On the terrace, looking out at the blue sea, the puny boats, the white houses, I had time to think. Encarnación, the pregnant suicide victim, raped by the men of the Order. Eddie, the destroyed son. Both of them wanted to extinguish the lineage, and both had almost put an end to the Order in different ways: Encarnación slaughtered the old people; Eddie, the children. Not everyone, of course. They were right, Juan said, but I wanted a child now more than ever. My son would not be handed over or abused. And he would be the first child of a medium. I would have a family with Juan, and when the time came to lead the Order, or when the correct interpretation of how to keep consciousness alive was found, it wouldn’t be Florence, Mercedes, and Anne who gave the orders. Or at least they would have to negotiate with me.

Dealing with Juan’s depression was the hardest part. During the days we spent in Cadaqués, he never left his room. He couldn’t stand to be in Eddie’s parents’ house, and he was constantly on the verge of confessing the crime. He didn’t commit suicide only because he was always being watched. He ignored me, didn’t want to see Stephen. I understood I had to wait and, moreover, I was sure that a child would restore him. He needed to take care of someone defenseless, someone of his own. To forget about himself.

Juan’s depression wasn’t only about the deaths he thought he was responsible for. Or about Eddie’s sacrifice. After the massacre we spent a day making statements, and the day after that we were at Florence’s house. We had no reason to return to Cheyne Walk: if we needed clothes or documents, an assistant could get them. But Juan wanted to go back because he was convinced about something, and Stephen went with him. The passage to the Other Place had closed. Now, when Juan opened the door, he only saw the bed, the paintings, the window. He tried several times. He leaned against the wooden doorway, begging please. The Other Place had disappeared after receiving its sacrifice. Pájaro que comió, voló, as they say in Argentina. It had got what it wanted. Eddie was lost in that dead world. Of course, the Place of Power had also dried up. Florence received that news with a scream. She didn’t know how to interpret it. She related it to the purge Eddie had inflicted, of course, but she was missing the necessary details to fully understand what had happened. Just one Ceremonial in London, she said. What a waste.

Juan felt free and at the same time desperate when he found that his centers of power had vanished. I thought about leaving, he said later. Walking to the nearest train station, getting off in a town, drinking a beer in the pub, squatting on one of the abandoned farms, letting myself die in the ruins of some castle or at the side of a highway.