Chapter 388: The Midnight Calls
When people witnessed Jesus "returning from the dead," they went mad with devotion, believing they had witnessed a miracle. That was how the worship of Jesus first spread.
But in the modern world, stories of people seemingly coming back from the dead were no longer unheard of.
A quick look at modern medical oddities or bizarre survival cases would show examples of people reviving after being declared dead—even after being sealed in coffins or buried underground.
If every case of "resurrection" meant someone was Jesus, then there would be far too many gods in this world.
Frank sometimes suspected that the historical Jesus might have experienced something similar.
The difference was that Jesus had been clever enough to turn it into a religion.
And in the beginning, people didn't worship him out of pure faith.
What they truly desired was the power over death itself.
Eternal life.
Resurrection.
Salvation.
Whether in the Bible or the Gospels, there were countless passages saying that as long as people believed in Jesus and confessed their sins, they would be saved and reborn.
No matter the civilization or era, humanity's obsession with immortality had always remained the same.
The Egyptian pharaohs sought eternal life.
The Norse dreamed of Valhalla.
Everyone feared death.
Which made Frank wonder:
If a religion that sounded so eerily similar to a cult or pyramid scheme truly existed… then what kind of being was the "God" behind it?
As the saying went:
"If the upper beam isn't straight, the lower beams will warp as well."
So Frank did believe God might genuinely exist.
But whether that God was truly benevolent?
He had his doubts.
Of course, these were thoughts he only dared keep buried deep inside.
People said God was omniscient and omnipotent.
If he ever actually met the real thing someday, wouldn't it be awkward if God already knew every irreverent thought he'd ever had?
"May God protect you."
Those had been Gretta's final words before they left.
"If believing in God actually solved problems," Dean grumbled from the driver's seat, "people like us hunters wouldn't even need to exist."
"She definitely knows more than she's telling us," Sam said.
"We should regroup with Officer Hobbes first," Frank suggested. "Then go over everything we've learned."
It was already dark by the time Hobbes finally arrived.
"There's been another body," he said tiredly as he entered the room. "Victim died a few days ago."
The creature still hadn't stopped.
It continued killing openly and brazenly.
And for the moment, Frank and the others still had no way to stop it.
The group spread out all the evidence they had gathered:
The clues Hobbes uncovered at the police station.
The information Frank and the others learned from Gretta Milano.
Everything was laid out together.
"Do you remember when I mentioned those strange phone calls I'd been getting late at night?" Hobbes asked.
"The silent calls?"
"Yeah," Dean nodded.
"The police got the victims' phone records from the telephone company," Hobbes continued. "Every time a murder happened, a call was placed from the victim's home."
"And the timestamps almost perfectly matched the estimated times of death."
Dean leaned back slightly.
"Let me guess," he said grimly. "The creature was calling you."
Hobbes nodded slowly.
"Yeah."
"After every murder… that thing calls me."
His expression darkened with suppressed anger.
"Like it's deliberately reminding me."
Officer Hobbes' revelation only further confirmed one thing:
The creature's true target was him.
But strangely enough, the monster didn't seem interested in killing Hobbes immediately.
In fact, if it truly wanted him dead, it could have done so long ago.
There were countless opportunities.
All it had to do was possess a police officer, walk right up to Hobbes in broad daylight, and put a bullet in his head.
Simple.
But the creature never chose that route.
Instead, it continued provoking him in this twisted, theatrical way.
Just as Frank had guessed, the creature wasn't merely hunting Hobbes.
It was entertaining itself.
Playing a game of cat and mouse with him.
The only problem was—
No one knew which of them was actually the cat.
"We got some good news on our side too," Dean said. "Gretta gave us the location of the cabin in the mountains. Tomorrow we can check it out and see if that dead cop left anything behind."
"Still no result from the linguist?" Sam asked while typing on his laptop.
"I called him earlier," Hobbes replied, shaking his head. "He said he's close, but not done yet."
The group continued discussing the case for a while longer before ordering some takeout for dinner.
"You should get some rest," Frank said while looking at Hobbes' exhausted face. "You haven't slept properly in days, have you?"
After sending his family away, Hobbes had moved into the hotel with them so Dean and Sam could keep an eye on him.
To make things easier, they rented one large room that could accommodate all four men.
Though, honestly, three out of the four were practically broke.
Dean and Sam came from a family of hunters, but hunting monsters didn't exactly come with a paycheck.
And people still needed to eat.
Not to mention the gas money required to drive across the country chasing supernatural cases.
Their usual method of getting cash was simple:
Credit card fraud.
Not their own cards, of course.
In America and Europe, credit cards were everywhere. Nearly everyone had one, and people were used to living off borrowed money—buy now, pay later.
Which also meant the system had plenty of loopholes.
Still, Dean and Sam never dared steal too much.
A few dozen dollars here.
A few hundred there.
Small enough that nobody would bother investigating.
But if they suddenly charged thousands of dollars, the police would start paying attention, and the risk wouldn't be worth it.
So the brothers usually lived frugally—cheap fast food, rundown motels, and long nights sleeping in the car.
As for Hobbes, despite being a police officer with a respectable job, his salary wasn't anything impressive.
Especially since he wasn't the type to take bribes or dirty money.
Which meant that among the four men in the room, only Frank could really be considered financially comfortable.
So naturally, Frank ended up paying for the hotel and most of their expenses.
Honestly, Frank strongly suspected that John had given Hobbes his number mainly because he wanted someone to financially rescue his two perpetually broke sons.
That night, everyone slept deeply.
Then suddenly—
Ring! Ring! Ring!
A cellphone abruptly rang in the middle of the night.
Everyone jolted awake instantly.
"It's mine!" Hobbes said, immediately sitting upright and grabbing his phone.
For someone in his profession, getting calls in the middle of the night was completely normal.
Doctors.
Firefighters.
Police officers.
People like them didn't really have "off hours."
If something serious happened, one phone call was enough to drag them back to work.
Hobbes was about to answer when Dean suddenly reached out and stopped him.
"Wait," Dean said quietly. "Put it on speaker."
"Huh… right." Hobbes froze for a second before realizing what Dean meant.
He nodded.
Then answered the call with speakerphone enabled.
"Hello?"
"…"
Silence.
No voice.
No breathing.
Nothing at all.
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