The Chamber of Sins

Back in the present, Robert’s face looked dull.

“Have you ever gone to Hell?” he addressed Derek.

“Only to its gates,” Derek answered, distracted.

Robert swallowed his words and focused on the little boy. His chest ached, the pain making him breathless for a moment. Since the red water attack, he had been in great pain. And now, these teleportations during nights wherever a ghost needed help were all that he needed. Robert groaned. He said nothing to Derek or Lionette about his discovery. He needed more time to come up with a solution.

“Do you know where your sister is?” Robert asked the boy.

“He doesn’t,” Derek responded instead. “She is not here; she is dead,” he ended dryly.

“I know she is dead. But where is she?” Robert burst his arms aloft.

“Demons killed her,” said Derek, his eyebrow lifting with superiority.

Robert glared at Margo. “What do you mean?” Then he realised Margo might be in danger, too.

“We need to send them away. Let’s do it conventionally, together. Let’s go to Heaven and try to enter; it might work. I have the key, and you - you are you.”

Suddenly, dark clouds covered the sky, a rainy scent brought by the wind. Brisk gusts disturbed the mature leaves, sneaking in the people’s clothes, bringing chills and significant discomfort to everyone.

“We should go,” Derek said as he looked around. “They are coming.”

The ghost boy screamed and extracted another boy from under the bricks. Then, with bulging eyes, Robert took both boys by their hands.

“Don’t worry; it is their favourite game. Ghosts do it all the time,” Derek said. “They believe it’s amusing,” he smirked.

“Let’s go,” Margo intervened, her eyes scrutinising the horizon. A thick fog was spreading with the speed of light, gulping houses and cars greedily. Robert stretched his wings and touched the pendant. Behind him, Margo and Derek started running.

Lionette nervously arranged her shawl as she entered the police station. It smelled of sweat, coffee, and cheap aftershave. Her face showed concern as she approached a coper busily placing a pile of files in a metal cabinet. He seemed bored, his face all sweaty, his rare hair revealing his dandruff scalp.

“Sorry to bother you. I am looking for Emily. Emily Davies.”

“Emily,” the man yelled, making Lionette jump. His yellow teeth showed the debris of a frugal breakfast. The image of it made the woman gasp.

His interference didn’t bother anyone. Two of his colleagues were arguing about politics, and another officer was typewriting something with her left hand while arranging her wild red hair with her right.

After minutes of waiting, it looked like the officer had forgotten about her, and Lionette retreated to the corner. She tried to call Emily, but her phone was switched off. She never has her phone off, the woman thought, her heart beating arhythmically. She brushed the room with her eyes, hoping to find someone that could help her.

A broad-shouldered man passed by her, and she dared to stop him. He measured her from head to toe, visibly irritated by her daring.

“I am looking for Emily Davies. We were supposed to meet twenty minutes ago,” Lionette rattled, full of hope.

“I haven’t seen her,” he barked and hurried away. Lionette stood in his way.

“Please, I need to see her,” she insisted.

“In what matter?” the man asked, annoyed.

“She is helping me with a case,” Lionette said, trying to swallow the big lump in her throat.

“Which case?” the man insisted.

The beeping sound of the message gave her hope. Ignoring the curious man, she dug for her phone. It was from Emily.

I am sorry, sweetheart

I am going to run late.

New info on our case to check. I will call later.

Another message came.

You can go to the hospice without me. Ask for Dr Madison. I love you

I love you too, Lionette replied, immensely relieved.

While riding the taxi, Lionette thought about the information she had received the day before. The dead lady, Sister Evelyne, whose mangled body was found at the orphanage, was romantically involved with a hospice caretaker. Lionette searched through her tired memory for the man’s face. Michael Scott had been a caretaker for almost five years. Emily had sent no physical attributes to her, which made it harder to imagine him.

The hospice reception was full of patients’ relatives. Lionette needed to squeeze between a corpulent woman dressed in black and a tall, emaciated older man trying to cling to her thick arm. She trotted to the first floor. Her breathing sped up as she reached the nurses’ room.

They were expecting her. Without saying a word, she followed the nurse to another room. A man was sitting in a chair, his face pale and lifeless. Lionette nodded as she noticed Clementine seated next to a young man. The woman nodded as well and invited her to sit. Lionette sat on a chair by the window, trying to move away a little from the sun’s burning rays.

She took a peek at the man standing there, in the middle of the room, having the face of a death row convict.

She noticed his hands were kneading in his lap.

Another man was in the room - a tall, wondrous-built man, heeding the sounds surrounding the building and the ones within, chewing gum nervously and trying to be present in reality. He was wearing a white gown on top of a light-blue shirt. Dr Madison?

“So,” the doctor said, making Lionette’s shoulders jump as his deep voice reverberated inside her lungs. “What is this story all about? You living with a dead nun?” he said. “Well, she wasn’t dead when you were living with her, but in the meantime,” he smirked, proud of his joke tentative.

The young man took a deep breath before opening his mouth.