‘’[i]Special Agent Daniel Allen, FBI.[/i]’’  

By now, Daniel had all but lost count of the times he had repeated this sentence over the course of the last few hours. From the moment when he had introduced himself to his colleagues, it was almost as if he wasn’t meant to say anything else. From the State PD Detectives who were handling David Jimenez’ cordon, to the barrista of the Starbucks where he and the woman called Rosa had grabbed Frank Olvik, he had said almost nothing else. Admittedly, he had mentioned that he wanted a mango-passion fruit Frappucino to the barrista as well. That meant something. And the Frappucino also meant something. It was refreshing, at least it was cold. He appreciated that. He couldn’t appreciate the taste as good as he used to. He guessed his body still hadn’t un-fucked itself completely after his ‘incident’.

The elevator doors opened with a ‘ding’, and Daniel walked out towards the familiar yellow-and-black tapes. An old officer with a handlebar and a huge belly, sitting on a folding chair, looked at him from above his glasses. ‘’Whatcha want here, young feller?’’ He asked, with a heavy, toxic Southern accent. Daniel looked at the man and took a slurp of Frappucino. It was a miracle that the damn thing hadn’t evaporated still. 

‘’Special Agent Daniel Allen, FBI,’’ Daniel said, rolling his eyes. He was obviously not amused by saying this again, but, the higher powers at work seemed to get a chuckle out of it, since it seemed that the officer hadn’t made out what he had said. Or he had sensed the torment Daniel had felt when saying that, and decided to indulge himself in some good old Schadenfreude. 

‘’Say what?’’ 

Daniel sighed. ‘’I’m from the FBI, I’m here to investigate the scene.’’ 

‘’Huh. FPA? Haven’t heard of anything called an FPA. You got a badge, son?’’

Daniel took another slurp of Frappucino as his other hand rummaged through his chest pocket for his badge. His fingers latched onto something metal, and a moment later, he triumphantly brandished it at the man. ‘’FBI,’’ he repeated, eyes pointing at the tapes. 

‘’Oh, yes, yes, you’re a fed. Sorry, my ears aren’t what they used to be,’’ the man said, with Daniel sensing a hint of malicious bliss in the man’s voice. Maybe he was projecting how he felt about the man. Either way, he felt that it would be better if he no longer tolerated the man’s presence. He put the Frappucino on the ground, just before the tape, and then proceeded to slide over it, walking towards the open door. He settled his responding officer’s kit next to the door, and opened it, pulling out a pair of shoe covers and a pair of gloves. He hated putting them on, but a job was a job. 

Once inside the apartment, Dan went through his pockets for his flashlight, not wishing to damage any evidence by turning on all of the lights, and realized that he had forgotten to bring it along. Sighing, he pulled out his smartphone instead, substituting the flashlight option on his phone. ‘’The wonders of technology,’’ he mused to himself as he eyed the living room blankly, looking for anything suspicious or interesting. Mostly, the house implied to a man who had no personal order. Cigarette butts, dropped ashtrays, random bottles, emptied, dusty packets of Doritos, and nothing obvious in sight… except a bunch of boxes. He smacked his lips upon the sight. 

Carefully prodding the boxes to see if anything dangerous lay inside them, Daniel finally made his leap of faith and started opening them. Inside them were papers – drawings, writings, more oddly, circular symbols of an occult look. Daniel held one of them up, and began reading the inscription underneath one. 

‘’[i]The fifth Spirit is Marbas. He is a Great President, and appeareth at first in the form of a Great Lion, but afterwards, at the request of the Master, he putteth on Human Shape. He answereth truly of things Hidden or Secret. He causeth Diseases and cureth them. Again, he giveth great Wisdom and Knowledge in Mechanical Arts; and can change men into other shapes. He governeth 36 Legions of Spirits. And his Seal is this, which is to be worn as aforesaid.[/i]’’

Daniel put the paper down. ‘’Also known as Barbas,’’ he mused to himself, feeling somewhat proud. He had seen this fellow in B.P.R.D., and now that it seemed he was in a case that involved such things, suddenly felt slightly intrigued, although this intrigue quickly left its place for slight fear after he felt the echo of a bell ringing. He put the paper down, and gently rummaged through the others. There were a bunch of other seals – Gamori, Orobas, Eligos, Balam… Daniel put the box down and opened the other one.

‘’[b]SANTISIMA MUERTE
YOU ARE MY PROTECTION
FROM ALL HARM
YOU KEEP ME SAFE FROM CRIME
YOU SHIELD ME FROM THE STORMS
THAT LIFE PUTS IN MY PATH[/b]’’

Daniel remembered Santa Muerte, from some of the reading he had done, also from B.P.R.D., and also from that TV series he had watched. The Psycho Twins had crawled to his (her?) shrine. He smiled faintly, and put the papers down. He had seen enough, he believed. His job wasn’t to profile this man, at least, not yet. He turned around, and, after a moment of looking at the spoiled snack leftovers on the man’s table, noticed the computer right next to him.

It wasn’t much there either. The man’s fondness for porn was almost beyond his fascination with the occult. Daniel felt slightly ashamed to see scenes he had also watched in the man’s search history, and kept scrolling down, into an unending pit of astrology, crackpot occult sites, and half-assed translations of Mexican blogs about magic, with an a smattering of ancient astronauts here and there. With all the resources he had, this guy could give History Channel a run for its money.

The bookshelves were similarly intertwined between fact and fiction. Books about the Nazis, the Ahnenerbe and the Thule Society, at least one book about Hitler’s Flight to Atlantis, Helena Blavatsky's theories, Shambhala and Hyperborea, a bunch of religious books about Heretical Christian orders such as the Templars and the Rosicrucians, and the ever-recurring cast member, Freemasonry. At this rate, he would stumble upon a pentagram and fight back a Marquis of Hell with the power of Christ any second now. He decided on a change of scenery. 

The kitchen was an unclean, abominable mess that almost brought Daniel to a rage in its disorder. Aside from a bunch of receipts, all there was to it were empty bottles of alcohol. The concept of ‘trash’ had been taken out long before anyone could take out the trash itself, and the reeking smell of opened bottles and unclean dishes brought memories of the short time when Daniel lived with a roommate. They were horrible, horrible times. 

Daniel opened the fridge for a snack, and, much to his disappointment, found nothing but alcohol and cream cheese. Frustrated, he left the kitchen, although before he left, he could not help but notice the Playboy Calendar greeting him with a full-frontal. ‘’Coffee with Thomas Grant,’’ it said underneath a date, and not much else. 
 
Inside the bedroom, Daniel came face to face with a slacking teenager’s dream come true. It was an abominable, almost blasphemous mess of clothes and underwear, with the smell of sweat from unwashed clothes attempting to mask the faint smell of marijuana from Daniel’s nose. But the nose knows. The nose knows where the marijuana is. 

Daniel congratulated the man on his lack of ingenuity as he checked to see if the shoebox was rigged. As he expected from a man of this caliber, it was not. Cannabis, pills, a small bong, and a couple of receipts. Small time. He eyed the receipt, and repeated the name on it to himself with a monotone. ‘’Melinda’s Spiritual Emporium.’’ He shook his head, impressed. He took the receipts, and then took his leave. His job was done here.