Chapter 7: We Cleanse, We Survive
Around seven o'clock in the evening, Ardian pulled up in front of the modest, single-story building that served as the Ghost Detective Agency. His motorcycle rumbled to a stop, tires hissing against the damp asphalt. The air smelled of rain-soaked concrete, with a low fog clinging to the street like the whisper of something unseen.
He swung his leg off the bike, boots crunching against gravel, then stood still for a moment, staring at the dim glow of the agency sign flickering faintly overhead. He cracked a smile.
With a dramatic swoop, he flung open the door.
"Good evening, peasants! Your king has returned!"
Inside, the cozy office was bathed in the amber glow of a single standing lamp. Putriani sat at her usual desk, typing lazily, while a tall young man lounged on the worn couch with a cigarette dangling from his lips, black coffee steaming beside him.
That was Rendy Wiraja. Towering, broad-shouldered, pale-skinned, and newly sporting a bold streak of blonde in his straight black hair. A loose white t-shirt hung beneath an open blue flannel shirt, prayer beads wrapped around one wrist, a chunky watch on the other, and scuffed black jeans completing the picture.
"Where the hell have you been, Ar? I've been waiting for ages," Rendy grumbled, puffing out smoke.
"Client meeting. Handled it. Case closed." Ardian brushed imaginary dust off his jacket with mock importance.
"That means I get paid!" Putriani cheered, bouncing in her seat.
"Yep. As per our agreement—you get fifteen percent of every deal closed. But don't forget—"
"Yeah, yeah. If the client can't afford it, it's free—as long as they're honest," she recited with a smirk.
"Exactly. Honesty and trust. That's our whole thing." Ardian pointed a finger dramatically. "If you can't handle those two things, you don't belong here. Right, Ren?"
"Couldn't agree more. We've got enough clever people in this country. What we're missing are honest ones," Rendy muttered with a shrug.
"Spoken like a true philosopher," Ardian chuckled. "Anyway, gimme a smoke. Let me count today's blessings."
"You're rich and still bumming smokes off me..." Rendy grumbled, tossing him a cigarette.
"Appreciate it, my noble supplier. Put, coffee please? Extra bitter. I need to unwind before we get into Rendy's job."
"Make it yourself, Your Highness," Putriani scoffed.
"I'm wounded. Please?"
She rolled her eyes but stood up anyway, muttering, "Always treated like your personal barista."
As she disappeared into the kitchen, Ardian dropped onto the couch beside Rendy, lit his cigarette, and exhaled slowly. He pulled out a thick envelope, thumbing through the crisp bills.
"Five million rupiah. Thirty percent is one-point-five. Half goes to Putriani, half to the office kitty," he muttered. As Putriani returned with his coffee, he handed her an envelope. "Here's your share. And the receipt, in case the client complains."
"Praise be! I can finally pay rent this month!" she grinned, snatching the envelope and scribbling details into the logbook. Their internal rule was simple: if a client complained, half the fee was refunded, no questions asked.
Ardian took a long sip of coffee and glanced at Rendy. "So, what's this job that had you pacing around like a ghost with anxiety?"
"If it were a regular pocong or wandering kuntilanak, I wouldn't have bothered," Rendy said, tone low. "This is different."
"How different?"
Rendy unlocked his phone and handed it over. On screen: a photograph of an ominous sigil, drawn with sharp precision into a dusty floor—an inverted pentagram circled with ancient Greek symbols. At the center, a twisted figure-eight. The infinity symbol. Also inverted.
The cigarette paused between Ardian's fingers.
His blood ran cold.
He knew that symbol.
Too well.
"We just opened this agency… and already they're on our radar?"
Rendy gave a tight nod, his usual calm hardened by concern. "Didn't think you'd recognize it that fast."
"Where?"
"Fourth floor. Top level."
"Recent?"
"Fresh. The energy's still hanging in the air—clings like wet cloth. We might summon something just walking through it."
Ardian closed his eyes briefly, hand rubbing his temple. "Good news—it's probably not a base. If it were, there'd be guards crawling all over. But a broken pact? That's messy. Small chance we run into 'them', but small's not zero."
"Rumor says the previous building owner broke a deal. Since then, nothing's been right up there."
Ardian took another drag, exhaled slowly. "Alright. What's the job?"
"Cleansing."
He laughed bitterly. "You not only cleanse these things. You survive them."
"You still in?"
Ardian nodded, setting the phone down. "We're going. If possible—tonight."
"Copy that. What do I prep?"
"Your mind. Your body. Your heart. All three in sync. Just in case we're not alone in there."
"Then we call the clown trio," Rendy said, already texting.
Ardian smirked. "Let's hope they don't turn it into a circus again."
"Client's promising good money," Rendy added with a grin.
"Of course that's the first thing you mention. Remember me and Put's cuts."
"Wouldn't dream of it, boss."
Just then, Putriani reappeared—now wearing a fluffy gray sweater and a sling bag over her shoulder.
"I'm heading out. Don't forget to lock up. If you wrap this tonight, drop the report tomorrow."
"Titi Kamal, Put!" Ardian called out.
"You mean Titi DJ!"
"Nope. Titi DJ means 'ati-ati di jalan'—careful on the road. Titi Kamal means 'ati-ati kalau malam'—careful at night."
"You're such a clown," she laughed as she walked out.
Ardian and Rendy shared a glance as the door clicked shut.
Rendy broke the silence. "So... should we summon the clown trio?"
Ardian's smile faded. His eyes sharpened, the fog outside pressing against the windows like a warning.
"Let's do it," he said quietly.
"Tonight, we dance with the unknown."