Exorcist in America

"Chief, why didn't we detain them?"

Just after moving the old pickup to clear the road, Officer Zachary approached Chief Thomas, watching the fading red taillights disappear into the darkness.

"What if he doesn't show up tomorrow?"

Thomas recalled his first impression of York, a profound one.

"That kid is not simple. I saw the demeanor of a superior on him."

Zachary blinked, surprised, looking at his boss.

Thomas frowned briefly, then relaxed.

"Even if he doesn't come tomorrow, we still have enough to apply for a search warrant."

Thomas looked towards the still unconscious man on the ground, speaking in a grave tone.

"This man also has significant issues. Once we get back and check the organ remains in the vehicle, extract the DNA, we'll know if he's really connected to those missing cases."

Zachary nodded in agreement.

"What about his situation?" Thomas shifted the conversation.

"What do you think, how did that young man knock him out?"

As a veteran of many battles in America, Zachary had come from the military before becoming a police officer.

Yet, he shook his head, "There were no signs of struggle, nor any visible injuries. It seems it was just a confrontation."

Thomas's expression grew serious, doubts clouding his mind as he pondered York's foreign status and his reasons for being here.

Thinking this, Thomas commanded, "Get the suspect into the car, and you drive his pickup."

Zachary nodded and left to tidy up the scene, preparing to head back.

Thomas then pulled out his phone to make a call.

Officer Sybil was under his command.

He needed to verify the truth.

"Hello? Chief."

Sybil's voice, softened by the wind, indicated she was pulling over.

"Sybil, I have a question." Thomas said.

"Did you encounter a Jeep Wrangler at the gas station?"

As Sybil parked by the roadside, surprised by the question, she replied.

"Chief, how did you know?"

The man in the car had made a strong impression on her.

"It seems he was telling the truth." Recognizing this, Thomas felt a sense of relief wash over him.

"This is what happened."

.

York glanced at the rearview mirror.

Ross, who had switched from the front to the back seat, likely exhausted from driving all day, was now sleeping, embracing Sharon.

And Sharon, comfortable in this position, used the car's light to continue drawing.

As they neared Silent Hill, Sharon's sleepiness grew more pronounced, her love for drawing more evident than even in the movies.

Unbeknownst to Ross, who had been focused on driving, some of the drawings were made by Sharon in a sleepwalking state.

In essence, these were drawings by Sharon's true self, Alessa. The more Sharon slept, the more Alessa seemed to be trying to communicate with him.

With too much information emerging, York's understanding of Silent Hill's situation in this world became clearer.

Silent Hill was not as benign and unremarkable as depicted in the movies, seemingly influenced by Alessa's dark powers.

In fact, Silent Hill was special, a sacred site of the Native Americans.

Thus, Silent Hill inherently possessed magical powers.

York, looking at Sharon through the mirror, her eyes vacant as she continued to draw, sighed inwardly.

From those drawings, he gleaned information not shown in the movies.

Silent Hill's magic was discovered by ancient Native Americans, who used it to communicate with their ancestors and the deities they worshipped.

Whether these communications were successful, he couldn't be sure.

But from the information in the drawings, this magic was initially pure, used by the natives as a bridge to communicate with their ancestral spirits until disruptions like European colonization and plagues began to alter things.

The darkness brought by these disasters started to corrupt this magical power, twisting its purity.

"So, are the people of Silent Hill town natives, or those who know the truth of Silent Hill and harbor ill intentions?"

York's focus remained on Sharon.

With the information at hand, he finally understood Alessa's power source, matching his second hypothesis.

It wasn't about making a pact with a demon or another entity.

Instead, she was inherently special, perhaps possessing powers that could merge with Silent Hill. In a period filled with hatred, Alessa might have used her own powers, along with Silent Hill's, to incinerate her enemies and trap those hiding in the church within her psychic space.

Recalling the stigmata on Thomas's hands, he harbored another doubt.

"Who really is Alessa?"

Those marked with stigmata were not ordinary; they were either deities or significant figures.

Indeed, stigmata were known historically in the church, primarily on saints like Saint Francis of Assisi, who bore the wounds of Christ as stigmata, a divine sign meant to soften hardened hearts and bring salvation.

Aside from Saint Francis, other notable figures with

 stigmata included saints like St. Padre Pio and St. Teresa of Ávila.

York's thoughts deepened, finding the movie's simple narrative starkly different from the complexities of this world.

Because, in his view, Alessa was not merely human.

The realization hit him when he saw the stigmata; from that moment, he was certain of his theory.

In the movies, Alessa, harassed and judged by the elders of Silent Hill and eventually burned, was not just a human in this world but a being connected to the divine, possibly a deity herself.

"Deity?"

York murmured softly, looking at Alessa.

"Are you a deity born from Silent Hill, or the deity worshipped by the ancient Native Americans here?"

His voice, barely audible over the roar of the engine, went unheard by Ross, as York had muted her hearing.

"No wonder you have such formidable power, capable of creating worlds within worlds—a feat of a deity."

York watched Sharon, still drawing obliviously, and sighed lightly.

In his previous life, the world Alessa created had two distinct realms.

One outward, one inward.

Beyond the inner world, the outward world she created in the movie wasn't confined to the size of Silent Hill town but could spread, reaching even Ross's home.

Such capability was astonishing.

Even with his current strength, York could not fathom achieving this.

Even if he could control the microscopic particles of the universe in the future, creating new worlds and new humans, or harnessing divine powers, he couldn't imagine replicating such a feat.

Alessa's outward world was created in a scale and detail mirroring the real world.

"Admirable, I'm still too weak. Maybe you should take me as your apprentice?" York joked, looking at the unresponsive Sharon, finally turning away his gaze.

Regardless, now that he was caught in this whirlwind, he could only move forward.

Fear, retreat, and withdrawal were never in his choices. If there were any issues, he'd straightforwardly call on God for support.

"From now on, learning isn't the only purpose. More importantly, at least curing Sharon's illness, for I have accepted the wish of the faithful, the prayers of Chris and Ross on behalf of God."

York released his hands, using telekinesis to control the steering wheel while taking out his cherished, well-maintained phone to search the contacts.

"Which bishop is in charge of the diocese in West Virginia?"

York muttered, browsing through the numerous contacts in his phone directory.

The church was vast, with representatives all over the world, so naturally, his contact list was extensive.

Thanks to the old man becoming the Pope, and his years at the headquarters, York knew quite a few bishops.

Whether relationships were good or bad, he saved their contacts for exorcisms and missions, ensuring he had support wherever he went.

"Now I think about it, I've been to many places." York smiled nostalgically, finding the note for West Virginia among many phone numbers.

"Bishop Josefini, right, we have a good relationship."

With his eidetic memory, possibly mutated, York quickly recalled his interactions with Bishop Josefini.

"He's one of the old man's people."

As this thought settled, York glanced at the time.

After all the commotion, it was already eleven o'clock.

For many, especially the elderly, this time meant deep sleep.

"Never mind, he's one of us, no need to bother him now, lest he complain to the old man, and I'd get a headache."

Remembering the old man's motherly nagging, York shook his head, marking the phone number to avoid searching later.

"But I don't know if the old man can wake up, despite being as tough as a cockroach."

York fell silent for a moment, put away his phone, and looked again at Sharon in the rearview mirror, shielding her hearing with his telekinesis, then leaned back in his seat.

The car John Wick chose for him was definitely comfortable; he could feel the backrest enveloping him.

"That's fine."

York raised his hands, resting them behind his head, and closed his eyes.

At this moment, the dashboard seemed to be operated by an invisible hand, cycling through options and settling on a song title.

[STAR . WALKIN]

"As long as I breathe, it's not over; sprinting towards the moonlight, life doesn't cease to move, never stopping, chasing stars until dawn."

.

"York, it's rare for you to call."

In West Virginia.

On the sunny balcony of Charleston's major diocese, a priest stood silently beside an elderly man dressed in bishop's robes.

After the old man spoke, he waved his hand.

The priest who brought the phone bowed slightly and left quietly.

"Bishop Josefini, good morning." The voice came through the phone, and Bishop Josefini's eyes twinkled with wisdom.

He remembered the

 first time he met York at the headquarters, standing beside the Pope, radiating a remarkably calm aura, his pure presence drawing attention.

Who could have known this young man would be so exceptional?

Now, it seemed the Pope had indeed made a wise choice, finding York as a successor in a world struggling to find one.

Every Pope had the ability to mend fractures, he recalled.

"Tell me, York, what brings you to call?"

As these thoughts spun in his mind, Bishop Josefini sipped his coffee from the small table.

"If you want to vacation in West Virginia, relax, I wholeheartedly welcome you. If you want my position, I absolutely will not refuse."

This calm statement traveled through the signal to the other side.

In Lost Town.

Outside a simple motel, York stood on the street watching Ross and Sharon inside a shop, his lips twitching.

Wishful thinking.

Despite seeming like he single-handedly dealt with all the church's demons and hardships, it was just the tip of the iceberg.

The world was vast, and time did not stop for his actions; everyone and everything moved independently, events unfolding even without his direct involvement.

At least while he solved one exorcism, similar challenges occurred globally.

Overall, managing a major diocese involved countless responsibilities.

Just the thought of approving documents for exorcism permits and managing the entire diocese gave him a headache.

So, he definitely would not accept such an offer, absolutely not! It would mean his freedom was confined.

Just think, which bishop could wander as freely as he did? Even with the reason of a world fracture.

"Bishop Josefini, compared to being tied down, I prefer freedom." York chuckled.

"Actually, I'm in West Virginia now. Do you know Lost Town?"

___________________

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