The Coraline murders

The shiny white train was speeding by. The landscapes ran behind the windows, large green and slightly hilly expanses, until they became blurred. In the middle of the first-class compartment, on a grey padded seat, Coraline Van Oost, a 28-year-old writer, looked out the window, her brown gaze lost in her thoughts and in the clouds that straddled the sky on the horizon. It was heavy, almost heavy, and hot, despite the air conditioning. Her clothes, a little sky blue blouse and black stretch pants, stuck to her skin. She had tied her long, curly brown hair with a hair elastic that she had found at the bottom of her purse.

A man, of medium height, with a prominent belly, bearded and graying, in a gray three-piece suit sat on one of the seats in front of her. It smelled strongly of cold fries with an acidic and aggressive smell of sweat. This smell, which he had tried to hide behind an impressive amount of cheap cologne, made Coraline's head spin and a deep migraine tapped her. Nausea was rising in his throat. She jumped up and ran into the toilet of her wagon. Once her stomach emptied, Coraline finally felt better, almost relieved. She could finally think clearly and put her ideas back in place.

Her hasty departure from her native Brussels had disturbed her, but in the atmosphere of stress and misunderstanding that surrounded her, Coraline could not write. She began different essays, without being able to finish any story, the slightest story.

Her father, a former army worker, had supported her until her career began, even though at first he didn't believe in his daughter's writing. Her father had found her a manager, he had endured the many visits to museums or miles by car to see the places where the stories she imagined took place. He had even met and harassed publishers from all over Belgium to push them to publish his daughter's novels.

Lately, when she had become unable to write, her father put pressure on her. He had never understood how this lonely, impulsive, dreamy child worked. However, her little one, when she was a child had been happy and then around 5 years old, the mother of the little one died in a car accident. Coraline was in the car and had been the only one to survive. She was found clinging to her mother's bloody corpse and disfigured several hours after the accident. The little one was still crying and screaming.

This physical and psychological shock still caused today in moments of anxiety of severe memory loss.

She had therefore only been able to rely on her father for almost forever.

This man was the type to educate his daughter like a boy, a bit like an army general, a professional deformation. He had taught her not to cry and to endure pain without showing it. She dressed like a boy. Sometimes, by hurting her, he wanted to desensitize her and even if she stopped showing that she was in pain, she only repressed her sensations, so that today she no longer felt feelings. The little girl that she was had learned to keep what she felt and what she desired inside her soul. And she was suffering from it.

His days were just phone calls from his manager or publishers. In the evening, she had to appear on shows where she talked about her previous romance novels, the relationships between the characters, their feelings, their fears, ... She was tired of explaining what her unconscious told her to put on paper to share it and make people dream.

Coraline spoke very well about other people's love stories. Her life was sad, lonely and loveless. She had a few lovers, men passing through without a future. Only one had managed to enter his heart. But he possessed her, directed her, until she could no longer bear the presence of a man near her. She lacked air in her presence and faded more and more behind this man who disgusted her.

One evening, at home, in a fit of jealousy after a meal with some writers in vogue, his companion sent a glass plate to his face. Coraline stepped aside just in time to escape the shock. But he had caught up with him and was squeezing his throat. Coraline felt cracking in her neck, her lungs searched for air, and the lack of air set her on fire from the inside. When she lost consciousness, he let her slide on the floor like a rag doll.

When she came to her senses, she grabbed the few things she had brought to this man's house and left the apartment before going straight to file a complaint. Since then, no desire filled his body or mind...

His handwriting had then taken all the place. She would wake up at night to jot down ideas, projects, or a line of dialogue. Often, she felt empty and despite her success, she thought she had no future. His inability to write proved to him that his hunch was justified.

All these events made her can't take it anymore and suffered more and more from the blank page syndrome. Not all the psychologists, kinesiologists, coaches, helped him feel better. His life was empty and meaningless.

So, one morning, waking up in her big, empty, white apartment, she decided to take the dust, leave everything behind and change her life so she could find herself.

Coraline informed her family, manager and publishers that she was going on a study trip for a novel, but kept the location unknown and secret. Even though it was a lie, she had no remorse and sensed that it was the right decision.

She had asked a long-time acquaintance to find her a house by the sea quite far from all life. She had met this young doctor of Breton history at a conference on Celtic culture, Yannick Le Ber. He was a tall man, with broad and protective shoulders that they held forward so that his interlocutors would not be impressed by his stature.

He was passionate in his stories and when he invited her to go for a drink in a bar in the capital of Europe, she had drunk his every word without losing a single drop.

However, he had to leave the same evening. She had escorted him back to the train station and they had exchanged phone numbers in order to keep in touch for research about a novel by young Caroline. This novel had never seen the light of day and the two literary men had lost sight of each other. So the doctor of history was surprised by this phone call and was touched.

The great writer still trusted him enough to entrust him with a mission known only to them. Coraline told him: "I need to find a tower away from everything to get away from my current life. Can you help me, please? ».

When Coraline returned to the wagon, the man and his unpleasant smell were gone. She took out her laptop and went over the different story shots she was working on. After a few minutes, his eye was drawn to that bright blue spot of gold on the horizon.

Normally, when her mind wandered in this way, ideas came to her without any effort, however, at that moment, she was sucked into a refreshing whirlwind where she sank in. Her body became like cotton, gently she fell asleep deeply without any nightmare or dreams.

The TGV stopped abruptly and woke her up. Time to come to her senses and she grabbed her luggage, turned around to check that she had not forgotten anything behind her and went downstairs. She left everything that had oppressed her in the previous weeks and months in this wagon. She looked at her cell phone one last time and turned it off with a click.

Yannick had to wait for her on the dock when she arrived. Coraline had emailed him all the information a few days before, but he wasn't there.

The crowd around him seemed motley. Men, women and children jostled and occupied all the docks.

Coraline felt something wrap her legs. She lowered her head. A little boy had clung to her. He whined and hiccupped. In a reflex, his arms embraced the child, whispering sweet and reassuring words. Little Samuel gave a drooling kiss on Coraline's cheek.

In the crowd, a woman shouted, "Samuel? I lost my son. Help! Samuel. »

Coraline rushed over and, while keeping the little one close to herself, she approached the grieving woman in her husband's arms.

"Moumi". The child in the arms of the young woman had just shouted this word while stretching out his arms towards his mother while laughing. The young mother thanked Coraline, took her son against her to slip him into a baby carrier in a sling and never let go.

She waited a little longer and then walked to the lobby. She finally saw him. The teacher was sitting on an aluminum bench. His head, whose skull was covered with a thick blond and golden fleece, was immersed in a book whose edge was worn down to the rope. She approached but he did not hear her.

Coraline then said: "Professor, have you discovered the secret of dolmens and menhirs? Didn't we talk about meeting on the dock? ».

He finally raised his astonished blue-gray eyes, his face scarlet, and hastened to take his suitcases. Not a word came out of his mouth.

"I'm not angry. Have you somewhat forgotten my icy humor? Coraline says.

He smiled softly and whispered, bowing his head: "I found you a small house as you wished, the fridge is full and everything is clean. I made sure of that. »

Coraline was happy and ashamed at the same time. There was a distance between them that she had not perceived during her phone call a few days before and yet he had shown himself affectionate in preparing this place for her.

His car was parked in Rue des Goélands, just opposite the station. Yannick opened the door and put the suitcases in the trunk of his car, a black and chrome 4x4. He drove fast and brutally to vent his frustration. Coraline did not understand his attitude so different from the one she knew of him.

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