Padre Salas (3 page)

So as not to call too much attention to themselves, both priests were wearing informal attire, and only their clerical collars could betray their status. They took a bag out of the boot, and strode confidently towards the only house on the remote street. There were barely five or six others in the surrounding area.

“I beg you to abstain from making observations out loud, and if you wish to make any comment to me, do so in private, or in my ear. The parents are in as much of a delicate emotional situation as the child, and any appearance of clumsiness on our part could be misinterpreted,” Padre Salas warned his colleague, before knocking on the latticed door of a humble, single storey dwelling, constructed out of un-plastered brick and cement.

“I’ll be careful.”

The parents allowed the clergymen, whom they had been expecting since the early afternoon, to enter. They were very old, considering girl’s age, and they were noticeably worn out and without hope.

“Our little Zoé is resting in there. She spends almost the entire day sleeping, but every now and then she wakes up, and that’s when our nightmare begins...” said the mother, in a lifeless, muted voice.

The girl, nine years old, gaunt body, dark skin, and very dark hair that fell partway down her back, was dozing. Her lips were dry; as if she had spent days walking through the desert, and sleep encrusted both eyes. Her breathing was irregular: one second there would be a jolt running through her chest, and the next she would go back to her relaxed state, sunk down within a deep sleep.

The priests were taking various objects out of the bag they had brought with them: a couple of flasks of Holy Water, two bibles, a golden crucifix of about 20 centimetres in height on a wooden base, a Saint Benedict medal, an immaculate pair of white chasubles, and two purple stoles.

“Padre Rincón, put on the chasuble and stole over your clothes and hold the Saint Benedict medal in your hand.”

The priest obeyed, whilst Padre Salas also put on a chasuble and stole. He then took the crucifix and approached the girl. With determination, he positioned one end of the stole over her head.

“Satan, if you are in the body of this child, I order you by the power vested in me by God that you show yourself!”

The little girl barely even stirred. The parents, terrified, embraced each other and then moved away, so as not to disturb the priests.

“Satan, I order you to show yourself!”

The girl continued to sleep. Then, Padre Salas brought the crucifix to the girl’s back and pinned it against her. A dense violet-coloured smoke emitted from her skin, and she sat up sharply, giving off a long shriek. Her eyes were open, she was completely awake. The priest didn’t even stop speaking.

“Satan, leave Zoé’s body!”

The little girl opened her mouth and a greenish secretion spilled out at the corners. Then she took hold of one of Padre Salas’ arms and directed at him a lengthy diatribe in an unintelligible language. It was in the deep, resounding voice of a beast, not belonging to a girl of only nine years old.

Padre Salas turned and began to collect the things he had brought with him in the bag. Little Zoé, behind him, became relaxed once more, and seemed to be in a deep sleep.

“Father, is our daughter really possessed, or has she gone mad?” asked the startled mother.

“I regret to tell you that she is indeed possessed. I am going to report this to the Archdiocese, and as soon as I receive authorisation, we will begin the ritual of exorcism, if they are ready...”

The parents looked at each other, and nodded in unison. They were still in each other’s arms.

The priests finished putting all of their belongings back into the bag, and returned to the car. Padre Rincón was bewildered.

“Do you already have the proof that we’re dealing with possession?”

“I do, at least in this case.”

“And how can you be so sure?”

“The smoke that her skin was emitting when I placed the cross on it is difficult to fake. The blank eyes and the xenoglossy...”

“Xenoglossy? She was speaking in an unknown language... What was it?”

“She spoke to me in Aramaic. I obtained the definitive proof from what she told me: the Gnosis.”

Padre Rincón noticed within himself a live emotion that he could not conceal. Although he felt a deep sorrow for little Zoé, there was a part of him that had been wishing to face a real possession. And Padre Salas was not somebody who could be easily fooled.

“Did she know things about your past? Pardon my indiscretion, but, what did she say to you?”

“Speaking through her voice, he told me that he wasn’t Satan. He told me he was Baal-Zebub, the
Lord of the Flies
, most commonly known as Beelzebub. He told me that he knew me; that I had already been in his temple many years ago, in Palmira, in Syria. And, finally, he told me that he knew I was afraid, and that I was not going to be capable of expelling him from there.”

VIII. Tonalá, outskirts of Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

It took José Antonio barely half an hour to reach Valeria’s home, in Tonalá, a town almost imbedded into the very city of Guadalajara. He got out of the car almost before it had even come to a complete stop, and entered the dwelling, the door of which was ajar. In his hand, he was carrying his Nikon HD camera, the batteries well charged and ready to record.

“I’m here!”

The doctor came out to meet him. He had a shaken expression, and his eyes were reddened: it was clear he must have been crying for a fairly long time.

“It’s horrible! Follow me...”

The doctor led the journalist towards the little room where Valeria’s mother was lying. Her normally white skin had become blackened, as if her body had carbonised, and she had lost almost all of her extremities, which had turned to ash. Sancho remained motionless, paralysed for a few seconds by the sheer terror produced by the scene, but he immediately set to recording the phenomenon with his camera.

“Is there a medical explanation for this?” asked the reporter.

“Explanation? You’re mad! This is absolutely incomprehensible...”

José Antonio knew that the woman was still alive, because she was emitting moans that were barely audible. Powerless, he continued to record the seemingly hallucinatory process of a person being converted into fine black powder right in front of his very eyes. After ten minutes, the poor unfortunate woman’s suffering ceased, and she was silenced forever more. The blouse she had been wearing was yielding gradually, until eventually resting flat and empty on the sofa as if it had never clothed anyone, as her torso was now gone. Finally, the metamorphosis reached her face, now completely black, and slowly her eyebrows turned to ash, followed by her eyes, her ears, her nose, her cheeks... gradually exposing her skull, which in seconds disintegrated like everything else. When Sancho stopped the recording of the body that had been Valeria’s mother, all that was left were her clothes, her hair, and a pile of fine particles scattering onto the floor.

“What just happened?”

The doctor was down on his knees, his back to the sofa. He seemed to be praying.

“I don’t know. She called me; she told me that she was feeling really unwell. She also told me that she had managed to save her daughter, but that the evil had then entered into her own body. She begged me to come to her aid, but when I arrived, the only thing I could think to do was call you.”

“I’ve recorded the whole thing. I think that first of all, I’m going to make a safe-copy, so nobody can deny that we’ve born witness to this event, and then I’m going to approach the Archdiocese of Guadalajara. Do you want to come with me?”

The doctor then began to scream out, as if he were being tortured with red-hot pokers. He rolled around on the floor, like a startled snake surrounded by fire.

“No, no, a thousand times no! I don’t want anything more to do with this. I’m giving up, I’m resigning; I’m leaving it in your hands. I’m sorry, I’ve reached my limit...”

Sancho approached the doctor and placed his hand on his head, in a gesture of kindness. The man was howling; he had gone insane.

“I understand. You’ve come a long way. I still don’t even know how on Earth I’m managing to take all this in so calmly.”

José Antonio went off in search of the girl. She was in her bedroom, lying on her bed. She seemed to be sleeping, but her expression showed relaxation and health: her face was completely different from how it had been the last time he had seen her. He sat down next to her, and shook her gently, to wake her up.

“Valeria, Valeria...”

The little girl opened her eyes, and looked at him, bewildered. She seemed to be returning from an infinite sleep.

“Who are you?”

“Don’t you remember anything?”

The girl rubbed her eyes, trying to wake herself up, and recall what had happened.

“Was I having a nightmare?”

“Yes, a long nightmare. What happened before you fell asleep?”

She looked at the ceiling, as if she were able to see, in the white plaster, a film reel of past events.

“I was by a lake... I was playing with other girls,” she muttered.

“Are you tired?”

“Yes, I’m really tired. Where are my mummy and daddy?”

“Take it easy, and go to sleep now. The time to see them will be when you’re rested.”

Sancho walked through the house, now in search of the father. He did not find him, or the doctor either. But he did find something that really caught his attention, on top of the living room table: two books, both of them manuals on how to perform exorcisms. He picked them up, and went out onto the street, hiding them beneath the driver’s seat of his car, and locking the camera away in the glove box. Then, he returned to the house and stayed with Valeria, hoping that her father was working, and would not be too late in coming back home.

IX. Guadalajara Cathedral, Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

The Guadalajara Cathedral, also known as the Cathedral of the Assumption of Our Lady, is one of the most spectacular, and most visited monuments in the state capital of Jalisco. The building has withstood numerous earthquakes, although both its north tower and dome remain somewhat affected.

In one of the offices, deep within its core, could be seen, for the first time, the faces of José Antonio Sancho, Padre Salas, and Padre Rincón. The three men had just recently finished viewing the recording that the former had made in little Valeria’s home.

“And you say that the child feels safe and healthy?” enquired Padre Salas.

“We can go to see her. She’s with her father now, although they are both in a state of devastation. Of course, I haven’t shown them the video.”

“Mr Sancho, you could either be an ally in this dramatic situation, or our worst enemy.”

“I hope not to cast any prejudice on you, or the girls. But I also have my priorities, as a journalist.”

“Are you a believer?”

Jose Antonio very slowly stroked his three-day stubble. He had in front of him two priests, but he should be honest.

“I believe that I stopped being one... But perhaps my faith is coming back, I don’t know. Over the last few days, I’ve witnessed incredible things, some of them as horrendous as that which I’ve just shown you.”

“Deep down, a little bit of scepticism’s always good for you, you know?” said Padre Salas.

“I imagine that for a reporter, it is,” Sancho replied, without being entirely sure of the point the priest was trying to make.

“I beg you not to make these images public, for the moment. We’ve just received the authorisation to carry out the exorcisms of these children, and if the media descends upon us like a swarm of bees, we’ll all end up going mad.”

“What do you suggest I do?”

Padre Salas approached the journalist as if he were a very close friend, whom he had known for an extremely long time.

“Accompany us; bear witness to our work; help with the whole process of exorcism and record it. In exchange, I implore you to maintain the highest level of discretion until we have liberated these girls from Beelzebub. Once everything’s all finished, and I hope it will be, you’ll end up with the sole rights to the story, and you’ll then be able to spread the news. However, our identities as much as those of the families should always remain protected.”

Sancho let out a puff of air, and mulled it over for a few seconds. He needed to carefully weigh up the pros and cons of the offer.

“Alright, I accept. But I will have to keep sending daily reports to my newspaper, or my boss will make me return to Mexico City.”

“What do you think about giving a step by step account of how a real exorcism is carried out?”

“Perhaps that will be sufficient.”

The two men shook hands. Sancho felt that his
Big Story
was gaining momentum, becoming bigger and more relevant. He was now imagining himself even writing a book about his experiences: the big publishing houses in the USA were going to be fighting over it. Then he remembered two important elements, and decided that, for the moment at least, he would share one of them with the priests. He rummaged through his overnight bag, and handed to Padre Salas the books he had stolen from Valeria’s house.

“I found these at the girl’s house. Perhaps they might have something to do with what happened to the mother.”

Padre Salas analysed both volumes, somewhat astonished. Then, he spent a few minutes painstakingly leafing through the pages.

“This good woman should have waited for us. Perhaps we’ve delayed things too long, and now we must not waste any more time.”

“What do you think happened?” asked Padre Rincón, unable to suppress his curiosity.

Padre Salas left the books on top of a table, and looked towards a high window, through which a strong ray of light was shining.

“I believe that Valeria’s mother was very brave, and desperate to save her daughter in any way she could. And the truth is that she was successful, although evidently she had neither the adequate preparation nor the necessary protection. There is a phenomenon of which we should always be careful: the
return crash
. She expelled Beelzebub from her daughter’s body, but the demon then immediately entered into her, and exacted his revenge in the most abominable way.