Free Hell Calling II by Enrique Laso

II
    E lena couldn't get back to sleep. The effect of the tranquilisers had vanished as soon as she heard Carlos's voice, pleading through her small radio. She tried to fall asleep, she tried to relax, but it was impossible. She finally decided to get up and start working: somewhere in the hundreds of notes she'd taken, she might find an explanation for all this chaos. Had she lost her mind for good? Was it really Carlos who had spoken to her from hell? How could all of it be explained?
    Before endlessly tormenting herself, she thought that the best idea was to phone Andrés. He may be more lucid and able to calm her down or indeed to start a new investigation.

    "Good evening, Andrés, it's Elena," she whispered, her voice broken.

    "What is it? Are you all right? he asked, noticing the sad tone in his colleague's voice.
    "You won't believe this..."
    "You know I can take anything," replied Andrés, with temperance, certain that something completely out of the ordinary had to have happened for his friend to speak in such a dejected voice, full of doubt.
    "Carlos... Carlos has just spoken to me through my radio receptor..."
    An uncomfortable silence came over the line for a few seconds. Andrés was wondering what to say next.
    "Are you entirely sure? We've all been under enormous pressure these last few weeks..."
    "I am one hundred percent sure, and that is what worries me the most: I may well be going crazy."
    "Did he say anything?"
    "Yes.  He asked for help. He said he's in Hell."
    "Is that not exactly what his daughter used to tell him?"
    "Yes.  The same..."
    "Well, for the time being, try to calm down. I'm coming over to your place right away, and we'll try to look at the situation calmly, what do you say?"
    "That's exactly what I was hoping for."
    "We'll try and find out what the hell's going on."
    "This is so... demented."
    Andrés felt tension at the top of his stomach, a sort of flashing idea that came from his gut.
    "Maybe not..."
    "What do you mean?"
    "I don't know. Call it intuition. We shall see. We may have been missing the point all this time, going to the wrong direction."

III
    F ather Salas had managed to gather them all in the large living room at Esteban's. There was Elena, Esteban and Andrés, who the former had insisted on taking along. She thought his implication in the case was absolutely vital. The first thing she did, as soon as she arrived, was tell Carlos's father and the priest what she'd heard through the radio.
    "This confirms my suspicions," mused Father Salas.
    "What suspicions?" asked Esteban, who felt totally overwhelmed by the circumstances.
    "We've been confounded all these weeks. I never took anything for granted, although I think I added to all the confusion."
    "That's what Andrés thinks," Elena said.
    Father Salas felt comforted to see that he no longer was the only one who suspected they'd probably wasted some precious time.
    "And what exactly is it that you think, Andrés...?"
    The technician looked at the people in the living room, feeling unsure how to proceed. His shy nature made him feel uncomfortable in this situation, but he knew he had to share his intuition, however mad they'd be.
    "That psychophony we recorded from Laura's mother, I've been thinking about it a lot..."
    "Go on, please," Esteban encouraged him, restlessly.
    "When Elena phoned me and told me that Carlos had spoken to her through her radio, asking for help from Hell, I had a hunch. Right away, I thought Alicia was actually behind all this mess".
    "Alicia?" asked Esteban, totally perplexed.
    Father Salas could not hide a slight grimace of satisfaction. Despite the fact that what Andrés was saying was absolutely terrible, it fully coincided with the vision he had had at the altar, while he was thanking the Lord for having come to his servant's aid.
    "That's right.  I've had the same... let's call it a 'revelation'."
    "That can't be true!" Esteban exclaimed, sick of having to bear so much grief.
    "Please, my