WITH SEVERE PAIN IN HIS HEAD and back, he became aware of the agitation of several people just inches from his body. The sound of voices blended with the metallic hiss of hospital equipment and the intermittent buzzing of a nearby monitor.
Hurried footsteps, heavy breathing, fragments of sentences cutting through the air.
"He's going to be fine."
That voice... yes, it was familiar. It sounded like Edwald, standing to his left.
Raphaniè's eyelids felt glued shut, heavy as lead. The light that pierced through the small opening of his right eye struck him like a blade. He forced himself to squint, trying to widen his field of vision, and the blurred colors slowly began to take shape: shadows, faces, white uniforms, the gleam of metallic instruments.
As his mind struggled to decipher the scene, the priest recognized his host, another priest from the community, and a man in a lab coat — the doctor. There was also a fourth person, standing motionless, observing in silence, tension weighing heavily in his gaze.
That face... it wasn't unfamiliar...
The man I crossed paths with in the hallway earlier...
— Who are you? — he asked weakly, almost whispering.
— He saved your life — Edwald hurried to explain, stepping closer to the bedside.
— My name is Gregory Evans — the stranger replied firmly, his deep voice calm and controlled.
— Gregory... like Pope Gregory... — the exorcist murmured, his thoughts still sluggish.
The doctor glanced down at the papers on his clipboard.
— You're admitted to Chelsea and Farminster Hospital. You need rest, Father Marin. Tomorrow we'll run more tests. No rushing things.
— I don't have time for this... — the priest protested, attempting to sit up, only to be struck by a sharp pain shooting through the back of his neck.
— You'll have all the time in the world — the doctor insisted with professional patience — at least until we're certain you're out of danger.
— What happened to me? — he asked, his throat dry.
Greg stepped forward without hesitation.
— Someone tried to kill you.
The priest nodded slowly, a flicker of resignation crossing his eyes.
— The important thing — Gregory Evans continued — is that you're alive and out of danger, at least for now.
— Nothing too serious — the doctor added. — Just a deep cut above your left eyebrow. Eight stitches. But we still need to perform a CT scan to rule out a clot. Until then, unfortunately, I can't discharge you.
— Do you know who attacked you, Father? — Greg asked.
— I've been receiving threats since the moment I set foot in London — Raphaniè replied, his gaze fixed ahead. — I don't know who you are, but I suspect you have more answers than I do.
Greg took a deep breath.
— Would you mind leaving us alone for a moment? — he asked the others.
The doctor hesitated.
— Remember, he's under medical care. Avoid unnecessary stress.
— Don't worry, Doctor. Just a friendly conversation — Greg assured him.
AS SOON AS THE THREE OF THEM left the room, Gregory Evans stepped closer. His tone changed completely now — cold, direct, like an agent accustomed to operating in the shadows.
— Raphaniè, like you, I'm in London on a classified mission...
The priest interrupted him irritably.
— Who told you why I came here?
— That's part of my secret — Greg replied — and part of my mission.
— Are you following me too?
— Protecting you is part of my assignment — he answered impassively.
— Do you work for British Intelligence? — the priest pressed.
— Not officially. I have friends there, but my ties are... more complicated.
— Then you work for the Church?
— It doesn't matter who I work for, Father, although I know you're familiar with my brother, Cardinal Stuart Evans. What matters is that our goals align. You want to complete your mission, and I want to complete mine. If you listen to me, we'll both survive. If you don't, that maniac will finish what he started.
Silence settled heavily over the room, because the moment he mentioned that name, the face of Cardinal Evans seemed to replace his own.
— Let's suppose I agree with you — the exorcist finally said. — What should I do?
— Tomorrow you'll buy a ticket back to Rome — Greg explained. — You'll send Saul an email saying the mission has been aborted, and you'll use your phone and laptop to do it.
— You're insane! — the priest exploded, and the shout immediately sent a stabbing pain through his skull.
— What's insane is continuing the way you are, because the man hunting you is far smarter than you imagine, and he needs to believe you abandoned this mission.
— I'm not giving up!
— I know you're not, damn it, now can you listen without interrupting me? — Greg snapped, lowering his voice. — And that's exactly why you're going to deceive him. He'll think you ran away while you continue working... invisible.
Raphaniè nodded slowly.
— You'll have another address, another phone, another laptop — Greg added.
— Why?
— Because your devices are compromised. He listens to your calls and monitors everything you access and do here in London.
— Then he knows everything I researched?
— Technology performs miracles, Father. Sometimes miracles from hell.
— I can't cut off communication with Saul — he insisted.
— I'll handle that myself. Once everything is secure, I'll reconnect you with him.
Exhaustion overcame him. The pain intensified, and his body cried out for rest. Raphaniè closed his eyes and breathed deeply.
— We'll meet tomorrow... — Greg murmured as he stepped away.
God had given him a second chance.
IF GREGORY EVANS HADN'T appeared, he would probably be dead — answering for his sins, perhaps in Purgatory... or maybe in the eternal flames.
You must forgive yourself first... Only then will you feel my forgiveness...
The memory echoed vividly, like a voice from deep within him, because without divine forgiveness, his fate would be far darker. He shuddered at the thought of hellfire welcoming him, not as a penitent soul, but as an eternal prisoner beside his worst enemy.
THE KICK HAD BEEN VICIOUS. Pain radiated through his arm, his right hand swollen and throbbing, but his opponent had suffered worse. The man had collapsed to his knees, a deep gash in his calf pouring blood.
And best of all: he had left the priest literally in Greg's hands.
Greg smiled faintly.
Now he had Raphaniè under his control.
He could guide him, manipulate him, use him.
And he would do it masterfully.
He would stand guard outside the room at Chelsea and Farminster Hospital until the priest was discharged, because he knew too many stories about convenient "accidents" inside hospitals.
And he had no intention of becoming the next name on a list of silent victims.
His enemy was different — too fast, too cold. Either he possessed supernatural speed... or he was capable of bending time itself.
And most disturbing of all: he seemed immune to pain.
GREG TRACKED SAUL THROUGH the tablet. The signal from the black Tesla blinked in Chelsea.
His phone vibrated.
— Someone spat on the host — he answered in code.
"... Who committed the sacrilege?..." Faradday asked, his icy voice echoing from the other side of the line.
— The same young man from the restaurant.
"... At least you're safe now..."
— For now, yes — Greg replied cautiously.
"... Now you know I wasn't bluffing..."
— You certainly weren't — he confirmed.
"... What's the next move?..."
— Tomorrow he'll cast aside the cassock.
"... Excellent. Place him near the temple of the goddess..."
— The reservation has already been made.
"... And remember: he cannot lose contact with his soulmate..."
— Understood. I'll play cupid.
"... Until next time, Agent Evans..."
Greg ended the call, his brow furrowed. Faradday's words echoed with double meaning.
"Host" and "sanctuary" — coded references to Father Raphaniè Marin.
The enemy: LaVey, the Bastard.
But "the goddess"...
That disturbed him more than any order.
Deep down, he knew the game was only beginning.
And this time, the board itself was sacred.