Chapter 133 — A New Discovery
After careful questioning, the group finally pieced together what Jess meant—
it wasn't that the sunflowers were dying, but that they had completely stopped growing.
Almost overnight, every stalk across the field had frozen in place.
None of them withered, but none grew either—
as though time itself had been drained from the soil.
Jess's father, Roy, had tried planting other crops afterward—corn, wheat, even beans—
but no matter the type or growth cycle, none of the seeds ever sprouted.
It was as if the land's very ability to give life had been stripped away.
Jess also mentioned another strange thing:
the flocks of crows that used to perch around the house had vanished completely.
Gideon frowned. In the original "case," the crows had been a manifestation of the evil presence,
drawn to the dark power that surrounded the farm.
He raised his binoculars and scanned the horizon—
not a single bird in sight.
The air itself felt unnaturally still.
"This started… after that night you mentioned?" he asked, rubbing his chin thoughtfully.
Jess shook her head.
"No. It happened about a week later."
That wasn't quite the confirmation Gideon was hoping for,
but it was still an important clue — the timing meant the haunting was spreading, not waning.
---
A sharp "beep-beep" of a car horn suddenly broke the silence.
Everyone turned to see a pickup truck pulling up the dirt road.
Three people climbed out: Jess's parents, Roy and Denise Solomon, and a bearded man built like a brick wall — John Burwell, the farm's hired caretaker.
Gideon's eyes narrowed slightly.
Burwell — the same name as the previous owner in the original case.
In that story, John Burwell had once lived in this very house.
Like Roy, he'd tried to start anew by planting sunflowers, hoping the land would bless him with a fresh beginning.
But the crops had failed miserably.
Year after year, the fields yielded nothing.
The loss drove John to despair.
His wife, Mary, blamed him for their misfortune and made plans to take their son and leave.
And then—
something inside John snapped.
Under the crushing weight of guilt and rage, he murdered his wife and daughter.
Afterward, he disappeared without a trace.
Now, standing before them, the man's expression was calm, even mild.
To Gideon's trained eye, it was clear: the memories of that crime had been buried deep.
He hadn't yet regained the fragments of his past.
---
Meanwhile, Roy had noticed the strangers at his doorstep.
Three priests — one of them walking alongside his daughter.
His instincts immediately tensed.
"Can I help you gentlemen?" he asked, his tone polite but guarded.
He beckoned Jess over, protective.
Gideon smiled disarmingly. "Of course, sir. We're here from the church. I just wondered if you'd be interested in joining our local congregation."
He even pulled a small, neatly folded pamphlet from his bag and handed it over.
Roy blinked, caught off guard.
Realizing they were just church representatives doing outreach, his shoulders eased slightly.
"I appreciate it," he said awkwardly, forcing a small smile.
"But I'm afraid we're not looking to join right now."
He had bigger worries.
The fields weren't producing, and if he couldn't fix the problem soon…
All the months of work, the debt, the hope of rebuilding their lives —
it would all collapse.
The sunflowers were supposed to be their rebirth,
his chance to prove he could take care of his family again.
If the harvest failed,
there would be nothing left but ruin.
Roy didn't even want to imagine that outcome.
All Roy could do now was pray — silently, desperately — to his father.
The old man had once built a fortune growing sunflowers in nearby Trac County,
and that success had allowed Roy to move his own family to the city years ago.
"Mr. Solomon," said Father Gideon suddenly, shifting the topic,
"this year's rainfall seems decent. Do you think it'll be a good harvest?"
Hearing someone mention the very thing that plagued his thoughts,
Roy exhaled a long, weary sigh. "Let's hope so."
Months ago, he would have answered with confidence.
But now…
"Are the other farms around here doing any better?" Gideon pressed gently.
Roy shrugged. "Average soil, but at least they're producing something."
He'd already checked with several neighboring farms.
Every one of them was harvesting fine — only his land remained barren.
That realization weighed on him like lead.
"I see. Well, may the Lord bless you with a fruitful season."
Gideon traced the sign of the cross over his chest and smiled politely.
"We won't trouble you further."
Roy nodded stiffly and turned back toward his fields.
---
Inside the car, as they drove away, Zal frowned.
"So… we're just leaving? We didn't even use the holy relics."
The other students looked equally puzzled.
Gideon, calm as ever, replied evenly,
"I suspect that the Bound Spirit we were sent to deal with has already been destroyed."
That stunned all three academy students.
"What makes you think that?" Bente asked. "Jess said strange things are still happening."
Gideon didn't answer directly.
"We'll know once we reach the town."
---
A short drive later, they arrived in the nearest settlement —
a quiet roadside town with more silos than people.
Gideon parked outside an agricultural supply store, the sign faded by decades of sun.
A small brass bell jingled as he pushed open the door.
"Good afternoon, Fathers," said the storekeeper behind the counter,
a heavyset man with a graying mustache. "Need help with something?"
"Yes," Gideon said, smiling pleasantly.
"I heard you're the most knowledgeable man in town when it comes to the local farmland.
I have a few questions."
As he spoke, Gideon slid a folded green bill across the counter with a discreet motion.
The man squinted — then his eyes widened as he recognized what lay there.
"Well, Father, you flatter me," he said, voice suddenly cooperative.
"I'd be happy to enlighten you."
Behind him, Bente and Zal exchanged a look.
They'd never seen a priest bribe anyone before.
Silas, however, was intrigued — studying every movement,
every inflection of Gideon's voice, as if taking notes on divine social engineering.
Even Judy watched closely, though she didn't quite understand why.
But she remembered what Father Gideon always told her:
"When you don't understand something, just do as I do first. Understanding comes later."
---
Gideon unfolded a regional map on the counter and pointed.
"How have the harvests been around this area in recent years?"
The shopkeeper, Gregory, leaned forward.
"Oh, this patch here?" He tapped the map. "Not great — soil's dry — but at least it yields something."
Gideon's finger slid across the paper to another spot —
the Solomons' farm.
"And what about here?"
Gregory's expression darkened instantly.
"Oh, you don't want to plant anything there." He shook his head vigorously.
"That land's been cursed. Nothing grows there anymore."
Gideon raised an eyebrow. "Cursed? Why's that?"
"Someone tried sunflowers there years ago," Gregory said,
"but the crops rotted before harvest. People say it's land abandoned by God."
That last phrase made the three academy students stiffen.
The phrasing — 'abandoned by God' — had weight in exorcist doctrine.
It also fit perfectly with what Jess had said earlier.
Her father once believed he'd found a "lucky piece of land,"
boasting that the seedlings had sprouted stronger than anywhere else —
until they suddenly stopped growing overnight.
Gideon rubbed his chin thoughtfully.
"And who was the original owner of that farmland?"
"Let me think…" Gregory's eyes drifted upward in recollection.
"I've been here thirty years. The earliest sale I remember was through Belton Bank.
The agent back then was a fellow named Carlby Price. Still alive, last I heard!"
"Where might I find this Mr. Price?" Gideon asked.
Gregory motioned out the window.
"Across the street, corner building — Belton Bank.
Better hurry, though. Those lazy bastards close shop before sundown.
I've wasted more afternoons chasing their hours!"
His complaint ended in a huff of anti-capitalist indignation.
Gideon thanked him, and the group crossed the street to the small local bank.
Only a few employees remained, already packing up for the day.
Gideon approached one of them.
"Excuse me — could you tell me where I might find Mr. Carlby Price?"
The clerk glanced at his watch.
"Old Carlby? Yeah, saw him head into the restroom about half an hour ago."
Gideon nodded and followed the direction the man indicated.
---
Inside the restroom…
Carlby Price sat hunched on the toilet, trembling.
His eyes had rolled back completely, and his limbs were twisted at unnatural angles.
"God… please… just give me… one more chance…"
The words came out broken, wet.
Saliva dripped from his chin, his face contorted as if something inside was crushing him.
His arms had bent backward at an impossible curve.
Every muscle in his face spasmed violently.
And then—
BANG!
The restroom door was kicked open from outside.