The air in the Brenner apartment vibrated with thick energy, the echo of the rattling from the Man Who Can't Breathe still resonating through the walls as Quinn lay unconscious on her bed, fighting in "The Other Side." Elise Rainier, her trembling but steady hands holding Lillith's letter, recited words filled with hope and urgency. Cassian, standing beside the bed, cut his palm with the ceremonial dagger, letting blood drip to the floor as he recited in Latin: "Per sanguum meum et per virtutem Crucis, sigilla hunc daemonium in inferno, Domine meus!" Sean, Specs, and Tucker held Quinn's hands, their pale faces reflecting the tension of the moment.
In the spiritual plane, Lillith, a radiant and serene figure, confronted the demon alongside Quinn. The letter, amplified by Cassian's prayer, gave strength to the mother, who struck the Man Who Can't Breathe, his oxygen mask shattering as he roared in agony. Quinn, with a silent scream, tore her soul from the entity's grasp, and Lillith pushed it into a dark abyss. Cassian, in the physical world, raised the dagger skyward, his voice thundering like a storm: "Exi nunc, spiritus nefastus, et in aeternum damna!" A freezing wind burst into the room, extinguishing the candles, and the demon was sealed back into hell, its rattling silenced at last.
Quinn opened her eyes with a gasp, her ragged breathing filling the silence. Sean rushed to her, embracing her with tears in his eyes.
"Quinn! Oh God, you're okay. You're here, my girl. What happened? Where were you?"
Quinn, weak but conscious, hugged him back, her voice trembling.
"I was… I was with Mom. She came for me, Dad. She saved me from that thing. She said she'll always be with me, even if I can't see her. I felt her—she was so close."
Elise, exhausted, collapsed into a chair, looking at Cassian with awe.
"You did it. You sealed that monster. I've never seen anything like it, Cassian. How do you do it? How do you stay so calm while hell itself comes crashing down on you?"
Cassian cleaned the dagger with a cloth, his face as serene as ever.
"It's not calmness, Elise. It's discipline. I've been trained for this since I was a child. Fear doesn't touch me because I don't let it in. But you did it too. Without that letter, without your strength, Quinn wouldn't be here."
Specs, adjusting his glasses, approached with a nervous smile.
"Hey, that was incredible. Do you think we could work with you sometime, Cassian? You and Elise are like… I don't know, the Avengers of the afterlife. Tucker and I could record everything, make a documentary."
Tucker nodded enthusiastically, holding his camera.
"Sure, Specs. Imagine the title: 'Live Exorcisms with Cassian and Elise.' It'd be a hit. What do you say, Elise? Can we officially join?"
Elise chuckled softly, shaking her head.
"You two are crazy. But I guess I can't get rid of you now. Yes, you can join. Someone has to handle the cameras while I fight demons. Cassian, what do you think of these two?"
Cassian looked at them with cold but not hostile eyes.
"They're clumsy, but brave. If they learn not to get in the way, they might be useful. But Elise, before I leave, there's something you should know. I felt another presence in there—the Bride in Black. She wasn't with Quinn's demon; it was something separate. If you encounter her again, don't hesitate to call me. I'll be wherever the Vatican needs me, but my number is yours."
Elise looked at him with gratitude, nodding slowly.
"The Bride in Black… yes, I felt her too. It's an old problem, one I haven't solved. Thank you, Cassian. If I need you, I'll call. You're unlike anyone I've ever met. Where are you going now?"
Cassian sheathed the dagger, adjusting his bag over his shoulder.
"I don't know yet. The road finds me. Sean, Quinn, take care. If anything comes back, my number is with you too. May God keep you."
Sean, still holding Quinn, looked at him with a mix of relief and amazement.
"Thank you, Cassian. I don't know how to repay you for this. I thought you were crazy at first, but… you saved my daughter. If you ever need anything, we're here."
Quinn looked up, her voice soft but firm.
"Yes, thank you. I don't know how you did it, but I felt your strength even in there. You're… amazing. I won't forget you."
Cassian inclined his head slightly, his tone serene but warm.
"You don't need to repay me. You're alive, and that's enough. Rest now."
Without another word, he left the apartment, leaving behind a family relieved but forever marked by terror. Hours later, he was in a café on the outskirts of town, dressed in an impeccable black shirt and polished boots, his crucifix gleaming under the midday light. He ordered coffee and sat by the window, watching the world pass by as a TV in the corner broadcast the news.
The presenter, Monica Brown, spoke in a grave tone:
"We're joined by Victoria Heyes, the sole survivor of a massacre last Halloween. Victoria, tell us what happened that night and why you insist that the killer, known as 'Art the Clown,' is dead, despite his body disappearing from the morgue."
The camera focused on a terribly disfigured woman, her face scarred and her voice trembling.
"I saw him die. I saw it with my own eyes. That clown… he cut me, he destroyed me, but someone stopped him. I don't know how he disappeared afterward, but I swear he was dead. I don't understand how he could be alive."
Monica Brown frowned, looking at the camera.
"A strange and disturbing case. Authorities are still investigating the disappearance of Art the Clown's body. A morgue error or something more sinister? We'll keep you updated."
Cassian took a sip of his coffee, his mind working silently.
"Curious," he murmured to himself. "A body that rises, a killer who doesn't die easily. It smells like something I know. But no sulfur in the news… yet."
Before he could delve deeper, his phone vibrated on the table. A message from Daniel Hargrove appeared on the screen:
"Cassian, new case. Urgent. I need you in North Carolina. Details on the way. Move fast."
Cassian put away his phone, leaving a few bills next to the empty cup. He stood up, his face impassive but his eyes gleaming with purpose. The coffee was left behind, along with the echo of Victoria Heyes on the television. Art the Clown could wait; the road was calling him again, and he was ready to answer.