Chapter 22

The sun was setting as I walked down the shaded streets of the sleepy Seattle suburb, stepping off the bus and leaving behind the noise of the city. All around me were neatly trimmed lawns, white picket fences, and children playing in the street over the sound of their parents' laughter as they tended to backyard barbecues. It was a perfect picture of a life I could only dream about from behind alleyways and dark corners – a world I could never truly have experienced, given my fate.

A part of me felt deeply envious as I strolled past these idyllic homes, knowing that my entire life was spent running from the law. The sad irony of it was that the very people protecting these neighborhoods from harm had once hunted me like a wild animal, forcing me into the shadows. Instead of a moonlit rendezvous or a first dance, my memories were filled with the echoes of sirens and gunfire.

My thoughts turned to Bill as I walked along, remembering our parting moment. The man's eyes had glistened with unshed tears, evidence of a guarded vulnerability reserved for moments like these. It had been genuinely difficult for both of us, acknowledging each other as allies for the first time. My concern for him had grown with every passing day, his reliable predisposition toward keeping justice slowly waning as alcohol poisoned his systems and mind. After all those years, the reality of my innocence had left him with debilitating guilt and a sense of betrayal, one that had gnawed at his very soul. It was a burden that wrenched my heart, even more so when I had to walk away without being able to offer a solution.

As I continued to navigate the winding path before me, the spire of a small Catholic church peeked out above the leafy treetops, casting beautiful hues of light as it reflected the setting sun.

I crossed the road and approached the wide-open doors of the church, feeling a bit of trepidation.

As I entered the church, I was struck with a sense of awe - the quiet serenity, the light streaming through the beautifully vibrant stained glass windows, lending an almost heavenly atmosphere inside. Yet, amidst that serenity, I felt a strange unease. The priest I had come to meet was a contact I had corresponded with over the years; his knowledge on the Prowler and its origins was potentially vast, but his reluctance to reveal himself had long left me in the dark, uncertain of his motives and intentions.

He had been reluctant to betray the Order of St. Jean Chastel.

The real Jean Chastel was a Frenchman who, in 1767, was widely believed to have killed a supernatural beast known as the Beast of Gévaudan, a monstrous wolf-like creature with an unquenchable thirst for human blood. The true nature of this creature is a mystery, but one thing is for certain: Chastel had hunted and slain it.

Through a mingled history of fact and legend, Jean Chastel's legacy grew more bizarre. Some believed that the Beast was a werewolf, others claimed it was an unnatural hybrid born from a union between a demon and a human mother. Of course, all these myths couldn't be taken at face value, but the wildest of these supernatural tales tied Jean Chastel directly to the creature, implying that he, in fact, created the Beast or was himself a supernatural hunter, sworn to defend humanity from the threats that most people could never even fathom.

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Whatever the truth may be, the Order of St. Jean Chastel had persisted over the centuries, safeguarding its secrets and keeping watch over supernatural, or at least unnatural, forces.

Word had reached me that the recent attempt by the Order's leader, Cardinal Werner, to have Father Stryker murdered had caused a significant rift within their ranks. Father Stryker's lifestyle was anything but what one would expect from a man of the cloth. His rampant promiscuity, whoring really, and passion for indulging in excessive drinking had made him a controversial figure within the Order, earning him the disdain of many fellow members.

However, to others, Father Stryker was seen as a hero and a valuable asset. His superhuman physical attributes and the many battles he had fought in the name of the Order made him an untouchable force to be reckoned with. In their eyes, attempting to betray and kill a fellow member like this was an unforgivable act.

My contact, the priest I was here to meet, belonged to the latter camp. His loyalty to Father Stryker outweighed the perceived threat posed by the man's lifestyle. It was this allegiance that had led to the priest's willingness to finally meet me face-to-face and reveal more about the source of the Prowler.

As I stood there in the church, a throbbing headache began to pulse behind my eyes. It had been a long day filled with mounting stress and heartache, and I had neglected to eat as the events unfolded. I rubbed my temples and took a deep breath, feeling lightheaded and fragile.

Across the expansive church, I spotted the door to the sacristy gently swinging open. A shadowed figure stepped into the dim light - the priest I was finally going to meet. He caught my gaze and waved for me to join him before disappearing back through the door.

I hesitated for a moment, strange trepidation washing over me as I considered the potential revelations soon to be unraveled. My headache spiked, but I forced myself forward, steeling my resolve before crossing the church toward the mysterious man who held the secrets to my own darkest hours in the sacristy beyond.

With a deep breath and an uneasy feeling in the pit of my stomach, I stepped across the threshold into the sacristy, the door creaking softly behind me. The room was dimly lit, casting eerie shadows that danced across the walls as the last rays of the sunset filtered in through the stained glass windows.

My eyes darted around the room, searching for the priest I had come to meet. At first, there was no sign of him, only an unsettling silence that seemed to envelop me like a heavy shroud. Then, a chilling sight caught my eye – a pool of dark, crimson liquid that had begun to seep out from behind a curtain.

My heart raced as adrenaline coursed through my veins, the splitting headache that had been plaguing me momentarily forgotten. I hesitantly approached the curtain, my hands trembling as I steeled myself for what I might find.

As I pulled back the heavy fabric, a gut-wrenching sight met my eyes. The priest, his face contorted in a frozen expression of pain and terror, lay lifeless on the ground. His once pristine vestments were now soaked in blood, a grisly array of deep gashes adorning his body as though rendered by a vicious beast. The realization of what I had stumbled upon struck me like a hammer to the chest.

"Oh, shit," I whispered, my voice barely audible as horror and dread threatened to overwhelm me. I knew I needed to leave, to run - but from what? I had no answers yet and my purpose here remained unfulfilled.

As my brain raced to process the gruesome scene before me, I felt the air shift suddenly behind me. Before I could react, an immense force clamped down on my shoulders, powerful and unyielding, like the razor-sharp talons of a predator. The room began to spin and the darkness closed in, as fear and pain consumed me.

And then, there was nothing.