[Chapter 259: I Am an Exorcist, Not a Vigilante]
Daniel narrowed his eyes. An intensely strange aura filled the room -- an unsettling, eerie energy.
"What did she do?" Daniel turned to Anne.
Covering her mouth, Anne recounted in horror, "Last night at the party... she thought the jack-o'-lantern was too ugly, so she blew out the candle. Then she kicked over a burlap doll costume setup. She said those were just to trick kids..."
Daniel's heart stirred.
Blowing out the jack-o'-lantern, destroying Halloween decorations -- she had invited a fatal disaster upon herself.
It reminded him of the plot from a certain horror movie.
In the film Trick 'r Treat, there's a terrifying character named Sam.
A short figure dressed in orange pajamas with a burlap sack mask, he's the guardian of Halloween traditions -- an incarnation of the holiday. He never needs a reason to kill; the only rule is whether you've broken Halloween's rules.
For instance, extinguishing a jack-o'-lantern before midnight. Or refusing to give kids candy or mocking the holiday.
Once broken, Sam would use a utility knife or a lollipop dagger -- sometimes bitten into a point -- or worse, to turn you into a Halloween decoration.
Daniel glanced at the mutilated corpse in the bathtub and casually shut the bathroom door. The sickly sweet and foul stench was sealed inside.
Anne Hathaway leaned against the wall, pale-faced, her retching from the shock hadn't stopped.
"Call the police."
Daniel walked into the living room, pulled out a tissue, and wiped his hands. His tone was calm, as if discussing an ordinary matter.
"Call the police?" Anne was stunned, staring at Daniel with wide eyes. "But... but that monster -- the killer -- is still out there! Aren't you going to catch it?"
"I'm an Exorcist, not a vigilante," Daniel said flatly, sitting down on the sofa. "Sasha blew out the jack-o'-lantern herself and kicked over the traditional symbol. This disaster came from her own actions. It has its rules. If you break the rules, you are responsible for the consequences. The debt has been paid, and the person is dead. What happens next is up to the Los Angeles Police Department."
Anne found this hard to grasp. "But... but it's evil! It killed Sasha!"
"In its eyes, Sasha was the evil one. She desecrated the holiday." Daniel lit a cigarette, the smoke slowly drifting through the living room. "I'll say it again: call the police. Treat this as a case of a psychopath murdering someone. Don't mention Halloween to the cops -- or they might lock you up in a mental hospital."
Anne nodded, finally reassured.
"Will... will it come after me? I just went into that bathroom and saw those bloody words."
Daniel looked at her sharply. "Did you blow out any lights?"
Anne shook her head fervently. "No! I stayed home all night -- I didn't even step outside!"
"Then there's nothing to fear." Daniel said, "As long as you respect Halloween's traditions, you'll be safe."
Hearing this, Anne Hathaway finally relaxed a little.
"From now on... I'm never going to another costume party." Anne smiled, "Especially on Halloween -- I'll fill my house with jack-o'-lanterns and get a hundred pounds of candy! No one's getting me to leave!"
Daniel smiled and stood. "Then you're going to be the most popular actress with the neighborhood kids."
...
Police sirens blared, growing louder as they approached the apartment building.
Daniel glanced at Molly. "When the police arrive, tell them everything I taught you. I'm leaving now."
"Got it, Mr. Cross," Molly nodded repeatedly.
Daniel pushed open the door and walked down the stairs.
At the corner on the second floor, he suddenly stopped.
A small figure dressed in orange overalls and a round burlap sack mask sat calmly on the stair railing.
In its hand was a lollipop dagger, sharp edges bitten into the candy. It was carving something into the wood, stroke by careful stroke.
Two big button eyes under the mask stared intently at Daniel.
Daniel flashed his hand, pulled out a piece of chocolate, and tossed it over.
The little figure leapt nimbly, catching the chocolate mid-air.
It looked at the candy, then at Daniel, tilting its head.
It let out a faint chuckle, like a breath leaking from a throat.
Then it jumped off the railing, flickered, and disappeared into the shadows along the wall.
"Things with rules are always easier to deal with than those without," Daniel murmured.
He muttered under his breath and strode out of the apartment.
As for this little Pumpkin Head -- he wasn't ready to confront it.
Besides, it probably wasn't worth many merit points.
Keeping it around could still help clean up some troublesome spirits...
...
Over the next week, the city of Los Angeles was gripped by fear over the so-called "Jack-o'-lantern Murder Case."
The police offered a $50,000 reward, but aside from Sasha's corpse, there were no fingerprints or hair left at the scene.
Even the medical examiner couldn't identify the pumpkin seeds found on the body.
At that moment, Daniel's phone rang. It was Rachel.
"Daniel, the screening for Walk the Line just ended. The critics are raving. They're saying I'm the top contender for Best Actress at the Oscars this year."
Daniel laughed. "The Oscar's never that easy, but I believe in you."
...
It was afternoon in Beverly Hills. Daniel sat in a rocking chair by the floor-to-ceiling window, holding a thick copy of The Hollywood Reporter.
"Master, 20th Century Fox has officially kicked off their Oscar PR campaign," Chris appeared behind him.
Today, she wore a sharp black suit skirt, clutching freshly printed advertising proofs.
Daniel raised an eyebrow. "They're moving fast."
Oscar PR in Hollywood was a high-stakes dark art worth tens of millions of dollars.
Starting every November, the major studios would pour huge sums into aggressive "For Your Consideration" ads in industry mags like Variety and The Hollywood Reporter.
Beyond the ads, they organized private screenings for the six thousand-plus Oscar voters, most of whom were over 60.
Cocktail parties, customized gifts, even hiring lobbyists to dig into the judges' preferences.
In this world, acting skill earned you the ticket. PR decided if you brought home the little gold statue.
The best in the business was Harvey Weinstein.
He ran rampant at the Oscars with his expert PR skills, collecting countless golden statues.
Some judges even publicly joked about whether he owned the Oscars.
Because he was just that good.
Many actresses were willing to climb into his bed, some even tattooed his name on their bodies.
"Monica told me Rachel has attended at least ten judges' luncheons recently," Chris covered her mouth, chuckling. "The old men can't stop praising Rachel's singing and explosive performance."
Daniel closed the paper calmly. "Keep a close watch. If anyone tries to bully or use force, teach them a lesson. If the course starts to slip, help steer it back."
Chris's smile brightened. "That's child's play for me."
*****
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