The tapered fingers came to life, maneuvered by invisible threads, following the murderous order whispered by the woman. The blow fell on the victim, surgical and impregnated with inevitable fate.

"We took it, Agnes."

Finally, the peace of the monastery's kitchen had been restored. A fleeting veil of reproach slipped over the cook's cheerful gaze as Flynn swore triumphantly at the fly, spread on his notebook.

"But now let's get back to our business, barley soup doesn't cook itself and ... not even your thesis".

"It's a nice association, even if it's my brain to cook," said the young man with his eyes shining curiously between the pots.

"If Father Thoram saw us wasting time chasing flies, you already know he'd send you to the library," the cook remarked.

Flynn threw her an accomplice grimace, before returning to dive into the pages of his thesis. No, all in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.
Agnes could not have known what long walks in the cloister's rose garden had slowly revealed to his confessor father. That laborious daily harmony had a different taste for Flynn than what his other contemporaries of the Benedictine community felt.

Flynn sighed as the words drifted slowly from the pages, evaporating intertwined in his thoughts. Every moment, every little ritual within the silent walls of the monastery was like prickly air that swelled his lungs, giving him life. Those were precious moments far from the creature who, just two blocks away, waited every night for satisfying once more his craving for pain. Far from his stepfather.

The echoes of vespers suffused in his ears: soon the refectory would have been populated. It was almost time to help Agnes set the tables.

While books and notebooks were swallowed up by the backpack in random order, Flynn found himself thinking of that strange event months ago, when he was still an occasional guest of the monks' community. There was, indeed, another reason why he preferred to study among the noise of the pans. He would have never wanted to see that internet page, hastily closed but clear enough to impress itself deeply into his retina. All in all, the friar would not have thrown him out of the kitchen so easily.

"Flynn."

The backpack fell, spilling its content onto the floor.

"Son, follow me, Agnes can set her own."

Father Thoram didn't even seem to have noticed the mountain of papers scattered on the brown tiles. Standing out from the sagging features of his face, his eyes looked blacker than usual.

Agnes watched father Thoram and Flynn going down the hallway. After they have gone, she took a quick look at the scattered papers. She had to set the tables, but curiosity didn't leave her mind in peace. Flynn could come back during lunch and take a backpack. So she had to check it as quick as possible.

Agnes bent down and handed her hand to the papers. She was just a few centimetres to comprehending the great secret. Her ears were like a radar, absorbed even the lowest sound. But, Murphy's law is inexorable, always proven when it's not necessary. Hurry staps that sounded in the hallway divided her from the secret. She straightened up, took plates and hurried to the tables.

"Hurry, Agnes!" Father Lucca went in refractory, followed by Horacius.

"Father Thoram took Flynn away, so I have to do all myself." Agnes justified herself.

"Take care of time," father Lucca was strict. "Read Gospel of John during lunch," he gave instructions to Horacius.

Lucca went back but stopped suddenly.

"What's that?" He showed to the scattered papers.

"It's Flynn's," Agnes was feared of losing the chance to know the great secret. "He'll be back soon," she tried to save her chance.

"He'll surely need that," Lucca put the papers back in the backpack, took it and gone to the hallway.

Agnes couldn't believe that happened. The great secret just has gone in front of her nose.

"He must have been in a hurry as soon as he forgot the backpack," father Lucca hurried to the next block. He saw father Thoram accompanied by two friars and Flynn.

"Flynn!" Lucca ran. "You forgot your items in the kitchen!"

Father Thoram and Flynn stopped turning back to Lucca.

"I thought you'd need it in the ritual, so I brought to you," Lucca said. "Anyway, it's not advisable to keep books in the kitchen. It can be stained there."

"Thank you, father Lucca," Flynn took his backpack. You're considerate.

"Come on, Flynn," father Thoram admonished. "There's no much of time. Every minute is meaning."

Flynn went after friars down the hallway to the next block. They stopped in front of a small chained door. Two friars stood beside father Thoram while he unlocked the door, they were in caution as if they expected something dangerous to jump out. After the door was open, one friar entered the room quickly. At the same moment, a loud scream pierced inside.

"Come on, Flynn," father Thoram said. "It's important not to be scared. Swallow up the fear and get in."

The room entrance was so small that they had to bend to get in.

Flynn was horrified by what he saw. Eleven years old boy was screaming uptight tendons in front of a wooden bench. Boy's face was distorted as if it wasn't his, but someone's else. It was the face of a demon on the internet page that engraved in Flynn's mind.

Father Thoram opened a book. This would be the first time Flynn attend to an exorcism ritual that he studied among the pots.