What We Have Lost

The doorbell rang, and the boy got up from the stairs, going down to open both the entrance door and the gate leading to the street.

From the dining table, the woman and Nico could see the boy allowing Bobadilla and Oaxaca inside, who followed him in. The officers noticed that the woman was not alone, and upon seeing their confusion, she introduced them.

"Officers, this is Nicolás; I invited him to assist us in this endeavor. Nico, meet Officers Bobadilla and Oaxaca, from the Specialized Public Prosecutor's Office."

They exchanged handshakes and waited in anticipation.

"Please, take a seat," she said while serving hibiscus water.

The police officers sat in silence, exchanged glances, and the woman smiled at them. Nico also complied and remained expectant.

"Well, this won't be easy," she said calmly, looking each one of them in the eye before glancing at the boy on the stairs. "I don't know if you will believe me, so I will be as concise as possible: We are facing forces beyond our comprehension and beyond our control. Emerging victorious will be a matter of chance and will have nothing to do with good or evil, nor with anything we think we can cling to. Having said that, I suggest we focus solely and exclusively on the facts, without thinking about assumptions, fear, or the impossible."

The officers cleared their throats.

The woman asked them for the case files of the confirmed murders committed by the killer, a piece of his clothing recovered from the secured house, and an item of clothing from each of the victims. She carefully placed everything on the table, arranging it chronologically according to the order of the murders. Closest to her, she placed the killer's garment. From the files, she took out photographs of each victim and placed them over their belongings as if dealing a game of blackjack, or laying out a tarot spread. The before and after pictures were placed face down. The killer's photo, however, was placed face up, directly in front of her, staring. Finally, she stood up and grabbed a glass for each victim, one for the killer, and one more that she set aside to her right.

"I ask for complete silence," she instructed, and they nodded. "Nico, did you bring your cousin's ring?"

"Of course, ma'am."

She extended her hand, and he, pulling it from a small purple silk pouch, placed it in her palm.

Upstairs, the footsteps came to life.

A gust of wind rushed through, pushing open the entrance door, sweeping through the dining room and living room before slamming the door shut on its way out, sending shivers down their spines.

Immediately, they recalled the times doors in their own homes had slammed inexplicably, and a shared terror filled the room.

"Lord," she invoked, flipping one of the glasses with her eyes closed and placing her left hand over the first victim's belongings, "please, let what we seek appear, because I cannot see it."

From the stairs, they heard the boy mumbling something, but they could not make it out.

The woman firmly placed the glass upside down and continued in the same manner with each of the victims' offerings and, of course, the killer's belongings. But upstairs, the footsteps did not react, and both she and the boy sensed that something was not quite right. Knowing she was following the ritual to the letter, she hesitated but continued, wondering if the ritual's inefficacy was due to the number of people involved. Still, she pressed on.

"The girl's, the one from—" she glanced at the report in its designated spot, "Daniela's case."

The officers handed her Dani's item, the latest victim, and the witch performed the ritual.