Julian's hangover was gradually lifting. He leaned back as the rattling van hit another bump, making him want to throw up. "So this is off-the-books, huh?" he asked after fighting back vomit.
Father Ramirez frowned in the rearview mirror. "You will get paid like I explained earlier. I mean, whatever we can scrape together from donations. But saving a soul's worth more than gold, right? I fear all of those poor souls are in danger."
Julian snorted, but on the inside, he had no idea how to perform an exorcism, if that is what Ramirez wanted. He glanced out the window at the crumbling cityscape. The buildings were tagged with weathered occult symbols. Wards and seals protected homes and establishments from the supernatural, which could affect people through disease, misfortune, or even apparitions.
The van jerked to a stop outside a squat, weathered building—the migrant shelter. Camp Moria. The legal citizens of Salem City opposed immigration vehemently, but there wasn't enough police force to stave them off. As a result, these shelters were set up around the border to accommodate the large influx.
The building had a chain-link fence sagging around it, and obscene graffiti covered its walls. As Julian looked upon the building, faint, uneasy whispers reached his ears on the wind, in tongues he couldn't place. Every cell in his body urged him to run away.
It felt natural, though. Rendezvous with the supernatural was his game, or at least used to be. Regardless, he had done this before.
"Let's get inside," Father Ramirez said, killing the engine. "Before it gets dark."
They pushed through creaky doors into a series of dimly lit halls, illuminated by flickering bulbs. The shelter smelled of damp concrete and mold. Refugees huddled in corners, their eyes wide in hunger or disease.
"Here on the ground floor are the fresh arrivals from the border," Miguel said with a grimace. "We move them to a higher floor whenever there's a vacancy."
A woman in a hijab murmured prayers, rocking a child, and looked up at Julian with teary eyes. "Bismillah Rahman Rahim."
Julian felt a tug at his heart as if he could relive her pain for a second. He looked away to break the connection. Was he psychic?
On his end, Father Ramirez scowled at the Arabic words as if they were curses. "Never mind them. Most of them are infidels and non-believers. Let's go to the kitchens on the second floor."
"It started here," he said quietly as they entered a hall that resembled a kitchen from the medieval era. However, the area had been cleared this morning. Pots, pans, and utensils lay abandoned everywhere.
Miguel pointed at the central hearth. "It's over there. I can't look at it again."
Ramirez crossed himself. "The boys... God rest their souls."
Rosa broke into tears and looked away. "Please help us…"
Julian approached the hearth and froze at the sight. It made his bile rise abruptly. The central hearth gaped like a mouth, and from the chimney above, human limbs dangled—tiny, pale arms and legs. Most likely, those were 'the boys' Ramirez referred to, or whatever remained of them.
The children appeared to have been rolled into balls and stuffed into the chamber from below with brute force. Their bodies were crammed impossibly tight into the brick-lined hole, with their heads bunched up and eyes vacant. Dried blood streaked the chimney, but it was essentially a neat affair, considering everything.
"Who... Who did this?" Julian whispered, his stomach churning at the gory display.
Rosa covered her mouth. "We found them this morning. The boys probably escaped their dormitories at night and decided to play hide and seek here. Then we heard screams. By the time we got here..."
Miguel shook his head even though he had scrutinized the scene a dozen times. "No human could've done it. Lifted the children like that and shoved their bodies in. Four of us tried to pull them out earlier, but failed. We left the bunch for you to see, or you wouldn't believe us."
"I believe you. Have the cops been informed?"
All three of them shook their heads. It was a stupid question. The migrant shelter was protected by neither law nor the Church. The little funding they received was from fringe civil society groups. However, corrupt officials often arrived seeking bribes in exchange for overlooking the housed refugees.
"Did you find anybody else around? No suspects?"
Father Ramirez crossed himself and muttered a prayer. "No, just the girl."
As the priest mentioned her, the whispers intensified in Julian's ears, swirling around the room like a condensed storm. Cries, laments, warnings, and chants. What was this spiritual cacophony that made no sense? Why couldn't he focus?
"Are you alright, Amadeus?" Ramirez asked with concern.
"Yeah. Take me to the girl," Julian replied, trying to steady himself.
They moved to the second floor and walked down the corridor to the last room. Migrants gathered around as Julian walked among Ramirez, Miguel, and Rosa. They had never seen an exorcist before, especially the children. Julian thought bitterly that it was never good news when you ran into an exorcist.
The room was barricaded with chairs, which they removed quickly. As the door cracked open, a cold gust of wind laden with voices escaped. Julian took a deep breath and peeked from the crack.
Inside, on a makeshift cot, lay a girl glad in a pink frock. "That's Aisha," Miguel said. "She was the only one found near the boys. She just stood there, smiling, and she had scratches on her arms that were consistent with the chimney bricks."
"It took half a dozen men to subdue her," Miguel concluded.
"Aisha is just sixteen," Rosa chimed in. "How could she be possessed—"
"Silence!" Ramirez interjected. "This isn't a possession by a demon. The Church has banished those creatures with its might. Aisha must be affected by an entity from the infidel faiths!"
Julian had no patience for the Church's lies. He walked inside and approached Aisha. The girl was beautiful even in torment. Matted dark hair with pale olive skin. Restraints tied her wrists and ankles to the bed frame. She looked heavily drugged, since a nurse had given her heavy tranquilizers.
Aisha thrashed weakly with eyes rolled back, muttering strange words in Arabic.
"She's been like this since dawn," Father Ramirez explained. "Her superhuman strength earlier is telltale. She broke a man's arm like a twig. She's speaking in tongues that we don't understand. But I can tell from the words that they are Islamic. The girl is clearly possessed by entities of the foreign kind."
As soon as the priest was done speaking, Aisha's head snapped toward Julian, her eyes focusing on him unnaturally. "Julian Amadeus!" she hissed, the voice echoing like a chorus from hell. "You took your time climbing out of the hole! I've been waiting for you!"