He had accepted, sure.
But with nearly thirty points in mission rewards and the mission requirements, York knew he was probably facing more than one demon.
'What scenario would justify saying "demons in the whole building"?'
York narrowed his eyes and, under Irene's constant gaze, kept swiping until he found Officer Jeffrey—the officer assigned to him.
The only possibility he could picture was that every resident in the building had already been possessed or controlled by a horde of demons, just like the nuns in Saint Kata Monastery… "Buddy, you really not coming?"
It had been a while since they'd met. Officer Baker, now pot-bellied, stopped and tilted his head toward Jeffrey, who sat in the office on the right. Watching the man frown over case files, Baker sighed.
"It's almost eleven."
A homicide had kept them run off their feet, yet they'd found no useful leads. On paper it was suicide, but Jeffrey refused to drop it.
Hearing the voice, the gaunt Jeffrey looked up from the investigation materials.
Baker and the colleagues working overtime were clustered in the doorway, all looking at him.
Jeffrey shifted his gaze, instinctively glancing at the clock on the desk.
[22:23]
"It's that late already?" He looked toward Baker and the others waiting at the door.
"Almost ready. You guys head home first—don't wait for me."
Jeffrey lowered his head again, comparing the crime-scene photos with the reports.
Baker tugged the corner of his mouth, exchanged a tired glance with the others, and they all showed a hint of resignation.
"All right, don't stay too late. We still need you to hold the line on this hotel homicide."
Jeffrey didn't even lift his head. "I know my limits; I won't wreck my health."
Baker shook his head and got ready to leave with the rest of the overtime crew.
"Come on, let's go. Leave the guy be."
Just then a phone rang, making everyone instinctively stop and look.
"Hm?"
Jeffrey frowned at the vibrating phone on the desk; when he saw the caller, his eyes widened slightly.
"Father Yorkes?"
He snatched the phone and answered at once.
From everything he knew of Father Yorkes, the priest wouldn't call without a reason.
"Father?"
At the same moment, carried by the signal, Jeffrey's voice sounded in the car that was speeding through the rain toward Woodside.
Hearing a voice he hadn't listened to in a while, York said calmly, "Officer Jeffrey, I need a favor."
Jeffrey's expression turned grave—another supernatural incident, without doubt.
"Go ahead, Father Yorkes."
Recalling every connected guess, York spoke evenly.
"Tell your superiors to seal Reed Apartment Building on Woodside Tenth Avenue—no one in or out."
With that, he ended the call; those words were enough to convey the gravity.
Indeed, the moment the line went dead Jeffrey looked at Baker and the rest still at the door, grabbed the suit draped over his chair, and barked, "We've got a situation! Everyone, move out!"
Having done that, York slipped the phone back inside his coat, looked to the front, and asked calmly, "How much longer?"
The driver, steering with superb skill, eased around a bend.
"One minute twenty, Father Yorkes," he answered, voice steady.
York gave a quiet acknowledgement and began checking the gear he had left.
The MK14 rotary grenade launcher held only seventeen 40×51 mm grenades.
There was also the unfired linebaugh and sixty rounds of.50-caliber ammo.
Plus fifteen Holy Hand Grenades still unused.
That would be plenty.
Thinking this, he felt the car slow; through the window the rain-drenched apartment building came into view.
"Father Yorkes, we're here," the driver said as the vehicle stopped at the intersection.
"That building ahead should be your target."
York pulled the door handle, glanced at Irene.
"Brother Kenny, protect my Deaconess."
Irene pressed her lips; from his words she knew her duty—stay put.
Brother Kenny, a burly man at the wheel, looked up at the rear-view mirror and answered solemnly, "I will, Father Yorkes."
Then, watching the priest about to step out, he added, "Father Yorkes, shall I request backup?"
"No. In a moment you liaise with the authorities. Tell them no one enters until I come out."
With that, York opened the door and stepped straight into the rain.
By coincidence, the downpour was already easing to a drizzle.
He raised his eyes to a forty-floor apartment tower, every window dark.
The Reed Apartment Building stood right at the fork of two roads, obviously old.
Because of its age the whole block looked run-down; in the rain it was deserted, an oppressive silence spreading.
Scattered lights from nearby buildings flickered as if nothing were amiss.
Remembering the mission requirements, York walked to the rear, popped the trunk, and lifted out the equipment he had already chosen: rotary launcher, revolver, Holy Hand Grenades, Bluetooth speakers.
In moments he was belted with ammo, a small pack of speakers on his back, the rotary grenade gun in hand, walking unhurried toward the Reed building in the darkness.
To Kenny and Irene watching from the car, his silhouette looked towering until it vanished into the dark.
Kenny glanced instinctively at the Novice Nun sitting quietly in the back, then at the side mirror.
Red-and-blue lights flashed as squad cars arrived.
"Stay here," he told Irene.
"I'll coordinate with them."
"All right." She nodded.
Kenny stepped out and walked toward the parked cruisers, leaving her sight.
Irene exhaled, looked at the building swallowed by darkness, closed her eyes, and clasped her hands. "Lord, please protect Father Yorkes."
York, of course, couldn't hear her; he had already reached the main entrance.
He looked up, as if hearing movement above, then kicked the locked door.
A bang—
The door flew inward.
Face expressionless, he pulled a phone from the pouch, opened the Bluetooth app, hit play, and walked inside.
[…]
[…]
Passages of prayer recited from the pouch like a beacon, luring the demons…