Padre Salas (6 page)

XV. Hidden Warehouse in Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

Padre Salas was feeling lost, and that only served to exacerbate his own fears. He knew perfectly well that an exorcist neither could, nor should, confront a demon whilst afraid, since such panic meant two things: firstly, that he had doubts regarding the possibility of vanquishing the aforementioned malign entity, and secondly, that one could not trust blindly in the help and the power of God being enough to guarantee success. The priest now had many exorcisms under his belt, certainly over a hundred, and in all of them he had managed to liberate the possessed, but each one of them had come at a price, and he had always ended up weakened. He felt the deep wounds from having performed so many difficult rituals, which on occasion had required superhuman strength, and which had left their mark not only on his memory, but also his very faith. He knew that God was not that powerful, and that whilst Satan and his neighbours were not his equals in energy, they were not far behind. And whilst there was only one God, there were many demons: all of which were very dangerous. Just as Padre Rincón was now learning at his side, many years ago he had been a disciple to a great exorcist, who had taught him a terrifying lesson: the angels don’t come to the aid of the priest who practices exorcism; one stands alone against the demons, and the priests’ most powerful weapon was their own faith.

“Are you tired?” asked Padre Rincón, entering the office of the warehouse that the Archdiocese of Guadalajara had given them for the ritual.

“Yes, I’m exhausted. You are young, strong, and have an unbreakable faith. You’re being a great help to me, and I can see you being an outstanding exorcist.”

“I appreciate your words enormously. But right now I’m worried about your health; you seem really worn out.”

“I am, but those little girls can’t wait. In spite of everything, their weak bodies could also do with a short break.”

“It’s Beelzebub, isn’t it?”

“I don’t understand,” replied Padre Salas, confused.

“I mean that it’s so difficult to expel this demon because we’re dealing with Beelzebub. You told me, the day you realised that it was he who had possessed the girls, that this demon had spoken to you in the Aramaic that you feared.”

“Yes, that’s true. But forget it. You must not fear the demons, Padre Rincón, or you will never get to be the exorcist that I hope you will become.”

“But you, however, respect them.”

“Beelzebub entered into me, on one particular occasion, many years ago, and even though I got off lightly, it had its consequences. It’s the risk we take as exorcists. That is why I retired away to a little church in Coyoacán. I just wanted to dedicate myself to a handful of people who needed me, and to be in direct and permanent contact with God.”

“And is that the very reason why Beelzebub resisted your orders so much?”

“No, Padre Rincón. That’s what’s got me puzzled. Beelzebub entered into those girls’ bodies in a strange way. It had to have been through a ritual that I’ve never faced before, and that is why I’m having so many difficulties. The problem is not the demon. The real obstacle is the way in which Beelzebub took possession of the girls.”

“So, to carry out an exorcism, it’s important to know the root cause of the possession, then?”

“I would say that in many cases it’s indispensible. Right now, we’re a little lost.”

“We could visit Valeria, the girl who was saved. Perhaps she could give us some information.”

“I’ve thought about it, but I want to give that family some breathing space. Beelzebub was cruel with the mother, and I don’t want to provoke his rage with any faux pas. If something bad has to happen, I want his fury to fall on us.”

Both clergymen remained in silence, reflecting. Padre Salas tried everything to soothe his nerves and catch his breath, whilst Padre Rincón tried to transmit his impregnable faith and strength to his companion. They must have been meditating there for at least an hour when somebody knocked on the office door.

“What’s happening?” asked Padre Rincón.

“There’s something I want you both to see,” replied one of the fathers, uneasily.

The priest opened the door and found himself confronted by a man whose face was incandescent with rage.

“What’s happened?”

“This! This is what’s happened!”

The father handed over a copy of
Las Noticias
, with a three-column article on the front page, above a photograph of a strange pyramid:
“DEMONIC POSSESSION HORROR: HOW IT ALL STARTED”
.

XVI. Guadalajara Cathedral, Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

Padre Salas had decided that it was better to speak with the journalist José Antonio Sancho in the same place they had met, far away from the warehouse in which the exorcism was taking place, to avoid adding any more tension to the already stressful situation going on there. Padre Rincón had remained there to care for the girls and their parents.

The priest was angry, and felt that Sancho had betrayed his confidence, putting the girls at risk. Whilst he waited, he had read the article over again, and still did not believe it. Sancho’s disloyalty had disappointed him, but then he also remembered that human beings frequently tend towards meanness and the stupidest egotism. When the reporter finally arrived, he could not avoid raising his voice a lot more than was usual for him.

“How could you!” he exclaimed, slamming his hand down onto the front cover of
Las Noticias
.

The journalist closed the office door, to avoid the priest’s shouting alarming the other people passing through the Cathedral. It was very clear to him that he was going to receive quite a telling off, and he deserved it, too. He should also accept that his self-interest had to be more than repugnant to this man who was devoted to God, and to those most in need.

“It’s difficult for you to understand. In order to keep a place reserved in the rest of the issues, I needed to send something to the paper.”

“You’ve put these girls’ futures at serious risk!”

“I’m sorry. My editor in chief doesn’t understand anything about waiting, or public opinion, and if I didn’t send any news, I would definitely have been obliged to return to Mexico City.”

“Then, none of what you’ve written is true?”

“No, it’s all true. At the time, I wasn’t completely honest with you, and I held back certain information. I investigated, and that’s how I managed to follow the trail and find the evidence that’s formed the basis of this article.”

“You’re insensitive. You don’t understand anything at all. I want you to tell me everything right now. It’s imperative for the success of the exorcism!”

Padre Salas was beside himself. He had never been so infuriated in all his life, and he deplored the fact he was unable to contain his rage. But right now, the only thing he was worried about was the future of the nine possessed girls, who were currently wrapped in straitjackets, awaiting his return.

“Basically, I say everything in the article. I’ve brought you the book that the seer I mentioned gave to me.

Sancho handed over the volume with the pentagram on the cover. The priest cast a quick eye over it.

“And the pyramid?”

“I haven’t been able to bring it,” lied Sancho, who did not want to hand over that extraordinary
treasure
to anyone. He knew that the tetrahedron was key and that, somehow, it really was gifted with some sort of supernatural energy.

“Well, I need it. I need it with the utmost urgency!”

“What do you think happened?”

“You need me to explain it to you? You’ve already taken it upon yourself to put it in writing in your rag of a newspaper!”

Sancho let out a deep breath, and tried to relax. He should just calmly accept any insult or vexation from the priest who was mad with rage, and surely with all the reason in the world.

“It’s important. I was surmising, and I admit my mistake, but I would like to know what happened with those girls, now that you have all of the information,” said Sancho.

“What for? You only want to know my version, so that you can go rushing out to write a new article. The only thing that you care about is your damned professional career.”

“It’s imperative in order for me to give you the pyramid,”” said Sancho, well-timed.

Padre Salas sat down, and ran his hands down his face. For a second, he thought that he was going to faint, but fortunately he was able to stay upright and conscious.

“Alright, I’ll give you my opinion. But in exchange, you’ll give me that malign object and stop attending the sessions; I’ve lost all confidence in you. When I say so, you’ll be able to make use of all the information, and write the report of your life, which is your only motivation. Agreed?”

“I accept the agreement.”

The priest let out a long sigh and concentrated, so as not to lose his nerve, on speaking very slowly and quietly.

“I don’t know how it was possible, but I think that little Gabriela mixed up various rituals. Somehow, the girls were able to summon Beelzebub, and he took over their bodies. I don’t believe that was their intention, but thus was the consequence of their dangerous game. On occasion, fate conspires against us, especially if we go messing around with ceremonies that are capable of attracting malign beings, which really do populate our world.”

“And do you think that the pyramid played a fundamental role in Beelzebub’s being able to possess the girls?”

Sancho needed to swallow after asking the question, and conceal his growing anxiety, pressing his toes against the soles of his shoes.

“Without a doubt. That object is cursed. I need it urgently, because by destroying it, I believe that perhaps I’ll be capable of liberating the girls easily.”

“Destroying it?”

“Yes. The objects used as links in satanic rituals are, very often, shall we say, the umbilical cord between the person possessed and the demon that has infected their body. Reducing these objects to ashes is, on occasion, the only way for the exorcism to end well. It is an act that carries with it great risks for the exorcist, because it is very dangerous, but there’s no other alternative.“

XVII. Hotel NH Guadalajara, Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

The journalist had spent a day and a half now reflecting on his conversation with Padre Salas, and narrating every experience he had had, from the start, in an extremely lengthy article. He had not revealed the names of the priests, the little girls, or the doctor; but the facts were depicted just as they had been, including all of the suffering.

The priest’s words had made a deep impression on his conscience, and now he could only think about those poor little girls, to whom he had surely committed an injustice, putting their existence at risk all for the sake of a formidable headline.

No sooner had he finished writing the article, he made a safe copy of it, attaching a good proportion of the photographs and recordings taken and made at the warehouse. He had now edited them so that their faces were unrecognisable. Then, he opened up his email to send a message to a colleague in the editorial department of
Las Noticias,
programming it to arrive two days later. After doing so, he called him on his mobile.

“Francisco? It’s Sancho.”

“Hi, buddy, you’re going down quite a storm! All around here, everyone’s going crazy for your articles.”

“I’m calling you about a delicate topic.”

“You sound so serious; what’s up?”

“Francisco, I’ve programmed an email to be sent to you, containing a username and password to a document on the
Cloud
, saved in
Dropbox
. If you receive it within two days, access its content and publish the article and photographs that are in it.”

“Now you’re scaring me...”

“Don’t worry, Francisco. I know what I’m doing, it’s only a precautionary measure.”

“Listen, if you want, I’ll get in the car right now and I’ll be in Guadalajara in a blink of an eye.”

“You’re the best! I don’t think there’ll be any need, but if I do need your help, you know I won’t hesitate to call you.”

“Don’t go abandoning me, now.”

“Come on, don’t be silly. Like I said, it’s only a precautionary measure, so don’t worry about it.”

Sancho was a little while in reassuring his colleague, but he managed to put him at ease in the end. Perhaps he had been too hasty: perhaps it had been insensitive to implicate a third person, but he did not wish to run the risk of the story being lost due to imprudence.

Sancho emptied the small metal bin in the bathroom, and then placed inside it a towel drenched in gasoline. With the determination of an automaton, he went to look for the bag in which he was keeping the tetrahedron the girls had constructed and which, according to Padre Salas, was cursed. He suspected that the priest was right: he had experienced its energy first-hand. He returned to the bathroom and hit the bag with all his strength, so as to destroy the little pyramid without actually touching it with his hands. He felt euphoric upon doing so. Then, he placed the bag along with its contents in the bin, dropping on top of it a lit match. There was a sort of mini explosion, followed by a weak flame that quickly died out. Incredibly, the towel, the bag, and the broken up sticks had been consumed in a matter of only seconds. Sancho thought that he had done what he should, and he took comfort in that. But he hardly had any time to enjoy this sensation of profound peace within himself: an intense heat, coming from his abdomen, spread rapidly throughout his entire body. Then, the unbelievable burning reached his hands, and he watched in terror, with his own eyes, as he began to spontaneously carbonise. Soon his fingers, turning into ash, began detaching from his hands, one after the other, and then his hands did the same. The journalist barely had the strength to cry out in pain, and in one final moment of lucidity, he understood that Beelzebub was taking his revenge, and that his destiny was now nothing but Hell itself.

XVIII. Hidden Warehouse in Guadalajara, State of Jalisco

Padre Salas was feeling increasingly weak. Only the future of those unfortunate little girls managed to give him the ability to draw strength from weakness, and allow him to keep fighting, on virtually no sleep, against the malign Beelzebub, who appeared to be mocking him; laughing at his fragility, and ostentatiously demonstrating his own power. But the priest knew that he had God on his side, and that if he persisted, the light would finally triumph, and that the monster would be dragged back down to Hell, his only home.