Chapter 114: Found
"Demons have a strong sense of possession. You were offered as sacrifices, and in the demon's mind, you already belong to it. It won't let its possessions escape," John explained.
"But I've already escaped, and I've cleared all tracking devices. They wouldn't go through all that trouble to find me, right?" Frank said, clinging to a sliver of hope.
The chance of finding Frank in a vast place like New York seemed slim, akin to finding a needle in a haystack.
Surely, they wouldn't launch a city-wide manhunt for him, an ordinary civilian. Besides, this was New York, where wealthier people than Joseph, the nouveau riche billionaire, were abundant.
"You've been marked by the demon. No matter where you hide, it will find you," John dashed Frank's hope.
Gulping, Frank couldn't help but swallow hard.
"What should I do? Is there a way to hide from the demon's tracking?" Frank asked.
"There are charms that can hide you from a demon's sight. You can tattoo one onto your skin," John suggested.
"That's great! Send it to me via fax!" Frank exclaimed with relief.
"Alright," John agreed.
"Oh, and is there a way to kill a demon, like the way we killed that shapeshifter?" Frank asked, recalling a crucial detail.
"Demons can't be killed, only banished with spells, and holy water can burn them," John explained.
Frank jotted down John's advice carefully.
"Besides the demon, beware of hellhounds," John warned.
"Hellhounds?" Frank thought of the legendary three-headed dog.
"Deal-making demons keep hellhounds. When a deal ends, the demon won't collect the soul; it sends hellhounds to devour the dealer," John continued.
"Can the church help?" Frank asked, an idea striking him.
The church and demons are sworn enemies, with priests performing exorcisms on possessed individuals, as widely publicized.
"If you find a cardinal-level priest, maybe. But ordinary priests might not even believe demons exist," John said.
"I'm in Florida and can't help you directly. I don't know any hunters in New York, but I'll contact friends to see if they can find someone to assist you. Take care," John concluded.
"Thanks," Frank said gratefully.
After discussing Officer Eddie with John, Frank hung up.
"Hope I'm not too late," Frank thought, looking at the faxed images—a charm and a demon trap.
"Henry, do you have any cash? I can trade this for it," Frank said, showing a jewel.
Henry hesitated, recognizing the jewel's obvious value. He'd seen Frank get mugged and kicked from the van, yet Frank still had such a treasure. But he didn't pry further.
"Something this valuable, I can't afford. Here's some cash; take it," Henry offered.
Without hesitation, Frank took the money and left Old Man's Barbershop, knowing time was of the essence.
In hindsight, Frank regretted not contacting John sooner, having wasted time chatting and playing chess with Henry.
Frank had let his guard down, feeling prematurely safe. Had he called John immediately, the urgency might have been avoided.
Thankfully, contacting John revealed he was still in danger, hunted by a creature far more terrifying than the shapeshifter.
"Please tattoo this design on me," Frank instructed, entering a tattoo shop, holding a bag.
"Huh? Oh, we have different price tiers," the shop owner said, surprised by an older man's request for a tattoo but prepared to assist nonetheless.
Prices varied between seasoned artists and apprentices.
"Take all this!" Frank interrupted, slapping the remaining money onto the counter.
"Where do you want it?" the tattoo artist asked.
"On my arm," Frank said, rolling up his sleeve.
As the tattoo artist prepared to work, Frank noticed a familiar car parked outside. The driver, on the phone, stepped out.
"Stop, no tattoo," Frank abruptly stood, startling the artist, who nearly stumbled backward.
Frank crumpled the charm design, tossing it into a corner.
"Mr. Frank," the driver said, pocketing his phone and entering the shop, expressionless.
"Oh, there you are!" Frank greeted warmly, as if seeing a relative.
"I went to Harlem Paradise for you, but you were gone. I was worried, not knowing how to find you. Those thugs mugged me, taking even my clothes, but I met a good Samaritan," Frank explained.
"Uh, I'm sorry, Mr. Frank. It was my oversight," the driver apologized, buying into Frank's story as a misunderstanding.
"No problem, I didn't expect Harlem to be so chaotic," Frank replied graciously.
Chatting, they left the shop and drove away.
"What just happened?" the tattoo artist wondered, bewildered but pocketing the money Frank left as a consolation.
Sitting in the backseat, Frank watched the scenery pass by, feeling a heaviness settle in his heart.
John was right—marked by the demon, it had found him. Otherwise, the driver wouldn't have located him so accurately.
After this incident, escaping the villa again would likely be impossible.
If your pet hamster escapes often, making you search tirelessly, what would you do? You'd keep it in its cage, never letting it roam freely again.
(End of Chapter)