"Whatever you are, I don't care." I yelled through the fear, although it came out as a trembling plea more than the menacing carelessness I wanted to transmit. My words echoed in the room. I looked around me, trying to locate where it'd be coming from next, as I slowly unbuckled the flap of the backpack. " I'll be off, then."
Nothing. Although I could still feel its presence, it wasn't making any advances. My hand closed around a piece of wood. Then, I picked the lighter, and I set the wood aflame. The piece of birch trunk had an inscription I myself had carved with a kitchen knife. The Chinese character for protection.
In this kind of work, you need to be prepared for the worst. I didn't know what I was fighting, but I'd assumed it was actually the worst. I moved the piece of wood from side to side, leaving behind a smoky trail that left a heavy scent. With my free hand, I tried to twist the doorknob, but I discovered it wouldn't budge. This thing wanted me trapped, and I hoped for my sake it didn't want me dead.
"Mark!" I didn't know if he could hear me, nor could I hear anything from outside beyond the thrum of my blood in my ears. "Get that damn door open." For all I knew, Mark could've been gone, and I could be completely alone.
The thing wasn't attacking me, but it wasn't letting me go either, and so I had to assume the next wave of attacks would arrive sooner of later. The smoke gathered around me, it wouldn't allow the thing from coming close, but it still left me uncovered for indirect attacks. I gripped the leg of the table, dragging it towards me, and I cornered myself against the wall. Next, I produced the small vial of Holy Water, unscrewing the top.
I felt rather than heard its footsteps. They made the floor tremble. Through a crack in my improvised shelter, I saw the clouds of dust rising where it landed. It was getting closer. "Ás trece, trece raios de sol," I whispered the incantation, an old Galician prayer reserved for the Devil. "Que estoupe o demo maior, e todos cantos van ao redor. If you go, I'll go. But if you fight, I'll fight, too."
It didn't slow down. When it was as close as the birch smoke let it, I thrust the whole Holy Water at it. I felt its power hesitate, and the piercing pain in my brain subsided for a moment. "I bet you didn't like that, asshole."
I took that as my sign, and inside my shelter, I texted a trembling message.
OPEN THE DOOR. NOW.
A few beats passed. I waited. If it didn't open, could I keep up the fight? Inside my backpack, I had another vial of Holy Water. The crumpled talisman. The sigil. With a few aces up my sleeve, I could hold it off, although its power was almost crushing me where it intended to fill every corner. I felt its hunger, a primal energy that shook me to my core. I prepared for the fight, to give it my all. Until the end.
But the doorknob shook, and a creak accompanied the door as it resisted being opened. I saw the slit of night opening a wedge of moonlight on the darkness. I broke into a run without thinking too much, hopping over the table. The shadow was there, just beside me, and I'm sure it would've taken me if the smoke didn't stop it.
I barely managed to avoid its frame as I launched myself to the door. The hinges cracked. A pair of arms embraced my body and pulled me forward until I was falling to the unkept front yard. I fell on a soft body, and I realized too late it was Mark because he was wheezing. I scrambled off him and spun to face the dark opening where the door used to be—it now sat sadly leaning to one side—. It looked like a mouth.
Mark was talking. I couldn't hear him over the high pitched whistle in my ears. I whistled back, and it stopped. "Let's go," I muttered, pulling Mark by the sleeve.
"What happened?"
"I'll explain to you later. Now we must go." I didn't know whether that thing could get out of the house, in which case we'd be screwed.
I ran away, like the coward I was, and dragged Mark with me to the bus station. "Stop," Mark ordered, forcing me to a halt. I looked at him with a dumbfounded expression as to why he wouldn't listen to me until I saw his expression. "Are you okay?"
My hand shot up to caress the little pricks the glass had left. My hands were covered in blood that wasn't mine. My clothes looked like they'd been through hell and back. I suddenly became aware that we people were avoiding us like a river splitting on either side of a rock.
How could I explain the mix of emotions I was feeling inside? Getting hurt was part of the job, and it was inevitable. The same way some living people couldn't begin to understand the existence of a world beyond their eyes, some creature from beyond forgot they lived once, and so the weren't always inviting and nice to hang around. But that didn't mean the encounter had been such a normal part of my job. It was weird, and at that point I was still making up my mind as to what the hell that thing was.
It had taken my grandma. I was trying to figure out what kind of power it takes to outmaneuver a spirit so strong as her.
In the end, I shrugged. "I'll be okay. It's superficial. I didn't find your file, though."
"What did you find there?"
I remembered the three-faced statue. Life was crying tears of blood. Birth's face had crumpled. Death's face had been smiling.
"I don't know," I confessed. "But I'll find out. It's my job, after all."
Mark's mouth turned downwards. "Let's get that checked." He extended his bare hand, and I slapped it away. "It burns you." He said, tilting his head sideways like a curious dog. "Does it hurt when I touch you?"
"Yes. But I appreciate the concern."
Mark grinned. "Of course I have to make sure my employee is safe. That's why I'm taking to our private doctor. He won't ask any questions." He winked.
I shook my head. "No need. This is nothing." I lied. "I'm fine."
When Mark finally realized he wasn't winning the argument, and resumed walking. My feet wobbled trying to follow his rhythm until my knees gave out. Mark was quick catching me, although this time he was careful not to touch me. I felt his warmth.
As it turned out, I was only standing because a copious amount of adrenaline had been pumping through my veins, and as the miracle juice ran out, I found out I was exhausted.
The lights brightened until they blinded me. "Catch me," I grunted. And that's the last thing I remembered my brain turned to mush.
The whistle was back, and a sweet darkness turned my mind into oblivion.
********
A second later, I was waking up with the vague memory of having fallen down, and the feeling of floating up. But I wasn't on the street anymore, I figured, because I was staring at a ceiling light and not the night cloudy sky.
As my mind was preparing to take in my surroundings, something wet and cold splashed my face. I gasped at the suddenness. When I wiped the liquid with the back of my hand, I checked it was only water and I scowled at a sour-faced Silas.
"As it turns out, it's you who needs saving, and not the other way around." He was calm, which was a sign that he was beyond mad at me.
"I thought it was grandma. I made a mistake."
I had made the most dangerous of mistakes. A whole lot of errors lately that piled onto each other as my carelessness was getting out of control.
"What was it, then?" Another voice asked.
I frowned, looking at Peter. "Huh? What are you doing here?"
"I brought you here, you ungrateful kid." Peter rolled his eyes, he flicked the ash off his cigarette on an improvised ashtray that turned out to be the clay cup Silas made me when her was 6.
"I called him," Mark said, and sat on the armrest of the sofa I was lying on. "You passed out on me. How was I supposed to carry you?"
I quickly sprang up, stealing the cup. With a criminal side-eye, I took an empty can out of the trash bag and filled it up halfway with water. I placed it on the table with a loud bang. "Don't use my brother's cup as an ashtray."
"I told him he could use it."
Of course, Silas sided with him because he didn't know Peter was our debt-collector. He barely knew about the money I owed, but I took careful measures to ensure Silas would never experience that side of life. For him, Peter was the hero that had brought me home, and not the employee of the man that held my debt over my head to force me into the very same job that had badly injured me. I was the bad guy. Yes, things were getting too complicated, and I'd rather keep Silas out of it. But as mad as he was, he was right.
"Very nice," I muttered. I gripped my head. The world saw before me, spinning two quick for my liking. "Ugh." I stretched my shoulder, my neck. A lot of bones cracked.
"I thought grandma wasn't an angry spirit." Silas took a Q-tip, and when I resisted his care, he held my face in place and passed the cotton to Mark. I held my breath as I watched Mark work on my cuts.
"It hurts," I hissed.
"Good," Silas said. "You'll be more careful from now on. That's what you tell me, right?"
"Touché."
Mark's hand were slim and with fingers that worked steadily as he applied iodine. I discovered myself hypnotized by his focused expression. His blue eyes were darkened by the shadows, and they looks grey. His lips moved imperceptibly, but I noticed. I noticed his hand was trembling slightly with the effort he made not to touch me. When I offered to do it, though, he denied.
"So..." Silas repeated.
You annihilated her. Abuela. She was gone, that much I knew for sure. But could I deliver that weight on Silas' shoulders while I still knew next to nothing about Mark's case? I shook my head. "There was something else there."
"What a ghost hunter you are," Peter joked. "It's the first day, and you've almost gotten yourself killed twice."
"Twice?" Silas screeched. He slapped my head as he stood up.
When he looked at me, I saw the fire in his eyes. I saw the memory of that night, the fire that licked every inch of the house. I think Silas saw I was gone before I myself knew. In a way, he's always been a better seer than me, even though he doesn't possess the ability. He was my brother, and he knew me better than he probably knew himself. I guess he was so good at it because he had memorized me.
In case I left him, too.