Chapter Text
John raised his hands in surrender. He didn't need to see the gun to know it was pointed directly at his head. The demon saliva was not helping at this moment. Gary knew this, it was his doing after all, but John didn't need to know that.
“Father…please,” John felt the pace of his breath picking up once again. This would be it, he was finally going to do it, it's the end for him. He felt a tear roll down his cheek as he stood still. The demon in front of him never dropped that obnoxious smirk, “Don't do this!”
“It's too late for that, I know you're possessed,” Father Garcia said, holding the gun no further than an inch away from the younger man’s head. His knuckles turned white with the way he clenched the handle, shaking too much to pull the trigger, “I'm going to fix this John, if you're still in there.”
“Father please! I'm not possessed!” John pleaded, “Let's talk about this! Please! There is no demon!”
Gary tilted his head to the side as he stared through John at the older priest, whom the older man was still too blind to see, “There isn't?”
“Shut it!” John whispered to the demon.
“See! There!” Father Garcia said, pushing the barrel closer to John's skull, “If there is no demon, what the hell are you talking to?”
“Ah! Nothing Father!” John was trying to figure out how he was going to bend reality to make it so that both things were true, “Please! I'm not possessed! I would never give my body up to the devil!” He wanted the situation to deescalate, for everything to be resolved in a calm and orderly manner for once.
“Then explain this!” Father Garcia gripped John's arm, lifting it and pulling down the sleeves. The bandages had been long removed. All that remained was the scar that trailed over his forearm, reminding him of the sin he committed in Lisa's name, “No human is foolish enough to rip the flesh to the bone to write with the blood!”
“Apparently I am then!” Then again, sometimes it just all becomes too much, “If you wanted me to be the same man I was before the Profane Sabbath, then maybe you shouldn’t have held me at gunpoint just to lock me in a basem*nt!”
“I locked you down here for your own good!” Father Garcia shouted, jabbing John in the ribs.
“And what a mighty good it has done!” John would have kept his cool, seeing as it was the very thing separating his life and death at the moment, but he was tired. Every day was living through hell, and the old man just refused to stop talking, “See all the good not letting me wash my hair or talk to people did!” John held up his arm and grabbed at his tattered clothing, his head clouding in a new emotion. It was no longer guilt or regret. Rage, seething rage unlike anything he’s ever felt before. Gary knew he was feeling this emotion, the demon was feeding off of it, “See all the good you’ve done by taking everything from me!”
“You need this John! You’ve gone crazy!” The old man yelled back.
“Crazy?” John couldn’t help but laugh at the old priest’s words, “Crazy is locking someone in a basem*nt and refusing to give them basic amenities because they said no to you once! Crazy is holding a man at gunpoint because you think- no- because you KNOW he’s going to run away and hide at the first chance he gets! I’m not crazy, I’m livid! I’m furious that I let myself be treated like a damn dog because you can’t take a simple no!”
Father Garcia huffed, pointing the gun to John’s side and taking a shot at the wall, causing the illusion of Gary to flinch and the crow to caw, hiding in the makeshift bathroom. He co*cked the shotgun before speaking again, his voice low in a blunt warning, “Watch it.”
“Why!? Why should I!? I’ve been quiet for so long because I was terrified of pissing you off! I’ve held my damn tongue! Why should I wait any longer!?” John kept going.
“John, I understand how you feel,” Father Garcia’s voice was still at a low rumble, but the tone of his voice had grown soft, which had somehow been even more threatening, “But you-”
“No! You don’t understand how I feel! You never have! And you never will!” John just kept getting louder, “You weren’t there to watch the life leave her eyes! You weren’t the one to watch helplessly as your own hands were used to bludgeon her to her grave! You didn’t have to listen to the screams of pain she let out as she called your name, begging you to save her! Don’t you dare try to tell me you understand when all you do is demand I forget her name! If you really understood how I felt, you would have been right next to me that night, attempting to be reunited with her in heaven even though you’re fated for the pits of hell!”
“John,” Father Garcia’s voice grew darker once again.
“Don’t try to tell me what’s good and bad! I did everything for her! What have you done to be worth anything in this pathetic hell hole you threw me in!” John shouted, a certain fire having ignited in his eyes, “Would you even be brave enough to say her name?! Or are you just going to pretend she doesn’t exist the same way you did with Micheal!”
“Watcb your tone boy!” Father Garcia hissed deeply once again.
“What right do you have to ridicule me for Lisa or Amy when you gave up on Michael!” John yelled, “After everything I’ve been through to help them, you’ve done nothing but let him die! Why should you-”
That was Father Garcia’s final straw. Without another word, he beat John over the head as hard as he could with the tail end of his shotgun. John was knocked out cold as soon as the gun was brought down over his head. He passed out instantly, but he could have sworn he heard the cultist speaking through that stupid malicious grin on his face.
“I suppose you’re not as useless as I originally thought you to be, preacher.”
In the darkness of nothing, time feels nonexistent. And when the darkness is filled with light, time is no more than an illusion.
John could tell he wasn't awake. How was he so sure? Lisa was sitting in front of him, smiling like she wasn't reduced to a pile of blood and bones in the most haunted building in Sterling Connecticut.
“Lisa?” His voice was soft. He knew it wasn't real, he knew she was dead, the devil's hand guided his to kill her. Yet every nerve in his body was on end, hoping that she was really there, that she was something real to cling to for once. He desperately hoped that she would be there to finally make sense of something.
“John!” Her voice was filled with excitement, like they were little kids again. It was the exact opposite of the demon's voice that spilled out of her mouth in that burning memory, “John!”
“Lisa!” The wave of relief that rushed over him was the greatest thing he's felt in months. Better than the discovery of the bathroom, better than the ability to be let outside, better than the demonic saliva, “You're alive!”
She laughed lightly, the smile on her face warming the illusion. She waved him over, rolling her eyes when he froze in fear, “Come here dummy!”
John gasped before he started running, tripping over himself while reaching out for Lisa. She was so close! So…alive!
But, nothing good lasts. At least, not if it isn't there to make you suffer. As he ran, she only grew further away. He ran and ran, huffing and puffing in desperation only to watch the ground below her carry her further away.
“C'mon John!” She encouraged him, but something seemed to be missing from her voice, “You're almost there!” The ground beneath her feet was dying. Grass was shriveling up and turning to dirt, and the dirt below her feet was loose.
“Wait up!” John kept running, feeling she was almost in his grasp, knowing she was only growing further and further, “Hold on! Lisa!”
The run felt infinite, because it was. John could circle the globe, north to south, east to west, and he'd still never catch up to her.
“Lisa, wait!” He yelled as he panted. He was only human after all, all he could do was fail. It seems that's all a species like that is good for anyways, right? No, oh no no no. John knew better than anyone, he was the only one incapable of being anything other than a failure to everyone around him, “Wait for me!”
“Hurry up John,” Lisa, or at least what was pretending to be her, had her voice hollowed out. Even if that truly had been her, standing in the ground that had turned to rocks, scraping the flesh beneath his feet as they hit the ground, she was not there, “I'm right here.”
John could feel the burn of the earth below his feet digging into his sole. The way the rocks pierced his flesh was pure agony, but it didn't stop him from running faster. The change in his pace, in spite of his labored breathing and blurring vision, didn't change the fact that she was falling out of his reach.
“Lisa! Please!” His voice has become desperate. She was so close, she was right there! But he just wasn't fast enough. The ground only grew more painful, heating up below his feet, the rocks below hers turning bright orange.
“C'mon John,” her voice had gotten deeper, raspier even. She just stared straight through him, her beautiful ocean eyes now a piercing baby blue, the light reflections completely missing despite her eyes being wide open, “The hell's the matter with you? Just finish the job?”
For the first time, John stopped. When he stopped, Lisa did as well. Despite the physical distance being no more than ten yards, they were miles away. John's voice shook as he looked at this shell of what he thought was his only friend, “What?”
“You heard me,” it was her voice, but it belonged to someone else. No, it wasn't hers at all, it was merely the sound of her voice, “Finish the damn job. Did you actually think you deserved to see me again?”
“No please,” John hyperventilated, trying to take steps closer to her, his feet burning on contact with the burning coals, “You…you don't understand! Everything I've done has been for you! I just wanted to bring you back!”
“Do you really think you've done enough to earn that?” Despite his impending closeness, Lisa didn't move. The ground beneath her feet remained planted to where she stood, “You're an even greater sinner than I originally thought!”
“I- you're right, I'm a sinner. I'm just a no good heathen,” John said, shame lacing his tone, “But I did it all for you! I did it because you aren't! Don't you understand? I'm turning a new leaf because even if I'm cast down to hell, you deserve better!”
“Lying is a terrible sin John,” the raspiness was undeniable, that was not her voice speaking to her, “You aren't a good person, you're selfish.” John knew whose voice this was. Who else could it be but him , “And the fact that you think I'd let you see her-”
“No please!” But as John reached out to grab her and hold her tight, she disappeared, a scream echoing in the emptiness, her real voice finally shining through.
“Pathetic,” Gary hissed, his form looming behind John grabbing him tightly.
John could feel the blood in his socks soaking them, tinting the black color crimson, even his hands had become scratched from the rocks he kicked up in his frenzy. It all burned, but nothing burned more than his lungs. He wouldn't be able to move if he tried.
“Bring her back! Please! I'll do anything! I can't lose her again!” John's brain was in a frenzy. I watched her go again. He finally got a taste of the torture she's enduring in purgatory, and all he could do was agonize with the reminder that it was all his fault.
“Anything, you say?” Gary's forked tongue licked the inner and outer skin of his lip, “Hmm, it appears the old heretic is about ready for you. Time to wake up.”
With that, the demon pushed him forwards. He did not have the misfortune of burning his hands on the ground below his feet, that would have been merciful. Rather, he fell through, tumbling into the void, ripe with the infinite nothingness.
Down, down, down he fell, the reality of this fantasy hitting him like a ton of bricks. Likely the only real piece of Lisa he got to hear was her screams from purgatory. Everything else was just the cultist torturing him, continuing the cycle of hell he was trapped in until he was stripped of everything. But he has no time to scream, he was going to hit the ground soon.
He didn't know how he could tell in the blackness that the ground was nearly upon him, but he knew exactly when to brace for impact, prepared to hit the cold hard concrete.
Only to shoot up straight in his bed in the basem*nt.
John was still hyperventilating when he sat up, his breath heavy from exhaustion. It wasn't just a nightmare, it was real. Real in the sense he could still feel every physical consequence. After all, he could still feel the burn of the coals, and the blood soaking his socks.
“What happened?” John was panting as he spoke, his dilated eyes shooting around the room in a desperate search for someone, anyone at this point, “What's going on? Where's Lisa?”
“Relax priest,” the cultist's voice purred from the corner, “The dead haven't risen yet, no need to get all frenzied.”
“You,” John was too dazed to even try and be threatening, “You- you…what did you do to me?”
“Mmm,” Gary approached the bed, standing by John's feet, “A bit of astral projection I suppose. Not that you could understand. Now.” He wrapped a clawed hand around John's ankle, lifting the man's leg slowly. John felt the blood pooling in his socks begin to run down his leg. Gary breathed in the scent from where he stood, sighing at the tantalizing scent, “Have I told you about another of my abilities now that we have become so…close?”
“What are you-” John couldn't finish his sentence because the demon's hand had been on his inner thigh, going through the fabric of the pants without talking them off.
“Consider it a gift to be linked to you by blood, but to not have a true physical body,” Gary said, rubbing a small circle into the skin until the blood running down John's leg reached that point, “I can get a taste of you whenever I want.”
“Wait!” John tried to reach out and stop him, but he couldn't move more than an inch away from the headboard. The handcuffs that had been used for the exorcism of Michael Davies were proven to be ineffective, Father Garcia had now opted to use rope.
“How kind of the old priest to do all the work for me,” Gary said, aa hungry look painting his expression, “Now to ravish the taste of what belongs to me.”
“I-” but John couldn't get another word in before the demon’s forked tongue was pressed firmly against the skin of his ankle, tasting the blood through the fabric like it was fine wine.
His tongue trailed slowly up his leg, taking his time with every inch of John's skin. John's face was flushed as he tried not to think about the feeling of the touch, every pulse of his tongue and the small gums of amusem*nt that escaped his throat as he sampled him greedily.
As all good things must come to an end, Gary lifted himself still holding the priest's leg in the air as he rubbed small circles in his thigh yet again.
“Gary…” John's voice was trailing off, trying to hide the fact that he enjoyed the way the cultist treated him like a meal to be savored.
“Priest,” Gary crooned in return. John was pitiful at hiding his emotions these days, “The old man is going to kill you.”
“What?” John shot up, only to be pulled back down by the tight grip the ropes held around his wrists. Gary just stood and backed away.
“Oh yes, you remember what he did to the boy,” Gary said, leaning against the wall next to the bed, “His success rate is equivalent to yours. You are a dead man tonight John. If all else fails, you can just become my servant in hell.”
“Wait, no! That can't be! Father Garcia is headstrong, but he's no murderer!” John knew his arguments were all futile, Father Garcia would have killed Michael had he not done it first. This was all just his way of trying to comfort himself.
“If that's so, then why is he still trying to exorcise you?” Gary raised an eyebrow, “You and I both know you haven't been possessed…yet. Why would you need an exorcism.”
“He's just confused! I…I can convince him otherwise!” John said, hoping he wasn't wrong.
Gary shrugged, “If you say so.”
At that moment, the basem*nt door swung open. Heavy footsteps trudged down the stairs and towards the end of the bed. John was almost too scared to look up into the eyes of Father Garcia, but he was far more horrified of death via the shotgun he was co*cking as he looked down on him.
“Father please,” John begged, “You don't have to do this!” Father Garcia ignored him, setting the gun down to the side, “Father! Listen to me! I am not a demon! I can prove it! Just let me go!” Father Garcia continued to ignore him, lifting his cross off of the dresser and walking towards the bed, “Father! Please! Why won't you listen to me!?”
“Humans don't negotiate with demons, I thought you knew this,” Gary was still leaning against the wall, watching it play out like it was some boring show that came on before the program he was waiting for.
“But I'm not a demon! It's just me!” John argued.
“Reveal thy name to me demon,” Father Garcia stood over John, all sympathy drained from his eyes. Assuming you could look past the sorrow that the man he considered his own kin was the same man he'd have to exorcise.
“Father! I'm not possessed!” John pleaded, “Exorcising me will do nothing so please! Let me go!”
Father Garcia shook his head before lifting the cross, “In the name of the Lord, I will cast you back to hell demon.”
John had been expecting nothing to happen, he wasn't possessed after all, but as soon as the cross had been pointed directly at him, his bloodstream seemed to pulse, causing him to writhe in agony.
See, Gary has neglected to tell him just how deeply the bond they had truly was. John hadn't just exchanged spit with Gary, he swallowed demon saliva, and that is something that can not be digested or regurgitated. Once it went down your throat, it stayed, and it fused with your very cells. It never made you any less human, but it made you just demon enough to be exorcised.
However, there stood a problem with exorcising a victim of demon saliva such as John. That being that exorcisms rely on the expulsion of a parasitic demon from a human host. When the parasite in question is just the host, then there's nothing to be rid of. In that sense, an exorcism is similar to an autoimmune disorder, your body will turn on itself and get rid of the things it needs to get rid of what is killing it.
John's stomach was quite literally twisting as Father Garcia pointed the cross at him, “Wh-what’s happening? My body…why does it- ah! Why does it hurt!?”
“He that dwelleth in the secret place of the most High shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty.” Father Garcia began reciting the 91st Psalm, “I will say of the Lord, He is my refuge and my fortress: my God; in him will I trust.”
“This would be the feeling of an exorcism,” Gary said, pushing off of the wall and moving towards John, “Painful, isn't it?”
“Please!” John begged as he twitched, the burning feeling scratching beneath his skin, begging to be free, “Make it stop!”
“Oh?” Gary acted taken back, “Why should I do that? After all, don't demons deserve to be exorcised?”
“Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, and from the noisome pestilence,” Father Garcia continued, ignoring the way John thrashed as he spoke in nonsense to the air, “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust: his truth shall be thy shield and buckler.”
“I am not a demon!” John insisted, “Ah! Please! I'll do anything! Just make it stop!”
Gary's ears pricked as John said this, “Anything?”
“Yes! Ah! A-anything! No! Ow! Stop! Please!” John was speaking between screams, pleading for his life in eightteen different ways.
“Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night; nor for the arrow that flieth by day;” Father Garcia’s voice grew louder, “Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness; nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday.”
“I was hoping for that, because your final task begins here,” Gary said, “Are you certain you'd be willing to do anything?”
“Anything!” John repeated, screaming, crying, pleading for an escape. The pain only grew worse, his body physically rejecting his own blood as he coughed it up in pools, “Please!”
“A thousand shall fall at thy side, and ten thousand at thy right hand; but it shall not come nigh thee,” Father Garcia spoke, “Only with thine eyes shalt thou behold and see the reward of the wicked.”
“Father Ward…” Gary began, placing a claw gently on the man's forehead. He trailed along his jawline, over his throat and down to his chest. He stopped right in the center before digging his claw in through the shirt, “I curse thy soul! Thy flesh becometh mine! Behold! The perfect vessel!”
The pain John had been feeling as a result of the exorcism was nothing compared to the torment that was being possessed. He had been possessed twice before, but not by one of the three dukes of Hell’s unholy trinity. Had he not been screaming his lungs out at the hell that was having his body forcefully taken over, he might have been thinking about how the pain he had been feeling was nothing compared to Amy Martin's battle against the UNSPEAKABLE, or Lisa’s untimely death.
As the two fused into one, the crow in the corner of the room cawed, flying away to hide stop the staircase. Smart bird. After all, it's not like anyone can stop a bloodthirsty demon in the path of his greatest enemy.
If John had to explain how being possessed felt, he would say that it truly was nothing and everything all at once. It was when he was completely blind that he saw everything clearest, including Father Garcia’s horrified expression at he realized the terror he's unleashed, or the redness of the void that prevented him from seeing anything at all. It was when he was deafened that every sound grew sharp. The ringing the echoed was painful, but the voices the laced in it made their intentions very clear.
To put it simply, the feeling was beyond possible to be described. It truly was the greatest form of pain a human could suffer next to death.
“Finally,” John spoke, but it was not his voice, nor was it his words, “Do you know how long I've desired to ruin this flesh?” John lifted his- actually no, that's not correct. Gary lifted John's hands, revealing the sharpened claws that had broken through the flesh where his nails that had been reduced severely as a result of anxiety once stood.
“Miller,” Father Garcia spat the name like it was poison, “I should have guessed you'd be the one after me.”
“After you?” Gary had John's eyes open wide, the grin on his face feeling alien to the stare. Blood dripped from the corners of John's mouth as his neck twisted past its breaking point. This would not kill John, but it would hurt like hell every second he was still there, “No no no no, I thought I made myself quite clear that I was after this body.” Gary chuckled, “And now that I have it…” he pulled John’s arms apart, turning the rope into a mess of threads on the ground, “You're not taking it away from me!”
“Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the most High, thy habitation;” Father Garcia continued reciting the Psalm, backing away slowly from the abomination Gary had turned John’s body into, “There shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, to keep thee in all thy ways.”
Gary began cackling like a banshee, “Gonna point that stick at me?” He howled louder, despite the fact that John’s lungs couldn't handle the strain, “I've had enough of these idiotic games. Die!”
Gary lunged at Father Garcia, John's body trailing blood with every movement. John's thoughts has shifted to self preservation, animalistic and wild. When he looked at Father Garcia, he did not see the man who was there with him to delay the rise of the cult, not did he see his friend who had the common goal of shutting down the army of the UNSPEAKABLE, he saw the man trying to kill him. And when Gary used his body to lunge, he fueled the fire by adding thought of my murder.
Father Garcia was quick to dodge, but it didn't change the fact that he was slower than Gary and John. Regardless of who controlled the body, he was in trouble. Falling against the wall, he knew he needed a plan.
Across the room sat his shotgun, between him and his last defense stood the Gary-John nightmare. Father Garcia looked up, grunting as he grimaced.
“Get out of John's body!” He huffed, pushing himself back up to his feet, holding out his cross, “In the name of the Lord, I will send you back to hell before you taint him!”
“Oh,” John's eyes appeared stapled open as they glowed the blood red of the demon, his own blood falling out of every orifice, “But haven't you noticed? I've been imprinting on your little pet this entire time!”
Father Garcia’s face twisted in confusion, “What?”
Gary's voice laughed through John's face, “This whole time! I've had him in my grasp! Every time you ignored his muttering, his fear, his anguish, I was there!” John's body leaned in closer, his blood dripping onto Father Garcia's coat, but it was Gary's hot breath that beat down on his face, “And you ignored him. He was begging you for help every day and you let him. Because you thought he was crazy!” Gary stood John's body straight up before lifting the clawed hands to the sky, “And look where your ignorance has led you!”
Father Garcia's face fell. He knew the demon was right, he let this happen to John. It was his fault. But he couldn't give up on him, John was still in there.
“John, can you hear me?” He could, but he wished he couldn't. It only made the loss of his autonomy and movements more painful, “I'm sorry, this is all my fault.” He clutched the crucifix, “But it's not over!”
Father Garcia didn't let the monster regain its bearings as he stabbed it in the gut with the crucifix. The loud screech the monster emitted was a mix of Gary's hissing and John's screams. It was like a much louder, much more painful variation of nails on a chalkboard. But he didn't have time to get hung up on the sound.
Father Garcia pushed the monster aside, ducking as the monster reached out with its claws as he slipped by. He quickly snatched the shotgun and turned it around, pointing it directly at the damned face of his possessed friend.
“No more games,” he grunted, huffing and puffing, “Out. Now.”
“This body is mine!” Gary's voice echoed, John's screams of pain fueling it, “You and my John can't have it!”
The monster lunged, Father Garcia took the shot. But before he did, a shred of John's humanity shone through, the pleas to be free were burning in his eyes, and Father Garcia couldn't sever the source. He shot John in the shoulder rather than the head.
John's body was pushed backwards, expelling the demon within. For a moment, Father Garcia could still see the illusion of the cultist. No, he didn't lunge as a cultist. The distorted face of Astaroth had jumped at him with intent to kill.
The job was done, he had no reason to still be there. He ran up the stairs, tripping over himself before slamming the door shut. He had expelled the demon, but one thing was certain, he failed to save John.
John in question, rubbed his head. The pain of possession and exorcism had subsided, his limbs twisted back into place. But the gunshot wound did not patch up, the stretch in his bones burned, and blood had still covered everywhere it would reach.
“Father Garcia?” He looked around into the emptiness. He tried to stand only to be brought back to his knees. The human body is not built for the flexibility, strength, and wrath of a demon’s body, but that's never stopped demons before.
A loud bang on the door to the basem*nt cause John to jump, landing on his back, holding himself up on his elbows, “Damn him,” Gary's agitated grunt called from up the stairs, “I was so close! Ugh! Fine then! I'll take my vengeance after I destroy this mortal plain and everyone in it!”
Another bang caused the crow to caw loudly, gliding to resume its position in the corner. The crow looked at John, whipping it's head back and forth as if making sure that he wouldn't suddenly drop dead when it looked away.
“John,” Gary's voice was soft as it echoed down the stairs. If John didn't know any better, he'd have assumed the cultist was worried about him. Gary flew down the stairs and over to John, looking over his blood stained silhouette, “Preacher! You're alive!”
“I'd hope so,” John rubbed the back of his head. Pain took over his entire form, “You possessed me…”
“Mm, that I did,” The demon nodded in agreement.
“You said I was cursed,” John was slowly putting together the pieces, as if going through every second of the torture would somehow help him make sense of it.
“But of course,” Gary said, “After all, you are cursed, preacher. It shouldn't come as a challenge to you to accept it. I wouldn't be so…infatuated by you if you weren't.”
“You…” John's brain was spinning in circles as he tried to put everything together, “That…that hurt.”
“It did,” Gary would never be able to comprehend the pain he went through, not that he had any intentions of trying, “But I cannot express how thrilled I am that you're alive.”
Gary held out a hand to assist John to his feet. As soon as he pulled him up, he bent over slightly to place a kiss on his lips. No tongue, no grabbing, no struggling, just a chaste kiss shared between the two men. And when he pulled away, John did not appear any different, he just looked to the cultist.
“Why?” He looked to him, “I haven't done anything to earn that yet.”
“Quite the contrary,” Gary shook his head, taking John's hands in his, “That was the last of your tasks. I believe that you have earned your keep.”
John's eyes widened in shock, hope overflowing in his eyes, “You don't mean…”
“I do,” Gary said softly, “You have done everything I've needed of you, now I shall hold my end of the bargain. I will raise Lisa Pearson from the dead.”
