Chapter 6

It was late afternoon when the doctor discharged me. Despite the shock, there was nothing wrong with me that justified another day in the hospital, and he said it would be more beneficial for me to be somewhere I felt comfortable. The detectives had left a few hours earlier, right after I woke up from my fainting spell, saying they would return for more questions.

Lucy offered to spend the night with me, even though I insisted it wasn’t necessary. The truth was, if it weren’t for her, I might not have even gone home. Maybe I would have stayed in a hotel since I didn’t have many places to go. My parents had been dead for years, I had no siblings to turn to, and I hated most of my relatives. I wouldn’t feel comfortable bothering my closest friends—the only ones I had—Lucy, Mark, Vicky, and Liam. And Andrew’s parents, well…

"Are they coming here?"

"Yes," Lucy confirmed. "The police contacted them while you were in the hospital. I spoke to them on the phone."

I moistened my lips.

"What did they say?"

From her hesitation, I knew it wasn’t good.

"They’re devastated by the news, they haven’t processed what happened yet."

"They hate me." I laughed bitterly. "That’s it, isn’t it?"

I hadn’t met them in person yet, but I knew Andrew had left his small hometown to study law at the University of Virginia under the strict promise of returning after graduation to work at the family business. Apparently, he got a good offer from a firm in New Hope last summer and decided to stay. We met at one of Vicky’s parties and started going out. He talked a lot about his parents and their insistence on having him back home, but he seemed very happy staying in the city.

Andrew would never go home again because he was dead.

"They’ll blame me forever," I said, confessing my thoughts. "And they’re right. Someone killed Andrew and put him in the bookstore for me to find."

"Cora, for heaven’s sake!" She took a deep breath, frustrated. "None of this is your fault. They’re coming to say goodbye to their son, but I won’t let them use their grief to hurt you. You lost him too."

I touched her free hand and squeezed it in silent gratitude for what she was doing for me.

"How was the conversation with the investigators?"

I didn’t even know where to start, so I chose the worst part.

"The investigators said Andrew died from multiple stab wounds," I whispered, my voice barely coming out. "The injuries on his face were inflicted while he was still alive."

Lucy pulled the car over to the side of the road, in the middle of the darkness, and turned on the overhead light. Her skin was pale.

"What are you talking about?"

"His body was nailed to the wooden shelf," I continued, ignoring the question. "He was there, hidden behind the shelf, smiling at me, but he had been dead for hours. Whoever did this knew who we were and wanted me to see him like that."

"Cora…"

"Yes." I gave a bitter smile. "There’s someone out there who was capable of doing this and left me alive to tell the story."

Lucy covered her face with both hands and rested her elbows on her thighs. For a few seconds, she remained silent, sniffling, her body trembling. I understood the silent despair, the confusion, the desolation, because I had twisted myself in those same feelings earlier. Now, all that was left was doubt.

She finally looked at me again, and in my friend’s tear-filled eyes, I saw my own despair. She shook her head, searching for me in the dim light of the car.

"What did the investigators say?"

"They still know very little."

Lucy threw her head back.

"You need police protection. What are those idiots waiting for?" I shrugged. "We’re staying at my place tonight. Tomorrow, I’m going to that precinct and forcing them to put an officer at your door. Are they going to wait until something serious happens?!"

The problem was, something serious had already happened.

She was very upset, while I wasn’t sure what to feel. There was a dangerous person out there, someone who had chosen me as the center of a brutal crime. It was as if I were a spectator, watching everything through a TV screen but not actually experiencing the sensations. At that moment, it was like I couldn’t feel anything.

Lucy drove to her apartment, which was about fifteen minutes away from my house. She lived in a massive building downtown and paid a small fortune in exchange for an obscene level of security, lots of privacy, and comfort. Her parents were big names in state commerce and insisted that she at least live somewhere nice. Lucy often told me to consider buying an apartment there, especially since I was becoming a more well-known person, but I didn’t like the idea of living downtown or dealing with all those security procedures. I also had my reservations about spending that much money on a home.

We passed through the gate and took the elevator. The door opened on the third floor, but no one was waiting. It closed and opened again a few seconds later, this time on the correct floor. Lucy was unlocking the door when the phone started ringing. She rushed to answer it, and I stayed behind to close the door.

"That’s weird." Lucy pulled the phone away from her ear. "No one said anything."

She placed it back on the receiver and went to the fridge. A moment later, the phone rang again, but Lucy was busy looking for something to eat.

"I’ll get it," I said. "I’ll answer."

I put the phone to my ear and said an awkward, quick "hello."

No one responded, so I tried again.

"Hello?"

Nothing.

Nothing.

And…

The sound of breathing.

"Who is this?"

The breathing got louder. It sounded like a man. For some reason, I felt nervous. Anxious, even.

"Stop calling if you’re not going to say anything!"

He stopped breathing.

"Coraline."

A deep, slightly hoarse voice. He said my name.

I had the impression I had heard it before, but I couldn’t quite place where I remembered it from.

"Who is this?" I repeated the question.

"You look beautiful today."

Immediately, I looked around and checked the windows. They were all closed or covered by curtains. The line went silent before I could respond. Two seconds later, that annoying little sound indicated the call had been disconnected.

"Who was it?"

Lucy touched my shoulder, and it was like snapping out of a trance. I had nothing to say because I had no idea who had called.

That night, I ignored once again the murmuring voice in the back of my mind, the one with a dark theory about who was on the other end of the call. Looking back at everything that happened, it’s clear that I should have listened to my darker instincts—perhaps they would have prepared me for what was coming next.

If I had trusted my intuition back then, maybe this story wouldn’t have been written at all.