Chapter 17 9-2

In fact, I was who I was and I never tried to lie, so I don't know why he was so angry. "You!" he said with renewed anger.This time he hit my stomach with the damn club so hard that I couldn't help bending over, but luckily I noticed his shot, otherwise it would have been even worse.The moment he hit me with the stick, I clenched my stomach and squeezed my abdominal muscles hard, and since I'd already vomited out the rest of the chicken taco, the only consequence was a burning sensation from my groin to my breastbone Pain, I can laugh it off if I wear knight armor under my civilian clothes.

I pointed my pistol at him and threatened him breathlessly, and it turned out that this man was either a fearless child of God or a madman.Instead he grabbed the club with both hands and jabbed harder at my stomach, but I ducked out of the way, only to have my hair messed up by a rough oak.I had no intention of fighting the priest.The absurdity of this confrontation far outweighs the horror - but it's already so horrific that it makes my heart beat faster and makes me worry about getting a piss stain on Bobby's jeans. "You! It's you!" He said more and more angrily, with a slightly shocked tone. He was both shocked and unbelievable by my appearance.

He swung the club at me again.Even if I don't dodge this time, he can't hit me. He's just a priest after all, not a ninja slayer.Besides, he was an overweight middle-aged man.With the stick he punched a hole in a cardboard box and knocked it from the pile of boxes to the ground.Although he lacks basic knowledge of martial arts and does not have the physique of a powerful warrior, the priest's aggressiveness is not far behind. I couldn't imagine myself shooting him, but I didn't want to watch myself being clubbed to death either.I backed up down the wider south aisle toward the table lamp and mattress, hoping he'd wake up midway.As a result, he continued to rush towards me, swiping the club back and forth in the air, and every time he swung, he yelled, "You!"

His hair hung messily over his eyebrows, his facial expression was severely distorted by extreme fear and anger, his nostrils fluttered and trembled with his loud breathing, and his saliva flew around with every explosive rage, as if "you !” was the only word he remembered. If I continued to wait for Father Tom to come back to his senses, I would die terribly soon, and even if he had any left of consciousness, he obviously wasn't carrying it with him at the moment. He must have stored his consciousness elsewhere, perhaps locked away in the reliquary in the chancel of the church, along with the sage's jelly-bone remains.

When he swung his club at me again, I tried to search his eyes for the bestial gleam I had seen in Stevenson's, for as long as I could see that evil gleam in his eyes, I could beat him with violence. There are good reasons for violence to fight back.If so, what I am fighting against is not a priest or an ordinary person, but a monster who straddles the kingdom of demons.Perhaps Father Tom was also infected with the same virus that corrupted the chief of police, but if so, he seemed less ill than the chief. I backed up step by step, focusing on the baseball bat all the time, but accidentally tripped over the wire of the table lamp, and I fell on all fours on the spot, with my head and back hitting the floor, like "bang bang bang" The sound of marching drums, this fall undoubtedly made the middle-aged and fat priest very rustic.

The table lamp fell to the ground, but fortunately the light did not go out, nor did it shine directly into my sensitive eyes. The priest rushed over with the club, I hurriedly shook off the wires wrapped around my feet, quickly moved my hips backwards, and the club hit the floor hard. He missed my leg by a few inches, attacking without forgetting to use his rotten second-person pronoun: "You!" "You!" I retorted in a slightly hysterical tone, and continued to move quickly to dodge his attack. I doubt whether these people are in the same class as those who respect me.I really hope to experience the feeling of being treated with courtesy now, but neither Stevenson nor Father Tom is obviously worthy of being Christopher.Member of the Snow Love Society.

Although the priest was already sweating and panting like a cow, he still insisted on showing that he was old and strong.He approached me with a slouch, hunched over spandrel, a position that allowed him to hold the ball high above his head without hitting the roof.He raised the club over his head, trying to imitate Babe.Ruth, hit my head like a baseball so hard my brains are coming out of my ears. Whether there is a sparkle in his eye or not, I must get rid of this fat madman as soon as possible, without further delay.The speed at which I was sitting on the ground and backing up was not as fast as he was rushing forward. Although I was a little hysterical-okay, I admit that I was super hysterical-but I was very aware of the situation in front of me, even if it was Las Vegas Even the greediest gambler can't bet on my chance of survival.In a panic, I was dazzled by fear and sense of crisis, and I suddenly had an absurd thought. I thought the most humane thing to do was to shoot him in the gonads. Anyway, he had already sworn to be celibate for life.Fortunately, I have no chance to test the accuracy of my marksmanship.

I roughly aimed the muzzle of the gun at his crotch, my finger on the trigger tightening more and more.Due to the dire situation, I didn't even have time to activate the laser sight.Just before I pulled the trigger, a huge figure suddenly appeared behind the priest and roared. The black raider jumped on his back. The priest screamed loudly in fright, dropped his baseball bat, and fell on the ground. land. For a moment, I was shocked that the opponent didn't look like a rhesus monkey at all, and it didn't rush to slit my throat, but attacked Father Jam, its nurse and savior.But of course, I soon discovered that the black Raider was none other than my dog, Ourson.Standing on the priest's back, Orson bit the collar of his sweatshirt, tearing the fabric.It barked so fiercely that even I was afraid it would bite the priest and bruise him all over.I stood up from the ground and told it to come down.Olson immediately followed my instructions without leaving any wounds. It turned out that it was just pretending to bite people desperately.

The priest didn't have the slightest motivation to stand up. He was lying on the ground, facing to the side, his face half covered by his sweat-soaked hair.He gasped and began to sob, and every three or four breaths, he repeated the sentence viciously: "You..." He obviously has a good understanding of the inside story of Fort Werwin, enough to answer most or even all of my inner questions.But I don't want to talk to him.I can't talk to him.The other party may not have left the priest's mansion, perhaps still somewhere in the shadowy attic.Although I don't think it will pose a serious threat to Orson and me, especially with a pistol in my hand, I haven't seen it after all, so I can't underestimate its danger.I don't want to hunt it down, and I don't want to be hunted by it, especially in this claustrophobic confinement.

Of course, the other party is just an excuse for me to escape from this place.What really frightened me was what Father Tom might do for me in reply.On the one hand, I can't wait to know the truth, but on the other hand, I am not yet ready to face the truth. you.When he uttered this word, his tone was full of boiling hatred. This kind of dark emotion was extremely abnormal for a priest or him who was always gentle and kind.He seemed to turn this simple synonym into a curse and a spat. However, I did nothing wrong to deserve his hatred for me.I did not create these poor animals he swore to save.I had absolutely no part in Werwinburg's plans, nor did I harm his sister or even infect him with the virus.It meant that he hated me not for who I was, but for who I was.

What is my identity?What can I be but my mother's son? According to Roosevelt, and even Commissioner Stevenson, there are people who do respect me because I am my mother's son, though I haven't met them yet.But at the same time, he was hated by some people because of this blood relationship. Christopher.nicholas.Snow, Vestalia.Jane.Woodbury.Jon Snow's only child, her mother named her after a flower.Christopher, who was born from the flowers of Vestalia, came to this too bright world at the beginning of the disco era.In an age of torment, when entire nations are actively preparing to go to war, the greatest fear is that of nuclear holocaust. How could my wise and loving mother do anything to make me respected or hated? The priest was lying on the floor, very emotional. He knew the truth of the matter, and when he regained his composure, he was bound to reveal everything to me. After this night of tossing, I don’t want to ask any more questions at this moment. I apologize to the crying priest with a trembling voice: “I’m sorry, I... I shouldn’t be here, God, please listen to me, I’m really sorry. I'm sorry, please forgive me, please." What the hell did my mother do? Do not ask.Don't ask. If he had started to answer my unspoken question then, I would have covered my ears with my hands and refused to listen. I called Orson back to my side, took it away from where the priest was, walked into the maze-like attic, and left at full speed.The narrow corridors bend and diverge, making people feel like they are in the maze of ancient catacombs.Some places are so dark that you can't see anything, but I was originally a child of darkness, and I have never been afraid of the dark.I quickly led Orson to the doorway from the attic to the downstairs. Although Olsen climbed the stairs to go upstairs, he looked down, showing a timid expression, and he was reluctant to go down the stairs.Even for stunt-performing quadrupeds, going down a steep staircase is far more difficult than climbing it. Since the attic is full of large cardboard boxes and large furniture, it is conceivable that there is a second exit, and it must be much larger than this one. It is equipped with hanging locks and pulleys to facilitate heavy objects between the attic and the second floor. lift.I had no intention of looking for a second exit, but I wasn't sure I'd be able to carry a ninety-pound dog down the stairs. From the corner at the far end of the attic came the voice of the priest calling to me: "Christopher," his voice heavy with regret. "Christopher, I am the one who is lost." "Christopher, I'm the one who got lost, please forgive me, I really don't know what I'm doing." From another corner in the darkness came the strange cry of the other party, half monkey and half human, struggling to speak, eager to be understood, full of longing and loneliness, it sounded as bleak as the Arctic ice field, and even more bleak Unfortunately, that desperate desire will never be fulfilled.The desolate cry made people unbearable to listen to it any longer, forcing Orson to bite the bullet and go down the stairs, and gave him the courage to keep his balance.As a result, it jumped to the floor of the corridor on the second floor when it walked halfway. The priest's diary almost slipped from the back of my belt. I stuffed it in my trouser waist. When I went downstairs, the diary kept rubbing against my lumbar spine. It was extremely uncomfortable. I pulled it out of my belt as soon as I got downstairs. It was held in the left hand, while the Glock was still tightly held in the right hand.Olson and I rushed to the first floor of the mansion together, passing by the altar of the Virgin Mary, the only votive candle on the altar was extinguished by the wind we brought as we passed.We walked along the corridor on the first floor, past the kitchen and the three electronic clocks glowing green, out the back door, across the balcony, and back into the foggy night.We pass behind the church.In the shadows, its towering building looks like a stone whistling, ready to overwhelm us with overwhelming force. I looked back twice, and the priest was not pursuing us, nor was anything pursuing us. I figured my bike might have been gone or vandalized, but it was still leaning in place with no monkey mischief.I didn't stop and Noah.Joseph.James said goodbye, and in our chaotic world, life at ninety-six seemed less desirable to me. I put the pistol in my pocket, tucked the diary into my shirt, and then led the bicycle and ran quickly along the middle of the two rows of graves, stepping into the car as I ran.Stumbling from the sidewalk to the street, I leaned forward as far as I could and slammed on the pedals like an auger through the fog, cutting a temporary passage through the churning fog behind me. Ourson had lost all interest in the smell of squirrels.Like me, it wanted to get out of the church as quickly as possible, and as far away as possible. After crossing several blocks, I suddenly realized that there was no escape for me.The inevitable dawn kept me out of the confines of Moonlight Bay, and the madness in the priest's mansion might have spread to every corner of the city. Rather, even if I fled to the remotest corners of the earth, I could not escape the threat I was trying to escape.Wherever I go, my fear follows, and the desire to know the truth will always follow.It wasn't just the answers to my mother's questions that frightened me. Ultimately, the questions themselves, by their very nature, would change my life forever whether they were answered or not.