Exorcist in America

A building cordoned off with isolation tape.

Several NYPD Ford Crown Victorias, equipped with a 4.6L V8 engine capable of producing up to 224 horsepower, are parked within the isolation zone. These cars, while no longer in production, are still extensively used by the NYPD due to their durability and spacious interiors.

Detectives, not in uniform, step out of the cars and walk towards the building, observing the police and patrol officers coming in and out.

The first thing they notice inside are bodies covered with white sheets scattered across the floor.

"Fritz, what's the situation now?" one detective asks a familiar face at the scene.

The middle-aged officer hands over a clipboard and shrugs. "Who knows? Seems like a vigilante showed up last night and wiped out all the gangs in Brooklyn in one go."

His eyes reflect his astonishment. "Luke, you know, that's all eight gangs. Those were some vicious people, and now they're all lying here."

He chuckles as if recalling something amusing. "Now, the other gangs around here are panicking, scared to come out, even thinking about leaving Brooklyn."

Detective Luke, leading the group, glances at the officer and flips through the records on the clipboard. The documents and photos at the scene make the extent of the carnage clear.

Each photo shows a body with a fatal gunshot wound to the forehead.

"This vigilante... his shooting was extremely precise and deadly," Luke mutters to himself as he flips through more photos.

One photo stands out—not just a shot to the forehead, but two to the chest and one to the head, a technique known as the Mozambique Drill, used to quickly disable and then kill an opponent.

"A very experienced vigilante," Luke shakes his head, recognizing that such shooting techniques are not easy without a lot of practice.

He flips to the photos of the gang leaders and core members and then casually tosses the clipboard to an assistant.

"Handle this," he says disinterestedly, and turns to leave.

"Where are you going?" the young assistant asks.

"I need a coffee," Luke replies, waving his hand nonchalantly. "Got up too early today and still feeling sleepy."

The young assistant and the older officer exchange looks.

Finally, the older officer Fritz shakes his head: "He just doesn't want to deal with this mess. After all, it's just some thugs who were disrupting the peace."

—

Ashby Church.

Since the shooting and the robbery deaths, the number of faithful attending daily mass had dwindled, mostly to a few old loyalists and very few young parishioners.

Nevertheless, York conducted a simple mass, which mainly consisted of reading scripture and praying together before ending.

Today, no parishioners approached him to chat or discuss yesterday's events, and York was content with the quiet, sitting with a book in his usual spot.

Eileen managed the church operations, and John handled miscellaneous tasks, leaving York with little to do but be an idle figurehead—no, more like a salted fish.

Yet, thinking of this, York glanced at John Wick, busy outside.

From the daily reports Eileen provided, he knew what the returned "angel of death" had accomplished.

"Quite the ruthless one," York chuckled, unconcerned, as he turned to his book.

"Uncle York, look!"

Before he could start reading, Aretha's voice reached his ears.

Turning from Silent Hill, Aretha had become his shadow, following him wherever he went.

Even the gentle Eileen couldn't help much, as Aretha was extremely wary of anyone but him.

York didn't force her; after all, trust took time. He planned to send her to school to learn once she adapted to human society—a gift to Aretha.

But he also had other plans.

For today, little Sharon and his goddaughter Judy were coming over.

He had already received a message from Ed and Lorraine.

They would bring Judy along today.

Compared to adults, York believed Aretha might prefer the company of children, as they could more easily understand each other's situations.

"What did you draw?" York asked as he took the drawing Aretha handed him.

After seeing it, he smiled.

Aretha had drawn him, standing in front of the pews, left hand holding the Bible, right hand waving in the air—his usual pose during mass.

"Very nice," York said, touching Aretha's head gently as he admired her smiling face.

"Aretha, if you like drawing, you might consider becoming a painter."

"Painter?" Aretha blinked.

"Yes," York smiled. "It's a profession in human society, quite artistic. Good painters can be very valuable to some wealthy people."

Aretha pondered for a moment.

York's smile remained as he turned back to his physics book, trying to brush up on knowledge that was difficult for most people.

Unfortunately, he hadn't finished reading when

 Eileen approached with some documents, causing him a bit of frustration.

This was why he hadn't wanted to become a bishop.

As a priest, he could just mind his church and ignore everything else.

But as a bishop, he had to manage more responsibilities, even though he had blocked many issues to gain a great deal of freedom. The responsibilities that did require his attention were still numerous and stemmed from various parishes and the Vatican headquarters.

"Bishop, a document from Vatican headquarters," Eileen said meticulously.

"Just came in."

She glanced at Aretha sitting next to the bishop. According to the bishop, this little girl named Aretha was a true divine being.

Knowing this, Eileen was a bit concerned about the impact this might have on her bishop.

Fortunately, the girl was just drawing like any normal child.

Importantly, she could sense Aretha's dependency on the bishop, staying by his side from the moment she woke up and going nowhere else, which truly eased Eileen's mind.

"Headquarters? What's happened now?" York frowned and took the document from Eileen.

Documents from headquarters usually meant significant issues.

He flipped it open and understood immediately.

Sure enough, it was a major issue. The world rift that had always been stable had finally shown signs of activity.

This meant his vacation was over.

"Island nation?" York read on. The activity was happening at a world rift in an island nation.

"Such impacts..."

Reading the description, York shook his head and handed the document back to Eileen.

"Tell them, since it's still under control, wait until I'm done here before I go and handle it."

"Yes, Bishop," Eileen nodded and left to relay his message to the Vatican.

"Uncle York, that Aunt Eileen keeps looking at me," Aretha said once Eileen was gone.

Hearing Aretha's annoyed tone, York chuckled and comforted her.

"You also peek at Eileen sometimes. After a while, when you're more familiar with each other, it'll be better."

He continued, touching her head gently: "Aretha, Sharon might come today. Have you thought about how to face your sister?"

"Sharon is coming?" Aretha's eyes widened adorably.

—

"Monk John, good day."

On the quiet street outside Ashby Church, an energetic family approached the robust monk.

Chris greeted him respectfully. Compared to before, his tone was filled with gratitude.

This made John Wick nod in acknowledgment.

"Hello, Chris. It looks like Sharon's condition has been cured."

John glanced down at Sharon, who Chris was holding by the hand. Her complexion was healthier than before, and her eyes sparkled with life.

He knew what his bishop had done over the past two days.

"Yes," Rose, holding Sharon's other hand, took a deep breath, her voice full of sincere thanks.

"Father York saved our family."

Hearing this, John felt a sense of pride. After all, his bishop had saved many, though he kept his face expressionless, a habit from his assassin days that he couldn't change nor needed to, according to the bishop.

"So, we came specifically to thank Father York," Rose continued, then asked for advice.

"Monk John, what do you think we should do? Or do you know what Father York likes?"

John was momentarily stumped, realizing he didn't actually know what his bishop liked. It wasn't food, he thought, then realized he genuinely didn't know what his bishop preferred. He couldn't very well say that the bishop liked the arsenal in the basement.

Caught off guard, his expressionless face became even more so.

Luckily, when Chris and Rose sensed something was off, John found his words.

"Father once said he appreciates the devout and generous spirit of his followers."

With that, Chris and Rose exchanged looks, understanding.

A generous spirit? What does that mean to the Father?

Rose smiled, brushing her hair behind her ear. "Thank you for your hint, Monk John."

They felt even closer to the down-to-earth and approachable Father York.

"We will definitely please the Father," Chris added with a smile.

John Wick, still not fully understanding the couple's intent, nodded, his stoic face handling the situation.

"Mom!"

Impatient to go in, Sharon tugged at Rose's hand.

Seeing this, Rose smiled warmly at John, signaling their departure.

"Monk John, we'll go inside now."

John nodded slightly, stepping aside to let the sturdy family pass.

As they entered, the revered and grateful Father stood in their path, with a girl who looked exactly like Sharon hiding timidly behind him, only her head peeking out.

Compared to Sharon, the girl's clothes and aura were distinctly different.

Chris and Rose glanced at each other, then down at Sharon, having already prepared themselves mentally from what the Father had told them.

The two girls stared at each other, the air filled with an indescribable tension.

York couldn't help but smile, seeing only Aretha's head peeking out as she stared at Sharon.

"Shy?" he teased.

Aretha looked up without speaking, just pouting and hiding completely behind him.

"Uncle York, actually she is the real Aretha. I am just a consciousness that accidentally formed. I took over her body before."

"No," York's hand remained comforting on Aretha's head.

"You are you, Sharon is Sharon. In my heart, you are not the same person."

With that, York looked at Sharon, nodding.

Sharon understood and broke away from her parents, carefully approaching and saying, "Uncle York, Sister Aretha."

"You see, you are Aretha," York turned to the timid girl clinging to his robe.

"Go on, you two are sisters, and Sharon is the only family you have in this world."

Encouraged, Aretha gathered some courage, peeking out at Sharon, who seemed cautious, as if afraid of being rejected.

Their eyes met.

Being of one origin, they instantly understood each other's thoughts.

Aretha blinked her starry eyes and let go of York's robe, timidly revealing herself.

Sharon's eyes lit up as she ran over, her demeanor more innocent and lively.

Seeing this, Aretha's breath hitched, wanting to retreat.

But Sharon had already rushed over and hugged her, exclaiming excitedly.

"Sister Aretha! I dreamed about you last night!"

Aretha pursed her lips, only managing to wrap her arms around Sharon, murmuring softly.

"Me too."

___________________

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