, as they got closer.

“Officer,” I said in a weak voice, “I–I think I cut myself on the glass.”

Saying that, I stretched my hand ‘where he could see it’ with a long gash across the wrist. The man looked at with a mixture of worry and anger.

“I think I need to go to the hospital,” I said, stumbling slightly.

The two policen looked at one another. “Get him in the car,” said the older one.

I smiled slightly and followed without putting up any fight. They led into the police cruiser and, after putting on a makeshift dressing and telling to keep it under pressure, they quickly drove in the direction of the hospital with the sirens on. Thankfully, almost fainting when they tried to search prevented from having to explain a hidden dagger.

I took out my phone and texted the cat the badge numbers of the two. It was around ten minutes later when they received a call on the radio asking if they had apprehended a man of my description.

The man who picked up the call said yes, but before he could continue, the person, whom I presu was the chief, started screaming about letting go and apprehending people whom they shouldn’t have.

The policen clearly didn’t know what to do, so I bent forward and suggested, “How about you drop off by the hospital and we call it a day, huh?”

They agreed, and around two minutes later, we were on the spot. After leading into the hospital and leaving with the doctors, the two quickly went back, clearly not wanting anything to do with the case.

The man asked to show him my wound, and I happily showed him my wrist with a basically healed cut. He turned to with a furrowed brow, looking over my wrist.

“Don’t know what it was all about, doctor,” I said, and then leaned forward to whisper. “They must have been drunk or sothing. I feel great,” I reassured him with a smile.

The man looked over but then decided it was not worth the effort, and after reassuring him that I felt good and that this was a misunderstanding, he left alone.

I stretched and looked over my wrist. The cut I made wasn’t deep. So around fifteen minutes of healing for shallow flesh wounds. Good to know.

I then looked at the hospital. It was small compared to the city hospitals, but seed busy and well-organized. I could see the personnel hurry inside, but there was no screaming, no panic typical for when mortals saw the nasty side of magic.

That was good news.

I went inside, checked that the doctor who had just examined was no longer there, and then waited in line for the nurse at the reception.

Finally, after so ti, my turn ca.

“Hello. I would like to ask about a recent arrival. A girl by the na of Sandra. She received a wound to the chest and was rushed here.”

The woman entered so information into the computer, then, after reviewing it, looked at with so sadness in her eyes.

“And what is your relation to the victim?”

“A friend,” I said.

“Sorry, we can’t disclose any information unless you are from the family.”

That was odd. Hospitals couldn’t give personal info, but the overall state of health should be disclosed to family and friends unless stated otherwise. That or…

Force Control.

A vase behind the woman flew off the shelf with a loud crack. As she turned, I quickly bent forward and took a peek at her monitor.

There was a patient’s record on the PC with a red label next to the na–State: Deceased.

What?

I thanked the nurse and got out, taking a second outside the hospital to calm the torrent of thoughts in my head.

I then sat down in front of the building and looked ahead, letting my gaze lose its focus.

Well, that was a lot of nothing in the end. Why didn’t she mutate like the boar? Was the wound too fatal? That was a possibility.

I looked up at the barely visible stars. I technically had the killer, the preacher’s son, judging by the ssage. It would fit. The girl felt guilt about him before she was killed, so revenge?

But that didn’t sit too well with .

Sothing didn’t add up.

And the quote, why did it bother so much? It fit the preacher very well. It was made by soone who knew him. It all pointed to the son.

I sighed and looked at the busy people in the hospital. I wanted to find out about the guilt, get info on the eyewitnesses, and maybe even see a mutation or the killer. And all I got was just more questions.

I saw another ambulance stop at the side of the hospital, and the people inside started to load so dications. At least I wasn’t the only one busy tonight.

My phone rang. It was the cat.

“Hello.”

“Hey, it cost us, but we got the lawyer. The chief folded like a lawn chair.”

I chuckled at that. “Yeah, I heard it.”

“Just watch out, they might tow your car out of spite.”

“Will they search it?”

“No. They were told that any attempt at spinning this into probable cause will be t with legal action.”

I smiled.

“And the mutation?” The cat asked.

“Died by itself before I got there.”

“This makes it easier. Altho pit abot the girl”

“Easier for you. I lost a possible clue.” I grumbled.

“Well, I care about the legal consequences. Caring about your clues is not part of my job.”

I was about to retort, but I stopped.

“Not a part of it,” I said to myself, absentmindedly.

“Wha-” Q’Shar started, but I cut him off.

“I have to go,” I said, and disconnected.

That’s why the quote bothered .

‘My children, endure patiently the wrath that has co upon you from God. Your enemy has overtaken you, but you will soon see their destruction and will tread upon their necks.’ That was Baruch 4:25.

There was an issue with that. The book of Baruch was considered apocrypha by Protestants. It was one of the books not recognized by their church. If the kid “read his father’s fucking book,” as the ssage said, this quote wouldn’t be a part of it.

It wasn’t the son that killed the priest, not on his own at least. Soone else wrote the quote to point to him. Soone who knew about the father-son relationship, soone close to the family but not part of the local Protestant community.

I finally got soone’s tail. But now the question was, whose?