Chapter 6258: Chicago Memories (27)

Brian walked away disoriented. Bruce didn’t hesitate at all; he jumped right down. But by the time he got to the side door, there was no one there. Bruce clicked his tongue. Compared to the Professor Shearer he knew, Shearer in his youth was more like a ghost, coming and going without a trace.

But he didn’t intend to give up. He directly approached the staff outside the church and inquired about Andel Schiller. Just as expected, the security guard sized him up and then said, “You’re also here to find Priest Schiller? He’s not a full-time priest but a student at the University of Chicago Medical School. He works part-time here, but he’s quite popular, so he has gained the honorary title of priest. Many people come for his confession, and they’re all wealthy.”

“Initially, it was probably just out of curiosity. After all, he grew up in the East, and he’s a mixed-race, so many people are curious about his story and want to meet him. But he’s very good at comforting and counseling others, which gradually earned him a reputation, attracting more and more worshippers to seek him out.”

“Usually, he’s not here; he only comes on weekends, but he makes an appearance if there are distinguished guests. You’re a student at the University of Chicago, right? If you really want to see him, you might as well go directly to the school. Coming here means waiting in line; it could take ten days to half a month just to see him.”

Bruce absorbed this wealth of information. In simple terms, in this era, psychology and psychotherapy were not so widespread, and the clergy in the church served as part-time psychiatrists.

Many people come to pray, not just to demonstrate their piety, but also for psychological treatment. Confiding in the priests and clergy about their troubles and listening to them provide guidance can heal some psychological issues. Especially for some wealthy individuals, even if they could find psychologists, they wouldn’t dare to hire them openly, fearing it would cause them to lose face. Going to the church was much more respectable.

And it was precisely by riding this wave that Schiller showcased his psychology talents, successfully penetrating the religious system by helping the wealthy with their psychological issues. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have been able to establish himself in Chicago’s largest church.

The more wealthy people came, the more donations the church received. Naturally, people within the religious system would protect him. He could rightly so have access to the upper class, without needing to ingratiate himself; all he needed to do was exhibit some mystique.

Indeed, Bruce thought that at this stage, compared to actual psychological therapy, Schiller was more about putting on a mystical act. Not to mention anything else, just the precise control of the dosage on his robes showed he was at least a great chemist. The confessional was such a small space with no airflow, using some substance and hypnosis, you could convince them the Earth is flat.

And most cleverly, Schiller could actually manifest miracles.

For instance, if someone very devout suddenly said a rival had stolen his business, Schiller would directly go eliminate the rival, claiming it was a blessing from God. Wouldn’t that make the other person deeply devoted?

Or in a whole banquet where everyone was killed by a serial killer, except one person who survived. Wouldn’t that be considered divine protection? Little did they know, the serial killer was Schiller, who could decide who lived and died. Isn’t this a manifestation of a miracle? It’s nothing but shooting the arrow first and drawing the target later.

So Brian being deceived wasn’t entirely due to his stupidity; it’s just that Schiller’s methods were too flawless. Unless caught in the act, there was no way to expose him, making it an unprovable affair.

Bruce even thought that even if Schiller got caught, the church would protect him, as he’s a living testament to God’s existence, attracting many believers. So even if it was known he used some tricks, no one would care.

One could even say that effectively eliminating the believers’ enemies is quite an impressive talent. Murder is a difficult and troublesome affair, and not everyone has such a high success rate. If found out, at most, they’d move him underground, replace someone in the church, and he’d still be the one performing miracles.

Bruce was well aware that many churches would stop at nothing to spread the gospel, not hesitating to use human lives to fabricate miracles. Even if they knew what Schiller was up to, at most, they’d make him drink three punishments and dock some credits.

Today’s trip was quite fruitful. Now, Bruce had inferred most of Schiller’s methods. Most importantly, Bruce understood one thing: Schiller bore him no malice, and he shouldn’t worry about him being killed.

Because just now, Brian had mentioned that Bruce had stolen his luck, and he wanted to kill Bruce. But Schiller cleverly diverted the topic, proving Schiller didn’t intend to use someone else’s hand to kill him.

If he wanted to kill him, he could have easily agreed with Brian, then after Brian killed him, orchestrate an accident to tell Brian he killed the wrong person, and then direct him to kill someone else without delay. But Schiller chose to guide Brian away from Bruce.

Bruce suspected that Schiller might also be studying him.

He knew he was peculiar, especially in the basement of the banquet, unable to stand the Brotherhood members, so he called forth a miracle. Although Schiller worked as a part-time priest now, he most likely didn’t believe in God. Even firing five blank shots had a high significance, and it would make Schiller ponder deeply if God truly existed.

He was also sure that the pair of light brown eyes he saw in the chapel wasn’t an illusion; Schiller was indeed standing there, watching him. However, perhaps he found Bruce strange and, not understanding what’s going on, didn’t want to interact with him directly, so he fled when Bruce barged in.

This time it was probably the same in the church; Bruce thought Shiller might have already noticed him. He stood there at the cross for a long time, perhaps Shiller was standing behind the door watching him, and Bruce knew exactly how Shiller climbed onto the pillar. But as soon as Bruce went over, Shiller left again.

Bruce also felt a headache; after all, as the saying goes, justice may be late, but it is never absent. What goes around comes around. Years ago, he was obsessively watching Shiller to figure him out but never asked questions. Now their situations have reversed, with Shiller obsessively staring at him, only observing from the shadows, and Bruce can’t even find him.

In Bruce’s eyes, Shiller is the mysterious tale wandering the middle of Chicago, whereas perhaps from Shiller’s perspective, Bruce is the mystery.

A man who plays Russian Roulette and opens fire five times on himself, wearing clothes taken from a corpse, runs out to block the door at the first sign of a serial killer and aggressively follows in the serial killer’s footsteps—where there’s a case, there’s him. From Shiller’s standpoint, Bruce is just missing a military doctor assistant, not much different from the old Holmes.

Wait a minute, isn’t Tony Stark essentially a kind of military doctor assistant? He has experience on the battlefield and understands chemistry and biology. It all fits together perfectly.

One can tell that the young Shiller hadn’t started creating art yet. He did not need an audience, had no intention to express anything, and instead would take the most convenient, quick, and effective measures to destroy evidence, and when confronted with the unknown, he would quietly observe and study.

No wonder Arrogant understood his thought process so well back then, having come through a similar age. And no surprise Arrogant directly hung up the phone; this is entirely broadcasting history live.

Later, Bruce took a school bus to the medical school but, unsurprisingly, couldn’t find anyone, and according to Shiller’s classmates, Shiller seldom attended classes.

This explains how Shiller found time to both work part-time at a church and act as a killer. By simply skipping class, he could indeed accomplish these tasks. No wonder Arrogant tolerated him sleeping in class; it turns out Shiller did not even attend classes while at university.

However, Bruce was puzzled, as the workload at the University of Chicago is very demanding, especially in the medical school. Besides the lengthy study hours, there are all kinds of internships. Moreover, in America, insufficient internship time means one can’t become a doctor. The internship length varies by specialty, but most are ridiculously long, and a reliable mentor is needed to record it; otherwise, it doesn’t count. How did Shiller manage to graduate?

Bruce considered asking Arrogant again but decided to minimize mentioning this after realizing it might be Shiller’s hidden past. After all, this isn’t a replay of death; the actual Shiller is still alive and well, and digging into this matter doesn’t benefit anyone.

Nonetheless, Bruce suddenly had a flash of insight; he went to a phone booth and made a call to the Chicago Police Department to summon Arkham Batman.

“Hey, listen, I really have a crucial lead.” Bruce said, standing with one hand on his hip and the other pointing a finger, “Yesterday, I went to the church, guess who I saw?”

Arkham Batman turned and left, and Bruce hurriedly stepped in front to block him, saying, “It was Brian; your people didn’t watch him properly, he escaped to the church and even met someone.”

Arkham Batman squinted his eyes: “Whom did he meet?”

“I’m not too sure; at the time, I was squatting on the rooftop and couldn’t see clearly, but I am very certain it was a priest from that church. I think you should find someone to inquire.”

Arkham Batman fell into contemplation, and after a moment, he said: “Brian’s parents went to Rockefeller Chapel, did they meet the same person?”

Bruce was taken aback; he had been too busy speculating on Shiller and forgotten about this situation, then suddenly he realized and said: “Quick, go to Patsey’s house, otherwise I’m afraid…”

He hadn’t finished his sentence when the sound of sirens outside the school interrupted him. The two walked over to the fence and looked outside, where police cars were heading towards the North District one after another. Arkham Batman touched his walkie-talkie and said: “There’s another case.”

After a while, Arkham Batman and Bruce sat in a police car together, arriving at the crime scene; after pushing open the villa door, a corpse lay in the middle of the living room floor, arms spread open, feet together, and beneath him were cardboard boxes arranged into a cross, exactly resembling the Resurrection Suffering Image at Saint’s Name Cathedral.

Police rolled in like beans, their raised arms like layered petals gradually merging with the scene unfolding in illusion, everything becoming illusionary. Bruce felt a pair of eyes staring at him—cold and desolate light brown eyes.

Bruce abruptly turned around, vision surpassed the door frame; the striking red-blue light of the police lamp and the crowd blurred gradually; he saw a slender silhouette standing among the bushes. But when he focused again, there was nothing.