Father Richard was in quite a hurry while rushing downstairs. So was I. I could see a satisfactory relief on his face. It has been his desire for years to solve the mystery.
I could see the yearning in his eyes for his long-lost brother. The thought of coming closer to such a huge victory after all these years had filled his heart with perpetual happiness and excitement. I wasn't looking at Richard Griffin, a respected Catholic priest of the Saint Lawrence Cathedral; but at a man who had lost his brother – killed by an entity about which he had been researching for years.
And now the truth was before him and he seemed damn intended to breach any limits to yield his dead brother and all the victims of the Warwick's mansion the justice they deserved. To put forward the fact that what they did wasn't only a suicide; but a brutal, cold-blooded assisted murder.
But who would believe it? The world seeks for truth; but before that – the evidence behind it. And what was the evidence with them? Only a dream and an antique coin, which can go for thousands of dollars in the market. Who would believe it?
But none of them mattered. We weren't there to prove any point to the public but to prove to ourselves that what we had been searching for wasn't any dark fantasy or a nightmare; but a nasty, horrible truth. We had to finish it. We were so close.
If we fail then many more Larrys will jump to their altered fate!
As we got to the nave, Father Richard rushed across the width of the building and then asked me to follow him to the small counter by the transept. There was a middle-aged, skinny woman seated there, before a moving table fan, who was yawning and drooling. She gave me a repulsive look.
'Hey Stacy!', Father Richard called out to her.
'Yes, Father?', she responded, sitting upright and trying to evade her sleep.
'Hey Stacy, you have the documents and details of all the Head Priests, right?'
She stood up and pondered. 'I guess so. I have files of many priests'. She looked at me. 'But we can't make them public, you know that, right?'
Father Richard glanced back at me and then at her. 'Don't you worry, dear. He's a relative. Wants some deets about the preaching of us. I provided him with mine. Need some more information. Research field you know'
The woman again glanced at me. I tried to return back a smile but eventually it turned out to be a suppressed grin. Again, a repulsive look. She nodded.
'These guys just think it's their dad's property. People like you! What's this research all about?'. She asked.
Not finding any way to divert, I said, 'Um... History of Reynburg and its imposing Church is its title. The—'
'Hm hm, got it', she interrupted. She looked irked. 'Anyways, of whom do you want?', she asked Father Richard.
'Ah, of Father Dominic Frank. He was such an inspiration, you know'
'Mr. Frank. Yes yes. Have come across words that he was a talented one and...'. She looked at me mockingly. '... A brilliant exorcist!'
'Yeah, now can you please provide me with his documents?'. She shook her head. 'Why? What's the problem?', he asked, surprised.
'The problem is that there's no written document by him'
'What?!', both of us yelled out.
'Yes. Actually his works were quite controversial. He had his bunch of haters too. He never wrote anything publicly like a diary or somethin'; nor any public documents. And if there was any... well, they must have been arsoned alongwith with his old villa'
Our faces got wan.
'But—', she continued. We shifted our gaze to her. 'I have some case files of his, written by other priests or columnists. I can give them to you'
It was highly unlikely there would be something in them. We were searching for a way to destroy the ghost and it could never be in any official document lest it were personal. Still, we asked her for those.
Miss Stacy got us two large piles of files and articles related to Father Frank from a small room by the altar. Father Richard and I got them onto a nearby table, got seated by it, and started searching for something related to the Warwicks desperately.
Such a big case. Please. Please Lord!
We went through all the files thoroughly for two hours but we couldn't find anything. Those were files by different priests on his important cases and his life as a priest. There were mentions about his steps against blasphemy and how he used to promote Christianity around Reynburg. While he was truly like a father for the local Christians, he was an unendurable personality in the eyes of the Atheists. His exorcism techniques were an inspiration for all the young priests and he had quite a name about it.
Of course, why write of a failure or even make known?
His last days had been miserable. He couldn't hold much sermons and preaching. His body started wilting rapidly. Reports say that he was eventually diagnosed with pneumonia though rumors were spread that it was the souls he had done wrong to, in the name of exorcism and purgatory.
And when he died, his house was set on fire by the blasphemes. All his belongings and works were burned down to the soil and the land has been confiscated by the State since then.
Both of us leaned back on our chairs. Father was squeezing his temples with a grimace. 'Now what?', I asked.
'What?'
'What can we do now?'
'I don't know. What I know is that we must find a cure for this plague else it will get you for sure. One way or the other. No matter how hard you try to fend it off'. I swallowed dryly and got up, getting together the files. Father Richard helped me in the process.
After we stacked them all, we carried them back to the counter. Father Richard thanked Miss Stacy for her help.
'You're welcome, Father. Anytime', she replied back.
'Hey, by the way, do you know anything about that old mansion along the Markey Street? The Warwick's?'
'Ah! That! Have also heard a lot about it. Haven't even ever passed by it though'. She chuckled. '"The Imposing Monster" is what the people 'round there say, right?'.
'Oh yes, Stacy. Thank you. Meet you tomorrow'.
As we turned back, I started trying to dig into my brains.