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 is worth more than gold, right? Besides, it is a foreign entity."
Julian snorted, but on the inside, he had no idea how to perform an exorcism, if that is what Ramirez wanted. And what in the bloody hell was a foreign entity?
The young man 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, whose existence was recognized. It could affect people through disease, misfortune, or even apparitions.
However, people had begun to normalize occult happenings. An unorganized freelance industry had developed over the years, taking care of hauntings, possessions, curses, and so on, at cheap prices. The wealthy and influential still opted for the Unified Church's skilled exorcists. Julian used to be one of them.
The van jerked to a stop outside a squat, weathered building. It was the migrant shelter, Camp Moria. The legal citizens of Salem City opposed immigration vehemently, but there wasn't enough police force to prevent the influx.
Initially, the migrants started dying in public, of hunger, disease, or curses. To take them off the streets, these shelters were set up around the border to accommodate the population.
Camp Moria's building had a chain-link fence sagging around it. Obscene graffiti covered its walls. The children and youngsters had nothing better to do, since there were no schools in the area.
As Julian looked upon the building, faint, uneasy whispers reached his ears on the wind. They were in tongues he couldn't place. Every cell in his body urged him to run away.
Julian took a deep breath. Somehow, it felt good. Rendezvous with the supernatural was his game. He was the champion, the rock star of this industry. Or at least he used to be. Regardless, the young man had done this before.
"Let's get inside," Father Ramirez said, killing the engine. "Before it gets dark. We had a crawler last week. Almost gnawed off a man's leg."
The priest was referring to zombies. They lived in the sewers, and were as rare as bears. But they occasionally climbed to the surface for a sumptuous meal. Beheading puts crawlers to rest, Julian's memory reminded him.
The party entered Camp Moria, pushing through a set of creaky doors, locking them behind. They went through a series of dimly lit halls, illuminated by flickering bulbs.
The shelter smelled of damp concrete, mold, and piss. Refugees huddled in corners, their eyes wide in hunger or disease.
"Here on the ground floor are the fresh arrivals from the streets and 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. She looked up at Julian with teary eyes. "Bismillah Rahman Rahim."
Julian felt a tug at his heart as if he could read her mind. For a moment, he thought he felt her pain and suffering. The young man looked away to break the connection. Was he psychic? What was that?
On his end, Father Ramirez scowled at the Arabic speaking woman as if she muttered curses. "Never mind that lot. Most of them are infidels and non-believers. Let's go to the kitchens on the second floor."
Julian nodded. Salem City hated non-believers, especially through Church propaganda.
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. "It happened here," the priest said quietly as if scared to disturb the silence.
Miguel pointed at the central hearth. "Over there. Please go ahead, Mr. Amadeus. 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, broken 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. Only herculean brute force could achieve such a result.
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 that happened.
"Who... Who did this?" Julian whispered, his stomach churning at the gory display of human mulch.
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… The deed was done."
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 inside. 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."
Julian fought back his bile. "I believe you. Have the cops been informed?"
All three of them shook their heads. It was a stupid question. Unofficial migrant shelters like Camp Moria were protected neither by the 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 illegal refugees.
Julian took a shallow breath. "Did you find anybody else around? No suspects?"
Father Ramirez crossed himself and muttered a prayer. "No, just the girl."
As the priest mentioned 'the girl', fresh whispers intensified in Julian's ears. They swirled around the room, talking to him like a condensed storm. Cries, laments, warnings, and chants. What was this spiritual cacophony that made no sense? Why couldn't he focus on one voice?
"Are you alright, Amadeus?" Ramirez asked with concern. The young man appeared to be blanking out.
"Yeah, yeah. Take me to the girl," Julian replied, trying to steady himself.
They moved to the second floor and headed 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 clad in a pink frock. "That's Aisha," Miguel said. "She was the only one found near the boys. She just stood there, smiling. Also, 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 by a demon—"
"Silence!" Ramirez interjected. "This isn't a possession by a demon. The Church has banished those creatures with its holy might. Aisha must be affected by an entity from the infidel faiths!"
The priest was referring to the event of the century, when the Unified Church and its templars shut down the Gates of Hell. Since then, no biblical demons had been reported. Exorcists had to deal with ghosts, ghouls, and entities from other faiths. Christianity as a whole, had redeemed itself.
However, Julian knew better. He had no patience for the Church's lies. The young man 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 roughly. 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. The girl speaks tongues that we don't understand. But I can tell from the words that they are Islamic. Aisha is clearly possessed by an entity of pagan 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!"