The Chamber of Sins

Breathless, Stephionee pointed towards Vineyard Road. “I hurt them. I shot the bastard, he-he,” the woman said between gasps. Robert sped up and turned right just in time to see the runner jumping over a fence and disappearing behind the house. Robert’s breath was sending clouds of steam into the air as passing by the house entrance. He stopped and scrutinised the surroundings, but the person had vanished.

The boy listened to the neighbourhood’s sounds. Cutlery executing pitchy sounds as they touched the porcelain edges reached Robert’s ears. Hundreds of televised whispers overlapped them as various shows were entertaining the neighbourhood families.

Stephionee finally arrived and leaned forward. There were no traces of blood on the concrete. She eyed the boy, and he shredded. The person had gotten away.

The area looked familiar.

“Is that-” The boy showed the building looming behind.

“The Order headquarters,” Stephionee completed.

“Do you think they got in there?” the boy whispered.

“Let’s check,” the girl muttered.

The warm yellow light increased in power once they got inside. Soft music was playing in the background, and the coffeemaker was making bubbly sounds as the aromatic flavour was invading every living room corner.

“Hello?” Stephionee said.

“Dubois?” Robert cried.

The bedroom door opened, and the man appeared, his shirt all wet. Robert and Stephionee glared at his sweaty torso.

“What is going on with you two?” the man asked as drying his hair with a fluffy grey towel.

“Us? What about you?” Stephionee asked and came closer, her eyes questioning his every move.

“What do you mean?”

“Are you alone?” she asked.

“No, I am not. Lefebvre is downstairs listening to some records.”

“Did you run or something?” she said.

“Exercising,” the men responded while heading to the kitchen.

Robert looked around, searching the place for anything suspicious. Everything looked alright. There was a pile of clothes placed by the radiator behind the sofa. He took one and smelled it - it was dumpy and smelly. He dropped it, disgusted, and wiped his hands on his jeans.

“I think he is lying,” he muttered and glared into the kitchen. “What do we do?”

Stephionee nodded, “Leave it.”

Dubois entered the living with a big mug full of coffee.

“What’s up?” he asked, his left eyebrows lifted.

“Nothing,” Stephionee replied. “We good,” she said as her eyes were searching his body for the wound.

“Good,” the man said and wiped his forehead. Then, he disappeared into another room.

They waited until the man closed the door behind him, and then they sat on the couch.

“What do you think?” Robert asked, his eyes staring at the door.

The woman didn’t respond, her arms tucked close to the side. Instead, she sighed and looked into the boy’s eyes.

“Don’t tell anyone. We need to look into this thoroughly.”

“Sure, but I need to tell you something,” Robert said. “Do you remember the night when you got hurt?”

“Yes?” the woman said as she involuntarily touched her arm. The place was still sore.

“That night, I found something terrifying, and I didn’t tell anybody.”

“What did you find?” She asked, her voice sinking to a whisper.

“A demon incubator. Tens of thousands of demons.”

Stephionee focused on the boy’s lips, her pupils dilated.

“Have you heard what I said?”

She grimaced and gulped a generous quantity of air.

“No, no. You must be confused,” the woman said.

“I am not confused. I had seen it. There is even a queen. It is producing demons as we speak.”

“We have to tell Lionette. We have to alert everybody,” Stephionee hyperventilated and jumped to her feet.

Derek was perfecting the art of emptying his mind. It wasn’t even his, but all the latest events made him wonder if he was still interested in humans. Then, Margo popped into his thought, and he nodded as the answer revealed itself.

I hate humans. So simple and yet so complicated. Once this story is over, I will never go back to Earth. I will stay here and do reports. I love reports, he thought while glaring at the immense pile of folders.

The door opened, and Ramiel entered. He gawked at Derek’s feet, lying on the desk. He made faces as seeing tens of empty chocolate boxes scattered on the shiny floor. Derek noticed his annoyed expression.

“Do you want a transfer?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” Ramiel said.

“Your face.” Derek drew an imaginary circle on his face. “Is about to decompose.”

Ramiel stepped on an empty box and then on another one, pleased with the annoying sounds.

“Stop it. My head hurts,” Derek muttered as letting his body backwards, his eyes closed.

“That is not your head.” Ramiel approached and slammed a pile of folders on the desk. “The folders you required.”

Derek opened one eye.

“If you need a holiday, just ask,” he said and leaned over the documents.

Ramiel lifted one corner of his mouth and mocked his boss.

Derek took the first folder and started reading.

Lionette Alwood, born in 1965, widow - one daughter Clare. Connection with Midwinter family.

“Midwinter. Hmm, this name says something to me. How come?” Derek muttered.

“Robert Midwinter,” Ramiel said.

“Robert Midwinter?” Derek said, propping his chin on his clenched fingers. He kept reading, then stopped suddenly on one page. He squinted his eyes. As he read the information, his eyes balls increased, and his eyes slid on Ramiel’s face.

“Who else asked for this folder?”

“No one?” Ramiel said, avoiding eye contact.

“Is that a question or an answer?” Derek said.

“Sorry, I,” Ramiel muttered.

“Who took the folder?” Derek’s voice thundered.

“Salatiel took it,” Ramiel said, without breathing.

“Salatiel?” Derek’s lips curled, and a few horizontal wrinkles appeared between his eyebrows. “What about him? Is he not supposed to bring dead spirits in? So why is he interested in living humans?”

“I, I don’t know,” Ramiel said, continuously shifting his body weight from one foot to another.

“Ramiel?”

“He came to me before you lost the...,” Ramiel said while gesticulating around his neck. “When you lost the key.”

“And?”

“And he asked about this lady.”

“I wonder why? Did he tell you why?”

“Not in the beginning, no,” Ramiel said.

Derek asked him to continue, and his face turned from mild to steel.

“He came again one week later and reasked for it. I told him to inform you, but he insisted that he needed to check one piece of information,” Ramiel said.

“And?” Derek asked, knowing there was more.

“The next day, he came and requested another file - of a woman named Ivette Seton,” Ramiel said, and without being asked, he left the room to bring the woman’s file.