Blood in the Ozarks

10b. Take Me to Church

Ortega turned into an empty parking lot in front of a modern style church, built from brand new bricks with a darkened lobby full of fake plants that was pristine and well taken care of.

He cut the engine and the lights went with it. Although the building's external lights provided a soft yellow glow, they did nothing for seeing beyond the sidewalk. In the near pitch black, I reached back and felt around in my bag until I came up with a bundle of sage and a lighter. Mary Poppins had nothing on me. My bag was loaded with all sorts of odds and ends for moments like this one. I'd been caught in too many situations without the right equipment so now I carried a bit of everything—salt, crystals, Holy Water. You name it, I have it.

The slam of Ortega's car door rang out across the empty lot, letting the whole world know we were about to break into a church. Despite his indifference, I closed my own door with a light click and followed him to the glass doors.

He didn't even bother to scan for any stray passerbys. Instead, he shoved open the glass door as if he was entering on a Sunday morning. Either this town was more relaxed than I thought, or Ortega had already checked out the place. Honestly, in a town this size it could be either; people in the country tended to be a lot more trusting than others.

I followed Ortega through the lobby and down a hallway toward a pair of grand double doors. He took out his phone, shining a light on industrial carpeting and then up to the heavy wooden doors sealing off the nave.

"Are you ready?" He asked in a hushed voice.

My mouth was suddenly dry, but I nodded.

The latch clicked and Ortega pushed the great doors open to reveal rows and rows of pews leading up to an ornate altar. Silently, we entered the room.

Although the nave presented no obvious signs of disturbance, there was a heavy weight to the air. Like stepping outside into a humid day, the power in the room was the kind that could seep into your pores.

Pins and needles pricked along my skin. I didn't know how church goers could stand the sensation. Most people weren't acutely aware of the paranormal, but when a room was filled with this many souls it was hard not to notice.

Raising his hand in the air, Ortega wove his fingers through the tension. "This is an epic amount of power."

I nodded silently in agreement as we walked to the center of the aisle. The amount of raw power in the room was thick enough to slice a knife through. If your knife even made it all the way. Every bone in my body was humming. I inhaled the dense air and gave a deep sigh only to find the stiffness in my shoulders did not release.

Lost souls are stuck somewhere between the physical world and the spiritual. Whereas ghosts have some kind of discernible exterior to interact with, souls were invisible fuckers which made them harder to get rid of. People usually mistook them for a poltergeist, but those were normally one spirit attached to one person. Souls were far worse.

When the soul doesn't get reaped after being laid to rest, it will continue to search for their body. If it finds their body—and it has to be the right body—then you get a zombie of sorts. If it doesn't, you end up here—in a room where dozens of people have been laid to rest.

"Where do you think their reaper is?" I asked Ortega.

"Not sure." Ortega ran a callused hand over the fresh varnished wood of a pew as he eased down the aisle toward the pulpit. "Coulda been taken out by one of us. Could be on vacation in Bora Bora."

Reapers were dealt with if they got too heavy handed. Otherwise, we left them alone to walk souls to the other side. They are the spiders that eat the mosquitos. In the short time I'd been with the CIU, I'd only had one over zealous reaper. And after we exorcised that one, another showed up to take their place.