Hell Calling (6 page)

“Aside from some things and papers that had been on the floor, I haven’t touched anything since...”

“I understand.”

The parapsychologist went around, looking here and there, taking clothes out of the wardrobe, consulting books on the shelves, examining the bedspread on the bed...

“She was a methodical girl, am I right?” she inquired.

“Well... Yes, everyone tells me she was very intelligent.”

“Everyone?”

Carlos instantly interpreted an uneasy tone in the question just posed to him.

“You couldn’t exactly say that my relationship with Laura was... great. I was involved in my own things, my work, and I hardly dedicated any time to her. I’m realising more and more that she was, to me, a complete stranger.”

“But she loved you very much,” said Elena, with confidence.

“I ... think... so...”

The woman came back holding a pink notebook, with a white ribbon border. It had two gold protrusions through which to place a padlock. She brought it to him opened halfway.

“I’ll read it: ‘my Daddy is the best in the world, and will always be there to defend and help me’.”

“What is that?”

“It seems to be a diary. Not all that many pages have been written on; no more than forty, but I’m sure it’ll turn out to be interesting. Didn’t you know that your daughter kept a diary?”

“Like I just told you...”

“Okay, okay.”

Carlos looked at Elena with curiosity. She was a strange woman, with dark hair and eyes, and a gaze that was intense and somewhat enigmatic. He still did not know whether or not he could trust her, although given the circumstances, he had no other option.

“I would like it if you could sleep here tonight. Don’t get the wrong idea, but I think it would be good if you...”

“I had already thought about it. Marta told me about the radio-alarm clock. Of course I’ll stay with you.”

“We’ll have to sleep together... It’s a big bed though.”

She shot him an open and complicit smile.

“Don’t worry. We’re just going to sleep next to each other, like back at school when you’d go on a school trip,” she said.

“I’m sorry... This whole situation...”

“I hope you’ll start to loosen up. I’m going to need you to be sincere and open, otherwise I won’t be able to help you.”

“I’ll try.”

The parapsychologist settled into an armchair, and began leafing through the little diary. All of a sudden her eyes stopped on one particular page, and her pupils dilated.

“What is it?” he asked, puzzled.

“Well... It would be something almost normal in a teenage girl... And perhaps... But given the circumstances, I think we should analyse it in much greater detail.”

Elena handed him the book, open on one page, and she pointed at the middle of it where, in his daughter’s handwriting, was written very heavily in pencil:

‘I HAVE TO KILL MUMMY’.

XXVIII

His father was a little hurt, although he understood that it was not the best time for any kind of reproach.

“You have to confide in me much sooner; contact me about these things as and when they happen to you.”

“I know...”

“Your father is the one person who’s truly always going to be here for you.”

“Dad, this is all so hard. There are mornings when I look at myself in the mirror and don’t recognise myself.”

“I’m noticing you’re more... reserved, like you’re more distanced from everything.”

Carlos knew that, in a way, he had failed his father, whom he ought to have counted on before turning to third parties. But there was also the shame of going along feeding the idea in him that his son was delirious, and that the delirium, far from getting weaker, was becoming increasingly intense.

“I’m struggling to take in what’s happening. Dad, you know that up until recently, I was a practical man, subject to the firmest reality, and far away from any approach that was... mystical...”

“I know.”

“But now... I don’t know what to think anymore. I’m having doubts about everything; I’m even having doubts about my own perceptions. At times, I get to thinking absurdities: is it even true that right now I’m talking to you, or is it a fantasy created by my own mind?”

Esteban circled his son. That tranquil lakeside location they often went to, so distant from all of the noise, was ideal for talking about any subject. It was also the place where he had chosen to tell Carlos that his mother had died.

“That’s why I called you. When you told me about this woman... Elena. I don’t know, I don’t want to go closing any doors for you... But I thought I ought to put in my two pennies’ worth, and I’ve done a bit of groundwork...”

“What kind of groundwork?” inquired Carlos, confused.

“Well... As you know, in the Community there are all kinds of people, from many different countries. I talked with Padre Salas, I don’t think you know him.”

“I hardly know anybody in your Community.”

“Well... Padre Salas is Mexican, although he’s been living in Spain for nearly ten years. He now works for a newspaper, and collaborates with different Non Government Organisations from the Church, but before, he was a fully practicing priest. In Mexico, he had his own church, and carried out Masses.”

Carlos sensed that his father was prolonging the introduction because in a way, he was afraid of getting to the end of it.

“Dad, please, just tell me what this man has to do with me...”

“Padre Salas carried out a few exorcisms in the past, many years ago. Now he’s moved well away from all that, but I’ve asked him...”

“Dad!”

“Please, let me finish. I don’t really believe in a lot of this either, despite being a man of faith. Padre Salas himself wouldn’t have accepted to follow up on this if it weren’t for the friendship we have, and he knows I’m not a man who goes around spouting nonsense. He listened carefully to me ...”

“And what did he tell you?”

“He told me that he couldn’t make a valuable judgement without talking to you, visiting the house, and going into Laura’s room... But, from what he said to me... it’s highly possible that my granddaughter could have been possessed by the Devil...”

The conflict began to rage once more deep down within Carlos. On the one hand, his rational self was rebelling against these hypotheses; but on the other, his heart was making him continue listening to his father, and give this man who only wanted to help him an opportunity.

“So what should I do now then?” he asked, throwing in the towel.

A slight smile appeared on Esteban’s face, although he contained his joy; he was not going to risk irking his son now that he had opened up the opportunity to lend him a hand.

“He just wants to see you, and speak with you. If possible, he’d like it if it could be on Saturday night, at the Community Mass.”

“I have no intention of going to the Mass, you know that.”

His father knew well that, for all he had tried and insisted on the fact that not everyone in the Community was, or indeed needed to be, a firm believer, he had never managed to get Carlos to even come near the church.

“There’s no need for you to come in with us. You can wait outside. But after the mass, he wants to have a meeting with you there, near the altar.”

“I don’t understand,” said Carlos, on the defensive.

“Padre Salas says that there, the Devil has no power, and can’t even get close to you, because otherwise, being away from such protection, the other world can cloud your words or your own mind. The least he wants is for the first version that you give him to be free from any influence that’s... external...”

Carlos could not suppress a chuckle as, in spite of his cursed state, he was finding it somewhat humorous. In all truth, he was already beginning to long for the meeting with this man who would surely listen to him attentively, and perhaps he would have answers to what he was hearing from his daughter. He was not losing anything by receiving Padre Salas’ help, just as he wasn’t losing anything by receiving Elena’s.

“Alright, I’ll go and see him. On Saturday, I’ll come with you to the Mass.”

His father could not help but give him a hearty hug. A hug that was not so much to comfort his son, as it was to give himself encouragement. God was presenting tests that were proving too difficult lately, and he was going to need all the power of his beliefs to not lose hope. He chose his following words very carefully, and not knowing if they were true, or merely the beginnings of an incipient and mutually shared insanity:

“Have confidence, Carlos. If it’s true that Laura is in Hell, I assure you that she’s going to have a whole load of people willing to fight to get her out of there.”

XXIX

Elena slept closely to him, peaceful, and almost motionless. She had been at his house now for close to a week, and nothing had happened. He was waiting in a heightened state of extreme agitation and expectation for the day that damned radio-alarm clock would begin to emit that horrible sound, and the dial would begin searching independently through the frequencies, followed by the anguished voice of his daughter asking for help.

‘Nothing’s happening.’

If that were the case; if nothing happened over the next few days, it would be, for him, the definitive and irrefutable confirmation that reason had prevailed, and everything would be put down to a dirty trick played on him by his own desperate mind. If that were the case, there would be no room for doubt: he would be a madman, tormented by the death of his wife and young daughter.

XXX

Elena had now spent nearly ten days at the house, without a single anomalous or inexplicable event occurring. In spite of everything, her activity was frenetic during the afternoons and on weekends (her free time), and she was always going around from here to there: taking measurements, thinking as she observed the walls, jotting things down in a small black notebook, speaking on the phone with different people...

“What do you think?” Carlos asked.

She looked at him, returning from the place in which her meditations had her trapped and distanced from reality.

“That what I think...”

“Okay, perhaps you’re beginning to doubt...”

“Look, Carlos. There is something strange in this house; I’m noticing it. I don’t know what it is, but there’s something. Worst case scenario, it’s a neighbour who snores, or steals clothes off the line,” she joked.

He laughed, but it was a laugh that was almost devoid of any humour. Time was passing by, and things weren’t going anywhere. And the worst thing of all is that he had now also lost contact with Laura. Even though he hated that cursed device; even though he hated that terrible sound, it was still followed by the voice of his daughter, and with that voice came the amazing possibility of meeting her again in some form.

“Are you going to see Padre Salas tomorrow?”

“Yes... and I’m not relishing the prospect all that much. I’m doing it for my father; I’m doing it because the poor man wants to help me, and I didn’t know how to tell him no.”

Elena got up from the table where she had been occupied with some papers, and approached him, with a firm and decided expression.

“You know, Carlos... There are times when I think that the only person who doesn’t believe your story is you...”

Carlos looked at her, confused and somewhat put out.

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

“Look... Marta called me, your father has always been by your side, and has even brought in a third person, and I myself have been here for ten days, and haven’t doubted your word at any moment...”

Carlos remained immersed in a profound silence, until he asked her, almost as if asking for help:

“And what do you think I should do?”

“At the moment... you need to change your attitude and start to really collaborate. Talk to me, be honest in your answers, go to see Padre Salas with absolute confidence, investigate...”

“Investigate?”

“Yes. For example, up until now, you haven’t given me a single detail regarding your wife: what she knew, to what extent she thought that Laura was insane, or had been possessed...”

“But I’ve already told you that she and I didn’t...”

“And your wife, didn’t she have any female friends?”

He thought for a few minutes, thinking.

“Well, Alicia only had one friend who you could call a real friend. Her name is Ana, and she’s an architect.”

“Have you ever spoken with her? And if so, what did she say to you?”

“I only spoke with her once... after the death...”

“Okay, then you’ll have to go and talk to her again.”

This brave and resolute woman took him by surprise. As the days went by, he admired more and more her spirit and vitality, and he was glad to be sharing with her everything that was happening. He was glad that Marta had recommended trusting in her.

XXXI

It was Saturday morning, and he had decided to go for a long drive to occupy his mind, and try to make the minutes pass by as quickly as possible. A kind of anxiety overcame him about his interview with Padre Salas that very same night.

‘I don’t understand why the hell I’m so nervous.’

At the traffic lights, he could see how, in the cars all around him, people were making the most of the first hours of the day to go out unobstructed and enjoy the weekend. That type of lifestyle seemed so far away now, almost picturesque. Everything was all superfluous, and now there was only one thing that still made sense in his existence.

‘It’ll be true that there’s a Heaven and Hell... It’ll be true that each and every one of these people will end up with their soul in one of those places... And I’ll find myself in one of them...”

Someone behind him honked their horn. The light had been green for a few seconds. Whilst everyone else was in a hurry to get to their destination, he was merely driving through the city with no particular aim. And then everything suddenly changed. In the rear-view mirror, all of a sudden he saw his daughter: his very own daughter Laura. She writhed and twisted in the back seat of the car, her face deformed, her tongue sticking out, her eyes completely red and popping out of her skull. He heard her scream, with a voice that only distantly reminded him of Laura’s, as if it had been passed through a macabre synthesizer, to give it a more horrifying tone: