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again: don’t ever come back here. I don’t ever want to see you again in my life, do you understand?”
    The journalist nodded, and went away with his prized treasure in his hands. He had barely got back into his car when he could not avoid noticing that his mobile was ringing.
    “Mr Fuentes?”
    “Sancho, is that you?” asked the editor in chief of Las Noticias .
    “Yes. I have something for the Sunday edition that you’re just going to love.”
    “Don’t be all enigmatic with me, just tell me what it is.”
    “I’ve finally found out how those girls were possessed.”
    XIII. Hidden Warehouse in Guadalajara, State of Jalisco
    Padre Salas and Padre Rincón had prepared some mats, so that the girls could lie down, all together, on the dull cement floor of the warehouse. To avoid them hurting themselves, and even though the resulting image seemed somewhat cruel and sinister, they had all been put into straitjackets, with foam-rubber protection. Their ankles were also tied together, but the rope used was thick, made of smooth cotton, so as to avoid the girls incurring any bruising.
    “Even though these may seem like drastic measures,” stated Padre Salas, once they had finished with the preparations, and turning towards the girls’ families, “we’re doing this for the good of your daughters. The possessed person usually develops an uncommon, disproportionate strength, and it is of vital importance to be able to control it at all times. Very often, they can hurt themselves, inflicting terrible injuries; on other occasions, they can lash out with barbaric energy at anybody within their reach.”
    The girls’ parents were listening attentively, but also in a state of terror, as the scene caused shivers down the spine. In spite of everything, they were keeping calm, and none of them had shown any signs of desperation or opposition. They had accepted with unusual speed that they were in the hands of the Church, and that only those men would be able to save their daughters from the curse that had taken hold of them.
    “It’s possible that from this instant, we will experience moments of tension, that come with the territory of bearing witness to phenomena that you would never have been able to imagine. I beg of you to trust in us, and do not allow yourselves to be ensnared by the tricks the demons may perform in their effort to disturb our faith. God is much more powerful, believe me. Don’t intervene. As I’ve already told you: if any one of you is finding it unbearable, or falls prey to panic, you can leave the room whenever you want to. But one action on your part at any point throughout the ritual could have fatal consequences, as much for your daughters as for yourselves.”
    José Antonio was recording, from one corner, with his Nikon HD camera. He could not avoid thinking about Valeria’s mother. He continued with his task, trying to push away those terrible memories that invariably besieged him with insufferable obstinacy. The filming conditions were not optimal, since the light was very scarce, but he took into account the fact that he was not in any position to make demands, and that it was almost miraculous that he was allowed to even be here, to be a witness, and almost a chronicler, of everything that happened. There were nine children: Magdalena and Camila, from Tonalá; Zoé, Ximena and Natalia, from Zapotlanejo; Adelina and Vanessa, from Puente Grande; and Gabriela and Daniela, from El Salto. They were only missing one: Valeria, whose mother had sacrificed her own life to save her daughter’s.
    “Padre Rincón, have you brought the Archdiocese’s stoles?”
    “Yes, I have them in the little office.”
    “Are they blessed?”
    “Yes; in just the way you told me to.”
    “Would you please get them?”
    Padre Rincón went to the office, and returned with nine purple stoles. Both priests began tying the stoles together, and then they walked around wrapping the blessed cloth around each one of