by Pablo Poveda
The cases of abuse related to sects skyrocketed after the economic crisis, not only in Spain but in the whole of Europe. Desperation led people to fall for any spiritual and psychological nonsense. Reports piled up at the headquarters, and little by little, Rojo understood that his wife had left forever — like many others — some of which remained alive, but others did not.
Finally, Rojo assembled a dossier that delved into the modi operandi of the different identified sects. Ulterior motives were always money, sex, and political power. Most of the organizations were led by men who used women like merchandise to attain their goals. However, there was always a ubiquitous factor — women who disappeared voluntarily.
Most were middle-class women, students, single mothers whose whereabouts were unknown. Shortly after their disappearance, somewhere on the map, their bodies would merely show up — washed up on the shore, hanging like sausage strings in hotel rooms and apartments, or torn to pieces on the railway. Rojo could not get over it. He refused to believe that his wife would not return. He knew she was somewhere, and only by continuing the investigation himself would he find her someday.
Unfortunately, the case was eventually closed, and two years’ worth of work was locked away in the regional archives where it would become moth fodder.
Rojo was sure that Violeta was his path to access a higher level within the organization. Cornelius was only a cheap conman who had understood the dangers and the power of hypnosis on the weak-minded. Violeta, on the other hand, was an ambassadress who belonged to a more elaborate and complex network and had come to claim what, in her mind, was rightfully hers. Rojo knew that their modus operandi was widespread all over the world — and beyond a simple reckoning — she intended to take over the Silent Brotherhood, get rid of Cornelius, and take Blanca with her.
After his story, I needed a glass of water. I felt the Coke bubbling in my brain, and the whiskey had been wreaking havoc in my soberness. Perhaps Rojo was a drunk as I was and had spoken more than he should at the time he mixed facts with hypotheses and memories with fantasies, but I had to believe him. The café was empty, I looked him in the eye, and I could not find the white. Motionless, stiff like a telephone pole, he leaned on the bar. The sun had begun to warm up the sidewalks, stores were opening, and some jobless wretch here and there came in for a beer.
“I think it’s time to go home,” I told him.
“Let’s have one last one,” he replied serious, making an effort not to slur his words. “There is more.”
“That should suffice for today, Officer,” I said and grabbed him by the shoulder. “I’ll get you a taxi.”
“Don’t worry.” He stood up, staggering. That was funny to watch. “I can still walk.”
I raised my arm to stop a white Mercedes, and I shoved Rojo into the vehicle, who drove away with him and got lost from my sight upon turning around the corner. I paid the check and, with a crumpled cigarette in my mouth, greeted that café farewell and walked toward the apartment, pondering his words.
The heat stung my limbs. Tiredness, the alcohol I had ingested, and dehydration fast-forwarded my hangover. I needed to get wet, get in the shower. I played with the idea on my mind — getting in the shower without taking off my clothes nor shoes. I was near home and stuck my head under the fresh gush of water of a public fountain. It was intense and pleasant. The back of my head was in the air.
People walking around judged me. I was able to tell from their wrinkled faces, like clutched assholes. I tried to open the door to my apartment building, and the keys slipped from my hands and fell on the ground. When I bent over to pick them up, I turned my head and saw a woman.
“Clara?” I uttered aloud. “Is that you?”
The woman turned around the corner. I was drunk, or maybe not so much so.
I heard the click of a digital camera shooting a picture, probably a mobile phone.
I picked up the keys and opened the door.
When I got into my apartment, I sat on the sofa. Gravity pulled me down as though an anvil had fallen on top of me. My mobile phone began to ring on the table.
“Shit, not now,” I said, leaning toward the device. “Please, text instead.”
The ring ceased, and I regretted not taking the call. As I struggled to pick up the phone, my muscles became stiffer and heavier, my head leaned back and sank in a nebula of voices, still images, and dreams.
15
The phone rang again. It was hard to open the eyes; everything remained the same as before I closed them. Had I fallen asleep? That was the price to pay for sleeping untimely hours and putting up with the hangover of too long a night. My clothes stank, and so did the rest of the apartment. The collar of my shirt was soaked in sweat. A sour smell entered my nostrils. My old phone vibrated on the table, restlessly like a vibrating dildo with new batteries. That unbearable and horrific melody. I reached for the device as I could and picked up.
“Hello?” —The doorbell rang at the same time I picked up the phone. I heard breathing on the other side of the line — “Who is this?”
“Are you awake?” he asked. It was Rojo. “I have found something; we have to move.”
The doorbell rang again.
“What happens?” I asked. I felt my head spinning. “What is this about?”
I walked to the door and looked through the peephole.
It was Clara, I was not hallucinating, it was really her.
From the other side of the door, Clara whispered loud enough for me to hear, “Don’t tell him I’m here.” Her voice sounded eerie and void of emotion and life.
“We’ll burst in the next ceremony,” Rojo said excitedly. “An assault force is ready. I’ve spoken to other officers; we can do it and finish with those girls’ suffering at once.”
“Clara’s here,” I whispered. The doorbell rang one more time. “She’s come to my place.”
I walked into the living room and looked out the balcony. There was no one near the building. Everything seemed odd.
“What?” he exclaimed. “Don’t let her in. I’ll be there in a second.”
I looked through the peephole again, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Damn it,” I uttered. “Come as quickly as you can.”
“What is it?” he asked. “Stay in there, I’ll send someone.”
“She left already,” I said. “I thought I’d seen her this morning before entering the building. What time is it?”
“Five o’clock. It may have been your head playing you.”
“Of course not, Rojo, I’m not going crazy,” I replied, offended. “I heard the doorbell.”
“Don’t be an idiot,” said the police officer. “Stay where you are, take a shower, and wait for me.”
“Alright,” I said and hung up. The feeling of not being alone but next to a shadow that engulfed me increased as I put the telephone away. I squeezed it tight, whoever it was, would get a taste of my fist. My heart raced.
“Don’t dare to move,” a voice said. It was Clara. I felt a slight tap on my skull, a metal object leaned against it. She was aiming at my head at point-blank. “I told you not to tell him I was here.”
“How did you come in?” I asked.
“I’ve been following you for some time,” she explained, “and you haven’t even noticed.”
She told me to walk into the living room and sit on the sofa. Then I saw her face. Clara had undergone a makeover. She was no longer brunette but redheaded and wore blue contact lenses. She had also changed her attire, pretending to be yet another girl who purchased her summer wardrobe at Forever 21. She took a cigarette out of the pockets of her torn jeans and lit it, still aiming her gun at me. “You should’ve listened to me, Gabriel. Look at us now.”
“I know who you are,” I said. “You’re not Clara and you’re not Spanish either. I don’t think that you even cared about Hidalgo. And I know you’re one of the missing women that Rojo is looking for.”
“Shut your mouth,” she ordered. �
�You should’ve listened to me. Men, that’s your biggest weakness. Why do you insist? Pride? To be awarded the medal of merit? You know, your friend was just like you, a know-it-all smartass. I really liked you Gabriel, but you’ve really fucked up.”
“What are you going to do?” I asked, trying to sound defying, but in reality, I was terrified. “Will you force me to kill myself like you did with Hidalgo?”
“I have no time for your insolence,” she said, signaling me with the weapon. “Move.”
We left the apartment and headed to the rooftop. It was a sunny day, and from my position, it was possible to see the balconies of the adjoining buildings. In the distance, there was the mountain and the castle. We walked among washing lines until a concrete railing with painted beams. The fresh and soft sea breeze caressed our faces. At least, one last pleasant sensation, I thought. Clara’s dyed red hair waved like Medusa’s mane of snakes and covered part of her face.
“Get on the railing,” she ordered. “Do it.”
I peeked over the railing; from my position, I saw the void, the streets, the cars, and people who headed to do their morning shopping, the people at the cafés down there, and their collective obliviousness.
“No,” I said resignedly. “I’m afraid of heights. I can’t jump.”
“I didn’t tell you to jump, but if you won’t do it, I’ll shoot you.”
In such a tense situation, her accent came afloat. It was characteristically Slavic, fast-paced, and articulate.
“Why me?” I asked. “Why did you choose me?”
“You know the answer to that question already,” she replied. “In reality, Hidalgo did it. He knew you were easy to manipulate.”
“Bitch!” I uttered, emboldened, but she hushed me with a movement of her hand. “The police will get here soon, and you won’t get away with this alive. You’d better leave now.”
“It’s me who gives the orders here,” she asserted. “This is not the first time I’ve done this. Get on the handrail.”
Her hand started to exert pressure on the trigger. I sat on the rail and stood up on it slowly. I did not look down, I could not, I was invaded by fear. I knew that next was to jump or let her push me. I deduced that was the end.
“Just one thing,” I said. “Did you kill Estrella?”
“No,” she answered. “I just took care of Hidalgo... it was then that I realized that I wasn’t alone.”
“Alone?” I asked. “What does that mean?”
“Okay.” She smiled with complacency. “Anyway, this is the last thing you’ll hear.”
“What are you talking about?”
“I thought you knew.” She rejoiced in her words. “Violeta. She is behind all this, and who tried — and will try again — to destroy Cornelius, me, and the Brotherhood. That’s why she took the girl — ”
“Blanca? Why her?” I inquired. Rojo was right, his theory was right. I had to save myself and tell him, but miracles do not exist, even if I believed in them.
“Turn around,” she ordered me. I saw the other rooftops and the street while nobody realized that I was there like a scarecrow, about to jump to my demise. “Now, jump.”
A door opened.
“Halt!” a familiar voice shouted. It was Rojo and three cops. They disappeared among the washing lines. I jumped to the floor. Clara shot me but missed. I ran among the clothes and heard another shot, much closer. The bullet got embedded in a brick. I heard more shots and then, silence. My heart was racing and pushing against my throat like it wanted to get out of my chest. The adrenaline prevented me from feeling the burn in the knee, that was peeled in life flesh after the fall. I walked among the clothes in silence until I came across a blood puddle that the grout joints were slowly draining. I was afraid. I did not know whose blood that was.
“Bid your friend farewell,” Clara said behind my back. She was bleeding from a flank and pointed at me with the gun.
I raised my hands and closed my eyes.
I bit my tongue until I felt the metallic taste of blood in my mouth.
I heard several shots.
Clara fell to the floor.
I slowly opened my eyes and saw her head a few meters from me. Her gaze was lost in the void and a thread of blood came out of her mouth.
“Gosh!” Rojo shouted.
The policemen approached the body.
“She’s dead,” one of them sentenced, checking her pulse.
“Are you alright?” Rojo asked me.
“I think so.” His countenance reflected the pain that the loss of the girl caused him. It must be difficult to witness someone’s death, especially in a violent manner. However, his pain reached a whole new level. Rojo had lost an invaluable lead. Clara knew more than we could possibly fathom, and she might have even been able to help him find his wife. “And you? Are you alright?”
“I’m sick of this,” he replied. “I’m fed up with this case. Let’s get this over with.”
“What do you mean?” I asked. I could tell he grew angrier by the moment. “Are you giving up?”
Rojo took a glimpse at his phone and turned to his team.
“Call the headquarters and tell them to be ready. I need ten men,” he said. “We’ll burst into the ceremony tonight. We can’t let anyone escape. It has to be an airtight operation, is it clear?”
“What are you doing?” I asked. “This is exactly what you wanted to avoid — ”
“It’s over,” he sentenced. The sun in the sky reflected on his belt buckle. “And you’ll stay away from this.”
“Pardon me?”
“Yes,” he repeated. “You’re out, it’s an order, Gabriel.”
“I’m not following.”
“I don’t want to see more deaths,” he explained. “This is what you have to understand. We are going to end this case and get everyone in prison. We’re going to finish this at once and for all.”
“You’re screwing it up,” I replied. “You’re screwing everything up.”
“I’ve made up my mind,” he concluded. “This is what we’ll do. Thanks, anyway.”
“Fuck you!”, I said, turned around and left. I was pissed, really angry. I wanted to punch him in the face unsparingly until he could not recognize himself in the mirror. That motherfucker had deceived me. What was I to do?” I had lost my job, my life. I was trapped in a crossroads and I did not have the slightest clue what to do with my life. I could let the police take care of everything, and then, when the streets were safer, come out from my place again. Find a job as a waiter, perhaps; I had always been curious about serving drinks and talking to the people behind the countertop. I did not discard the idea of selling hot dogs on the street. But that was not what I wanted. I had gotten there for a reason. First, a dead friend. Then, a girl.
I felt like Neo in the Matrix after taking the damn red pill. I wish I had taken a whole bottle of fucking blue pills and die an ignorant fool. That is what I really wanted! The blue pill! Living like the rest of the people! Being a damn lunatic for life! I would be happy!
The back of my head was being whipped unsparingly by my hangover, which made me feel like a dangling can dragged by the car of two newly-weds. I walked down the stairs, left my building and the police behind, and took the first bust that happened to pass by. The stupid morning traffic made it necessary for me to argue with the driver to let me off the bus. I was dropped off in the middle of the street and walked through the cars stopping at an intersection. I ran with my sunglasses on and the shirt open as low as my chest. I ran, dismissing stop signs and paying no attention whatsoever at the crosswalks, pushing pedestrians out of my way.
I entered a building, greeted the janitor and that day, I took the stairs.
I inhaled the cold synthetic air that came out of the air conditioning. There I was again, in the newsroom where I used to come to work. It felt like years since I last set foot in that place.
Like in any newspaper, one could break in with a bomb in their hands, and no one would reali
ze, as long as they did not show a good pair of legs nor wore a big size bra. None of the employees stood up to greet me, not even to tell me to leave. I saw the intern and caught him looking at me over his frames, hidden behind the screen of his computer.
“Hey, you!” I called him out when I realized he was unhooking the headset of his extension. He was scared, possibly warning someone of my presence. “Put that away, will you?”
He hung up.
“You can’t be here,” he said with a trembling voice. “I’m calling sec —”
“Whom?” I interjected. “No, you’re not calling anyone. Where is Ortiz? In his office?”
“I can announce you.”
“I’ll do it myself,” I said and walked to Ortiz’s office. I stood in front of the door and slammed it open.
“What the...?” he exclaimed in bewilderment. “You!”
I pounced against him and grabbed him by the collar. I caught him off-guard, like a duck out of the water. I dragged him to the window and cornered him against the wall.
“Son of a bitch.” He tried to punch me.
“You’re one of them!” I said. “You bastard, where is the girl?”
“Fuck off, Caballero,” he uttered, choking. “I’ll destroy you, son of a bitch, you’re done for!”
When he finished speaking, I fixed the collar of his shirt and punched him in the face. Ortiz fell on his back. My hand hurt, I heard a crack and thought I had broken something, but it had been his cheekbone. It was reddened and open. Ortíz covered his face and screamed.
“Where is the girl?” I shouted and grabbed him from the floor. Ortíz trembled in pain and rage but did not seem frightened.
“You’re wasting your time, Gabriel” — he wiped the blood off his swollen face — “If I were you, I’d get away from here. You’ve gone too far this time.”
“Tell me where Blanca is,” I said threateningly, looking him in the eye. “Don’t make me hurt you.”
