Our encounter with the exorcist had provided us with information I never could've imagined. This changes everything, Ryner thought, staring blankly at the floor as his mind tried to process the implications.
Rita wasn't murdered. She didn't kill herself. According to the exorcist, her soul was extracted from her body—ripped out during some kind of ritual five years ago.
It sounded absurd, but there was no denying what they'd seen. Rita was a ghost, yes, but not like the others. She was still... alive. Somehow. The exorcist—Jack Crow—had explained that her soul wasn't classified as "dead." That was why the binding spell hadn't worked on her.
"If she's technically still alive..." Ryner whispered under his breath, "then her body must still exist. Somewhere. Intact."
It couldn't be buried, burned, or rotting. It had to be preserved, maintained. But for what purpose? And by who?
What do they want with her body...?
"I'm still alive…" Rita murmured. She sat a few feet away, staring down at her pale, translucent hands that flickered with every movement. "I'm really... alive." Her voice trembled—half joy, half disbelief.
Nearby, Thomas writhed in agony. His form twisted, shimmering and vanishing at the edges. He clutched his chest, silent screams tearing from his throat without a sound. The unbinding spell Jack had cast might've saved him from total erasure, but the damage was obvious. He looked like a crumbling memory, barely there.
"Can you… can you let him go, please?" Ryner asked, turning to Jack. "I know he looks like a threat, but we need him. I'll explain everything—just don't let him disappear."
Jack's gaze lingered on Thomas for a moment. The exorcist's stance was still tense, hands hovering near the talismans on his belt. Then, with a slight nod, he spoke the incantation.
"You are no longer bound to this place. Release!"
The chant echoed unnaturally, like a chorus of whispers rising and falling in the air. A brief shimmer of light wrapped around Thomas's fading form, stabilizing him—if only slightly.
Rita rushed to his side, gripping his faint, flickering hand. "He's so pale… is he going to be okay?" she asked, voice tight with fear. "He looks like he'll vanish any second…"
"He'll live," Jack said. "Or… whatever the ghost equivalent is. His essence was nearly erased. It'll take time, but he'll recover to his usual haunting self."
Rita sighed in relief, brushing a strand of spectral hair from her face. "Thank you…"
"You're lucky that boy and this girl ghost saved you," Jack warned, giving Thomas a pointed glare. "But if I ever find out you're an evil spirit in disguise, I won't hesitate. I'll eradicate you without remorse."
Jack turned toward Ryner and offered a more relaxed posture. "Now that things are calmer, allow me to introduce myself. The name's Jack Crow. Some call me Deacon Crow. I'm an exorcist—I deal with hauntings, possessions, cursed rituals, and the like. My job is to send evil spirits into the afterlife before they hurt the living… or the dead."
"I'm Ryner Stones. I'm seventeen. I go to Martin's Technical High School," Ryner replied, offering his hand awkwardly. "This ghost girl is Rita Holt, and the guy you almost erased is Thomas. I can see spirits. That's how I got wrapped up in this mess."
Jack gave him a curious look, then slowly shook Ryner's hand.
"Rita asked for help finding out what happened to her five years ago. Back when she was… well, alive. I agreed. Thomas claims to have known her back then, though Rita doesn't remember. Still, I believe he's connected somehow. That's why I need him."
Jack crossed his arms. "So, originally, you thought she was just another ghost—murdered or something. Now you've learned she wasn't killed… her body was stolen."
"Exactly," Ryner nodded. "It just keeps getting more and more complicated. What's this ritual about? What could they possibly want with her body?"
Jack hesitated. He looked around as if checking for unseen listeners, then sat on a nearby stone bench.
"There's an old story we exorcists whisper among ourselves," he began. "When I was a rookie, still learning how to hold a charm without it lighting on fire, I heard it from my master."
"Go on," Ryner urged, leaning in.
"Over five hundred years ago, there was a cult called the Grave Dancers. Twisted people. They worshipped a goddess of the underworld—Shanda. They believed she could be reborn in the world of the living, but only if they provided her with suitable vessels. Bodies. Specifically, the bodies of young women. Pure, uncorrupted, and alive. Not dead. Alive."
Rita flinched slightly. Ryner's stomach turned.
"They'd perform rituals to extract souls—leave the body as an empty shell. Then they'd offer the vessel to Shanda, hoping she'd descend and take root in it. But it never worked. Either the body rejected the possession or the goddess simply didn't respond. Every attempt failed."
"What happened to the cult?" Ryner asked quietly.
"They were hunted. Exorcists, knights, even ordinary villagers banded together. They wiped the Grave Dancers out. Or so we thought. That was over fifty years ago. The last known cultist died screaming as fire consumed his altar."
"And yet… here we are," Ryner muttered.
"If Rita's soul was taken five years ago," Jack said gravely, "then someone's restarted the ritual. Which means there are cultists still active. Still hunting. And they're looking for vessels."
Rita stared at her hands again. "Why me?"
"Maybe it's because you were compatible," Jack replied. "We don't know what exact criteria they use, but not every person can become a vessel. You were chosen."
Silence fell between them, heavy and cold.
"So… finding the cultists should be our next step," Ryner said eventually. "That's how we'll find her body, right?"
"Yes," Jack said. "But be warned—it won't be easy. These people are dangerous. They won't hesitate to kill anyone who gets in their way. If you're not willing to risk your life for Rita, you should back out now."
Ryner froze. Risk my life? He hadn't signed up for that. He just wanted to help a confused ghost find peace—not challenge a death cult that worshipped a forgotten god.
Still, when he looked at Rita—at her half-faded body, her scared eyes, her fragile hope—he knew he couldn't abandon her.
Jack pulled out his phone and handed it to Ryner. "Give me your number. We'll talk more once you're out of class."
Ryner typed it in, handed it back, and watched Jack walk away, trench coat trailing behind him like something out of a movie.
"Take care," Jack called without looking back. "You'll need it."
As the exorcist disappeared into the morning fog, Rita stood beside Ryner, arms crossed.
"I'm still confused about all this," she admitted.
"Yeah," Ryner replied. "Me too."