Fonsi scanned the bottom corners of the piece and found the artist’s signature.D. Atkins.Right. A well-known painter who was the toast of the town last year in New York during his show at the Guggenheim. The style easily recognizable.
He surveyed the rest of the room. Smaller oil paintings were interspersed throughout the space. In one by the closet, Mr. Samuelson sat on a bench, his head and arms upturned to the heavens. A beatific smile on his face. In another, above the dresser in the corner, he was laid out in a second field of flowers, this time Aurelian lilies, his body splayed in a languorous pose. And in a third medium-size portrait, he was in a black tank top, book in hand—a Bible?—barefoot, reclining on a stool. Perhaps the most sensual image of a pastor Fonsi had ever beheld. From the style of the pieces, Fonsi could tell they were all by D. Atkins.
“I don’t know if I’m speaking out of turn here… I mean, don’t want to stereotype,” Fonsi said, “but is Mr. Samuelson queer?” Fonsi glanced over at the largest portrait again. There was no way around it. Jeremiah was silver fox,Take me out and do me, pleeeeaaaase, Sugar Daddyfine.
Linda scrutinized the painting. “I think that’s a reasonable assumption. Long-time bachelor, no public record of female partners, no kids. But probably wasn’t out. Ebenezer Memorial has a trailblazing history with the Black community but is still pretty old-school with many of their traditions. His sexuality might’ve been an open secret, something to be overlooked. Standard MO for certain churches. Samuelson could have congregants over, entertain downstairs. Always keep the bedroom door locked when there’s company, no reason for folks to be upstairs in the first place.” She gazed upon the painting. “This is majestic.”
“Surrounded by the symbols of our blessed lady, Oshun,” Fonsi murmured, gesturing to the sunflowers. He once again scanned the space asLinda took pictures of the rest of the bedroom. Fonsi noticed the matching wooden nightstands on both sides of the bed and the drawers underneath an armoire he was sure contained a plethora of suits, shirts, and slacks.
He wondered what he would find if he were to open the drawers. He remembered when he was a kid back in his South Bronx apartment, the first nudie magazines he’d managed to snag in the West Village before porn was a regular thing on people’s phones and computers.Black Inches,Latin Inches… what mags might Jeremiah Samuelson have in his collection outside of theEbonys downstairs? Police must have done a search, probably came across all sorts of bits that spoke to the man’s intimate life. Fonsi had been living out and sorta kinda proud for so long he’d forgotten there were men not so free.
A few minutes later, he and Linda left the house. Fonsi retrieved his knapsack while Linda nodded to the female officer with a curt, “Good day. Thank you.” Once they were a full two blocks away, she asked, “So, nothing?”
Fonsi shook his head. “I didn’t detect any spirits, no. With apparitions, with the ghostly world, there are technically no set rules. Even the most seasoned medium will say that occasionally they’ve stumbled upon a spirit who was previously undetectable. We go by collective precedent to come up with our guidelines. That’s why it’s so important for Guardianes to be in convo with each other, record our experiences.” His words were low, reverential. “I mean, I think… I think there’s something special about what Mr. Samuelson set up for himself there. There’s an unusual vibrancy in his home with all the art, certainly, but I didn’t sense anything supernatural.”
Linda kept her eyes straight ahead as they walked. “Okay.”
“But there still might be a mystical explanation for his condition,” Fonsi continued. “Even though I specialize in ghosts, I’ve tried to learnas much as I can about supernatural history in general, and I know some folks out there are saying he’s being run by a demon. According to Guardián lore, what people call demons, like, you know, these nasty, fiery things spawned from hell, we classify as apparitions. People who were once alive who’ve lived too long in the limbo known as El Intermedio. At their core, they’re basically spirits. Highly degraded, grotesque spirits in great pain.”
“Which, again, you’d be able to sense?”
“Yep. I can sometimes even detect lingering traces of when a ghost once tethered themselves to an object but has abandoned the mortal realm, entered true death. It’s funny, people who are clergy attract spirits like crazy. Ghosts are naturally attracted to crosses and other emblems of the divine because they’re powerful objects with great sentimental value. People have been putting crosses all over the place after the Equinox, trying to repel ghosts, when, in fact, they’reinvitingin the things they want to keep away. Spirits aren’t the same as vampires.”
“Could the rules have changed during the Equinox?” Linda asked. “When the ghosts invaded?”
“When the barrier between realms fell, spirits could do all sorts of things they wouldn’t normally be able to accomplish. I even saw someone briefly possessed in front of my very eyes… how her body transformed. It was… something. But once my cousin stopped the invasion, things have been more or less back to what I knew. As far as I can tell, for a ghost to make its presence felt in our world, including possession, they still need to tether themselves to an object.” Fonsi paused. “Well, unless they managed to fully escape El Intermedio during the Equinox. I only know of one ghost who pulled that off, and he wouldn’t be behind what’s happening with Pastor Samuelson, I assure you.”
Linda gave him a hard stare, as if she expected him to be more forthcoming with what he’d just revealed. Fonsi said nothing.
“Oooookay,” she said. “I just need to be clear, then… There’s still something else from the supernatural world that could be affecting Mr. Samuelson, even if it’s not a ghost, correct? If that’s the case, can you do some research, see what other possibilities might be out there?”
“Sure.” Fonsi was beginning to understand the type of person he was dealing with. Someone determined, relentless. As if she had question after question lodged in her mind, ready for launch. “I can do research when I’m not running the shop, come up with some theories.”
“Good. I’m going to review the photos I took of Samuelson’s place. If something seems odd, can I send stuff to you, for you to take a look? It’d be great to have a second set of eyes. Everything’s confidential, of course.”
“Yeah… of course. Thanks for the vote of confidence.”
He saw the smallest hint of a smile on Linda’s face. Approval. “You did good in there,” she said. “I can tell you’re conscientious, take what you do seriously. Wish more people in my line of work were like you. Another tough question: Would you be willing to see Samuelson in person, if I can somehow get you to meet him?”
“Wow. Uh, yeah, sure.” A chill swept through Fonsi’s frame. He would be brave, like his cousin Gwendolyn. He suddenly had that nauseatingI’m in over my headsensation that had consumed him during the Equinox. “Do you really think you can pull that off?”
“To be honest, I don’t. This hasn’t even been released to the press yet, but at least eight more people have succumbed to… whatever Samuelson has succumbed to. I recognized one of the names, a former client of my agency, which I was saddened to hear. That’s in addition to the three publicly reported cases. Reporters are starting to refer to the trio as the Afflicted, going with the term used by law enforcement.”
“Wow… that sounds apt.” Fonsi let Linda’s revelation sink into his bones. More demon eyes. Something was terribly wrong.
“Yeah, news vultures actually being sensible and measured. I think alot of ’em are spooked. The cops have learned their lesson with Samuelson. They’re not releasing names to the media to avoid mass panic. I’m doing my best to get the victims’ names. Really not sure if that’ll make any difference, but I always like to look for patterns, connections. To get access to the people themselves, I think that’s beyond me. I just needed to know if you’d be comfortable if it ever got down to that. We’d all be majorly fucked if you hadn’t handled the business during the Equinox, but I know I’m still asking a lot.”
“Th-thanks,” Fonsi said. “You really know what went down in New York?”
“I do. Like I said, I speak to Estelle. She filled me in. Told me how much of a hero you were, with your cousin Gwendolyn. How proud she is of you.”
“Ah…” Heat rushed to Fonsi’s cheeks. “So how often, exactly, do you and Estelle speak?”
“Occasionally, when necessary.”
He sensed an edge in Linda’s voice, which probably meant it was time to change the subject. “You seem well-connected here. To be able to walk into a site protected by the police.”
Linda shrugged. “I do all right, I guess. I help people out, they help me out in return.”
