Jorge’s goons weren’t making much progress trying to pry open the crane; the laminated glass windows proved resistant when they tried to break them.
I knew what to do next. It hurt me gravely and I’m sure this could mean the death of me in the future, but it was worth it for today’s survival. I opened the hatch on the opposite side of the door and quickly tossed the window cleaner into the canal. The goons seemed confused, but they realized they had an opening to the crane and one of them ran to the other end, reaching for the hatch in one jump. Too late- I had the airsoft gun aiming at the opening. He laughed at first, after seeing the orange tip at the end of the gun’s barrel, then I pulled the trigger.
The wooden pellet hit him in the neck, leaving a round purple mark where it struck. He touched his neck, slightly annoyed, and noticed a purple mark on his hand now as well. The goon pulled back, fell off the crane, and started screaming in agony. The second goon looked away from the door and stared at his friend. That one second was enough for a canalero to jump at him from behind and bury his claws into the goon’s chest to take a bite out of his side. He dragged his victim back into the tree line without taking his eyes off me.
I closed the hatch and watched as Jorge got out of the van. He grabbed a hunting rifle from the passenger seat and once again, made a gesture asking me to get out of the crane. I had no way to dodge a bullet, and the windows all over the crane made me an easy target. I nodded, turned off the crane, and jumped down while holding on to a salt crystal hoping that would be enough to repel canaleros.
Jorge made another gesture asking me to come closer, which I did. Once I got out of the gate, he yelled at me to get face down on the ground. He pressed the tip of his rifle against my head, so I did as he said. He tied my hands and feet so I couldn’t get up. I was completely vulnerable… I should’ve taken ESF’s note seriously.
While on the ground, I stared at the goon who I shot and noticed that what started as a small purple mark on the neck had covered half of his face by now. Jorge fished the crane’s keys from my pocket and walked over to it. He looked around the cabin for a second and then I saw him staring at something on the canal. I couldn’t see what it was, but I guessed by his expression he had just seen the window cleaner on the ground. Once again, Jorge sighed. He jumped off the crane, raised his hunting rifle and shot the infected goon in the head.
“WHAT THE FUCK, JORGE?!” I yelled, as he walked back towards me. Jorge raised the butt of his rifle and hit me in the back of the head with it.
“You did this to him- impressive, but you’re fucked anyways,” he sneered as he pulled me up from the ground and shoved me into the back of his van. Then he shoved a rag into my mouth before jumping in the driver’s seat and driving away.
I lost track of time in the back of that van. It was already late when Jorge pushed me inside the damn thing, and by the time we finally stopped it was dark outside. I looked around but didn’t recognize the area. It was a rundown neighborhood with poorly kept front lawns. We were right in front of a worn-down house with metal bars on all the windows and a neon sign over the entrance’s frame that read ‘PSYCHIC’.
Jorge dragged me by the armpits all the way to the front door as I struggled. He knocked three times before a menacing looking old man opened the door, carrying a machete in one of his hands. The man put the machete aside and helped Jorge drag me inside the house. They took me to a poorly illuminated room with all the windows covered. I could only distinguish a wooden chair in the middle of the room thanks to the four lit candles around it.
They tied me to the chair before removing the gag from my mouth. I was just about to scream for help when the old man raised his machete right in front of my left eye. I understood what he meant and kept quiet. Jorge was the first one to speak.
“Dave, amigo, why haven’t you returned any of my calls? You really hurt my feelings.” He made a mocking sad expression before smirking again.
“I’ve just been busy I guess.” I tried to casually shrug, but truth be told, I was shitting bricks at this point.
“Busy killing my friends, I see. Tell me, why did you throw away the window cleaner?” He sat on the floor staring right into my eyes.
“I was hoping you wouldn’t have any of your own. I guess I was right.” I chuckled only for a moment before he sucker punched me.
“You were right- it was kind of a dick move on your end though. All of this could’ve been avoided if you had just dropped by like I asked you before.” He sighed in annoyance.
“Not like I had a reason to give you the satisfaction, especially now that I know you’re a fraud,” I spat.
“Took you long enough to figure it out. How did you know?” He scratched his chin looking genuinely interested.
“The supplier told me not to trust you from the beginning. After the overnight incident, I looked up that story you told me about being attacked at canal #4. I found a headline about a guy getting attacked by a junkie at that very same place. His name was Joe and according to the article he was working at the canal right across the street. You didn’t actually write the rules, you just rewrote them in that notebook.” I smiled triumphantly knowing that I had figured this guy out. He did the same because no matter what, I was still tied up in this shithole.
“Well look at you, Davie. That was a smart ass conclusion. You’re right, I didn’t come up with the rules. Matter of fact I never even worked that job,” he shrugged.
“The previous guy, the one I’m replacing- you took him out too?” I asked, almost certain what the answer would be.
“Yeah. Just like you said, his name was Joe, he worked the canal for about two months. He was going crazy with all the shit you guys deal with, and your supplier doesn’t really give out a lot of info. He started looking for answers elsewhere, until he came to me at this very same psychic parlor.” Jorge pulled out a cigarette and began smoking. The light of the cigarette’s tip illuminated his face slightly more, showing a psychotic expression of what I assumed was delight.
“Th-then… why did you kill him??” I didn’t really care at this point; I was just stalling for time, hoping to avoid the imminent death that awaited me.
“He started telling me about all this canal crap and I just assumed he was insane, you know? I’ve seen some weird shit, but the canal stories were just too much, so I politely asked him to fuck off. That’s when he pulled out his phone and showed me videos he’d taken. Nothing really interesting- until he brought up the cultists.” He laughed. I remained unmoving.
“What about the cultists?”
“Unlike you, he actually got along with those freaks. They invited him to some of their meetings and he even joined them for a bit. They convinced him that they could grant him almost anything he asked for- in return for him leaving some portions of the special canals untouched so that Claire and her followers could gather the weeds and roots they wanted.”
“Joe was a cultist?”
“He sure was. Not a very smart one though. Claire promised him too much and she only delivered on some of the stuff he wanted. The girl he was stalking no longer hated him. Suddenly, she was head over heels for him. I gotta say, Joe was feo como la mierda. People he didn’t liked started getting sick, going broke, losing their jobs… you name it. There was just one thing that Claire didn’t give away.”
“And you actually believed all he said?” I asked dubiously.
“Let’s say I have an extremely reliable source of information and this man was telling the truth. According to him, Claire has been alive for over two centuries. Can you believe it? That’s the one thing Claire has never revealed to her followers. The secret to eternal life.” Jorge practically drooled at the thought of living forever.
“So, you’re a cultist as well? You still haven’t told me what you are, exactly.”
“I thought you’d realize by now. You’re not as smart as you let on, Dave. I’m a necromancer; I see dead people, I talk to dead people, and sometimes- if you perform a certain ritual just right, you can see the deceased’s memories! Isn’t that cool?” He laughed a bit but stopped after choking on his cigarette.
“So, basically, you killed Joe to see his memories?” I shivered as the words left my mouth.
“As necromancers, our job is to figure out a way to stay alive for eternity. I think, anyway. We all pretty much just hate each other and have our own objectives and research. We mind our own business.” He shrugged and took a puff of his cigarette before moving on. “I learned a lot about those brujos thanks to your predecessor once I acquired his memories. I helped you ‘cause I was hoping you’d eventually lead me to your supplier. I’m sure they know a great deal, the slippery bastard.”
“And now you decided to kill me… Why?”
“I need to see what happens at night. Whatever you saw at night doesn’t show up on video, I already tried. I left at least five of my guys so far to spend the night inside the crane- courtesy of Joe’s keys. But night after night, none of them would make it out alive.”
“I’ll cut you a deal, Jorge. I-I’ll tell you in detail exactly what I saw and in return you… just don’t kill me, I guess.” I giggled awkwardly, and Jorge laughed in response.
“I need to see first-hand. Look, I already know the cultists do their rituals at night, but why? This information is worth your life and more. Don’t worry about the supplier though, your replacement will probably help me find them eventually,” he said dismissively as he turned on the lights.
Jorge nodded to the man wielding the machete. He grabbed my palm and made a shallow cut. The blood began to drip slowly. I looked down and noticed my blood had turned darker than it used to be- it looked dark brown now. Jorge noticed my confused look and said, “Don’t worry, you’re becoming part of the canal by spending so much time there; that’s why it looks like this.” He lifted my bleeding hand over a glass of water and after a few droplets had mixed in, he drank the whole thing in one gulp… Gross.
Jorge’s sidekick, in the meantime, drew some sort of runes on the ground around me. As he did, the color of the flames from the nearby candles turned from orange to cerulean blue.
“You know,” Jorge said joyfully. “A friend of yours from the other side wants me to give you a message before you meet them, and since you and I are such great friends then why the hell not?”
“Fuck you,” I growled.
“Feisty. So petty… It’s your friend Jack. He says he’s sorry that you blamed yourself after his death all those years ago, and he wants you to know he doesn’t blame you.” I hadn’t thought about Jack in so long. He had drowned years ago after getting drunk one night and swimming… in a fucking canal. We shouldn’t have dared him.
“Jack?” How on earth did Jorge know that name? Sean and I never told a soul. So, Jorge was an actual necromancer. Not like it really mattered anymore.
“He also wants you to hold your breath until it’s all over. Huh… strange request from a dead guy.” He was definitely mocking me this time. It didn’t matter, just the mention of Jack’s name and knowing that my friend’s spirit would be with me in my final hours was comforting enough. So, I held my breath while I felt the world around me grow quiet.