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Misha
There is no way that any of this is going to lead us somewhere. The girl is a write-off, nothing more than a dead end. I know there’s something interesting about her—we’re all invested, after all. But it's pointless because there is nothing to unearth here. We only did this because Salinas came to my room after he changed his mind, saying he couldn’t get any sleep, and once we decided to dig deeper, it seemed like a terrible mistake.
Not to the priest.
He seems not to mind at all, considering.
He’s sitting on my bed, cross-legged, a notebook in front of him, the glimmer of his laptop screen flickering on his skin. "Okay," he says. "So, to be clear, you did name this case ‘THE POSSESSED PUNK GIRL WITH THE SEPTUM PIERCING’ in all caps, yes?"
"I don’t know what you think is wrong with that," I say. "I’m never going to get used to our new system. It’s just meaningless characters and numbers. Last name, date, year, then case number? Is that even right? I feel like I got the order wrong."
He smiles, half-closing his laptop. "Misha, I don’t know if you remember but you were the one who insisted that we change the system. You were worried people were going to see our files and realize that our titling was insensitive."
"They could’ve," I say. "I restrained myself. I was going to name it "the punk girl with the gash on her shoulder."
He furrows his brow. "I forgot about that," he says. "I didn’t see a scar."
"That’s because she got a tattoo to cover it up," I reply. "You didn’t see it? All the way from her shoulder to her collarbone. That wasn’t there the first time we saw her."
"How do you know that?"
"I looked," I say. I sit at the bottom of the bed, and the mattress shifts under my weight. "All of this should be in my notes, along with pictures. I took pictures, right?"
"You did. They’re in…a folder here somewhere," Salinas says. His hand is on the trackpad, slowly moving over the pictures. I can hear the clicking sound on the computer until he sighs, his shoulders slumping. I know he’s slowly going through pictures because there’s a grimace on his face. "For the record, I hate this part of the process."
"I know," I say. I don’t like looking at the pictures, and I don’t want to move so that I'm next to him. I know I’m being a bit squeamish, but I know that Salinas can take on this by himself.
I can already see the reflection of the photos in his eyes and I know exactly what’s in the pictures. I don't want to see it. I don’t want to relive it. Each time I see pictures like this I feel a little worse. Something about seeing how well Trine is doing—she’s gained a bit of weight, there’s light in her eyes, she’s sharp and funny—makes even thinking of the pictures grotesque. "I hate it too."
"It’s bad," Salinas says after a while, his eyes glued to the computer. "She must have healed nicely if she managed to get inked over it."
"I guess," I say. "Is it my imagination or does it also feel to you like she doesn’t remember much?"
"No, I don't think she does," he says, cocking his head. He sighs deeply, his shoulders slumping as he looks away from the monitor. "I don't think she would’ve been as eager to see us if she remembered it all."
"Fuck, it was brutal," I say. "I feel like I’ve blocked parts of it myself."
"It was one of our more challenging cases," Salinas says softly. "It’s nice to see that it was a success."
I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Something about this doesn’t feel like a success. I’m not sure why. It’s just a hunch, but something about it feels like a mirage. I don't think it's Trine. I don't think she’s trying to trick us, and I don't think she could even if she tried. But something about this feels wrong and I'm not sure what it is.
"What’s on your mind?" Salinas says, closing the laptop entirely. "I don't think we're going to be able to find the answer in our records if I don’t know exactly what we’re looking for."
"I also don’t know what we’re looking for," I say. "But I think you might be right."
"Is that the first time you’ve ever said that?"
"Shut up," I reply, smiling. "I mean about precognition. I want Woods to be right because it would make things easier, but something about the way Trine is acting makes me think there’s more to it."
"You’ve always been pretty perceptive," he says. He puts the laptop aside so we can have a proper conversation. "But look, I’m biased. Obviously, I think there’s precognition, and Rei is right about one thing for sure. There’s no way for either one of us to know. I don’t want to lead you down this path just because of my own bias."
I nod. I’ve always appreciated how sensible Salinas is, especially for a priest. I would’ve thought him to be more superstitious, but he’s extremely practical. I think it’s probably an overcorrection but I’m not going to ask him about it. It’s served me well, at least so far. I think, weirdly, I’m probably the most superstitious of the guys.
I mean, I'm the only one who calls myself a demonhunter, so there’s probably something to that.
"I don't want to make this worse for her," I say. "Like, if she’s able to move on with her life after the exorcism, then isn’t that much better? She’s tried to put it all behind her. I don’t want to reopen old wounds, literally and figuratively."
Salinas closes his eyes, tilting his head. It’s something he does when he’s thinking deeply. Or maybe when he’s praying, I don't know and I’ve never asked. "We can come back to this," he says. "Tell me about the case we’re here for."
