"What happened to Father Federico?"
"Dead, you should know that."
"That's not the question I meant to ask. What is someone so young doing as a priest when his experience lies elsewhere?" The elegant-looking woman seemed hostile toward Jonathan, as if he were guilty of something.
Sensing such negative emotions, Jonathan stepped closer to her and asked: "Do we know each other?"
"Don't you remember?"
"What's your name?" Jonathan didn't lose his patience; he knew this would happen sooner or later.
"Cynthia, I'm a medium who worked alongside Father Federico."
"I can understand the situation a little better now, but I'm afraid that if we share any history before Father Federico's death, I can't remember it." Jonathan looked at Cynthia expressionlessly.
This woman was a medium—there was no need to hide anything from her or search for answers. One way or another, she would understand, so he hoped for her comprehension.
"Are you in charge now?" Cynthia seemed confused, but in this world, anything inexplicable could happen, so she tried to digest that information.
"Only of the supernatural. I spend my time pretending to be a priest while the new father is absent." Jonathan thought of Father Doung, who still hadn't shown up at the church.
"What happened to you all?"
Thinking of the same response he had given to The Healing Church—which, by the way, he didn't trust much—he explained: "I don't remember much. The dark entity we faced was a soul devourer."
"I could handle one, even two at the same time, but three attacked us. I couldn't protect Father Federico, and I couldn't even guarantee my own life. Everything happened so fast. I had to lose in order to win, do you understand? The me of the past died to win that battle, and now I'm a similar but altered version."
The truth was that this explanation was very convincing, especially coming from someone like Jonathan, who could not easily be questioned.
"Sorry, I wasn't aware."
"This lifestyle is exhausting, Cynthia. You, more than anyone, should know that." From the aura this woman emitted, Jonathan knew she had been close to cursed spirits.
"I always keep that in mind. But I have a question—how can you keep moving forward after a part of you has died?" Cynthia noticed how different Jonathan was compared to before, so she asked, genuinely confused.
Jonathan had undergone serious changes after becoming an exorcist, which had slowly stripped away his cowardly instincts.
"I simply exist. Death doesn't define my fears, because to me we never truly die—we just evolve into something else." As he said this, Jonathan observed how the church was being renovated, turned into a spotless white building of The Healing Church, with stylized stained glass and their symbol engraved on every automatic door.
On the surface, they seemed to be humanity's bulwark against the shadows: prevention campaigns, free clinics, speeches about "light" and "purification." Modern society celebrated them as heroes, an almost untouchable institution.
But in his mind, like an echo impossible to silence, persisted the other story: the one he knew in detail, the one that spoke of forbidden transfusions, of beasts engendered by blood, of secrets buried beneath crypts where priests turned into monsters. Was it possible that this same church, which in its origin had built its power upon lies and sacrifice, had redeemed itself in this world?
"They say they face the darkness," Jonathan thought, "but in the story I know, they were the darkness." He saw agents of the Light placing their blind faith in televised sermons, in figures with spotless robes who promised safety.
The question gnawed at him: had they truly changed, or had modernity simply given them a more perfect disguise?
The doubt tormented him. If everything was as before, then every kind gesture was only a veil hiding the same experiments, the same hunger for power disguised as devotion. And if, on the other hand, they really had changed, what did it mean for him to live with memories of a past that might no longer be real?
Jonathan couldn't decide whether he was serving saviors… or the same wolf as always, now dressed in a suit and a white coat.
That was why he would work in silence, follow the rules, and when the time came, he would uncover the truth by his own means.
"You must stop approaching the darkness the way you are. You're putting yourself in danger," Jonathan said, giving Cynthia a serious look, but she didn't take his words seriously.
"If I have problems, I'll contact you," Cynthia said as she prepared to leave; she had resolved her doubts.
Before she left, Jonathan extended his hand and gave her a silver cross. "It's not very powerful, but it will save your life when you're in danger. Remember that humans are the origin of evil, and helping everyone won't help at all."
"Do you think differently now?" Cynthia was upset by the harsh truth.
"You have talent. Focusing on cases that we can resolve would help much more than trying to touch the traumas of people affected in their childhood," Jonathan said, understanding what Cynthia did just by looking at her for a few seconds.
"I help as I can. You should do the same and stop putting yourself in danger."
"That's impossible. For me, it is." Jonathan murmured, looking away from the woman. If she encountered a being she couldn't drive away, then it would be dangerous.
That was why he would prepare containment measures in case she touched the bottomless darkness within people and it awakened something else.